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.
Foolish-like, Limey did try sump’in. He was a untended-cornrow homeboy too tall and skinny fer his orange prison uniform, which he be angling outta like he got too many elbows. He prolly usedta looking fly on the outside, but he a Crip, so he ain’t nuttin’.
Buck Sampson is a big fellah with a small cellmate, Miguel. When Buck discovers Miguel has to earn his keep with his gang by doing the nasty-nasty with whoever has cigarettes to pay, Buck is eager to see what it feels like… and he just might like what he discovers!
Can Miguel handle Buck’s big-ass meaty masculinity? Can Buck handle Miguel’s grippy orifices?!
Cameron was a broad-shouldered man with wide shoulders and a deep-dimpled grin. He looked like the kind of car salesman who specialized in women — females must have loved his macho-dad look and square jaw. He was a little more muscular than most women would actually crave in their men, but that would probably work out in his favor in this job, Rob thought, since he didn’t want the women to actually seduce him, just to buy cars from him. His muscles gave him a bit of edge and made him less approachable, more suitable for fantasy than actual flirting.
Leif owes a gambling debt he’s gotta pay off, and that means paying the debt collector… Who just might have a secret motivation of his own!
Can Leif get out of his gambling debt intact?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
“Come in!” barked a deep, gruff voice. Whoever it was sounded annoyed, as though it was obvious that Leif should just come right in to the Broad Avenue traphouse. Leif gulped and pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked, or even shut all the way. He tried to look as tough as possible. He was a short white hipster with a beard like a fashionable goat and long hair done back in a taut man-bun. He tried to carry himself like he belonged because, as far as Leif was concerned, being seen as not belonging was the worst possible fate. This was a ramshackle building in an all-black neighborhood of Las Vegas — he had not seen a single non-black person for several blocks before arriving here. So no matter how he carried himself, he wasn’t gonna fit in. Still, he hoped he didn’t look like some punk-ass white boy. A black guy called him that once, and it was humiliating. He kept his shoulders back, head on a swivel, eyes open. Leif Spurling was nobody’s fool. Well, maybe Nelson Turnbottom’s. But hopefully none of these black people knew that. He wandered through the run-down squat. Leif had never smelled crack, but when he caught a whiff of that metallic odor, he knew that’s what it was. He had enough sense to know he shouldn’t go asking around for Nelson Turnbottom — judging from the reaction to his knocking on the front door, it was expected for him to just enter and find the person he was looking for. He didn’t wanna fail to fit in. He went upstairs, because that seemed to be the thing to do. The ground floor was full of hobos. That wasn’t who Leif was looking. There was a baby bottle laying on the steps, along with discarded syringes and filthy underwear. There was a bloodstain on the wall, a big splatter like someone had gotten shot there. It was old though, faded. “Uh… Nelson Turnbottom?” he said, not too loud. “In here,” came a very deep, gravelly voice. That must be Nelson Turnbottom. His voice was so rough and sandpapery that Leif wondered if there was something wrong with him. But Nelson was just big, and he smoked a lot of cigarettes, especially since he left prison. Nelson was in the room at the end of the hall, doing pull-ups on the battered remnants of a bicycle he had set up as a make-shift workout bar. He pulled up his massive body, his broad chest dripping with sweat, counting off. “Twenty-two. Twenty-three.” He kept going as Leif approached the room. He was nervous, but he tried not to appear quake. Leif cleared his throat and waited for Nelson to finish his pull-ups. Leif owed money to a white man named Mickey Garelli, and he needed to finish whatever Nelson wanted him to do in order to get his debt paid off. Nelson had work for him or was a debt collector or something. Leif had agreed back when he thought he had a choice in the matter. Mickey made it clear that this was the way Leif was going to repay his debt, and it did not matter that it seemed skeezy to meet his “boss” or debt collector or whatever in a ghetto crackhouse. Crackhouse in a deprived area, sorry. A few drops of sweat splashed off Nelson’s body and landed on Leif’s face, making him pucker and close his eyes. His well-worked upper body arched as he lifted his hugeness up and down, accompanying each pull-up with a deep grunt. Leif couldn’t believe he had let himself get sucked in this deep. He had never considered the perils of gambling. Honestly he had only started betting on baseball games because it was illicit and dangerous and none of the other hipsters he knew did it back where he came from in Brooklyn. It was scary and authentic and a little weird, so Leif did it. He only bet small amounts at first, but it turned out he was pretty good at it, and it got him lots of attention. He was the guy who had a bookie — and his bookie — Mickey — was even the old-fashioned kind, an indeterminately ethnic New Yawker, wearing a wifebeater and suspenders and he walked around eating cold-cut subs and collecting money. Leif was deliberately late repaying him a couple times just so Mickey would come around when Leif’s friends were over. He’d pay him off, and Mickey would act like some small-time gangster from a classic movie. His friends thought he was the coolest guy in Vegas. But somehow he had bet two grand on a Lakers game at the bookie’s in Charles Town, entirely on a whim, because Mickey himself had said he was not sure he set the right odds. He did it without thinking about it, and now he owed that money — Mickey had let him place the bet without any cash upfront. No problem, Mickey had said, I don’t wanna break your knees or something. I ain’t some small-time gangster from a classic movie. I know this guy, he might have some work for you. Leif assumed he would have to do something backbreaking, some hard labor that was going to be worth two grand. That was why he had worn sweatpants and a t-shirt. He hadn’t realized he was going into the ghetto, that the address Mickey gave him was a traphouse, or that Nelson was a thug. But here he was, stammering as he said, “I’m, uh… Mickey sent me…” Nelson had finished doing his pull-ups. He glowered at Leif as though he hated him, looking him up and down. He squeezed Leif’s biceps and snickered. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a rag. His bare chest gleamed, dark tattoos barely visible against his dark skin. “You’re Leif?” Leif nodded. “What kinda name is that?” “Uh… It’s Scandinavian,” he said. “What?” Nelson barked like that was the wrong answer. He didn’t wait for Leif to respond again though. “Shut that door.” Leif shut the door to the tiny bedroom, which had little more than a mattress on the floor and a trash bag full of clothes scattered around. Nelson leaned the battered bicycle-frame against the wall. His broad, sweaty chest gleamed in the bright light that flowed through the cracked window. “Sit down,” he said. “I’m a good worker,” Leif said as he sat. He blushed. He knew he sounded like an idiot. It hadn’t occurred to him that the work Mickey had in mind was illegal in nature, but now that seemed obvious. He wasn’t going to be told to kill someone, was he? That must cost more than two grand, he decided, and hoped. He couldn’t rob someone, right? He wouldn’t know. He could get two grand from his parents if he absolutely had to. Selling the bicycle would get him close to a thousand. The vinyl and Magic cards were maybe five hundred. Leif was in this deeper than he ever meant to be. “What?” “I, uh… I’m a good worker. I can work hard.” Nelson glared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” “Mickey said I had to come work for you,” Leif said. “I’m a good worker. I can do — I can do lots of things. I can cook, I can bake pretty good, and I’m a good driver, and I know some, uh… … I worked as a house painter, I mean. Painting. I know about painting. Punk music.” “Shut up, you little bitch,” he said. “You do gotta work. You gonna work real hard. Do you drink?” Leif nodded. “Good. You should drink,” he said. He produced a bottle of cheap vodka and poured two cups full. It was lukewarm, and it smelled like nail polish. Leif sipped it politely. Nelson looked him up and down again, as though undressing him with his eyes. Leif shuddered and Nelson smiled. “You intact, right?” “What?” Nelson narrowed his eyes to slits. “I mean in yo’ ass. You been ruint in yo’ butthole?” “Oh… What? You mean… have I been ruined in the ass…?” Leif said. “Uh… no. I dunno what that means-“ “Mickey ain’t ask you dat?” “No…” “He was s’posed to. Oughta kick his ass. I paid for intact,” Nelson said. He sat down on the mattress next to Leif. It was scuzzy and felt slightly soggy. It made Leif sick. “I thought Mickey was gonna ax you. He was s’posed to tell you the plan.” “Tell me what?” “I’m gonna cornhole you, boi.” “Oh… Uh, what?” “I said I am gonna cornhole you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You evuh done that? You ever take it up the ass.” “No. I don’t know what-“ “Sssshhh… I love cornholin’ whitebois. It’s a hobby I picked up in prison. No one squirms like an intact whiteboi,” Nelson said. He took a big drink of vodka, then put his cup down. His massive chest muscles ripple, and he bent over so he could slowly untied his shoes. “It’s okay to cry,” Nelson said. “Whiteboi tears make good lube. I oughta bottle that shit, sell it in prison commissary. Make a fuckin’ fortune.” “So you, uh…?” “You owe Mickey money, right?” “Yeah.” “Well he turnin’ you out fo’ money. He gonna get paid. He did get paid, technically. I paid him. Mickey always get paid, boi,” Nelson said. “No matter what. He stay gettin’ paid. If it weren’t this, he’d prolly sell yo’ fuckin’ kidney, so you should be thankful I tol’ him to let me know when some pretty whiteboi with a cherry butt needed cash.” He dropped his baggy jeans and his boxers. A fat cock popped out, bigger than any Leif had ever seen. His stomach dropped. Was this really happening to him? “Wait, can’t we do something else?” “Nope.” Nelson flopped his limp dick over Leif’s face, and he chuckled when Leif gagged. “You ain’t even start lickin’ yet, you already gaggin’. Open up.” When Leif didn’t immediately respond, Nelson slapped him across the cheek. Leif opened up to argue and scream, but Nelson pushed his rubbery cockshaft in regardless. Leif choked and Nelson began to grind his hips. He swayed like he was dancing, low-hanging balls swinging and bouncing against Leif’s chin. He even sang softly to himself, mumbling the words to some R&B song that Leif didn’t recognize. Finally Nelson’s dick hardened up, until it was like a steel rod jamming into Leif’s throat. He gagged over and over, spitting up huge gobs of saliva that soaked his shirt. It tasted like sweat and piss and old cum, and it got even worse when precum started to flow. It was snotty and sticky, and Nelson made sure it spread all over Leif’s face, which shone once it was covered in precum. He chuckled at Leif’s gagging. “Whatchoo think?” He flopped his cock over Leif’s face to let him speak. He let out a long coarse breath. “Why are you doing this to me?” “Ain’t I tell you that already? I like wreckin’ whitebois in they booty. It make me feel good,” he said. “Now tell me whose cock this is?” “What?” He slapped Leif over the face, first with the open palm of one hand and then with a meaty thwack of his cock. “I say tell me whose cock this is?” “Uh… Yours-“ “Say my name, bitch.” He didn’t give Leif a chance to respond. “Say my name, bitch!” He said again and slapped Leif once more. “Please-!” “Say my name, bitch!” “Nelson Turnbottom!” “Whose cock is this?!” “Nelson Turnbottom’s cock!” Leif screamed. He repeated it then a few more