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.
He saw a stranger, a young buck of a redneck in overalls with paint and grass stains covering the fabric. He wore no shirt, revealing a broad, ruddy and work-toned chest. He had on heavy work-boots stained with mud. His dirty blond hair was long and scraggly. Then he cleared his throat and spoke, in a deep, lowcountry South Carolina accent, but sounding like he was trying to speak as politely as he could.
When bikers fill up Avery’s town, he isn’t sure how to react. Then one studly alpha catches his eye, and before Avery knows it, he’s made an offer the biker is too horny to turn down!
Can Avery get that macho biker to stop scaring the customers away from his store?!
Avery sighed as motorcycles whizzed past outside his flower shop. He wasn’t even sure he should bother to be open today — there was a biker festival just down the street, so Avery’s hometown was temporarily home to thousands of bikers. They roared by, engines rumbling like dragons. He didn’t think they were likely to buy very many flowers. But as long as they were around, not many people were out on the street, and no one was out shopping for things like flowers. So it had killed his business for the day. Oh no, there’s one right outside… Avery’s heart fluttered for a couple reasons. Firstly, the biker milling about had an incredible physique, and he sent Avery’s blood into overdrive. Second, he was scary, and he made Avery want to run and hide. Third, he was intimidating and his presence would guarantee that no customers came into the shop today. But Avery couldn’t decide whether to run in fear or call the police or ask to jerk him off. This biker looked like he might consider it with the right persuasion. He was swarthy-skinned, with an old-fashioned mustache that was well-groomed atop a beard that was scruffy and poorly-groomed. He wore a series of black clothes — they blended in, in layers, so much that it was hard to tell how many shirts, vests and patches he wore. But above it all was a sterling black leather jacket, under which his chest was broad. His hair was long and curly, in a jet-black mullet that piled up behind his neck. Was he dangerous? He certainly didn’t look safe. But Avery would feel like an asshole if he called the police on some random man who wasn’t a threat. He’d look like a fool too — this town was full of bikers; the cop would tell Avery that a lot of people are going to look rough today and he should try to relax, it would be patronizing and humiliating. But Avery didn’t want him hanging out in front of the store. There was no way anyone would come in to buy flowers if they had to go past this biker. Sure enough, as though intending to demonstrate it, the biker scowled at two nice ladies walking past. “Smile, lady, c’mon,” said the biker, his voice a low throaty growl. “You’d be prettier if ya smiled.” The women just quickened their pace and kept going. The biker watched and lit a cigarette. Avery took a deep breath. He thought he needed to go out there and do something. He didn’t know what, but it needed to be something. He went out there without a second thought. The biker turned to look at him. “Hey, uh, so, I got-“ The biker grunted. “I ain’t stayin’.” A long pause filled the air, and Avery blushed. This biker was thickly built, and he reeked of engine oil and stale sweat — not like he was sweaty, but more like it had soaked into the black leather of his biker jacket. “I’m sorry?” “You came out here to stay I can’t hang out in front of ya store, right?” The biker peered inside the window. He scoffed. “Fuckin’ flowers… You know there’s an Internet, right? You can buy flowers online. Probably.” “Some people like buying flowers in stores.” The biker rolled his eyes. “Well, I ain’t stayin’ so don’t worry. My bike gots a pro’lem and it ain’t runnin’, boy.” He pointed to a motorcycle parked on the side of the road. “Waitin’ for my buddy to show up wit’ some tools.” “Oh, uh, well, do you have to wait right here in front of my door?” “You want me to buy somethin’? I ain’t got shit for cash, man. I got ‘bout five bucks to my name, not countin’ what I needs for gas to get home, and beer — you best believe I ain’t goin’ wit’out beer at the festival, boy, swear to God, I’ll box ya goddamn ears.” “Oh, well… I dunno, I don’t, uh… my flowers are all more expensive, uh, than…” Avery’s voice trailed off because the biker glared at him, eyes drilling into his soul. Avery cleared his throat. “Whatchoo want? Why you still talkin’ to me?” “I, uh…” Avery cleared his throat. “I thought… uh… maybe-“ “Get it out, boy,” the biker said. He grabbed Avery by the chin, his callused fingers rubbing over Avery’s smooth skin. Avery went pale. “I wanted, uh-“ “I ain’t a pervert,” the biker said, chewing on his lip as he forced Avery to look him in the eye. His hot breath condensed on Avery’s lips — it was virtually a kiss. Avery instinctively reached out and touched the man’s chest for support, holding onto his powerful body. He sensed curly chest hairs underneath those layers of biker gear. “Good…” Avery’s voice was a mousy squeak. The biker laughed, a harsh and guttural sound. It didn’t sound like a real laugh, more like he wanted Avery to think he was laughing at him. Still he was so close they nearly kissed. Then, they did. The biker pecked Avery right on the lips. He tasted of cigarettes and smog, and he guffawed at the shocked look on Avery’s face. He shoved Avery against the wall in front of his door. “Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll be gone toot-sweet, my dear,” the biker said. “Just as soon as my buddy shows up wit’ his tools.” Avery blushed and went back into his shop. His hands were clenched into fists as a torrent of confusing emotions enveloped him — he was angry, humiliated, aroused, mollified, eager, offended and frightened all at once. But it was his hard dick that made him struggle the most to keep focus. He tried to do his inventory — he’d be meaning to do that anyway, and it was easier now that no one was in the shop. But he kept finding himself looking out the window at the biker. It was during such a moment, when Avery lifted his face, that he saw the biker leaning casually against the parking meter in front of the shop. He had raised his ass up — cradled by mud-splattered black jeans which were speckled with pale bleach spots — and shook it subtly. He turned around and guffawed again, looking in the dark window. It was impossible to see in past the display case in the window, because Avery had purchased very dark glass (he hated glare). The biker had been performing like that for some time, laughing at what he imagined Avery was doing. He turned around and grabbed his dick through his jeans, showing off its size and heft and aiming it towards the window. For the first time, Avery wondered if this biker actually wanted something from him. He was so used to needing to make the first move on a fresh slice of rough trade, he didn’t always think of the possibility that they wanted to do it too, that they were trying to make him do it. They wouldn’t just ask. The biker paced in front of the shop. After awhile, he stopped teasing Avery through the window. He stroked his scraggly beard hairs and alternated between leaning on his motorcycle, catcalling at women and mean-mugging men. Finally, the biker checked his phone, threw his hands in the air and came in. He looked at Avery as though trying to gauge whether or not he had noticed what he did out there. Avery kept his face stony and expressionless. “My battery’s dead. I don’t think my buddy’s coming,” the biker said. He growled. “You got a outlet?” He looked around until he found an outlet, then plugged his phone charger in before Avery could answer. “Uh… So…-“ “You don’t talk much, huh?” “Hmmm… No.” Avery blushed. “I, uh.. Well, maybe, I like… Sometimes, I talk more… I’m not exactly shy, but-“ “Uh-huh, yeah.” The biker waited for something he didn’t say out loud. His dark eyes looked Avery over. “What’s ya name, boy?” “Avery.” “I’m Cooter.” He absent-mindedly rifled through some flowers by the counter. “You, uh… you got work? I gotta get my bike fixed. I ain’t, y’know… a flower-buyin’ kinda guy. But I got, y’know… skills, in like… other shit.” “Hmmm… Like what?” Avery asked. He was now more confident that Cooter wanted to get paid to let Avery jerk him off. Avery had been around long enough to sense it radiating off him. “Well… I learned how to cook in prison. I know you ain’t a restaurant or nothin’, but you know…” Cooter laughed that dry, throaty laugh. “I can’t really cook. I can cook spaghetti for like six hundred guys, but I always fuck it up cooking for just me.” He bit his lip. “I ain’t got no skills, ‘kay? Least, not no legal ones. You want me to cook up some meth?” Avery blushed. “No…” “You scared of me, huh, boy? Don’t let me bein’ in prison scare you neither, I ain’t never stab no one who ain’t deserve it.” He paused. “I mean, that ain’t strictly true, lemme be honest wit’ ya, I gotta be honest under God’s watchful eye, right? Lemme be honest, I did done stab this one bitch on account of he was lookin’ at me wrong, but he turned out to be a child molester anyhow. I ain’t know that then, so, y’know… it’s questionable, that’s all I’m sayin’.” “Right… Uh… cool…” Avery was finding it very hard to concentrate. He was positive Cooter wanted to be paid for a swing on his dick. He even grabbed his cock through his jeans. Avery was overwhelmed by fear and desire, and the scent of his asphalt-reeking leather jacket — he had fallen off his motorcycle enough that the blacktop had been ground into the leather. His limbs even vibrated a little like he still imagined himself atop his motorcycle. “You lookin’ like you wanna say somethin’ but you too scared. Huh? You scared, boy?” He spoke more softly and touched Avery’s cheek, pinching it like a grandmother. Though he seemed to be trying to be less intimidating, it only came across as even more frightening. “Umm… Yeah.” Cooter rolled his eyes. “Man, I ain’t a prideful fella.” He got down on his knees and lowered his eyes. “See? Now you taller ‘an me, and you ain’t gotta look me in the eye. So whatchoo think? You know a way I can earn some money? Maybe I got some skills I learn in prison you might enjoy.” “Well… Maybe. I, uh… I was kind of hoping, that, uh… maybe-” Avery caught a glimpse of Cooter’s eyes when he glanced up, and Avery blushed. “I…” “Ah, man, I done scare you, huh? You wanna punch me? You might feel better ‘bout it if you punched me?” Cooter reached up and touched Avery’s lips. He pulled his tongue out of his mouth. “What’s wrong? I know you got words on ya tongue. You prolly got all kinda… remnants on ya tongue. You got remnants of different activities on there? I bet you do all kinda things with that tongue. That’s a nice, big, wet tongue. I could come up wit’ lots of activities you could do wit’ that if we shared a cell.” He chuckled. “But we don’t. So you gotta come up wit’ them activities, and you gots to pay, boy. You ready to pay?” He leaned back and shrugged off his jacket. “Go’n, punch me, it’ll make you feel better.” “I, uh… I don’t want to.” Avery felt weak and tinny. “Then what do you want to do?” Cooter closed his eyes. “You just lemme know.” He pursed his lips like he was kissing the air. “Or you can just do it.” Avery couldn’t resist it. He planted his lips on Cooter’s. Just like the kiss out on the sidewalk, it lasted only a moment, and it was chaste and dry. As soon as Avery’s tongue tried to enter Cooter’s mouth, Cooter pushed him away. “I ain’t kissin’ a feller,” Cooter said. “So use ya words and make me an offer.” “I’ll… I’d like you to cornhole me,” Avery said with a blush. “How much?” “One hundred dollars-“ Cooter stood and went to the cash register. He shook it open and counted out more than three hundred dollars from the till — including the twenties and fifties that were under the drawer. “It just so happens, boy, that my price for that is exactly three hundred twenty-seven dollars. That is a mighty coincidence on account of that’s the amount you got in the till.” He paused. “And get me some flowers.” “What?” “I need flowers. Somethin’ classy, for an old lady. For my great-aunt. Her birthday is Monday.” “Oh, uh… Well, we have this one, it’s very nice-“ “Just gimme the goddamn flowers, asshole,” he said with a snarl. He grabbed the bouquet out of Avery’s hand. He didn’t even look at it, he just set the bouquet down by the door. “Alright.” He stood there by the shop counter. “Well? You gonna start jerkin’ or what? Don’t even try to make me take no dick, lemme tell you. I don’t do that shit.” “I… Can we go up to my apartment?” Avery asked. He locked the store door. “Fine.” Cooter sighed. “Let’s go.” Avery brought him into the back of the shop, which led to a stairwell. It was narrow and humid here, with spiderwebs in each corner of the ceiling. The dust was visible in the rays of late afternoon sunlight that filled the air. Cooter placed one hand on Avery’s ass. He gripped his jeans by the waistband and held on, preventing Avery from taking the next step up the staircase. He let out a growl and grinned when Avery turned around. Avery’s heart raced. Was he going to punch him? Was he going to rob him? (More than he already sort of had?) “Lotta folks think that, in prison, you ramrod a man in the shower, or you ramrod a man in ya cell, or whatever, ya feel me?” He passed Avery, standing higher than him on the stairs, and when Avery was too engrossed to respond — overwhelmed still by the awkward situation — he took Avery’s hand and placed it on his belly. His muscles rippled. “Ya feel me now?” “Uh-huh.” “But in fact, there’s guards in the shower, and there’s cameras in ya cell, and you ain’t allowed to ram, boy, they’ll stop you on account of it’s a law. So when the pressure get too much and you gots to ram, you do it somewhere else. Like in a hallway, or in the stairwell or some shit,” Cooter said. “So I wanna do it here.” He put both hands on Avery’s head and pushed him to his knees. Avery was too short to reach Cooter’s crotch like this. Cooter was a few steps higher than Avery, so he had to sit on the stairs and spread his legs wide. He unceremoniously unzipped his jeans and let a darkly tan cock flop out. It was thick and meaty, still limp but Avery could tell when he got close that it had been half-hard recently, maybe even fully erect. Cooter had definitely been trying to get a nut off for awhile. “Hey…” He grabbed Avery by the hair, just at the moment Avery wrapped his lips around the tip of his funky cock. “A man’s gotta take whatever affection he can get.” Cooter pulled Avery’s head up, kissed him on the lips and rammed his tongue into his mouth. Avery squealed and squirmed in surprise. His hands clawed at Cooter’s chest, which was hard like iron beneath his leather clothes. Avery’s tongue tasted like cigarettes and steel, and it was huge, so it filled up Avery’s mouth. Avery’s hands wrapped around Cooter’s shoulders, and for a moment, they made intense, passionate love with their mouths. Just a moment though. Once Avery got over his shock and awe, and started kissing Cooter back, Cooter let go and pushed him back down to his crotch. “Jerk me off, boy,” Cooter said. “And don’t try to kiss me no more. I don’t kiss boys.” “Oh… … Uh… Sorry,” Avery said. He lowered his head to his crotch, while Cooter lit another cigarette and took his shirts off. Avery suckled on his cocktip — he had gotten fully erect while being kissed — and looked up at his face and his bare chest. Cooter was covered in tattoos, and a few scars. There was a bullet wound on his belly, and an oddly-shaped dragon over his heart — Avery soon realized it was oddly-shaped because it covered up a swastika that had been carved into his chest. His dick tasted like sweat and industrial soap, and it was firm, veiny, throbbing like a motorcycle engine as it rubbed against Avery’s tongue. Cooter gripped Avery by the ears, dragging his head up and down on his shaft. “Open wide, boy…” Soon, Cooter stood, still using both hands on Avery’s ears and his lips to keep the lit cigarette in his mouth. He swayed his hips, grinding his dick in deep. He didn’t ram Avery’s throat in an aggressive or mean way, not like a lot of alphas did — Avery wouldn’t have minded — he made sweet love to his throat. He didn’t stop when Avery choked, but he wasn’t violent about it either. He just clucked his tongue and kept on plowing. Soon his balls smacked and rubbed against Avery’s chin. Cooter took a deep drag on his cigarette. He let go of Avery’s head, watching him slide up and down on his moistened shaft. “Hmmm… You want me to stick you, boy?” Avery nodded without taking Cooter’s dick out of his mouth. He suckled moistly, slurping down every drop of salty precum he could find. He kept