Tricked on my 26th birthday by a narcissist

[trialrun]

6. I didn’t shower. Didn’t even think about it. My crotch stank, exactly how I wanted it. Sweat, old pre, and the kind of funk that hits the second I unzip. Some guys clean up to go out. I let the scent do the work.

White shirt, crisp, top four buttons open. No tie. No undershirt. Chest out, skin still a little tacky. The kind of look that gets attention without trying. That’s the trick. Don’t try. Just exist like you’re the prize.

The hotel bar was full of traveling husbands and dead-eyed consultants. I spotted him instantly. Navy slacks, tucked shirt, wedding ring. Soft around the edges but not sloppy. Handsome, in that restrained, suburban way. Already halfway through a bourbon and nursing some fake sense of control.

I slid onto the stool next to him. Didn’t say shit at first. Just sat there and let him feel me.

Then, quiet. “Evening.”

He turned. “Oh. Hey.”

I flagged the bartender and ordered two drinks. Didn’t ask what he wanted. Just handed it to him when it came. He took it without a word.

“You here for work?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Got in this morning. Client meetings on Monday. Just wanted to settle in.”

“How responsible,” I said, smiling like I meant it. “Ian, right?”

His brow furrowed. “Yeah. How’d you…?”

“You told the bartender earlier. I was watching.”

“Oh….” He drank faster.

I leaned in slightly, giving him some skin, some scent. I knew he could smell me, my skin, sweat, everything that had been stewing in my pants since the flight. I saw the way his eyes flicked down and then tried to pretend they didn’t.

“So what do you do?” I asked, sipping slow. Eyes on his mouth.

“Finance. Consulting.” He waved a hand like it didn’t matter. “Mostly boring stuff.”

“But you’re good at it.”

He nodded again, grinning a little.

I just kept the rhythm going. Let him talk. Asked questions like I cared. What city he lived in. What kind of projects he worked on. He mentioned a wife eventually, like he was testing me.

“You faithful?” I asked, casual, like I didn’t already know the answer.

He blinked. Looked down. “No.”

“How long?”

He hesitated. “College.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That far back?”

He took a deeper sip. The alcohol was starting to loosen his jaw.

“Yeah. Started during my senior year. Homecoming weekend. I was in the frat house, living with the guys. We’d been drinking all day. Someone brought out coke, so we started doing lines off a textbook.”

“Classic.”

He grinned. “Music blasting, everyone yelling, high as hell. Then it got later. Just me and a few of the guys left in one of the rooms, sitting around. I was still wired. One of them, Caleb. Massive stoner, always shirtless. He looks at me and goes, ‘Why you staring at my dick, bro?’”

I smirked. “And you were.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I didn’t even deny it. I was too fucked up. Just smiled. So he stands up, drops his shorts, and his cock just flops out, thick as hell. Starts wagging it at me like a joke. ‘You wanna suck it or what?’”

“And?”

“I got on my knees. Just… went for it. Mouth on him. Didn’t even think. Nose full of weed, sweat, coke. Couldn’t breathe. Didn’t care.”

I leaned back, studying him.

“You filthy little fuck.”

He smiled, eyes low. “That’s not even the worst part. While I was doing it, the other two guys pulled their cocks out too. One of them shoved my face down harder. Then someone brought out the poppers.”

“Of course they did.”

“Held it under my nose while I was getting my throat wrecked. Then they bent me over the bed. No lube, just spit and coke and poppers. Caleb went in first. Raw. Then the others followed. Fucked me all night. One after the other. Came inside me and then went again.”

“And you didn’t stop them.”

“I didn’t want to. I begged for it.”

I watched him go quiet. That memory sat heavy in the room. I didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

Then, slowly, I leaned in and said, “And you’ve been chasing that feeling ever since, haven’t you?”

He looked up at me. No denial. Just the look of a man who’s tired of pretending.

I reached into my pants, dragged my fingers across my balls. Still warm. Still sticky. Pulled them out and shoved them under his nose.

“Smell that. That’s what you’ve been missing.”

He didn’t even hesitate. Took a long, slow breath.

“You’re pathetic,” I whispered. “Pay the tab. Room 417. Don’t knock.”