times, Nelson ramming his precummy cock in each time. At last he’d had enough of that. He made Leif lay down on the floor with a pillow beneath his upper back, so that his head was upside down and at an angle. “This is the proper position for a good throating. You ready?” “Nelson, please!” Leif gagged again as Nelson waited, in position like he was going to do a pushup and Leif’s head just happened to be in the way. His erect cock danced at Leif’s lips. The smell of saliva and slimy precum assaulted Leif’s nostrils. “Beg me some more, bitch.” “Please, don’t do this, I can’t swallow any more of your dick. It’s, uh, it’s too big!” “Well, don’t worry ’bout that, lil bitch. This position mean you won’t have a choice. Imma plow ya throat now. Take a deep breath, cuz you ain’t gonna be breathin’ again fo’ a minute.” Leif took a deep breath and then Nelson pushed his dick in. Leif choked, but as Nelson predicted, his cock slid all the way in anyway. Leif could feel his throat stretching to accommodate Nelson’s massive meat. Nelson murmured his approval, and a ripple of pleasure rolled up his powerful chest. Soon enough his balls dangled right on Leif’s nose. Nelson swayed his hips back and forth, so his balls slapped against Leif’s nose and eyes. All he could see were those massive brown balls and the sweat glistening on them. “How’s dat taste, bitch?” He pulled away so Leif could take a breath. It was a loud, painful retch. He gasped for air, the pain in his stomach agonizing. His eyes watered as his body cried out for oxygen. His hands clawed uselessly at Nelson’s powerful body. “Huh? How’s dat taste?” “Bad…” “Oh, you don’t like it, huh? Well, don’t worry, I won’t let dat slow me down none,” he said. He chuckled and rubbed Leif’s cheek with one thumb. “Hey, you gotta open up dat throat a little more, okay? You still got like a inch of my dick to get in there.” “I can’t…” “You can. I gots faith in you, lil bitch,” Nelson said. He clucked his tongue as though he was genuinely caring. He massaged Leif’s neck. “You know what you need? Incentive. I gotta give you a reason to try. You ain’t tryin’ yo’ best cuz I ain’t give you a good reason.” “No, Nelson, I’m-“ “Sssh…” Nelson slipped the tip of his dick in, and the sour flavor of precum again assaulted Leif’s senses. Translucent precum coated his tongue and his face. He gagged. Nelson gently smacked Leif on the cheek. “If you don’t swallow me so deep my balls rest on yo’ nose, I gonna tell Mickey you ain’t nevuh show up.” It took Leif a moment to process what Nelson said, but when he did he tried to scream around the cock in his throat. He didn’t think he could open his mouth up anymore. Nelson laughed at his muffled, moist screams and pistoned his hips again. He squeezed Leif’s nostrils shut with two callused fingers. He pinched harder than necessary, like he was trying to rip Leif’s nose off his face. Pain exploded from Leif’s throat, which felt like it was splitting in half. Snot leaked from his nose. Nelson groaned and ground his dick in deeper and deeper, rolling his hips this way and that like he needed to hit every corner of Leif’s mouth. At last his balls slapped against Leif’s nose, really laying into his face. Ball-sweat smeared over his nostrils, and if his senses weren’t overwhelmed by the salty precum on his tongue, he would have wanted to vomit from the smell of balls. His throat strained and spasmed. He had been doing pull-ups a few moments ago, so his manfunk was strong, and it of course mixed with the precum and saliva dripping down Nelson’s cockshaft to his scrotum. “Yo, Nelson, keep it down, nigga,” said some ashy-skinned, dull-eyed crackhead who appeared in the doorway. “Is we bein’ too loud, nigga? So sorry,” Nelson said. The crackhead turned around to leave, then stopped. He got down on his knees to watch. He peered deep into Leif’s eyes. He was lean, ropy-muscled, with a scruffy gray-streaked beard, and he was missing most of his teeth. “Can I piss in his mouth?” the crackhead asked. He had a harsh, rickety voice, and he got up with his dick out before Nelson even said anything. The crackhead an ugly warty dick. Leif felt himself grow dizzy from lack of oxygen, fear and disgust. He heard Nelson agree and tried to crawl away, but Nelson dragged him back. Was that a sore on the crackhead’s dick? There was something there, but Leif couldn’t tell if it is was real or a shadow. The crackhead flopped his cock out of the fly of his jeans. He brought the tip to Leif’s mouth before letting it rip. The taste was foul, and Leif fluttered his arms above his chest. He definitely wished he had simply borrowed the money from his parents now. Acrid piss filled Leif’s mouth, and he gagged at the intensely sour smell. Something about it was even worse than he thought it would be — it tasted like that metallic smoked-crack smell he had picked up downstairs, and a little like garbage runoff, rainwater and farts. Most of the piss spilled out past Leif’s lips, coating his face and dripping onto the floor. The crackhead cackled and walked away once he was done, while Nelson stood above Leif and watched him writhe. “Now I’m gonna destroy that ass,” Nelson said. He didn’t give Leif much time to react. He threw him over the couch and ripped his pants to shreds pulling them down. “Beg me for it.” “Nelson, I can’t-“ “Nah. That ain’t how you beg,” Nelson said. He wedged his fat, hot cock between Leif’s cheeks. He humped slowly there. He grabbed Leif’s hair with one hand and slammed his face onto the floor. He wiped it there like he was trying to clean the piss off. “Beg me, bitch. Beg me. Beg me.” At first Leif assumed he was supposed to wait for Nelson to give him a chance to beg. But it soon became apparent that Nelson wasn’t going to wait. He smeared his face all over the grimy crackhouse floor, repeating himself over and over. “Beg me. Beg me. Beg me.” “Please! Nelson! Please, uh… cornhole me! Your cock is, uh… my boss! Your cock is my master!” “That’s right, bitch. I know it. You ain’t gotta say,” Nelson said with a cocky laugh. “I like that improvisation though. That’s the kinda thing a nigga don’t do. Only a whiteboy get that broke down.” He slammed his dick in so quick Leif didn’t have time to fight back. He squealed and screamed as pain erupted in his ass. It felt like Nelson wrecked every inch of his insides. His cock was enormous, and he gave no mercy to Leif’s squeals of pain. He just clucked his tongue and kept thrusting with those powerful legs. “What’s yo’ daddy do, whiteboi?” “What?” He put Leif’s neck in a chokehold, placing their faces so close that Nelson’s rancid breath condensed on Leif’s face. He didn’t seem to mind that he was close to the crackhead’s piss. He spit on Leif’s face, then used one hand to smear the saliva all over him. Leif gagged. That massive cock split him open. Leif was in too much pain to say anything. His eyes rolled back in his head. He wondered if his ass was bleeding, but he both couldn’t focus enough to reach behind himself and check, and he was too scared about what he might find. Was Nelson doing real damage to his rectum? It felt like he might be. “Listen up, whiteboi. I don’t like repeatin’ myself. I asked what yo’ daddy do. For a job.” “He’s… a prison guard…” Leif said through gritted teeth. After he said that, it occurred to him it might have been better to lie. But Nelson didn’t seem perturbed to find out, almost like he had already known. Leif was too overwhelmed by agony and humiliation to think of a lie anyway. “You gots any brothers or sisters?” “One of each.” “Really? I did not know that. What’s yo’ sister do?” He slammed his dick in the rest of the way, and Leif screamed. “Uh, she’s. A teacher. Fourth-grade. Teacher.” He gritted his teeth. He hyperventilated, which made the remnants of piss in his mouth taste stronger. He gagged again. “Yo’ brother?” “He’s a prison guard too. Nelson, get off me! I-” His complaint was cut off by Nelson tightening the chokehold. He started to move his hips in a circle, like he needed to hit every part of Leif’s insides. Now that his dick was fully inside Leif, Nelson lifted his upper body. He kept Leif’s head and shoulders flat on the ground, and Nelson used all of his weight to slam his dick in and out. His muscular body rolled and roiled above Leif’s smooth back. Leif clawed at the rancid floor of the crackhouse. “Huh? Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother… do they work at the same prison?” “Yeah. A state prison in Texas.” “They ever ramrod niggas?” His voice was so close its deep, gravelly resonance echoed in Leif’s ear. He shuddered at the sensation, which made the pain in his ass even worse. Nelson pulled tighter on his hair to get his attention, as his dick throbbed mightily in Leif’s sensitive asshole. “Huh? Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother, they ever ramrod niggas?” He paused. “This here, what we’s doin’, in prison, they call it ramroddin’. Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother, do they evuh ramrod niggas?” “What? No.” “You sure about that?” “Well… yeah, pretty sure.” Leif’s voice was wavering, plaintive. He realized there was more than just nosy curiosity behind these questions of Nelson’s. “You wrong,” Nelson said. “You mean…?” Leif’s mind reeled. A part of him figured it out right away, but that part of him was overwhelmed by the part that was being viciously ramrodded. He gasped and screamed as Nelson resumed grinding his dick this way and that inside Leif, whose mind whirred. “They ramrodded you?” He asked finally after Nelson growled into his ear. “That’s right, whiteboi. So if you need someone to blame fo’ this, you find yo’ daddy and yo’ brother,” Nelson said. He laughed and stuck one finger in Leif’s mouth until he gagged, making Leif’s ass clench around his cock. “E’ry single thing I done to you is something they do to niggas all the time in that joint. Even lettin’ a crackhead piss in yo’ mouth just fo’ fun. That’s they specialty.” “Please, stop… I’ll talk to them, I’ll make them quit it-“ He began pounding away, ramming his dick in as hard as he could. Leif screamed at the top of his lungs, and buried his face in his arms. He couldn’t believe this was happening because of his father and brother — they didn’t even like Leif. They saw him as a stupid liberal hipster. When he told them about this, they’d probably laugh at him, tell him he was an idiot for gambling in the first place. And the worst part was, they’d be right. Leif’s face was bright red, tears streaming from his eyes. Nelson groaned and moaned as an orgasm finally ran through his body. His thick tattooed muscles undulated, and he pounded on his chest. Cum sprayed into Leif’s ass. It was searing hot, thick and creamy, cloying, sticky, seeping into his flesh. Leif writhed in Nelson’s powerful arms. It lasted for what felt like forever. More and more cum just kept on flowing into him. He could feel its heat and its snotty texture trickling through his body. Nelson sharply gasped into his ear as the orgasm rolled over him. “Say you love me, whiteboi. Say you’ll follow prison rules from now on. Say you won’t talk back and you gonna line up like a good nigga when it’s time for chow hall,” He said through gritted teeth. “I love you, Nelson,” he said through his tears. “I’ll follow prison rules from now on. I’ll line up like a good nigga when it’s time for chow hall.” “Good. You can leave. You can tell yo’ daddy and yo’ brother that Nelson Turnbottom got his revenge,” Nelson said. He took a deep breath as he pulled his dick out with an audible, moist plop. Leif felt incredible relief and intense agony in his sore ass, the pain reawakening now that it was over. He screamed and sobbed into the floor. Nelson patted him on the back of the head. “Say yes, sir.” “Yes, sir.”
Ben can’t believe he lost everything at the casino, and he’ll do whatever it takes for another chance to win… even if that means submitting to an ultra-humiliating bout of man-on-man action with the terrifying bouncer Cue! Can Ben beg his way into a second chance? Or is he all out of luck?!