slurping even as Cooter tried to pull his head off. Avery giggled — he liked the frustrated look on Cooter’s face. Cooter snarled and bent Avery over on the stairs. Since they faced opposite directions, Cooter had to go over Avery to be lower than him on the narrow staircase. He could have stepped around Avery’s body to get beneath him, but instead he sat on his back and rubbed his hairy ass — laughing the whole way — until he was lower on the staircase. “You like my ass-slide, boy,” Cooter said. He chuckled. “Now, I am guessin’ this is prolly implied, but lemme be totally clear, son, when we are done here, you ain’t gonna never tell no one ‘bout it. Not the police, not ya priest, ya rabbi, not some other biker you might jerk off a couple hours from now, or a couple decades from now. If’n you ever even think ‘bout tellin’ folks what’s ‘bout to happen, I will bury you in wet cement and I’ll send ya mama a rude limerick describin’ how you died, ya feel me?” “I won’t tell, I would never-“ “Good.” Cooter didn’t wait for a second. He jammed his dick in, just the tip at first. He grabbed Avery by the hair and held his head in place as Avery howled in pain. Cooter waited for him to stop, with just the first inch or so of his dick in Avery’s ass. “You ready?” “Yeah. Just go slow.” Cooter wrapped one of his well-muscled arms around Avery’s throat. Again, he didn’t choke him, but he held on firmly enough he did slightly restrict his breathing. As he did, he pistoned his dick in farther, ignoring Avery’s intense writhing. “Goddamn!” Avery cried out. “Hmmm… You ready to get started?” Cooter asked, whispering in his ears. “Here’s the skills I learned in prison, boy. Don’t you nevuh let no one know.” He kissed Avery again, and he rammed his tongue into his mouth. Meanwhile his other hand roamed lower and lower on Avery’s chest, then his belly, then to his crotch. He held onto Avery’s cock with one hand, while his other kept Avery’s head upright. It took all of Avery’s concentration just to balance on the stairs, even with Cooter holding him in place. “Good boy, good boy, keep that ass high, keep it up there, I’m goin’ deep now!” Cooter called out and moaned. He whooped like a cowboy. “You feel me? Huh? You like that? Say somethin’.” “Yeah… Fill me up.” Avery couldn’t say much. He gasped. If he had been jacking himself off, he’d have cum already. But Cooter’s hand was callused and he stroked in a disrhythmic way, somewhat uncomfortable, more like a farmer masturbating his livestock than someone who genuinely wanted to give a reacharound, though the medley of moans and grunts that moistly emanated from his mouth sounded authentically desirous. “You gonna nut? Tell me when you nut, I wanna hear it. Lemme hear you say it. Use my name, okay? Say ‘Cooter is makin’ me nut cuz he so handsome’, okay? Say that.” “Cooter… is making… me nut cuz… he’s so… handsome…” Avery moaned and squirmed. He would have collapsed onto his belly but Cooter held him tightly in position. “Good… I can feel ya nut, don’t worry, I don’t mind you nuttin’ on my hand, ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ that,” he said. He kept on stroking as Avery’s face turned red. Then, just before cum actually sprayed from Avery’s dick, Cooter again kissed him on the lips from behind. He rammed hard then. He had waited for that — he loved plowing men who orgasmed with his cock in their ass. He could feel that orgasm in how Avery clenched around his dick, and in the gasping that was swallowed up by Cooter’s bicep. His tongue slathered spit over Avery’s lips and cheeks, as Cooter reached his own orgasm and couldn’t quite kiss anymore — it felt so good he shuddered and shook, and his tongue lolled over Avery’s face. Cooter loved having his bottom all wrapped up in his arms so he could keep him right at the perfect level, swallowing up his dick and every drop of cum. His balls crawled up in his sac as he filled Avery with his creamy load. It was thick and hot, and it seeped in Avery’s flesh. It trickled through his body more and more with each thrust of Cooter’s manhood into him. “You okay, boy? Say you okay, and I’ll take my dick out. Tell me whatchoo think,” Cooter said. “I… I loved that,” Avery said through gritted teeth. The moist pressure was intense in his ass, and it made him buck in Cooter’s arms. “Okay, when I pull out, remember, nothing happened here today. No strokin’, no reachin’ around nobody’s delicate body that could be so easily smashed to pieces. No talking ‘bout nothin’ nasty, okay? Rammin’ ain’t a topic of conversation. It’s somethin’ that only happened as long as we’re in this stairwell. When we’re done… I robbed you. If any bikers asked, I grabbed the money outta ya cash register. If any cops ask, you smash ‘em in the face with a whiskey bottle and don’t say a goddamn word. Ya understand?” Avery nodded. “I, uh… if a cop — ah-” He sighed as Cooter finally pulled his cock out. “If a cop asks, I won’t hit him, I mean…” He sighed again and collapsed on the stairs. “I won’t tell him either, I just, I don’t feel comfortable attacking a cop-“ “Shut up, boy. I was kiddin’.” Cooter wiped his dick off on Avery’s asscheeks, then tucked it back in his pants. He put his clothes on and walked out of the stairwell. “Hey, gimme yo’ phone number, boy.” “Okay…” Cooter smiled that harsh, intimidating smile. His mustache quivered. “If’n I don’t find a female who gonna give up the booty tonight, I’ll come over and Avery you again. Have some cash ready.” “Okay.” Avery was breathless, eyes wide as he watched Cooter leave. Cooter grabbed his pack with the flower for his great-aunt in it and his phone from the outlet, then walked out the door. Avery breathed a sigh of relief. And he turned over the “open” sign to read “closed”.
Avery could use a handyman, and lucky for him, a white-trash alpha comes by looking for work. That means Avery is in for another wild ride of hardcore, man-on-man action with this studly but desperate semi-homeless beggar!
Is Avery ready for Thomas’s brand of redneck action?!
Avery sighed as he looked over the mess he had made. The bed-frame was together in two pieces, with a pile of extra screws near his feet. The extra screws were problematic, he thought, because there were some of a type he had not used at all — why would the furniture-makers have put an unnecessarily long screw in the box? But there were no screw holes he had missed, and he had even read through the directions. They didn’t make a lot of sense though. Extra screws would make sense, in case some got lost. But why would there be a whole nother kind of screw that wasn’t used? Maybe they got mixed in from a different product? Now he wasn’t sure how to get the two parts of the bed-frame together. The box said one person could put it together in ten minutes, but it had taken more than an hour and Avery no longer thought he could do it alone — somebody needed to hold the frame in position while he screwed in the last four screws. He cursed at himself and sat down, deciding to take a break. He didn’t need a bed-frame at all, he reminded himself. He had slept on a mattress on the floor for years, and he didn’t think it was absolutely necessary to have a bed-frame. The doorbell rang and Avery was so startled he jumped. He glanced out the living room window. He saw a stranger, a young buck of a redneck in overalls with paint and grass stains covering the fabric. He wore no shirt, revealing a broad, ruddy and work-toned chest. He had on heavy work-boots stained with mud. His dirty blond hair was long and scraggly. He opened the door. The redneck opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. Avery got the impression he paused because he was surprised to see a man and maybe was reconsidering what he came here for. Then he cleared his throat and spoke, in a deep, lowcountry South Carolina accent, but sounding like he was trying to speak as politely as he could. “Uh, hello… sir, my name is Thomas, and I’s here fer askin’ fo’ work. I ain’t goin’ on the welfare but I needs to make me a little money.” He blushed. “Mah family’s farm, it ain’t workin’ no mo’. We ain’t got a dime.” Avery smiled. “I’m sorry to hear that, Thomas. It’s very nice to meet you. My name is Avery,” he said. “It just so happens I could use a hand with something right now.” Thomas smiled nervously and stepped in when Avery motioned for him. Thomas sighed. “I can work for a you, no problem- I respec’ e’rybody, and I does good work, I do, as the Bible commands. I got the Lord-“ Avery nodded and shook his hand, interrupting him because he could tell Thomas was the kind of gibbering redneck who never stopped talking. Avery smiled. “Well, Thomas, there’s a couple things I could have you do,” Avery said. “I’m good with tools, and my hands. I can build all kinds of things, sir.” “I’m sure you’re great with your hands, and I do have some work like that for you to do,” Avery said. “But first, I just want you to stand there for a minute. Okay?” He nodded, but watched Avery warily as Avery shut the front door. Then Avery approached him and grabbed at his dick through the rough denim of his overalls. Thomas stiffed and gasped in shock, but he kept it subtle — he must really need the money, Avery thought. His toes curled as he blushed but submitted to Avery’s fingering of his cockshaft. “I do have something that needs to be done with the hand,” Avery said. He intended to continue talking, to say that he wanted to give Thomas a handjob. But then Thomas nervously reached out to Avery’s jeans and grabbed at his crotch. Avery gulped. Apparently, Thomas had interpreted his words to mean that he was supposed to give Avery a handjob — Avery would never have guessed Thomas would agree to that, so he hadn’t even thought of asking, but now he decided to play along. “Good, good boi. You is good wit’ yo’ hands,” Avery said, accentuating his accent to match Thomas’s redneck dialect. Thomas winced as his hand reached into Avery’s jeans to grab his cock. He let go as soon as he touched it, then picked it up again. Thomas giggled as though he was a little boy dared into doing something scandalous. “Just so’s you know, sir, this ain’t the first time I jacked off a man,” Thomas said. He beamed as though he was proud of that. “That’s good,” Avery said. “You ain’t the first redneck I messed with neither.” He sniffed. “I ‘spect not.” His meat was limp. It had initially stirred but as Avery reached under the man’s overalls to finger it, he lost it — he must have been disgusted by touching Avery’s dick. He blushed when Avery took out his massive meat, which was ruddy like his shoulders. “I ain’t circlejerked in a long time… ‘s hard to get a stiffy with a man touchin’ me.” Avery angled his hips so his cock touched Thomas’s. They sword-fought, which made Thomas frown and furrow his brow. As he relaxed, he got hard all over again, and in no time he was jabbing his dick at Avery like a club. Thomas’s cock was much longer and thicker, which probably helped him feel more comfortable with this, Avery thought, and it was veinier too, rougher beneath Avery’s fingers, already pulsating with the youthful vigor of Thomas’s sexuality. Then Avery wrapped both of Thomas’s hands around both cocks, so he could masturbate them both at once. Thomas looked down like a mad scientist alarmed at what his creation was doing. Thomas’s muscles all tightened at once and then didn’t loosen. He stayed flexed. Precum coated Thomas’s fingers. Avery figured it must have been his own because Thomas had just gotten hard moments ago, but Avery scooped some up without stopping Thomas’s strokes. The precum stuck to his fingers, which he sucked clean, much to Thomas’s disgust. More precum leaked out and coated Thomas’s hand down to his wrist. “You into that?” He paused. “For real?” Avery nodded with a wry smile. “I appreciate the male form,” he said. He gave Thomas’s cock a firm squeeze. “Some parts more than others.” “Well, shit… You know the Bible say not to do that, right? I feels obligated to tell you that, boy,” Thomas said. “You should only e’xperience ‘rousal in the context of a marital spouse.” He was stroking both cocks slowly now, peering down into Avery’s face as he did. His own cock was hard, but not rock-hard, he was too distracted. Avery, on the other hand, was going to bust anytime. A wave of pleasure battered his body, and he probably would have cum already if not for Thomas’s awkward grip and slow strokes. Avery’s dick pulsated next to Thomas’s. Avery had trouble speaking since he was so close to orgasm. All he could focus on was the hot slab of redneck meat throbbing against his own cock. He smelled sunlight and hay emanating from Thomas’s burly body and the dirty overalls he had unbuttoned. “I done this before,” Thomas said, licking his lips. “I circlejerked a couple times, back in the day.” He grunted. “I’s just lettin’ you know cuz I ain’t a saint, I done sin in the premarital fashion too. I done got overcomed by desire, for sh’ore, for sh’ore! The Lord Jesus does forgive.” “Really?” Avery asked, genuinely surprised by that. Thomas nodded, barely stroking both dicks together anymore, but he did grip them, and the callused grip of his workaday hands sent thrills of desire up Avery’s spine. Avery cleared his throat and said, “C’mon, tell me more.” “Oh well, my pa hired these black boys. Them two used to circlejerk all the time. Said they learnt it in prison,” Thomas said. “They used-ta be sleepin’ in the barn at night, and just ‘bout e’ry night I be hearin’ ‘em out there groanin’. My paps’d kill me if’n he knew I go out there, just ta see what they’s doin’. Well, not jest that, I did join in sometimes, but them black workers, they got muscles and use ‘em all on they meat, I dunno why, they attack that shit like they angry wit’ it.” He blushed. “Feels good in its way. You even better at it, boi. Don’t tell my paps I say that. He ain’t ‘nlightened ‘bout that stuff like I is, he ain’t think I should be spendin’ time with you.” Unable to stop himself any longer, Avery moaned as cum spurted from his rod. He leaned in and kissed Thomas’s toned body, sucking on the sweat that clung to his frame — Avery liked muscular men, but not perfect six-pack bodybuilder-types, so Thomas’s ropy muscles were exactly what he wanted. Thomas’s nipples were erect in Avery’s mouth, and his tense pecs were hard as rocks. Jizz sprayed over Thomas’s cock, which twitched as he groaned in disgust. Avery’s whole body bucked, but Thomas didn’t let go, even as Avery’s semen soaked into his crotch and dripped onto the ground at his feet. Avery kept pumping his hips, humping Thomas’s hand and Thomas’s cock, whose erection remained half-hearted. Cum lubed it up, and Thomas kept up with his slow strokes, even as his hand and his dickshaft became slick with the cream of Avery’s load. “Oh hell,” Thomas said, his eyes opening wise. “You crazy… You payin’ me for real, right? This ain’t a trick?” “I promise. Thirty bucks an hour,” Avery said. He took a deep breath as Thomas dropped Avery’s dick, stroking himself off instead. “Wait,” Avery said. He put his limpening cock back next to Thomas’s hard manhood, and Avery scooped up as much of the cum as he could from Thomas’s dark blond pubic hair. Thomas didn’t seem to realize how soaked his crotch was with Avery’s cum, or maybe he did and it just didn’t bother him. “Fuck, thihty bucks an hour?! Hell yeah! I’ll do anythang for thihty bucks an hour!” Thomas said. He looked away and curled one hand over his belly as though he was nauseous, rather than look at Avery’s puddle of semen in his crotch and his own hand stroking two cocks at once. “Yee-fuckin’-haw!” Then he blushed and shut his mouth. “I’m sorry. That ain’t Christian language.” His eyes opened wide and he rushed to correct himself. “When I say I do anything fo’ thirty bucks an hour, I ain’t mean anything ‘t all. I-“ “I know,” Avery said. “I won’t hold you to that. You can say no to anything you want. And I really do have some work for you to do. I want you to put together my bed-frame in the other room.” “I can do that.” Thomas had stopped stroking himself off, and he looked at his hands, dripping with Avery’s jizz, as though he didn’t get how that happened. Then Avery guided his hands back and smiled at Thomas’s awkward fumbling with his own cum-slickened cock. The cum on his hand was rapidly cooling. Avery wanted to eat it, but it was his own cum, which was always less appealing than someone else’s. So he grabbed for Thomas’s nipples again. He had taut pecs, which flexed and tightened when Avery touched them. He smeared the creamy cum all over Thomas’s torso, savoring the feel of his short, fine blond hairs. Thomas had closed his eyes, so he didn’t immediately notice that Avery was smearing cum all over his chest. When he did, he groaned in disgust but didn’t complain, not even when Avery started licking it off. “Gonna git my nut now, boi,” he murmured softly. His dick was fully hard now, and Avery stroked it with both hands. “You ready? You really want it?” His body flexed, his shaft pulsating in Avery’s grip. Avery wasn’t expecting him to cum from a handjob at all, much less so quickly, but as soon as Avery had nutted and focused on stroking Thomas off with both hands, Thomas’s cock rocketed right to readiness. The smell of his funk filled the air. Thomas turned beet-red just before he came. His knees weakened, and he bucked his whole hefty body, nearly knocking Avery over when he grabbed Avery’s shoulders for support. His muscles roiled. He clenched his teeth, then opened his mouth to gasp, then clenched his lips shut again. “Got-damn, boy! Yeah, thass right!” he cried out, then looked regretful about his blasphemy. Hot cum sprayed right into Avery’s crotch, a fat load of it that spread over Avery’s dick and balls and soaked into his pubic hair. It coated his limp dick and dripped onto the floor, though Avery again caught most of it in the palm of his hand. Thomas was young enough that he shot an enormous load, more than Avery could even hold in his palm, and more and more kept on coming. As Thomas ejaculated, he pumped his hips back and forth, humping Avery’s hands. Avery loved holding onto an orgasmic alpha by the dickmeat, cuz he could squeeze it and stroke it and send waves of pleasure through his alpha’s body. Thomas grunted and groaned, his red neck turning redder, the ruddy color of his skin spreading to his tan face and his pale chest. “You got a nice healthy meat,” Avery said. “Nice and big, thick.” Thomas opened his mouth and sighed. “Damn, boy, that weren’t bad. I-” He stopped himself when he saw Avery about to suck the cum out of the palm of his hand, even as Thomas was not quite done cumming, and more kept leaking out into Avery’s paws. Thomas looked queasy, but he didn’t complain as Avery let go of his dick and brought his hand up to his mouth. That salty puddle disappeared past Avery’s lips, and Avery gulped down every drop. Thomas gagged uncontrollably as though he tasted it himself. “Damn… You some kinda nasty,” Thomas said. He threw his hands in the air, the motion making his now limpening dick jiggle and sway. “Nothin’ personal. But you best get right with Jesus.