Welcome to the world of mansploitation fiction by M.N. Manmacker! It’s a series of linked stories involving man-on-man action in a world full of homoerotic situations, alpha males and raunchy, filthy rutting!
Welcome to the world of mansploitation fiction by M.N. Manmacker! It’s a series of linked stories involving man-on-man action in a world full of homoerotic situations, alpha males and raunchy, filthy rutting!
Content on this website includes pictures and videos that contain adult content. Written material (excerpts, etc.) may contain adult content, including offensive material, nonconsensual sex and other topics you may find objectionable. You must be at least eighteen years of age to visit this website.
Comments, questions and requests can be sent to MNManmacker@proton.me or sign up for the mailing list to keep abreast of new releases.
What does “mansploitation” mean?
À la 70s femsploitation and blaxsploitation movies, mansploitation stories emphasize masculine gender roles in ways that are sexy beyond belief!
Mansploitation stories use a floating, mobile timeline, like a classic cartoon or sitcom.
1: That means time moves forward but the characters mostly don’t — in other words, a college student character will always be a college student, even as the year changes. References and technologies will advance as well. This is a floating timeline.
2: Stories are set in various locations, characterized principally by the bar Lipsweet. For example, when Lipsweet is in Martinsburg, West Virginia, it is a rough-and-tumble strip club dominated by rednecks and hicks in the modern day. When Lipsweet is in Santa Monica, California, it is a modern-day cholo bar. When it is in Baton Rouge, it is a 1930s speakeasy , and when it is in Los Angeles, it is a beachfront bar in the 1980s. The characters will be translated to each setting but will remain mostly the same. Some storylines will unfold along different times and places. This is a mobile timeline.
3: Don’t worry too much about continuity. Some developments, mainly new characters, continue into future stories. But mostly, characters and situations reset in each new story. I try to keep character details consistent, but I have lots of oopsies (e.g., characters changing surnames, etc.). It’s a multiverse thing, deal with it.
Mansploitation stories have subtitles.
The subtitles are formatted like this: “A Lifelong Bachelors Mansploitation Novel” or “A Forceful Alphas Mansploitation Novella”.
Ultra-Raunchy: real dirty stuff, hobos, piss, rimjobs, etc
Mansploitation stories have pictures!
Most stories feature pictures, which are generated by AI. AI produces far superior images for my purposes compared to stock photo.
While images are intended to bring to mind a specific character, they don’t exactly correspond to descriptions in the book. That’s partially because AI isn’t real precise with things like ages, hairstyles and tattoos, but also it simply provides a little variety, so readers don’t feel locked in to a look that may not be their ideal. In any case, just like with stock photos, think of it as less the “actual look” of a character and more a head shot of an actor who could play that character — i.e., hair and makeup will change, they might be a little off in various ways, but they have the right attitude, atmosphere and ambiance to represent the character.
Their spot was in the Crambighter Woods Campground. That was a low-budget spot near the highway, somewhere between a campground and a homeless encampment. It was a semi-legal encampment of semi-homeless men, a little splat of tents and trailers, a splat that was hoping to grow up into a trailer park one day. Anyway, the campsites were spread over a two-mile-long road that looped back on itself, but you were allowed to go deeper into the woods to set up your own site. A few of those informal campsites were well-maintainted, and one of them was where Jacob and Ransom always went. They considered it their campsite.
acob and Ransom had never disputed that because they didn’t want to admit they were scared to do anything more than jack off next to each other and both were sort of still virgins. Neither would admit that to each other or to Cooter.
Cooter had been in prison for years, and everybody knew he was a booty bandit. He had a “girlfriend” in there, and he said all the time that only a wuss jacks himself off. Real men have girlfriends or they swing on the downlow. Jacob and Ransom had never disputed that because they didn’t want to admit they were scared to do anything more than jack off next to each other and both were sort of still virgins. Neither would admit that to each other or to Cooter. Jacob gulped. “I was just… I dunno, man, you surprised me, I was bangin’ that ass pretty hard you know, and I was — I only just got started. I was, you know… rampin’ up-“ “A real man don’t need to ramp up,” Cooter said.
Chris, that young fresh-faced jock, chuckled and blushed. “Seven Minutes in Heaven! We should play Seven Minutes in Heaven with him!” he blurted out a few times until the others heard. He was a husky baby-faced redneck, with a literal red neck and scruffy chin like he only just gained enough facial hair to shave and was growing a beard because he finally could. His meaty lineman-jock body jiggled. Chris was a tall, beefy young man, with broad shoulders and a barrel-shaped body. He had been a linebacker on his high school football team, and he still retained all that heft and meat even now, a couple years out of school. He had peachfuzz on his cheek and his chest — visible under the wifebeater he wore — and a thick mop of blond hair on his head. He had a powerful body beneath his layer of padding, which was just thick enough. He had the physique of an athlete who had never watched what he ate, so his perfect frame was concealed by a layer of sexy plumpness. He smelled of sweat and cheap deodorant, a scent that made Lance’s dick get hard in his pants. Chris was in excellent shape, but he didn’t have a six-pack — it was obvious, to Lance anyway, that he didn’t have the body-type for it. This was probably about as close as he was capable of getting, just a little paunch and a layer of padding over his dictionary-sized pecs.
Jacob and Ransom never thought inviting the weird old biker Cooter to their camping trip to ride dirtbikes in the woods would lead to a hardcore stretch of man-on-man redneck action! But this camping trip just turn into their most intense weekend ever!
Can they handle this much hardcore alpha male action?!
Read it now as an ebook!
Or read the whole thing here!
When Jacob and Ransom went camping, they always brought their dirtbike along. Only it was never really their dirtbike, it was Jacob’s brother’s, and this week Jacob’s brother had had to sell it to make bail money for his girlfriend. So they had no dirtbike for this weekend’s camping trip. “No dirtbike? You li’l ingrates, shit!” Cooter said when they told him. His anger made his big bushy beard jiggle. He scowled at them both. “It’s not my fault!” Jacob said. “If you don’t want to go camping, that’s fine-“ “Nah, nah, I’ll still come,” Cooter said. His scowl turned into a shrug like he wasn’t angry a moment ago. “We’ll just get drunk. That’s usually all I do campin’. Tha’ss the whole point, reckon.” He clucked his tongue and winked at them. “See you boys later.” He went off then, presumably to get his things for the camping trip. Jacob and Ransom exchanged knowing looks. The whole point of inviting Cooter was to ride dirtbikes. They were trying to impress him. What would they even talk about with a middle-aged man all weekend? Ransom sighed. “Aw man, I kinda wish he wasn’t coming now.” Josh nodded his agreement. They were both ambivalent because Cooter was scary. The good kind of scary. Or at least not the really bad kind. Jacob and Ransom would never admit that, it’d make them look weak, but it was true. Cooter was a middle-aged biker — his license was suspended, his motorcycle in police custody, so he was only a biker in a cultural sense — who was active in the Jagged Right, a badass motorcycle gang who controlled the underground in this neck of the woods, that neck being Martinsburg, West Virginia. Cooter had an old-timey beardy like a gold prospector, with a broad burly body and a perpetual scowl. He was stacked like a rugby player despite being fortyish (or maybe older, he seemed positively ancient to Jacob, but he never complained of sore knees, so maybe not that old, it was hard to tell, he’s the kind of guy you can’t imagine ever looking young). They’d been trying to get him to go dirtbike riding with them for months. Both Jacob and Ransom wanted to be badasses like Cooter, and they hoped to get in with the Jagged Right through him. Their spot was in the Crambighter Woods Campground. That was a low-budget spot near the highway, somewhere between a campground and a homeless encampment. It was a semi-legal encampment of semi-homeless men, a little splat of tents and trailers, a splat that was hoping to grow up into a trailer park one day. Anyway, the campsites were spread over a two-mile-long road that looped back on itself, but you were allowed to go deeper into the woods to set up your own site. A few of those informal campsites were well-maintainted, and one of them was where Jacob and Ransom always went. They considered it their campsite. So it was unfortunate that they had to go camping this weekend with no dirtbike. Cooter was shooting them dirty looks as they got to the campground and set up for the night. That at least was something Jacob and Ransom could do in their sleep, which was good because they got there late, just as the sun was going down. “We’re sorry, Cooter,” Jacob finally said. “It was my brother, he’s such a dumbass! He was driving the dirtbike on the highway! The Interstate! I told him, he’s gonna get arrested.” Cooter was quiet at first. “That’s pretty badass. Bet he caused a traffic jam though.” “It was like three in the morning. And he was drunk. And on probation. And he had two green downers in his pocket,” Jacob said. “They’re auctioning off the dirtbike, cuz he owes like twelve grand in fees and shit.” A grim silence spread around the campfire, which Cooter was waving to get it going. He wasn’t doing a very good job, but the other two didn’t point it out to him. When Cooter finally let out a chuckle, then another one. Jacob and Ransom followed, and before long all three were laughing out loud. “I got you boys a surprise too,” Cooter said when the laughter died down. “I think he’s comin’ now.” “Who?” “You brought