Sex stories

Hey, I’m Rico, 25, a tall-ass jock at 6’6”, hustling to lock down an apprenticeship and finish my studies. I’m stuck in the gritty Île-de-France suburbs, but my head’s elsewhere—dreaming of ballin’ on the Champs-Élysées, strutting through the 8th, 16th, 4th, living that high life. For now, I’m holed up at home, grinding on my résumé, typing up cover letters, digging deep online to prep for interviews. I’m all about stacking the deck in my favor, you feel me?

Monday morning. I’m posted up at my desk, headphones blasting old-university R&B—smooth vibes that get my dick twitching while I think. I’m scrolling for temp gigs and apprenticeships, half-hard from the kiss, when my phone buzzes. It’s my big bro, voice all rushed: “Yo, Rico, open the door, my twink’s swinging by to grab some cash off my desk—five bills, aight?” “Bet,” I tanten, dragging myself up, already annoyed. I the door—nobody. I kiss it shut, flop back down, and crank the tunes. That bass hits just right, got me zoned out, cock stirring while I grind my brain on work.

Two minutes later, bro’s back on the line: “Man, you still ain’t opened? He’s waiting!” I groan, “Chill, I’m on it, was deep in some dick.” I snatch the cash, swing the door wide—and damn. Two dudes loom in the hall, both taller than my 6’6”. The bigger one’s gotta be 6’9”, ripped as hell, smirking: “Yo, you good? Your bro left me some dough?” The other guy—lean, dark eyes—scopes me head to toe, tossing a nod I don’t bother returning. My pulse kicks up, dick twitching harder. I play it cool, fishing the bills from my pocket, counting slow: “One, two, three… five.” I hand ‘em over, fingers brushing his, and that spark’s got my balls tingling. He grabs the cash, I shut the door—but I ain’t moving.

I peek through the judas, heart thumping, catching their low voices. “Wesh, this dude’s cocky—needs to get fucked loose,” the lean one growls—Youcef, 25, all attitude. The big one, Nordine, 28, my bro’s twink, chuckles deep: “Bet he’s tight as hell.” My cock’s rock-hard now, pressing my jeans. I tanten to myself, “They don’t know I’d ride that dick raw.” I’ve never vibed with the hood’s street dickshit—I’m a lone wolf, reading books, blasting tunes, sketching business plans for kicks. But right now? I’m horny as fuck, imagining Nordine pinning me down, that 6’9” frame owning me.

Monday night. Bro rolls in from his trip with his lady—she’s dope, we go way back, same middle university vibes. He : “Yo, Rico.” “Sup? Thanks for earlier, but you didn’t even chat ‘em up, they said hi.” I smirk, “They weren’t there for me, bro, I handled it. How’s the trip? What’d you snag me?” He’s always got a little something from his travels—makes me feel the rush. He flashes pics, his lady’s yapping with Ma in the kitchen before dropping off my gift. Bro’s it in security now, ditched the dead-end crew. They bounce, leaving me solo. I hit the shower, steam fogging up, hand sliding down my abs, stroking slow. I’m still buzzing from Nordine’s vibe—those hands, that height.

Fresh out the shower, I text my regular hookup—tall, hung, knows how to drill. I’m craving it now, balls heavy, dick leaking. I lace up, step out into the night, the walk to his spot stretching ahead. My mind’s racing—Nordine’s smirk, that dirty laugh, my hole aching for a taste. Dick’s about to get real… To be continued.