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, where this work at?” Avery nodded. He licked his hand clean, then pointed to the bedroom. The frame was halfway put-together. “Can I take a shower first?” Thomas asked, looking down at the shiny layer of cum over his chest. He was sweaty as well, both because it was warm in here and from his sexual exertion. Avery licked the sweat off his biceps. His dick still hung out the fly of his overalls, but he tucked it away at last. Avery almost said yes, as long as he got to watch, but he decided not to. He wanted to watch Thomas work with the smell of cum all over him — he was paying a lot of money for Thomas’s time, after all. Plus, he figured that this way, Thomas would get good and sweaty just like Avery liked his men. And hopefully, he’d be ready for another handjob later. “No,” Avery said. “I’m paying for your time to do work. You can shower on your own time.” “Fine. Yes, sir,” he said. He shrugged, but he got right to work. He knelt down to examine the partially assembled bedframe. “Ain’t surprised. My pa don’t let the colored boys shower ‘till the end of the day neither. And then they gotta use the green barn shower like a cow.” Avery watched his muscles flex as he figured out what needed to be done and quickly got the frame screwed together — he was as good at tools as he had suggested. Avery helped him keep the frame still, but it looked like Thomas would have been able to do it by himself if he needed to. So maybe the instructions were right, it was a one-man job. It just had to be one strong, handy man. Not Avery. The screws remained superfluous though. Then Avery had him fix the back door — Avery had bought a replacement doorknob, since the lock often got stuck, but he had never gotten around to replacing it. He rarely used the back door anyway. By the time he was done with that, the cum on Thomas’s chest was no longer visible, covered with a fine layer of sweat that made those short blond hairs stick to his skin. Thomas grunted as he tested the door by locking it and slamming it shut over and over. “‘S good,” he said. He looked at the time. “I been here fo’ one hour and fo’ty minutes. You gonna pay out for two hours or what?” Avery shrugged. “I might have something you could do for twenty minutes,” he said. Thomas smiled. “You wanna mess ’round again? You gonna gimme another handjob?” “Not exactly,” Avery said. He sunk to his knees and kissed Thomas’s dick through his overalls. Thomas jumped back as though it hurt, then laughed and said, “Oh, you like swallowin’ dick?” Avery smiled — Thomas sounded surprised by that. His crotch stank of stale cum, which made Avery even hornier. He wondered how much of that smell came from the orgasm he had just had one hour and forty minutes ago, and how much came from those circlejerks with the “colored boys” his father hired. “I love swallowin’ dick,” Avery said. “You ever get dome before?” “Hell yeah!” Thomas said. Then he paused, blushing intensely. “I mean… Not often. I ain’t married, reckon. I did… I done got a blowjob or two in my day, but I ain’t proud.” His smile turned beaming. “I usedta have a girl who loved sucking dick. But she said it tasted like sweat, and she ain’t like that.” “Won’t bother me none. I love sweat,” Avery said. “Nasty.” Thomas looked away as Avery undid his overalls, letting them fall to his ankles. Then he swallowed that fat dick in one smooth motion, getting almost the whole shaft in his mouth before it began to get hard. It tasted like the stale jizz from the handjob a little awhile ago. This time he did get hard right away. Judging from the expression on his face, he was shocked by how good this felt, and maybe his cock remained painfull sensitive from his recent orgasm. He stared down in open-mouthed amazement, as his dick leaked precum down Avery’s throat. His balls twitched with anticipation. He had an enormous cock, and once it got hard, it was too thick for Avery to deep-throat effectively. He was very good at throating down alphas, but even he had his limits. The more he was unable to swallow, the more forcefully Thomas’s body humped his throat. He even gripped Avery’s head to better force his meat down Avery’s gullet. Soon Thomas was throating Avery, not in a violent way, but more of an unknowingly instinctual way, like he couldn’t help but hold his scalp in place to treat his mouth like a pussy. Precum coated Avery’s tongue, while Avery used both hands to stroke him off at the root. He could see those fine blond hairs standing up — Thomas had goosebumps, his whole body shaking with excitement and anxiety. Thomas even tweaked one of his own nipples then blushed again and stopped as though there was something wrong with that. “I got something better for us to do,” Avery said. “You wanna… go all the way?” Thomas blushed and looked away. “You mean…?” Avery undid his own jeans and bent over, making sure not to let Thomas see his cock — he had discovered that men were more likely to go along with anal if they didn’t have to actually look at a penis. Avery kept his ass smooth; if you didn’t look anywhere else, it might look rather like a woman’s ass. He didn’t want to ruin that impression. “How do I do it?” Thomas asked. He whispered, glancing in every direction in case someone was peering in the windows. He looked at Avery’s ass as though he had never seen anything like it. Avery was on all fours, and he lifted his ass up so it would line up with Thomas’s crotch. This wasn’t an ideal position for himself, Avery thought, but it would be best for Thomas — Avery very much wanted Thomas to enjoy this so he might come back. “Just let me handle it,” Avery said. “You do what comes naturally.” “You makin’ me feel things, boy…-” He sounded momentarily threatening, a growling, menacing quality to his voice, as his naive farmboy demeanor momentarily vanished. Then he groaned as his rod pushed into Avery’s ass. Despite his claims, Avery got the strong impression that this was not Thomas’s first time. A twinge of pain hit Avery, which made his dick get hard as well, but he focused on pushing his ass back onto Thomas’s crotch. Avery’s pain and pressure grew worse, but as Thomas began humping, it got better and better, and soon Avery’s prostate twinkled into action. Pleasure washed over Avery’s bones, and his dick spasmed, leaking precum even though no one was touching it. But then someone was. Thomas’s hands crept around Avery’s body and took hold of his dick. He gave it a stroke with both hands, then let go. He hesitated before continuing. “Sorry, ‘m I sposedta do that?” Avery tried to say yes, but all that came out was an orgasmic groan. The pressure in his ass was too intense to say anything, and he was shocked that Thomas was giving a reacharound. Exquisite bliss flowed through Avery’s veins. “My pa say if you ever ram a man in the ass, you better have the common courtesy to give a reacharound,” Thomas said. “I ain’t know what a reacharound was… But I guess this is it, huh?” “Yeah, you got it…” Avery said breathlessly. Avery was unable to stop himself from cumming any longer. First he arched his back, very nearly standing up so he could twist his face behind himself and lick Thomas’s cum-stained pecs, while semen flew from his rod, once again coating Thomas’s hands. Avery’s spasming body squeezed around the cock in his rear. Thomas didn’t notice because he was about to cum as well. His dick spasmed and stopped moving deep within Avery’s ass, pausing while it spewed a massive load. Then he resumed humping, harder and more passionate now, possessing the barbarous violence of an alpha male — Avery loved that transition, the shift from naive juvenile to dominant alpha; he had awakened the macho in this farmboy, and now he rammed with so much power that Avery could only scream in pain and passion. He didn’t stop even as the cum stopped flowing. He used his hands more forcefully now, to mold Avery back into a doggystyle position with his head upraised. In the process he spread Avery’s cum from his own fingers to every corner of Avery’s body. He seemed devoid of reluctance, even though Avery’s jizz now covered much of his frame. Finally he was done humping. He pulled out, having made Avery’s asshole into a frothy mess. A soup of santorum spilled onto the carpet. Avery gasped and begged wordlessly, while Thomas whistled in disgust. “That ain’t nice. You really into this?” Avery collapsed onto the floor in a sweaty mess. He let out a choked cry of orgasmic pleasure. “Hey mister, you okay? Did I do that wrong?” “No, you did fine,” Avery said breathlessly. “Oh. Okay. Anythang else you want from me, sir?” “Go take a shower,” Avery said as he crawled onto weakened knees. “I’ll get your money. Come back tomorrow, I’ll have more work to do.” He hesitated but beamed bashfully, his face a bright red. “Yessir.” Avery paused. “No, wait. Next week. I need time to recover.”
Antonov is at a workcamp in Siberia, where he shares a bunk with the hairy brute Yuri. When Yuri’s hands get to roaming at night, it results in a no-holds-barred explosion of nighttime desires and sexual satisfaction!
Antonov didn’t regret coming to Siberia, at least not yet, though he couldn’t think of anything but how comfortable his nice warm bed must be back in Rostov. This place, he thought, might as well have been a different world. It wasn’t cold in his bed, and that was the worst part. The work barracks in the forested wasteland of southern Siberia were very cold. Antonov and his workmates all dressed in layers for bed, and Antonov had several heavy blankets atop him. He also wore a fur cap with ear flaps to keep his head warm. But the reason Antonov was not cold was that he had to share this tiny bunk with Yuri, a massive beast of a man whose body heat and rather extensive hair provided plenty of warmth and insulation. That was why the worst part of his sleeping arrangements was how warm it was — Antonov would have rather been cold and trying to sleep as close to the fireplace as he could get. Instead he couldn’t sleep because he was desperate to be as far from Yuri as possible. The zesty funk of his armpits and back made Antonov’s stomach churn. The bunk was too small to get very far away though. Yuri weighed down the mattress enough to cause a deep depression, into which Antonov continually sunk until finally he felt the fuzz of Yuri’s body hair, which made Antonov scoot back up the tiny distance between Yuri and the edge of the bed. That happened several times until Antonov gave up. Then Yuri rolled over. Before Antonov knew what was happening, he found his face wedged in the meaty space between Yuri’s right pec and armpit. He got a mouthful of body hair. Yuri’s massive cock flopped out of the fly of his long underwear, which he had pulled down to masturbate earlier — Yuri had no compunctions about jacking off in the bed next to Antonov, groaning and moaning the whole time, letting his arm hair rub on Antonov’s face. He saw this as reasonable behavior because he cleaned up the jizz on his belly with a sock, which now lay congealing on the floor. That was why his longjohns were down when he rolled over, and that was why his fat cockshaft smacked onto Antonov’s thigh. “Psst… Workmate… Hey, Yuri, comrade, wake up… Move over,” Antonov whispered. Yuri didn’t move. Antonov didn’t want to make a big scene — he had known that workmates at remote camps like these became used to each other’s nudity in close quarters. His father had warned him of that, and Antonov didn’t want to look like a prude. His father had also warned him about certain other behaviors such workmates partook in. Antonov was very worried about that. It seemed that, in the absence of women — and of light, in the long Siberian winters — workmates often treated each other that way. That wasn’t allowed in Soviet Russia, but it was widely tolerated in all-male environments like this. They jacked each other off, that was it. They used their mouths and maybe other orifices — Antonov wasn’t sure if he believed in the existence of sodomy, it seemed unlikely and disgusting, but he didn’t say so lest he look like a fool if it turned out to be real. So Antonov always knew it was possible that something would happen, and he was willing to accept it. Once he did his time here at the workcamp in Siberia, his family would receive extra rations. He knew he could accept anything for a chance at a better life for his family. One of Yuri’s giant meaty hands landed on Antonov’s chest. Was he awake now? It seemed not, but Antonov had a feeling he was. Was this how it happened? Antonov’s father had said that they traded mouths in the bathing-tent, but those tents here were tiny, barely big enough for one person much less two, so they always bathed alone, using a sponge and a bucket of warm water. Maybe things had changed since Antonov’s father was a working man. That massive paw moved. It slowly stroked Antonov’s bare stomach, and Antonov sharply inhaled. Was Yuri asleep? It was possible that he thought Antonov was a girl. Maybe he was moving entirely on instinct? But then Yuri’s hand moved all the way down to Antonov’s long underwear. It slipped under the fabric and, in one smooth motion, gripped Antonov’s dick before it slowly, haltingly gave it a single stroke. The friction combined with the tension in the air to make Antonov bite his lip to stifle a moan of desire. His dick stiffened up beneath Yuri’s work-callused hands. The smell of Yuri’s body filled his nostrils, as every motion Yuri made reawakened a fresh wave of that masculine sourness. “Yuri, I-” Antonov tried to speak, but he was stopped by Yuri’s other hand covering his mouth. “Sssh…” was all Yuri said. The other workmates in their bunks tossed and turned, snoring, coughing in the night, but no one seemed to be awake. Antonov gulped. Yuri’s bearded mouth moved, kissing Antonov on the chest, through his long underwear. Then Yuri moved down Antonov’s smooth torso until he reached his crotch. Entirely under the covers now, Yuri pulled Antonov’s long underwear down, freeing his cock, which stuck straight up. The erection was a surprise. Antonov did not realize he had a stiffy already. This was not at all progressing how Antonov thought it would, but it was happening too fast for him to even think about responding. All he could do was submit. His father had not warned him it would be like this. Yuri swallowed Antonov’s cock as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Antonov arched his back and gasped. He instinctively grabbed