Don Hilario, the Older Man Who Claimed Me as His Own

After that first afternoon at Don Hilario’s house, the one I spent accompanying my friend Carla, I took it for granted that he would call me again only to keep her close. Carla was the obvious reason: young, shameless, with that laugh that promised things. I was, in theory, the escort.

I was wrong about everything.

Don Hilario started seeking me out. Only me. At first it was hard for me to understand, because there was nothing between us resembling a romantic excuse: he was a man more than thirty years older than me, broad as a wardrobe, with enormous hands and a voice that seemed to come from the bottom of a well. And yet he called my number, not Carla’s.

Little by little, without my quite knowing how, a strange friendship grew between us. He invited me to eat. He introduced me to his acquaintances as “my nephew’s friend” with a naturalness that amused me. He would pick me up at home in his old, gleaming car, bring me back to the door, and ruffle my hair before saying goodbye.

He treated me in a paternal way I hadn’t expected from someone who looked like him. Because on the outside, Don Hilario was everything one imagines in a crude village macho: the hard frown, the hands of a retired bricklayer, the shirt always slightly open. But beneath that bastard’s façade, I discovered a soft-hearted man, almost tender whenever he thought no one was watching.

“Why do you call me and not Carla?” I asked him once, half joking.

“Because you know how to listen, kid,” he replied, without taking his eyes off the road. “And because I like you. Do I need another reason?”

There was no need. But we both knew there was something more.

***

One afternoon he came to pick me up without warning and took me to a distant village, one of those that don’t even appear on the highway signs. He drove slowly, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my knee, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. From time to time that huge hand moved up my thigh and squeezed me right where the bulge was beginning to show, and he let out a hoarse little laugh without looking at me.

On the main street there was an old wine tavern with whitewashed walls. We went in. The place was almost deserted; only a couple of old men at the bar gave it any life, speaking quietly about harvests and the dead.

The bartender greeted Don Hilario like a lifelong customer.

“The usual, Don Hilario?”

“The usual,” he answered, dropping his enormous hand onto the counter.

He brought a jug of red wine, thick and dark, and two heavy glasses. Don Hilario filled mine to the brim.

“It’s good house wine, kid. Come on, drink.”

He kept insisting on that “drink” every time the level in my glass dropped by a finger’s width. After a few swallows I felt light-headed, my cheeks hot, the floor a little softer than usual. He, on the other hand, remained perfectly fine, ordering another round and then another, chatting animatedly in that deep voice that seemed to make the glasses vibrate.

The conversation gradually turned toward a subject I hadn’t expected.

“Look, kid,” he said suddenly, turning toward me on the stool. “You already know what’s happened between us. I know you’ve felt different with me. And that’s all right, for you and for me.”

I swallowed. I didn’t dare interrupt him.

“But I don’t want you to lose yourself,” he continued. “You’re young; you have your whole life ahead of you. You can come with me whenever you want, because I’ve grown fond of you and I’ll always be there for you whenever I can. No one can take that away from you. I’m only asking you not to stop living the rest of your life.”

“And what exactly are you trying to tell me?” I asked, my tongue a little thick.

I looked at him with a mixture of admiration and desire that even I didn’t fully understand. I considered myself bisexual; I liked women, I always had. But with Don Hilario, something happened to me that had never happened with anyone else: his size, his strength, the way he occupied space, turned me into something else. Beside him, I didn’t feel like a man. And I liked it.

“I’m telling you to fuck girls too,” he said, chuckling softly. “Fuck them properly, come in their cunts and mouths, start a family one day if you feel like it. I’ll teach you how to please a woman the way I do. How to eat her pussy until she screams, how to fuck her deep without being afraid. I’ll teach you that, don’t worry. I’m doing it for your own good, because I care about you.”

I didn’t know how to respond to such a speech. I stared at the bottom of my glass, stirring the wine, feeling absurdly moved by the clumsy tenderness of that enormous man. And at the same time my cock was hard against the seam of my jeans, throbbing beneath the table.