someone else?” Ransom bit his lip. If it was anyone other than Cooter, he’d have been pissed they invited some stranger. It turned out not to be a stranger though. It was Yancey Garraty, the sissy at the trailer park they all came from. Yancey was a slim thirty-something man with a limp wrist and a high-pitched voice like a girl. He was always vaguely creepy, like he had extra eyes hidden somewhere. Jacob and Ransom wrinkled their nose when they heard the sound of Yancey approaching, which was the sound of a dirtbike. Yancey brought a brand-new dirtbike with him, as he followed the trail from Crambighter Woods that Cooter directed him to. Yancey drove it at slow speed to the campsite where Cooter, Ransom and Jacob sat around a fire. Ransom was tall and fresh-faced, with a big confident chest and broad shoulders. He had a deep voice, ruddy cheeks and dark hair. Jacob was the youngest, at barely twenty-one. He was thin and lanky, deeply-bearded, and he wore camo pants as if they were his uniform. Cooter stood up when Yancey parked the dirtbike near their campsite. The other two stood as well, but Cooter came closer. Jacob and Ransom stayed behind, wary — they assumed at first that Yancey was here to attack them or challenge them in some way. Cooter hadn’t told his friends what was going on. “Who’re you, man?!” “Hey! This is our campsite. Whatchoo doin’?” Cooter held one hand up for silence. His dark face was in shadows cast by the campfire. Jacob and Ransom both fell silent. Cooter didn’t look at the other two, he just came closer to Yancey and shook his hand. He inspected the dirtbike, which was sparkling clean, having only been purchased earlier today. “Cooter, what’s going on? Hey.” “Hey boys,” Yancey said with a flounce and a smirk in their direction, then he blushed and fell silent. He licked his lips. Cooter nodded that he was satisfied. He looked at his friends. “You boys know Yancey, right?” He wagged his finger at them. “You call him Mistah Yancey, show him respec’.” They hadn’t disrespected him, but they both looked down as if chagrined anyway. Yancey wasn’t even his last name, which it wasn’t clear Cooter understood, but neither Jacob nor Ransom pointed that out. Cooter glared at them. “He a straight-up sissy, boys and we gonna ram the ever-lovin’ shit outta him tonight. He gonna give us the dirtbike.” They looked at each other, then at Cooter, then at Yancey, then back at each other again with wide eyes and a series of stammers. “What?” “Yo, what? We ain’t like that, dawg. We ain’t… We ain’t, y’know, booty bandits like you-“ “You for real?” “Ah, shit, Yancey…” Ransom shook his head, not like he was refusing, like he was mourning. Cooter growled. “Shut up, both you fuckwits,” he said. He straightened his back. “Once you been locked up, you need the booty, boys, you know that.” “You know that, Cooter.” Ransom chuckled, his jaw-droppingly deep voice echoing in the forest. “You say that all the time. But we ain’t been in prison-“ “I’ll do it,” Jacob blurted out. He tried to sound cocky. Usually Ransom came off as the badass leader of the two of them — and their little friend group — so Jacob was eager to show that he could ball. He chugged the rest of the can of beer he had opened, and he belched. “No problem.” “Hell yeah!” Cooter clapped his hands once, then clasped Jacob on the book. “You gonna like this, you the shit, Jacob.” He winked at Jacob, and he grabbed another beer for himself and one for Jacob. “Yeah, cool,” Ransom chimed in, as if this wasn’t a reversal of positions for himself. He couldn’t be shown up by his friend. He only thought about what he was agreeing to — sticking his dick in Yancey’s butthole — after he said it. Cooter had been in prison for years, and everybody knew he was a booty bandit. He had a “girlfriend” in there, and he said all the time that only a wuss jacks himself off. Real men have girlfriends or they swing on the downlow. Jacob and Ransom had never disputed that because they didn’t want to admit they were scared to do anything more than jack off next to each other and both were sort of still virgins. Neither would admit that to each other or to Cooter. “If you don’t cornhole him, this ain’t ya dirtbike,” Cooter said. He had a deep, glowery voice, like he was simmeringly angry all the time. “Whoever do it get to share it. It’s ours.” “Wait, he bought us a dirtbike?” Jacob asked. “Hell yeah,” Ransom said. His big-boy voice boomed. “No problem. You should know I’m gonna plow like a stallion, man, I swear, I might break you into little lavender pieces, boy. You okay wit’ that?” He was nervous, but he felt he had to lean into it. No looking like a wuss in front of Cooter. “When I fuck women, I’ll go slow and gentle, but if’n you gonna bend ovuh for me, you best not back out.” He chugged his beer just like the others, then grabbed another and chugged that. He really wanted to be good and drunk for this. “Yes, sir,” Yancey said. He giggled and sashayed towards the campfire. He went to Ransom, whose massive chest puffed out like he was being threatened by tiny little Yancey. Yancey was shorter and thinner than Ransom, looking like a child’s doll next to him. He stuck one hand under Ransom’s shirt and tweaked his nipples. Ransom’s chest rippled and he gasped. He almost pushed Yancey away instinctively, but then didn’t. He just sniffled and looked away. “Aw, man, aw, man, aw, man,” Ransom said with a laugh. His big dumb face turned deep, dark red. He was one of those people that laughed when he was nervous, and his big hairy body shook. He suddenly became very ticklish. Yancey’s fingers got his armpits, and Ransom flexed his muscles and smiled to cover up his ticklish laughter. “Take off your shirt,” Yancey said. That was the only reason he agreed to this: Ransom was the handsome one with the splendid chest. He groped every inch of his torso. Cooter had his alpha-male allure, Yancey thought, but he could have Cooter’s dick anytime for free. Jacob was cute like a puppy or a sad refugee, but he wasn’t worth a dirtbike. Yancey wanted Ransom. Ransom took his shirt off, laughing so hard he was nearly hyperventilating. “Aw, man, this is crazy, you know, you know, okay, okay, no big deal, but like, you know, shit, that’s crazy,” Ransom’s eyes bugged out. “Like whatever, it’s cool.” He had grown up on a farm, and he looked like it — he had a thickly padded body filled with muscles. Yancey licked a trail down his muscles and pulled down his loose-fitting jeans to reveal a plump cock. Cooter was already naked. He wrinkled his nose as he stroked his dick, looking at that tight asshole he was about to ram. Jacob was a few feet away, getting undressed more slowly. Cooter got naked a lot. Ever since his time in prison, he had no shame about taking his clothes off. Jacob tried to have the same confidence; he had a big barrel chest like Cooter. But no matter what Jacob did, it was always obvious that Cooter was stronger, tougher and had a bigger cock. His foot-long horse-cock always made Jacob feel small. Ransom too had a huge dick, though not quite as long as Jacob’s. They all showered together cuz their trailer park only had hot water in the communal showerhouse, but Jacob and Ransom had never seen Cooter’s leviathan erect before. They were both bugging out at sight of it, but they played it cool. Cooter’s hairy body gleamed in the campfirelight. “C’mon, stick that ass up, boy,” Cooter said. He spat on the palm of his hand and wiped into into Yancey’s ass. That was for lube, but Jacob and Ransom silently thought that was crazy. Cooter just casually stuck his finger in Yancey’s ass, and Yancey let out a moan like he liked it. then he grabbed Ransom’s cock and put the whole thing in his mouth — it was big but soft and seemed shrunken in the cool night air. Ransom sucked in his breath. “Yeah, shit, get it wet, man, shit…” Ransom was suddenly stricken with fear that he wouldn’t get hard. He didn’t show it though, and after a few seconds, a pleasurable tingle did arise at the root of his cock. Yancey’s warm mouth encircled his whole shaft, which his tongue battered as he choked up mouthloads of spit that soaked Ransom’s ballsac. Jacob watched, heart beating fast. He was the only one not involved right now. Did he look like a pussy? He felt he needed to assert his masculinity, so he touched Yancey’s asscheek with one hand. He grunted like he was satisfied with how plump it was, while inside his heart did flips because he realized he was touching Cooter’s pubic hair, as Cooter was sliding his dick into Yancey’s ass. “Yeah, spread his cheeks, man, come on,” Cooter murmured as his cock slid deeper into Yancey’s ass. He snarled when Yancey moved to handle his cock again, and Cooter slammed his fists on Yancey’s back to keep him still. “Don’t let ‘im move, Jacob. I’m-a make him squeal like a piggie.” Jacob gulped. He hadn’t mean to be this involved. He had to use both hands to separate Yancey’s asscheeks, feeling both Yancey’s soft fuzz and Cooter’s kinky dark pubic hairs. Jacob had to suppress a gag. If he was going to be as hardcore as Cooter, he thought, he needed to be willing to do what Cooter did. And Cooter just plunged right in, like it was nothing, like he did it all the time! Which he presumably did, Jacob and Ransom were just surprised to see it. Cooter closed his eyes and moaned while his cock slid in and out of Yancey’s ass. His big sweaty redneck muscles glistened. When Yancey squirmed, Cooter smacked his back, sending a wave of pleasure up Yancey’s spine “Oh, he got a nice tight hole…” Unable to focus on his mouth while he endured Cooter’s intense penetration, Yancey pulled Ransom’s cock out of his mouth. He thwacked it over his face. Every time he did, Ransom jumped up and blushed a little brighter. “Damn, boy,” Ransom said with a barrel-throated laugh, “You been swallowin’ my cock like you got somethin’ to prove. You should give lessons to females, hell.” His dick was already leaking precum, and he had an embarrassed grin on his face. He was genuinely getting into this now, his anxiety vanishing. It was better than a blowjob from a woman, he thought, because Yancey swallowed him all the way to the root, and he didn’t even complain when Ransom began forcing his dick in and out of Yancey’s throat. He fucked it like a pussy, and Yancey barely gagged. Felt good as anything! Ransom wasn’t about to admit that though. He was definitely gonna hafta say later on, in the tent, that he would rather have a blowjob, even from an ugly woman. Yancey moaned through a mouthload of cock, but the pain and pleasure of the