Yuri’s back, even though it felt off-putting for him to caress the strapping muscles of Yuri’s shoulders. Antonov had always been skinny — he often claimed he was stronger than he looked, but still, he was nowhere’s near as strong as Yuri — so he was awed by the sheer power he could sense in Yuri’s corded muscles. Yuri had been working as a builder on these remote worksites for years, and it showed in the thick, bulging muscles of his back. The mouth was incredible. Antonov was so nervous he didn’t notice it right away, he just threw his head back and grunted. He couldn’t believe it, but this felt better than it had when he got a girl to suck him off. Yuri seemed to know exactly what to do. The pleasure that wracked Antonov’s body was so all-encompassing that he completely forgot about his anxiety over the situation or his dismay at being forced to share a bed with Yuri, whom he now suspected no one else wanted to sleep with because he was so big and sweaty. That was why they made the new guy sleep with him. Antonov couldn’t think too much about that in this moment. His mind was wracked by pleasure so intense it hurt. Antonov’s fingers gripped the thick mane of Yuri’s black hair, guiding his head up and down on his shaft. Yuri slathered spit as he moved. The moisture and the warmth sent a wave of sensations through Antonov’s body. He suckled loudly and moistly on Antonov’s dick, like an expert, but since his head was under the covers, the sound wasn’t audible away from the bed — or so Antonov hoped. He didn’t want to acquire a reputation for this sort of activity. But he wasn’t about to back out either. He had never experienced anything so incredible. He bit his lip and then buried his face in the meaty muscle of Yuri’s torso where Antonov could scream and grunt with the sound absorbed by Yuri’s solid body. Yuri’s head was all the way down on Antonov’s shaft, his face nuzzled in Antonov’s pubic hair, as Yuri’s thick fingers worked all the way up and down Antonov’s body. An orgasm erupted suddenly within Antonov, who threw his pillow over his face to muffle the sound. He groaned and moaned as he sprayed his load into Yuri’s mouth. Yuri let out a moist gagging sound, and his throat rejected the cum that flowed down it. That caused a big load of jizz and spit to slip out of Antonov’s mouth, soaking Antonov’s hairy crotch and sticking to the bushy hair of Yuri’s beard. Despite the awkwardness of the situation — or perhaps because of it — Antonov experienced an incredible climax. His toes curled, and his fingers tightened into claws that dug into the meat of Yuri’s broad back. His whole body tensed and shook as he filled Yuri’s mouth with wad after wad of creamy cum. Yuri kept his head in place under the covers like a professional. Antonov could sense the distaste he had for cum, but he submitted to it as though he had done this on numerous occasions, which Antonov supposed he probably had. His father must have been right about these places. “Sssh…” Yuri said, even though Antonov hadn’t made any noise. Then he loudly swallowed the mouthload of jizz he had. For a moment, he paused, and Antonov sensed him hold back a gag. Then Yuri said, “It is my turn.” His eyes opening wide, Antonov oomphed as Yuri’s strong arms rolled him over. Antonov faced the raging fire in the fireplace, which kept him warm as the covers fell off him. Then Yuri pressed his big body atop Antonov’s back, his thick nest of chest hair helping to warm Antonov back up again. But his body felt slick with sweat and cum and who knew what else. Antonov didn’t much like the sensation, and he wasn’t sure if he’d like what came next. His father had warned him of this as well. Maybe, Antonov realized, sodomy was a real thing after all. “You have pretty skin…” Yuri said. The words made Antonov’s skin crawl and gave him goosebumps. But Antonov wanted to fit in among his workmates, and he was desperate to do whatever they did. It was clear that Yuri expected him to give up his ass for the night, and he was Antonov’s superior, so he could have made workcamp life difficult for him. That was why Antonov submitted as he lost himself in the iron-like firmness of Yuri’s arms. So for now, he just had to submit and hopefully stay quiet enough that no one else woke up. He didn’t want anyone to know what he was allowing Yuri to do to him. Antonov held his breath as he felt that massive slab of Russian meat pressing at his asshole. He thought for sure it was entirely too big, there was no way he could ever take it inside him. Almost as intense a sensation was the feeling of Yuri’s heavy body weighing down Antonov’s back. It was hard to breathe. Yuri took a deep breath, and Antonov could feel it in the expansion of Yuri’s hairy chest against Antonov’s back, which was bare and slickened with a layer of Yuri’s sweat. “You’re a pretty boy,” Yuri whispered softly, right into Antonov’s ear. His voice was gravely and rough, and it made Antonov shudder. Yuri spat into the palm of his hand — the sound was impossibly loud since he was so close to Antonov’s face — and he wiped the spit off on his cockshaft. Then his finger pushed into Antonov’s tight asshole. Antonov bit his lip and cringed as pain erupted inside him, followed only dimly, barely, but definitely, a little bud of pleasure. Yuri chuckled, again right into Antonov’s ear. “Do not worry, little rose-blossom,” Yuri said. “I will be very gentle.” He kissed the back of Antonov’s neck and wrapped his muscular right arm around Antonov’s neck. Antonov gulped and scrunched his eyes shut. He prayed that none of the other workmates woke up. He didn’t want them to see him like this. He tasted Yuri’s biceps and the thick hairs that lined his arm. A sharp pain came on so suddenly that Antonov gasped. His mouth opened wide and filled with Yuri’s arm-flesh. He tried to move away but couldn’t — not because Yuri held him down, since he didn’t, but just because the sensation was so intense that Antonov could do little more than writhe in Yuri’s powerful arms. “Ssssh, comrade… Bite me if it hurts, that is alright,” Yuri said. He kissed the back of Antonov’s head again, and he even licked his skin there. He sucked on Antonov’s earlobe. “Hmm, my little rose-blossom. I will make your asshole my pussy.” As his cockmeat shoved into Antonov’s ass, Yuri growled like a bear. Pleasure surged in Antonov’s body. Clenching his teeth, Antonov held his breath, the pain so incredible he thought for sure he was being torn in two. But he couldn’t deny that behind it all was a faint sense of pleasure, which grew stronger and stronger with every thrust of Yuri’s cock inside him. He still hadn’t quite gotten every inch of his meat inside Antonov though, and he kept spitting in his palm to use as lube. Each time he did, Antonov could hear him spit so loud it was like a deafening roar, it felt like he spat on Antonov even though he didn’t, it was just so close to Antonov’s face that he might as well have. There was moisture dripping from him onto Antonov’s face. It was either spit or sweat. There was no clear division between his crotch hair and his belly hair either, making it feel like a giant bear was behind him. Antonov cringed and squirmed until the pain grew so bad he stayed still, and he found it did feel better to gnaw on the meat of Yuri’s firm forearm. “Hey, say my name,” Yuri whispered into Antonov’s ear. Antonov lay flat on the bed, perfectly still because every motion he made reawakened the pain in his ass. He just submitted and tried not to think about the body hair scratching at his skin. “Wh-What?” “Say my name, like a girl,” Yuri said. “Please? You’re so pretty. Say my name. Moan it.” His voice was breathless and deep, rumbling, and Antonov could feel the words in Yuri’s chest just as strongly as he could hear them. “Yuri…” Antonov hadn’t intended to actually say Yuri’s name like he demanded. Antonov was going to ask him to go easier on his ass. But all he managed to get out was the name before Yuri moaned again like he was going to cum just from hearing his own name. With that, Yuri’s cock slid the rest of the way into Antonov. The pain — and pleasure — was intense enough that Antonov raised his ass up. He buried his face in the pillow again, then lifted it up as he heaved for breath. The sensation was so intense he had to concentrate to draw breath at all. “You’re doing so good…” Yuri said. He kissed Antonov’s head again, and he even moved his face around to kiss Antonov on the cheeks and lips. Yuri had big, full lips, and his tongue entered Antonov’s mouth. Then Yuri stopped moving. There was a flurry of motion from one of the other bunks — did someone wake up? Antonov couldn’t tell. He was buried in Yuri’s arms and chest, pinned against the bunk. Antonov couldn’t have cried out if he wanted to. Someone had gotten up. It was Pyotr, Antonov thought, getting up to take a piss. Yuri pretended to be asleep. Since he was so big and he was atop Antonov, covering his body completely, nobody could see what was happening, at least not without coming very close, even though Antonov was squirming and groaning. Their bunk was in one shadowy corner near the fireplace, which made it especially hard to see anything. But Yuri didn’t move his cock. It remained hard like a sword inside Antonov, who would have been writhing there in agony on the bed if it weren’t for the massive weight of man and muscle atop his back. He couldn’t even take a breath. There was a bucket near the door that they used for piss. Antonov could hear the slow tinkle of Pyotr filling the bucket. The sound made Antonov squirm the best he could beneath Yuri’s body. That made Yuri bite his lip and jerk his body as though he was nearing orgasm and trying to keep it down. At last Pyotr laid back down in his bunk. Yuri and Antonov remained totally still and silent. Antonov wondered how long he could last like this, with a cock throbbing in his ass. Then Yuri started moving. It hadn’t been very long since Pyotr was up and moving around, so Yuri kept it quiet and low.-key He ground his hips, not moving his dick in or out at all, just exploring every inch of Antonov’s insides. That was even more arduous than the actual ramming had been. Antonov felt like he was going to explode. Yuri’s meaty forearm was in front of his face again, and this time Antonov bit down hard, like he was trying to actually eat Yuri’s arm. Yuri grunted in pain from Antonov’s bite, but he didn’t try to pull his arm away. He was so muscular that biting his forearm was like eating steel. It felt like Antonov was more likely to break his teeth than actually tear out a chunk of flesh from Yuri’s arm. “It is okay. I is alright,” Yuri said. His gravely whisper made Antonov shudder, which in turn caused another wave of pain to shoot through him. Yuri spoke as soothingly as his gruff voice would allow. “Don’t worry, little rose-blossom. I’m almost done. I’m going to fill you up with my cum-” That thought made Antonov yelp into Yuri’s flesh, and Yuri tightened his grip on Antonov’s body. “Sssh, don’t wake them up. If they sleep through this, it will not count. I will not tell anyone. Tomorrow it will be like it never happened. I will jerk you off again next time.” “When… Uh… When do I get ram you?” Antonov said. “Later…” Yuri said. “I am jerking you off. That is a good enough trade, isn’t it?” “Yeah… fine,” Antonov said. That didn’t really sound so equal at all, but he knew Yuri was right — the best result was just not waking anyone up. Yuri would keep it a secret if he could. “Okay, lift your hips up a bit,” Yuri said. When Antonov didn’t immediately follow instructions, Yuri grabbed his waist and lifted it up. He pressed his palm — the same palm he had been spitting in before, so it was now clammy and moist — on the back of Antonov’s head, pushing his face into the mattress. The bed was wet now too, with spit and sweat and more. Yuri took a deep breath. Antonov closed his eyes, certain that this was going to hurt worse than anything he had ever experienced. He wasn’t wrong. Yuri began slamming his hips up and down, using every ounce of power in his massive body, as though he was trying to get at something deep within Antonov. Antonov squealed into the mattress beneath him. He didn’t need to worry about muffling the sound because Yuri kept his face in position, buried in the sheets and the mattress. Antonov had no idea how long that took. It felt like many hours, but he assumed that couldn’t be right, or the sun would have been up when he lifted his head. But it was still pitch-black, still freezing cold away from Yuri’s overheated body. The sound of Yuri’s balls slapping against Antonov’s thighs filled the air. That seemed very loud to Antonov, but only because Antonov was also beneath the blankets, which Yuri had to hold on to in order to ensure they covered the action. That helped provide insulation and kept the sound from waking up all of Antonov’s and Yuri’s other workmates. The only thing worse than Yuri’s pounding was when it ended. That’s because Antonov was overwhelmed by pain as Yuri stopped moving with his fat cock all the way inside Antonov. Yuri’s entire body shook, and his muscles all flexed at once. Yuri let out a deep roar that Antonov thought would surely wake someone up, though no one moved. The sound resonated in Antonov’s ear. Yuri’s body was drenched in sweat, his thick mop of black hair plastered to his scalp Then the sensation of cum flowing into him hit Antonov’s senses. He tried to squirm but Yuri snarled and gripped him tight. Antonov couldn’t even go limp as the feeling was too intense. All he could do was bury his face in the mattress — which stank of Yuri’s sweat — as cum filled him up. He shot a huge load, impossibly large, it seemed to Antonov, who felt it sloshing around within him. Yuri sighed as it came out. Antonov could feel how thick and creamy it was, seeping into every corner of his insides. There was so much of it that Antonov thought he tasted its salty-sour flavor, like it had somehow broken all the way through to his mouth, though a part of him knew that was just Yuri’s chest hair in his mouth. “You are alright, my little rose-blossom?” Yuri asked. His voice was low and rumbly, and he again kissed Antonov on the back of the neck. Antonov nodded. He was still in too much pain with that giant cock in his ass to say anything or do anything besides keep his mouth shut. It took every fiber of being to avoid screaming out in agony. “You want me to take it out?” Yuri asked. His dick twitched inside Antonov. It hurt even worse now that it was only half-hard and rapidly limpening. Yuri laughed at Antonov’s wincing reaction. “Yes!” Antonov spat. He held his breath as Yuri withdrew the first little bit of his cock, but then he stopped. “You sure?” “Yes!” Yuri laughed again. He pressed down on Antonov’s head with one arm, while his other hand pushed Antonov’s shoulders down. He slowly dragged his dick out. When he was finally done, Antonov breathed a deep sigh of relief. He had never felt better than he did in those first few seconds, like he had scratched an itch that had been bothering him for years. That feeling didn’t last very long, because intense soreness overwhelmed him then, and every motion he made sent another wave of pain from his ass. But at least it was over. Antonov had gotten through it. His father had said he was too much of a weakling, that he’d never be able to fit in here with the other real men working in Siberia. Antonov’s father had said his skinny body would freeze to death his first night. That hadn’t happened. Antonov had made it through his first week, and he hadn’t done too poorly — nobody had woken up, as far as he could see. Nobody knew he had gotten rammed. Yuri belched loudly. Now that they were done ramming, it didn’t matter if he woke anyone up. His rancid breath condensed on Antonov’s face, and Antonov winced. Yuri chuckled and kissed him. Then Yuri rolled over. His limp, slimy dick rested on Antonov’s thigh. Yuri laid on his side, and he wrapped his arms and his leg around Antonov. Antonov once again found himself ensconced in those massive muscles and his burly bear-like chest hair. “Sssh, it is cold,” Yuri said. “Sleep with me like this, okay?” Antonov sighed. “Fine.” He had to admit, it was more comfortable this way. He hadn’t been able to sleep when he tried to stay as far away from Yuri as possible, and the man’s throbbing muscles made for a comfortable bed and blanket. He was warm and cozy. “Thank you,” Yuri said. “You’ll fit in well here, Antonov. I’m going to enjoy you, workmate.”
Miles Palmer Rompenhauer loves feet! When he stumbles across a studly trucker in a diner, he never thought it’d turn into a foot-focused alpha-male explosion that just might be too much for him to bear!
Can he handle his newfound redneck friend’s grimy, filthy, nasty feet?!
