The heat wasn't coming from the street. I could have sworn the blazing sun outside, baking the asphalt and making the air shiver, was just a side effect. The true hell was inside me, a low, constant oven that burned in the pit of my stomach and spread to my groin, a throbbing, delicious weight that made it impossible to think of anything else.

I tried everything. Masturbation, twice. The first time was a quick, almost desperate relief. The second time, twenty minutes later, already felt like a futile effort, a hollow echo that only made me more aware of the emptiness, the need for something else. Another skin, another weight, another scent.

I stood, pacing my small apartment. Sweat clung to my underwear, a constant, damp reminder. I'm twenty-five, for fuck's sake. I'm not a teenager with raging hormones. But today was different. It was a chemical fire, an almost predatory need that left my skin crawling and my mind clouded. I needed to be touched. I needed to be used. The honesty of that thought shocked me, a shiver that ran up my spine and raised the hairs on my arms.

My body is a contradiction. I'm white, the kind that turns red in the sun, but genetics gave me a butt that doesn't match the rest of it. It's full, round, heavy. It's always been the butt of jokes among friends and of looks I pretended not to see at the gym. Today, however, I felt its weight with every step, the way it filled out my boxer briefs. And I felt a sickening desire for someone, a stranger, to see it. Touch it. Possess it.

The laptop was open on the kitchen table, forgotten there since breakfast. The screen glowed, an invitation to the abyss. I knew what I was going to do. The idea was disgusting and exciting in equal measure, like scratching a wound you know will fester. My fingers trembled a little as I typed the address into the browser, one I hadn't visited in years, not since college. UOL Chat. The name already sounded dated, almost pathetic. Perfect.

I ignored the breakout rooms, the political debates, the friendship groups. I went straight to the "Cities" section, clicked on mine, and then, without hesitation, on the "Sex" room. Anonymity was key. I was just another nickname in a list scrolling across the screen. I created a random one, "Leo25," and joined.

The screen was flooded with a chaotic stream of messages. Bizarre nicknames, ages, abbreviations. "TC?", "ADD?", "ACTIVE?" It was a slaughterhouse of desires, direct and blunt. Part of me felt revulsion, the other, a wave of heat in my groin. This rawness was exactly what I was looking for. It was honest.

I scrolled through the list of online users. Most had explicit names. "DotadoCuritiba," "CoroaAtivo," "ProcuroNovinho." And then, one caught my eye. It was simple, almost arrogant in its simplicity. "Secret." No age, no location, nothing. Just the word. There was a power in it, a promise of discretion that was exactly what my fear and my lust needed.

I clicked on the name and opened a private chat window. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat. What was I going to say? The blank screen stared back at me. The cursor blinked, waiting. I took a deep breath, the hot, still air of the apartment filling my lungs. Fuck.

Leo25 says: Hi.

The response was almost instantaneous.

confidential says: Oops.

Short. Direct. Impersonal. I could feel sweat forming on my forehead. My fingers were slippery on the keyboard. What did he want? What did I want?

Leo25 says: Hey, how's it going?

What the hell was that question? "Calm?" I was anything but calm. I was one step away from tearing my hair out, punching the wall, and groaning in pure frustration.

confidential says: Relax. Looking for something?

There it was. The door opening. No beating around the bush. My cock, already semi-hard, jumped inside my underwear. The question was an invitation to expose myself, to humiliate myself, to admit the fever consuming me. And, my God, how I wanted to.

Leo25 says: Yes. And you?

confidential says: Always. What are you looking for?

I felt my face heat up. How could I put into words the image that was playing in my head? The sensation of a heavy body on top of mine, large hands gripping my hips, an invasion that was both punishment and reward? I typed and deleted about five times. "Something discreet," "something real," "someone right now." It all sounded weak.

Leo25 says: Something... intense. For now.

The answer took a little longer this time. A minute, maybe. But it felt like an eternity. I could hear the refrigerator humming, the distant sound of a car passing by on the street. Every second was a needle of anxiety in my skin. He'd visualized it and wasn't going to answer. He thought it was pathetic. He thought I was desperate. And I was.

Beep. The window blinked.

confidential says: Describes the "intense".

My stomach knotted. This was a test. He wasn't there for small talk. He wanted details. He wanted me to open up, to confess my dirty fantasies to a complete stranger. The danger of it, the vulnerability, was like an aphrodisiac.

I got up from my chair; the commotion was too much to sit still. I walked to the window and looked at the activity below. Normal people going about their normal Saturday lives. And here I was, sweating, about to give myself to an anonymous person on the internet. I went back to my laptop, my decision made. If I was going to do it, I might as well see it through.

Leo25 says: Intense like... not much conversation. Hand on the back of my neck. Heavy body. Being ordered around. Being used.

0

The words stayed there, on the screen. A confession. My cock was rock hard now, straining against the fabric of my underwear, aching. I was so horny my vision felt blurry around the edges.

confidential says: I like that. What are you like?

The direct question. The objectification I both feared and desired. I felt a wave of shame and excitement.

Leo25 says: 25y, 1.78, 75kg. White. And... I have a big butt.

I hate and love to admit it. It's my most defining trait, the part of me that most attracts the kind of attention that both scares and excites me. It was the perfect bait.

confidential says: Big ass. I like it even more.

The raw validation, the reduction of me to a single body part, should have been offensive. Instead, a wave of liquid pleasure coursed through me. He liked it. The image of him, a faceless man, enjoying my ass, was incredibly potent.

Leo25 says: And you?

It was fair to ask, wasn't it? But I didn't really want to know. The mystery was part of the thrill. If he said he was short, or too thin... that might break the spell.

confidential says: 26th. In shape. You'll see how the rest goes.

