DIRTY FIRST TIME - My First Extreme Piss & Scat Encounter with a Filthy Older Man

Dirty  first time

My First Extreme Piss & Scat Encounter with a Filthy Older Man

SILAS THORNE

Copyright  © 2026 Silas Thorne

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Content Warning (+18)     ⚠️

You are about to enter extremely filthy territory.

No filters. No mercy. No safe words.

Within these pages you will find total submission, hot piss swallowed straight from the source, full scat play, shit-smeared cocks, brutal arse-fucking, and a big, hairy, experienced older man who dominates without apology.

If you’re looking for soft romance or “nice” sex, this is not the book for you.

But if you crave surrendering completely to the thick hands of a dirty, older man — a hairy, ruthless bastard who will drag you into your darkest, most forbidden fantasies…

…then get comfortable.

We’ve been waiting for you.

For you  — the one already reading this with one hand wrapped around your cock.

Enjoy it. You’ve earned it.

To every man who has ever come hard imagining a filthy older pig pissing down his throat and fucking him with a dirty cock…

It was about time someone wrote it properly.

This book is for those who are not afraid to get truly dirty.

It’s yours now.

Episode 1.

You stand at the urinal, cock in hand, pissing with deep satisfaction. The thick, yellow stream jets out hard, almost forceful, hammering the porcelain with a steady, wet slap. It splatters a little, flecking the sides. The air in the bathroom is thick with the cheap tang of disinfectant and the damp, stale smell that always clings to these places.

Then the door of one of the stalls creaks open behind you — slow, deliberate. You glance up.

There he is.

A big, middle-aged bear of a man, shirtless, his massive hairy gut hanging free. Black trousers shoved down to his balls, his thick cock half-hard and heavy between his thick thighs. Your eyes lock. No shame. Just raw, instant complicity.

He drags a meaty hand slowly across that monstrous belly, fingers raking through the sweaty grey hair, then slides them lower until they wrap loosely around the base of his cock. He gives it a couple of lazy, shameless strokes.

“Want to come in with me, lad?” His voice is low, gravelly, almost a growl. “Fancy a proper fucking throat-fuck?”

Your cock is still dripping in your fist, the last warm thread of piss falling. You don’t answer with words. You shake it hard twice, tuck it away just enough, and take two steps forward.

You step inside.

He slams the door shut and throws the bolt with a sharp click.

The cubicle is tiny and stifling. His huge, hot, sweat-slick belly presses against you instantly, skin sticking to skin. He smells like older man — thick, musky sweat and warm flesh. Without another word he grabs the back of your neck with one big paw and slams his tongue down your throat.

The kiss is brutal. Thick, hot saliva, white beard scraping hard against your face, teeth clashing. You shove your hands down his broad, sweaty back, gripping the soft, damp meat of him, and squeeze his fat arse through the bunched trousers. He growls into your mouth and grinds that massive gut against your cock, which is already rock-hard and throbbing.

“Fuck… you’re hard as steel already,” he mutters against your lips, drooling.

He smacks the toilet lid down with one hand and drops heavily onto it. The seat groans under his weight. From below he stares up at you with pure, starving hunger burning in his eyes.

His thick fingers rip open your fly, haul your rigid cock out, and weigh it in his palm, thumb stroking the veined shaft.

“Jesus Christ… look at that beautiful fucking prick. Thick. Veiny. Heavy. I’m going to swallow every inch.”

He leans forward, belly squashing against his own hairy thighs, and takes you to the root in one greedy swallow.

Wet heat engulfs you. His mouth is a hot, sucking vacuum — brutal suction, that thick, rough tongue lashing your frenulum nonstop, his throat squeezing the head like a fist. The white beard tickles your balls every time he buries his face. He bobs like an animal, wet, filthy sounds of spit and gagging echoing off the walls of the stall.

You grab fistfuls of his grey hair and fuck his throat deeper, slamming in until you’re battering the back of his gullet. He chokes, eyes watering, turning red, but he doesn’t pull back an inch. Instead he mashes his nose into your pubes and holds there, throat convulsing wildly around your cock.