foot-long meat sliding into him made it too hard to think. When he lifted his head, Cooter growled and grabbed his hair. “Who’s cock is in ya, princess?” “Cooter…” Yancey said softly, moaning. Pangs of pleasure shot up his spine as Cooter’s manhood tickled his prostate. “Nah, you say that loud, boy. Say it loud and proud.” Cooter smacked Yancey’s ass hard, reawakening the pain deep inside him. Yancey grunted, his face turning red. “Cooter!” “You say my full name, princess. Jethro Wilde. Say that.” “Jethro Wilde’s cock is in my ass! I’m his bitch! He can do with me-“ He smacked Yancey’s ass again. “I ain’t tell you to say none of that. Yeah, you my bitch. ‘Course you my bitch.” He paused and roared like an angry tiger. He growled at Jacob, who quaked back, “Keep his cheeks separated, man.” Jacob grunted. He was trying hard to avoid looking like he was uncomfortable. He had been trying to establish himself as a hardcore thug for a long time — he thought he could get Cooter to invite him in on some criminal shit, most likely making meth (that was Jacob’s guess as to what Cooter did when he disappeared every couple days). So Jacob wanted to look like he knew how to do this. Cooter had told him that, in prison, it was normal to give a man a few puffs on a cigarette in exchange for helping to spread his prison bitch’s cheeks and maybe even guide his cock in by hand. Jacob found that difficult to stomach. He only needed to do it once though, he figured, then he could refuse to do it again and no one could say he was too much of a pussy to do it at all. “Your turn, boy,” Cooter said with a sick smile. He pulled out of Yancey’s ass, wiping his massive cock off on Yancey’s cheeks. There was some brief glancing contact with Jacob’s hand, making Jacob jump back and bite his lip. It was clear that Cooter didn’t think it was such a big deal, however, so Jacob tried to shrug it off. He wished he could just do oral like Ransom. Jacob enjoyed plowing girls in the ass, but this was a stressful situation. What if he lost his erection and couldn’t get it back? “You evuh ram a man in the ass?” Cooter asked. Jacob gulped and shook his head as he wedged his dick into Yancey’s tight hole. Cooter spread his cheeks. He had no compunctions about getting close — he watched Jacob’s dick slide in like it was a science experiment he was deeply interested in. He even grabbed Jacob’s dick and made sure it went in when Jacob felt resistance. “Damn, man, you touchin’ his dick, you touchin’ it, it’s crazy, you lettin’ that freak do it, I, shit, I am, shit…” Ransom sounded like he was about to burst into hyperventilating laughter again. “Aww, man, shit!” He was closest to the campfire, so the heat from it — and the stress of the situation — made him sweaty and ruddy. His sweat trickled down his body and into Yancey’s mouth. Cooter grumbled. “Shut up, idiot. I’s just helpin’ his dick in.” But still, his fingers on Jacob’s cock made Jacob feel self-conscious. He grunted, avoiding eye contact with Ransom because he knew Ransom would get him to smile or laugh or something like that. Jacob closed his eyes and tried to focus on the physical sensations of Yancey’s tight ass. “You can plow me harder,” Yancey said like a sassy bitch. He stuck his tongue out, licking Ransom’s throbbing veiny cockshaft. He slurped up the precum that ran down the side. “I don’t know if he can,” Cooter said. “Let me at it again, boy, you ain’t doin’ it right.” “Cooter, I can-“ “Shut up and move,” Cooter said with a snarl. He pushed Jacob out of the way, and for a moment, Yancey’s ass was empty. Then Cooter rammed his dick right back in. This time Yancey was more used to getting rammed, and his asshole stretched to accommodate Cooter’s cock easily. He moaned. He managed to keep Ransom’s cocktip in his mouth, tasting the precum and enjoying the shocked, beet-red look on Ransom’s big round face. “See, you gotta ram him hard, man, you gotsta destroy his ass. He ain’t a girl you makin’ love to, see, he a girlyboy you gonna demolish. That’s what they there for,” Cooter said. He dragged Jacob’s head close once more, so Jacob had to once again pretend he wasn’t upset by the taste of Cooter’s hairy chest-sweat trickling into his mouth because his face was jammed up against Cooter’s belly. He could smell Yancey’s ass getting rammed, and he could feel little droplets of what he very much hoped was sweat splashing onto his face. Cooter’s dick was inches from Jacob’s face. “See? Watch it, boy!” “Yeah, okay,” Jacob said. “You gotta gimme a chance, Cooter. I was gonna ram him plenty hard-“ “Why ain’t you do it?” Jacob gulped. “I was just… I dunno, man, you surprised me, I was bangin’ that ass pretty hard you know, and I was — I only just got started. I was, you know… rampin’ up-“ “A real man don’t need to ramp up,” Cooter said. He frowned and wiped sweat off his forehead. “Let’s see you do it again. You wanna be ass brothers?” “What…?” Jacob didn’t know what that was, but he knew he probably didn’t want it. He nodded though, ignoring his own body’s cry to just hurry up and cum so he could quit this. But it turned out that “ass-brothers” — which Jacob suspected Cooter made up or was just a silly joke that no one took seriously in prison — meant that Jacob kneeled behind Yancey to ram him, while Cooter mounted Yancey from behind and above. That meant Jacob couldn’t even see the person he was plowing, all he could see was Cooter’s big hairy ass in front of his face. When he stuck his dick in, Cooter’s balls touched his shaft, and he could feel Cooter’s precum clinging to his shaft. They took turns. That’s what being “ass brothers” was. Jacob pushed his dick into Yancey’s hole, then Cooter did, they were supposed to get a rhythm going, but that was more difficult than it might seem. “See? Now we like brothers,” Cooter said with a laugh. It was a deep, throaty chuckle. Cooter didn’t laugh often, so that was about the most animated laughter Jacob had ever seen from him. Having nowhere else to put his hands, Jacob kept touching Cooter’s thighs or the side of his asscheeks. He gulped. His skin was hairy and sweaty, and it reminded Jacob what he was doing right now. It was easy to forget that Yancey was a man because he was slim and delicate and smooth, but now Jacob could barely even see him. He just kept getting facefulls of Cooter’s plump and hairy ass. Cooter let out a loud grunt. He slammed his dick all the way in — he was still taking turns with Jacob, and it was Jacob’s turn, so Cooter rubbed his throbbing, mid-orgasm cock right over Jacob’s shaft — and rammed Yancey one last time. Jacob was glad at first, then saw Cooter pull his dick out just in time to spray his wad right on Jacob’s dick. “Aw, man, what?!” Jacob groaned. He felt sick looking at cum dripping off his dick. Cooter shot what appeared to be a huge load that just kept on getting bigger, his massive balls spraying more and more until it covered Jacob’s cock. “Ewww, man, Cooter…” Cooter grunted and wiped his dick off on Yancey’s asscheeks. He laughed and playfully smacked Jacob’s biceps. “What’s wrong, princess? You don’t like gettin’ dirty? You can go make love to some pretty girl anytime you want — assuming you know a pretty girl, which I know you don’t — but if you gonna get down and dirty wit’ me, we gonna do it my way,” Cooter said. “Now that’s called prison-lube, boy, and it’s the best kinda lube there is.” “Yeah, I mean… I know, sure…” Jacob said. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about the creamy cum clinging to his cockshaft. “It’s just… Okay, no problem. Yeah. Yeah. It’s prolly good lube. For sure.” But he had only barely got his dick back in Yancey’s tight hole when there was a burst of cummy scent. Ransom got his first jet of cum right on Yancey’s face. Ransom was blushing still, and his eyes were closed. He looked surprised that he was cumming already. “Don’t waste that, Ransom!” Cooter grunted. He grabbed Ransom’s dick and aimed it right for Jacob’s crotch. Jacob gulped, gagged and squirmed. Cooter manhandled Ransom’s cock in the middle of his orgasm, making Ransom writhe as his load joined Cooter’s on Jacob’s cockshaft. Jacob felt like shouting, running away, running off to clean his dick off. No, he told himself, you’re gonna fit in. You gotta do what Cooter does. “Ransom, don’t act like a fuckin’ pussy,” Jacob said. “It’s no big deal.” He rammed his dick all the way into Yancey’s tight ass. It was much easier this time, since he no longer had Cooter’s big hairy body in front of his face. Jacob watched Yancey’s feminine ass shake as he rammed harder and harder. He had to admit the cum was an effective lubricant, and Jacob managed to slip his dick in and out easily. He was worried he wouldn’t be able to cum due to stress and anxiety, but that wasn’t an issue — he had been so turned off previously that the lack of other cocks and hairy muscles all around made it easier now. He groaned as his balls crawled up in his sac. A hot, creamy load sprayed into Yancey’s ass. Yancey moaned. He had been jacking himself off for some time, and he finally allowed himself to shoot his own load onto the forest floor. None of the rednecks noticed. Powerful pangs of climactic bliss shot up Yancey’s spine as Jacob pounded away at his cum-soaked prostate, each thrust of his hips sending a new wave of pleasure through Yancey’s body. Cooter clapped and hooted a little like an appreciative audience. He clasped Jacob on the shoulder, which smeared his sweat on Jacob’s skin. The biggest load of Jacob’s life filled Yancey’s ass with his seed, so much that it dripped out and onto the forest floor. He could do nothing more than squirm, impaled on Jacob’s dick. “God damn,” Jacob said with a sigh as he pulled out. Yancey squirmed and sighed. He collapsed onto the floor. He was a sticky, cummy mess, exactly how he liked to be. He lay there limply, then rolled over and smiled. The three rednecks were all lighting cigarettes and looking over the dirtbike, limp cocks dangling — none of them wanted to be the self-conscious one, so they had all eschewed re-dressing. Yancey didn’t mind that at all. He went to them, touched Ransom’s plump, jiggling ass and giggled when he yelped. “Hope you boys enjoy the dirtbike,” Yancey said, blushing as he stroked Ransom’s hairy ass. “I hope you enjoy using it as much I enjoyed you paying for it.” They blushed and mumbled responses. Now that all that was over, they didn’t really want to have anything to do with Yancey. They just wanted to play with their dirtbike and ignore him, and then not ever think about this again.
