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Daniel stares at his reflection in the mirror of his small bathroom. The cold water he splashes on his face fails to calm the nervousness that runs through his veins like electricity. His short, tousled brown hair falls over his forehead as his green eyes shine with a mixture of terror and determination. The small scar on his left cheek seems more pronounced under the flickering fluorescent light.
He has no choice. College bills pile up on his desk like a death sentence. The fridge is empty except for a jar of mayonnaise and half a liter of sour milk. He has spent three days eating only instant ramen, and his already thin body is beginning to show signs of malnutrition. His friend Antony had offered him this opportunity weeks ago, and he, in his pride, had rejected the proposal time and time again. But now, with eviction looming and tuition unpaid, pride has become a luxury he cannot afford.
Antony waits for him in the living room of his small apartment. His friend, two years older than him, has been working for six months offering sexual services to men and women. He is bisexual, without complexes, and the money he earns allows him to live a comfortable life while he finishes his degree in business administration. Daniel had always looked at him with a mixture of envy and silent judgment, but that night, as Antony counts the bills from his last client, Daniel feels only despair.
“Are you sure about this?” Antony asks, putting the money in his wallet. His tone is soft, without a trace of mockery. He knows Daniel's situation. He also knows the secret Daniel hides under his loose-fitting clothes: a disproportionate penis that contradicts every aspect of his appearance.
Daniel nods, speechless. His throat is dry as the desert. His hands tremble as he gets up from the old sofa and takes the jacket Antony hands him. It's a cool October night, and the air hitting his face as they leave the building helps clear his thoughts. The streets are wet from the afternoon rain, and the lights of the cars reflect off the asphalt like neon snakes.
They walk in silence for several minutes until they reach an apartment building in the city center. The facade is discreet, with no signs or indications of what goes on inside. Antony knocks three times on the black metal door, and an intercom crackles before letting them in. The interior is surprisingly elegant: burgundy walls, dim lighting, black leather furniture. The smell of incense and something sweeter, perhaps jasmine, floats in the air.
A woman in her mid-forties greets them at the reception desk. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and her tight black dress shows off a figure that has been carefully maintained. She is the manager of the establishment, the owner of this pleasure business that operates in a legal gray area. Antony greets her familiarly; they have worked together for months, and she knows exactly what kind of clients her workers prefer.
“So you're the new guy” says the woman, her eyes scanning Daniel's body with clinical assessment. There is no desire in her gaze, only calculation. “Antony has told me something about you. You're young. Inexperienced. But you have something special, according to him”.
Daniel feels his face burning. He can't look her in the eye. His gaze is fixed on the floor, on the Persian rug covering the entrance, on anything other than this woman's scrutiny. Antony pats him on the shoulder, a gesture of silent support, before disappearing down a side corridor where other workers greet him familiarly.
“Come on, it seems like today is your lucky day” orders the manager, turning on her heels without waiting for a response. Daniel follows her down a long hallway with doors on both sides. From some of them he hears muffled sounds: moans, laughter, the creaking of beds. His heart is beating so hard that he fears the woman might hear it. Sweat beads on his temples, and his palms are damp inside his jacket pockets.
They reach a room at the end of the hallway. It is a locker room, with metal lockers lined up against the walls and a wooden bench in the center. Several men are already inside, some completely naked, others in various stages of undress. Daniel notices them looking at him curiously as he enters, and he realizes that he is the youngest in the group by several years. The other men are between twenty-five and forty years old, with bodies ranging from athletic to stocky. Some have beards, others tattoos. They all seem comfortable in their own skin in a way Daniel has never experienced.
“Take off your clothes” says the manager, her tone brooking no argument. “Everything. Leave it in one of the lockers”.
Daniel freezes for a moment. His baggy clothes have been his armor for years, the shield he uses to hide his secret from the world. Without them, he feels exposed, vulnerable, like a crab without a shell. But the other men's gazes are neither mocking nor contemptuous. They are professional, almost indifferent, as if his body were just another body on a night's work.