Palmer Rompenhauer smiled at the waitress, Polly, who smiled back at him. She placed the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him. “So, Polly, how’s that boyfriend of yours?” “Oh, he’s darling, sugah. He got a new full-time job, starts next week.” “Really?! Oh that’s wonderful,” Palmer said even though he didn’t believe it. He was actually annoyed. He had rather hoped Polly’s boyfriend would still be underemployed. He felt bad thinking that. It wasn’t really true, he wished Polly and her man the best of luck, even if that stymied his mission here today. It was just disappointing for it happen right when Palmer had a plan to get what he wanted. He had come here to the truck stop diner because the world’s most arousing short order cook worked here. He was a big black daddy-type with a marvelous mustache and big stinky feet that Polly had complained about on several occasions. Palmer liked that. He liked dirty men — and their feet — and Polly had said her boyfriend was dirty to the max. She’d shown him a photo, and Palmer had seen pictures of him on Facebook. Those feet looked so good he could almost taste them through the screen. The funk, the filth, the aroma… It was enough to make Palmer’s dick hard. It didn’t make his dick hard, because he was saving himself — saving himself, he thought, for Polly’s boyfriend. But now if he got a full-time job. That made it unlikely he would swing on the downlow for a couple dollars. He had hoped that Polly’s boyfriend would still be stuck in a part-time cook job because then Palmer could pay him to worship his feet. She told Palmer about the full-time job — which sounded like a great opportunity that paid well — and then scurried off to attend to a table of rowdy truckers who needed the check. That was when the door to the diner opened. Another, less rowdy trucker walked in, burly and thick, fuzzy hair protruding from the fire-department tee shirt he wore, against which his fleshy arms bulged. He had on camo pants that Palmer could tell from looking at them had been worn so much they were stiff and funky. They were the kind of pants only worn by the kind of man who rarely washes his pants. Truckers often don’t wash their clothes because they are always on the road. And oh god those feet. The glory of his feet! Palmer couldn’t even see them yet, and already he craved the taste. The trucker wore heavy hiking boots, jet black and burnished, dull, flecked with muds and pale dots that were seemingly bleach stains. They were going to smell remarkable too. Palmer sniffed the air in hopes that he would catch a whiff of the shoes or the feet encased within them, and maybe he did, or maybe he was imagining it, or maybe it was the feet of one of the other truckers in the diner. Or maybe it was Polly’s feet. Palmer didn’t like to think about that possibility though. He wasn’t into women’s feet, and women’s feet should be graceful and beautiful. They should smell like tropical fruits and sunshine. Men’s feet should be gnarled and hairy, sweat-soaked, gristly like a cheap steak. That’s what Palmer craved. The trucker had a tired look on his face, and he stood there at the counter as he scrutinized the menu — that was a sure giveaway of a real trucker who was on a long haul: he didn’t want to spend more time seated right now. He massaged his sore legs as he stood there. He stretched each thigh, and he stood on his toes to stretch his calf muscles. The trucker leaned over the counter, stretching his thunderous muscles and lifting each leg up one after the other. He glanced at the menu for only a few seconds before ordering something from Polly. “Sure thing, sugah!” Polly said. Then she nodded at Palmer. “Need anything, Miles?” “No thanks,” Palmer said. She called him Miles, cuz it was his first name. But most people called him Palmer. Polly was already off to the back of the diner to put in the trucker’s order. Palmer wondered how he could land a taste of this trucker’s funk. He came across as so filthy that Palmer could already imagine his taste and the flavor and texture of his grime. Every man’s grime is unique, Palmer always said, and he wished to sample them all. There was dirt in the trucker’s greasy hair, plus a few smudges on his cheek — it looked like he had rolled around in the mud and then showered only very briefly, so there were still clumps of soil attached to him and clinging to his hair. Older dirt stains had been rubbed into the clothes he wore, and his hair was slick and unwashed. A lot of the truckers were filthy, but not all of them could pull it off. Palmer salivated as he finally caught a whiff of the trucker’s funk — the trucker raised his arm briefly, stretching his shoulders, which bared his armpit long enough for Miles to inhale deeply of the dizzying scent. It was warm and musty, like a cozy library and a campfire had a baby, and Miles wanted to suck up every drop of moisture of the man’s powerful frame. He was tall and broad-shouldered too. A lot of truckers were pretty fat. He wasn’t big on skinny guys, and Palmer didn’t mind a little heft. That was why he had come here lusting after the cook — a former bodybuilder with biceps to die for — instead of any of the truckers. But now, he thought, he had an option. This trucker wasn’t fat at all. He was deliciously chunky, and though he didn’t have that cook’s amateur bodybuilder look, he was still appealing. He looked like he might have played football in high school and probably still did it enough with his buddies to stay in shape. He was built like a truck, with a face that was kind of squashed like he had been hit by a truck and a dull, metallic tone to his voice like a truck Transformer. He had probably been driving a pickup truck since before he could legally get a license. Palmer had no idea if all those suppositions were true, but it felt right, and he was ready to find out. He left Polly a nice tip, then headed to the counter where that sexy trucker still leaned. He had ordered oatmeal. Palmer wasn’t sure he had ever seen anyone order oatmeal in a restaurant — he didn’t get it: Why order something you could cook in a microwave in a minute, for a cost of like fifty cents? But still, it was adorable. That trucker shoveled it in his mouth like he was a starving child. His unkempt beard hairs moved up and down, capturing some oatmeal-bits that escaped his lips. Palmer smiled, heart thumping. “Manky?” The man looked at him and furrowed his brow. “What? Who are you?” “My name’s Palmer. Are you the football player they called Manky?” “Yeah” Manky was obviously proud of being recognized. He blushed. “Cool, uh… Cool.” Then his eyes opened wide. “Oh! You’re the dude I was looking for!” “What?” “I was told I should find you, man. You got something I want.” “Really?” “Yeah.” Manky wolfed down the last of his oatmeal and left some money on the counter. “You got Asian chicks?” “Asian chicks?” Palmer followed Manky out of the diner and towards the rows of trucks in one side of the parking lot. The roar of the engines was loud here, and Manky had to raise his voice to be heard. But Palmer still didn’t quite catch what he said. “Tits and that… All over… I’ve got… How do you…?… The back… I’ll do…” “Oh, uh…” Manky opened the cab of his truck and climbed in. The little sleeping area behind that looked cozy, with warm blankets and pillow all over, like a tiny opium den. It smelled of alcohol and cheap weed and sweat and Palmer wanted to go in there and cuddle up with Manky. But Manky waited like he was expecting someone else to join them. Palmer stood at the door, while Manky looked at him expectantly. In the door of the truck, the sound of the idling engines was not as loud, and Palmer could hear Manky more clearly. “Uh… Where she at?” “I’m sorry?” “The Asian chick?” “What Asian chick?” “I dunno man, ain’t you got her?” Palmer shook his head. “I don’t have any Asian chicks.” “Oh… Well, fine, I guess it doesn’t matter. You got blondes?” “I think… there’s been a misunderstanding. I don’t have chicks. I’m just… a dude, I don’t have a flotilla of chicks following me around.” “Oh… You’re not… the guy?” “I guess not. I am a guy.” “You’re not a pimp. You know a pimp?” “A pimp? No.” Palmer shrugged. “Oh, wait, yeah! You mean Slipper? I know Slipper. He ain’t here, he got arrested last week. His girls are all on Craigslist now.” Palmer wished he hadn’t said that because Manky took his phone out and pulled up Craigslist. “Damn it…” “So wait, if you ain’t think I was buyin’ a ho, why’d you follow me to my truck?” Manky asked. He didn’t look up from his phone until Palmer answered. “I was hoping to pay you for something…” Palmer said coyly. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars to ram me. There’s a catch though. I-“ “Wait, what?” “I’ll give you five hundred dollars to cornhole me. You gotta let me jerk you off. You gotta ram me in the ass. And you gotta let me worship your feet.” There was a long pause. “What…? You mean me?” “You.” “Feet?” He lifted his heavy-booted feet up and wiggled it in front of Palmer. “Feet.” Manky blushed, the color mostly concealed by his scruffy beard hairs. “I, uh… I guess… Yeah.” He paused. “You ain’t gonna tell no one, is ya?” “It’s our secret.” Manky hesitated again. “So… like… you ain’t gotta be real detailed, but uh… do you like… want me to shower first? Or is it like… you-“ “I like it funky. Please do not shower first,” Palmer said. Manky blanched and laughed to cover up his obvious discomfort. He let Palmer into the cab, and they climbed into the sleeper. It was basically just a bed with a few shelves on the walls for personal belongings, plus a TV mounted above the bed, though it didn’t appear to be hooked up to anything at the moment. Manky laid himself out on the bed. He was trying to look casual. He didn’t want Palmer to think he was desperate or frightened, after all. A lot of truckers spoke of messing around with males on the road. It was common. A lot of truck stops had male “lot lizards” — addicts would do any guy for a place to sleep and a hot meal. Manky wasn’t into that. He could often land a free woman, or failing that, a prostitute — his trucking route kept him on main routes where there were usually prostitutes available. So he had never partaken. Older guys would do whatever it took to get their rocks off on the road. They said things like “it’s all pink in the dark” and “a hole’s a hole” and “it don’t count if you’s on the road”. Manky didn’t say things like that. He was not part of that older generation. “So, uh… what do you… do?” Manky asked, his voice trailing off because Palmer was already getting started. He hadn’t been immediately aware of that because he didn’t feel Palmer’s fingers on his boots, and Manky never really looked at his feet for that kind of thing. But Palmer had already bent over and kissed the bleachy leather of Manky’s heavy black boots. They stank of cleaning solvents and mud and sweat, that last of which smelled so intense that Palmer let out a long, cringing moan. “Damn…” Manky frowned like he was surprised to see this really happening. He found an old DVD player on a shelf — it wasn’t kept hooked up to the TV because Manky didn’t have a long enough cord. He had to rest the DVD player on the bedspread in order to plug it into the TV. He tried to ignore Palmer slathering his boot with kisses as he put in an Asian-chick porn. It wasn’t actually his favorite video, but this situation was already awkward enough that Manky didn’t want any penises on his screen. That black boot was cold and salty. Palmer untied it as he licked it from tip to heel. The leather was old and worn, but it was real leather, not plastic, so that just made it better. Palmer could see the time-worn creases where the material bent frequently, right over the toes mainly, but also up by the ankle, on the side. When he slipped it off, he struggled a bit, it was a tight fit and a heavy boot. It finally popped off and there was an audible, almost visible wave of footy funk that wafted into Palmer’s face. “Aaaaaaaaaaah….” Palmer let out a long moan that overpowered the sound of the Asian women eating each other out onscreen. He could taste the foot aroma that came in waves over his face. He chomped at the air to eat it — that made him giggle, especially the way Manky scrupulously faced away and ignored him. Palmer untied his second boot too and pulled it off, again sniffing loudly and savoring the astringent scent of his unwashed foot. It filled the air of the truck’s living quarters. Palmer wallowed in it, rubbing his nose through the dense fabric of both socks. Manky’s dick twitched. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t show it because it was embarrassing — he told himself it was because of the porn. But a part of him worried that he was beginning to enjoy this foot-worship. It was weird, he thought as Palmer pulled his dirty socks off, baring his big, meaty feet with a few highly visible hairs on the top. It was making his dick semi-hard anyway. Manky’s girlfriends often complained about his “hairy feet”, which he thought was unfair — they really weren’t hairy. There was a tuft of hair right on the bony part on the top of each foot, but it was maybe twenty hairs total. They were highly visible because they were jet-black and coarsely-textured. His feet always smelled bad too. More than one girlfriend had said she wouldn’t have sex with him if he took his shoes off. He’d seen a doctor at one point, but the cream he was given didn’t do anything. Manky just avoided taking his shoes off as much as he could, and he wore these heavy boots all the time because they were basically airtight — he didn’t realize that tight boots meant the inside was warm and slightly moist, the perfect environment to make his feet smell even worse. Or, from Palmer’s perspective, better. He sucked the funk off those hairs and moaned at the sour, salty taste. His hands roamed up Palmer’s calves, and he massaged his leg through those camo pants. Manky took off his shirt unprompted, then gulped and pulled his pants off when Palmer asked him to. Just think of the money, Manky reminded himself. It was weird to feel Palmer’s tongue on his feet. It was like getting a bath from a cat, he thought. It was off-putting but not exactly unpleasant. He just wished Palmer had wanted nothing more than to jerk him off — that would have been easier to endure. Just a handjob. No big deal. Manky’s foot was ungodly funky. Palmer loved it. It was like mainlining sweat. He could taste every inch of Manky’s body, like the sweat he sucked down had collected all the flavors of his hairy redneck frame as it trickled to his feet. Palmer’s hand gripped Manky’s cock, without removing his tongue from the bottom of Manky’s left foot. Manky’s whole body shook and his eyes opened wide, but he forced himself to remain focused on the porno. His dick had been on the verge of full erection for so long, twitching and throbbing in his dirty boxers, that he was virtually ready to explode as soon as Palmer finally touched it. “Oh goddamn…” Manky’s deep voice echoed in the tiny living area. He stretched his legs, but he was too tall, so his feet bumped into the metal side. Pleasure spasmed through his body, and he held his breath through clenched teeth. “Hmmm… You taste so good…” Palmer sucked down every drop of funk before letting his tongue run a trail up Manky’s hairy legs. Manky was already on the verge of blowing his load. The delay had made him so horny he could burst. His cock tasted like his foot, but a little cleaner. Palmer giggled at the taste and the sight of Manky’s ruddy face looking down at him — finally Manky was willing to tear his eyes away from the women onscreen. “Shit, man, goddamn!” Manky shouted. He grabbed ahold of Palmer’s head and guided it down deep on his dick, until Palmer’s nose nuzzled his unkempt pubic hair. Palmer loved that — so many young men these days shaved their crotches, which Palmer found unappealing — he liked that big hairy bush and the stale scent it always had. Most men trimmed though because it made their dick look bigger since less of it was concealed by pubic hair. Manky had such a huge dick he didn’t need to worry about that. His cock throbbed, precum flowing in Palmer’s throat. Manky would have been fine with cumming directly into Palmer’s throat, but Palmer had said he wanted anal. The best thing about anal, from Palmer’s perspective, was that he could worship a man’s foot at the same time. If Palmer bent over, with his ass high and his face on the ground, a man could ram him in the ass with his feet near enough to Palmer’s face that he could step on his head if he wanted to — which Palmer would often beg his men to do. That was difficult in this setting though. The tiny sleeper wasn’t big enough for Manky to stand up. “Here, can you lean back right here? I’ll back up, see?” Palmer arranged Manky to sort of squat in one corner. It was awkward and ungainly and it stretched Manky’s legs — but that wasn’t a bad thing, he was always looking for opportunities to exercise his knees. It was only Manky’s calf muscles that kept him aloft. Manky had only fucked one woman in the ass successfully — many backed out when they saw how big his dick was, but he had one girlfriend who loved it. So Manky was inexperienced with actually getting his cock into someone’s ass. “Damn it, man, hold still,” Manky said. Palmer had trouble keeping himself in position because he was more interested in nuzzling Manky’s foot than in getting it up the ass. But he spread his cheeks and backed himself up to meet Manky’s cock. A jolt of pain hit him, and Palmer lifted his head, just out of reach of Manky’s foot. As Manky drilled in, a little hesitant at first, Palmer lowered his head again despite the intense sensations coursing through his veins. There was an intense pressure in his ass, Manky’s entire girthy manhood stretching him to accommodate it. At last, Manky was in him, and Palmer’s tongue was on the hairy top of Manky’s foot. It smelled more of spit than anything else now, but Palmer could still sense the podiatric funk emanating off it and enveloping his face in its goodness. Manky had never felt anything like this. He whooped and hollered. His foot sent little shocks of pleasure up his body, which surprised him — he’d never been into his feet being worshiped before. But he couldn’t deny that that tongue on his foot was somehow more pleasurable than any of the women he’d ever fucked. It wasn’t just the foot, but that definitely felt good — even more than that it was how Manky could simply ram as hard as he wanted. Palmer seemed willing to take anything, and indeed was more focused on Manky’s foot than the cock splitting his ass open. Manky could use all of his power and his weight to piston his dick in and out, making the entire sleeper cab shake as he orgasmed deep in Palmer’s ass. Palmer clenched down on him, moaning into his feet, tongue lolling out over his toes. Cum sprayed into Palmer’s ass, great gobs of creamy juices that had built up in his week or so on the road since he last blew his wad. Manky roared and pounded on his chest with one hand, while his other kneaded the flesh of Palmer’s asscheeks. “Oh god!” Palmer moaned, his voice breaking. Waves of intense sensation wracked his body, and his hands tightened into claws that dug into the firm flesh of Manky’s body. Manky just grunted, the sound loud and resonant in Palmer’s ear, a grunt that turned into an ear-aching moan. Palmer squirmed as cum filled him up. He felt it seeping through his flesh and soaking into his body. Exquisite ecstasy coursing through his veins, Palmer shot his own load too, right into his hand. He hadn’t cum or even gotten a hardon since his setting out for the diner — hadn’t even thought about it — but now that he was with Knuckle, Palmer felt the stress melt away. A long chest-rattling moan chambered out of his chest, and still more and more jizz poured out of him. When he had finished, he let it slip out and onto the top of Manky’s foot. It plopped there hotly and Palmer’s tongue snaked out to slurp it all up. Manky watched with a shocked, disgusted look on his face, but this all felt too good to worry about a little cum on his bare foot. “Well, shit, man,” Manky said with a chuckle. “You gonna pay me, right? Don’t stiff me.” He now thought he should have got the money upfront, but it was too late now. He was spent, breathless and sweaty, his chest hair matted to his skin. “I won’t,” Palmer said. He curled up into Manky’s heavy arms. He sucked salty sweat off his bicep as he pulled out his wad of cash. It was all twenties and he knew exactly how much it was — five hundred dollars. But Palmer still made a big show of counting it anyway, because he liked being the center of Manky’s attention, and anyway, Manky expected him to count it. Palmer settled himself, ensconced in Manky’s sweaty arms, as he counted out the twenty dollar bills. When he handed over the wad of dollars, Manky took the cash and grunted. Palmer picked up his limp dick and kissed the tip, then slurped off the fluids clinging to it. It was funky like Manky’s foot, but assy, moist and goopy. Palmer teased it with his tongue, making Manky throw his head back and moan. “Shit, man… you wanna spend the night in my sleeper here wit’ me?” Manky said with an awkward grunt. It was hard enough to ask a girl out, he thought, asking a guy to spend the night in his sleeper was even harder. But he was confident Palmer would say yes, and indeed Palmer giggled and nuzzled his chest even closer. His hand massaged Manky’s body. “Thanks,” Palmer said. “I’m glad I ran into you. You have the greatest trucker funk I’ve ever tasted.” That was true, and Palmer was eager to spend the night here with him. The sleeper was rank with footiness and Palmer couldn’t wait to marinate in Manky’s body all night long.