Ben Wastermeek still couldn’t believe it had happened. He had never gambled before in his life, and now it was all gone. How did that even happen? He could remember every moment of it, but he remembered it like it had happened to someone else, like it was an awful movie he saw. There were a lot of reasons, but mainly there was just one: Ben wanted to feel like a winner. And he had been a winner. He had been sixty thousand dollars richer at one point in the night. He had been a king for about three hours. Those three hours were everything. And now he had cashed out everything. The tuition money from his college loan, his retirement money and all of his savings. He had even maxed out the cash advances on his credit card and gotten an advance on his next paycheck at the nearest payday loan place. He was ruined. So, as he pled with the bouncer, Ben couldn’t quite conceive of this not working. It had to work. Everything was riding on it. He had won sixty thousand dollars. That had to count for something. “Look, mistuh, I’m sorry you lost e’rything,” said the bouncer at the club Lipsweet in central Las Vegas. He was Cue, according to the name-tag on his suit. He was tall and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. He was powerfully strapped and barrel-chested, gristly neck, crooked nose. He was square-jawed, white as bone, looked like he dressed like a biker outside of work. Ben also wouldn’t have been surprised at all to see an iron cross or even a swastika tattooed on his chest or back. But Ben couldn’t give up. He had to get his money back, or at least enough to pay back the cash advances he had gotten. That would ruin his credit for years. Casinos have serious corporate management, he thought, they must have a way to do that. “Please, just let me talk to the manager. I know it’s not your decision to make-“ “It is, though. The decision is no. That’s the rules of the game, sir,” Cue said. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Please step aside. I need to be watching the entrance to the casino.” He sighed deeply. “Look, man, I get it that you’re upset. You have every right to be-“ “You don’t understand, I just need to explain what happened. I’m sure the manager-“ “The manager ain’t even here, man. The manager is Mickey Garelli, and he ain’t gonna be impressed by no beggin’. Please… I don’t wanna have to kick you out,” he said. “I don’t wanna wrinkle my suit. Or get your blood on it. You know if I get a deadbeat’s blood on me, I gotta get tested for AIDS four times a year for like five years? Insurance rules.” “Yeah, look, I-“ “Come on, man. Don’t be a fuckin’ deadbeat,” Cue said. “You gonna stand here like a shitball and beg me? Have some fuckin’ dignity.” He flared his nostrils. His muscles flexed under his too-small suit like he was ready to throw a punch, but Ben didn’t think he was in any danger. Casinos were underground mob boss things anymore. They were nice. Normal. They wouldn’t hire a thug. Cue was just a security guy. A rent-a-cop basically. “You have to let me talk to whoever’s in charge-“ A new bouncer appeared from behind Ben. He was a big black man with cornrows, much taller than Cue. He wore a suit as well, but his fit better. “Yo, Cue, you havin’ trouble?” “I’m just showin’ this asshole some mercy, Tyrell, but he ain’t takin’ it.” “You know deadbeats don’t respond to that,” the black man Tyrell said. He shrugged. “I know. I guess I should-a just ripped his nuts off, but I don’t know… He looks like a sad puppy dog.” Ben blushed. He realized how pitiful he must look, but he straightened his back. He needed to get his money back. If he made a big enough fuss, they’d have to give him something, he thought. “So he’s a gambling man, huh?” said the black bouncer, Tyrell. “I’ll bet you he’d ‘clean the back-office’ for a chance to win his money back.” “Yes! I would!” Ben blurted out before he even heard what the man said. It was obvious from his tone that ‘clean the back-office’ was code for something, but Ben didn’t care. If there was even a chance he could get his money back, he wanted to take it. He pictured himself cleaning. That’d be fine. Besides, he was a gambling man. He had been down for a long time. Surely he was about to get back on top. Even if they only gave him one chip, that would be worth it because he’d have a chance, a real chance, to win back his money and even more. The lights would go off, people would cheer, waitresses would come by and kiss him on the cheek and give him free drinks. He’d be a winner again. Cue and the other bouncer Tyrell laughed. Cue seemed annoyed, like he would never have offered ‘cleaning the back office’ as an option if the other bouncer hadn’t brought it up. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll show you the office.” He followed Cue through the casino. Ben saw the blinking lights and the excited squealing of the people who won, and he almost forgot that he was penniless. He could have stayed here for hours just watching other people win, but he hung close to Cue. He wanted a chance to play. Cue looked scary enough that people moved out of his way. He moved like he was used to that, shoving past people. The punks and tourists and gambling freaks parted like the red sea. He led Ben down an empty corridor to a small bathroom, barely big enough for the two of them. Ben breathed a sigh of relief. They probably just wanted him to clean the toilets, and they’d give him bus fare, or something like that. It’d be like washing the dishes to pay for a meal in a restaurant. But the bathroom appeared spotless. Pristine, even. There was a small shelf attached to one wall, and on it was a tube of anal lube, a clothespin, a large dildo, a few condoms and a few other odds and ends. This bathroom didn’t need cleaning. “We don’t use this bathroom,” Cue said with a craggy frown and a baritone rumble in his chest. He closed the door and produced one blue chip from his pocket. “Or, well, we don’t use it for poopin’.” “Oh. Uh, okay. What do you-?” “This is the cornhole-closet,” Cue said. He laughed at Ben, who turned white as a cloud and his knees buckled. Cue shook his head. He held up the blue chip in his hand. “You can leave anytime, bitch. But if you stay, I’m gonna treat you real bad. My girl’s been holdin’ out on me, and she a real bitch anyway. I oughta dump her ass but she used to give good head and, uh… Well, I’m gonna take out my frustrations on ya. It’s gonna hurt. I got a big dick. I’m-a tear yo’ guts up. And all you gettin’ is this one twenty dollar chip. You can cash it out, or you can gamble it. That’s up to you.” “Oh, uh…” “I ain’t even into this, just so you know. I ain’t even think of it. That big black feller out there, he love it. He try to cornhole at least one deadbeat every shift he work. Black fellers love ass, I do reckon,” Cue said. “He been sayin’ I’m too weak to do it.” “I dunno…” “Us bouncers compete to see who can cornhole a intact ass as hard as possible. Not me, really, usually. The black ones do. They gonna wanna hear all about it, and there’s even a camera in here, so they is gonna watch. There’s prolly some security man watching right now.” He waved at the camera in the corner, and he forced Ben to wave too. A tear leaked down Ben’s cheek. He tried to soberly consider his options, but that blue chip danced above Cue’s knuckles. Ben wanted to kiss it and make love to it. He would have done anything to get just one more chance to win. He nodded wordlessly. “Damn… I really thought you was gonna back out. That makes me sad, man. It really does. I’m glad I can be part of makin’ you hit rock-bottom though. Remembuh you can always quit. And you know, Jesus and shit. Go to church,” Cue said. “Take off your clothes.” Ben gulped and did as he was told. He felt skinny next to Cue, who was as thick as a bodybuilder, though he didn’t look quite that cut. He looked like an offseason bodybuilder. His muscles bulged from the ill-fitting suit he wore. Ben left his boxers on at first, then Cue motioned for him to take them off too. He gingerly picked up Ben’s underwear with his fingertips and threw it in the toilet bowl. He added Ben’s socks as well. Then he picked up Ben’s shirt, pants and shoes and took them out of the bathroom. “Stay here. I can sell these to a homeless man for a few bucks. That’s virtually a charity,” Cue said, beaming like he expected Ben to congratulate him on doing something nice. He must have put the clothes in a locker or something like that nearby because he returned moments later. He sighed. “Now you gotta get me hard. I mean… you don’t gotta. You can take your toilet-dripping underwear and get out.” “Please, I don’t have anything…” “I know. You got one tiny shred of dignity left. You can take it and leave if you want, or you can decide how you wanna get me hard. You wanna swallow my cum or slurp on my asshole?” Ben sobbed. Was this really what he was reduced to? He couldn’t believe it had come to this. But if he got paid with that casino chip, he was going to gamble it. There was still that to look forward to. He had a chance. He could be a big winner. What game should he play it on? Blackjack? Roulette? Did they have a twenty-dollar roulette wheel here? Probably not. Should be blackjack, he thought, that has a skill component. “I’ll… swallow your cum,” Ben said. He sunk to his knees and sniffed back tears. “Well, go ahead.” Cue smiled. He put his hands on his hips. He lifted his suit jacket to given Ben easy access, but he didn’t take his pants off. Ben shuddered. He unzipped the fly of Cue’s slacks. Then he reached in and shuddered again at the feel of Cue’s greasy cockshaft. It was dark brown and sticky with dried-on sweat. “Sorry, I been workin’ all day,” Cue said. “My balls prolly smell.” Ben nodded. He gagged. Cue’s huge cock popped out of the fly, and a pair of hairy, low-hanging balls. It smelled so badly of sweat and old cum that Ben thought he would throw up. His cockmeat was moist with a sheet of moisture and emanated heat so intensely Ben could feel it from a foot away. Cue just sighed again and pried Ben’s mouth open. He gripped Ben’s cheeks and fed his dick in. Ben gagged as soon as he tasted it, and he coughed up a big ball of spit that plopped onto the bathroom floor. “Don’t spit that on the floor.” Cue slapped Ben on the cheek, just hard enough to hurt. “And if you get my pants dirty, I won’t give you the chip when you’re done.” “Come on… Man, I’m tryin’…” Ben said. But Cue was relentless. He grabbed ahold of Ben’s chin and squeezed until his mouth opened. He pushed the tip of his dick past Ben’s lower lip. Salty sweat again assaulted Ben’s senses. “Now, I’m gonna use ya mouth as my pussy, deadbeat. Try to make sounds like a female, I gotta imagine you a female, I ain’t a black feller who’s a fuckin’ booty bandit! Tyrell!” He yelled in the direction of the doorway, though it didn’t seem likely Tyrell was out there. Ben opened his mouth wide but Cue’s fat cock was so long Ben couldn’t get anything more than the glans in his mouth. He choked again, and his eyes watered from both shame and the revolting taste of unwashed cock. Cue’s muscles rippled beneath his suit. But Cue’s cock remained limp and floppy, like a meaty dead animal. It was at least twelve inches long and lined with blue and red veins. It gleamed with moisture, and its texture made Ben gag. “You ain’t gettin’ me hard, boy,” Cue said. “Spit on it some.” Ben spat. He found it difficult to produce much saliva though. Cue sighed as though this was a great imposition for him. He slapped Ben over the face with his cock, which was thick and heavy enough to hurt a little bit. Holding back tears and blushing, Ben tried to catch Cue’s cock with his mouth. He thought maybe if he tried his best, Cue would go easy on him. He really didn’t want to take that entire cock in his ass. “Alright, I gave you a chance to mouth me off, and that ain’t working. Nothin’ personal, nobody really mouths my dick right. It’s too big,” Cue said. “Now you get to eat my asshole instead. Anyone with a working tongue can do that.” “What, no!” “Then get out,” Cue said. “Don’t get ya chip.” He turned around, dropped his slacks and his boxers, revealing a thick plump ass. The crack was dark and hairy, and it gleamed with sweat. It was humid like a jungle. Ben imagined he could see its funk emanating like an aura from Cue’s muscular cheeks. Ben wanted to leave, but he didn’t. He wanted to gamble one last time. When he was done — if he didn’t win, though he didn’t like to think about that — then he would quit gambling, maybe go to rehab. But before he could even say yes, Cue backed his ass right into Ben’s face. His asscheeks were cold and rock-hard, and he had a big fat scar on one of them. “Get your tongue out, dumbass. Don’t try licking my asscheek or something either. I want a proper rimjob. Get your tongue inside my ass. If you ain’t tastin’ rectum, you ain’t doin’ it right,” Cue said with a laugh as though that was his motto. Ben hadn’t really thought about the mechanics of this. Was that really what a rimjob was supposed to be? He slowly opened his mouth, a physically painful gag rolling through his body. He heaved and probably would have thrown up if there was anything in his stomach. But opening his mouth to heave heightened the nauseating aroma — the smell of Cue’s ass tasted even worse on his tongue than it was in his nose. Ben could feel the funk, like a humid mist on the inside of his mouth even before he actually came into contact with Cue’s ass. And then the funk flowed into his mouth, the sweat of Cue’s body trickling onto Ben’s tongue. He gagged continuously, retching loudly even as his tongue poked through the tangled nest of ass-hair. His head may have been bald and his asscheeks were smooth, but Cue’s buttcrack was choked with black hairs. He wasn’t sure he’d know when his tongue hit Cue’s asshole, but then when he did hit it, he absolutely knew. His tongue sank in. Cue grunted, and Ben could tell that his dick started to harden even though Cue faced away from him so he couldn’t see. Cue was a muscular man, so his ass was tight and hard. As he got aroused, his cheeks and even his asshole squeezed as though he was trying to hold Ben in place with his ass. “Don’t take your tongue out, man, stick it all the way in,” Cue said. He began grinding his muscular hips, rubbing his asshair on Ben’s face. “Now blow a raspberry, like this.” He blew a loud raspberry that echoed in the linoleum bathroom. Ben did the same, the sound muted and muffled by Cue’s body. It made a sound like a fart though, which was tremendously loud in Ben’s ears because it happened right on his face. He could even feel air escaping from Cue’s ass, going right down Ben’s throat, and Cue’s whole body vibrated. He groaned. “Damn, you rim pretty good for a first-timer,” Cue said. “But I don’t wanna blow my wad like this. You got me hard, now let’s get on to the main show. You got any final words before I cornhole you?” “No,” Ben said. He was glad to pull away from Ben’s ass, but he trembled in fear at the thought of taking that inch-long cock into his ass. “I mean yes. Please, uh… Lemme just, I dunno, give you a handjob or somethin’.” “You serious? Do I look like a punk-ass bitch?” “No, just… I don’t think I can take it.” “Course you can. I’ll just have to bust you wide. You might not