To break the tension, Don Hilario draped his thick, muscular arm over my shoulders and pulled me toward him. He ruffled my hair with his other hand, as he always did. And beneath the counter, discreetly, he let his palm fall onto my crotch and squeezed my cock through my trousers, long and slow, until a gasp escaped me.

Without thinking, I kissed his rough cheek and rested my head against his broad chest. He smelled of wine, cheap cologne, and something warm and animal I couldn’t have described.

“Easy, kid,” he murmured. “Don’t be afraid. Trust me. It’s for your own good. And that cock you’ve got down there—you’re going to empty it inside the car, you hear me?”

I nodded with my face pressed against his shirt, biting my lip so I wouldn’t moan in the middle of the tavern.

***

We left the tavern as night was falling. Instead of taking the road back, Don Hilario turned onto a dirt track leading to an empty lot, far from the village streetlights.

I was half drunk, but he was completely sober despite all the wine he had drunk. As he drove slowly over the potholes, my hand was already searching for his crotch through his trousers, feeling the heavy, thick, hot bulge forming beneath the fabric. I squeezed it with both hands and felt it swell even more, as if it had a life of its own. My fingers, clumsy from the wine, busied themselves unbuttoning his shirt down to his waist.

I wanted to touch his huge, hard belly, the heavy pecs he jokingly called his “tits.” The image of that first afternoon was burned into my mind, when I had seen him reclining in the armchair at home, and I wanted to have him like that again. I slipped my hand beneath his undershirt and pinched a thick nipple; he grunted and sped up a little.

He switched off the engine in the middle of nowhere. The only sounds were the ticking of the car cooling down and, very far away, the rumble of trucks on the main road.

“Come here,” he said in that voice that allowed no argument. “And get it out already—you’ve been staring at it all afternoon.”

I covered his ears, cheeks, and double chin with kisses while rubbing the belly showing through his open shirt. He let me do it, grunting with pleasure, his eyes half closed. I undid his belt, lowered his zipper, and pulled out that enormous cock, thick as my wrist, its purple, shiny head already beaded with fluid. I stared at it for a second, almost reverently.

“Come on, suck me, kid,” he said, placing his hand on the back of my neck and slowly pushing me down. “Eat it all, like I taught you.”

I leaned over his lap and took it into my mouth. I started at the tip, licking the head with my tongue and tasting the thick semen oozing from it. I moved slowly down the shaft, lips tight around it, feeling it fill my mouth until it brushed my throat. He held my hair with one hand and set the pace, not roughly but without letting me pull away.

“That’s it, that’s it, all the way down,” he grunted. “Look how happy it gets in your little mouth. Swallow it, kid—that’s what you’ve got it for.”

I sucked his cock for a long time, gagging a little, my eyes watering and my chin wet with saliva and his semen. I licked his big balls, one and then the other, taking them into my mouth while jerking his shaft with my hand. Don Hilario panted, leaning back, his belly rising and falling, and from time to time he held my head and pushed me down so I would swallow him whole.

“Enough, you little bastard,” he panted at last, pulling me up by the hair. “If you keep going, I’ll come all over your face, and I want to come in your ass.”

I took off my trousers and underwear in that impossible space, freeing my cock, which was so hard it hurt. Then I pulled his trousers and underwear down to his ankles. He reclined the seat until it was almost horizontal and lay back, filling it completely, his cock pointing toward the roof of the car, thick and proud, entirely wet with my spit.

“Come on, get on top of me,” he said, patting his thigh. “And impale yourself without being afraid. I know you’re open and dying for it.”

I sat on the lower part of his enormous belly. My body fit into the hollow formed between his stomach and his massive thighs, as if that place had been made to measure for me.

“I already taught you how to kiss,” he said, lacing one hand behind his neck. “Show me you learned.”

With his other hand he slowly caressed my thigh, then slid it up the crack of my ass, probing my hole with a thumb wet with saliva. He pushed it in slowly to the knuckle and opened me, stretching me. His cardigan and shirt looked ready to burst over his thick arms. I leaned over his chest and kissed him as best I knew how, slowly and deeply, until I ran out of breath, while he worked my ass with his finger.