“That’s it… choke on it all,” you rasp.

He pulls off for a second, gasping, strings of thick, shiny spit dangling from your swollen cockhead to his white beard. His massive belly heaves.

“I want you to piss first,” he says, voice wrecked. “Come on, lad… give me a hot little squirt straight in my mouth. I want to taste you.”

You don’t hesitate.

You aim your still-hard cock right at his face. He opens wide, tongue out, eyes locked on yours.

You start slow — a thin, scalding stream that lands perfectly on his pink tongue. The piss is hot, yellow, splashing across his lips and into his beard. He moans loud and swallows noisily, the first gulp loud and obscene.

“More,” he growls, broken. “Harder. Flood me.”

You let go.

The stream thickens, powerful now, gushing into his open mouth until it overflows. Piss pours down the corners of his lips, drenches his white beard, runs in rivulets over his chest and that enormous gut. He keeps swallowing, gulping, the wet sounds of him drinking you down filling the tiny space. His eyes are half-lidded in bliss. Some of it splashes onto his own fat cock, glistening in the grey hair.

The sharp, hot smell of fresh piss fills the cubicle.

He never closes his mouth. Tongue still out, he takes every jet, swallowing, groaning, letting it soak his face and belly like the filthy pig he is.

“Fuck… that’s a good piss,” he mutters when you finally stop, mouth still dripping, beard shining wet. “Now… get back in my throat.”

Now fuck my throat for real.

You slam back in, balls-deep in one savage thrust. This time it’s pure animal fucking: your hips snapping forward as you skull-fuck him mercilessly. His head bobs at blinding speed, throat convulsing in wet, violent gags that force thick ropes of spit to pour down his chin and splash in long, glistening strands across his hairy gut. He grabs your balls with one meaty hand, squeezing and massaging them hard, exactly the way you like it. With the other he yanks your trousers down to your ankles and shoves a thick, dry finger straight into your arse — no spit, no warning, nothing. The fat digit forces its way past your tight ring, stretching you open, twisting inside, hunting for that spot that makes your knees buckle. Once he finds it he starts fucking you properly — slow, deep, deliberate strokes while his mouth never stops devouring your cock.

The cubicle is drowning in filth: loud, obscene slurps, heavy choking gags, the wet squelch of his finger pumping in and out of your hole, his desperate moans vibrating all the way down your shaft, and the constant slap of his massive belly against his thighs every time he lunges forward. You grip his head with both hands and fuck his face even harder, driving your prick to the root while his finger opens you wider and wider. He stares up at you through watery eyes, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, throat wide open, saliva pouring from his beard and dripping onto the dirty floor.

You feel it building fast.

“I’m gonna come…” you rasp, voice shaking.

He answers by clamping his throat tighter, sucking with ferocious hunger, ramming that thick finger all the way in and hammering your prostate in quick, ruthless strokes.

The orgasm rips through you like lightning.

Thick, hot, heavy ropes of cum blast straight down his throat. He groans loud around your pulsing cock, swallowing noisily, milking every last drop with greedy suction. Not a single drop escapes. When you finally stop shuddering he pulls off painfully slowly, dragging his tongue all the way up the underside, licking your oversensitive head clean while your legs tremble and your breath comes in ragged gasps.

Still on his knees, mouth full of your load, he looks up at you. His white beard is a filthy mess — soaked in spit, streaks of piss, and now your thick semen. He runs his tongue slowly across his lips, savouring the taste, then swallows the last of it with a deep, satisfied moan.

He hauls himself up heavily. That enormous gut brushes against your still-twitching cock. He grabs you by the waist, pulls you in, and kisses you deep and dirty — tongue shoving into your mouth so you can taste your own cum mixed with his spit.

When he finally pulls back, breathing hard, he gives you that calm, filthy smile.

“Fuck, lad… that was one hell of a load you just fed me,” he murmurs, wiping the back of his hand across his soaked beard. “If you fancy giving me a proper fucking… we can go back to my place. I don’t live far. Car’s in the car park.”

