Younger trans man going to a dive bar for the first time with his Older Trans man friend. They share some drinks, have a good time in the Smokey dark bar. Then one of the older guy’s flings shows up, biker guy, real silver fox type, and starts flirting with the younger man, basically could be his grandson….
Do they get into a fight? Do they resolve the situation in the cheap motel across the street? The possibilities are endless!
It takes three or four tries, but eventually I agree to let this older trans guy I’ve been fucking take me out to the biker bar on the edge of town. He drives. I’ve heard the stories of the day he had to sell his motorcycle enough to last a lifetime, and I honestly don’t mind his modest sedan—been bent over in the backseat enough times to even be sort of fond of it—but I tease him about missing his bike on way there anyway. How he must hate not being able to pull into the lot on a thrumming engine, a hot piece of ass clinging tight to his waist from behind. Coming in his car, I say, must make it a lot less clear that I’m his.
He looks over at me and shakes his head, smiling with the corner of his mouth.
“Nah, there won’t be any problem with that,” he sighs. “Young guy like you, showing up with an oldhead like me—everyone there’ll know it’s some kind of initiation.”
He’s barely forty, and I tell him that he needs to go way more grey before he can start claiming titles like ‘oldhead’. He tells me to be quiet and throws something into my lap to keep me that way.
It’s a worn black cuff, buffed grey and gleaming at the edges of the well-maintained leather. I notice for the first time that his pants aren’t a dark-wash denim—they’re slick black leather, just as worn and well-kept as the bracelet.
I swallow and put it on. I thought the faded t-shirt and boot-cut jeans did me enough favors, but there’s something undeniable about the black leather wrapped firm and thick around my wrist, the gleaming silver hardware a nice contrast with the dark wiry hairs on my forearm. It’s a very masculine portrait, and my arm does look undeniably better with the stark accessory punctuating it. Charitably, I give him a few more seconds of quiet before going right back in about the bike.
He’s a little pissed off at me when we get there, so he cuffs the back of my neck like a dog and leads me straight inside, boots crunching in the gravel driveway then clomping on the old hardwood. I barely get to take in the old vests hanging from the ceiling, the wall-to-wall framed photographs, or the few old men sitting in a cluster at the dark lacquered bar before he’s beelining me to a booth at the back and shoving me down into the old leather seats with a terse “Wait here.”
He goes to the bar and orders. I understand what he means immediately. I don’t get to choose for myself. That’s reserved for boys who arrived sweet and quiet, wearing more leather and a far sweeter expression. He comes back with a shot and a beer.
He watches me throw back the amber liquid. I barely flinch but my eyes burn. I look away to blink off the swell of wetness, but his smooth, worn fingers catch my jaw.
“Don’t look away,” he murmurs. “There’s a good boy.”
I remind him through gritted teeth that I am not a boy. He sighs and takes a deep swig of his beer. I watch his throat work. I fantasize briefly about pushing him down onto the floor of the bar he loves so much and making his throat work to breathe through the fat lips of my cunt, but it fritzes to static as soon as I feel a warm pressure on my inner thigh.
He’s working my cock through my jeans, fingers pressed with surefire accuracy to the underside of my clit. I feel his warm breath on my neck when he leans in close, for all the world looking like a friend sharing a private joke.
“This is the kind of place men fuck,” he says, his voice warm and low. “You know what I mean? I mean I’m feeling you up in the exact spot a hundred daddies have felt up a hundred boys before. This is where you belong. You understand me?”
I feel the words ripple up my spine as his fingers curl in closer. I open my mouth to answer, but—
“Well, I’ll be damned. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you around today.”
A deep, warm voice cuts through the still air, and my hookup stiffens. My eyes first fix on a pair of shoes, black beat-up boots brown and dusty from the road. My gaze flits up to well-fitting jeans, a white t-shirt so thin it must be older than me, and a bulky, structured black leather jacket.
The guy is a true-blue silver fox, a white beard neatly trimmed against a strong jaw flowing into a full head of grey hair. His eyes are punctuated by crow’s feet on both sides.
My friend responds. “Sure thing.”
I really think the whiskey must be hitting, because I feel dizzy and oversensitive as this gorgeous older man settles in across from us, sitting with his knees splayed and his arms tossed back over the booth. His eyes openly rake over my body, but he doesn’t address me.
“You look good. It’s been what, five years?”
“Seven,” my hookup responds. “Holding up well yourself, old man.”
“Ah, I try,” he sighs. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me? I always figured you’d do well for yourself, but surely we’re talkin’ jailbait with this one, right?”
