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.
His body was more powerful than it seemed when he wore a suit on television, Avery thought. Tamperton had a barrel chest, not at all saggy from age, and though the hair on his head was ruddy and balding, the hair on his chest was fresh, dark and just thick enough to grab nd hold onto. He was stronger than Avery had thought he would be, and perhaps most surprisingly, he had a massive cock resting between his sweaty thighs.
Cuddling did sound appealing, but once the orgasmic afterglow wore off in a few minutes, he’d be tired of it and their bodies would be hot and sticky.
Tamperton whistled his appreciation. “That was nice, Avery,” he said. “Reminds me why I’m not loyal to women. They don’t do it like that, and if they did, they’d still want to cuddle and talk about feelings afterwards. You don’t want to do that, do you, Avery?” “No,” Avery said. The last thing he wanted to do now was talk about feelings. Cuddling did sound appealing, but once the orgasmic afterglow wore off in a few minutes, he’d be tired of it and their bodies would be hot and sticky.
How he snuck up to Avery in a minimalist hotel lobby, with nothing to hide behind except six uncomfortable chairs, ten dead-eyed staff and a goat-in-a-bathtub’s worth of feminism, Avery will never figure out.
How he snuck up to Avery in a minimalist hotel lobby, with nothing to hide behind except six uncomfortable chairs, ten dead-eyed staff and a goat-in-a-bathtub’s worth of feminism, Avery will never figure out.
The hotel lobby was fashionably minimalist, with carpet softer than most mattresses and of the most exquisitely vibrant shade of white Avery had ever seen, it was sort of an electric white, like the white equivalent of neon pink, and it was spotless. Shockingly spotless, like fresh off the factory, not a single smudge or mote of dullness. That and an odd statue were the only things of note in the vault-like minimalist “splendor” of the Granger Ben Hotel. Minimalist doesn’t mean spending less on decor, it means spending more on less decor. The elite will always spend to make sure the peons know they can. In the olden days, they did so by hiring a hundred artisans to work for a lifetime decorating every inch of a cathedral. Now they hire the equivalent in man-hours to create, install and clean a fantastically expensive alabaster carpet that gets steam-cleaned every ten minutes and one statue that was hard to identify but might have been a goat in a bathtub and which may have had a feminist bent. Avery couldn’t quite put his finger on what was feminist about it. It had a plaque, but he was not going to read a goddamn plaque about a feminist, like in a museum, but anyway, both the goaty shape and the bathtubby shape had a feminist air about them. So instead of hiring stonecarvers and woodworkers to build a cathedral for seventy years, they pay a couple million up front for some absurdly dumb feminist goat in a feminist bathtub and a million or two in wages over many years to various cleaners, installers, repairers, etc. They spend just as much, but they call it minimalist. Avery would rather employ stonecarvers and woodworkers than feminists and cleaning crews. Plus, there’d be more to look at when he sat here twiddling his thumbs like a fucking idiot, waiting an hour and a half for that billionaire shitheel Charlie Tamperton. Avery was definitely deleting his dumbass apps. Except the one with the ostrich that finds coupons. “There you are, Mr. Flowers,” said a suited man who appeared next to Avery, startling him. How he snuck up to Avery in a minimalist hotel lobby, with nothing to hide behind except six uncomfortable chairs, ten dead-eyed staff and a goat-in-a-bathtub’s worth of feminism, Avery will never figure out. Somehow the Asian man with the dead eyes and swampy cologne managed to surprise him. He gave Avery a polite nod. “I’m Delaney Chu, Mr. Tamperton’s campaign manager. He’s ready to see you now.”
When Avery lobbies a presidential candidate on some pet issues, he didn’t realize what he was in for! The studly Governor Harold Tamperton is ready to give Avery the reacharound of a lifetime in exchange for political support, an exchange that’s worth every penny to Avery!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Or read the whole thing here!
Avery sighed. Was Mr. Tamperton going to stand him up? He would have thought not — Avery was representing an important lobby group, and Mr. Tamperton’s campaign was who set this up. They reached out to Avery, not the other way around. Now Mr. Tamperton was an hour late. Avery had come to assume politicians would always be late — that was in their DNA. A part of him had believed Charlie Tamperton’s claim that he would be different. A part of him hoped Tamperton would be different. But mostly, Avery suspected that Charlie Tamperton would not be different at all. The hotel lobby was fashionably minimalist, with carpet softer than most mattresses and of the most exquisitely vibrant shade of white Avery had ever seen, it was sort of an electric white, like the white equivalent of neon pink, and it was spotless. Shockingly spotless, like fresh off the factory, not a single smudge or mote of dullness. That and an odd statue were the only things of note in the vault-like minimalist “splendor” of the Granger Ben Hotel. Minimalist doesn’t mean spending less on decor, it means spending more on less decor. The elite will always spend to make sure the peons know they can. In the olden days, they did so by hiring a hundred artisans to work for a lifetime decorating every inch of a cathedral. Now they hire the equivalent in man-hours to create, install and clean a fantastically expensive alabaster carpet that gets steam-cleaned every ten minutes and one statue that was hard to identify but might have been a goat in a bathtub and which may have had a feminist bent. Avery couldn’t quite put his finger on what was feminist about it. It had a plaque, but he was not going to read a goddamn plaque about a feminist, like in a museum, but anyway, both the goaty shape and the bathtubby shape had a feminist air about them. So instead of hiring stonecarvers and woodworkers to build a cathedral for seventy years, they pay a couple million up front for some absurdly dumb feminist goat in a feminist bathtub and a million or two in wages over many years to various cleaners, installers, repairers, etc. They spend just as much, but they call it minimalist. Avery would rather employ stonecarvers and woodworkers than feminists and cleaning crews. Plus, there’d be more to look at when he sat here twiddling his thumbs like a fucking idiot, waiting an hour and a half for that billionaire shitheel Charlie Tamperton. Avery was definitely deleting his dumbass apps. Except the one with the ostrich that finds coupons. “There you are, Mr. Flowers,” said a suited man who appeared next to Avery, startling him. How he snuck up to Avery in a minimalist hotel lobby, with nothing to hide behind except six uncomfortable chairs, ten dead-eyed staff and a goat-in-a-bathtub’s worth of feminism, Avery will never figure out. Somehow the Asian man with the dead eyes and swampy cologne managed to surprise him. He gave Avery a polite nod. “I’m Delaney Chu, Mr. Tamperton’s campaign manager. He’s ready to see you now.” Avery nodded and shook his hand, wondering where Tamperton had come from — Avery was sitting in the front lobby of the hotel, and he hadn’t seen Tamperton enter. He must have slipped in through a service entrance, presumably to avoid the mob of journalists outside. The Democratic primary was heating up, and Tamperton was no doubt being followed by both the press and his opponents’s trackers. “Mr. Tamperton is very excited for this opportunity,” Delaney said. “He’s wanted to reach out to the legitimate-massage community for a long time. Honestly it’s my fault he hasn’t, blame me for that. He’s been telling me for months that we’ve got to make some allies there. And he’s totally right.” “I see,” Avery said. He didn’t really believe Delaney — not that he thought Delaney was lying, exactly, but it made sense for Mr. Tamperton to focus on consolidating the main wings of the Democratic Party. He had risen to prominence with a series of sharply worded statements in accordance with Avery’s views, including a harsh eye aimed at the prostitution industry, especially the semi-legal massage parlors that make it hard for legitimate companies to operate. Avery’s business couldn’t compete in advertising with literally all of the city’s pimps and hookers, but many city governments across the country had decided it was better to the semi-tolerate semi-legal semi-businesses of pimps and madams, and they had no interest in supporting the operations of legitimate massage companies. Avery had formed and then found himself in charge of a lobby group devoted to legitimate-massage businesses, and as the presidential race heated up, Avery found his little pressure group rising to the top of the Democratic Party. That wasn’t because it was a huge pressure group, precisely the opposite. All the huge pressure groups had committed to a candidate months or years ago. Avery’s was one of the few groups that hadn’t yet committed to a candidate. The immigrant-rights community nationwide had rallied around Avery and rocketed him to the top of the Democratic Party’s primary polling in the early months. That was not his intent — a lot of immigrants were masseurs, that was why. So the conventional wisdom was that candidates could nail down Avery’s endorsement and garner votes from the anti-prostitution folks and the immigrants. Now that the first primaries