Perfect. Vague, confident. "In shape." In my mind, this translated to strong, thick arms, broad chest. My imagination began to construct a body for him, a muscular, imposing one. "The rest, you'll see how it goes." The phrase was both a promise and a challenge.

confidential says: Send photo.

Of course he was going to ask. The request was standard, but it still made my heart race. A picture of his face? A picture of his body?

Leo25 says: Of what?

confidential says: What do you think? Your ass. On all fours.

My breath left me. The command was so direct, so shameless, it made me dizzy. I looked at my unmade bed. The idea of ​​climbing onto it, positioning myself as he instructed, taking a picture, and sending it to this stranger... it was the most reckless and most exciting thing I could do.

I grabbed my phone, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped it. I went to my bedroom and closed the door, as if that would create some privacy. I stripped off the sweatpants I was wearing, leaving me in my underwear. I glanced over my shoulder in the mirror. The bulge was there, the rounded shape pressing against the thin fabric.

I hesitated. This was madness. He could be anyone. A madman. A criminal. But the fire in my groin was stronger than reason. Lust was a voice screaming in my ear, drowning out everything else.

I climbed onto the bed, resting my knees and hands on the mattress. The position was vulnerable, submissive. Exactly what he asked for. Exactly what I wanted. I stretched my arm behind me with my phone, trying to frame it. The angle was difficult. After a few tries, I managed a photo that showed him well. His white underwear, tight, accentuating every curve. The light from the window hit the side, creating shadows.

I sent the photo via chat. And waited.

The silence was deafening. Every second that passed was a nail in the coffin of my self-esteem. He hated it. He's laughing. He's going to post this somewhere. My mind was a spiral of paranoia. I was panting, sweat dripping down my forehead and onto the sheets.

Beep.

I ran back to the table, my heart in my throat.

confidential says: Fuck.

Just that. One word. But the power it contained hit me like a punch. It wasn't "I like it," it wasn't "beautiful." It was "fuck." A visceral, primal reaction. A typed moan. My cock throbbed so hard I had to lean over the table, resting my forehead against the cool wood.

confidential says: I got hard right away.

Leo25 says: Good.

That was all I could type. My throat was dry.

confidential says: Where do you live?

There it was. The final question. The point of no return. Reason told me to close the window, turn off the computer, and take a cold shower. Say no. Make up an excuse. But the image the word "fuck" had created in my mind was too strong. The image of a strong, "fit" man looking at a picture of my ass and instantly getting hard. I wanted that man. I needed him. Now.

Leo25 says: Why?

I was playing hard to get, a last, pathetic act of self-preservation.

Confidential says: Because I'm leaving home now to get you. And we're going to do exactly what you described. Hand on the back of your neck. No talking. I'm going to use you.

The promise. The command. The script of my desire being read back to me. There was no more struggle. The internal conflict was over. Desire had won by a knockout.

I typed in my address. Street, number, apartment.

I sent.

The answer came within seconds.

confidential says: 20 minutes. It's ready.

And then:

confidential went offline.

He was gone. The chat window was empty except for our history. My confession, my address, his promise. Everything was there. I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes until a horny, dominant stranger arrived at my door.

I stood up, my legs shaking. A cold panic tried to rise in my chest, but was immediately swallowed by an overwhelming wave of heat. I walked to the hallway mirror. My face was flushed, my eyes shining with a mixture of fear and lust. The bulge in my underwear was almost obscene.

Twenty minutes.

The sound of every car passing by on the street was a trigger, making my heart race. Was it him? With each passing minute, the tension coiled tighter in my stomach. This was real. It was happening. And I had no idea who was about to knock on my door. I only knew one thing: I had never craved danger so much.

The heat throbbed, but fear held a cold anchor in my chest. I needed a shower. Not to get clean, but to think. To clear my head for even a moment.

I ran to the bathroom, the cold water a shock to my overheated body. Steam filled the shower stall but couldn't dispel the fog in my head. What was I doing? Was I crazy? As the water ran down my body, I tried to find a way out, an excuse, a way to cancel everything without looking like an idiot. But the truth was, part of me didn't want to cancel. The part that was in charge, the part that had gotten me this far, wanted to see it through.

I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off quickly. My heart leaped into my throat. I wrapped the towel around my waist. A notification from the chat site. He wasn't offline.

confidential says: I'm here. Black SUV. Engine running. Get out.

It wasn't a request. It was an order. And it wasn't at my door. It was on the street. The relief was so intense my legs felt weak. He wasn't going to enter my building, he wasn't going to know my apartment. Control, what little I thought I had, was in his hands. He changed the plan, and I didn't even have a chance to comment. The sudden shift, the display of power, was more exciting than anything he could have written.

My body moved on its own. I pulled on the first pair of underwear I saw: black boxers, gray sweat shorts, and a simple white t-shirt. No perfume, no deodorant. I wanted him to smell my clean skin, my nervousness. I glanced out the window, through the cracks in the blinds. There it was. An imposing black SUV with tinted windows, parked across the street, its engine humming low, a sleeping beast. The sight was so cinematic, so unreal, that for a second I thought I was dreaming.

Descending the building's stairs seemed to take forever. Each step was heavy, an echo in the silence of the hallway. When I pushed open the glass door to the lobby, the warm, humid night air embraced me. I crossed the street, my feet sticking to the hot asphalt. The SUV's passenger door unlocked with a loud click.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

The shock paralyzed me. The car's air conditioning hit me, icy, but that wasn't what froze me. It was the man in the driver's seat. He was strong. Broad shoulders, thick arms filling his shirtsleeves. His jaw set, his hair cropped. Handsome in a rough, masculine way. But none of that was what froze me.

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