“I’m twenty-two,” I say. Both of them swivel to look at me. Feeling a little put-on, I add, “And let me guess. An old friend of yours?”
My hookup knows exactly what I mean, the word dry and hyphenate. He smiles wryly and pulls me a bit closer to him, palm still spread across my groin. “Yeah, an old friend. When I was talkin’ about those men in this booth, well—Mr. Silver Fox over here showed me a good time once in a while.”
Silver Fox snorts. “Better than a good time. Shit, I doubt you even fuck this one right. You always gave in so easily.” He spreads his legs further. I can’t see his crotch through the table, but I imagine strained leather and let out a quiet breath. Did my hookup mean for this to happen? Drag me down to a bar full of men, sandwich me up against an old flame who looks like he wouldn’t take a cloud on a sunny day, fuck with my head to prove his power over me?
I don’t think so. I can tell when my friend is completely in control, and there’s not nearly enough slack in his muscles for that to be the case. He’s feeling threatened, or maybe turned on, or maybe both. My blood runs hotter every second the tense silence crawls on.
“I don’t think you know much of anything about me anymore,” my hookup says eventually. “He keeps coming back, that’s all I’ll tell you.”
Silver Fox whistles, low. He’s still looking at me, something like lust burning openly in his expression. I defiantly meet his eyes, but his cool gaze still makes blood rush to my skin. He’s old enough to be my hookup’s dad, who’s right on the fence of being old enough to be mine.
“What do you want?” I ask, suddenly, feeling empowered. This guy must have forty years on me. “I could be your grandson, dude.”
My hookup snorts. Silver Fox shifts in the booth, but he’s still smiling. He looks to my friend. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
“I don’t know why he would.”
He turns back to address me, leaning closer in the crescent-shaped booth so I can actually feel the heat coming off of him, the smell of motor oil and dust.
“That’s what I like about you, boy,” he murmurs, soft and deep. “I like ‘em young and pliable. I’ve turned bigger, older men than you into cocksluts. What makes you think you have a chance?”
I turn to my hookup. “This place have a back room?”
It turns out to be a pretty small back room, but the three of us fit just fine standing. My hookup fits up behind me in a way that I know all too well, from when he’s admiring the way my hips slot against his, how my back arches to press our shoulders together. Silver Fox bullies his way up between my legs and kisses me, forceful. It knocks my head back onto my friend’s shoulder and he makes a soft noise, his hands swiping up underneath my shirt as Silver Fox forces his tongue into my mouth.
He clearly has the experience he was insinuating at the table. I feel immediately dizzy with how confidently he claimed control, how his mouth against mine fits sure and hot. My friend’s hands go straight to my belt and start unbuckling it. Silver Fox pulls back.
“Fuck, you look so good holding a young piece of ass in place.” He tells my hookup. “Really reminds me how much you’ve grown.”
They kiss over my shoulder. It’s an incredible turn-on, to feel their throats working, to hear the soft hisses and groans that break the seal of their lips. Silver Fox starts petting the seam of my jeans. My hookup takes it a step further by shoving my pants down my hips a few inches.
“You gonna fuck him for me or not?” He finally asks, swallowing hard against my shoulder. “Otherwise we’re leaving. He’s well-acquainted with my backseat.”
Silver Fox laughs. “Oh, I’ll fuck him for you,” he says, and his voice seems to have dropped an octave. I hear the sound of his belt. “Can you get pregnant, boy?”
Dazed, I shake my head no. He grunts. I feel my hookup reach down and push my jeans and underwear to the floor at the same time as Silver Fox’s dick springs free, hard and leaking. Silver—ha—glints from the underside of his cockhead. I feel a rush of wetness go straight to my cunt. He’s big.
My friend behind me takes advantage of the pause to lean back against an old, disused bar stool and prop me in his lap. He hooks his hands under my thighs and spreads them open, presenting me for his older friend. For some reason, the setup has drained almost any fight from my body. I can’t believe I’m just going to take him like this.
Silver Fox takes a long, agonizing second to stroke himself, looking us over. “Christ, you’re a picture,” he murmurs. “One of my boys breaking a new’un in. How sweet.”
His dick slots against the facet of my cunt and I shudder out a ragged breath. He’s big, warm, firm, heavy, a litany of adjectives that do nothing but turn me on more. He smiles when he sees my slick glinting in the low light.
“Hope you’re ready for a ride, big guy.”
titsay
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izzy806
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stormborns
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