Rob picks up a hitchhiker who would never let him get a grope on in exchange for a ride… unless Rob asks in just the right way!
Can Robert figure out how to get a handle on this studly born-again hitchhiker?!
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Rob rarely picked up hitchhikers. This man, however, seemed a worthy exception. He was a dirty-blond redneck with dirty skin, dirty clothes and a ripped, lanky body, his six-pack showing from underneath his torn t-shirt. Despite his look, he smelled like cologne because, he said, he had spilled most of a bottle on these pants a year ago and the smell still hadn’t worked its way out. The hot Kansas sun beat down on the car, but Rob didn’t run the air-conditioner. He just kept the fan on, which was enough — the temperature wasn’t really that high, so the wind kept it cool. Once the hitchhiker’s sun-baked body entered the car, however, the heat radiating off him made the air so warm that Rob had to flick the air conditioner on. The highway continued through the woods of northern Alabama, which was where the hitchhiker had stuck out his thumb. He’d kept walking as he hitched, thumbing out when he heard a car coming up behind him. Rob had pulled over to pick him up, and he gave a polite nod before getting in the passenger seat of Rob’s car. The hitchhiker’s ropy muscles dripped with sweat, and the smell of his unwashed body flooded the car and Rob’s nose from the moment he stepped in. He looked homeless, or rather, he looked like he had no stable address — he didn’t look quite dirty enough to be a hobo, but he probably drifted between halfway homes, homeless shelters and various girls’s houses, maybe interspersed with an occasional kindly priest’s couch. He seemed like that type. He kissed the St. Christopher medal dangling over his chest as he settled into the passenger seat. He didn’t put his seat belt on. “Yee howdy, thanks fer pickin’ me up, hoss, that’s a mighty kindness of ya,” the hitchhiker said with an enthusiastic grin as Rob got back onto the road. “Don’t bother me none where you is goin’ neither. I don’t have a firm destination, myself, I do declare. I got the ramblin’ bug in me. I got a need to get outta here, ya dig?” “Yep-“ “This town ain’t big enough for me. Name’s Thomas,” he said. “You’s headin’ south. You gonna keep goin’ that? All the way to Oklahoma? That’d be with me, indeedy-doo, but not a bit further south cuz that way lies Texas, and I ain’t goin’ there. Nosir, just ‘bout e’ry sheriff in Texas has got it out for ol’ Thomas Weathers. The Lone Star State ain’t fo’ me!” He paused. “And they got a warrant out on me.” He looked at Rob, then said, having seemingly forgotten he already introduced himself, “I’s Thomas. Thomas Weathers.” “I’m Rob.” “Rob, nice to meetcha. You one of them god-botherers?” “Uh… no.” “That’s good. Reckon a preacher picked me up ‘couple miles back, and I swear to God after a couple hours of listenin’ to him sermonize, I says to him, ‘you let me out right here, rev’rnd, cuz I’d rather die in the desert than let you talk my ears into committin’ suicide’.” He cackled and slapped his knee. “We was in the desert, see. And I knew Mesa, Arizona was right down the road. Still just ‘bout died of thirst befo’ I got there, yessuh. And a rattlesnake done try and bite me, but I swear to God, mistuh, I chop that damn rattlesnake’s head right off and made a stew outta his carcass. That’s just how Thomas Weathers rolls, hoss, ya dig?” “Yeah, sure.” “Now don’t get me wrong, suh, I is a believer, through and through. I done saved and lost my soul so many times I got a direct line to both our glorious Lord above and that sulfurous bastard down below, ya dig?” “Yeah-“ “I just ain’t a preacher and I don’t cotton to none of that reformin’ and repostulatin’ and re-understandin’ that them God-botherers do. I ain’t lookin’ to integrate Hindus into Christ, if ya catch my meanin’.” “Uh… yeah,” Rob said, though he had no idea what Thomas was talking about. “Right, uh-huh.” “I got a real understandin’ of my own relationship with God, and He know the demons I got, boy, He knows it all. He puts them demons in those of whomsoever he has faith can struggle onward. A man’s gotta have a code even if he don’t often follow it.” Finally there was a moment of silence, as Rob was still flummoxed and didn’t know what kind of response Thomas expected. This was a lot more theology than he expected from hitchhikers. The air conditioner whirred, struggling to cool the air down while heat emanated from Thomas’s body. Thomas looked at Rob and sniffled. “You a sissy?” He even flashed a limp wrist as though Rob might not understand the question. Rob blushed and nodded. “Ain’t not a thing wrong wit’ that, lemme tell you.” He paused. “I mean, there’s a lot wrong wit’ it, don’t think I ‘pprove, cuz I don’t. You motivated by lust, reckon, and that ain’t right. Should be motivated by piety. But it ain’t my place to say. A lotta folk get up all up in arms ‘bout shit that ain’t none of they business, swear to God, ain’t that right, sissy? I bet you gonna make me whip it out, huh, to pay for this ride? Ain’t ya?” “Well-“ “I wouldn’t blame ya for it, nosirree, when I was growin’ up, that’s how it went down. You could always hitch a ride with someone — trucker, most likely — but ya gotta provide gas, cash, grass or ass!” He whooped, hollered and slammed one hand on the roof of the car. “I always had grass on me in those days.” He paused. “Don’t think you gettin’ any of my ass, boy, no way, no how. I’ll visit some very bloody sin upon you, swear to God, and I will gladly do the time behind bars afterwards. I let you look at it, maybe touch it a bit, if you ask me real nice and respec’ful-like.” “Uh-huh-“ “Now I gots rules, mistuh, lemme tell you that. I don’t do nothin’ weird, no way. Remember, I is a believer and I been saved again most recently just a couple months ago, swear to God. The Lord Jesus Christ is my personal Lord and Savior, amen and amen again!” His voice gradually rose to an emphatic crescendo. “He does warsh me in the blood and the… the, uh… love of His own very son.” It sounded like Thomas had lost the thread of his theology. “Hallelujah!” “Oh. I-” Rob was disappointed. “Don’t get me wrong, I is a sinner, that’s fo’ sho’. I am not gonna cast the first stone, no way, I don’t even cast the second stone. I wait, till maybe the twentieth stone,” he said with a dry chuckle. “You can play wit’ it a little, mistuh, but no butt-stuff. That’s it. Just playin’. Ain’t much sin in playin’, reckon.” “Uh… okay,” Rob said. He loved handjobs, so he didn’t mind that at all. Besides that, he wasn’t sure there was any other way to get Thomas to stop talking. Thomas snorted and unzipped his dirty jeans. He pulled his cock out and let it flop against his thigh. He lit a cigarette too. Rob normally didn’t let people smoke in his car, but he didn’t want to do anything that would make Thomas want to leave. His fat dick jiggled as the car vibrated underneath. “There it is, ain’t gonna get hard for ya, don’t even hope fo’ that, man,” he said. “I can’t get hard wit’out the smell of pussy, swear to God, the stronger the smell the better. I loves it, boy, you don’t even know!” Then he added, “You definitely don’t even know.” He licked his teeth. “I don’t fornicate in a pre-marital fashion. I done give in to urges, for sure, for sure! But I ain’t a believer in that kinda perversion. A man ought save his seed for his ever-begotted wife.” As he drove down the highway, Rob reached over and touched Thomas’s dick. When he did, Thomas’s whole body spasmed like it hurt. He snorted, took a deep drag on his cigarette and looked out the window. His cock was hot and slick with sweat, the kind of slick texture that suggested Thomas hadn’t showered in some time. Maybe weeks. That didn’t bother Rob at all. He enjoyed a filthy slice of alpha male rough trade. “Reckon that’s a big piece of meat, ain’t it? I know you ain’t seen a lotta white men wit’ dicks like that, have ya?” he asked. He cackled and nodded as though Rob had agreed with him even before Rob did so. He did have a huge cock, nice and thick, veiny, swarthier than the rest of his flesh. Rob stroked it lazily as he drove. He didn’t want to rush things. As Thomas had promised, his dick didn’t get hard, at least not right away. Rob liked the squishy soft feel of a limp cock. “I don’t get no stiffy without a female. I just can’t do it,” Thomas said. “Not unless I get real drunk, and I don’t do that no more, nosir. No gettin’ drunk for me! I shouldn’t nevuh drink so much — or at all — on ‘ccount of I do things that are unchristianlike when I’s drunk, ya see, ‘ccording to God and my mama on her deathbed and several district court judges and a rack of rev’rnds and a few teachers and a whole squadron of social workers, they all agreed on that, I can’t handle my liquor and I need to quit that. Get my life in order. I done do so. All ’bout the Lawd now!” He called out like a preacher. His cock twitched and Thomas cackled, his dusty muscles flickering beneath his torn t-shirt. He stripped it off, revealing his powerful though lean chest. He made his cock twitch again, laughing at Rob’s girlish blush. “He’s twitchin’ at’cha, boy, he sayin’ hello.” “You sure you can’t get hard? It kinda feels like you’re getting hard,” Rob said. Tommy’s dick was definitely firming up in his hand, no matter what Thomas claimed. His thick dick was poking up now, not roping around, and Rob paused long enough to spit on his palm to provide additional lube. Then he resumed stroking with one hand, his other steering the car down the highway. “No suh!” Thomas snapped down. He glared at Rob, even as his dick slowly awakened in Rob’s grasp. “Don’t even think that! I is in control of my meat and my decisions and my theological destination, you feel me? I don’t — I is a Christian soul, reckon, I got the power to resist the lusts and urges flowing through mah veins. I do thank the good Lord above every day that he give me something to resist. That’s how a man does prove his loyalty and his faith. You know about faith, my man?” “Yeah. Yeah, I know about faith,” Rob said. He rolled his eyes, which Thomas couldn’t see because Rob faced the road ahead. Thomas’s Christian prattling was getting old quick. When he asked if Rob was a god-botherer when he first got in the car, Rob thought that was a good sign. He thought that meant Thomas was not so Christian, or at least no aggressively Christian. “Can you make sounds like a girl?” Thomas asked. “I might get hard if’n you can make some sounds that make me think of a girl. A pretty white girl with blond hair and… a Christian soul.” Rob blushed. “I guess. I can try.” He moaned a little, in what he thought was a feminine tone of voice. He didn’t know how to moan like a Christian girl, but he did the best he could. When he was done though, Thomas just scoffed at him. “Some girl.” Thomas looked out the window like he wasn’t involved in the handjob Rob was still giving him. “Sorry,” Rob said. He quickened up his handjob as he felt Thomas’s dick firming up under his fingers. Soon it was stiff and stuck up. The veins that ran up and down the shaft pulsated beneath Rob’s grip. Thomas closed his eyes like he was shocked to see his own stiffy. A police car drove by, and Rob’s heart flooded with fear. He thought for a moment he had been made. But the cop in the driver’s seat appeared to be focused on the sports car in front of it. Rob hummed right along in the slow lane, attracting no attention. He kept an even speed, a few miles per hour below the speed limit. A few drops of pearly, sticky precum dripped out of Thomas’s cock, slicking up Rob’s hand, and he groaned like he was disappointed in himself for getting this far. He shook his head. “Can’t believe this, man, ya hand feels like velvet, man, like an Italian whore on payday, like you don’t even know, man… or I guess you do know, it’s ya hand, I guess you’ve used… it.” His voice broke there at the end, and he chuckled at himself. He leaned the passenger seat all the way back, so he was laying down. His chest muscles rippled, and a few beads of sweat appeared over his wiry shoulders and pecs. He was unwashed, so his sweat made his body hairs cling to his taut skin. Rob took a break to move his hand from Thomas’s dick to his body. He caressed his muscles, which were work-toned — you could tell he didn’t get a body like this in the gym. He got it working hard on road crews, day labor, that kind of thing; when he described it, Thomas always said, “I work like a dog, man, I do the work they usually hire Mexicans for. I got nothin’ ‘gainst Mexicans, mind you, ‘cept they don’t provide much conversation in English when we’s on the same crew.” As a wave of pleasure moved over Thomas’s body, he licked his lips and a fresh burst of precum flowed down his shaft. He murmured and groaned, at a loss for words for the first time since he had gotten in Rob’s car, maybe the first time in a long time. He blushed, the ruddiness of his cheeks barely visible through his deeply tanned skin. It was obvious he never thought a handjob could feel this good, especially coming from a man. Thomas laughed. “This is some kinda nasty, man, swear to God. I ain’t nevuh done nothin’ this nasty, I just need a ride somethin’ fierce. A man can’t walk e’ry hour of e’ry day, ya dig? Don’t think I do this all the time.” “I won’t,” Rob said. He imagined he could taste the precum that leaked out from Thomas’s cocktip. It would be so salty and strong. Rob had to suppress a moan just thinking about it. Thomas’s cock spasmed and twitched in his grasp, the precum flowing plentifully now. “Now I done my share of nasty shit, ‘specially before I found God. I don’t behave that way no more, mind you,” he said. “I gangbanged this girl one time — she was a white girl who chose to get fucked by black men, not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’s just sayin’ it — and we was on this hunting trip. I just ‘bout threw up when I realized it was a gangbang. I thought we was gonna take turns, y’know, she’d wash up between each guy. I was a young whelp then, I had balls that controlled me — no, I’m sorry, that ain’t right. I wasn’t controlled by my balls. I was controlled by my lusts and my urges and by Satan hisself, ya dig? He do set traps for the most virtuous of man.” “Uh-huh-” Precum smeared over Rob’s hand as Thomas’s veiny shaft pulsated like a heartbeat. “But what happened right then and there was that I got this big hillbilly motherfucker right behind me, and he’s plowing her in the ass while I fuck her pussy. But I can’t even feel her pussy-lips on my dick on account of gobs of cum dripping onto my balls, hoss, I swear, I could hear that shit splashin’ when I got started. And that big-ass hillbilly was behind me, like he was gonna ram me — he ain’t get it in me, he just put it in her ass, but he was in position to ram me, and I could feel his pubes on my asscheek, man, and I couldn’t even smell that slut on account of him behind me. All I smelled was his nasty-ass armpits.” “Sounds, uh… Kinda hot.” “It was not hot, you is wrong and unchristian ’bout that,” Thomas said. He scoffed and leaned back. He lowered his pants all the way, and Rob took the opportunity to caress his hairy thighs and chest again. His muscles rippled beneath Rob’s fingertips. Thomas sighed. “You gonna feel me up? Fine. But you can’t, y’know… do nothin’ unchristian about it. No thoughts of a untoward nature.” “I won’t,” Rob said with a smile. “I’ll keep my thoughts pristine.” He went back to Thomas’s cock, which throbbed mightily. The precum flowed freely. “You got mighty pretty lips. If I was drunker or I was in lockup — rules is different in there, ya know — but if I was there, I might be able to let you put ya lips on my dick,” he said. He sounded like he genuinely wanted to but couldn’t let himself. “Lemme see whatchoo can do with them lips.” Rob removed his hand and put his middle finger on his lips. Then he slid it slowly into his mouth, until he deep-throated it. Thomas watched the whole time, staring. Rob did the same thing with each of his fingers, tasting all of Thomas’s salty precum. He kept his face straight ahead, watching the road and the signs zoom past. “You do real pretty things wit’ ya mouth, boy, but I’s still Christian. Don’t you try and seduce me,” he said. “That ain’t right.” “I won’t. I’m not trying to seduce you. This was your idea, remember.” He sniffled. It looked like he had indeed forgotten that he had brought this up first. “I dunno if I’ll be able to cum like this, wit’ you feelin’ me up,” Thomas said, though his voice lacked confidence like he was already on the verge of orgasm. It sure felt like that was the case, Rob thought when he gripped his cock again. It was spasming and twitching, precum flowing like water froma hose now. “I bet you can do it,” Rob said. He smiled because it was obvious that Thomas was going to cum no matter what he said. Ruddiness bloomed up Thomas’s chest. “Nah. My heart won’t let me…” Thomas said, his voice already trailing off. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I got principles, man, I won’t cum wit’ sin in my heart. I just… I can’t do it.” He grunted and bit his lip. His wiry, tattooed muscles all flexed and shook in sync with each other, and a burst of hot cum sprayed over his chest and belly. Thomas grunted, twisting as though his orgasm felt so good it hurt. His face turned beet-red and he gasped. A second spray of jizz got up Rob’s wrist to his elbow, and it soaked into the grimy fabric of Thomas’s pants. The smell of cottony cum filled the tiny car. Rob giggled, moaning as he felt cum running between his fingers and down the skin of his smooth wrist. He wished he could jack himself off at the same time, but forcing himself to resist was kind of hot too — he kept his attention half-trained on the road, but luckily there weren’t many cars on the highway at this time of day. Rob’s cock throbbed in his pants, demanding attention. “Aw, fuck, man, man…” Thomas’s orgasm continued, spurting wad after wad of creamy hot cum. It coated his lean belly and scarred muscles, dripping down onto his jeans and his hairy crotch. It soaked his pants, and the sour, salty smell of it filled the car. “Shit, you shoot a hell of a load,” Rob said, his eyes oepning wide. Thomas grunted in a way that suggested he heard Rob’s words and maybe even tried to respond. But intense pleasure wracked his body, making him squirm in his seat as a final jet of jizz got him across the chest and even on his chin. His cock pulsated beneath Rob’s touch. No matter how animated and seemingly-pained Thomas’s reaction was, Rob kept stroking. He didn’t miss a beat, even as he felt Thomas’s erection diminish. His cock slowly limpened in Rob’s hand. A few drops of cum continued to ooze out, and Rob knew from experience they were the sexiest, saltiest, tastiest drops. He wished he could swallow Thomas’s dick and taste his cumload. He was already fantasizing about it — in his fantasy, the car could drive itself, so Rob was able to lean over and deep-throat every inch of Thomas’s filthy redneck cock. It would taste so good — bad, but in a good way, Rob thought. He loved a trashy man’s nasty dick and cumload. Maybe if he wasn’t driving, he thought, he’d be able to talk Thomas into getting some dome. Most men did agree. Why would you ever turn it down? Rob certainly wouldn’t. In any case, Rob kept going with his hand on Thomas’s cock until he had gotten every last bit of cum. His dick was still hard but softening swiftly, and Rob stroked it until he had gotten every last drop. The smell was potent, and the feeling of sticky cum on his fingers made Rob moan. Rob brought his hand to his mouth and licked up every drop of cum he could get. “You taste so good…” he said, blushing as he slurped up all the jizz on his hand. Thomas grunted, watching Rob eat up cum. Thomas had a sickened look on his face. “That’s unbiblical, sir. You shouldn’t behave like this. God don’t like it.” But Rob merely shrugged. Then he wiped up all the cum off Thomas’s flat belly, and he sucked all that off his hand as well. He moved slowly just like when he had sucked the precum off his finger, and just like then, Thomas watched as though it turned him on. The intense flavor of salty jizz and dirty manhood overwhelmed Rob’s mind, nearly making him drive off the road as he cleaned the semen off his hand. Thomas grimaced and sneered at him but didn’t make him stop. “Hope that was worth it, boy,” Thomas said with a nervous chuckle. “Cuz that just might cost you ya immortal soul. I ain’t gonna judge. Ain’t up to me. Reckon you should let Jesus into ya heart.” “Isn’t it just as sinful for you?” “What?” “You got a handjob just like I gave one,” Rob said. “That’s a sin on your part-“ “Don’t work like that. Sin ain’t a mathematical equation,” Thomas said with a whistle. “So it’s not sinful to receive a handjob from a stranger?” Thomas shifted his weight in his seat. He tucked his cock away in his tattered boxer shorts, which were plain white and thin — they looked like prison-issued boxers. He kept his shirt off. “It’s a sin to give in to lust, to satisfy one’s urges in a base and villainous way. I let you done that cuz I’s repayin’ ya kindness in givin’ me a ride. I ain’t succumbin’ to no lust. I got resistance in mah heart, you hear? I don’t surrender to the forces of Satan, no sir!” “Oh…” Rob couldn’t dispute the theology of that, though it sounded like a loose justification. He shrugged. “Fine, whatever.” There was a long awkward silence, then Thomas lit a cigarette. He sighed. “You got a nice hand, boy. I’m real glad you picked me up.” “Me too.”
Lance is a victorious lawyer given a reward he’ll never forget: Seven Minutes in Heaven with a hunky jock named Chris. He gets seven minutes to do anything he wants to Chris’s studly body, and he fully intends to get the most out of every minute!
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Lance didn’t want to go to the party, but it was being thrown in his honor, so he couldn’t refuse. The Smashwood crew had lit a big bonfire by the time he got there, and they were all shotgunning beers — they hadn’t been allowed to drink while they were on house arrest, so now they were making up for lost time. To Lance, it was bittersweet. He had been living in Oklahoma for most of a year, and he had gotten his local law license in time to defend a group of offenders from Smashwood Trailer Park, who were accused of a series of small-time robberies and assaults. He was proud of his success in getting all of the charges dropped. On the other hand, he knew they were guilty. They had beat a man so badly he spent ten months in the hospital. On the other, other hand, the state of Oklahoma had been unable to prove it, so he didn’t regret getting them off. That was his job, after all, and he was good at it. “Congrat’lations, man!” “My girl’s pussy thanks ya!” “Hell yeah! Best lawyer in Oklahoma!” Someone handed him a beer, and Lance sipped it at first, then realized the others were all chugging, so he did likewise. “Come on, broh, drink it!” Chris Hazel yelled through a barrel of drunken laughs, and the others echoed him. Chris was the youngest here, only nineteen, and built like the high school football star he had been just a year or two ago. He had a jolly-cute face though. “Chug it! Chug it!” “Hey, so… uh…” Math sidled up to Lance, shooing his friends away and telling them to stop pestering him. Math was the leader of the Smashwood guys — a loose-knit gang of small-time thieves — alleged thieves — he was the one who faced the most extensive charges, so he benefited the most by Lance getting the whole crew acquitted. Math leaned in so close his face was right next to Lance’s ear. “So, uh… How crazy is you?” “Very,” he said. Then without thinking about it, he kissed Math on the lips. Math’s eyes opened wide amid the laughter and shocked gasps from the other rednecks. For a moment, Lance thought Math was going to hit him, but then Math smiled — it hadn’t been much of a kiss, after all, just a dry peck on the lips. Math pointed to the three girls at the party. They were hot, in a slutty redneck way, and they lounged in one corner as though waiting. They wore skimpy outfits that showed off their tits and ass, and they each had trashy tattoos on their lower back. Lance strongly suspected they were prostitutes. “You wanna fuck one of them? Or all three?” Lance shook his head. “Thanks,” he said. “But no thanks. I’m not interested.” That was both because he wasn’t in a mood for women right now and cuz he didn’t do prostitutes. Lance preferred a more elegant class of women. “No prostitutes for me, Lyle.” Lance called him ‘Lyle’ because ‘Math’ was a gang name and he had denied throughout the trial that he was the person known as ‘Math’. Lance chose not to use it when he could avoid it. He had made the argument in court, after all, that Lyle was not Math. “I told you guys!” Math called out to the others. Math’s voice was suddenly loud, booming across the trailer park. Most of them had moved on and were trying to get a three-wheeler unstuck from a muddy ditch it couldn’t extricate itself from, so the party was quiet enough for an ordinary conversation. A burst of chatter hit the guys around the bonfire. Lance didn’t hear what they were saying because everyone spoke at once. “You want a different female?” Math asked. Lance shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Lyle. You already paid me for my services.” “I ain’t tryna-a pay you,” Math said. “I’m tryna-a congratulate you.” He sneered as though Lance should have known the difference. “Let ‘im cornhole you, Math!” said someone else with a laugh. “Yeah, Math, you do it! You the one who had the most to lose.” That was true — Math had faced some extra charges because he was in charge of the beatdown, plus the bloody bat had been found in his trailer here in the Smashwood Trailer Park. But Math looked horrified at the thought, and he furrowed his brow at Lance as though he hadn’t considered he would be willing to cornhole a man but not fuck a woman. Then Math’s eyes lit up. He must have concluded Lance was Christian. Which was true, but not the reason Lance didn’t want a prostitute. “He don’t wanna cornhole me,” Math said with a wrinkle of his nose. “Uh…?” Lance smiled. “No, Lyke. You’re wrong about that.” “Really? We was gonna let you swing on some dick if you wanted, but we thought you’d want a woman instead,” Math said. “You thought that, Math,” someone said with a laugh. Whoever it was shrouded by the darkness beyond the bonfire. Math shrugged. “Well, fine, pick someone to jerk off,” he said. “Ain’t no one here gonna take no dick up the ass, but a mouth is a mouth, right guys?” Lance was astonished. Chris, that young fresh-faced jock, chuckled and blushed. “Seven Minutes in Heaven! We should play Seven Minutes in Heaven with him!” he blurted out a few times until the others heard. He was a husky baby-faced redneck, with a literal red neck and scruffy chin like he only just gained enough facial hair to shave and was growing a beard because he finally could. His meaty lineman-jock body jiggled. “Seven Minutes in Heaven!” “What are we, middle-schoolers?” “Shut the fuck up, Chris.” “What’s Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Lance had never heard of it. Despite most of the rednecks saying no and telling Chris it was a stupid game for teenagers, they all accepted his idea. Lance had no idea what he was talking about, as the rednecks all formed a tight circle near the bonfire. Math explained, “So