walk straight for a couple days, or maybe forevuh, I dunno,” Cue said. “You can still walk outta here, but I know you won’t. You’re gonna play that chip, ain’t ya? You’re gonna lose. You know that, right? Even if you win, you’re gonna lose. Because you’re a loser.” Ben sobbed. He knew that was right. He bent over on all fours in front of the toilet. Only a loser would be in this position. Ben would never be anything else. Unless, of course, he used that chip to win. “You’re lucky my shift is over, and I wanna get home. Otherwise I wouldn’t use lube, just so I have an excuse to spend hours in here stretching you out,” Cue said with a chuckle. “Mickey would say that was a good use of my time.” He squeezed lube into Ben’s ass. It was cold and goopy, and he shuddered. Then he bit his lip as pain hit his ass. It was just the tip of Cue’s cock, but the agony was already arduous. Ben had an urge to lower his head, but that would put his face in the toilet, so he didn’t. Cue gripped Ben’s hair as he squeezed the first couple inches in. He grunted and sighed, and he slapped Ben’s cheeks. He laughed at their jiggling. His fingers massaged Ben’s rim trying to stretch it, but that made the pain so much worse than Ben cried out. “Alright, you got about a third of it befo’ I hit resistance,” Cue said. “I got techniques to get you to open up, but it’s better if you do it consciously. Can you open up any more?” Gritting his teeth, Ben managed to loosen himself up some. That caused a flood of pain that made him arch his back, and the movement made the pain even worse. Ben spasmed and squealed. But Cue had a firm grip on his chest and his waist, holding him in place. Cue clucked his tongue and squeezed Ben until he stopped moving. “Alright. Good. You at almost half. That’s real good, deadbeat,” Cue said. “Now, here comes the first little trick I got. It’s gonna hurt. Most men use it for dome, but my dick’s too big for that to really help.” He put a clothespin on Ben’s nose, so he had to breathe through his mouth. After a few seconds, Ben’s throat opened, followed by his ass. Cue sighed as some more cock slid into Ben’s ass. Ben screamed right into the toilet water just in front of his face. “I ain’t ramroddin’ you, by the way. I’m holdin’ you in place to make it easier, but you can leave anytime. This ain’t a ramroddin’. It ain’t even really extortion.” Ben was in too much pain to think about Cue’s words. His ass was splitting, ripping, and he couldn’t help but scream at the top of his lungs. The oldies rock playing through the speakers outside muffled the sound though, so no one could hear it. “I love that sound. That’s the sound of a deadbeat learnin’ what a useless shit he really is,” Cue said. “Now you got maybe three quarters of my dick inside you. How’s that feel?” All Ben could do was grunt and gag at the smell of porcelain and toilet water. “No. Use your words, deadbeat. You got words? Or did you gamble them away.” Ben spoke through gritted teeth. “It hurts. I can’t talk. Hurts.” “Good. Now I got one last trick. It’s gonna feel like you’re drowning, but don’t worry. I won’t let you die,” Cue said. Before Ben could respond, Cue pushed his head into the water. As Ben’s body panicked and his lungs filled with nasty water, his asshole loosened all the way. Ben screamed in agony and shame, while Cue grunted and howled. His dick slid all the way in. Cue’s balls swung between Ben’s legs. Cue pumped his biceps — he still wore his shirt and suit jacket, his tie now loosened and his shirt-tails lifted up so he could watch his cock slide in. “Ain’t nothin’ like rammin’ the bitch outuva chokin” deadbeat…” Cue moaned and laughed, flexing his muscles for the men he assumed still watched on the security cameras. He pistoned his hips back and forth. Ben screamed with every thrust, squirming when Cue hit the deepest extent within Ben’s ass. It felt so good. Cue sighed. He didn’t even mind the toilet water splashing on him. Cue pulled his hair to give Ben a chance to breathe. His whole body shuddered, and his ass clenched around Cue’s cock. He pushed Ben’s face back into the water, cutting him off mid-gasp. Ben’s socks and underwear had sunk to the bottom of the toilet bowl, so they clung to Ben’s face when he touched them. Cue’s cock throbbed and spasmed within him, its every tremor sending shockwaves of agony through Ben’s body. “Here I go, deadbeat, gonna fill you up!” At last Cue orgasmed. He smashed Ben’s face into the bottom of the toilet so hard Ben was dizzy, his lungs crying out for oxygen. He thought he might black out from the pain and the water. Cum flowed into him like it was being piped in. He could feel it trickling through his body, its heat and its snotty texture making it palpable within him. It dripped out of his overstuffed hole and stuck to his legs. The smell of santorum filled the air. Cue pumped what seemed like too much jizz up Ben’s backside. It was hot and creamy, and it seeped into him. Cue pumped his hips each time he spewed another wad into him. Ben couldn’t hear it because his head was underwater, but Cue grunted too with each gyration of his powerful body. Finally, just when he was beginning to lose consciousness, Cue pulled him out of the water and threw him on the ground. Cue stood up. He sneered at Ben, whom he lightly kicked in the belly. Ben vomited up toilet water onto the floor. It seemed like way more than he had expected, he thought, wondering how he had swallowed so much. He gasped for air on the floor. “I’m gonna start pissin’ in a second,” Cue said.His fat dick dangled between his legs and above Ben. “I always piss after I plow. If you’re still there on the floor, I’m gonna piss on you. Crawl away, deadbeat.” But Ben both couldn’t and didn’t want to crawl away. He deserved this, he thought. He was a deadbeat. The piss was hot and acrid, and it smelled terrible. It smelled like both piss and cum, and a little bit like shit, Ben thought. It coated his skin and made him gag uncontrollably. He couldn’t even dry-heave though, so his body just spasmed. Cue tucked his cock away. He flipped the blue chip onto the puddle of fluids on the ground. “Here. You should exchange that for cash and at least go get a shower at the YMCA. You won’t. But you should. Goodbye, deadbeat.” As he walked to the door, he started whistling. “Don’t come back to this casino.” “I won’t,” Ben said. He took a deep breath. He knew that wasn’t really true, he would probably be back at some point, and he was certainly going to gamble this blue chip here. After going through all this, he thought the universe was sure to reward him with a winning streak. He struggled to his feet, his asshole and his face aching. He felt filthy, and he had nothing but underwear to wear. But he had one blue chip. He just needed to find a table he could gamble it at. He was, after all, a gamblin’ man.
In pre-Civil War America, Master Taggart likes to watch his wife get it in every direction from the big black bucks he keeps as slaves. When one of them doesn’t cooperate the way he’s supposed to, Master Taggart has an effeminate slave climb on top and teach that mandingo a lesson in the power of Twink on Top!
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Master Taggart had less control over Desmond and the other slaves than he thought. That was because he had little conception of his own vulnerability — he thought that the slaves did what he said because he was a respectable white landowner. But that wasn’t the case at all. Perhaps when it had first started, but that was years ago, before Desmond even got involved. Nowadays the Negroes of the Taggart Plantation did what Master Taggart said only because he ordered them to do things they wanted to do anyway. Most importantly, he ordered them to fornicate with his wife while he watched. Master Taggart enjoyed handling himself while his slaves fucked his wife. He loved getting close enough that their juices and their sweat splashed on his face, despite it making him gag and wrinkle his nose as though he disliked it. Desmond had no interest in participating in that. If Master Taggart had told him to do it, he’d have made a good effort, but he would struggle to get hard. Desmond had little interest in women’s bodies, and he did not admire fornicating with them. But that was okay. Master Taggart had no interest in making Desmond do that. He liked mandingos — big, horse-cocked Negroes with bulging muscles and massive bodies. He liked watching them plow and plunder his delicate wife. Only she wasn’t so delicate anymore. That was what the other slaves said more and more often these days. They had enjoyed fucking her when she was tight and clean, but the more she got it, the sloppier her womanhood was. She had also let herself go over the year, and now had stringy, greasy hair and a saggy body, with tired eyes and yellowed teeth. Desmond had never thought she was attractive, but nowadays she was downright ugly. “I ain’t gonna put it in that bitch today, she don’t look cleverly at all,” said Tyrell as they all walked towards Master Taggart’s mansion just past the plantation proper. “Yeah, she too sloppy.” “Nasty-ass too. I put my dick in her bottom last time and the whole thang slid right in. She didn’t notice,” Charles said with a rumbling laugh that echoed in the nearby woods. He was the tallest one there, nearly seven feet tall, built like a bear and with a great big smile. “I barely even got hard. I gots a freak to plow Desmond instead.” Desmond blushed as everyone laughed at him. He was proud of his position, even if he knew most Negroes would be ashamed of it. He was a mandingo as well, in the sense that he had a massive dick, but he was not a mandingo in any other way — Desmond was short, skinny and weak, with a feminine lilt and a girlish flair in his mannerisms. Master Taggart only included him because he helped get Missus Taggart ready. That used to be a multihour affair, as she made up her face and her hair and tried on multiple dresses, while the mandingos hardened their meats in the next apartment. All that preparation was just so Charles, Tyrell and the others could make her wet and filthy. Nowadays she mostly didn’t bother to fix herself up. Master Taggart waited with a solemncholy expression on his face, sitting upon the front porch of his mansion. He was excited to see them, and he jumped to his feet. Desmond went, as he always did, right for Missus Taggart, whose private quarters were in the back of the house. As he walked around the lawn, he heard Charles complaining about her slack womanhood, and the others chorusing their agreement. Desmond did not hear Master Taggart’s responses. “Let’s get you lookin’s pretty, Missus Taggart,” he said when he saw her sprawled out on a couch. He still assumed that Master Taggart would talk the men into giving her a flourish. He always did. Lately they had been saying every time that they weren’t going to put their manhoods inside her because she was unpleasant, but when they actually laid eyes upon her bare body, their baser instincts took over, and Master Taggart didn’t need to be stern with them. She was lazy. She frowned and nodded at Desmond. She had a faint mustache, and her overgrown womanhood peeked out from under her dress, which had grass stains all over it — was that the same dress she had worn last time? She was dirty as a punk, Desmond thought but wouldn’t ever say. “You think that’s gonna humiliate me?! Negroes don’t shame that easy, Massah Taggart. I’ll do it, no problem.” “Oooh, Charles’s on it now…!” “Massah Taggart!” The sounds of the mandingos in the front room drifted back here. Missus Taggart ignored them as she lazily brushed her hair a few times. She plastered on some lipstick and pursed her lips to get even coverage. Desmond kind of wished he was up front with the others. He loved watching Charles fight, which happened often. He always took off his clothes for a fight, so Desmond got to watch his sweat-slickened muscles and his hoggish manhood dangling between his legs. Every once in awhile, Charles let Desmond jerk him off, and Desmond would even get to finger his asshole — Charles was unique among the other slaves in that he loved having a finger in his asshole. He wasn’t even ashamed about it. He begged Missus Taggart to do it when he fucked her, despite the other slaves teasing him for it. “Desmond! Get over here!” Master Taggart yelled. Desmond shrugged. He looked at Missus Taggart, who lounged on her couch watching the sun set. Desmond sighed and went to the front of the building. After a brief delay, she followed him. The other Negroes and Master Taggart had moved into the drawing room, where Charles scowled though he didn’t seem angry — he looked to be patronizing Master Taggart, the only person in the apartment who looked serious. The Negroes all smiled like this was a big prank. “You too Sharon, come in here!” Master Taggart said. He smiled at his wife as she strode in lazily behind Desmond. Charles sneered at the sight of her. “This nigger here doesn’t want to fuck you. He says you’re too loose for him.” Sharon sat on a chair. She smiled and looked at all the other slaves. “Fine. The rest of you will do.” She spread her legs, revealing a hairy womanhood. The five remaining slaves exchanged nervous glances, then approached. They were younger than Charles so it wasn’t surprising that they were more willing to debase themselves with a loose woman. Besides, they were the ones who had loosened her in the first place. She undid the plain strings that kept their rough canvas breeches up, and the room filled with the smell of their unwashed crotches. Desmond straightened his neck at the sight of five massive cocks thwacking against each other as she took turns sucking on each one. They raced to stiffies in seconds. “Get offa my dick, Tyrell, she want me first.” “She gonna get me, nigguh, don’t you get in my way.” “Boys, let’s not fight,” she said. She took both dicks in her mouth, lazily sucking on each cocktip. She seemed to like thwacking them across her face so that those big brown knobs smushed against each other. Desmond enjoyed watching, though he felt useless. Normally he had made her look beautiful, so watching the Negroes render her a nasty, cream-covered mess was a transition he loved seeing. But she started off nasty now, and it was possible she hadn’t even washed since the last time, so she might still be covered in dried cum. “Charles, go on…” Master Taggart wasn’t watching his wife. He watched Charles. One of his hands ran up and down Charles’s broad back muscles. Charles sighed and shook his head. “You think you hurtin’s me, Massah Taggaht, but you ain’t. Ask any of these nigguhs, I mess wit’s Desmond all the time.” “Yeah but you don’t jerk him off!” The other Negroes all laughed as they took turns dipping their manhoods into Missus Taggart’s hairy hole. Despite plowing her, they more closely watched Charles, who stood and stretched his legs as he approached Desmond. Having heard what Charles and Master Taggart said, a part of Desmond knew what was happening. It made sense and it was precisely the kind of thing they would both do. Master Taggart would have thought that making Charles submit to Desmond would humiliate him. But that wasn’t the case. Charles loved a finger in his ass and would probably enjoy more or less anything