and caucuses loomed closer, some of the more minor candidates were getting traction. Mr. Tamperton’s endless barrage of media-grabbing statements dominated the news, while Vermont Governor Paul Thandrasepkatar got some key endorsements, especially from a handful of celebs. Tamperton had come out on the wrong side of the police brutality debate, which made it hard for the ultra-leftists to support him. Governor Thandrasepkatar had come out in support of some popular things, which Mr. Tamperton couldn’t support without being seen as a flip-flopper. So despite Tamperton’s initial success, Governor Thandrasepkatar was vacuuming up support. Avery represented one of the few immigrant civil rights organizations that hadn’t yet endorsed Thandrasepkatar, and he knew Tamperton was going to be desperate for a way back in to the good graces of the immigrant community. He wondered what Tamperton would say today to dominate the news cycle tomorrow, and he hoped it wasn’t at his expense. Of course none of that had anything to do with legitimate massage. But more than two-thirds of the dues-paying businesses in Avery’s lobby group were owned by immigrants, and there were a lot more immigrants than legitimate massuers in this country. Avery was so lost in thought he didn’t notice that Delaney was taking him downstairs, to the basement. He wasn’t going to a hotel room at all. In the basement of the hotel — the basement had no decoration either, just more spotless white in the form of painted walls, which again had no smuges or fingerprints or faded spots —Delaney brought Avery past the pool. They stopped in front of a door marked SAUNA. He smiled and held the door open, motioning for Avery to squeeze in past the pair of burly bodyguards who stood sentry. “Mr. Tamperton is getting a steam,” Delaney said. “But he’ll see you now. Feel free to take off your clothes.” There was a little changing area in the front of the sauna. Avery entered and nervously took off his clothes. He had always loved saunas — that was his favorite part of his recent trip to Finland. It was only as Avery wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into the sauna that he realized he had posted about the trip, and his effusive love for saunas, on Facebook. That was why Tamperton arranged for a meeting here. He looked through Avery’s Facebook timeline until he found out what he liked: saunas. It felt like pandering, it was patronizing. It was hard to take notes in the steamy sauna too, which made Avery wonder if Tamperton’s plan was to prevent Avery from keeping a record of what he said. “Good afternoon, Mr. Flowers,” Mr. Tamperton said. His face was shrouded by steam. “Please, call me Tamperton. Don’t you love this sauna? It’s the greatest, I’m a yuge fan of saunas. The steam is wonderful for the skin.” “Yeah, I’m sure,” Avery said. “Well… Tamperton, I’m sure you realize why I agreed to meet with you. The organization I represent-“ “Wait, wait, Avery, let’s not jump right into business,” Mr. Tamperton said. “Let’s just chat a bit. I’d like to get to know you.” Avery shrugged as he sat down. The sauna was so misty and dim that he hadn’t seen Tamperton until he got to the bench he sat on. That’s when he clocked that Tamperton was stark naked, not even wearing a towel around his waist. His body was more powerful than it seemed when he wore a suit on television, Avery thought. Tamperton had a barrel chest, not at all saggy from age, and though the hair on his head was ruddy and balding, the hair on his chest was fresh, dark and just thick enough to grab nd hold onto. He was stronger than Avery had thought he would be, and perhaps most surprisingly, he had a massive cock resting between his sweaty thighs. This was definitely not how Avery had expected this interview to progress. He wondered how he could bring this up at the next meeting without looking like a Tamperton fanboy excited to see his crush’s cock. That wasn’t at all how Avery felt He had never thought of Tamperton as having an excellent physique until just now, when his naked, sweat-dappled body was right in front of Avery’s eyes. And now Avery found his eyes drawn to that magnificant cock. “How are you enjoying the campaign?” Avery asked, nervous at sitting next to someone so intensely masculine, not to mention a powerful billionaire. The humid sauna-sweat glistened on his broad chest and shoulders, and when he touched his own chin, he left a trail of moisture that ran down his the curves of his pecs in rivulets. “I’m enjoying it plenty, I love this kind of scrappy repartée, the exchange of ideas, the Sturm und Drang of it all,” he said. “The one problem is that I never see my wife.” “That’s tough. Being president is even tougher though,” Avery said. A part of him had always been worried that Tamperton wasn’t serious — being president wasn’t like being CEO of a professional rugby team (that was one of Tamperton’s high-profile business ventures). He was going to have to be on duty all the time. “Sure, sure, I can’t wait. I’ll enjoy that, honestly. My wife will be there in the White House with me. She can’t travel on the campaign trail with me, but she would gladly move into the White House. She’s already picking out curtains,” he said. Then he cleared his throat nervously. “Look… I’m gonna have trouble concentrating on this interview if we don’t do something about…” He gestured towards his crotch. “Without my wife at my side at nights, I need another way to let off a little steam.” He laughed as he gestured to the steam that filled the sauna. “I’m sorry, Tamperton?” “Do you want to jerk me off?” “… I’m sorry, Tamperton?” “Of course you can’t put it in your article. I’ll deny it. Not even my bodyguards out there know what we’re doing in here,” he said. He shrugged. “You don’t have to. I just thought you were the kind of man who knows your way around a cock.” “Really?” He nodded. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been checking me out.” Avery nodded and blushed. Before he could do anything else, Tamperton leaned in and kissed him. Avery was so shocked he just sat there like a dead fish at first, then shoved his tongue in Tamperton’s mouth. They collapsed onto the sauna bench, with Tamperton on top of Avery, his burly body weighing him down and his heavy cock pressing into Avery’s thigh. “Oh… Mr. Tamperton-“ “Call me Tamperton.” “Tamperton…!” Tamperton kissed a trail down Avery’s neck and chest. He suckled on each nipple until it was hard, and he smiled at Avery. “You see, I do respect immigrants. I love the immigrants. Not to mention massage. Massage has helped so many of my rugby players with physical ailments.” His breath condensed on Avery’s nape. “I’ll do whatever I can to help the industry.” “I see…” His back arched as pleasure shot through him. Tamperton gave his dick a few strokes. It pulsated between Tamperton’s thick fingers, as Avery dragged his own fingers through Tamperton’s thinning reddish hair. The body heat emanating off Tamperton merged with the humid warmth of the sauna, and Avery found his hands moving over the well-worked muscle of Charlie Tamperton’s chest and back. Then Tamperton lowered his head, as he kissed Avery again on the lips, then the chin, the neck, and a moan of passion came out of both men. Avery sucked in his breath. This was not how he thought this little foray into lobbying would pan out. His hands fluttering and running all up and down Tamperton’s well-muscled back, Avery leaned back, thinking Tamperton would soon stop kissing. But no, his kisses moved lower and lower. Then, before Avery knew it, Tamperton’s mouth encircled Avery’s dick. Avery was astonished to feel his lips on Avery’s cock, but he was too aroused to even process what was happening. He continued lowering his head, still holding his breath as his heart raced, until Avery was laying on the sauna bench on his back. He reached for Tamperton’s crotch, and he hefted that fat erection in one, then both, hands. With Tamperton atop him, Avery and he arranged their bodies to sixty-nine, with Tamperton on top, his plump, piggish prick aimed right for Avery’s mouth. He was so huge and heavy that Avery could barely wrap his arms around Tamperton’s body. Avery opened up, feeling that familiar sensation of hot meat invading his throat. His fingers clenched Tamperton’s thick back and ass, as precum invaded his mouth. Avery sucked vigorously, deep-throating and swallowing every inch of his meat. They writhed together, in unison, and for a little while, Avery forgot that Tamperton was part of the political and business elite. Tamperton’s muscles tightened and flexed above Avery. Tamperton was in much better shape than he had seemed, and Avery could feel the power bristling just below the surface of his body. He had the muscle of the rugby players he employed, Avery thought, wondering if he worked out with his athletes. He was a tech guy, originally and mainly, Tamperton built his business off apps. But he was never a slim computer geek, and his patronage of the American Rugby League was well-known. The rugby players probably sauna together, Avery realized as he slurped on the savory cock invading his throat. Tamperton might sauna with them. He loved the man’s body hair too, just thick enough to be unkempt and furry, but not so thick as to be dirty or offputting. He smelled clean and strong, even his dick and despite the sauna-induced sweat that covered his body. His balls were thick and heavy, without the old man-droopiness that Avery had rather assumed he would have. Precum flooded Avery’s mouth. He enjoyed the sour and salty flavor of precum, not to mention the creamy texture, and he savored it in his mouth now