You stand there a second, legs still weak, heart hammering. It’s insane… but the thought of bending him over and pounding that fat arse makes your cock twitch hard again.

He notices your hesitation and grins wider, almost wicked. He turns around as much as the tiny cubicle allows, tugs his trousers down a little further, and shows you his huge, pale, hairy arse.

“Come on…” he says, glancing back over his shoulder. “I’ve got a proper fat cunt back here. You’ll blow another load inside me like a fucking animal.”

You swallow, still tasting your own cum on your tongue, and nod.

“Yeah…” you say, voice hoarse. “I’ll wait for you in the car park.”

He yanks his trousers up, gives you one last hard, quick kiss on the mouth, and unlocks the stall door.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be out. Don’t you dare leave, eh.”

He steps out first. You stay behind a few seconds, pulling your own trousers up with shaking hands. The cubicle reeks of fresh sex and spit. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the cracked mirror outside, then head toward the car park with your cock still half-hard in your jeans and your head already spinning with everything that’s about to happen once you get to his house.

Episode 2.

You stepped out of the shopping centre and leaned against a pillar near the exit, the afternoon light warm on your skin. A few minutes later he appeared, walking with that heavy, confident swagger. He came straight over, grinning like the filthy bastard he was.

“I’m Antonio,” he said in that gravelly voice, offering his hand as if he hadn’t just swallowed your cum and your piss fifteen minutes earlier.

“You can call me Diego,” you answered, shaking it.

Antonio looked you up and down, licking his lower lip slowly.

“Right then, Diego… follow me in your car. I don’t live far — ten minutes tops. And don’t you dare start second-guessing yourself on the way, lad. I’m going to give you an afternoon you won’t forget as long as you live.”

You climbed into your car and followed him. Ahead, a gleaming black Range Rover — big, expensive, commanding — moved at a relaxed pace. You parked outside an impressive modern chalet in an exclusive suburban estate: manicured garden, elegant façade, wide garage. You stood there a second, genuinely surprised. You’d never have guessed that the dirty, middle-aged pig who’d just throat-fucked himself on your cock and drunk your piss in a grubby shopping-centre toilet lived somewhere like this.

You got out and followed him to the front door. The moment you stepped inside the house smelled expensive — clean wood, subtle high-end scent. He closed the door behind you, gave you that same slutty smile and said:

“Sit on the sofa, Diego. I’ll grab us a couple of beers.”

He returned with two ice-cold bottles. He stood in front of you, handed you one, then, without another word, peeled off his T-shirt. That enormous, hairy, white gut spilled free. Next he shoved his trousers and underwear down in one rough tug and stood there completely naked. His thick cock hung heavy between his thighs, already half-hard. He dropped onto the sofa, legs spread wide, belly resting on his thick thighs, and took a long pull from the beer.

He looked at you, reached out with his free hand and grabbed the back of your neck hard.

“Come here.”

He yanked you forward and shoved his tongue straight down your throat. The kiss was deep, sloppy, tasting of cold beer. While you kissed he drank and passed the liquid from his mouth into yours. You swallowed the mix of icy beer and hot spit. He growled with pleasure.

“That’s how I like it, lad… sharing everything with me.”

After a couple of minutes of messy, beer-soaked kissing, Antonio stood up. He turned around and planted that fat, white, hairy arse right in front of your face. The sweat from the shopping centre was still clinging to his skin. The smell hit you hard — ripe older-man arse, thick sweat, a faint trace of dried piss from earlier… a dirty, depraved scent that made your cock throb like iron.

“Eat it, Diego,” he ordered, voice low and rough. He spread his cheeks wide with both hands. “Open that hole and get your tongue inside. Don’t be shy.”

His hole was completely exposed: pink, wrinkled, ringed with damp grey hair still sticky with sweat. You could tell he’d been sweating all day. Antonio pushed back and pressed his hole straight against your mouth.

“That’s it… yeah. Lick it, lad. Get that tongue right up me.”

You dragged your tongue over the whole crack, tasting ...