The Motel Where I Gave My Ass to My Second Lover

The story I’m about to tell began in 2018, when I was thirty-four and had gone almost two years without fucking. My first lover, Federico, had moved to Guadalajara for work and never came back. At first I waited. After a year, I stopped waiting. And when I reached two full years without a single man on top of me, I decided I was done punishing myself.

I live in Torreón, Coahuila. It’s a small city for the kind of thing one goes looking for when one likes what I like, so I went back to doing what I had done years before: I placed an ad on a personals site, with a photo from behind, no face, and a clear description: slim bottom, discreet, exclusively for mature, laid-back gentlemen. No drama, no scenes.

The first man to write to me seriously was Ramiro. Forty-five years old, six foot one, dark-skinned, married. He worked for a logistics company. He sent me two photos: one of his face, so I would trust him, and another partial one, showing only his torso. He had a fit body without being a gym addict, and even in the chat, there was something honest about the way he wrote. We messaged each other for a whole week. I didn’t want to rush things. Neither did he.

“I have a fantasy,” he confessed on the third day. “Anal sex. My wife doesn’t even want to hear about it. I suggested watching videos together, buying toys, taking it slow. Nothing. And the escorts who provide that service in the city charge a fortune.”

“I don’t charge,” I replied. “I only ask for discretion, enthusiasm, and that you know how to use it.”

He laughed on the other side of the screen. We made plans for the following Thursday.

***

The motel I knew was on the north end of town, one of those places with an electric curtain over the garage and rough but clean towels. I took time off work and arrived at one-thirty. I rented a simple room with cable TV. I took a long shower, shaved just enough, and douched with the little enema bulb until I was sure there wouldn’t be any accidents. I turned on the erotic channel to set the mood. I put on a tight black boxer brief and a white T-shirt, nothing else.

At exactly two, someone knocked on the door.

Ramiro had come straight from work, wearing a dress shirt with the collar already damp from sweat. He looked bigger in person: broad shoulders, enormous hands, dark eyes. I closed the door behind him and stood still, waiting to see where he would begin. He left his briefcase on the chair, loosened his tie, and looked me up and down without hurrying.

“You’re better than in the pictures,” he said.

“Take a shower first. You’re boiling.”

He nodded. He went into the bathroom, and ten minutes later he came out wrapped in a towel, his hair wet and his cock already awake, showing through the fabric. He didn’t bother drying himself. He walked toward me, grabbed me by the nape with one hand, and turned me around against his body.

“Stay still,” he whispered in my ear.

His arms went around me. With one hand he caressed my stomach beneath my shirt; with the other he squeezed my neck without hurting me, firmly enough to raise gooseflesh on my skin. I began to feel his cock against my ass through our clothes: thick, hot, hard. He kissed the nape of my neck, my ear, the angle of my jaw. Then he bit my earlobe, and that alone got me hard beneath my boxer briefs.

“Turn around.”

I obeyed. I tore off his towel, and for the first time I had his cock at face level. Thick, brown, with the head shining from precum. I took it in my right hand and, without any hesitation, put it in my mouth. Ramiro let out a deep moan and buried his hand in my hair. I sucked him all the way, savoring him, swallowing saliva so he could go in deep. I licked him from his balls to the tip and put him back down my throat. He fucked my mouth with a slow rhythm, not rushing, looking down at me through half-closed eyes.

“You suck cock so well, you bastard,” he murmured.

He pulled his cock from my mouth, hauled me up by the arms, and laid me on my back on the bed. He tore off my boxer briefs with one hand and spread my legs. He knelt at the edge of the mattress and, without warning, drove his tongue between my ass cheeks. I hadn’t expected it. I cried out and grabbed his head with both hands.

He licked my ass for a long time. He kept working at my hole, pushing it with the tip of his tongue, pulling away to suck my balls, then coming back. He spat on me, squeezed my ass cheeks with both hands, and kept eating me until I was begging him in a broken voice to put it in already.

“Not yet,” he said, settling beside me with the bottle of lube I had left on the nightstand.

He spread lubricant on two fingers and slipped them inside me slowly. One first, up to the knuckle, moving in circles. Then the second, scissoring inside me, opening me from within. I twisted on the bed with my eyes closed, moaning like a bitch in heat, my cock dripping fluid onto my navel.

“Please, now,” I begged him. “Put it in already.”

“Turn over. On all fours.”

***

I got on all fours on the mattress. I heard the condom crackle as he opened it, felt his hands spread my ass cheeks, and suddenly the tip of his cock was pressed against my entrance. He pushed hard and it hurt. Fuck, did it hurt. He was thick, and I hadn’t fucked in a long time. I gripped the sheets and endured it.

He noticed. He stopped with only the head inside me and stroked my back with one hand. He put more lubricant on himself, slipped two fingers into me again, loosened me up, and when he pressed his cock against me again, it went a few inches deeper without making me cry out. That was how he did it: two thrusts, then stop. Two more, then stop. Until, at some point, I felt his balls resting against my perineum and knew he was all the way inside me.