as well. He let it coat his tongue, which ran up and down Tamperton’s veiny shaft. Avery was leaking precum too, and Tamperton swallowed it like he was well-practiced. Avery wondered how often Tamperton had done this before. He did not do it like a man exploring something new. He did it like this was old hat. “Wait,” Tamperton said, pulling out just as Avery neared his orgasm. His hefty body hovered above Avery, who gasped in desperate need for more. His cocktip dangled tantalizingly near, just centimeters above Avery’s head. Tamperton smiled. “I’m gonna ram you now, okay? In the ass. I need a tight booty, and I can tell you are gonna be taut as a drum.” He caressed Avery’s smooth belly and added, “I’m gonna tap your ass good, Avery. You won’t be walking straight for a week. You like it like that?” Avery nodded. “Hell yeah.” “Do I have your endorsement?” “I…” Avery gulped. “I need your support on-“ “Of course, of course. The proposed legislation, right? The Massage Rescue Plan? I can absolutely support that, and I promise, if elected president, I will do everything possible to ensure it gets through Congress,” he said. He stood, letting his erection bob around afront Avery’s face. Avery chased it with his tongue until he sensed Tamperton’s bemused gaze. Then Avery serioused up. Despite his own erection and his strong desire to handle Tamperton’s, Avery only shrugged. “Well then, I guess we can support you — it’s not entirely up to me, you know?” “I understand. Just tell them what I said — what I said about the Massage Rescue Plan — and that you believe me,” Tamperton said. He teased his knobtip on Avery’s lips. “You do believe me, don’t you?” “Fuck yes!” Avery exclaimed. He felt bad about selling out his endorsement so easily, but he reasoned that it wasn’t really up to him anyway. He’d tell his committee the political promises Tamperton made, and if that was enough, they’d take their endorsement public. Supporting that in private was the most Avery could do. He wasn’t sure Tamperton understood that, but Avery was not in a position to explain the nuances of his lobby group’s mechanisms. In one smooth motion, Charlie Tamperton stood, holding Avery in his powerful arms. He flipped Avery over, then bent him over the bench and spread his asscheeks. Avery’s knees went weak even before penetration began. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, and he wondered if anyone would believe him if he told. Probably not, he decided as Tamperton’s broadly muscled chest rippled behind him, rubbing on Avery’s smooth back. Tamperton must have had a bottle of lube hidden somewhere nearby, because Avery felt that slippery coldness, which was a pleasant sensation contrasting with the humid warmth of the sauna. The lube slid into his ass and spread to every corner, making him feel all slippery inside. Already Avery felt Tamperton’s hot cock throbbing against the small of his back, and Avery had to hold back a chest-rattling howl of desire. “Here it comes, Avery, be ready for it,” Tamperton said, using his toned arms to hold Avery in place. The fact that he said Avery’s name turned him on — it felt good to know he was on a first-name basis with someone like this. People often treated him as though he should have personal connections in the government and business elite because of his position in this lobby group, but he didn’t, until now. Tamperton was the only major politician he’d ever met. “I’m ready…” A burst of pleasure erupted in his ass as Tamperton’s thick meat pushed inside. Avery gasped and writhed in his arms, struggling to take in its thickness. He reached behind himself with one hand to guide it in, so he could only support himself with the other hand. Tamperton wrapped both arms around Avery’s body and held him tight, lifting him up so he didn’t have to support himself on his hands at all. Avery’s feet were barely on the floor at all. He ground his ass into Tamperton’s crotch, while feeling his hairy chest grind against Avery’s back. “Oh god… I secretly love your budget proposal,” Avery blurted out. He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even really thought it firmly to himself. But he felt so good that his internal filter disappeared, and so he moaned on a few more words about tax rates and progressivity before losing track of his thoughts. “Really? I’m glad you like it, Avery…” His voice was low and guttural, aimed directly in Avery’s ears. Again, when he said Avery’s name, it sent a shiver of sexual energy up Avery’s spine, which caused him a spasm of pain and pleasure as it made his ass twinkle. Avery wondered if Tamperton knew how arousing it was to hear him call out Avery’s name. One of Tamperton’s hands crept around to Avery’s dick and began stroking it. Avery was already so close to orgasm that his whole body twitched and pulsated as though his touch was painful. Avery moaned so loud he wondered if the bodyguards outside could hear, but if they did, they didn’t say anything or even poke their head in. Despite Avery’s animated response to his touch, Tamperton didn’t slow down. He forced his dick in and out, hard enough that Avery felt overwhelming agony that was drowned out by the bliss emanating from his ass. He moaned around the thick arm that caressed his neck and face. He finally shot his load just as Tamperton reached his own climax. Hot cum sprayed from his dick and covered the bench beneath him. Avery moaned and squirmed beneath Tamperton’s grasp. His back rippled as his muscles all tightened at once, and Tamperton held him tight. It felt like they were melting together, becoming one person, and Avery even had a momentary fantasy of him moving into the White House with Tamperton. Wad after wad of creamy seed burst forth within Avery’s spasming body. It coated his insides and dripped down his legs as Avery’s spine undulated. Pleasure coursed through his veins. He gasped and fell limp, supported only by Tamperton’s strong arms. Then it was over. Avery had no idea how long it had lasted. His orgasm felt like it might have gone on for hours, though he knew that was impossible — Tamperton’s retinue would have come in to get him by now. He must not have been as loud as it felt like he was too. Bodyguards would definitely have come in if they heard Avery scream the way it sounded in Avery’s own ears. Tamperton pulled out, sending a shiver of relief up Avery’s back. His jizz continued seeping through his body and dripping down his thighs. Tamperton whistled his appreciation. “That was nice, Avery,” he said. “Reminds me why I’m not loyal to women. They don’t do it like that, and if they did, they’d still want to cuddle and talk about feelings afterwards. You don’t want to do that, do you, Avery?” “No,” Avery said. The last thing he wanted to do now was talk about feelings. Cuddling did sound appealing, but once the orgasmic afterglow wore off in a few minutes, he’d be tired of it and their bodies would be hot and sticky. “Good,” Tamperton said. He held Avery close in his powerful arms, where Avery felt safe and protected. He could see why people supported Tamperton politically — even if he was obviously full of hot air, he was confident and swaggerous, and it made Avery feel less vulnerable to be there scooped up in his arms. “That was amazing, Mr. Tamperton… Tamperton, I mean,” Avery said. “Are you really a big supporter of the legitimate-massage industry?” “I really am. It’s vital to the athletes who work for me, and I have always insisted that my companies offer massage as part of the healthcare and benefits package,” he said with a deep breath. “I’m so glad to have your support. I look forward to your organization campaigning with me.” “that’s really up to the board,” Avery said. He blushed as he straightened out his sore legs — he thought Tamperton was right about him not being able to walk straight for a little while, at least not without concentrating intensely. “But I’ll recommend we come out to support you.” “Thank you, and Avery?” “Yes,” Avery said as Tamperton stood up and headed towards the door. “When I win, I want you to visit me in the White House. You can arrange that, right?” “That won’t be a problem,” Avery said. “Good. We can have a wau-wau and… do other things, things that are definitely going to be off the record,” Tamperton said with a knowing grin. “The Lincoln Bedroom will never be the same.”
He was a dark-haired, swarthy young man with a head of curly brown hair, sterling cheekbones and dimples that went out to here. He had a thick voice too, like his throat had been marinated in sherry. He was broad-chested and strong without being muscular, and smooth yet furry, charming, and he had a reputation — among the staff at the Rockhard Country Club — for seducing women. Especially upper-class women. Gabe lifted off his polo shirt, revealing a supple, taut chest with a gorgeous six-pack. He had a thin layer of fuzz right over his sternum, just enough to be visible. He used to shave himself as smooth as a seal, but he found women liked it better when he had a bit of chest hair. Gabe was strong with well-developed shoulders from the years he had spent playing tennis, but he didn’t have a bulky bodybuilderish body. He had stacks of meaty muscle overtop his shoulders, aand his shoulders flexed beautifully when Rob gently sucked on his soft skin.
Who knows the ways of women? Not Rob. In any case, Clement had a wife who loved him and a mistress who loved him and actually a couple of spurned lovers who still loved him too. Mystifying but true. Jessica — that’s the wife — knew about the mistresses. Rob had encouraged her to sleep around too. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose.