Desmond might do to his body. White men didn’t understand that kind of thing. They always thought of it as the height of utter submission to have a man’s prick inside you. Negroes like Charles didn’t see it quite the same way, a fact that Desmond had come to cherish because it meant men like him occasionally got to top men like Charles. But as Charles actually sunk to his knees to get started, Desmond realized he had never been with a man like him. Their difference in height was extreme — Charles had at least a foot and a half on him. Desmond only stood as high as Charles’s nipple-line, and his entire body was skinner than one of Charles’s corded muscle biceps. “Go on, Charles, jerk that nigger off,” Master Taggart said. His hands were in his trousers already, stroking his meat. Charles sighed on his knees. He had to stoop all the way over to get his face in line with Desmond’s crotch. He undid Desmond’s leather breaches and then was surprised like he hadn’t seen it before when he saw Desmond’s throbbing, half-hard cock. “Forgot you had meat like a big nigga…” Charles sniffed. He ignored the hooting of his fellow slaves, who barely seemed to be paying attention to Missus Taggart even as their balls slapped together between her legs. Desmond had grown to love that sweaty thwacking sound, the splash of their precum and her feminine secretions, the shine of their throbbing black cocks as they penetrated her over and over. “I know, sweetie,” Desmond said, too shocked to think of anything witty to add. Charles had a massive mouth to go along with his other body parts, so he swallowed Desmond’s meat easily. He did choke at first when Desmond jabbed into the back of his throat, and he wrinkled his nose at the taste, but he didn’t hesitate in continuing to swallow Desmond’s cock to the root. That sent a shiver of pleasure up Desmond’s tender frame, as his hands fluttered. Desmond gasped. He wasn’t expecting Charles to do it with such ease and with such little hesitation. As Charles teased Desmond’s meat with his tongue, Desmond straightened his back and moaned. He instinctually gripped Charles’s head with both hands — because that was what Charles did when Desmond jerked him off. He felt like he should hold Charles’s head in place and throat him, compete with the others on the sound his balls made when they slapped against his chin, paint his face with his precum — that was also what Charles did when Desmond jerked him off. But would Charles accept that? Would Master Taggart? He walked around the room with his own white cock in his hands. He jacked himself off as he encouraged Tyrell and Wendell in their double-plowing of his wife’s holes. Then he came over to Desmond, who spewed precum into Charles’s sour-facing mouth. Master Taggart stroked his chin and watched carefully, like he was an academic carefully scrutinizing test results. He massaged the rippling muscles of Charles’s shoulders, which bucked and flexed as he tried to deep-throat Desmond’s dick, and Master Taggart thwacked his cock on Charles’s neck and the side of his face. What had begun as easy because Desmond was soft became difficult now that Desmond was hard. It was the only anatomical trait that Desmond and Charles had in common — massive cocks. “Wreck his throat, Desmond, don’t be a durgen. This is supposed to be a punishment.” “He don’t see it like that, Mastuh Taggart,” Desmond said. His voice was jagged and weak because Charles’s mouth was making him feel so good he couldn’t stand it. Desmond’s whole body roiled. The other slaves laughed and confirmed it, but that just made Master Taggart red-faced and blustery. “You all are unchristian perverts,” Master Taggart said. “I should make you study the Bible again-“ “No way, Massah Taggart! That’s some borin’ mugwort, Massah!” “You know bendin’s yo’s wife ovuh fo’s a bunch of niggahs ain’t in the Bible neither, right?” Master Taggart scowled and stamped his feet as though working up a chivey. “You are all ruining this for me!” Gimblet-eyed, he looked to his wife, who seemed to be half-asleep, barely aware of the trio of cocks ramming into her body. “You most of all! Why did you have to get so loose? Why did you get so dirty?!” “My fault? You-” Missus Taggart stopped sucking Tyrell’s cock long enough to shout, but then Tyrell pushed his precum-leaking meat back into her. She never finished whatever she started saying, and she seemed to instantly lose interest in shouting recriminations at her husband, who in any case was back to watching Desmond’s dick disappear down Charles’s throat. Tyrell’s manhood had a way of doing that. “Let me in there too,” Master Taggart said. He stepped towards Charles’s face with his erect white dick in hand. Desmond groaned. He didn’t like sharing. Charles pulled off his cock, looked up at Master Taggart and growled. “Massuh,” he said. “You asked us ovuh here to fuck yo’s nasty-drippin’s wife. That’s what we agreed to. I tol’s you I can jerk off this lavenduh nigguh, sure, cuz he pretty and he treat me right.” Charles wrapped one powerful arm around Desmond’s small, yet plump, ass. Desmond blushed and hugged Charles’s broad body. His muscles rippled beneath Desmond’s touch. Desmond’s hard, spit-moistened cock rubbed against Charles’s pulsating pectoral muscles. Charles leaned his head way down to kiss Desmond on the lips. That made Master Taggart groan, and Charles laugh. Charles spoke pot-valiantly, “So I gonna let this pansy make sweet love to me. That’s cuz I like him. I don’t like you, and I ain’t don’t like yo’s wife. So you can watch if’n you want, with that puny little meat, and you can even jack yo’self off. I won’t lose my temper if you get some of dat weak nut on me. But don’t you dare try to put yo’s own dick anywhere inside me.” “Charles-!” “Hey! A nigger is speaking!” Charles barked. He stood up as though he was going to attack Master Taggart, who turned pale-white and nearly collapsed. His knees buckled. Charles cleared his throat. He stood so his limp cock was right in front of Master Taggart, who was short enough that, on his knees, his face was at navel height, just barely above that throbbing, veiny slab of mandingo meat. Master Taggart gulped like he had trouble avoiding looking at it. Charles grinned. “I can describe yo’s birthmark, Massuh Taggaht, on yo’s ass, and I know if they check out dat ass, they gonna find it’s loose like you been lettin’s me plow you. So don’t make me go to the courts with that shit. Cuz yo’s wife gonna testify on my side, know that.” Master Taggart looked to his wife, whose mouth was full of cock. It wasn’t clear if she heard what was happening. Master Taggart blanched, and Charles placed one meaty hand on his shoulder. Master Taggart shuddered when Charles’s limp cock touched his thigh. “She ain’t on yo’s side no mo’, Massuh.” Master Taggart looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. Tears twinkled in his eyes and he sniffed to avoid crying. Even as he was overcome by humiliation, however, he didn’t stop masturbating. A part of Desmond was disappointed that Charles had stood up to him. He was glad that it had happened, but he was annoyed because he assumed it meant Charles would no longer do what Master Taggart said. The only reason Charles bottomed for Desmond was because he was told to. It wasn’t a disaster, of course — Desmond bottomed for Charles all the time. It had just been nice to try something different, Desmond thought as he prepared to bend over for Charles’s cock. But that wasn’t it. Either Charles didn’t realize he could do whatever he wanted — which was very possible, as Charles had always been beetle-headed — or he genuinely wanted to bottom. In any case, he got down on all fours on the ground, sticking his ass high in the air. “Holy heckfire!” Desmond said, making Charles laugh. When he laughed, his body rippled and his gigantic asscheeks jiggled up and down. That sent a wave of desire through Desmond’s body. Could he really do this? It was physically difficult. It simply felt wrong to line his tiny body up with Charles’s herculean frame. But ever fiber of Desmond’s being told him to do it, to ignore Master Taggart’s frenzied, humiliated sobs and to simply ram his dick in. So that was what he did. He had to get up on his toes to put his cock in Charles’s ass, which was so tight he hit resistance right away. Charles bucked and grunted. For a moment it sounded like he was going to say it hurt and back out. But he didn’t. He groaned and awkwardly stretched two arms behind himself. He spread his asscheeks. His powerful thigh muscles flexed. “Tarnations…” Desmond muttered to himself as he slid more and more of his cock in. Charles’s ass so was tight that, at any given moment, it felt like he couldn’t possibly take any more dick. But every time Desmond pushed, a bit more slipped in, and another wave of even more intense pleasure washed up Desmond’s body. As he began humping more and more violently, he slammed his hips in. That was just like Charles rammed him, as hard as he could, as aggressively as possible, like he thought Desmond was made of glass and he wanted to shatter him. Desmond had never minded because he liked being treated like that, but it was nice now to turn the tables. Much to Desmond’s surprise, Charles had no compunctions, it seemed. He took every inch of Desmond’s dick, with a loud struggle at first, but Desmond had found the pleasure spot deep within him, and Charles groaned with desire with each thrust of Desmond’s cock inside him. It felt like both he and Charles were nearing their climaxes when Desmond realized that Master Taggart had left the room. He hadn’t noticed that. Then the door opened and Master Taggart walked in with a rifle in hand. “Hey-a, you niggers! I am takin’s charge of this sit’ation, you best believe that!” He pointed the rifle at Charles, whose asshole clenched around Desmond’s dick. “I am the white man here. That means that what I say goes, and I say-“ He stopped talking because Desmond plucked the rifle right out of his hands. The slaves all burst into laughter. Missus Taggart hadn’t been paying attention because she was focused on the cocks thwacking over her face, but she realized what had happened and laughed as well. Master Taggart was confused at first. It hadn’t even occurred to him that the gun was not a magic spell, it didn’t give him automatic victory over larger men. He had to actually be willing to use it. Desmond held the gun in his hand. He had never held a rifle. He didn’t even know how to use it, but it didn’t look like Master Taggart realized that — probably because Master Taggart hadn’t known how to use it either. At least Desmond was self-aware enough to know that he was ignorant about it. “Stop blustering and lower yourself to your knees, Master Taggart, so you can watch me plow him,” Desmond said. He handed the rifle over to Tyrell, who had finished spewing his cream all over Missus Taggart — Desmond knew it was safer to give the gun to someone who might know how to use it. Desmond knew how to wear a dress and fix a white woman’s hair, not use a rifle. Though Charles was up in the boughs about getting plowed, he didn’t find it easy. He had been scooting around the room as he was penetrated by Desmond’s big cock, and now they had ended up very near to the mandingo gangbang, where four Negroes continued to ram their meats into Missus Taggart. Desmond always enjoyed watching this. It aroused a wistful feeling within him, because he always thought that, if he were were a white woman, he would be even sluttier than Missus Taggart. He’d just go live in the slave quarters so they could fuck him at every opportunity. Slipping his head between her legs, Desmond sucked on two pairs of heavy balls as they slapped against each other. He watched those massive cocks slide in to her womanhood and her rear, just a few inches from each other. He buried his nose in the sweet, stinky flesh of his fellow Negro slaves — none of whom would have ever let him do this if they weren’t fucking a white woman at the same time. Charles was the only one who did anything like that, so this was one of Desmond’s few opportunities to get at the other mandingos. As he watched frothy cum leak out of her and drip into both men’s swinging shafts, Desmond felt his own orgasm coming on. He lowered his head and planted his face into Charles’s meaty back, while Desmond kept ramming his cock in and out of Charles’s backside. “Tarnations, nigguh,” Charles said breathlessly. He shot his own load into the palm of his hand, gasping and writhing beneath Desmond’s lithe body. His orgasm overwhelmed him, and Desmond sighed into Charles’s shoulders. The sound of Master Taggart’s sobbing faded into silence in the back of Charles’s mind, while pleasure wracked his body so hard it hurt. He was dimly aware of Tyrell laughing as he threatened Master Taggart with the rifle, but that seemed very distant to Desmond. He existed in a nether-state like that for what felt like forever, hovering with his cock in Charles’s clenching ass, feeling his mountain of muscle contorting beneath his touch. Desmond spasmed and shook. Hot cum sprayed into Charles’s ass. They both sighed as it flew, spurting forth and coating his insides. It was thick and creamy, and it stuck to his flesh, clinging to his skin where it dribbled out and down between his asscheeks. Finally it was over. Charles roared, sending Desmond back to reality. He shook the daze out of his eyes, slamming his dick in to shoot the last few drops as deep as they would go in Charles’s backside. Then Desmond gingerly climbed down. His knees felt weak, and his balls hung low. The other slaves were just finishing up with Missus Taggart, who lay sprawled out in her own post-orgasmic daze on the couch. The only person in the room who wasn’t satisfied was Master Taggart, who sobbed into his arms on the floor, too upset even to tell his slaves to feeze. “You fuckin’ niggers!” He screamed through his tears. “Yeah, that’s exactly the kinda nigguhs we is,” Tyrell said, and the others laughed. They helped Charles to his feet. They would normally have teased him a bit, maybe a lot — when they lost bets and had to submit to each other’s cock, it was treated as humiliating, but no one treated Charles that way both because he was big and scary and because he had chosen it. Tyrell even slapped his ass in a chummy way, not realizing that that would send a shiver of pain up Charles’s back. He grunted in agony. “Sorry, nigguh,” Tyrell said. “You looked like you enjoyed that though. I ain’t nevuh thought you’d have a freak to let a girlie-man climb atop you.” Charles stretched his trunk-like thighs as they all strode out, bare cocks dangling between their legs. He smiled. “I ain’t think I’d like it either. But I did, sho’s nuff.” “Yeah,” Desmond said, his voice sounding weak and tinny in comparison. “Me too.” After a long pause, Tyrell added, “Shut up, Desmond. We all know you was into it. That ain’t nevuh been a question.” “I felt you a-lickin upon mah balls too, don’t think I ain’t notice that!” Desmond blushed, and Charles laughed. He clasped Desmond and held him close. Desmond’s face rubbed against Charles’s sweat-dappled torso, which smelled of sweaty manhood and funk. Charles chuckled out a deep barrel laugh. “‘Course he liked it, and he gonna like it again real soon.”