He stayed still for a long while. He bent his body over mine and kissed my neck, the nape of my neck, my shoulder. He ran one hand over my belly, my nipples, my cock, which was already dripping. That pause opened me up inside. When he began moving again, it no longer hurt. It hurt and felt good in equal measure, and then it only felt good.

“Move too,” he murmured.

I started pushing my hips back every time he thrust. At first slowly, then hungrily. His fingers dug into my hips. Every thrust tore a rougher moan from me. I heard the wet sounds of our bodies, his balls slapping against me, his breathing growing heavier and heavier.

“What an ass you have, you bastard,” he blurted between thrusts. “You feel so good, you let yourself get fucked so well.”

He gave me short, sharp smacks that reddened my skin and made me clench my ass around his cock without meaning to. Every squeeze pulled a groan of pleasure from him. He yanked my hair backward and forced me to arch my back so he could fuck me deeper. I was already somewhere else. My first time with Federico had been sweet, yes, but this was something different. Ramiro was fucking me as if I belonged to him.

After a while he asked me to change positions. He carefully pulled out of me, took me by the hips, and turned me onto my back. He placed me at the edge of the bed, my ass right on the rim, and raised my legs until my calves rested against his shoulders. He stood between them and thrust back inside me in one stroke.

“Oh, fuck,” I panted.

In that position he drove into me deeper. I could see his cock sliding in and out of me, gleaming with lubricant, and my own dick bouncing on my belly with every thrust. He gripped my cock with his right hand and began jerking me in time with his thrusts. At first slowly, then faster, until I felt I couldn’t hold out anymore.

“I’m coming,” I warned him.

“Come. Come in my hand, bastard.”

My ass clenched around his cock, and I shot a stream of cum all the way to my chest. It was a double orgasm, as I call them: the contractions of my ass squeezing his cock and those of my own cock shooting semen at the same time. Ramiro let out a hoarse laugh without stopping his thrusts.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he said. “I’m not done yet.”

***

He put me on all fours again. He climbed onto the bed, knelt behind me, and shoved it inside without giving me a chance to catch my breath. Now the fuck was different: faster, rougher, more animal. I had emptied myself, and he took advantage of it. He slapped my ass hard, dug his fingers into my waist, and pulled my hair. And he never stopped talking dirty to me.

“You’re my whore now, right? Say it.”

“I’m your whore,” I answered without thinking.

“Say it properly.”

“I’m your whore, Ramiro. Fuck me. Fuck me however you want.”

He liked that. He drove into me all the way and held still for a few seconds, letting me feel every inch. Then he began hammering me without mercy. The bed creaked, the headboard pounded against the wall, and I had my face buried in the pillow, trying not to scream too loudly.

We went on like that for another forty minutes. He kept me on all fours, then laid me on my side with one leg raised, then had me straddle him and made me bounce on his cock until my legs trembled. With every change of position he whispered things in my ear: what a delicious ass, what a good little slut of a lover, what a tight little hole. And I answered him like a bitch in heat: yes, like that, harder, fuck me harder.

When I finally felt him speed up for real, I knew he was about to come. His cock grew even thicker inside me, his fingers dug into my ass, and he let out a long roar. He began to spasm. Every pulse of his cock sent a jolt through my ass, and that alone made me come again, this time without touching my dick, in a second double orgasm that left me breathless.

He stayed inside me for a long while, breathing heavily, his body resting against my back. Then he slowly pulled out. The condom came out full of cum inside and smeared on the outside, with a little blood and traces of my own fluids. I felt embarrassed. He noticed.

“Don’t feel bad,” he said, taking off the condom. “That turns me on. When I see you like this, marked by my cock, do you know what you make me feel?”

He kissed the nape of my neck. We got into the shower together, and he washed me as if I belonged to him, his hands gentle now, pausing over each little bruise he had left me. We got out, dried ourselves, and dressed in silence. Before leaving, he looked at me from the doorway.

“Same place next week?” he asked.

“I’ll be waiting for you here.”

***

I was with Ramiro for almost a year. We saw each other every Thursday or every other Thursday, always at the same motel, always with a condom, always drinking electrolyte solution afterward so we wouldn’t get dehydrated from all the sweating. He was married, and I was also seeing a respectable, straight-laced guy at the time, so discretion suited us both. He never asked for more than what we had agreed on. He never disrespected me outside the bedroom. Inside it, he left me with trembling legs and a clenched ass for two days.

As always happens with good things, it ended. Ramiro was transferred to Mexico City for a promotion he couldn’t turn down. On our last afternoon at the motel, he held me longer than usual without saying much. We both knew.

What I was left with was his memory, this story, and the certainty that as long as there are discreet, hungry men in the world, my ass still has many stories ahead of it.