Naked, except for a small powder-blue t-shirt, Trent found himself sitting on a lush white couch – the musk of his undercarriage marking it. It had been a few days since his last bath, but whoever had fucked him last night wasn’t put off by the fact. Trent didn’t remember anything from the previous night, or how he came to be on this couch. He did know for sure that he’d been fucked. Sitting there in silence, Trent could feel a familiar throbbing sensation in his anus – a sensation which told him he’d bottomed. His head was throbbing too.
A half-empty beer sat on a glass coffee table before him. Trent turned the bottle up, emptying it’s contents into himself. He looked around, acknowledging an amazing residence. It was apparent, whoever picked him up was wealthy.
He quickly grabbed his backpack, which was sitting by two large oak double doors, and found a pair of jeans inside. The shorts he’d been wearing last night, perhaps located in one of the many bedrooms here, would have to be left behind – as would his Vans sneakers. Underneath the jeans, Trent located his flip-flops. Pulling the jeans up over his hanging cock, Trent felt the stranger’s seed leaking from his cunt. Just then, he heard running water through pipes – coming from somewhere in the house. He refocused and closed up the backpack. Throwing it over one shoulder, while sliding into the sandles, he opened the door and stepped out.