Hidden Cravings Ignited 💋
Strip away the daily grind, and what lurks beneath? For Landon, a rugged 38-year-old mechanic with grease-stained hands and a body built from years wrenching engines, it was a storm of pent-up filth waiting to erupt. Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Jump to Chapter 6
Chapter 1: The Cabin Escape
Landon gripped the steering wheel tighter as the dirt road twisted up the mountain, pines whipping by like judgmental fingers. He’d told his ex he’d be “fixing up the old truck” this weekend—bullshit, pure and simple. Truth was, he craved isolation, a spot where no one could interrupt the filthy rituals brewing in his gut.
The cabin squatted at the end of the track, logs weathered gray, windows dark and staring. He killed the engine, the sudden silence thick, broken only by wind rustling leaves and his own heavy breaths. Inside smelled of damp wood and faint mildew, a scent that hit his nostrils like an old lover’s musk.
He dumped his duffel on the creaky floorboards, heart pounding already. Buried in the bag’s hidden compartment—yeah, he’d sewn that pocket himself—lay the goods. A thick rubber sleeve molded like a greedy slit, buzzing rings for his meat, and a chain of fat plugs that promised to wreck his backdoor in the best way. Lube, glistening black bottle, waited like liquid sin.
“Fuck yeah,” he muttered, stripping off his flannel, chest hair matted with sweat. His cock twitched in his jeans, thickening at the thought. No wife nagging, no kids banging on the door. Just him, raw and unchecked.
He fired up the laptop, screen glowing blue in the dim room. Downloads from last night’s binge: clips of stacked moms taking it deep, asses spread wide, throats bulging with stranger dick. The audio hit first—wet slurps, guttural moans—sending a shiver down his spine.
Chapter 2: First Stroke of Freedom
Mirrors weren’t fancy here, but the full-length one by the bed did the trick. Landon stood buck-naked, muscles flexing under tanned skin, his nine-incher hanging heavy between thick thighs. He spat into his palm, gripped the base, and watched veins bulge like rivers on a map.
Slow pulls at first, savoring the swell, the way his foreskin slid back to reveal the angry purple crown. Precum beaded, salty on his fingertip when he tasted it—sharp, like ocean brine mixed with his own musk. The laptop porn ramped up: a blonde milf on her knees, face glazed in ropes of jizz, scooping it up with greedy fingers.
“Shit, look at her swallow that load,” Landon growled to the empty room, pace quickening. His balls drew tight, slap-slap of flesh echoing off log walls. Heat built low, a freight train roaring. He aimed at the mirror, first blast splattering glass in white streaks, hot and viscous.
Chest heaving, he smeared it around, inhaling the bleach-sharp tang. Not enough. Not by half. That hidden stash called louder now, promising depths his fist alone couldn’t touch.
Outside, the forest whispered secrets. On impulse, he yanked on boots and nothing else, cock swinging semi-hard. The trail behind the cabin dipped into shadows, ferns brushing his calves like teasing tongues. Fifty yards in, a mossy boulder beckoned. Pants—no pants at all—he dropped trou imaginary and stroked under open sky.
Birds chirped oblivious, wind cooling his slick shaft. “Goddamn nature’s better than any bitch’s mouth,” he grunted, blasting onto leaves. Cum glistened on green, steaming faintly in cool air. Back inside, sticky thighs chafed—a delicious reminder.
Chapter 3: Unlocking the Backdoor 🔥
Dusk painted the cabin orange as Landon unpacked for real. The anal chain gleamed—seven bulbs swelling from grape-sized to a fist-threatening plum. He slathered it in lube, slick as motor oil, the squelch lewd in quiet.
On all fours, ass to the mirror, he watched his hole wink. First bead popped in easy, a stretch like a lover’s probing finger. Second, third—prostate singing hello, sparks shooting to his tip. “Oh fuck, that’s the spot,” he hissed, voice ragged.
By the fifth, sweat beaded his brow, hole clenching greedy around the invader. Last one burned sweet, ring of muscle yielding with a pop. Full. Stuffed. His cock raged untouched, drooling strings onto rough-hewn sheets that scratched his knees like needy nails.