When Avery attends a college party, he never thought he’d get to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with a studly frat bro named Chad. But not only does that happen, Chad is willing to bend over and take it however Avery wants to give it, as long as Avery puts in a good word with a woman. That gives Avery an incredible opportunity to explore the world of Twink on Top!
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Avery came to the Omega Omicron Tau party with Claire Quentin, who was possibly the hottest girl in the entire nursing college. She knew it too. Men reacted like cartoon dogs when a pretty girl-dog walks by and their dog-jaw literally drops to the ground while their dog-heart pounds out of their chest. The frat boys blushed as they stared at her beautiful body and sweet face. Her body parts jiggled in a most delightful way with every step she took, like a sultry stack of jello. Avery sighed and beat back his jealousy. They were all young enough that the genders didn’t mix too much once the party began. Everyone was too awkward for that. The couples danced together, and eventually made their way upstairs or into the pantry to make out. Meanwhile the single boys remained in their own little huddle, drinking, daring each other to drink more and insulting each other’s ability to hold their alcohol. The single girls danced and giggled with each other, sneaking glances at the boys whenever they thought no one was looking. “Hey, Lisa Anne, which one do you think is cutest?” “Chad.” Lisa Anne blushed and giggled. “Chad,” said Brenda, without even being asked. Everyone laughed as the boys glanced over, especially Chad, who seemed to have heard that the girls were talking about him. He tried — and failed — to look like he was not eavesdropping. It was only Avery who felt equally at home among the women and the boys. He smiled to Chad. “I was just telling these total sluts what a hottie you were.” Chad turned bright red even as he forced a cocky smile on his face. “I’m on your side, Chad,” Avery said and made a mock black-power salute. Avery and the other girls continued to drink daiquiris and sneak glances at the boys, especially Chad. Chad was a square-jawed all-American type, with blond hair and a perfect little nose. He was muscular and athletic, and he was rumored to have a giant dick. That was the only thing Avery could think about every time he saw Chad. He didn’t know if it was true, but he hoped it was. Chad kind of moved like he had a big dick. “Seven Minutes in Heaven! Remember that?” Lisa Anne asked, snapping Avery back to reality. He enjoyed watching Chad’s neck muscles writhe as he chugged a beer to the chanting and whoops of his buddies. “Ohmigod, Lisa Anne that is such a good idea! I haven’t played that since in forever!” “Boys, do you want to play Seven Minutes in Heaven?!” The girls laughed as the boys hesitated, then agreed all at once — none of them wanted to seem like the loser who didn’t want to play along. There were more fraternity brothers from the university than sorority sisters from the nursing college at this party, even though it was a sorority party. That was simply because GHU was much bigger than the women’s nursing college. Not that there were too many men for Avery. He greatly appreciated the male form and would have been fine with no women at all. More than fine. Well, without women, there’d be no way to get the men to play Seven Minutes in Heaven. Frat boys will do anything for the chance to bang a sorority girl. So Avery did find women useful in that sense. They all sat in a circle, while Lisa Anne found an empty beer bottle. There were only four closets in the house, which was going to limit the game. The whole point of Seven Minutes in Heaven was that they needed to have some privacy. So only four pairs were going to be able to play at once. Avery felt a twinge of awkwardness. He hung back, not quite in the circle but not out of it either. He wasn’t sure at first if they would even want to include him. He wasn’t a student at GHU, he just lived near the campus and hung out there often. “C’mon, Avery, the boys will be good sports about it. If the bottle points to you… They’ll follow the rules,” Lisa Anne said, her cheeks turning red as she giggled with Claire. “Right, boys? Us girls will go in a closet with each other if that’s what the bottle says.” None of them spoke at first. Then one of the frat boys, Nail, grumbled, “Yeah fine.” Avery wondered what would happen if he really did end up in a closet with a girl. Would he be able to handle it? They sat alternating genders. Avery kind of wished he hadn’t agreed to play, but he desperately wanted a chance to spend seven minutes in heaven with one of these guys. One in particular — Chad, with the dick large enough to have its own rumor mill. Lisa Anne spun first since it was her idea to play the game. The bottle pointed to Nail, who was cute and well-muscled, with a perfectly coiffed hairdo. He beamed broadly, and breathed an audible sigh of relief that he ended up with hot blonde Lisa Anne and not Avery or the fat chick. Lisa Anne squealed with delight and scurried off to the front closet with him. Chad sat next to Lisa Anne, so it was his turn to spin next. He watched Claire, the sexy chick in a slutty dress, as though he could will the bottle to point to her. She was so pretty few of the boys ever looked away from her. They were like puppies watching a can of dog food get opened. Since Claire sat next to Avery, he and Chad both made a hopeful face when the bottle slowed down in that direction. But then it landed on Avery. It took the circle of drunken college students a few moments to realize what had happened, then they all lapsed into squeals of laughter. The girls giggled and clutched each other, while the boys slapped their own thighs, falling over each other in exaggerated and drunken laughter. Chad blushed but nodded dourly. His broad shoulders twitched. He glanced at Claire as though hoping she would give him permission to say no. But she just giggled and hid her face in her best friend’s arms. He walked towards the closet in the hallway, trembling though he tried to hide it with a cocky, heavy-footed strut. “Wait,” Avery said, flipping his limp wrist in Chad’s direction. “Aren’t you going to carry me across the threshold?” Chad’s face turned an even brighter cranberry red, as the assembled partygoers erupted in whoops and catcalls. But he looked past Avery to the girls, especially Claire, and whatever he saw there apparently suggested he should do whatever it took to keep her laughing. Chad stripped off his shirt, revealing a chest that was even more sculpted than Avery had thought, and he plastered on a big fake smile. There were thick tufts of hair over his bulging pecs, and his muscles roiled with anxiety. It all happened so fast, and before Avery realized that his joke worked, Chad had swept him up in his arms. Avery swooned, exaggerating his reaction, though there was a big kernel of truth in his squeals of desire that he blurted out like some romance novel heroine. His face nuzzled those iron-hard bulging biceps as Chad squeezed him into the tiny closet at the end of the hall. In the end, there was simply no way to carry someone across that particular threshold. Chad had to put Avery down on his feet and they crammed into the tiny closet. Avery shut the door behind him, then took out his cell phone. He set the timer for seven minutes (and then when Chad looked away, Avery added another thirty seconds). “You don’t have to do anything,” Avery said, disappointed in himself for saying it. But he’d feel bad pawing all over Chad if he didn’t want to do it. Just being in his arms for a few seconds had been thrilling enough. Well, not enough. But you know, Avery could live with it. Chad breathed a sigh of relief. “Look…” he said, the anxiety evident even in the dimly lit closet. “I’ll do whatever you want, if you can get Claire to hook up with me.” “What?” “Put in a good word for me. Tell her I’m cool. She listens to you,” he said. “I’ll let you jerk me off or whatever if you want.” “Other way around, big guy,” Avery said. He meant it as a joke as he said it, but he realized even before he had finished speaking that Chad was more comfortable with this than Avery had assumed. He was embarrassed about it in front of his friends, but now that they were in the closet alone, he didn’t seem to mind Avery’s hands clutching his toned torso. Avery tweaked his nipples and let his fingers roam up and down Chad’s perfect chest and torso. “What?” He had that dumb-frat-boy look on his darkened face. Avery kissed him on the neck, and his muscles bristled, tensing beneath Avery’s grasp. Swallow his dick, Chad! You’ll love how it tastes! Do it, broh! The other frat boys laughed at each other as they catcalled to Chad, who just rolled his eyes and ignored them. “I wanna be on top,” Avery said as though it was the most natural thing in the world. In truth, he would have jumped at the chance to jerk off Chad or even just tweak his nipples once. But he was drunk enough to ask for more than that, and he got the impression Chad would do anything for a chance to get laid by Claire, so Avery thought he might as well shoot for the moon. “You want…?” “I won’t tell anyone. I’ll tell them I just jacked you off,” Avery said. “They’ll never know. But I can get Claire to go out with you.” “Really?” “I can’t promise she’ll put out. But if you take her to that French restaurant on Market, and you don’t ask her for a blowjob, she’ll probably at least give you a handie,” Avery said. “If you’re not pushy, she’ll give up the pussy on date three.” “Really?!” Avery nodded. “She’s told me her schedule. She doesn’t like pushy guys. You gotta pretend you don’t care if she puts out or not.” “Oh,” he said like that was an impossible request. “So come on,” Avery said. “You’re really gonna give it up? I’ll put in the world’s best word for you with her. I’ll tell her you saved my cat.” “Is that a metaphor?” “What? No, I have an actual cat. I’ll tell her it ran away and you grabbed it right before a car ran over it. No, a truck, a truck almost ran over it,” Avery said. Then he thought for a moment. “Wait, no, a truck did run over it, a truck driven by a greasy redneck who didn’t notice because he was distracted catcalling a girl. You rescued it and brought it to a vet and paid for emergency treatment. Then you brought it back to me. Her name is Buttfucker, by the way.” “Your cat’s name is Buttfucker?” “Long story.” “I don’t have enough money to pay for emergency vet surgery-“ “That doesn’t matter, sweetheart,” Avery said, hugging his big dumb chest close. “The cat wasn’t actually run over by a truck. If she asks, you don’t have money because you spent it all on surgery. She’ll believe that.” “Oh, yeah, good idea,” he said. “I know. Boys are so dumb. You were probably planning on taking her to Olive Garden or something.” “What’s wrong with Olive Garden?” “Taking a girl to Olive Garden is kinda like saying you’re such a slut I don’t need to woo you at all, but since I’m a gentleman, I’ll buy you a boatload of shit-covered carbs in the hopes of making you too tired to bother saying no. It’s not a romantic place, Chad. Don’t ever take a girl to Olive Garden. You’re better off giving her a few slices of buttered