Chapter 1: Filthy Bathroom Deflowering
The thump of cheap bass from the pub's sound system pulsed through the floorboards of the single-stall bathroom, a faint echo compared to the drumbeat in Mateo’s blood. The air was thick, a damp stew of mildew and spilled beer. In the cracked mirror, clouded by ghost-fingerprints, Mateo watched Amir’s reflection. The kid’s eyes were wide, a dark, liquid uncertainty swimming in them.
“Scared?” Mateo’s voice was a low rumble. He didn’t move from where he leaned against the locked door, his broad shoulders blocking the only exit. He’d watched Amir all night from across the bar, a sleek fox in a den of wolves. The way he sipped his cider, the nervous tap of his expensive sneaker, the glances that lingered a second too long on the swell of Mateo’s biceps beneath his thin white t-shirt. The hunt had been too easy.
“No. I’m not scared.” Amir’s chin lifted, but his voice wavered. He was beautiful in a way that made Mateo’s teeth ache. Soft. Silky black hair, full lips, a slim frame swimming in a designer hoodie. A rich Arab boy playing at being daring. It was the ‘playing’ part Mateo intended to shatter.
Mateo pushed off the door. Two steps closed the cramped space between them. He didn’t touch Amir, not yet. He just loomed, letting the kid breathe in his scent, the clean sweat and expensive deodorant cutting through the bathroom’s grime. “You followed me in here,” Mateo stated, his gaze dropping to Amir’s mouth. “You know what happens in places like this.”
“I…” Amir’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I thought maybe we could talk.”
A sharp bark of laughter escaped Mateo. He reached out, one calloused thumb tracing the elegant line of Amir’s jaw. The kid flinched, then leaned into the touch, a betraying sigh escaping him. “You don’t want to talk, hijo. You’ve been staring at my cock through my jeans for an hour. You want to know how it feels.”
The vulgarity, the sheer certainty of it, made Amir blush a furious red. He didn’t deny it. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment.
“Look at me,” Mateo commanded.
Amir’s eyes opened. The fear was still there, but beneath it, a hungry curiosity burned. That was the fuel.
In one fluid, brutal motion, Mateo spun him around. Amir’s palms slapped against the cold, greasy glass of the mirror with a startled cry. Mateo’s body pressed against his back, pinning him, the hard ridge of his erection grinding into the cleft of Amir’s ass through their clothes. The heat was immediate, shocking.
“See that?” Mateo growled into his ear, nodding at their reflection. Amir, flushed and wide-eyed. Mateo, a mountain of intent behind him, eyes dark and predatory. “You see what you’re asking for?”
Before Amir could answer, Mateo’s hand snaked around his front, fingers fumbling with the button of his ridiculously soft designer jeans. The button popped. The zipper hissed down. Mateo’s hand dove inside, past the waistband of silk boxers, and closed around Amir’s cock. It was already half-hard, slick at the tip. Amir jerked, a choked gasp echoing in the tiny room.
“Already leaking for me,” Mateo muttered, his voice thick with contemptuous approval. He began to stroke, his grip firm, twisting slightly on the upstroke. Amir’s head fell back against Mateo’s shoulder, a moan torn from him. His hips began to stutter forward into the relentless fist. “Yeah, you like that. Knew you would. Little princess needs a rough hand.”
Mateo worked him to full, throbbing hardness, feeling the slender length jump in his palm. Then, abruptly, he let go. Amir whimpered at the loss. “Bend over,” Mateo said, shoving him forward until his torso was parallel to the filthy sink. “Hands on the rim. Don’t let go.”
Trembling, Amir obeyed, his knuckles white on the porcelain stained with brownish water marks. Mateo took a step back, the sound of his own zipper like a gunshot in the quiet. He spat loudly into his own palm, the sound crude and wet. He didn’t prepare, didn’t ask. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Amir’s jeans and boxers and yanked them down to his thighs in one violent pull. The cool, damp air hit Amir’s exposed skin.
Mateo smoothed his spit-slick hand over Amir’s tight, twitching hole. The kid shuddered violently, a muffled sob caught in his throat. “Please…”
“Please what?” Mateo aligned the broad, purple head of his cock with the clenched entrance. He was thick, veined, brutally hard. He applied pressure, not pushing, just letting Amir feel the insistent, impossible stretch waiting for him. “You want me to stop? Say it.”
Amir was silent, panting, his forehead now against the mirror. He shook his head quickly, side to side.
“Didn’t think so.”
Mateo drove forward.
The cry Amir let out was raw, ripped from somewhere deep. It wasn’t all pleasure; it was the stunning, burning pain of intrusion. Mateo gave him no quarter, sinking halfway in with that first brutal thrust, his own groan lost in the screech of Amir’s pain. It was agonizingly tight, a hot, silken vise swallowing him.
“Fuck… like a virgin,” Mateo gasped, his hips snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt. He was fully sheathed, his balls slapping against Amir’s ass. The kid was shaking, crying openly now, tears streaking the dirty mirror. Mateo held there, letting him feel the full, devastating stretch. “You are, aren’t you? Your first real cock. And it’s mine.”
He began to move. Short, punishing strokes at first, each one drawing a sharp gasp. He leaned over, his chest plastered to Amir’s back, and put his mouth by the kid’s ear. “You take it so good. Taking this fat Filipino dick like you were made for it. My little Arab fucktoy.”
The words were filthy, degrading. With each thrust, Amir’s cries softened, morphing into ragged moans. His body began to open, to accept, a natural lubrication taking over where spit had been. The rhythm became smoother, deeper. Mateo straightened up, grabbing a handful of Amir’s hair and yanking his head back to watch their reflection.“Look. Watch yourself get ruined.”
Amir’s eyes were glazed, his mouth open. He watched, mesmerized, as Mateo’s muscular ass clenched and drove into him over and over. The sound of skin slapping skin, wet and rhythmic, filled the bathroom, louder than the distant music.
“I’m gonna come inside that tight little hole,” Mateo grunted, his pace becoming erratic, brutal. His balls drew up tight. “Gonna fill you up.Mark you. You’ll feel me leaking out of you all night.”
The promise, the sheer ownership of it, sent Amir over the edge. His cock, trapped between his belly and the sink, jerked and pulsed without a single touch, streaking the porcelain with white. The clenching of his orgasm triggered Mateo’s. With a final, guttural roar, he slammed home and held, his thrusts becoming shallow spasms as he emptied himself deep inside Amir’s body.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. The smell of sex now overpowered the mildew. Mateo slowly pulled out, his spent cock glistening. Amir slumped against the sink, legs trembling, his jeans still tangled around his thighs. He looked devastated.Used.
Mateo tucked himself away, zipped up. He turned on the rusted tap, rinsing his hands in the cold water, not looking at the mess in the basin. He caught Amir’s stunned reflection in the mirror.
“Clean yourself up,” Mateo said, his voice flat, all the heat gone from it. He tossed a paper towel from the dispenser. It landed on Amir’s shoulder. “Your Uber’s probably outside.”
He unlocked the door. The roar of the pub washed in for a second before the door swung shut behind him, leaving Amir alone in the fluorescent glow, the wet, aching proof of his choices slowly cooling on his skin.