Baldo had a shaved head. He was short, but thick-bodied, built like a bull, complete with a squashed nose and cauliflower ears, both remnants from his former career as a boxer. Though his head was bald, he was the hairiest one there, and his chest hair poked out from under his tuxedo.
Tedi is an effeminate twink who never thought the Mafia would come to him to help dole out punishment. But when one of the Caprinelli family’s enforcers is proven to have snitched, Tedi is all too eager to get down and dirty teaching that uomo a lesson!
The wedding was a nerve-wracking affair, even for Tedi, and it wasn’t even his wedding. He was a long-time friend of the family, but the family in question was the family — the Cavollos. They were the most powerful Mafia clan in New Jersey. The Cavollos themselves had never acknowledged it, except for Sonny, and he only obliquely referred to it on a few occasions when he was drunk. Tedi had grown up as Sonny’s best friend, and stayed with him in college and ever since. They had drifted apart only slightly as they each developed an independent life. But when Sonny got married, there was no one to be best man and compare d’anello except for Tedi. The wedding was held in St. Michael’s Cathedral on Staten Island. It was a beautiful affair, and everything went exactly according to plan — with one exception: a groomsmen who was missing. There were five groomsmen (il testimoni) who had come to the wedding rehearsal. They weren’t exactly friends of Sonny’s, but they were closest thing Sonny had to a friend besides Tedi — made mafia men simply didn’t have close friends. Tedi was an exception because he had been friends with Sonny for a long time, he was not in the mafia or otherwise involved in any kind of crime, and he was small, delicate and weak. Nobody treated him like a serious rival. The five groomsmen were Francesco Lancinelli, Frankie di Pietro, Joey Rizzoli, Baldo Bianchi and Demetrio Collera. Tedi enjoyed jerking them off once, along with the groom himself, during the bachelor party — they had sworn an oath to god not to fuck any stripper or whore. So they let Tedi jerk them off while a stripper ground her feminine wiles on their bodies. That had been a good night for Tedi, even if it ended with an argument (apparently there was a leak in their organization, and Francesco disagreed on who it likely was). It was Francesco who had disappeared before the wedding. The weirdest thing about that was that no one mentioned it. Tedi’s nervous mind noticed it just before the wedding began — he counted only four groomsmen. But he assumed the fifth was around somewhere, and he was so anxious about the ceremony that he couldn’t even focus enough to figure out who was missing. Once the I dos were said, Tedi stood there in his lavender suit, just a few feet from the four burly Mafioso. He realized it was Francesco who was missing. Francesco Lancinelli was the biggest, the least handsome and the toughest of the five groomsmen, and he had the most massive cock. Tedi loved jerking him off. He had a crude caveman-like face, with rough-hewn jawlines and perpetually stubbled chin, his beard hair always uneven due to a network of scars crisscrossing his neck and face. He had the kind of domineering personality and massive muscles that repelled women. Tedi felt sorry for him, but was also hopeful that he’d come calling to Tedi to ask for more dome in the future. But now where was he? And why had no one noticed? His name was even listed in the program for the wedding, but no one remarked on his absence. It was only as the reception began that the horrifying thought he could be dead assaulted Tedi’s mind. Was that possible? No, of course not. The Mafia was a lot of things, but they were not clinical and detached. If a groomsman had died between the wedding rehearsal and the wedding, it would have been announced; they would have mourned him at the start of the wedding; Sonny would have worn a black armband or something like that. They wouldn’t just proceed with the wedding like nothing had happened. “Hey, Tedi, come on,” Sonny said once he had finished his traditional dance with his new wife. His voice sounded distant even though he was right next to Tedi. He had to scream to be heard over the crowd. He grabbed Tedi by the arm and pulled him away. “Where are we going?” Tedi asked, but his weak voice was lost in the din. He followed Sonny, whose body shuffled thickly — he had been putting on weight since he got engaged — in his tight tuxedo, which was plainly uncomfortable for him. He had loosened his tie, which hung around his neck. Much to Tedi’s surprise, he led Tedi out of the church and into the Italian-American community center next door. Then he breathed a sigh of relief that he was away from the crowd. Sonny stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. He leaned against the wall. The bulge in his pants suggested he was going to ask Tedi for dome — that was probably why he had left the church, Tedi decided, to get do it somewhere other than sacred ground. But why did he want dome just hours before he’d be able to be with his wife in lawfully-wedded bliss? Was he really that horny? Maybe it was the stress, Tedi decided. He grabbed the bulge and smiled at Sonny. Tedi had long been jerking his friend off. “No,” Sonny said. “That ain’t what I brought ya here fo’, man.” “Oh?” Sonny shook his head. He gulped nervously. “Come on.” He opened the door to a deep storage closet, piled high with boxes and athletic equipment. There was a crowd of men in tuxedos. Since they all wore the same clothes and had the same slicked-back black hair, Tedi didn’t quite recognize them right away in the dim light of the closet. Then he saw that they were the four groomsmen. Frankie, Joey, Baldo and Demetrio all stood there, clustered around another tuxedo-clad man who was slumped over a chair sideways, so the arms of the rickety wooden chair supported his belly and chest. After a few seconds, Tedi realized that the man who was slumped over was fully conscious, that he was Francesco and that he was tied up and gagged. His hair was slicked back like all the others, but his tuxedo was ruffled, torn in a few spots, and he had a fresh black eye. “Hey, guys. What’s going on? What happened to Francesco? Is he okay?” “No, he ain’t,” Sonny said with a chuckle. He stepped forward, pushing past Tedi in the tiny closet. He slapped Francesco on the ass through his tuxedo pants. “Francesco… He fucked up, Tedi. He’s the snitch. He’s been leakin’ like an old man’s dick.” “What?” Sonny laughed cockily. “I ain’t know a simpler way to say that, Tedi. He’s a snitch. He’s a person who snitches. He has snitched. You want me to translate into Italian?” “Oh, I mean… Oh…” Tedi didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Sonny never really discussed Mafia business. He sometimes talked about the “import/export” business in ways that made it clear what he was really talking about, but he was rarely so blatant and open about it. “We’re gonna punish him. We would do it ourselves, but…” Sonny said with a dry chuckle. “We ain’t want to. It’s my wedding day. My giorno sacro…” “And I think it’s gross,” Joey said. He was the handsome one, the one who always had a girl hanging off his arm. He had deep dimples and smooth skin. “Francesco here is hairy come un barbaro, and if you think I’m shaving his ass, you got another thing coming.” “Wait, so… You want me to…?” Tedi’s heart started pounding as he realized they wanted him to ram Francesco. As if he had only just figured it out as well, Francesco squealed through the gag in his mouth. His muscles struggled against the bindings keeping him on the chair, and he fought so hard the chair itself nearly fell over. Sonny and the others laughed. “So, how about it, Tedi?” Sonny asked. “You wanna wreck this snitchin’ rat?” “Uh… Well… fuck, yeah!” Tedi said. He blushed as they all cheered. Francesco bleated, screaming profanity the best he could with what appeared to be underwear shoved in his mouth. Sonny removed a pocketknife from his tuxedo slacks. For a moment, it looked like he was going to stab Francesco in the asshole. But he just sliced through the man’s pants, leaving a shadowy hole in front of his ass. That wasn’t enough for Tedi. He liked ass, and he wanted to see it. He pulled on either end of the tear in the slacks, trying to rip the entire bottom off. But he blushed — the fabric was too tough, and Tedi was too weak. He strained for a minute or two before Baldo, the strongest one here aside from Francesco himself, grabbed the fabric from him. He ripped the entire ass of the slacks off. Francesco had a beautifully thick ass, brimming with plump muscle and coarse black hairs. There was a big splat of scar tissue, vaguely circular or spiral-shaped, but distended by time, on his right asscheek. “You want him to swallow your cum too?” Sonny asked. “Or are you just gonna go straight for the ramrodding?” Tedi shrugged. “I… I mean, won’t he just bite down?” “We got a plan for that,” he said. “He won’t bite.” A part of Tedi didn’t feel confident in that. But he rarely got the chance to ram a man in the ass, especially not a big hairy macho like Francesco. “I, uh… I just want his ass, honestly. I’d love to see him swallow some dick though. Would you guys ram his throat?” They all looked around like no one wanted to do it but no one wanted to say no. Tedi blushed. Francesco heaved and screamed the best he could through his gag. Demetrio laughed. “Ain’t you required to give yo’ friends favors on your wedding day, Sonny?” They all laughed along with him. Sonny shook his head even as he said yes. “We, uh… Yeah. I guess we might as well. We’re gonna ram you in the throat, you little snitchin’ bitch.” Francesco struggled against the gag in his mouth, which Sonny pulled off. Francesco gasped for air, but Sonny spat on his face and barked for him to be silent. “I’m gonna give you a choice for how this ends, motherfucker. You can jerk us off and take it from Tedi, do everything he says, no matter how gross. You got that? Repeat it for me, Francesco, so I know you understand.” “Sonny, I ain’t sellin’ secrets to the Caprinelli family-“ “You shut up! We found that book in your house, Francesco. We saw it. We got records from Tranquillo Caprinelli. We got a mole too, rat, and I ain’t tell you word one about it.” “Sonny-“ “You know how I told you we was gonna hit the Caprinelli house on Saturday?” Sonny asked. “Well, they was waiting there with guns ready. They knew we was coming. Only we wasn’t coming, Francesco. We wasn’t coming at all. I told Demetrio we was doing it on Friday. I told Joey on Tuesday. Baldovino on Thursday, and Francesco the Saturday before that. But we ain’t hit them any day. I just waited to see when they thought we was coming. That was yo’ day, Francesco. What made them think we was gonna hit them on Saturday?” “Sonny… We used to be friends…” “Huh? You was gonna let me walk into a trap, motherfucker. They was gonna blow my brains out,” Sonny said. “So don’t you talk to me about friendship, or loyalty. Sputo sul vostro onore!” Sonny spat on his face again, and the others joined in. Tedi enjoyed watching Francesco’s moist, craggy face scrunch up and beg; he wrinkled his nose at the saliva dripping from his cheeks. His muscles were tense — at the moment, Tedi couldn’t have stuck anything in Francesco’s ass, which was shut tight with terror. But he wasn’t trying to. He caressed those plump cheeks and fingered the rim of his puckering asshole. “Now I was tryin’ to explain your two options befo’ you in’rrupted me, Francesco,” Sonny said. “I’m gonna let you choose. Option One begins with you taking it in the ass from Tedi — and you better thank yo’ hairy culo di una scimmia that the rest of us won’t touch it, cuz that’s nasty — and jerking on dicks. You gonna swallow a mountain of cum. You ain’t nevuh gonna be a real man ever again, you’ll be a frocio zoccola. And then I’ll buy you a bus ticket to Las Vegas. You can sell your body or whatever, just drink yourself to death there. I don’t care what you do. That’s Option One, Francesco, questo è Opzione Uno. Can you tell me that in yo’ own words so I know you unn’erstand it?” Sonny often spoke like this to the men under his command. Tedi didn’t usually get to witness it, but he knew it — Sonny wanted to make sure the pig-headed brutes who worked for him understood their mission, so he always made them put it in their own words. Sonny was arrogant and patronizing, so Tedi wasn’t surprised that most of the men who worked for him hated him. “Sonny…” Francesco hung his head over the side of the chair. Sonny slapped him. Francesco sputtered. “I… I can… submit, and uh, let yo’ friend cornhole me. And jerk all you off. That’s Option One. You’ll let me go to Las Vegas afterwards.” “You make it sound like a vacation. It’s more of an exile,” Sonny said. “But you’ll be alive. Opzione Due is less pleasant, but more final. Tedi here is gonna cornhole you hard. I just might order Joey to do it too, even if he don’t want to-” Sonny said with a laugh suggesting that wasn’t serious — Joey’s eyes opened wide and he turned slightly greenish; he was a handsome, cleanliness-oriented and organized man, deeply religious but with a bevy of loose women following him around every night, so he was the last one who would likely deign to ram Francesco’s hairy asshole. Sonny smacked Francesco’s ass, which quivered and twitched. It also opened up. Since Tedi’s finger was waiting there at the entrance, he slipped it in. It was just his pinkie for the moment, and just down to the first knuckle. But Francesco’s face turned bright red and he let out an agonized roar. His muscles flexed against the ropes tying him to the chair. His asshole clenched on Tedi’s finger. “You got a finger in che culo, paisano?” “Yeah, Sonny. Just one finger for now,” Tedi said. “Option Two, Francesco, has got one major benefit. We ain’t gonna plow you in the mouth if you ain’t gonna swear you won’t bite down. So you won’t have to swallow any Italian dicks,” Sonny said. “But we is gonna sell yo’ ass to the Bloods.” He cackled as Francesco squirmed and struggled against his bindings. He slapped Francesco’s face. “And you know what those moolies are gonna do… They gonna plow you with big black dicks. They gonna let some crackheads plow you, just to watch you squirm and collect diseases. They hate Italians, and they hate disloyal rats, so you is gonna wish you was dead. Then you will be dead. They’ll just toss you in the ghetto with black cum all over your face, maybe a crack pipe in your ass. They’ll make sure the cops put it in the papers that you was just a hobo killed by the moolie hobos you was jerkin’ off for pennies. Yo’ mama gonna curse yer name, Francesco.” “Sonny-!” “You can choose now, Francesco,” Sonny said. “Which one is it gonna be?” Francesco let out a sob, then bit his lip. As he acknowledged his submission and finally gave up the struggle, knowing how this would turn out, his ass unclenched long enough for Tedi to get a second finger in there. Francesco yelped like a puppy in pain. This time, Tedi didn’t just stick his fingers in to the first knuckle and stopped. He seriously fingered Francesco, ramming his fingers in until he felt resistance, and then just a little bit farther. He liked watching every muscle on Francesco’s body shake and tremble with each thrust of Tedi’s fingers. “I’ll… take Option One,” Francesco said. “I swear… I’ll do it. I’ll jerk you off.” “You swear an oath on yo mama’s name?” “Yes. I swear… on my mother’s name,” Francesco said. “I’ll jerk you all off. I won’t bite down. Just… let me go. Let me move to Vegas.” “You fuckin’ pansy,” Sonny said. They all took their dicks out. A part of Tedi wished he’d get to jerk them all off, but he would rather ram Francesco. He had to move a box off the shelf to use as a stool in order to get his crotch lined up with Francesco’s ass. As he did, the other five jabbed their limp dicks into Francesco’s mouth, one after another. Francesco gagged and retched so loudly Tedi wondered if it was audible outside this closet. He choked, sputtering as he spat onto the ground. Each of them had thick, long uncut cocks, which they seemed to have trouble getting hard at first. They flopped their dicks against his face, like kids who had never gotten dome. But as they took turns forcing their dicks down his spasming throat, jousting nervously atop his face, they became more and more confident, and they egged each other on. La bocca è la mia figa! Tedi had no such difficulty, his dick was already hard even though he hadn’t touched it yet. He rammed his two fingers in and out of Francesco’s ass, while his free hand stroked the writhing muscles of his back through his tuxedo. Then he rammed a third finger in, ignoring the resistance he felt. A ear-piercing scream rang out, and Francesco’s body burst out with sweat all at once. Tedi laughed along with the other mafioso, who looked away as their dicks got hard. They had all gangbanged whores before, and they all knew they had each let Tedi jerk them off, but they had never had their dicks out like this, with each other and without a woman in the room. With Francesco bent awkwardly over the plain wooden chair — which loudly rocked as he struggled — Tedi had to climb on top of him to really get his dick in. He pulled his three fingers out and plunged in, his toes gripping the side of the chair as he crouched over Francesco’s bare ass. The position was awkward for Tedi (and, of course, Francesco), but that didn’t detract from the arousal he felt. He even used Baldo’s shaved head for support as Baldo waited for his turn on Francesco’s mouth. Costringerlo a soffocare, Baldo! Tedi shuddered as intense pleasure