With clumsy fingers, Daniel begins to undress. First his jacket, then the oversized T-shirt he wears to hide his thin torso. His narrow shoulders and slightly visible ribs are exposed under the artificial light of the dressing room. Then his jeans, which slide down his thin legs to the floor. He is left in his underwear, gray boxers that are already beginning to show a prominent bulge, and this is where his hands stop.
“We don't have all night” says one of the men, a blond guy with a crew cut. There is no hostility in his voice, only pragmatism. “She hates to wait”.
Daniel takes a breath and removes the last piece of clothing. His penis, even completely flaccid, hangs heavily between his legs, reaching almost halfway down his thighs. The silence in the room is palpable. The other men stop feigning indifference and look at him with something he can't quite identify: surprise, envy, perhaps both. Even some of those who are partially erect don't reach Daniel's dimensions in his most passive state.
“Damn” someone murmurs. Daniel doesn't recognize who spoke, but he feels his face burning with an intensity that threatens to consume him. He stands next to his locker, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides, not knowing what to do with them, not knowing how to hide what has been his cross to bear and his secret his entire life.
The manager returns after a few minutes, and this time she is not alone. Behind her enters an older woman with silvery, almost white hair styled in elegant waves that frame a face lined with fine wrinkles. Her dress is dark green silk, and her jewelry, though discreet, sparkles with the quality of the expensive. Daniel estimates that she must be between sixty and seventy years old, but there is something about her bearing that makes her seem timeless. She is not old in the traditional sense; she is mature, like a wine that has aged gracefully.
“This is tonight's client” announces the manager. “She wants to see all the available men before making her selection".
The older woman walks slowly in front of the line of naked men. Her eyes, blue as ice, scan each body with the same clinical assessment the manager had used earlier. But there is something else in her gaze: a restrained appetite, a hunger that has learned to be patient. She stops in front of each man, sometimes touching an arm or a chest, murmuring comments that Daniel can't hear. Some of the men have erect penises, prominent and ready. Others are partially aroused, responding to the tension of the moment. But when the woman reaches Daniel, his penis hangs heavy and limp between his legs, a silent testimony to his nerves.
The woman stops. Her eyes scan Daniel's body from his tousled hair to his bare feet, pausing with obvious interest on the enormous member that hangs almost to his knees. Daniel can feel her gaze as if it were touch, a phantom brush that makes his skin bristle. The silence stretches on, endless, until the woman gives an almost imperceptible nod to the manager.
“The rest of you may leave” says the manager, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. The other men begin to get dressed or leave the room, some casting curious or envious glances at Daniel. In a matter of seconds, he is left alone with the older woman and the manager.
The manager approaches Daniel and speaks to him in a low voice. “Do everything she asks you to do. No questions, no hesitation. Understood?”
Daniel nods, his throat too dry to form words. The manager leaves the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Now he is alone with this woman whose name he does not even know, whose intentions he can only guess at.
The woman kneels in front of him with an elegance that seems rehearsed, practiced for decades. Her knees don't creak, her movements are fluid like water. Daniel watches from above, his heart pounding against his ribs, as she takes his flaccid penis in one hand. Her fingers are soft, manicured with expensive creams, and her touch is firm but gentle. The electric contact of her skin against his sends a shock through his nervous system.
Instinctively, by uncontrollable reflex, Daniel's penis begins to react. Blood flows into the spongy tissue, and slowly, like a creature awakening from a long sleep, his member begins to thicken and lengthen. The woman smiles, a gesture that transforms her mature face into something almost maternal, almost predatory. Her hand adjusts around the phallus growing in her palm, and Daniel feels a wave of heat rising from his belly to his face.
“Perfect” murmurs the woman. Her voice is deep, with a hoarseness that suggests years of tobacco or perhaps simply the ravages of time. She stands up with the same elegance with which she knelt, without letting go of Daniel's penis, which now points toward her with a semi-erection that promises much more. “Follow me”.
Daniel obeys. He has no choice, he wants no other choice. They walk down the hallway, the woman ahead in her silk dress whispering with every step, Daniel behind with his enormous penis swaying between his legs. They pass other doors, and Daniel hears the same sounds as before: moans, laughter, the unmistakable rhythm of bodies colliding with bodies. His excitement grows with every step, fueled by anticipation and fear in equal measure.
