I sucked off a man as old as my dad. [M24/M55]

Hey, I’ve been lurking here for a while, getting off to your stories and fantasizing about sharing my own. Well, it finally happened—I had my first real sexual experience, and it was everything I’d been craving. I’m a 20-something Indian guy, masculine, bicurious for years, and still a virgin. After too many rejections, I was done waiting for the “perfect” moment with a woman. My low self-esteem had me spiraling into some intense fantasies—being degraded, humiliated, and used by a dominant man. I wanted to skip the romance and be treated like a pornographic object, a piece of meat for an alpha to command. So, I downloaded Grindr, set up a profile in Stockholm (where I’ve lived for six years), and got straight to the point: “Virgin looking to suck my first cock.”I won’t lie—Grindr wasn’t the instant jackpot I expected. My masculine vibe didn’t scream “femme” enough for some guys, and others probably didn’t want a newbie who wasn’t ready for anal. After 150 minutes, 50+ DMs, and a flood of dick pics, I sifted through the noise and found him. A 55-year-old Swedish guy, bicurious, ex-military, and fitter than 99% of humanity. His profile was a wet dream: 7 inches, thick, uncut, and a vibe that screamed “viking daddy.” He lived less than a kilometer away in Vasastan, near the central station. His messages were flirty but gentlemanly, and when he mentioned a “lady friend” leaving after dinner, I knew this was my shot. He sent me his address and told me to wait 15 minutes. My heart was pounding as I left a friend’s meetup on that warm Stockholm summer night, the midnight sun still glowing faintly.The elevator ride to his flat was a blur. He buzzed me in, and there he was—tall, broad, with silver-streaked hair and a body that put my gym routine to shame. “Nervous?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. I nodded, my mouth dry. He led me to his bedroom, a sleek Scandinavian setup with a king-sized bed and dim lighting. No small talk, no hesitation. “Kneel,” he said, unbuckling his belt. I dropped to my knees, my hands trembling as I pulled down his pants. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already half-hard. It was intimidating, but I was too turned on to care.I started slow, kissing the tip, tasting the salt of his skin. He let me explore, his hand resting lightly on my head. I wrapped my lips around him, swirling my tongue, trying to mimic the porn I’d watched for years. “Good boy,” he murmured, and my cock twitched in my jeans. I added my hand, stroking the base while I sucked, and his low grunt told me I was doing something right. Emboldened, I tried deepthroating, gagging a little but loving the way his hips bucked. My tongue did a full 360 around his shaft, and he groaned, “Fuck, you’re a natural.”I’d told him about my kinks—age play, race play, breathplay—and he leaned into it. “Call me Daddy,” he ordered, and I moaned around his cock, “Yes, Daddy.” I asked if I was pleasing him, begging for instructions. “Don’t forget my balls,” he said, smirking. I obeyed, licking and squeezing them gently while stroking his shaft. He told me to look up, his piercing blue eyes locking with mine as I sucked. The humiliation of it—kneeling for this older, white, viking of a man—made my head spin.Then he took control. “Lie on the bed, head off the edge,” he said. I scrambled to comply, my head dangling upside down. He stepped forward, his cock looming over me, and slid it into my mouth. This wasn’t a blowjob anymore—it was a face-fuck. His thrusts were deep, relentless, his balls brushing my nose with every stroke. I could barely breathe, the lack of air sending a rush through my body. I tapped his thigh or kicked the bed when I needed a gasp, and he’d pull back just enough, only to plunge in again. It was like a drug, my cock throbbing untouched in my pants.He pulled out at one point, smirking as he teabagged me, his balls filling my mouth. Then, in a move straight out of my dirtiest fantasies, he slapped his cock against my face, mushroom-stamping me like I was his to mark. “You like being my little brown slut, don’t you?” he growled, and I whimpered, too far gone to care about anything but pleasing him.When he was close, his grunts grew louder, his thrusts erratic. “Where do you want it?” he asked. “On my face, Daddy,” I gasped, my voice hoarse. He pulled out, stroking himself as he towered over me. The first rope hit my cheek, warm and thick, followed by more across my lips and chin. I lay there, panting, marked, and utterly satisfied. I pulled out my phone to take a picture of the paint job. He handed me a towel, his demeanor softening. “You did good, kid,” he said, a faint smile on his face. I cleaned up, my legs shaky, and left his flat with a mix of euphoria and disbelief. I’d finally done it—crossed the line from fantasy to reality. And I can’t wait to do it again.