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Story:

Midday. The sun hung in the zenith, heating the sand to the state of a blazing frying pan. The air shimmered, distorting the horizon line. Elian walked through the desert, his long chestnut hair matted with sweat, and his crimson light dress clinging to his damp skin. He felt like a lost, beautiful, and fragile thing in this merciless landscape.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the mirage before him. A stranger. Tall, with a piercing gaze. He stood next to a small cactus, as if waiting.

"Lost, beauty?" His voice was low, raspy from the sun and, perhaps, something else.

Elian shuddered and stopped, shyly lowering his eyes.

"I... I'm looking for the road to the highway."

"The highway is far away," the stranger slowly approached. "In such heat, it's like death to get off track. You need to rest."

He appraised Elian with a calculating look, sliding over his dress, long hair, and trembling hands.

"Maybe we can entertain each other while we wait?" His lips curled into a smirk. "I can offer... some fun."

Elian felt the blood rush to his face. He understood what this man was talking about. He shook his head, but it was a weak, uncertain movement.

"Don't be shy," the stranger stepped closer. "I can see you're not an ordinary traveler. And I appreciate such... refinement."

His hands reached for his belt. Elian, mesmerized, couldn't look away. He unbuckled the buckle, lowered the zipper. And before Elian's eyes appeared something that made his breath catch. Heavy, tense, impressive size of male member. It pulsed in the rhythm of the hot air, like a living creature full of raw power.

"What do you think?" the stranger whispered. "Give it a kiss with your lips. I saw how you were looking at it."

Elian's heart pounded wildly. Shame and a strange, long-dormant curiosity battled within him. He slowly, barely breathing, knelt on the hot sand. With his fingers, he touched the hot, velvety skin, feeling the powerful vessels playing beneath it. He leaned in and cautiously licked the tip with the tip of his tongue, tasting the salty skin and hidden power. The stranger groaned deeply.

Encouraged, Elian dared to do more. He opened his mouth and took the hard flesh into it. At first awkwardly, cautiously, but then, yielding to some deep instincts, he found a rhythm. His lips slid up and down, his tongue wrapped around the tense shaft, caressing its most delicate places. He heard the broken breathing above his head, heard the approving whispers: "Yes, like that... You have a magical little mouth..." This spurred him on, making him work harder, forgetting about shame, completely surrendering to the moment and the power he unexpectedly gained over this strong man.

After a few minutes, the stranger gently pushed him away.

"Enough, or I won't hold out," he breathed heavily. "But we won't stop there. I want you. All of you."

Elian looked up at him, his eyes shining, his lips wet and swollen.

"From behind?" just one word, torn from trembling lips.

The stranger just nodded, his eyes blazing. He helped Elian stand up, turned him around, and bent him to the ground. The crimson dress rode up, exposing tanned skin of the buttocks. The stranger, kneeling, spat into his palm, smeared his arousal, and aimed at the narrow, untouched opening.

"Relax, beauty," he whispered, and slowly, but inexorably, began to enter.

Elian cried out—shortly, from pain and the unfamiliar feeling of fullness. He gripped the sand with his fingers, his body tensed. The stranger didn't hurry, letting him get used to it, caressing his thighs, his back.

"Gods, you're so tight..." his voice was full of reverence. "And so soft inside..."

When the first pain subsided, it was replaced by a new, growing wave. The stranger began to move. At first slowly, then faster and more confidently. Each of his movements made Elian's body jerk. Moans that he couldn't hold back tore from his chest—soft, broken, like a sob.

"That's it," the stranger growled, driving himself into him with new force. "Higher... Deeper... You were made for this. Your flesh was just made to take me."

He leaned down, his lips brushing Elian's nape, his hot breath scorching the skin. Elian, forgetting all shame, threw his head back, offering his neck for kisses, his body moving to meet each thrust, demanding more. The sand was hot, the sun scorched his back, and inside him raged a fire kindled by this stranger. He felt that with each movement, something warm, viscous, inevitable was growing inside him, bringing him to the edge.

"Get ready," the stranger rasped, and his rhythm became chaotic, furious. "I'm about to... fill you."

He pressed into Elian with force, his body shaking in the final spasm. Elian felt the hot, thick stream of life pulsing deep inside him. It was intense, almost painful, and incredibly sweet. He himself, without touch, reached the peak, his body convulsing in a silent cry, leaving a wet spot on the sand beneath him.

The stranger froze, then slowly pulled out of him. Elian, exhausted, collapsed onto the sand, unable to move. He felt the warm, sticky fluid slowly leaking out of him, running down the inside of his thigh.

The stranger silently put himself in order. He looked at the sprawled figure in the red dress, at the tanned sand, on which the moisture darkened.

"The highway is to the west," he threw out shortly. "Go before the sun sets."

And he left, dissolving in the shimmering mirage, just as he had appeared. Elian lay there, listening to his heart pounding, feeling the sun, the sand, and the slowly drying moisture inside him. He was emptied, used, but for the first time in a long time—alive.