Rob thought he might fall asleep any moment now. This was so boring. How do people fall in love with boring fucks like Clement Tale? Someone had fallen in love with him. Her name was Jessica, and Rob knew her well. She had genuinely loved her husband for a long time, and he had given her five wonderful children, all of them now grown. Clement had been cheating on her for years, and his mistress loved him too. Women were mystifying. What on earth could they have seen in him? He was sorta vaguely handsome in a generic older man sort of way. Not sexy certainly. Stately. Elegantly pleasant to look at. He was rich. Was that really all women cared about? They stopped listening after they heard the word ‘banker’. Who knows the ways of women? Not Rob. In any case, Clement had a wife who loved him and a mistress who loved him and actually a couple of spurned lovers who still loved him too. Mystifying but true. Jessica — that’s the wife — knew about the mistresses. Rob had encouraged her to sleep around too. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose.
Rob helps a handsome tennis pro sneak around with a married woman, and in exchange Rob gets to swing on his throbbing alpha-male meat! Can Rob get away with this scheme and with a taste of this muscular ladysman’s masculine musk?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
“The profit predictions for the Canal Street location aren’t as good, that’s the only reason I was hesitant,” said Clement. “But let me show you what the business analyst said about Garraty Avenue. It’s got real potential. There’s no gas stations within four miles, and it gets plenty of traffic. It’s near the community college.” “Oh, that’s fascinating,” Rob lied. He disliked Clement quite a bit, but that wasn’t really a problem for him — he didn’t want to spend time with him at all. He was just doing this because it helped him reach his ultimate goal: Gabe Willcaster. Rob could already smell the stink of Gabe’s tennis gear. Not literally. Rob was nowhere’s near Gabe Willcaster. He was in a cheesy “Pennsylvania Dutch” restaurant in Connecticut with the portly banker Clement Tale. “Have you given any thought to per-gallon tolling versus sunk tanks?” Clement said. “Because sunk tanks are a better way to go in the long-term. We can get you a great deal on a building company too. It takes longer, but that’s just early time, you can get that back on less maintenance over the life of your gas station.” “Tell me more,” Rob said. It took all of his concentration to avoid rolling his eyes. But he couldn’t do that because Clement Tale had to think that Rob was for real. Rob was pretending to be interested in opening a gas station here in Orchard Range, Connecticut. He had no desire to do that. It seemed like a stupid idea. But Clement was trying to talk him into it because he was a banker, and that was what bankers did. And anyway, Rob’s father was strongly encouraging him — requiring him — yelling at him repeatedly about it and sending him nasty emails — to start a business. He wanted to encourage an entrepreneurial spirit. “How many employees were you going to hire?” Clement asked, and he really seemed like he wanted to know. Rob thought he might fall asleep any moment now. This was so boring. How do people fall in love with boring fucks like Clement Tale? Someone had fallen in love with him. Her name was Jessica, and Rob knew her well. She had genuinely loved her husband for a long time, and he had given her five wonderful children, all of them now grown. Clement had been cheating on her for years, and his mistress loved him too. Women were mystifying. What on earth could they have seen in him? He was sorta vaguely handsome in a generic older man sort of way. Not sexy certainly. Stately. Elegantly pleasant to look at. He was rich. Was that really all women cared about? They stopped listening after they heard the word ‘banker’. Who knows the ways of women? Not Rob. In any case, Clement had a wife who loved him and a mistress who loved him and actually a couple of spurned lovers who still loved him too. Mystifying but true. Jessica — that’s the wife — knew about the mistresses. Rob had encouraged her to sleep around too. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose. So Jessica was having an affair with a tennis pro named Gabe, and that was where Rob came in. Rob had been lusting for Gabe for years. When he finished with his silly distraction — that meeting with Clement was just to distract him so Gabe could go out on a date with the man’s wife — Rob went right back to the tennis club. By then, Jessica would be gone, and Gabe would have some free time before his next lesson. He was a dark-haired, swarthy young man with a head of curly brown hair, sterling cheekbones and dimples that went out to here. He had a thick voice too, like his throat had been marinated in sherry. He was broad-chested and strong without being muscular, and smooth yet furry, charming, and he had a reputation — among the staff at the Rockhard Country Club — for seducing women. Especially upper-class women. That was why Gabe was dating both Jessica and — unknown to either of them — her daughter, Karen. Not to mention Mrs. Fletcher. And he had never broken up with Mrs. O’Connor either, he thought with a grin. Gabe was exhausted after his date with Jessica. He spent hours with her, speaking sweetly, kissing her on the neck. She paid for dinner, of course — Gabe didn’t make much money — and she had bought him a shirt he liked, and she had even paid for his health insurance — she primly declared that it was a charitable donation and would be written off on her taxes. Gabe was pretty sure Jessica had no idea what that meant or how to do it. Her husband was a banker, of course he would be the one to do their taxes, or more likely hires an accountant. She ran her fingers through his hair, and she swooned in his arms. Gabe loved making women feel like that, so he could them purring with contentment in his arms. He loved that he could make Jessica feel like that, and her daughter Karen — who was going out with him tomorrow night — and a bevy of other women. Gabe whistled on his way back to the country club. He had met Jessica there, because he didn’t want to go to her house and be seen by her neighbors, family or butler, and she didn’t want to come to his house for the same reason — silly delicate Jessica actually thought Gabe was wealthy enough to have a butler and neighbors who gave a crap about whether or not Gabe was seeing a married woman. Since he hadn’t gone home since finishing work, Gabe was still dressed for tennis, and his things were in his cabana. He wore short white shorts and a polo shirt that showed off the smattering of hair on his chest. The country club assigned him the cabana for “work” — he had put the bed in it himself, and he had wired it to play romantic tango music and he had even installed a little vibrating machine on the bed. “Hey,” said Rob, sidling up next to him as Gabe unlocked his cabana. Gabe had to put down the tennis racket to get his key in the lock. “Oh shit, there you are, hey, Rob,” Gabe said with a nervous chuckle. He sucked in his breath. He was both eager to get this over with and a little reluctant to do it right now — he’d been hoping to get in Jessica’s panties all night. That didn’t happen, it was just a date at a discrete restaurant. “How’d it go?” “Ah… It was a bust. Thanks for distracting Clement though,” Gabe said with a sigh. He went into his cabana and let Rob in behind him. The night was chilly, but the cabana was warm and stuffy, humid, like a blanket that smelled a little of male sweat, a little of sex and a whole lot of cologne. Gabe wrinkled his nose and lit a scented candle, making the whole cabana smell of “elderberry sunshine” instead. He sighed. “Oh no shit, she wouldn’t bang you?” “You don’t have to be crude,” Gabe said with a leering grin, like he really enjoyed Rob being crude but didn’t want to admit it, just in case one of his female companions happened to overhear. He even looked around the empty cabana to check. The walls were those faux-reeds, somple plain mats that weren’t much of a soundproofing technology. Gabe’s cabana was set back to give him some privacy, but anyone who suspected him — like Jessica’s husband and/or daughter and/or any of a bevy of other jealous men, spurned lovers and private investigators. There wasn’t much furniture in here either, aside from the bed itself. Tennis gear lay all around the room, shoes and rackets and pieces to the tennis ball machine that had broken last year. Rob sniffed the horny sweat from Gabe’s armpit. “She wouldn’t allow you to make sweet, languorous love to her lovely lady-parts?” “She wasn’t feelin’ it,” Gabe said. He sat on his bed and spread his legs. He knew what Rob was going to try next. “I’m feelin’ it…” Rob said with a giggle. He came closer and stretched out on the bed next to Gabe. “You poor baby… You want a backrub?” “Oh Yeah, yeah, I need that,” Gabe said. He sighed. This wouldn’t be bad. He had agreed to let Rob jerk him off. He spent a lot of time eating women out, and they rarely treated him like his own pleasure was worth considering at all. Gabe lifted off his polo shirt, revealing a supple, taut chest with a gorgeous six-pack. He had a thin layer of fuzz right over his sternum, just enough to be visible. He used to shave himself as smooth as a seal, but he found women