Today’s filth was inspired by the Great British Bake Off without being part of my baking and BDSM set of blog posts. It’s also set in a gay bar, and I have a lot of fun playing around with the idea of corruptible innocence. There’s a lot of firsts for my erotica writing in this piece, but I am really proud of it.
Content warning for cruel corruption and elements of consensual non-consent. Also, I’ve never been to a gay bar and it probably shows.
I spotted him as soon as I entered the bar. I wasn’t looking for a young, corruptible straight boy to take into the filthy toilets in this gay bar to do even filthier things with, but once my eyes landed on him I couldn’t think about anything else. The intensity of my desire for him almost took my breath away: my skin almost tingled with the craving to touch the slither of dark skin that was exposed as his shirt rode up.
He looked so proper in his shirt and tie and knitted pullover vest: not stand-offish so much as a little uncomfortable. He was with a small group of friends, but standing on the outskirts of the chatter, all self-consciousness and ungainly limbs. Cute, despite his awkwardness. In desperate need of someone to push him to his knees and force him to swallow their cock.
That thought really shouldn’t have been so hot.
It would have been less bad if it was just his dark curls and full lips and that gorgeous ass in a tight pair of jeans that I wanted. I wanted my hand in his hair to limit the control he had over how deep I thrust into his mouth; I wanted to bite those beautiful lips as I kissed him; and I wanted to do unspeakable things to his arse. But it wasn’t just that – something about his vulnerability was incredibly attractive.
I kept glancing his way. He was undoubtedly nervous – maybe it was his first time in a gay bar? I distracted myself with the possibility that it might be straight, until a bear in leather trousers walked past him and caused his jaw to drop almost to the floor. Yeah, straight boys didn’t get hard in their too-tight jeans by a casual touch on their lower back. It was hard to tell across the room, but I was pretty sure that his cheeks were adorably flushed.
Then he caught me staring – which wasn’t a surprise, because I was hardly being subtle. Being subtle very rarely gets me laid, after all. I was impressed though, because although he blushed scarlet and turned away to mutter something to his friend, he did something I wasn’t expecting at all. He started to walk towards me. Still clearly nervous, but with a charming determination. He couldn’t quite meet my gaze, but I let mine linger on him as he approached.
I decided to take mercy on him – just this once.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked, my eyes flicking up and down his body in a slow assessment that made my intentions clear. He nodded, a sharp, jerky bob. I grinned. I turned to speak to the bartender, but didn’t do anything else to put the young man in front of me at ease. His nervous uncertainty was too enjoyable to end just yet. Instead I licked my lips. He swallowed; I smirked. This was going to be fun.
I was feeling particularly sadistic, so didn’t say anything as I handed him his drink. His hands shook slightly as he raised the glass to his lips, and I imagined them clenched around the rail in the bathroom – knuckles taunt with the effort of keeping himself upright. Fuck, denying him the certainty of what was going to happen next was denying me the fun of fucking with him.
Moving closer, I position myself a little behind him and slightly too close. I lower my voice, and began to tell him – in explicit detail – every way in which I imaged fucking him as I stared at him across the bar. I tell him how I want to dig my fingers into his arse and spit in his mouth and push him to his knees. And when I’m certain that his cock is hard in his jeans, I tug him round to face me. It presses against me, and his expression is caught between pain and utter bliss.
“I like how sweet you look, how vulnerable. You’re simply begging to be corrupted – have you ever sucked cock before?”
He let out a whine. “Please,” he breathed, his voice cracking with arousal.
“I’m going to kiss you now.” I told him, and I did. His moan as I bit his bottom lip was just as delightful as I had thought, and I couldn’t resist any longer. I didn’t take his hand, instead wrapping my fingers around his wrist as a cuff so I could lead him across the bar to the toilets.
“Knees, now,” I ordered when we’re secured in a cubicle, my own fingers fumbling with my belt. The moment of awkwardness as he scrambles to obey gives me a minute to unzip my fly and reach for the hard dick in my pocket. Switching out my packer with the harder cock took a lot of practice and is still awkward, but a quick glance at the young man on his knees for me shows only eager anticipation.
If that was the first time he ever sucked cock, you wouldn’t know it from the eagerness with which he swallows my dick. His mouth felt so good. He moaned around my cock as I curled my hands in his hair, holding his head so I could explore his limits. I made him gag and drool and whimper, keeping up a stream of dirty talk about what a good little cock-slut he was all the while. The more filthy words I said, the more desperately he sucked me.
My hand went my junk too, because I want to come while I’m in his mouth. And I do, with two hands in his hair, choking him with my cock as I moaned. I pulled back, covering my fingers with my spunk that I in turn smeared all over his face. I half-expected him to flinch; I definitely didn’t expect his tongue to dart out, tasting me on his lips. His mouth was obscene – I couldn’t wait to make him beg later.
Later… Fuck, I wanted him in my bed. I never did that with people I picked up at this bar, but there was something captivating about the young man on his knees in front of me. This was an experience I wanted to savour for slightly longer than a hasty bathroom fuck, even though I had condoms and lube in my other pocket.
“Clean me up. I want to dance with you before taking you back to my flat to fuck you properly. I want to make sure your cock is aching before I touch it.”
He grinned up at me, and I couldn’t help smiling back.
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Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.