rolled through him. The curly black hairs of Francesco’s ass were a tangle he had to push through, and he felt a few hairs rip out as he went. That must have sent another layer of pain through Francesco’s body which rippled as he struggled. Frankie was a heavily tattooed thug, who normally wore his pants slung low and a backwards baseball cap, speaking in a black accent. He was Italian but he didn’t always act that way, which was something the others made fun of him for. But now he spoke Italian as he violently throated Francesco. It was he who came first, pistoning his dick deep into Francesco’s throat and laughing when he choked up copious spit and bile onto the closet floor. Take it bitch, you fuckin’ snitch! Choke on that shit! Here, open that mouth up so I can spit in it some more… The smell of cum filled the air before Tedi realized Frankie was actually finishing. Then he saw the pearly white stuff dripping from Francesco’s mouth, collecting in a puddle on the floor. Some of it splashed on Joey’s fine dress shoes, which he made Francesco lick clean. Frankie sighed breathed heavily, wiping his cummy cockshaft off on Francesco’s face. “Lick that nut off my shoes, bitch,” Joey said. He smiled as Francesco gagged but did as he was told. His tongue haltingly caressed the expensive Italian leather shoes Joey wore, and he managed, with great difficulty, to force himself to lick the entirety of both shoes. Mi permetta di usare quella gola, paisano! As the others continued taking turns on Francesco’s throat, Tedi borrowed the knife from Sonny. He wanted to see Francesco’s bare muscular back, so he sliced through the tuxedo jacket, shirt and the dingy wifebeater he wore underneath. “You couldn’t even put on a clean t-shirt for my wedding?” Sonny asked when he saw the undershirt. “You worthless sac of shit!” He slapped Francesco’s spit and cum-covered face, uncaring of the fact that he got his friends’ fluids on his hands. He just wiped his fingers off on Francesco’s face. The more violently they went after Francesco’s throat, the more Francesco choked, the more they made each other laugh and the more comfortable they got shoving their dicks against each other. They tried to make him jerk all five dicks at one — which was obviously impossible, but they tried, ignoring the semeny residue that smeared between all five cocks. Sonny was the one who rammed Francesco’s mouth most delicately. He didn’t want to get stains on his nice slacks, so he angled his body away the best he could. He gripped Francesco’s hair as he reached his own orgasm. Tedi’s fingers massaged Francesco’s broad shoulder muscles. He had a Jesus tattoo over his left shoulder and an Italian flag beneath that. Tedi kissed them both as he pounded his dick into Francesco’s ass. The size difference between them meant that Tedi had to really hold on tight or slip off, especially as Francesco became so sweaty his back and ass were slippery. Tedi clutched and clawed at his beefy back. When he shot his load, Sonny held onto Francesco by the ear. He slammed his dick in and out quickly, laughing as Francesco choked on each thrust. His choking turned into loud retching when Sonny shot a load right down his throat. Assaggiare il mio sperma! Does it taste like yo’ mama’s pussy? Tedi’s own orgasm was coming quickly, but he wanted to wait until the others were done. He loved watching their potent muscles ripple beneath their tuxedos, sweat beading on their tense faces as their orgasms rolled over their bodies. He could sense their nervous anxiety — none of them had ever cum like this; they all talked about how they would take a bitch if they were in prison, that had come up during the bachelor party, but this was the first time they actually had to perform without women around. Tedi could tell they were glad they hadn’t been impotent or small-cocked or unable to cum. He slowed down his gyrations, burying his face in Francesco’s back muscles as he flexed his hips, grinding so he hit the sensitive sides of Francesco’s asshole. Then came Joey, who as usual was too squeamish to really get in there like the others — he hated filth and seemed to very much want to back out. He grumbled, jacking himself off. His face turned red when he finally came, and he stepped forward at just the last moment to spray his load right onto Francesco’s quivering tongue. Questo è sporco… Tedi watched as Francesco squealed loudly, his whole body palpably rejected the snotty cumload on his tongue. He sputtered and spat, but most of it clung to his mouth. Before he even could spit or swallow, Baldo pushed his dickhead in. Baldo had a shaved head. He was short, but thick-bodied, built like a bull, complete with a squashed nose and cauliflower ears, both remnants from his former career as a boxer. Though his head was bald, he was the hairiest one there, and his chest hair poked out from under his tuxedo. He didn’t seem to care about the cum still stuck to Francesco’s tongue and lips. Baldo plunged his dick in there, watching as his buddies’ cum stuck to the shaft. Baldo smiled and let out a low growl that made the hair on Tedi’s neck stand on edge. He felt Francesco’s asshole clench too, in that moment. It was a menacing growl, Baldo being the only one of the five who really seemed to enjoy Francesco’s mouth. Tu sei il mio sperma grondaia… That only left Demetrio, who was nearly done as Baldo pulled away. But first Demetrio made Francesco swallow all the cum in his mouth. He opened his mouth to show its emptiness to Demetrio, who cackled as he shoved his spasming dick in. Mi permetta di vedere la tua bocca vuota, voglio vedere voi ingoiare tutto! Francesco’s ass clenched again when Demetrio’s dick spewed cum down his throat. Francesco sputtered, his face turning brighter red as lack of oxygen joined the humiliation that already ruddened his features. His asshole remained clenched tightly as all five guys flopped their limp dicks on his face, making him smell their balls and lick the remnants of cum from their piss-slits. It was the sight of that that sent Tedi over the edge. He lay atop Francesco’s sweat-covered body, clutching his muscles, his hair and the remnants of his tuxedo. He flexed his hips over and over, rejoicing in the tightness of Francesco’s ass, which he knew he was wrecking — if Francesco had relaxed his asshole, it would have hurt less, but Tedi knew from experience that his involuntary clenching made the pain worse, made the ache last for days afterward and ruined his sphincter. Francesco was always going to feel like a loose slut if anyone ever touched his asshole again. Francesco sobbed, begging his former friends to believe his innocence, though he didn’t sound totally credible — even Tedi, who didn’t really know what was happening, thought he sounded like he knew he was caught. Tedi sighed, nibbling on the Italian flag tattoo over Francesco’s back, as his orgasm rocketed up his spine. It was an incredible climax, and it made Tedi shake back and forth like he was having a seizure. He grunted, losing his twinky delicacy. He jabbed his dick in and held it there while the first wads of cum sprayed inside Francesco, who screamed and squirmed. There was a loud shattering sound, and then pain erupted in Tedi. He was on the ground. It all happened so fast that Tedi had no idea what was going on at first. He lay there as he drained his nuts into Francesco’s straining ass, and Tedi realized that the chair had broken — Francesco was strong enough he had pulled hard and shattered the wooden legs of the chair. When he fell, Francesco’s arms were beneath his chest, and his limbs were still tied to each other. So all he could do was writhe painfully on the rubble, while Tedi clung to his back and filled him up with his seed. He nibbled on Francesco’s back flesh. Damn, Tedi, ti sei scopato lui così forte che lo ha rotto! He lay there, enjoying the undulations of Francesco’s muscles and the clenching of his ass as Tedi’s dick grew limp inside him. Francesco roared his frustration anew, as though he thought he should be able to escape now that he had broken the chair. But he was still tied up, and now he was in pain because had fallen as well as because he had a dick in his ass. His asshole quivered when Tedi finally pulled out. The others tucked their dicks away in their tuxedo pants, and Sonny lightly smacked Francesco on the cheeks. Francesco blubbered an apology — he wasn’t making clear words, but it sounded like he was finally admitting he was guilty. “Thank you for being honest, finally,” Sonny said. He put the nasty old pair of briefs back in Francesco’s mouth, leaving him there on the floor with a bare ass and back, his body and mouth covered in cum. “We’re gonna go finish out this reception. I gotta see my beautiful bride. There’s a bus to Las Vegas at midnight. These guys’ll make sure you’re on it, Francesco,” Sonny said. He spat another big ball of spit onto Francesco’s face. “If we ever see you in New York again, I’ll wreck you myself, hairy ass or no, and then I let the blacks kill you. Got it?” “Yes, Sonny.” “Thank me for letting you do all this instead of just killing you, which is what my father wanted, by the way,” Sonny said. “Thank you, Sonny,” Francesco said through his tears. His massive muscles were loose and slack now, like he had lost his manhood and could no longer use his strength. “You’re welcome, rat,” Sonny said. Tedi let out a cruel smile and a feminine giggle. “Sonny… is it okay if I stay here with him? I’ll… take care of his ass. I promise I won’t untie him.” Sonny had a disgusted sneer on his face, but he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Do whatever you want with him. Frankie, you stay outside the closet to make sure Francesco doesn’t get away. The rest of you, come with me. We got a reception to finish.” And they all walked out the door, leaving Tedi alone with a quivering pile of muscle.
Madhu is cooking meth for a biker gang, who supply him with a bodyguard. That’s Knuckle, a terrifying brute of a man who just might have a softer side, one that Madhu is excited to explore.
Will Madhu survive alongside Knuckle’s brand of massive masculinity?!
Madhu Sharma was always nervous when he came to “work”. He was only just starting to see it as a job at all, but that’s what it was. He certainly didn’t enjoy doing it, and he only did it for the money. He was in desperate need of cash. It sure felt like a job. It was only missing an obnoxious HR person to make him go on team-building workshops. Madhu had started cooking meth because he needed money. It wasn’t his plan to make money that way. He had simply graduated with a degree in chemistry and no way to make money with it. The only people hiring a chemist were drug dealers. He had also had nowhere to live, and the Jagged Right — a biker gang here in Smashwood Trailer Park — provided a solution to both of his problems. They gave Madhu a trailer to live in, and they paid him a weekly, tax-free stipend to make meth. He was doing better than most of the people he went to college with; they struggled to find jobs with major multinationals, while Madhu was rolling in the dough from the beginning. It was easy, really. There was a lot to the process, but Madhu was well-practiced at it. So Madhu was always nervous when he came to work. That simply entailed leaving his trailer and walking to the trailer next door. The trailer park was closed to outsiders, with bikers sitting by the gate to alert when visitors arrived — uninvited visitors were treated with extreme suspicion. When Knuckle arrived, Madhu was terrified. Even as Math (the head biker in charge around here) explained, Madhu couldn’t pay attention because his heart fluttered. Knuckle was a giant, nearly seven feet tall, and built like a linebacker. He had a mean, craggy face that made him look older than he was, and his tanned skin was marked with what looked like prison tats. “Knuckle here is gonna be your bodyguard. Don’t go nowhere without him,” Math had said, and that was it. That was the only explanation Madhu was given. Knuckle grunted. He ignored Madhu. He went to the door to the trailer and stood there, unmoving, like a statue. He remained motionless for a few minutes, but eventually he walked around the perimeter of the trailer. He tried each of the windows, which had been sealed shut already. Only then did he come in and speak. “What is the opening on the roof?” His voice was deep and gravelly. He was so big, with cavernous lungs, that he was hard to understand, his voice resonating and bouncing around in his body. He wore only a sleeveless shirt, revealing a crude network of colorful tattoos. It wasn’t an “arm-sleeve”, it was more haphazard than that, but it coated his left arm and much of his right, and more tattoos — including what appeared to be a couple of weasels humping — were visible on his chest. He even had a network of camouflage designs on the side of his neck, which was so short and thick it was barely visible. He pointed up at the roof of the trailer. “Uh… That? The ventilation system?” Madhu pointed upwards. His heart skipped a beat. “It’s, uh… ventilation.” “It ain’t secure. Someone could get in.” Madhu blushed. “Uh, well, maybe, but we need ventilation. These chemicals put out toxic fumes. This trailer would be a lethal gas chamber in an hour or two if you made it airtight.” He frowned. He was quiet for a long time. He looked Madhu up and down. Knuckle furrowed his brow. “Fine.” He frowned. “I will fix it.” Madhu’s heart skipped a beat. Knuckle was so scary it hurt. He had an amazing body though — oh god those muscles, Madhu had to suppress a leer and a lick of his teeth. Madhu wondered if Knuckle understood that the ventilation system was absolutely required. He seemed to think Madhu was making that up, that the chemicals weren’t really poisonous. This was not some debatable liberal agenda though, Madhu thought. If made airtight, this trailer could be used as a gas chamber to execute inmates; it was highly toxic; it would make his lungs melt if the concentration got high enough. The whole trailer could explode too. Madhu didn’t think Knuckle got that. Sure enough, soon, Knuckle was up on the roof banging away. Madhu stepped outside. Should I confront him? Am I allowed to? Should I go to Math and complain? If he blocks up the ventilation, I’m going to die. “Uh, Knuckle… what, uh… what are you doing?” Knuckle came to the edge of the roof of the trailer and looked down. He scowled, then jumped to the ground. He grabbed Madhu and dragged him back into the trailer. Knuckle grunted. He tossed Madhu into the trailer. Madhu was shocked because that had happened so fast, and because he was more than a little turned on by the feel of Knuckle’s muscles. He felt like his body was filled with writhing snakes, Madhu thought, and his sweat tasted salty and clean and delicious. “What-?” “You gotta stay in here, man. It ain’t secure for you to be off wanderin’ around,” Knuckle said. “When you on duty, you gotta stay in here.” “Oh, uh… okay.” Madhu thought he should argue or leave or go get Math, but he didn’t. He was worried he’d get in trouble. He could always talk to Math about it later. Did he really even need security? He hadn’t needed this kind of security up until now. Knuckle nodded. He again paused to look Madhu up and down, and he even licked his lips. He almost looked like he was aroused, but Madhu assumed that wasn’t it. Knuckle left the trailer and went back to the roof. Madhu returned to his lab. The day was almost done anyway, and then he’d need to leave the reaction to catalyze all night. He was about to leave the trailer when the door opened and Knuckle walked in. “I installed a lock. It can still ventilate,” Knuckle said, “But no one can break in.” “Oh. Cool, okay,” Madhu said. He blushed. “I do not want anyone to hurt you.” He glowered, sucking on his teeth and chewing his lower lip. “Right. Thanks.” Madhu cringed, the situation suddenly too intense for him to think. Knuckle peered deep into his eyes. The aroma of his unwashed scent turned Madhu on. He had no way of knowing that Knuckle was thinking similar things. He found his eyes drawn to Madhu’s perky young body all day. He had a delightfully feminine shape to his ass, and though his voice wasn’t obviously girlish, it was flamboyant and lilting and it made Knuckle’s dick twitch. Madhu smiled nervously, and Knuckle’s eyes opened wide. He wanted him bad. I could just pretend this is prison. This trailer is about the size of a prison cell. Knuckle refused to let himself consider that. Yet when he looked down at his feet, he saw that his dick was out. Did I take that out? Knuckle didn’t remember doing so, but he surely would have noticed if Madhu unzipped his pants. “Didja take my dick out?” Madhu gasped. “No!” He thought he might cry. What was he even being accused of? “You took your dick out like two seconds ago!” Knuckle grunted. He stood there, not sure what he should do next. All he could think about was getting his rocks off. He hadn’t blown a nut off in what felt like forever. The funny thing was he hadn’t been horny until he saw Madhu. Another grunt escaped from his lips when Madhu wrapped one hand around his cock. Knuckle moaned. Madhu grinned, his anxiety slowly diminishing now that it was more apparent what Knuckle wanted. Though Madhu would have enjoyed getting rammed, he knew better than to try to push his luck. He still wasn’t even sure Knuckle was comfortable getting a handjob — he hadn’t said no, hadn’t made Madhu stop, and he was the one who took his dick out in the first place, which all seemed like pretty clear signals. But Madhu didn’t want to push his luck by trying to jerk off the brutish giant. Knuckle was terrifyingly massive, and he had that