liked it better when he had a bit of chest hair. He was sprawled out on the bed, and Rob climbed up onto him, mounting his ass so he could rub his shoulders. He cooed softly. Rob was eager to get started, but he didn’t want to push. He had been hoping to get a taste of Gabe’s hot body for a long time. So it had been worth it to spend hours talking about gas stations with a stuffy fifty-something banker. Utterly boring. He kneaded the well-muscled back of Gabe’s body, and Gabe let out a seductive moan. Rob leaned down and kissed his smooth skin. Gabe was strong with well-developed shoulders from the years he had spent playing tennis, but he didn’t have a bulky bodybuilderish body. He had stacks of meaty muscle overtop his shoulders, aand his shoulders flexed beautifully when Rob gently sucked on his soft skin. His hair was immaculate too. Rob didn’t know how he could do it living by himself, because he always kept his hair at the same length, the same level of curliness, the same tapered ending above his neck, so there was never even a single stray hair on his back. He went lower along Gabe’s spine, plastering his skin with kisses. A few hairs did finally appear there, over the small of his back, just above his ass. He wore white shorts now, above tennis shoes and short socks. Rob slowly untied his shoes. Gabe stiffened up a bit. He’d never been with a man. It had seemed simple when he agreed to it — he often messed with females he didn’t especially find attractive. It would be nice, he thought, to get dome for the first time in a long time, to get to ram without regard for seducing women or maintaining a good image for the country club. But it was hard to relax. He remained intimately aware that it was a man caressing his body, not a woman. “Roll over,” Rob said softly, and Gabe did so. He lifted his ass so Rob could pull his shorts down, and his hefty cock — not obscenely huge, but big — popped out. It was just slightly hard at the moment, far from erect, but still some lingering firmness from when he nearly got to fuck Jessica and a bit of a reawakening after that from Rob’s hands all over Gabe’s back. Gabe closed his eyes and sprawled out, arms and legs akimbo. He felt an urge to wiggle like a little boy, but he managed to resist, even though he was nervously ticklish to Rob’s petite fingers dancing over his skin. “Hmmm… You taste real good,” Rob said with a throaty murmur. His hands kneaded Gabe’s chest and his tight, taut little pecs, which flexed beneath his touch. Rob kept giving his dick a half-hearted stroke, teasing Gabe to get him interested. Soon enough Gabe’s eyes fluttered open and he lifted his head, supporting himself on his elbows. He watched his dick flop beneath Rob’s hand. “Hey did Clement say anything about Jessica?” “Not really. He said his wife plays tennis,” Rob murmured softly. His attention was on Gabe’s dick. “Cool.” Gabe couldn’t tear his eyes away from his cock. He cleared his throat. “It’ll get hard if you get it wet.” “You can’t get hard from a handjob?” Gabe blushed. “I… I mean…I can… I just-“ “Is it because I’m a man?” Gabe nodded. “I mean, it’s cool, it’s just… weird.” Rob giggled and smiled. He knew Gabe wouldn’t get hard like this. Rob was just teasing him, playing with his half-hard dick and massaging his muscles. He bent over and sucked off the sweat that was collecting in the forested valley between his pecs. It was warm enough in here — and plenty humid enough — to make him sweat just a bit. Gabe smiled back to conceal his growing frustration — he just wanted to get hard and jerked off so he could go home. Or, he thought, he could just stay here. He had never slept all night in the cabana by himself. He’d shared the bed with women; he’d napped there during the day; he’d slept part of the night by himself after his woman of the week up and left during the night, but he’d never just slept in the bed. It would feel so good to sleep alone. Tomorrow was Tuesday, when the country club didn’t open until ten o’clock, so no staff showed up until nine. He’d have plenty of time to sleep in. Why do I want to sleep in? Oh god am I old? Do I need to settle down? I sound like Granddad, always talking about sleeping in until nine as though it was some special event to be celebrated and remembered forever! Oh god! I need to find a wife and settle down- But Gabe’s anxiety vanished the moment his cocktip slid into Rob’s warm mouth. Gabe let out a long, low sigh as his dick rocketed into full erection. He’d been on the verge for so long it took little time to make it happen. “Hmmmm….” Rob moaned, the sound blending in with the crippeting chorus outside. His dick tasted clean, of coconut-scent soap and crisp night-time air — it tasted like the air outside of the cabana, away from the stale and humid, chlorine-soaked air. It tasted like a sleeping forest, Rob thought, but beneath that there was a certain funkiness, a little manly musk that made Rob croon and his knees go weak. It was the taste of tennis-jock, and it overwhelmed Rob with desire. He slathered it with spit. He soon recognized that Gabe was desperate for some genuine affection, even if he would never admit it. He wanted someone to want to make him feel good, instead of just expecting him to lick their clitorises to orgasm again and again. Gabe moaned out loud, more fully and more passionately than he had moaned with any woman recently. He gripped Rob’s head tightly, holding on as he rode him up and down. Grinding his dick deep into Rob’s throat, he made love to his mouth, plunging in and out, coating his tongue in creamy precum. “Do you wanna ram me?” Rob asked, wiping spit off his lips. He smiled. Gabe was pale, wide-eyed and stammering. He looked like he was on the verge of orgasm already. “Uh… I… I guess… I… I didn’t, uh… I want…” “Just say yes or no,” Rob said. He rubbed Gabe’s dick against his face, slowly so he wouldn’t make him cum too quickly. He wanted to slow Gabe down so he could experience this for as long as possible. “Yes.” Gabe gulped. Rob smiled and laid down on his back. Gabe stood, standing at the foot of the bed, where Rob scooted until his feet could be in the air resting on Gabe’s broad shoulders. A lot of guys loved getting in behind men in this position because it looked and felt like fucking a woman. Of course, a lot of them disliked it because it put the bottom’s cock and balls squarely in front of the top’s eyes. Gabe couldn’t help but watch Rob jack off. For some men, it was too difficult to stay hard while watching a man jack off. Gabe thought that might be him, but he instinctively refused to say it — he didn’t want to be less seductive; he didn’t want to turn away a conquest; he had a reputation to uphold, at least in his mind. Besides, he told himself, you don’t have to look down. Despite that, he did look down as he wedged his dick between Rob’s cheeks and slid in. He sucked in his breath because the side of his hand came tantalizingly close to touching Rob’s ballsac — he might have come into contact with a few curly hairs, but he managed to convince himself that didn’t happen. His cocktip filled up Rob’s ass, and Rob immediately clenched. He struggled to take it in, not because it was so big but because Gabe was used to being extra-gentle. He stopped whenever he felt even a faint twinge of resistance from Rob’s body. “Oh god, stick it in me, Gabe,” Rob said with a moan to get him going harder. He reached for Gabe’s cock, guiding it into his ass and holding it firmly. He tried to pull it, shoving it in, hoping to hurry Gabe along into him. “Are you okay?” “Ramming men in the ass is different from fucking women. Women have clitorises, it feels best-” Rob winced as a shiver of pain hit him hard. But he didn’t let that slow him down any. “They want you to focus on that, right there on the surface. But men have prostates, way down deep in there. You gotta go all the way in.” Gabe grimaced and blushed but did so. The tension was too great to speak. He couldn’t decide if this felt amazing or gross — it was a bit of both at once, and both sensations coursed through his veins. Amazing. All of a sudden, Gabe’s dick rammed in the rest of the way as his inhibitions melted and Rob managed to suck him in. A grand wave of pleasure ran into Gabe like a truck, and he groaned loudly. He first tried to muffle the sound, then remembered that there was no one outside — the country club had been closed for hours, and even the night janitors were gone. So he could be as loud as he wanted. Men like Rob didn’t even get upset if he acted barbarically too — so Gabe could growl and grunt, paw at Rob’s body and ram into him as hard as he could. He didn’t have to be seductive. All he had to do was ram as hard as he could. He plowed into Rob over and over, back and forth. He hadn’t been able to really go to town on anyone’s tight hole in a long time. It felt good to act without regard for anything but his own pleasure and without a face shiny with old-lady pussyjuice. Gabe laughed meanly for the first time in a long time, as an orgasm overwhelmed him and he sighed. His hot breath condensed on Rob’s face, Gabe leaning over when his knees weakened. Pleasure exploded within Rob’s ass, and he shot his own wad all over his chest and belly. It coated him in a layer of creamy warmth. But even then, Gabe kept at it. His dick slammed into Rob, and Gabe sucked in his breath. For just a moment — though it seemed to