this is a game, we normally play it with just the girls, or we used to play it in high school,” he said. “It’s stupid, a kid’s game. We don’t do it no more.” But despite his words, they got ready to play, Math included. The girls joined the circle as well. “It’s basically Spin-the-Bottle but rather than just kiss, you have to go in the dirty-dawg trailer-” he pointed to an uninhabited trailer next to the bonfire, “for seven minutes.” “And we… do what??” “Whatever you want,” Math said. Math nodded grimly. “Even me, man. It’s just dome, or whatever. Just let ‘im taste yer nut. Ain’t a big deal. We all spent a night in lockup-” He stopped because the other guys clapped and coughed over him as though they had all promised not to speak of whatever had happened there. His voice trailed off. Someone put the bottle in Lance’s hand. If he weren’t so nervous — and excited — he would have declined. But he spun the bottle anyway. “Not me! Not me!” “Hey, after the sissy, let’s keep going, we got three girls, that’s nine holes to fill!” It almost landed on one of the girls, then just barely managed to rotate to the next person in the circle. Chris. Lance’s heart started pounding — if he had thought rationally about it, Chris would be exactly whom he would have picked: the handsome jock with the muscles and the dimples… He would be ideal. But this was all happening so fast that Lance didn’t even think about his ideal first choice before it was all done. “Makes sense, it was your idea,” Math said over the hooting laughter. The others laughed and catcalled at Chris, who blushed beet-red. Somebody smacked him on the ass as he walked towards the trailer. He cast a nervous glance at Lance. He had a nice phat ass, and his cheeks rippled when his friends tapped him on the ass. He bristled like he was uncomfortable with it, but didn’t complain. “I don’t even care, I’ll let some sissy swing on my dick,” Chris said. “I need to get my dick wet!” He grabbed his overflowing crotch-bulge as he stood in the threshold of the trailer, then entered. His confidence disappeared entirely once he was in the trailer. He made eye contact with Lance and winced. Chris was a tall, beefy young man, with broad shoulders and a barrel-shaped body. He had been a linebacker on his high school football team, and he still retained all that heft and meat even now, a couple years out of school. He had peachfuzz on his cheek and his chest — visible under the wifebeater he wore — and a thick mop of blond hair on his head. He had a powerful body beneath his layer of padding, which was just thick enough. He had the physique of an athlete who had never watched what he ate, so his perfect frame was concealed by a layer of sexy plumpness. He smelled of sweat and cheap deodorant, a scent that made Lance’s dick get hard in his pants. “Whatchoo wanna do?” Chris asked, his voice wavering. It sounded like he rarely lacked confidence, and was uncomfortable with it. “What, uh… What are the rules?” Lance asked. “You can do whatever you want,” Chris said. He blushed again, as his friends outside called out to him. “You swallowin’ that sissy dick yet, Chris? Bet you regret comin’ up with this idea?!” “Fuckin’ retard!” “Cornhole Chris! Cornhole Chris! Make him cry, Lance!” Chris sighed. “I know Math said you can say no, but you ain’t s’sposed. Or I ain’t s’sposed to, I mean… neither of us is s’sposed to. It’s bein’ a bad sport.” “Oh,” Lance said. Not wanting to waste any time, he sunk to his knees. Chris wore dirty, loose jeans, and Lance grabbed his crotch through the denim. He sniffed the filthy material, then looked up at Chris, who watched as though terrified of what was happening. The rednecks outside outside the trailer were chanting “Cornhole Chris!” over and over as they directed flashlights through the curtains into the trailer. Their light danced on the walls like searchlights. The curtains meant they couldn’t see inside anyway, but the lights were still blinding for Chris and Lance. Chris nodded. “I play by the rules, suh,” he said. “Just tell them you jerked me off, and I have a huge one. Ain’t gotta lie ‘bout that. I don’t give a shit who swallow my nut.” Despite his words, he sucked in his breath as Lance touched his dick. Lance suspected he had rarely, if ever, let a man jerk him off, except perhaps that one time in jail (when it seemed the whole crew had done so — Lance wondered who had done the swallowing then; had it been one of them? Or was there an outsider in there with them?). Lance unzipped Chris’s jeans and pulled them down. He wore plain dingy white briefs, which Lance also pulled down. He whistled at the sight of Chris’s massive cockshaft, which hung limply between his trunkish legs. “Hey, Chris, squeal like a piggie, okay? I know you can do it! Yee-haw!” A blush spread across Chris’s face, and he frowned like a part of him wanted to run outside and start throwing punches. Lance guzzled down his limp dick before he could change his mind. Chris had a thick, greasy slab of meat, and his youthful vigor meant it perked up in Lance’s mouth right away. “Ah, damn…” Chris said, a blush appearing on his babyface as though he hadn’t meant to reveal how good this dome was. “You swallow that like a champion mare, boy.” Lance smiled around the rapidly firming cock in his throat. He slathered spit up and down Chris’s shaft, and he grinned as the plump cocktip tickled the back of his throat. “He’ll do anything, Lance, remember that! This is Seven Minutes in Heaven, not Seven Minutes in Compromise!” “Stick it in his ass! Make ‘im squeal!” They laughed as though it was a huge joke, but also with a trace of seriousness. From the faint grumblings that Lance heard indistinctly outside, he suspected that two men had, on occasion, gone into this trailer before for a similar purpose. They were whispering about it as some long-ago scandal. Chris grunted as though surprised at how good this spot of dome felt as Lance swallowed his cock down to the root. He quickly got hard, and he humped his hips into Lance’s face. Chris’s round jaw wriggled as he chewed on his lower lip, whether out of passion or anxiety or both Lance wasn’t sure. The sour flavor of precum coated Lance’s tongue. He moaned and let some of it drip out of his mouth, running in rivulets down the veins that wrapped over Chris’s plump shaft. Six minutes left! Lance wanted to see how far he could take Chris, so he licked the man’s heavy, low-hanging balls while taking his own cock out of his pants. He licked a trail from Chris’s cock and over his belly. Chris was in excellent shape, but he didn’t have a six-pack — it was obvious, to Lance anyway, that he didn’t have the body-type for it. This was probably about as close as he was capable of getting, just a little paunch and a layer of padding over his dictionary-sized pecs. Lance sucked on his nipples as Chris’s muscles rippled and he held back a moan. Chris either didn’t care or didn’t notice as Lance jousted with his cock and Chris’s. Lance stroked off both shafts at once. Chris was more focused on moaning as his nipples grew erect in Lance’s mouth. With both men’s precum running from their cocktips, it wasn’t obvious to Chris that the sensation on his dick came from Lance’s manhood rather than his fingers. Then Chris blanched. His hands fluttered like he didn’t know where to put them — he had realized he was touching dicks with Lance. He moaned with pleasure, then blushed as if he was trying to stop from moaning. “You want me to stop?” “Nah,” Chris said. He took a deep breath. He spoke quietly to be sure no one outside could hear. From the occasional rocking and banging on the walls, it sounded like the other rednecks were right on the other side, listening for any hint at what was going on in there. “I’ll do anything you want,” Chris whispered. He looked down at his massive trailer park-bred feet. Lance got on his knees and kissed him on the lips, which were dry and thick. Chris opened his mouth as though he had been waiting for that, and their tongues interlocked. Lance was shocked that Chris kissed him back. As someone outside called out, Five minutes left, Lance decided to hurry up. He sunk back down, tongue leaving a trail of spit down Chris’s thick neck, chest, belly, crotch and thigh. He intended to let Chris ram his face. But it seemed Chris didn’t get that. Chris instead grumbled a bit but mounted Lance’s body backwards, as though he was going to sixty-nine. Lance gasped with shock as Chris’s cock and balls plopped on his face. Sweat and precum dribbled down his cheek. “Thanks for getting me outta prison,” Chris said. Then, before Lance could tell him he didn’t have to do this, Chris swallowed Lance’s dick. He gagged right away, even before it hit the back of his throat, and then he gagged continuously until he got used to it. His tongue battered Lance’s cockshaft, which was already erect and throbbing. Lance sucked in his breath, and his toes curled. Absolutely shocked by this development, Lance nearly blew his load immediately. He had rarely felt such intense pleasure, as his cock throbbed and pulsated in Chris’s mouth. Chris gurgled, and he sucked down every drop, regardless of how his throat spasmed around the salty