big bull head like an ape. Madhu didn’t want to do anything that might make him uncomfortable. So he just stroked his cock to full erection — that took only a few seconds because Knuckle was unbelievably horny to begin with. Soon his dick was hard as iron, throbbing like its own living entity. Madhu could feel his heartbeat. It twitched, and Knuckle moaned. His deep voice rang out. “Why you doin’ that?” Madhu said softly. “Do you want me to stop?” Knuckle growled and gripped Madhu’s hand with both of his big meaty paws. He closed his eyes and began to pump his hips, plowing Madhu’s hand with that massive manhood. His balls swayed beneath him and slapped Madhu’s side as he stroked. It was an exhilarating experience for Madhu, exciting and frightening at the same time, like a poorly-maintained roller coaster. He moved his head closer to the dingy sleeveless shirt, and inhaled deeply of Knuckle’s musky scent. One of his hands crept up, under that shirt, massaging his belly before reaching his chest. His pectorals twitched and flexed beneath Madhu’s touch, and Knuckle grunted. He rammed Madhu’s hand hard, like he wanted to punish it. Madhu could do little more than squeeze and hold on until Knuckle finally reached his orgasm. “Ah….” Knuckle bit his lip as pleasure overwhelmed him, and cum sprayed onto Madhu’s leg and hand. The smell of salty-sour cum filled the air. Knuckle gasped, and his whole hefty body leaned forward. His cock pressed against Madhu’s hip, still pulsating, spraying wad after wad up over Madhu’s shirt and even onto his chin. “Oh-” Madhu blushed. He kept his hand in position, both of Knuckle’s hands gripping it so firmly it hurt a little. = Finally, with cum still shooting out of his dick, Knuckle leaned far enough that Madhu couldn’t support him. He leaned against the table, then a chair, and then sunk to the floor. Knuckle grabbed the chair before he fell — which was good because he would have toppled onto Madhu, probably hurt him and possibly knocked over some of the chemicals. “Damn…” Knuckle said. He stood, dick limpening as it still dripped a few droplets of creamy cum onto Madhu’s face. “Hmmm…” Madhu blushed and sat up. “That was…-“ “Shut up.” Knuckle grunted. “You seduced me. That ain’t right. I ain’t into that poervert nonsense. I don’t do that. Don’t seduce me no more.” Then he turned around and walked out of the trailer, leaving Madhu there to clean up and savor the sweet scent of Knuckle’s alpha male body. Madhu sighed. Maybe, he thought, this job won’t be as bad as I had thought. Madhu assumed that the handjob was going to be kept secret. Something like this could only be on the downlow, he thought. That just seemed like a reasonable guess. He didn’t even think about it. It wasn’t like he socialized with the trailer trash of Smashwood Trailer Park anyway. But the next morning, he saw grimy rednecks — the shirtless swastika-ed perpetual drunks who spent their days searching for smokeable cigarette butts in city ashtrays — laughing at him, and making murmured jokes about Knuckle. Knuckle ignored them but wrinkled his nose a little. He remained standing at the entrance to the trailer, eyeing the addicts and dealer that came through to buy meth. He wore the same clothes as yesterday. Since Madhu knew he hadn’t told anyone, it could only have been Knuckle. “Freak! Ugly-ass Knuckle…” “Who you gonna ramrod today, booty bandit?!” The grimy rednecks (who were constantly around though Madhu wasn’t aware of any purpose here) laughed at Knuckle, but he didn’t respond in the slightest. He grimaced, his squat neck turning ruddy at first before he relaxed. But he didn’t say anything to Madhu all day. He didn’t even look at him. It was a lonely day — the only person Madhu talked to was the clerk at the drug store where he went, Knuckle in tow, to buy more cough medicine. Knuckle got drunk on Saturday. That was Knuckle’s day off, and Madhu’s too. Madhu spent the day in his trailer as he normally did, reading, trying not to think about his life. He heard Knuckle getting drunk all day outside. He could hear the men laughing at Knuckle too. Knuckle’s low voice rumbled, his words slurred. But Madhu couldn’t make out his words, just the other’s response. Madhu tried not to listen. He felt a little bad for Knuckle, but Knuckle didn’t seem to mind. He hadn’t even attempted to keep it a secret. He was just about to go to bed when Knuckle drunkenly stumbled into his trailer. Knuckle belched loudly, his sweat-soaked body gleaming. Blood trickled from his crooked nose. “Jzzzheeerkk meee offf.” Knuckle pulled his camo pants down, waving his dick in front of Madhu’s face. He stepped forward but toppled to the floor so hard Madhu yelped and ran to him. “Are you okay?” Knuckle rolled over. His massive dick was soft, blood now pouring from his nose. Madhu sighed and stopped the bleeding, while Knuckle drunkenly squirmed. He kept demanding Madhu jerk him off, but he didn’t make any effort to force Madhu’s head down. “I’m not giving you dome when you’re this drunk. It’s gross. You’ll probably puke on me. Or pass out on me,” Madhu said. He wasn’t sure Knuckle heard or accepted that, but he didn’t argue — or if he did, he was too drunk to be clear. It took ten minutes for Knuckle’s nose to stop bleeding — he still had a big nasty bruise on his cheek from the fall though — and then another hour and a half for Madhu to get Knuckle up into bed. By then, Madhu was exhausted. He put a glass of water on the bed next to Knuckle and climbed in on the other side. Knuckle was out cold, like sleeping next to a big warm stone. Madhu fell asleep nuzzling his bicep, one hand resting on his meaty chest. It was the most satisfying sleep Madhu had had in years, since before he graduated college. He didn’t wake up until early the next morning, when Knuckle slid back into bed — Madhu hadn’t awoken when he left the bed, but he did when he came back. Knuckle was sober now. His head hurt, but he wasn’t hungover. He had never been a big drinker, and spending time behind bars meant his tolerance had gone down, so it didn’t take too much for Knuckle to pass out last night. He then showered, drank some water and ate dry bread in Madhu’s kitchen. He wasn’t drunk anymore, just a little queasy. Now as he slid under the covers again, Madhu’s smooth fingers clutching his belly, Knuckle felt well again. He shushed Madhu — even though he hadn’t said anything — and gripped the back of his head. “Good mornin’-“ “Shush, I said.” Knuckle guided Madhu’s head, gently but firmly, to his crotch. His dick was limp, and it smelled of spilled beer and man-sweat. Madhu inhaled deeply of it. He picked up the shaft and kissed Knuckle’s cocktip before driving it into his mouth. He suckled on the tip. He began to get the idea of what Knuckle wanted — he wanted Madhu to resist a little. He wanted to be in charge, overcoming Madhu’s reluctance. So Madhu pretended to have difficulty with the size of Knuckle’s cock — he didn’t have to pretend much, because it was big and extremely girthy, but Madhu had handled enough big cocks to deep-throat it. He choked and hesitated, and Knuckle clucked his tongue, pushing his head down deeper. He covered Madhu with a sheet. It felt like he was with his prison wife again, Knuckle thought, since he couldn’t see anything but that sheet and Madhu’s writhing body beneath it, all that mattered was Knuckle and the potent pleasure coursing through his veins. He raised his hips, firmly plowing his meat down Madhu’s throat. Despite the size of Knuckle’s cock, it didn’t hurt a bit, and Madhu even moaned around the cock as it filled his throat. Madhu tried to jack himself off, but found that he needed to use both hands to stroke Knuckle’s dick. Madhu’s own cock rubbed over Knuckle’s leg, and when Knuckle didn’t complain, Madhu began dry-humping him. “Ugh….” Knuckle grunted and his whole body twitched. He used both hands on Madhu’s head, holding him in place as wad after wad of sweet cum flowed down Madhu’s throat. Madhu shot his own load right onto Knuckle’s leg — Knuckle barely noticed — while guzzling down every drop of Knuckle’s own juices. It coated his belly and its body heat seeped into his flesh. Madhu gurgled, choking on the intense flow of cum down his throat. At last, they were both done. Madhu fell limp and slid off Knuckle’s cock. He curled up next to him on the bed, kissed him on the neck and cuddled up with him. “Thanks-“ “Shush.” Knuckle turned his head. He placed one hand over Madhu’s mouth. “No talking. I’m going back to sleep.” The next morning, Madhu awoke happy and content. Knuckle was already awake, just waiting for Madhu to disentangle himself from his arms. Then Knuckle yawned and went to the trailer door. That was where the officers of the Northern Florida Methamphetamine Task Force were waiting. They streamed into the trailer, putting Knuckle in handcuffs and roughing him up. Madhu didn’t look like such a thug, so they treated him a little better, but still, he was marched out of the trailer park in handcuffs and driven away, in a different van than Knuckle was in. So that was the end of Madhu’s foray into drug manufacture. He didn’t last very long. He would have been better off hustling for multinational jobs like his pharmacy school classmates. Maybe it was always fated to end like this. Madhu did his part though, he cooperated with the cops arrested him, but he didn’t tell them anything. He let his lawyer do the talking. He already planned on pleading guilty. His lawyer said he’d do okay because he didn’t have a record like all the others. He would look like a nice man who had been forced into manufacturing meth. That was small comfort to Madhu, who couldn’t hold his own in prison like the other Jagged Right could. He thought they would protect him — they said they would — but then the bikers and rednecks were all transferred from jail to prison, whereas Madhu was not seen as enough of a risk to bother. So Madhu stayed there there in jail, with no one to protect him from the legion of drunks, thugs and ruffians who came through. His first week was bad. Madhu considered killing himself. But his lawyer had said he’d be out in a few years. He thought he could handle that. He might even be able to start a new life when he left. He thought about writing a book, maybe he could make some money on the outside as a writer. But first, he needed to survive. When his cell door opened and Knuckle walked in, Madhu’s first thought was that Knuckle was here to kill him. Maybe Knuckle thought Madhu would squeal, or maybe he blamed Madhu for the trailer park being busted, or maybe he just wanted to kill. “What are you doing here-?” “They said we gotta go on trial together. Cuz we was arrested together.” Knuckle’s gravelly voice filled the cell. The door slammed shut behind him. Knuckle came into the cell and scowled at Madhu. Madhu sat at the little writing desk in the cell, watching as Knuckle moved all of Madhu’s things from the top bunk to the bottom. “I’m taking the top bunk. That’s for real men.” “Oh, uh… okay.” Madhu thought it was best not to fight about that. “I guess I’m glad I got you as a cellmate. I-“ “Shut up. Why you gotta talk about everything?” “I guess… That’s just how I am.” Madhu opened his mouth to continue explaining, but he realized Knuckle wouldn’t want that. Madhu just fell quiet. Then Knuckle began working out. He didn’t tell Madhu to move out of his way, but Madhu got the message anyway. Knuckle was so big he took up all the space in the cell. Madhu could do little more than crouch in his bunk and watch Knuckle’s massive body move. He did push-ups until he couldn’t anymore, and then he did a series of lunges and lifts, using whatever he could find as a weight. He even made Madhu climb up on his back and hold on while Knuckle did a round of deep-knee squats. That was what he did when the lights finally flicked out. Madhu was so surprised he almost fell off Knuckle’s back, sliding over his sweat-soaked bare flesh. “They don’t give any warning before turning out the lights,” Madhu said. “In movies, they always announce it.” “This ain’t a movie,” Knuckle said. Then he wrapped his big bearish arms around Madhu and plowed his tongue down his throat. He brought Madhu to the floor, his heavy body pinning him down. Madhu squealed and squirmed out of sheer shock. He had assumed Knuckle would want dome at some point — he’d always said he didn’t do that kind of thing except in prison, which was a lie, but Madhu figured the “except in prison” part was probably not a lie. But he didn’t think Knuckle would kiss him. “Boy, I been lustin’ for you wit’chu since I first saw you. You got pretty all over, and I wanna taste it.” Knuckle growled, slathering Madhu’s face in kisses. He moved to Madhu’s neck, which was long and slender. It felt so smooth, like porcelain, Knuckle thought. His dick twitched. It was so hard it hurt. “I been waiting for this for a long time.” “Waiting for what?” “Waiting to lust fo’ you. I don’t mess wit’ males outside of prison,” Knuckle said. “But in here, wit’ the lights out… That’s where lust is real.” He whispered into Madhu’s ear and sucked his earlobe. “I wanna ram you so bad, boy. Get my dick wet.” He mounted Madhu’s chest and jabbed his rock-hard dick into Madhu’s mouth with incredible urgency, like his life depended on getting his dick in there as soon as possible. He moaned right away. Hey keep it down in there! 37A, if you’re plowing, I don’t wanna see it or hear it and I definitely don’t wanna smell it! “Ssssssssssshhh….” Knuckle chuckled throatily, his shushing disappearing into a baritone growl aimed right in Madhu’s ear. “We gotta be private.” He kept shushing Madhu like that even though, once again, Knuckle was the one making noise. When Knuckle was good and hard, he slid down behind Madhu. He kissed him on the lips, sucking up all the precum and spit that clung to Madhu’s cheeks. “Oh god…” Madhu whimpered. The bunk they shared was narrow, barely big enough for one person, much less two. But they both laid on their side, and Knuckle laid with his back flat against the cold concrete wall. His cock rubbed between Madhu’s cheeks. Knuckle reached up to his own bunk for his sheet and blanket. The cell was cold, so he laid it out on top of both he and Madhu. Madhu snuggled deep in his arms as he finally managed to feel warm. No fighting! Are you fighting in there? That was about the only thing the guards would do anything about at night, so Madhu heard them scatter away from the central control area in the cell block. More grunts and bellowing could be heard too. Somone was fighting in another cell. “I guess we can make a little noise now,” Knuckle said. His deep voice was impossibly loud, echoic in the tiny room, resonating around in Madhu’s ear. Madhu shuddered and rubbed his ass over Knuckle’s pulsating cock. “Yeah… Will you be gentle?” “Yes, baby, I be real gentle,” Knuckle said. He kissed Madhu on the back of the head. “I been waitin’ so long to get inside you…” His dick slipped in, moistened and lubed by Madhu’s spit. There wasn’t a bit of pain, which astonished Madhu — Knuckle’s dick was so thick it seemed there had to be a little pain, but there was only an incredible, overwhelming pleasure. Either Madhu or Knuckle must have cried out, because inmates in other cells all laughed, but neither were aware — Knuckle grunted and snorted as he drilled his dick in, ignoring the increasingly loud jeers from the other cells. “I hear some marital bliss over there! Woop-woop!” “Honeymoon!” “Who is it? Raymont?” “Nah, I’m spankin’ it over here, I got that big-butt magazine-!” They all laughed until they shushed each other. The guards were involved in breaking up the fight, so the inmates in this corner of the cell block were emboldened. But then Madhu’s pressure grew too great for him to pay attention to their words. It was all a meaningless blur of shouts and profanity, and whistle squeals, but above all that, Madhu was aware of Knuckle’s body covering him, tongue coating his face as his dick rammed in and out. Madhu’s had never been plowed as hard, but somehow he had never been rammed as easily and softly at the same time. He took it all, and his dick throbbed in Knuckle’s hand. Madhu had no way of knowing it but, for Knuckle — based on his previous prison experience — giving a reacharound was the ultimate form of intimacy behind bars. It was akin to a proposal of marriage. Madhu didn’t know any of that, and his whole body melted in Knuckle’s arms as he reached the most intense orgasm of his life. Cum sprayed into his body, great rivers of it flowing into him. He felt it coating his insides, as Madhu shot his own load onto the floor of the cell. “Oh god, I been beggin’ for a chance to get in that ass-” Knuckle kept his mouth open, intending to keep talking, but all that came out was a chest-rattling roar. He had never shot so much, not even with his previous prison wife. At last, Knuckle fell limp, his heavy body resting on Madhu. For a moment, Madhu couldn’t breathe due to his heaviness, then Knuckle rolled back onto his side. Madhu sighed and clutched him close. “Thanks, Knuckle.” “No,” Knuckle said. “Thank you.”
He wished he had struggled to get hard — not because he wanted to be impotent, he just wished this freak would think Cody had to concentrate. Cody’s father had once said — where Cody could overhear — that he let his buddy jerk him off on a camping trip but that it took him forever to get hard. That sounded manly, Cody had thought, like he didn’t even want to do it but his cock was powerful he couldn’t deprive someone of its salty load, so he felt obligated to oblige. That was what Cody wanted to be like. His pa was in prison for shooting a cop on a jet-ski, but Cody still idolized him.