bread and a glass of tap water.” “Wow, geez, is that what went wrong with Anne?” “Anne Slattery, from Beta Kappa Tau?” “Yeah.” “Is that really where you took her? Ohmigod, yes, that’s a problem, that’s where you went wrong. She has class, Chad, she’s from Connecticut. You can’t take someone like that to Olive Garden. Egads,” Avery said, “What do they teach you boys in school?” “Chemistry,” he said with a long low sigh of regret. Avery rammed his hands down Chad’s pants and shivered with delight as he felt the frat boy’s limp cock dangling in the humid jungle of his crotch. It was just as big as they said, and its meaty thickness gave Avery a startlingly intense wave of desire. Avery gave it a squeeze as he used his other hand to undo Chad’s pants. Chad grimaced but did the same. He pushed his hand into Avery’s pants and wrinkled his nose as he gave Avery’s cock a limp, lifeless stroke. Avery didn’t mind that so much. His awkward fumbling was half the attraction, Avery thought, and it more than made up for his awkward technique. “So, uh, do I just… get on my knees?” Chad asked. “Of course. Haven’t you ever had a blowjob?” “I didn’t know if guys did it differently,” Chad said. He slowly sunk to his knees as he undid Avery’s belt. He pulled down his designer underwear and looked away as Avery’s dick twitched and spasmed in front of his face. His hot breath condensed on the shaft. “You promise you’ll tell her I’m a good guy?” “Baby, I’ll talk you up so good she’ll marry you,” Avery said. He put his hands on his hips, heart pounding — he never thought Seven Minutes in Heaven would be this heavenly. A full minute was already gone. A part of Avery still thought Chad would back out right up until he held his breath, opened his mouth and swallowed Avery’s dick. He gagged as soon as it hit the back of his throat, but he didn’t stop. He was determined to get the whole thing in his mouth. You can hold him down and ram him, Avery! We’ll all back you up, Chad was dressed like a girl. He’s been totally begging for it all night! The boys who hadn’t been chosen in the game laughed as though this was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Chad blushed in the dark. He loves it in the ass, okay? He shoves everything up there: carrots, dicks, dick-shaped carrots, a manual on carving carrots into dicks, he’ll take anything up the ass! Yeah, he loves being fisted! Absolutely loves it! And when he says no, that’s his way of saying ‘fist me harder’! His tongue slathered spit up and down the shaft, sending waves of sensation up Avery’s spine. Avery gripped his broad shoulders, holding him tight. His knees went weak from a combination of pleasure and anxious relief that it had begun. He reached down to caress Chad’s strapping back muscles. That felt so good Avery couldn’t help but moan. His voice wavered, and he held onto Chad’s powerful body for support. Chad seemingly didn’t realize how good he was at servicing Avery’s cock — men were always better at that than women because they have the equipment and know how to make it feel good. Chad didn’t know enough to know he could do it badly. His tongue battered Avery’s cock, and Chad’s big mitts gripped Avery by the smoothness of his pale asscheeks. “Can I ram you?” Avery asked, holding his breath. He assumed Chad would say no, but he felt he had to ask. He could already tell that Chad had a perfectly firm pair of asscheeks, and normally Avery would just ask if he could give him a rimjob. Chad had a very rimjobbable ass. But since Chad seemed to be willing to bottom, Avery figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. Chad pulled off his dick and hesitated. “I dunno,” he said. “I don’t like the taste of cock, so that’d be… But won’t that hurt? I don’t have any lube with me. Do you just stick it in?” Avery shrugged. “I can provide the lube. I know how to do it.” “You carry lube with you?” “I’ll use nature’s lube,” Avery said with a giggle. He stuck his tongue out and licked the air, miming out a rimjob. “Really?” Chad said with a sick smile. “You’ll lick my ass?” Avery nodded. “You ever had a rimjob?” “Only black guys ever get rimjobs,” Chad said. Then he stammered as though he hadn’t mean to say that. “I mean… The only two guys I know who ever got a rimjob are both black. It’s no big deal.” He excitedly bent over, gripping the door handle and spreading his asscheeks by pulling his legs far apart. “Not in a racist way. Just, girls give black guys rimjobs more than white guys.” Oh…,” Avery said. He had no idea that that was true. He’d have to ask his female friends wht that is. “There’s so much I don’t know about girls. It’s a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, and smelling of fish tacos.” He sunk to his knees and dove face-first into Chad’s ass. His cheeks were just as firm as Avery had imagined, and his powerful thighs were tensed tight. Chad’s whole body was tight right now, as both anxiety and arousal kept him flexing hard. Avery’s tongue ran all the way up and down the crack first, shuddering as he ran overtop that grimy tight hole. Avery loved to give rimjobs to men with intact asses, so he had to really push to get his tongue in there. Chad’s muscles rippled when his tongue passed the rim and teased his sensitive prostate. His ass tasted clean too, like cheap soap and the scrubbed linoleum of a group shower, a little bit of the scent of sweat-soaked elastic seeping into Avery’s nostrils from the edges of his ass, where the straps of the jockstrap he often wore would be. He flicked his tongue in, which made Chad yelp as a twinge of pleasure — and maybe a bit of pain too — ran up his spine. But Avery was inexorable, lapping at the beautiful brown hole until he could easily get his entire tongue in there. Then Avery stood. Chad shuddered again in anticipation as Avery spat into his palm, then used that hand to cover his own dick in spit. When it was good and slick, Avery wedged it in between Chad’s cheek and shoved the tip in before he could tighten his ass all over again. “Are you okay?” Avery asked when Chad threw his head back and let out a hushed howl. “Yeah…” Chad said, his voice trailing off. He panted as Avery’s dick slid in bit by bit. “We only got like two minutes left. Can you cum that quickly?” “With an ass like that, I could cum in ten seconds if I was going for speed,” Avery said with a smile. He humped slowly at first, gradually building up speed when Chad didn’t complain too much. He did wince and grimace, but there was a surprised pleasurable tone to his voice — it didn’t hurt as bad as he had thought it would, and a part of him exulted in his prostate’s sensitivity sending shockwaves through his system. Avery’s orgasm began almost immediately. He wanted to slow himself down, but he knew Chad would back out as soon as the seven (and a half) minutes were up. So he kept himself going even as he shot his load embarrassingly quickly. Huge gobs of it flooded Charlie’s body, more than Avery had ever shot before. But not before experiencing such intense pleasure that Avery wondered if frat boy ass would forever be ruined for him. No other man’s ass would ever be as tight and perfect, quivering like a bowl full of jelly, as Chad’s. His asshole clenched around Avery’s dick as he moaned, then bit his lip to avoid making too much noise. Both him and Avery struggled not to cry out loud. They both groaned. Luckily it sounded like the party had moved to one of the other closets, where they listened and giggled at whichever couple was in there. Chad’s face was bright red as he closed his eyes, trying to take every inch of Avery’s dick. Each thrust into his ass sent a spurt of pain through Chad’s body and an explosion of pleasure through Avery’s. Finally the end came, and Avery felt a twinge of regret as cum flowed from his dick — he wished he had had more time within Chad’s plump, juicy ass. He squirmed, spraying his load over every inch of Chad’s insides. He shivered with desire as intense pleasure rocketed up and down his body. It was so intense his fingers tightened into claws that ripped at Chad’s smooth back. It continued for what felt like forever. Avery’s orgasm seemed to be more than seven and a half minutes in itself, but the alarm didn’t go off. He filled Chad up with his seed and stayed there, still, savoring the feel of Chad’s ass tightening up around his dick. Cum dripped down between Chad’s thighs. Every time either one of them moved it sent a whole new wave of sensations to wrack both men’s bodies. Chad groaned and pulled off. He gasped as his ass emptied, and he breathed deeply. He was relieved when he sunk slowly to the ground on weakened knees. Then he winced when he put weight on his aching ass. He rolled onto his side and struggled to his feet. “There, there, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Avery asked. Chad shook his head. “It hurt,” he said. “A lot. But no. It wasn’t that bad.” He blushed intensely. “It did hurt though.” “It always hurts the first time. It’ll feel better next time.” “There is definitely not ever gonna be a next time,” Chad said, his voice suddenly hostile. He glared at Avery. “I’m not doing this again, and you better follow through.” “I will, I will, I promise,” Avery said. He pulled out his cell phone, just seconds before the seven-minute alarm he had set went off. “I’m texting her now. I’ll tell her you have a fantastic dick.” Though a part of him wanted to brag about what happened, he knew that if he followed through and Chad ended up getting laid, the other frat boys would find out. Chad would probably just tell them that he allowed Avery to jack him off, but Avery was alright with that — he would gladly jack off every single frat boy in this house right now if they’d let him. You two done making out in there? I’m pretty sure it’s been seven minutes. That was Lisa Anne’s voice, outside the closet. Avery opened the door and smiled. They were both dressed now. It smelled like sex in the closet, but he didn’t think Lisa Anne noticed. It smelled strongly of beer outside the closet, which probably overpowered the semeny scent inside. “Yeah, we’re done,” Chad said. He pumped his biceps and held his shirt in his hands as he flexed his pecs. Lisa Anne swooned, blushed and tried to hide how aroused she was. Chad gently pushed Avery out of the way. “He got fresh, but I gave him seven minutes to remember.” Before Chad could react, Avery lowered his head and sucked on his left nipple. His pec was hard like a volleyball, which made Avery want to plow him all over again. Chad’s eyes bugged out, and Avery pulled away. “That’s right, sweetheart,” Avery said, breathlessly exaggerating how tired he was, as though being in Chad’s presence had exhausted him. He collapsed into Lisa Anne’s arms as they all hurried back to the main room. The circle had reformed. The bottle was in play, and Avery sat down, getting ready for his second go. He smiled and glanced around at all the frat boys, wondering which one he would get next. This party, he thought, was turning out better than he ever thought it would be.
Rob is at it again, this time hiring a pair of movers who are studly Italian cousins. They’re willing to give Rob a swing on their alpha male meat in exchange for a few dollars, which is a great trade for Rob. Can Rob handle this moving company’s masculine machismo?!