They reach a door at the end of a side corridor, far from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the establishment. The woman opens it without letting go of Daniel's penis, pulling him inside as if he were an animal on a leash. The room is spacious, much larger than he expected, lit by floor lamps that cast a warm, golden light. There are red velvet sofas against the walls, tables with fruit and wine, and in the center, a huge bed covered with black sheets.
But it's not the decor that takes Daniel's breath away. It's the women. About twenty of them, sitting on the sofas, standing by the tables, talking quietly among themselves. They are all older, much older. Their ages range from fifty to seventy, and their bodies show the unmistakable signs of time: breasts that have surrendered to gravity, hips that have widened with age, wrinkled skin that tells stories of decades lived. Some are beautiful in a classic way, with carefully styled silver hair and expertly applied makeup. Others are more ordinary, women who were never considered beauties but who have aged with the dignity of those who have stopped caring about the opinions of others.
Silence falls over the room when Daniel enters. Several pairs of eyes fix on him, scanning his slim body, his young face, his enormous penis, which the first woman is still holding. The air is heavy with the smell of mixed perfumes, powders, and colognes, and something deeper and more primal that takes Daniel a moment to identify: excitement. These women are aroused, and he is the object of their desire.
“Good evening, ladies” says the woman who guides him, her voice echoing in the silent room. “I've brought something special for us tonight”.
The women murmur among themselves, their voices like the rustling of dry leaves. Some smile, others lick their lips in anticipation. One of them, who must be around seventy years old with completely white hair and skin like ancient parchment, gets up from her sofa and approaches Daniel. Her dress is pale blue, and her breasts hang heavy beneath the fabric, her nipples marking dark spots against the silk.
“Is this your first time with us?” asks the older woman, her wrinkled hand reaching for Daniel's arm. Her touch is soft, almost like paper, but there is unexpected strength in her fingers. “How delightful”.
Daniel can't respond. His mind is processing the situation too slowly, trying to reconcile reality with his expectations. He expected one client, maybe two. He expected something quick, clinical, impersonal. He didn't expect this: a room full of mature women looking at him like a feast after forty days of fasting.
The first woman releases his penis and approaches the others, leaving Daniel standing in the center of the room, exposed and vulnerable. The women begin to move, to approach, forming a circle around him. Their hands begin to touch him: a shoulder here, a hip there, a thigh, a cheek. The fingers of half a dozen women run over his body simultaneously, and Daniel feels his penis grow until it reaches full erection, pointing toward the ceiling like an obscene mast.
“How magnificent” sighs one of the women, her hand wrapping around the base of his penis. Her fingers cannot quite encircle it completely. “How old are you, boy?”
“Twenty” replies Daniel, his voice barely a whisper.
“Twenty” the woman repeats, savoring the word. “So young. So fresh. And this...” Her hand slides along the length of his member. “This is a gift from heaven”.
Another woman approaches from behind, her large, soft breasts pressing against Daniel's back. Her hands run over his slim chest, her fingers expertly pinching his nipples. “We're going to take good care of you tonight” she murmurs in his ear, her warm breath against his skin. “We're going to do things to you that girls your age don't even know exist”.
Daniel feels his knees go weak. The stimulation is too much, the touches too many. He has never been with more than one person at a time, and now he has dozens of hands exploring every inch of his body. His breathing quickens, his heart threatens to burst, and his penis, if possible, hardens even more until the skin is taut and shiny in the golden light.
The women begin to undress. It is a slow, deliberate process, like a slow-motion striptease. Silk dresses slide to the floor, revealing bodies that society has decided are no longer desirable but which Daniel, in his state of growing arousal, finds strangely beautiful. Breasts fall free, some large and heavy like ripe fruit, others smaller and softer. Wide hips are revealed, covered by the soft skin of thighs that have lost the firmness of youth but have gained something else: a softness, an invitation to abandonment.
And between their legs, their pussies. Mature pussies, some completely shaved, others with gray hair framing fleshy, dark lips. Some show signs of childbirth and years of use: elongated lips, prominent clitorises, openings that look worn but no less hungry for it. The smell of female arousal fills the room, mingling with the perfumes, creating a cocktail that makes Daniel's head spin.