“Mmm. You certainly learned,” he murmured between kisses. “Come on, impale yourself. I know you’re dying for me to fuck you to the guts.”

I straightened up and gripped him by the base of his cock with one hand. So aroused, so out of my mind over that strong, heavy hunk of a man, I aimed it at my hole, spat into my hand once more, spat on his head too, and lowered myself. It entered me almost without resistance, thick and burning, opening me all at once to the hilt. I let out a long moan, caught between pain and pleasure, and stayed still for a second, impaled, feeling split in two.

“God, you’re so big,” I panted. “You’re driving it into my stomach, you bastard.”

“And you haven’t taken all of me yet, kid,” he laughed, grabbing my hips. “Come on, move. Fuck my cock like I taught you.”

I braced both hands against his hard belly and started moving up and down, feeling that thick shaft scrape my inner walls, feeling it sink into me to the balls and then withdraw almost completely before I swallowed it again.

Don Hilario matched my rhythm with his hips, driving into me to the hilt and withdrawing slowly, while I kissed his pecs and bit his pink nipples. Sucking those fat old-macho tits while his cock impaled me drove me crazy, mine dripping fluid against his belly.

“Oh, kid,” he panted. “You’ve got the perfect ass for me. Tight, warm, made to fit my dick. Better than anyone’s. Oh, yes, squeeze, squeeze, or I’ll split you in two…”

He grabbed my waist with both huge hands and began setting the pace, lifting me and letting me drop onto him with force. His cock slid in and out with a wet, obscene sound that filled the car along with his grunts and my moans. His deep voice echoed against the windows.

“You’re mine. This ass is mine. When I’m done with you, you won’t want anyone else; no cock will be enough for you after mine.”

He enjoyed pleasing me, watching me melt on top of his enormous body, mouth open, panting like a bitch over him. I didn’t last long: without touching myself, just from my cock rubbing against his belly and his massaging me inside in exactly the right spot, I came in streams, long and thick, covering his stomach and pubic hair with hot milk. I trembled all over, my forehead resting on his shoulder, without stopping my movements on top of him.

He took me by the nape and gave me the best kiss I remember from a man. It was a simple, almost clumsy kiss, but his sheer virility made it irresistible. He thrust his tongue deep into my mouth, sucking my lips while I was still trembling from my orgasm. And all the while he kept moving his pelvis inside me, unhurriedly, for a long time, his cock hard as a beam, fucking me deep with a craftsman’s patience.

***

“Turn around,” he ordered afterward, gently. “I want to watch your ass while I fuck you.”

He pulled out slowly, and I felt the emptiness like a sorrow. I turned my back to him and sat down on his cock again. He gripped it in his hand, straightened it, and guided my hole back onto it until I was fully impaled. He leaned me against his torso, and my spine arched from the bulk of his belly. He seized my right thigh with his strong hand, spread my legs against the dashboard, and began lifting and lowering me again, as if I weighed nothing, with that same firm, unhurried patience of a macho who had no need to rush.

“Look how it goes in, you little bastard,” he whispered in my ear, his other hand playing with my cock, which was beginning to rise again. “Look how your little hole swallows the whole thing. You were made for this, kid.”

I looked down and saw his enormous cock disappearing inside me, my balls hanging above the old man’s hairy pubis, mine jerking each time he thrust up from below. A long moan escaped me.

I twisted my neck at an impossible angle to kiss his white mustache.

“You’ve got such a big one,” I whispered in his ear. “What a beast. Break my ass, come on.”

“And it’s all for you, kid,” he replied, releasing a deep laugh that I felt rumble through his chest against my back. “This whole cock is yours, you little bastard. Take it, take it, eat it all.”

And he began thrusting into me harder, gripping my waist with both hands and driving into me as deeply as he could. I felt every blow in my guts, the thick head striking a place that made me see stars. I jerked myself off, my hand still coated with my own milk, while he pumped from below without pause, grunting like a bull.

