I strolled into the shadowed corner bar, already horny from weeks of fantasizing about strong hands pinning me down. As a gay man who wanted to be dominated, I scanned the room until my eyes locked on Jordan—tall, confident, with a grin that promised trouble.
"You look like you're hunting for someone who won't ask twice," Jordan said, sliding onto the stool beside me. His voice was low and teasing. "Or are you just here to sip that drink and pretend you're not dripping with need?"
I smirked back, refusing to yield easily. "And you look like the type who talks big but might fold if I push back. What's your game, big shot?" Our banter sharpened as he leaned closer, witty jabs flying about control and surrender, until the tension crackled like electricity.
We barely made it to the back room before his mouth claimed mine. Jordan shoved me against the wall, his hard cock pressing insistently through his jeans while I reached down to stroke him. "On your knees," he commanded, and I dropped, taking his thick cock into my mouth for a sloppy blowjob that left us both panting.
He pulled me up, spun me around, and yanked my pants down, exposing my ass. His fingers found my wet, dripping pussy—my boyhole clenching hungrily—and he teased it open with expert pressure. "Beg for it," he growled, but I shot back, "Make me, if you think you can handle this."
Jordan thrust his hard cock deep inside my ass, pounding relentlessly as we sweated and panted in rhythm. I came first, my body shaking, followed by his explosive cum filling me up, the raw intensity leaving us both gasping.
As we caught our breath, Jordan whispered promises of more games ahead, his grip tightening possessively.
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