Stranger on the Bus – Part 5

Everyone in this story is 18+

Max was on his knees, looking up at me with that already familiar, dangerous grin—the one that said he knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what I needed. His fingers grazed the waistband of my sweats as he cooed, “What did you have in mind?”

Before I could answer, he tugged them down and wrapped his mouth around my cock like it was his damn job.

No slow buildup. No pretense. Just spit, heat, and hunger in his eyes.

He went deep, burying me halfway down his throat in one go, both hands gripping my thighs as he sucked me in with that sloppy, wet urgency that made my knees threaten to give out. His lips stretched wide around my girth, tongue swirling over the head before flattening beneath the shaft, dragging upward in messy, worshipful licks.

I groaned, low and helpless, bracing myself on the doorframe behind me.

He wasn’t careful—he wasn’t trying to be. He devoured me, messy and relentless, saliva dripping from his chin as he gagged and came back for more, each wet choke just turning him on more. His spit soaked my length, running down to my balls, and he had no shame about it. I could feel the heat of him, the vibration of his moans as he took me again and again.

“Jesus, Max…” I choked out, my head tipping back, vision swimming.

He pulled back with a wet gasp, his lips glossy and red, panting like he needed air but didn’t want it.

“Didn’t think you’d miss me this much,” I managed, breath shaky.

He laughed, breathless. “Your cock missed me. I’m just doing it a favor.”

Then he slid back down—no warning—taking me deeper than before, his throat flexing as he swallowed around me. I couldn’t stop the guttural groan that tore from my chest. His tongue curled under my shaft, his nose brushing my pubes, and when I finally came, it hit so freaking hard.

Hot, thick spurts filled his mouth, and he took it all, one hand sliding down to stroke himself as he swallowed, slow and greedy.

When he stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes were dark and wild.

“Couch,” he said. “Bend over.”

I blinked. “You’re giving orders now?”

SLAP.

His palm cracked against my ass—sharp, and very sure of itself.

“Couch. Now.”

He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to.

I turned and bent over, heart thudding. My cock was still twitching, over-sensitive and aching, but somehow… ready again.

I heard him pad off down the hallway. Then his voice, drifting back lazily, teasing: “My dick really missed this hairy hole.”

I didn’t turn. Just waited, braced over the arm of the couch, breath heavy, hole still sore and slick from all the pounding. I heard the snap of the lube cap, the sound of him stroking himself as he walked back into the room.

I glanced over my shoulder.

Max was already naked again, cock hard and flushed, bobbing slightly as he moved toward me. His lean, toned body was lit by the soft light bleeding in from the kitchen—abs defined but not showy, his chest smooth, his cock, which glistened with lube.

He dropped to his knees behind me, palms spreading my ass wide.

Then his tongue was there.

Hot, wet, and very insistent.

He ate me out like he’d been thinking about it the entire bus ride back. His hands held me open as he licked long, slow stripes over my hole, alternating between teasing flicks and deep plunges that made my toes curl. He moaned into me, spit pooling and dripping down my taint, tongue working me open with a hunger that felt almost possessive.

“God, you taste like sweat and cum and campfire,” he muttered between licks. “You filthy, rugged bastard.”

I couldn’t even respond.

Then I felt the press of his cock again—hot and slick, thick against my stretched hole—and neither this time, he went slow.

He slammed into me with one long, brutal thrust, forcing a gasp out of my chest as he buried himself to the root. The slap of his hips echoed off the walls, and then he held there—deep, pulsing inside me, his hands gripping my hips like he was claiming them.

“Missed how tight this ass is,” he growled, pulling back just enough before driving in again, even harder.

He didn’t fuck like a brat. He fucked like he owned me. And own me he did.

His thrusts were rough, punishing, perfectly paced—just enough burn to make my eyes roll back, just enough rhythm to keep me on the edge of begging. He bent over me, biting my shoulder, fingers digging into the meat of my ass, forcing me back on his cock again and again.

“You like this, don’t you?” he panted, voice hoarse and wild. “You love getting bred by a twink who knows how to wreck you.”

I groaned into the couch cushion, sweat beading at the base of my neck.

“Say it,” he snapped, spanking me again. “Say you love it.”

“I—fuck—I love it.”

My voice broke on the last word, and that made him snap.

He gripped my shoulders and fucked harder, deeper, faster. My cock was trapped against the cushion, leaking with every savage thrust. I could feel him throbbing inside me, that desperate edge in his voice, his breath ragged.

The friction from the couch cushion was all it took—rough against my leaking cock, every thrust from Max driving me harder into it. I didn’t even touch myself. I didn’t have to.

Suddenly, my whole body locked up, and my dick started spurting—thick, hot ropes shooting straight into the couch cushion below me. I groaned loud, guttural, nearly collapsing under the force of it.

I didn’t even know how my balls had anything left to give. I’d already come more times in the last twenty-four hours than I had in the last month—but there it was. Another fat, messy load soaking into the fabric, dripping from the edge of the cushion onto the floor.

“Jesus,” Max muttered behind me, pulling back to watch. “You just painted the couch.”

I didn’t answer. Just let my head drop forward, breathing hard, cock twitching against the mess I’d made. I was half-ruined, still full of him, legs barely working—but I couldn’t stop grinning.

“This week is gonna ruin me,” I muttered into the fabric, hips jerking back to meet every thrust.

Max continued to pound my hole and behind me, Max let out a strained, broken moan as he came, driving into me hard as he emptied himself deep. His cock throbbed as he filled me, and even after he was done, he stayed inside—breathing against my back, trembling.

I felt like I’d been split open. Used. Owned.

And I’d never felt better.

He finally pulled out, cum leaking down my thigh, and we both collapsed onto the couch, sticky, breathless, and wrecked.

Max turned his head toward me, hair stuck to his forehead, that same cocky little grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“So…” he said, voice raw. “Is that… enough compensation?”

I laughed, voice hoarse. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”