last forever — both men orgasmed at once. Gabe sometimes managed to do that, but it had never felt as real or as vibrant as it did now. The most intense orgasm of his life, or at least his most intense since he started working here and banging married old broads, wracked Gabe’s body and made him shake from head to toe. He howled and screamed, pounding away at Rob’s ass with more force than he had ever thought someone could take. At last, it was over. Gabe let out a long chest-rattling sigh, and wiped sweat off his chest. Rob sighed too, and bit his lip. His orgasm dwindled away to tense soreness because Gabe’s dick still throbbed as it limpened inside Rob’s ass. “Goddamn, that was nice…” Rob said. He blushed. He giggled and slid away, moaning and blinking his eyes as exhilaration flowed through him and his ass emptied. Gabe smiled and blushed. “I-“ The door opened. In stormed Clement Tale, the banker Rob had distracted earlier, the cuckolded husband of Gabe’s current women (or one of them, anyway) and father of one of Gabe’s other current conquests. Clement looked at the bed with his mouth agape as though it didn’t quite compute. Clement had assumed he’d walk in on Gabe the tennis pro fucking his wife. He’d grown suspicious of the handsome tennis pro — why did his wife need years of tennis lessons anyway? She barely played! — and then doubly suspicious when Rob had seemed unserious at their meeting. He recalled Jessica’s odd tone when talking about her plans for this afternoon and evening, and Clement had been struck with the certainty that she was fucking that smarmy-faced prick Gabe. His blood already boiled with rage over the adultery he thought he was walking in, and he couldn’t quite process that that wasn’t what he was seeing. “You manwhore! You wife-stealing bastard! How dare you seduce my…” “Mr. Tale?!” Gabe shouted. He backed away from the bed, cock dangling between his legs. “I… It’s not what it looks like. This is my… cousin… He’s… staying here, and uh-“ Rob slid out of bed. Clement Tale looked at him curiously, head cocked to the side. It seemed like quite a coincidence that the flamboyant young man who had expressed interest in a gas station just a few hours ago was now apparently here in the room of the tennis pro Mr. Tale had been sure was stupping his wife until a few seconds ago. Clement couldn’t figure out what it meant or in what way it might be an attack on him. Maybe the flamboyant young man was a con artist? But the plan was for him to invest. He was talking about buying a gas station. He wasn’t asking for money. And why would the tennis pro be involved? Now Mr. Tale wasn’t sure of anything. “You… you… ingrate!” Mr. Tale shouted. He couldn’t think of what to accuse either man of. “What are you doing here?” Gabe asked. “I-I… I’m sorry to disturb you.” Clement backed out of the cabana, into the dark night. He still felt sure there was something he wasn’t understanding. But he had assuaged his concerns, or at least he was satisfied that Jessica was not at this very moment fucking her tennis pro. He couldn’t rule out any other moments. That mollified Clement as much as he was capable of being mollified in this moment, and he walked back to his car in stunned silence. Back in the cabana, Rob kissed Gabe again and again until Gabe signaled for him to stop. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” Rob asked, still basking in the heat and the comfortable solidity of Gabe’s frame. Gabe shrugged. He didn’t want to admit he was eager to make that happen. If he got to ram Rob again and again all night long, he would sleep so good. He allowed Rob to kiss and suck his chest clean, then they both laid down on the bed. Now, Gabe was glad he wasn’t sleeping alone. Rob sighed. He was going to sleep with Gabe all night in the bed, it seemed, in this cabana that reeked of Gabe’s lust. He nuzzled Gabe’s now slightly scruffy chin and wrapped one hand around his well-muscled chest. “Hmmmm… Thanks, Rob,” Gabe said. “I really needed this.”
Wuzu’s voice was clear as a lighthouse. “Good evening, Mister Flowers. May I enter?” His Japanese accent was thick: goo-ood eve-en-nin Missuhtaa Flao-za with the rhythm of an elegant machine gun. Despite that, he wasn’t hard to understand.
Wuzu’s voice was clear as a lighthouse. “Good evening, Mister Flowers. May I enter?” His Japanese accent was thick: goo-ood eve-en-nin Missuhtaa Flao-za with the rhythm of an elegant machine gun. Despite that, he wasn’t hard to understand.
When Avery is accosted by a yakuza enforcer for the second time, he thought he was gonna hafta pay protection fees or something similar… But it turns out this yakuza alpha male needs to bend over and take whatever Avery wants to give out! Can Avery help Wuzu recover his reputation?
Read it now as an ebook!
Or read the whole thing here!
Avery felt like celebrating, so he poured himself a glass of wine. He didn’t often drink, mainly because of the calories. And he found that, the older he got, the more alcohol made him sleepy instead of drunk. The taste of wine was splendid though. When he was young, he would rather drink more worse. When he was older, he would rather drink less better. But he had no sooner taken a sip, when there was a knock at the door. Scowling, Avery put down his glass of wine. He rolled his eyes. Probably his neighbor. Like an idiot, he opened it without checking who was there. His blood ran cold when he saw a familiar face. His name was Wuzu, and he was an enforcer for Clan Rairakku, a Maui-based yakuza syndicate that played a major role in business here in San Francisco. It had been Wuzu who came to Avery a year ago and threatened him if he didn’t back out of a business deal. Avery did back out — he had no need to fight for business opportunities, and he had been unsure on the viability of that particular deal anyway. Avery was considering a location for a massage parlor, and he had chosen a different one. No big deal. But now the same stone-facing Japanese man was here again, looking down at Avery. Wuzu’s eyes flashed and sparkled, though he showed no emotion on his face. His only emotion was “stern”, it seemed. But this time, there was a faint note of something else on Wuzu’s face, some excitement, apprehension maybe even eagerness. His eyes scanned up and down, taking in Avery’s petite frame. “Oh, hello, Wuzu. I did what you asked.” “Indeed.” “Hmmm…” Avery found Wuzu’s stare unbearable. He looked down at his feet. “So, uh… It’s all good, right?” “Yes.” Wuzu’s voice was clear as a lighthouse. “Good evening, Mister Flowers. May I enter?” His Japanese accent was thick: goo-ood eve-en-nin Missuhtaa Flao-za with the rhythm of an elegant machine gun. Despite that, he wasn’t hard to understand. Last time, Wuzu had barged right in. This time, he spoke with politeness and a calm breath. Avery could tell this was not a threatening visit. “Uh… I guess so,” Avery said, more out of confusion than anything else. Last time, Wuzu hadn’t phrased it as an option. He immediately regretted it — why invite an extortionist into his home? But Wuzu was more intimidating than Avery could handle. He was tall, especially for a Japanese man, towering over Avery by nearly a foot. He was broad-shouldered and burly, with a square jaw and dark, menacing eyes that flitted this way and that as he entered. His eyes were always in motion, even when his head and the rest of him stayed still, and he walked with the light step and grace of a man a third his size. “Is anyone else here?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response before walking throughout the apartment to check. He stopped and stared at a bonsai tree that Avery placed on a shelf in front of a window. He scoffed as though he didn’t approve. Avery blushed. “No, no one’s here,” Avery said. A long pause split open between them. Avery was behind Wuzu, taking in the thickness of his corded-muscle legs and ass, which strained the fine fabric of his suit. He dressed like a banker, even if he was built like a baseball player. He wore some odd cologne too, which smelled — not exactly bad, but not good either — it smelled like a hot spring in the woods. Moist and freshly fern-like, yet musty and sulfurous. Flashes of his colorful tattoos were visible on the edges of his wrist, ankles and neck, but only when his movements separated the fabric of his suit from its natural resting position. “That’s my bonsai tree, it-“ “It is lacking in balance,” Wuzu said. He plucked one leaf off a branch, and he delicately, deliberately placed the leaf in the trash can beside the door. “Oh. Well. Um,” Avery was too nervous to think of any response. “Okay. Sorry. I’m, uh… It was a Christmas present.” Again a pause erupted in Avery’s apartment, and it was shattered by Wuzu’s smooth baritone. “I am here because of shame,” Wuzu said, his voice deep and resonant. “I see,” Avery said, though that wasn’t true at all. This time, the silence spread like a kudzu through the room, and it strangled every thought Avery had. Wuzu’s stare was intense. He didn’t get why Wuzu could come here because of shame. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with Avery. Wuzu’s simmering gaze was hard to ignore. A part of Avery’s mind brainstormed ways to get him to leave — order him out, call the police, forgive him for his shame, simply show him the door, offer him money to leave — there were so many options. But in the end, all Avery could think to do was to pat the soil of his bonsai tree to see if it needed water. It did not. Avery already knew that. He watered it like an hour ago. It was just nice to have something to occupy his hands for a few seconds, while Wuzu stood and loomed and cogitated like a block of morose tofu. Is he breathing? Avery furrowed his brow. Wuzu’s chest moved only very slightly and very slowly, like he was trying not to show that he was breathing. Finally, Wuzu spoke. “You must discuss with my boss. His name is Mr. Gakimosimi. You must be respectful. Do not interrupt him,” Wuzu said. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. He spoke a few Japanese words, then passed the phone to Avery. “Uh, hello?” A deep British-accented voice came from the receiver. It was a thin, reedy voice, like an old man. “Mr. Flowers, I presume?” A trace of a Japanese accent was detectible. “Yes, uh, sir.” “My name is Timo Gakimosimi,” he said. “This man in front of you — I do not speak his name right now, because he has brought intense shame upon my organization. He has failed in a way I will not describe to you, but be assured it is humiliating for him. He must show me the depth of his sorrow and regret. Do you understand?” “Uh, sort of. I mean, I get-“ “Stop speaking,” he said. “Do not babble. Americans always babble.” “Sorry…” Avery was finding this whole situation incomprehensible. At most times, Avery would be defensive of some foreigner talking shit about Americans. But Avery had an inexplicable eagerness to obey the man on the phone — Mr. Gakimosimi — and so he shut his mouth to avoid babbling. “The man in front of you will do anything you say. If he refuses, you may call me at this number and tell me. He will be punished further. Is that agreeable?” Avery hesitated. “I mean… I don’t have… a job for him. I don’t need a, uh… extortionist.” “He is a business consultant, but that is not what I expect you to order him to do,” he said. “I will not say it, as it is improper, but you will think of something he can do to please you.” “Will I?” Avery furrowed his brow. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. But when he looked at Wuzu, Avery realized exactly what was intended: he was supposed to have his way with Wuzu. Make him jerk Avery off, swallow his cum, take it up the ass. That’s what Wuzu was expecting, what Mr. Gakimosimi was expecting. They were looking for a sissy, and somebody — maybe Wuzu himself — suggested Avery. Wuzu’s hangdog expression sent a shiver of anticipation up Avery’s backside. “Yes. I think you know what I mean,” Mr. Gakimosimi said. “If he pleases you to a satisfactory degree, I will clear his name of shame. Thank you, Mr. Flowers.” Then he hung up. Avery nervously handed the phone back to Wuzu. “So, uh… I guess you know what he said?” Wuzu nodded. “I’m not going to force you into anything. I’ll just tell your boss you did fine, that you did everything I said. How much time should I give? Maybe you could just fix my bonsai tree? You could give it balance.” “I have done that,” Wuzu said with a polite nod that was almost a bow. “I have requested this.” He sunk to his knees in front of Avery. “My shame wounds me. I can only heal it by proving my devotion.” He took off his suit jacket, which he hung over the arm of the chair next to him. Then he picked it up, and he smoothed the suit jacket, so it would hang flat when he returned it to the arm of the chair “I don’t want to force you-“ “You are not forcing me. This will not be my first time. Do not tell Mr. Gakimosimi that,” Wuzu said. He unbuttoned his shirt, then carefully folded it — it was a perfect fold, like he could work at The Gap. Underneath that, he wore a plain white t-shirt, his tattooed muscles bulging out from underneath. Green and black koi swum on his bicep just past the sleeve of his shirt. “Wait…” Avery said as Wuzu was about to take the shirt off. “Lemme get that.” He shivered with anticipation, struck by a flood of desire, as he touched Wuzu’s flat belly and pulled the t-shirt over his head. He had an amazing physique — Avery hadn’t realized it under the suit, but he was built like a professional wrestler, with pecs the size of Avery’s head. Multicolored tattoos danced over his chest and ribs: smiling geishas, a stylized sun whose rays bathed a living Japan over his heart, and geometric designs covering his six-pack belly with color. His back was an ornate piece, a Shinto temple that coverd him from his nape to his waist. Avery kissed those biceps, one after the other, blushing in embarrassment at Wuzu’s bemused reaction. Wuzu seemed unfamiliar with the concept of being interested in muscles. Did no Japanese women value muscles? Avery sure did. He sucked a hickey onto each bicep, savoring the rock-hard feel and the overwhelming warmth. Then he dived his head into Wuzu’s armpit. Like most pit-worshipers, Avery had always enjoyed the musty flavor of hairy, burly armpits, but Wuzu was the opposite of that. He had short, thin hair that was soft and silky, and that smelled of soap, not cheap body wash either, but expensive, high-quality soap that smelled of lavender and mint. “You like arm pits?” Wuzu said, his stony yakuza face suddenly leering like a nervous frat boy covering up his anxiety with disgust. “That is fil-thy.” Avery nodded. “That’s the part I love about it,” he said with a giggle, which turned almost hysterical when Wuzu’s serious face stared him down. Then Avery sucked on each nipple. Avery had never felt pectoral muscles like this, so completely lacking in flab — he didn’t think it even existed outside of bodybuilders, action stars and pro athletes. But here there was, right in front of him, a pair of pecs made of iron and covered in multicolored tattoos. Avery licked a trail around those tattoos as his hands stroked Wuzu’s broad, smooth back. He dropped his pants when Avery excitedly took his own clothes off. He assumed he’d be jerking Wuzu off, which was plenty exciting for Avery. Much to his surprise, however, Wuzu sunk to his knees when Avery dropped his underwear. Wuzu took a deep breath, then swallowed Avery’s half-hard cock to the root. “Oh shit, Wuzu… I, uh… I didn’t think you’d want to do this,” Avery said. Wuzu let out a loud gagging sound but didn’t stop, even as Avery’s dick pushed into the back of his throat. He did not spit any of it out. His nose collided with Avery’s crotch, and he held onto Avery’s thin hips for support. Wuzu’s tongue wavered — it touched Avery’s cockshaft and pulled away, hiding in the corner of Wuzu’s cheek as though fearful of the taste. Wuzu scrunched up his face. But then he recommitted himself to going through with this, and his tongue slathered saliva up and down Avery’s shaft. “Wuzu… You don’t have to do this,” Avery said, still feeling a bit bad. He definitely didn’t want to take advantage of Wuzu — aside from the moral considerations, it was clear that Wuzu was a violent extortionist who sought revenge when he felt he needed to. Avery didn’t want any yakuza getting mad at him. For all Avery knew, Wuzu would seek to eliminate anyone who knew his shame — Mr. Gakimosimi had said that, when this was done, Wuzu’s shame would be wiped away, so maybe he would get rid of anyone who knew about it. Maybe once it had happened, he would be free to be violent again. “No,” Wuzu said softly, pulling away and closing his eyes like he couldn’t bare to see Avery’s cock with his spit stuck to it. Wuzu growled. “This is the only way to recover my honor and the honor of Clan Rairakku,” he said. He took a deep breath and resumed his deep-throating, his throat choking as Avery’s dick squeezed into it. His nose pressed into Avery’s wiry pubic hair. Avery was so shocked his knees went weak, but he managed to compose himself. He gripped Wuzu’s neatly-coiffed hair, which was slick with product and thoroughly brushed. He held on as tightly as he could, leaning on Wuzu for support as his legs had trouble supporting himself. His dick perked right up in Wuzu’s mouth, turning as hard as Wuzu’s biceps. Avery’s hips instinctively gyrated, and he humped Wuzu’s mouth. That sent waves of pleasure to rock Avery’s body from head to toe. Since there was such a big difference in size between Wuzu and Avery — Wuzu being nearly a foot taller — the positioning of the two was awkward. Wuzu had to stoop, leaning forward on his knees just to get his face at Avery’s crotch-height. His muscles writhed and flexed as he struggled to stay in position, and his unwillingness gradually melted away. Avery got the impression that he stopped feeling ashamed of himself and started feeling pride at his success in rehabilitating his name and his honor, even if only in his mind. Then Wuzu pulled away and turned around. Thin tendrils of spit still connected Avery’s dick to Wuzu’s lips, until him turning his head forced them to separate. Avery nearly fell over because he had been supporting himself on Wuzu’s head. Even now that Wuzu had stopped, Avery was filled with intense pangs of pleasure. “Wow, you really want to do this?” Avery’s voice was thin, reedy, like if he actually asked this out loud Wuzu might realize what he was doing and run away, but Avery couldn’t help but ask anyway. His heart pounded. This was more nerve-wracking than it had been when Wuzu came by to extort him last year. But Wuzu merely grunted his assent. He did appear embarrassed, his face ruddy and sweaty, lips trembling, but he didn’t hesitate