precum that leaked down his gullet. Lance instinctively used one hand to guide Chris’s head up and down, while Chris’s meaty body planted his own cock in Lance’s throat. Lance swallowed it to the root, and he too slathered spit up and down the shaft. Chris hadn’t lost any bit of his erection, so it firmly filled Lance’s throat and it too spewed precum into Lance’s belly. Seemingly overcome by passion, Chris stopped playing with Lance’s precum-nearly-cumming cock. He lifted his head up and grunted as he slammed his dick deep into Lance’s throat. He gasped, and Lance choked. His thick arms grabbed both of Lance’s legs and held on to them tightly. His mouth open and his head near Lance’s dick, Chris was trying to swallow that dick once more, but his orgasm was too intense to do it. He couldn’t concentrate, all he could do was moan as pleasure shuddered through his body, while Lance’s dick did little more than bob and spasm, leaving a trail of juices along Chris’s butterface. “Yee-haw, fuck! Yeah!” Chris said as quietly as he could muster. His back arched and the peachfuzz on his spine stood up. Chris’s entire muscular body jiggled when he came, spraying a load all the way down Lance’s gullet. He felt up his own nipples with each hand, and his burly body puckered beneath Lance’s grasp. Lance savored the creamy texture and salty flavor as it overwhelmed his senses. Then Chris kneeled, planting his hairy ass on Lance’s face. He laughed as Lance licked the ticklish taint between his thighs. He reached out and stroked Lance’s dick with one hand, while his other caressed Lance’s smooth chest. Chris breathed deeply, with a sick smile on his face as he watched Lance lick his sensitive taint. Every few seconds a shudder of post-orgasmic pleasure shot through him, and Chris’s whole body writhed atop Lance’s face. “Damn, you smooth as hell, boy,” he said. “Have you ever messed around with a man before?” Chris looked away. He didn’t answer out loud, but it was obvious the answer was yes — Lance really wanted to ask for details, but he didn’t think Chris would provide any, and regardless, Lance was too aroused to concentrate. He couldn’t believe this football jock was touching his cock. It was probably in prison, anyway, before the trial, when it seemed Math, Chris and all the others had messed around. As the youngest, they might have made Chris bottom for the whole crew, Lance thought, a possibility that Lance wished he could have watched. He took his ass off Lance’s face, then mounted Lance’s crotch. He squatted over it and let his ass land on Lance’s hardon. He looked pained even before Lance’s dick sunk inside him. He winced and hung his head to avoid eye contact with Lance. “Oh shit that hurts!” Chris said with a wince. That made it seem like he was intact, Lance thought, as another burst of bliss wracked his body, emanating from his sensitive cock. “Sorry, sorry,” Lance murmured, his lithe body growing sweaty as the trailer heated up. He let out a cringing moan of passion as Chris lowered his plump cheeks. Lance chuckled. “Ow, shit, Chris! That’s too big!” “Ah, damn, horse-cock Chris strikes again!” “Hold ‘im down, boy! Ain’t no backin’ out!” His dick disappeared in Chris’s well-muscled ass, which was firm as overinflated basketballs. Chris’s blushing face turned even redder from both embarrassment and pain. His post-orgasmic dick even spasmed a few times when Lance hit Chris’s prostate. Jizz leaked onto Lance’s belly and slid into his crotchhair. Lance grabbed Chris’s body and felt his muscles, which were tense and flexed. Beneath the padding he was like a statue though, gym-toned muscles firm as rocks, and the feel of his masculine physique made Lance want to ram him like this forever, instead of a mere seven minutes in heaven. Chris remained perfectly still aside from an occasional gasp and wince. “Damn, Chris, you got a perfect ass…” Lance muttered, as the tightness of it sent waves of sensation through his body. He kissed Chris’s muscular torso and licked the sweat that had collected there. His dick was all the way inside Chris now, sliding in and out. Chris was such a big boy that his asscrack was huge, matted with dark blond hair and dripping with sweat, spit and assjuice. That meant he was well-lubed, so Lance could easily slid his dick in and out. Chris did suck in his breath every few seconds in pain, but he didn’t complain. One minute left! The more they got a good rhythm going, the most Chris seemed to get into it. It wasn’t clear that he even heard the men outside giving him just one minute left. Lance didn’t want Chris to get caught in this position when they opened the door, so he plowed hard back and forth, ignoring the spasming pain of Chris’s muscles. Instead Lance rammed his crotch against Chris over and over as his climax mounted. Finally that orgasm hit him like a linebacker tackle, just as Lance heard the men outside chanting and counting down the last thirty seconds. Lance gasped, and Chris squealed his discomfort. He blushed at having made such an unmanly sound. Luckily nobody outside seemed to hear it. As the orgasm washed over him, Lance yelped and squirmed. He made enough noise that the rednecks outside heard and laughed. They were knocking on the door now, but it seemed they had a rule of not opening the door until the seven minutes was up. Lance’s limp cock plopped out of Chris’s ass. Chris breathed a sigh of relief. Then without another word, he backed up, making all of the jizz up his backside flow out and plop onto Lance’s back. As the last ten-second countdown began, Chris rested his balls right on Lance’s nostrils, and the scent of his rank sweat coated Lance’s nose. Chris’s balls smelled like his own ass, mixed with feet and cum and perspiration. It was almost enough to make Lance nut all over again. Chris guffawed. “I’s teabaggin’ him, guys!” “Four. Three! Two! One!” They flung the door open, obviously hoping to catch Chris in a compromising situation. But Chris was on top of Lance, leaving no clue that Chris had been penetrated. His gigantic cock was plainly visible — that must have been his goal, Lance thought, to make sure his friends saw he had a giant cock, and Chris was teabagging Lance. Lance’s body was covered in cum — and so was Chris’s ass, not that they could see that. They clapped at the sight of Lance’s moist face. Chris blushed as though he hadn’t meant to get caught at all, and he pulled his underwear on. Someone handed him a beer as he left the trailer, still wearing nothing but his briefs, and Math smacked his ass with a howl. His asscheeks must have had jizz clinging to them — Lance’s jizz — but Math either didn’t notice or didn’t want to point it out in front of th ewhole crew. “You alright, Lance?” Math asked. He side-eyed Chris. “He’s fine,” Chris said, winking at Lance. “His ass couldn’t quite take the Big C-” He grabbed his cock through his shorts and wagged it at Math. “But his mouth managed to hold in there. It was seven minutes in heaven for sure.” “That’s right,” Lance said with a knowing grin as he too stepped out of the trailer. “It truly was seven minutes in utter heavenly bliss.” He was exhausted but he tried to hide it, thinking it might look obvious that he had done some plowing and that Chris had bottomed. But most people were drunk by then, and they just guffawed at Chris’s embarrassed look. No one even seemed to consider the possibility that Chris had bottomed. And in any case, they were all focused on moving onto the next round of the game. That meant getting the remaining men — plus those three prostitutes — to sit down in a circle with a bottle yet again. Lance hung out near that trailer, hoping he would be able to get a peek inside at what happened during the next Seven Minutes in Heaven.
The man standing in the threshold was short, broad-shouldered and terrifically ugly. He had a nasty scar across his face, which looked to have been craggy and harsh even before the scar. His nose was crooked, his upper lip askew, multiple teeth missing. His voice was gravelly and rough, like a heavy smoker.
he wouldn’t be the first alpha thug who told Kwan he’d never let a man swing on his dick but then allowed Kwan to easily seduce him time and time again. Sometimes a man just wanted to be talked into something, so he could feel like he didn’t want to do it.
he wouldn’t be the first alpha thug who told Kwan he’d never let a man swing on his dick but then allowed Kwan to easily seduce him time and time again. Sometimes a man just wanted to be talked into something, so he could feel like he didn’t want to do it.
Skelton was taller than Latrell, bigger but not as cut; he didn’t have a six-pack, that much was obvious even through his baggy clothes. He looked like he probably did have a six-pack when he was younger though. He had a bushy, unkempt beard and a crucifix around his chest, which he kissed every time Kwan looked at him. He was a convict. He had earned his cosmetology license in prison, and Johnny Cee had hired him because he got a nice tax break for it. He had a square, jutting jaw and dark eyes, with a thick body. He was not handsome like Latrell, but he was bursting with swagger and sex appeal to women, Kwan assumed.