“Lie down” orders the first woman, pointing to the huge bed in the center. Daniel obeys, walking unsteadily toward the bed and letting himself fall onto the black sheets that contrast dramatically with his pale skin. His penis rises from his belly, a column of flesh that seems impossible for his thin body.
The women approach the bed like a swarm, climbing onto the mattress from all sides. They kneel beside him, lie on top of him, settle into every available space. Their hands are everywhere: caressing his chest, his legs, his penis. Their mouths too: kissing his neck, his shoulders, licking his nipples, nibbling his earlobes.
One of the women, with snow-white hair, positions herself over his face. Her pussy is directly over his mouth, her full lips parting to reveal a wet interior. “Kiss” she commands, lowering her hips until her flesh makes contact with Daniel's lips.
The taste hits him like a wave. It is mossy, salty, deeply feminine in a way that no young woman has ever been. This mature woman's pussy has history, it has depth, it has a flavor that has matured over decades like aged cheese or stored wine. Daniel opens his mouth and his tongue instinctively comes out, licking the opening before him, exploring the folds of flesh that have known pleasure countless times.
“Mmmm” moans the woman, her hips moving in slow circles against his face. “You have a good tongue. A very good tongue”.
While his mouth is busy, other women take care of his penis. He feels hands caressing it, mouths licking it, breasts surrounding it in a fleshy massage. One woman positions herself over his erection, guiding the thick head toward her entrance. Daniel feels the heat before penetration, the wetness already dripping onto his glans.
“You're big, boy” the woman gasps as she slowly lowers her hips, her pussy expanding to accommodate the unusual thickness. “Very big. But we know how to take you”.
This woman's pussy isn't tight like the girls his age he's known. It's used, open, but that doesn't mean there's no resistance. On the contrary, the lack of tension allows the vaginal walls to fit around his penis like a velvet glove, enveloping it in a moist warmth that seems endless. The woman lowers herself more and more, inch by inch, until her uterus kisses the tip of his penis and her gray hair collides with Daniel's pelvis.
“Oh my God!” she exclaims, her body trembling. “It's in my uterus! I can feel it in my uterus!”
The other women murmur with envy. Those nearby touch the place where the bodies meet, feeling the thickness of the phallus that has disappeared inside their companion. One of them moves closer, her tongue extending to lick the clitoris of the woman on top as Daniel's penis penetrates her.
The woman on top begins to move faster, her arousal growing with the stimulation of Daniel's tongue. Her juices flow over his face, soaking him, drowning him in ripe feminine essence. Daniel licks and licks, swallowing what he can, feeling his own orgasm approaching like a runaway train.
“Don't you dare cum yet” warns the first woman, who is watching everything from the edge of the bed. “You have work to do. Many of us need to be filled tonight”.
The woman riding his cock begins to move, lifting and lowering her hips in a rhythm she has perfected over decades. Her breasts sway with the motion, her dark nipples hardened with pleasure. Daniel feels his cock being milked by her experienced vaginal walls, the inner muscles of this woman working his flesh with a skill that only comes with years of practice.
“Come inside me” she pants, leaning forward so that her breasts hang over Daniel's chest. “Fill me up. I need to feel your young milk in my old pussy”.
Daniel can't answer, his mouth still occupied with the pussy moving over it. But his body responds for him: his hips arch, his muscles tense, and with a moan muffled by female flesh, he ejaculates. His semen gushes out, stream after stream, filling the woman's uterus with an amount that seems impossible. The excessive production of his condition manifests itself in all its glory: absurd amounts of hot milk flooding the woman's insides until it begins to overflow, dripping down the sides of his penis and forming a puddle on her thighs.
“Yes! Yes!” the woman screams, her own orgasm shaking her body. "I can feel it! You're filling me up! God, there's so much!"
The woman on his face cums simultaneously, her body convulsing as a stream of clear juices ejaculates onto Daniel's face. He drinks them as fast as he can, drowning in the liquid pleasure of this mature woman. Their taste is intense, concentrated, and Daniel feels something primitive awaken inside him: a desire for more, for always more.