at all. He turned around and sunk to the ground in front of Avery. He started off on all fours, his round smooth ass elevated for Avery to get into. But Avery was much too short for that to work, so once again they struggled to get in position. Avery had trouble getting his dick there, and Wuzu had to lower himself as far as he could go, until he was practically laying down. By time Avery managed to mount him, Wuzu had lowered himself all the way, and he now rested on his belly on the floor, limbs sprawled out. Avery had to spread himself atop Wuzu, aiming his ass for the taut crack of Wuzu’s tight ass. Laying his face on Wuzu’s broad back, Avery licked the muscles there as he worked his dick in. He gasped as soon as his manhood slipped past Wuzu’s tight sphincter. It sent up sparks of bliss, which made Avery throw his head back. From the first moment, Avery could feel his orgasm crawling up in his sac, and Avery was annoyed with himself that this wasn’t going to last very long. He could already tell. Wuzu’s back muscles were like a barrel of thick rope, and Avery nuzzled and licked every inch as he began humping. He felt tiny behind Wuzu, his entire body fitting easily on Wuzu’s back. Avery’s head barely even extended all the way to Wuzu’s meaty shoulders. Some Japanese words slipped from Wuzu’s mouth. His tone was soft and resigned, maybe a little relieved that he was getting this over with and the pain wasn’t so bad. It might have been a prayer, Avery thought, and he wanted to ask for a translation, but his arousal was too intense to form words, and in any case, he didn’t think Wuzu would tell him what he meant. Wuzu grunted, then fell stoic again. Avery began working his dick in and out, glad to feel that Wuzu was not resisting him — he got the impression Wuzu didn’t mind this at all, despite his words and the pain he was obviously feeling. Wuzu gyrated his hips as though he was aroused. “Do you want a reacharound?” Avery asked as soon as the idea occurred to him. That would make this easier for Wuzu as well, he thought — every man loves a free handjob. Wuzu nodded. Avery reached around Wuzu’s body to grab ahold of his dick. He began stroking it — Wuzu was already rock-hard, so in seconds, he was spewing precum into Avery’s fingers. He was obviously turned on by this, Avery realized, despite the pain and humiliation. Then Avery realized that Wuzu’s dick spasmed every time Avery penetrated him from a certain angle. That could only mean one thing: Avery had found Wuzu’s prostate, and Wuzu loved it. Avery began ramming his dick in as hard as he could at that prostate, smiling as Wuzu’s entire body jerked with the lust that pounded through his veins. Wuzu moaned and lifted his head up. A cell phone rang. They both stopped moving as though caught, Avery’s cock pulsating within Wuzu, Wuzu’s cock pulsating in Avery’s hand. It was Wuzu’s phone. Avery’s blood ran cold and his heart skipped a beat as his mind raced with terrible possibilities — what if Mr. Gakimosimi decided to order Wuzu to kill Avery, perhaps to save his clan’s face? Avery was terrified of what might come next. Wuzu winced when he verified that it was his boss. “Mr. Gakimosimi,” he said, even bowing the best he could laying on his belly. He winced and said something in Japanese, then handed the phone back to Avery. “Are you bringing shame upon him?” Mr. Gakimosimi asked the moment Avery put the receiver to his ear. “I don’t think it’s so shameful,” Avery said. His cock pulsated in Wuzu’s tight ass, and though Avery was still, his hips continued moving, grinding his dick within Wuzu’s guts. Avery wanted to be even more indignant, but he thought he might get Wuzu in trouble, so he said, “But yes, he is ashamed of what’s happening. I’m ramrodding him, as we say here, or black guys do anyway. My dick is in his ass-“ “I do not need the details. Make it hurt,” Mr. Gakimosimi said. “Ask him if he did his best.” “Uh… Wuzu… did you do your best?” “Yes, always,” Wuzu said. It sounded like this was a past argument between them, or more likely a one-sided argument since Wuzu simply stated things declaratively, rather than argue about them. Wuzu spoke simply, proudly, as though all he cared about was that he did his best. Mr. Gakimosimi, on the other hand, scoffed like he didn’t care about doing one’s best — all he cared about was results, and whatever had happened between them, Wuzu was held responsible for the results. “Ask him about the penis in his butt-ocks.” His Japanese accent was mich stronger when he said butt-ocks for some reason. “Uh…. Mr. Gakimosimi wants me to ask you about the cock in your ass,” Avery said. “There is… a man’s cock inside me,” Wuzu said. “It is… There is approx-imate-lee twenty-two centimeters of cock inside me. I submit to a man. I am allowing him to pluck my manhood.” “Good,” Mr. Gakimosimi said with a cocky sigh. “You are doing well, Mr. Flowers. Do you enjoy my man?” “Yes, very much,” Avery said. He gritted his teeth because his sensitive dick throbbed within Wuzu’s tight ass. It sent shivers of pleasure up Avery’s body, and he bit back a petite moan. “Good. I am glad,” Mr. Gakimosimi said. “I assumed you would want revenge on him for extorting you.” “Not really. Besides,” Avery said, “I know you are the one truly responsible. You extorted me. You just used him as a tool.” Avery was surprised at how easily he spoke once he got started, despite the intense sensation writhing its way up his body. This was too intense for Avery to censor himself. Wuzu’s ass clenched around his cock when it became apparent that Avery was talking back to Mr. Gakimosimi. Avery felt a surge of pride alongside the fear that Mr. Gakimosimi would seek to punish him. But Mr. Gakimosimi just sighed and chuckled. “You misunderstand, Mr. Flowers. He chose you as a target for extortion. Yes, I charged him with finding businesses that could pay. But he was the one who decided that you were an appropriate target.” “Oh…” Avery was too turned on and too close to orgasm to be able to pay attention to his words or formulate a response. Does that mean it was Wuzu’s fault to begin with? Or was Wuzu forced into it? In what sense was Mr. Gakimosimi the boss if Wuzu decided who to target, how to pressure them and then enacted the entire plan by himself? That was too weighty a conversation to have when his balls were on the verge of busting though, so Avery didn’t ask. Mr. Gakimosimi laughed into the phone. Avery got the impression he didn’t laugh often. Wuzu bucked and winced as though he heard it. “You will finish inside him, yes? You will ejac-u-late in his ass?” Mr. Gakimosimi asked, sounding like he was uncomfortable talking about semen and again his accent was excessive on that one word. “Yes…” “Good. Tell him to be back here by noon, or I will send him back to you again,” Mr. Gakimosimi said and hung up the phone without waiting for a response. “Your boss is an asshole,” Avery said, giving him his phone back. “He said you have to be back at noon, or he’ll send you back to me again.” Wuzu nodded. A moan escaped from his lips as he writhed beneath Avery’s grasp. “I have great respect for him,” Wuzu said in a pinched, clipped voice. “I appreciate that, Wuzu,” Avery said. A part of him wanted to accuse Wuzu of extortion, but that required more thought than he was capable right now. He felt his orgasm approaching like an oncoming train. Avery resumed slamming his hips harder and harder against Wuzu’s powerful frame. Pleasure washed over his body, and Wuzu’s at the same time. He could feel an imminent orgasm pounding through Wuzu as well. He sensed it in the pulsating of the veins in Wuzu’s cockshaft. They both finally climaxed at the same time, hot cum spraying within Wuzu’s ass as he shot his own load into Avery’s fingers. Wuzu’s muscles all tensed at once, and he gasped with a short, sharp breath. Fat ropes of jizz spurted onto the floor, reaching several feet in front of Wuzu and a few drops even splattered on the wall. Avery clutched those spasming back muscles, fingers digging playfully into the colorful yakuza tattoos. He threw his head back as Wuzu grunted beneath him. Wad after creamy wad spurted across Avery’s fingers, while Avery shot his own wad deep into Wuzu. Avery’s cheeks turned red, and his moan of intense sensations turned into a howl of desperate desire. When the pleasure grew too much, Avery pumped his hips at Wuzu’s tight ass, while he slammed his face on the meaty thickness of Wuzu’s back. Holding his head up while his dick limpened inside Wuzu, Avery licked his lips, still feeling the aftershocks of his climax. Wuzu turned his head to watch with a sense of disgust on his face as Avery sucked down every salty drop of cum. Then, at last Wuzu pulled out from under Avery and breathed a sigh of relief. Hot cum dribbled from his smooth ass. “Thank you,” he said. He wiped the cum off his ass and his inner thigh with a handkerchief he plucked from the suit jacket he’d placed on the arm of Avery’s chair. “I enjoyed that.” “Really?” Wuzu nodded. “Do not tell Mr. Gakimosimi, or he will find some other way to punish me instead.” “I wouldn’t dream of it. Come on back anytime you need to be ‘punished’,” Avery said. He gave Wuzu a light smack on the ass, watching his plump cheek shake as he checked that his clothes were not wrinkled. Wuzu began dressing. Avery wiped his own dick clean, and he said, “I’m always ready to dish out punishment.”