I came for the second time, mouth hanging open and eyes rolled back, splattering the dashboard and his hand, squeezing my whole ass around his cock. That spasm was what finished him. I felt him grow even thicker inside me, throb a couple of times, and then empty himself with a long, deep grunt that shook his entire massive body, shooting stream after stream of hot semen into my bowels, so much that I could feel it escaping around the edges.

“Take it, bastard, take it all,” he grunted through his teeth. “All inside, kid, all for you.”

We stayed like that without moving, his cock still inside me, his enormous hand caressing my back and my smeared belly. Outside, the only sound was the distant murmur of cars on the road. Several minutes passed in that warm silence, both of us breathing deeply, with no desire to separate. I felt his cock slowly soften inside me, and his semen beginning to seep between my buttocks and run down my thighs.

I had ended up falling in love with that older, strong, good-natured man. With his strength, his white mustache, his insatiable cock, and the way he cared for me amid one order and the next. And he had wanted it that way from the beginning.

***

Our encounters became more frequent and more intense, but something changed with time. Because of his size, Don Hilario found it difficult to move and take the initiative, and he began to enjoy something different: putting his body at my disposal and letting me do all the work while he reclined and surrendered to my attentions.

And, to my surprise, that aroused me even more than when he behaved like a dominant macho. Seeing him spent, passive, offering himself with his hard cock pointing toward the ceiling, made him even more masculine in my eyes. There was a quiet power in that surrender that disarmed me.

It always began with his mouth. I would calmly suck his shaft, kneeling between his spread thighs, taking his cock from head to balls, sucking his big eggs, coating his entire package with saliva until it shone. He watched me from above, one hand behind my neck and the other ruffling my hair, grunting each time I swallowed him to the base.

“That’s it, little bastard, that’s how you suck a cock,” he murmured. “Like I taught you.”

Afterward he would ask me to sit on his face, and he would devour me for a long while, unhurriedly, with an endurance that seemed endless. He would push his thick tongue into my freshly stretched hole, lick my balls, and swallow my entire cock in one bite. I held onto the back of the sofa and moved on top of that bearded face as if it were a chair, grinding my ass against his mouth, his white mustache soaked with my spit and his saliva.

“I could stay like this for an hour, kid,” he would say in his hoarse voice, laughing between licks. “Don’t get impatient. This old man has a long tongue and plenty of stamina.”

But what he liked most was for me to sit on top of him and ride him until he was breathless. I would impale myself on him, driving it all the way in, and start moving on top of him, bouncing, circling my hips, squeezing his cock inside me every time I rose.

“That’s it,” he would murmur in that deep voice that drove me wild. “Fuck my dick, you little bastard. I’m making you mine again. No one can teach you this better than me. Squeeze, squeeze, and I’ll empty it all inside you.”

He was well endowed and experienced, and I took advantage of it to give myself pleasure and give it to him, letting him fill me again and again with hot milk. I ended up exhausted from moving on top of his body, changing positions nonstop, searching for the exact angle that made us both moan. I would get on my knees, on all fours over him, and impale myself backward, looking at him over my shoulder while jerking myself off and spilling my orgasm over his belly. Then I would turn around again and ride him face-to-face, my hands on his pecs, until my cock was hard again between our sticky bellies.

With his hands clasped behind his head, Don Hilario’s rounded biceps stood out beneath his cardigan and open shirt. Seeing him in that position drove me wild, his thick thighs spread apart, his purple cock protruding between my buttocks, letting me do as I pleased, indulging my every whim.

“Pull it all the way out,” I would sometimes ask, panting. “Come in my mouth; I want to swallow it.”

“When I feel like it, little bastard,” he would reply, laughing. “Ride me now; I’m not done with you yet.”

He was at my mercy, and at the same time I remained, helplessly, completely his. That older man had taught me something no guy my age had ever known how to give me: that surrendering is sometimes the most honest way to command. And that a big, patient cock, handled properly, can turn a kid into something far more truly yours than any words.