Porn switched to doubles: two vixens tonguing creampied slits, cum bubbling like froth. Landon tugged the ring slow, feeling each bead drag his rim outward—pop, gasp, throb. Out they came, hole gaping pink, air kissing tender flesh.
He flipped, legs wide, replaying the pull. Thoughts raced to forbidden shit—his ex’s sister, that hidden crush from years back, bent over just like this. Stroke-fest resumed, hand flying. Orgasm hit like a seized engine, jizz arcing to splat his pecs, salty rivers down ribs.
Tongue darted out, lapping a drop—bitter, warm, addictive. “Taste my own nut? Fuckin’ pervert,” he chuckled darkly, scooping more. The beads? Back in, deeper this time.
Chapter 4: The Sleeve’s Savage Grip
Night fell hard, crickets sawing outside. Landon lit a lantern, shadows dancing like demons on walls. The sleeve toy sat fat and inviting, fake labia puffy, tunnel ribbed with nubs promising hellfire bliss.
He buzzed the vibrating ring on first—electric hum vibrating balls to brains. Shaft ballooned, trapped blood making it a steel rod, head shiny as chrome. Lube poured generous, glop-glopping inside the toy.
First thrust: velvet vice. Nubs milked every ridge, tight ring midway clamping his flare like a throat gag. “Holy shit—better than pussy,” he groaned, hips bucking. The vibe thrummed relentless, prostate beads amplifying every plunge.
Porn queen deepthroating now, gags wet and choking. Landon matched rhythm, sleeve slurping obscenely. Sweat-slick skin slapped plastic, scent of lube and ball-sweat thick as fog.
Edge play: slow deep fucks, then jackhammer. Beads yanked midway—double assault. “Gonna flood this bitch,” he snarled. Third load erupted, thick globs overflowing the sleeve, dribbling hot over knuckles.
Not done. He mashed the toy to his mouth, tonguing the mess—creamy, tangy, his essence pure filth. Swallowed hard, cock twitching revival. That hidden hunger gnawed deeper; what else could his body crave?
Chapter 5: Midnight Marathon
Hours blurred. Landon lost count of rounds—four? Five? Cock sore but insistent, ring keeping it rigid. He rigged the phone camera, tripod shaky, capturing his debasement for later fuel.
“Watch this, you dirty fuck,” he narrated to lens, beads halfway in, sleeve devouring half his length. Pull, thrust, moan—audio raw, grunts animalistic. Forest night sounds seeped in: owl hoots, leaves crackling like applause.
A new clip played: gangbang creampie feast, women slurping loads from wrecked holes. Fantasy warped—imagined his buddies from the shop, their rough hands pinning him. Taboo twist hit: sniffing out dad’s old work van once, finding crusty mags. That hidden spark ignited now.
Vibe cranked max, beads rattling inside. He rode the edge, denying release till stars burst. When it crashed, cum volcano-ed into the sleeve, excess spraying chin. Licked clean, salty blizzard melting on tongue.
Collapsed, body humming electric, ass pulsing around remnants. Dawn crept rosy through cracks.
Chapter 6: Dawn’s Filthy Finale 💋🔥
Morning light filtered dusty, birdsong cheerful mockery. Landon woke sticky, cock nestled in dried seed. No shower—embraced the crust, scent pungent reminder.
Last hurrah: all toys deployed. Ring humming, beads stuffed to brim, sleeve primed fresh. He humped slow, savoring aches—burning rim, chafed frenulum—like badges.
Phone rolling finale. “One more load for the road, boys,” he rasped, voice wrecked. Porn marathon peaked: milf rimming ass-to-mouth chain. Mimicked, yanking beads explosive—prostate milked dry heaves of pleasure.
Came weak but intense, dribbles pooling navel. Fingered it up, sucking deliberate, flavor mellowed overnight. Packed slow, body singing satiation. The drive home? Buzzing afterglow, cabin’s secrets tucked away—but that hidden fire? Lit forever.
Back in his garage life, grease and gears awaited. But now, every wrench turn whispered promises of the next escape. Cravings buried no more.