When the spasms end, the woman on his penis gets up with trembling legs. Daniel's semen spills out of her pussy in a torrent, an absurd amount that leaves a shiny stain on the black sheets. The other women watch with hungry eyes, some licking their lips, others touching themselves as they wait their turn.
What follows is a parade of mature bodies, a carousel of hungry pussies riding Daniel one after another. Each woman has her own flavor, her own texture, her own way of moving. Some are aggressive, riding fiercely as their breasts bounce wildly. Others are gentler, moving in slow circles that make his penis touch every corner of their insides. They all want the same thing: to be filled, to be marked, to be remembered.
Daniel loses count of how many times he ejaculates. His condition ensures that he never runs dry, that each orgasm is as abundant as the last. Semen accumulates on the bed, dripping from the satisfied pussies that withdraw, forming puddles and stains that transform the black sheets into a map of his pleasure. The smell of sex and semen fills the room, mixing with perfumes and female arousal to create an intoxicating aroma.
After what seems like hours, the women begin to change tactics. They no longer just want his penis inside their pussies; they want it everywhere. They make him stand up while they kneel before him, licking and kissing his penis, sucking the remains of semen from his glans. They lay him on his back while rubbing their breasts against his body, using him as a toy for their own pleasure. Some masturbate in front of him, their fingers working their clits as they look at him, asking him to cum on their bodies when they reach climax.
Daniel obeys every command, fulfills every whim. His initial nervousness has been replaced by a kind of trance, a state where only pleasure exists: that of giving and that of receiving. He has discovered something tonight, something he never would have expected: he likes it. He likes being used by these mature women, he likes the feel of their soft, experienced bodies, he likes filling them until they overflow and beyond.
Mature women, with their used pussies and sagging breasts, with their wrinkles and gray hair, now seem incredible to him. Not despite their age, but because of it. There is something about the way they move without inhibitions, how they know their bodies and what they want, how they take pleasure as a right rather than a request. Daniel feels an admiration he never experienced for girls his age, a reverence for these women who have lived full lives and still find time for desire.
The first woman approaches the end, when most of the others have already retired to the sofas, exhausted and satisfied. She hasn't mounted yet, she has observed and directed, but now it's her turn. She approaches Daniel, who lies on the bed strewn with fluids, and lies down next to him.
“You liked it” she says, not asking a question. Her hand caresses his chest, tracing circles on his sweaty skin. “You liked fucking all these old women”.
Daniel nods, no longer ashamed. “Yes” he admits, his voice hoarse. “I liked it”.
The woman smiles, and there is something almost tender in her expression. “You have a gift, boy. A gift that we appreciate more than you can imagine”. She leans down and kisses him, a soft but deep kiss that tastes of wine and all the women who have passed through her lips tonight. “You'll come back. Soon. We all want you back”.
Daniel doesn't respond, but he knows she's right. He'll be back. Not for the money, though he desperately needs it. He'll be back because he's found something tonight he didn't know he was looking for: a place where his strange body is celebrated rather than ridiculed, where his excessive semen production is a blessing rather than a shame, where women desire him with an intensity he's never experienced outside these walls.
The women begin to dress slowly, their bodies marked by the night of pleasure, their pussies still dripping with traces of his semen. They kiss and caress him goodbye, murmuring promises of future returns. The first woman is the last to leave, pausing at the door to give him one last look.
“You're special, Daniel, you were called no” she says, using his name for the first time.
The door closes behind her, and Daniel is left alone in the silent room. His body is exhausted, covered in dried fluids and sweat, but his mind is strangely clear. He slowly sits up, looking for his clothes, thinking about the money he has earned tonight and the bills he will be able to pay.
But more than that, think about next time. About the mature women who will be waiting for his return, about the hungry pussies that will need to be filled, about the soft bodies that will want to be bathed in his semen. And as he gets dressed, as he walks toward the exit of the establishment under the gray light of dawn, Daniel smiles for the first time in weeks.
He has a job. He has money. And he has something else: mature women have accepted him, desired him, made him feel like he's never felt before. And he has discovered that he loves it. He would fill them completely, as many times as they wanted, because now he knows that there is nothing like the wet, experienced embrace of a mature pussy.
End