There was nothing left of him. Only the body and the hunger.

Years had passed. Years without touching, without being touched. His wife stopped looking at him like a man. His lover fled without saying goodbye. And he stayed there, hardened inside, rusty, with his cock throbbing like a caged animal. It wasn't love. It wasn't romantic desire. It was need. Contained fury in his balls. Hunger on his skin.

He had heard things. Men entering through the alley behind the office. Men who were looking for the same thing. Something that isn't asked. Something that isn't named.

That night, he didn't think about it anymore. He went down the stairs with his heart racing, his lips dry, his cock pulsating behind the zipper. The alley smelled of urine, nicotine, and old semen. And in the midst of that darkness, he saw him.

His boss.

On his knees.

The wrinkled suit, the twisted tie, the eyes shining like two lit embers. He held his gaze without saying a word. He just looked down. At his crotch. And started to unzip him with a slowness that hurt.

When he pulled out his cock, he didn't do anything else. He just smelled it. He buried his nose like a faithful dog. He let out a low, animalistic moan. Then, with a warm tongue, he licked it from the base, as if cleaning a forgotten trophy. There was no tenderness. Only reverence and hunger.

—Oh… damn… yes… please, sir… —he said without thinking.

But his boss lifted his head.

—Shut up —he spat with a dry voice—. Turn around.

His pants fell down. The cold air hit his thighs. And then the tongue. Direct. Cruel. Delicious. It licked his hole without shame, without pause. He clung to the wall, trembling, someone else's saliva sliding down his buttocks. He came without touching himself, wetting the cement, without knowing how, without understanding why. He just knew he was no longer himself.

Then the sound. That damned zipper opening like a threat. And then… the tear.

His boss's cock made its way without warning, as if it had been waiting for him all his life. It was pain. Real pain. As if he was being broken from the inside. But he didn't scream for help. He screamed because he needed it.

—Oh damn! Yes! Don't stop!

His boss bit his neck.

—You're not finished… bitch. Not until I empty myself inside you.

The thrusts were brutal, uneven, without rhythm, like a punishment. As if he wanted to tear his soul out from his ass. The sound of the balls hitting his buttocks was dry, repetitive, dirty. The moans mixed with gasps, saliva, sweat, and the echo amplified everything.

And when his boss finally came, he did it by pushing with a force that lifted him onto his toes. He felt the heat filling him from the inside, the fingers digging into his hips, the dirty breath in his ear.

—That's how you fuck a man. That's how you destroy him.