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Rob hated his father, so he very much disliked being in his father’s home. Rob had moved out when he was still in high school. Dad had given him a large sum of money, which Rob used to needle and annoy his dad. But Rob did still love his mother, and that’s why he agreed to help. Her Christmas present was to be a renovation of her vacation house in Secaucus, New Jersey. Since Rob was fashionable, his father asked him to supervise the decoration and furnishing of the newly renovated section of the home. Rob agreed, despite his dislike for his father, because he enjoyed interior decorating, and he still loved his mother. Rob finished up wallpapering the hallway with a fabulous Italian design his mother was sure to love. That was when two men showed up, and Rob’s heart skipped a beat. They were two sturdy movers, cousins, carrying a couch up the stairs, and they were both built like stevedores. Their t-shirts — which were too small for their bulging muscles — said Milligan Moving Services. They both had dense black hair on their heads and tufts of curly chest hair, and they walked like their bodies were too wide with muscle to fit atop their hips. One — Dante — had a long mop of curly hair that reached to his shoulders, while the other — Vito — had a short fro. Both their hairs were matted and tangled, and their t-shirts were sweat-stained. “Lift ya side up, gaguzz’,” said Dante, the older one. He had a craggy face and a square jaw. They both grunted as they struggled to fit up the top of the stairs into the hallway. “I am, man, shut the fuck up.” “Get it up higher, man!” “Shut ya fuckin’ mouth, Dante! You ain’t the boss of me!” said Vito, the younger one, who frowned and hissed at him. He struggled to exclaim while still holding onto the heavy couch. “I’ll beat ya ass, don’t think I won’t.” “You just try it!” Their argument was halted moments later because Rob’s father arrived in the hall. Rob was disappointed, but he used the opportunity to position himself where Vito would have to brush right past him. Rob caught a whiff of his chest hair and his sweaty musk as he went by. It was an intoxicating, heady aroma that made Rob’s dick hard. Then Rob resumed wallpapering, trying to ignore his erection and the pair of massive brown beasts squeezing through the narrow hallway behind him. They got the couch into position in the sitting room, silent now that Rob’s father watched with a stern gaze. The couch had cost more than ten grand, so he wanted to be sure it was not damaged. “Hey, Mistuh Winthrop, can we get a glass of watuh?” Dante asked, breathless and heaving when they were finally done. Sweat dripped from his brow and soaked his t-shirt, which clung to his chest. Dad rolled his eyes and hid his frown, but Rob sensed his displeasure. Dad hated what he called “the common man”. He had grown up in a time and place where men like Vito and Dante didn’t talk in the presence of men like him, and they certainly didn’t ask for water. “Fine,” Dad said. “Help yourself to the tap water in the kitchen.” He handed Rob the cash and lowered his voice so the movers couldn’t hear. “Here. Pay them when they leave. Don’t give them a tip. I don’t pay galoots to drink my water.” Then he stalked away without waiting for Rob to respond. Rob hid near the kitchen and watched them get a glass of water. They had sensed that Dad didn’t like them, and once they were sure he wasn’t near the kitchen, they whispered about what a shithead he was. Vito even grabbed the bag of deli salami from the refrigerator and shoved the meat in his mouth — he didn’t seem to be hungry, he just did it because he could and he wanted to get revenge on Rob’s father. “Hey, I’m-a dip my balls in his buttah,” Vito said, his deep voice booming as he laughed. “Be quiet, man, he’ll hear!” Rob came around the corner then, smiling. He put his hands up and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad,” he said. He saw Vito with his fat cock and balls out, ready to plop his sac in the butter dish in his left hand. His other hand held his shirt up, while he spread his hips to keep his pants up with his belt undone. “What? Oh…” “You okay wit’ it?” “I hate my dad,” Rob said. “So I won’t get you in trouble.” He handed over the money. “This is what he wanted me to pay you. There’s no tip.” “What a fucking dickhead!” “I am teabagging his buttah.” “No, no, he doesn’t live here, that’s not his butter,” Rob said. “It’s my Mom’s. You wanna get back at him and earn yourself a tip?” “Hell yeah.” “Whatchoo got in mind, suh?” “Let me play with your dick” He paused. Vito, the young one with a thick fro, was shocked, mouth agape. “I’m not very big or strong, and I… sometimes I have trouble with… male problems,” Rob said. This excuse usually convinced them. “Being able to touch a manly man… it helps.” The older one, Dante, nodded and grinned. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks each,” Rob added. “Well, fuck that is alright,” Dante said with a nervous chuckle. He looked to his younger compatriot like he knew Vito would be less enthusiastic. Dante bristled and laughed at him. “What?!” Vito nearly screamed. It looked like his head was about to explode. He ran his fingers through the dense fro on his head and his chest muscles all writhed as though they wanted to escape his too-tight, sweat-choked shirt. “What? I told you ‘bout Julius,” Dante said with a cocky grin — Julius was Dante’s cellmate when he was in lockup years ago. Dante had bragged about how horny he got without women until finally he had forced Julius to jack him off with his mouth. Vito’s handsome square jaw was agog. He murmured some semi-Italian insults at his cousin. With a smirk on his face, Rob stepped between them. He approached Dante and gently rubbed his bicep, which was twice as wide as Rob’s entire head. It didn’t even feel like flesh — except for the network of coarse black hairs over it — it felt more like a warm stone statue. Vito paced around the kitchen, shorts still pulled down so his bare cock and balls dangled. His thick pubic bush was visible, and as he walked, his limp dick swayed, swinging out of the hair. He finally realized his dick was out and he tucked it back in. Rob smiled at Dante, who did not smile back. He had a mean face, like a Mafia enforcer, with swarthy skin, a square jaw and a scar over his right cheek. Dante made a kissy face, then laughed when Rob’s eyes opened wide in excitement. “Nah, I ain’t kissin’ you, fairyboy,” Dante said. “If you wanna jack my dick, you can. Might make you tougher. Julius got tougher when he was in there, cuz I made his tubby ass work out, when he weren’t jackin’ me off, broh.” He had a cocky laugh, and he made a sound that was in imitation of Julius slobbering and gagging on his fat cock. “Who’s Julius?” Rob asked as he sunk to his knees. He sniffed the sweat-stained shorts Dante wore. He must wear these to all of his moving jobs, Rob thought, because they smelled like a jockstrap, like they had been marinating in Dante’s olive oil-scented sweat. They didn’t really stink — Rob didn’t even smell it until he nestled his nose in the fabric — but the scent was intense and arousing. He felt the meat of Dante’s uncut cock through his shorts too. “I was in state prison for three years,” Dante said. “You gotta understand, a man like me can’t go three years wit’out blowin’ a nut-“ “You can jack yaself off!” Vito yelled. His deep voice boomed. He was on the other side of the room, looking away like he would turn to stone if he saw it. “I ain’t a fuckin’ teenager, Vito! Shut ya mouth,” Dante said. He looked down at Rob and smiled, moving closer and swaying like he was so horny he couldn’t resist humping Rob’s thigh like a dog. “You ain’t as pretty as Julius, he look just like that actress from that movie when I put him in a wig. He was my cellmate the last year and a half. He was this flouncy shit, but he got throat like a god, I ain’t ‘shamed to admit it, nosuh-“ “You should be, pervert,” Vito said. “Shut the fuck up. If you wasn’t a little boy, you’d have been locked up too. And when that happens, I give you about a week ’til you get ya butthole wrecked-” He made a circle with two fingers and then exploded them with his other hand. He pointed at Vito. “Bullshit! I’ll kick a mothahfuckah’s ass!” Vito said Dante guffawed, clapped and cheered, while Vito blushed and said something vitriolic that was drowned out by Dante’s reaction. His limp cock twitched in front of Rob. “It wouldn’t get hard wit’out no female, no way, broh,” Vito said. He kept his face aimed away, nose held high. “Shut up, Vito.” Before Vito could say anything else, Rob swallowed Dante’s cock. It was limp and greasy, tasting spicy, like hot Italian sausage. It was fleshy, the only part of his body that was soft. Rob’s hands roamed over his chest, beneath his sweat-soaked t-shirt, massaging the iron-like muscles of his chest and his flat belly. The hair of Dante’s torso was coarse and rough. Rob sighed as his fingers ensconced in the dense nest on his chest, while his muscles rippled beneath Rob’s fingertips. His cock perked up right away in Rob’s mouth, seemingly in sync with Vito’s continued whooping and shocked gasps. Vito said something in Italian then — Rob didn’t know any Italian, but even he could tell that it was poorly articulated. Vito was just imitating someone, he didn’t actually know Italian. He crossed his arms over his chest, which accentuated the muscles beneath his sleeveless shirt. He stood close enough that Rob could feel the body heat radiating off him. “Your Italian is terrible.” Dante didn’t look away from his dick in Rob’s throat even though he aimed his words at Vito. He pounded on his broad chest with one fist. “Don’t insult my Italian, old man! My pops taught me that!” “Your daddy ain’t even speak Italian, Vito!” Dante said. His dick spasmed in Rob’s mouth as he bristled and yelled at Vito. He raised his chin at Vito too, making Vito snort with vituperation. Vito pushed Dante, who pushed Vito back. Rob was jostled between their massive bodies. He was unable to focus on swallowing Dante’s dick because it was all he could do to remain upright, battered between such strong men. His hands were exploring Dante’s hairy chest under his sweat-sopping shirt, his fingers tweaking Dante’s nipples when his pecs flexed. He felt Vito’s chest through their undershirts too, since Vito was chest-to-chest with Dante. “Yes, he did. Fuck you, pansy! Donchu talk ‘bout my pops-” Vito spat in Dante’s face. With his face buried in Dante’s crotch, Rob didn’t see the punch, but he heard it. There was a loud crack and an oomph before Vito collapsed to the ground. Vito jumped to his feet, roaring in anger. “You fuckhead, I’ll destroy you!” But he didn’t seem to want to actually touch Dante because he didn’t want to touch Rob, who remained kneeling between the two cousins. Blood trickled from Vito’s nose. He got real close, jutting his broad chest out and bumping up against both Dante and Rob. As the two cousins focused on their fight, Rob tried to get his bobbing and moving cock back in his mouth. Dante was red-faced, staring intensely on Vito, like he had forgotten Rob was there. He was hobbled in moving by his pants being lowered to his thighs. Rob chased his cock with his mouth but kept a hand on it too, slowly rubbing it as Dante pounded his chest again. “You’re a fucking gaguzz’,” Dante said with a chuckle. He snorted and looked down at Rob, watching his cock slide back down Rob’s throat. Dante was distracted then by a moan escaping from his lips. He blushed and looked away from Vito, whose eyes were wide as he watched, shocked. Dante’s dick spasmed, and a few drops of precum leaked into Rob’s throat. The fight had distracted Dante, so this was him finally realizing that his cock was hard and ready to go all the way into Rob’s mouth. Vito made a big, dramatic show of doing the sign of the cross over his chest. Then he lifted the gold crucifix between his pecs, kissed it and dropped it back. Dante chuckled throatily, took his dick out of Rob’s mouth and thwacked it against his palm so as to make his precum splash onto Vito’s belly. “Ew, man, that’s some nasty shit, don’t do that-“ “Shut the fuck up.” Dante advanced on Vito with a cocky grin like he was going to ram his dick into Vito’s chest or belly. Vito flinched, and Dante laughed. Then when Vito was trying not to flinch again as Dante flexed a bicep and made a fist, Dante actually did jam his erect shaft onto Vito’s belly, barely visible where his undershirt had gotten rolled up a few inches. His body hair ran in a treasure trail down to his crotch, blending in with the pubic hair that stuck out from the waistband of his jeans. “Get off me, Dante! You a filthy nasty old shit-“ “Don’t be squeamish,” Dante said with a scoff. “You know ya daddy used-ta make hobos get him off, before he met ya mama-” Dante went back to Rob’s mouth and forced his dick right back in. “Bullshit! I dunno how you can do that shit,” Vito said. Despite his disgust, it seemed his eyes were continually drawn to the sight. Every few seconds he tore himself away before eventually going back and watching again. “Hundred bucks, man. And I get to blow a load,” Dante said. He shook his head, his thick mane of black hair shaking. “Damn…” He kissed his own crucifix. “Can you stop talking?” He gripped Rob by the ear and started very slowly moving Rob’s head up and down on his cockshaft. He remained still so he could simply move Rob’s head back and forth instead of moving his own dick. “Still, man, you shouldn’t spill ya seed, it’s in the Bible.” “What about doing coke and fucking two strippers at once? One of them having her kid asleep in the next room? Is that in the Bible?” Rob pulled off and giggled. “That sounds too cool for the Bible,” he said. Then he deep-throated Dante’s cock so deep he gagged as his nose nuzzled the dense nest of pubic hair there. He inhaled deeply of Dante’s musky sweat. “Oh, shut up, man, that’s different…” “How?” “It was a girl! Two girls!” Vito shouted. “At least it’s hot!” Dante’s cock spasmed inside Rob’s mouth, either because he was startled by Vito’s shout or the mention of girls got his manhood excited. But whyever it happened, Dante didn’t notice. He was more focused on the argument, even as he continued to guide Rob’s head up and down. “It’s still fornication, same damn thing. You gots to get to confessional anytime you blow ya nut when you ain’t married. Don’t matter if you jackin’ off or fuckin’ a dog or-” Dante said. “I never fucked a dog!” “If it had tits and a eight-ball, you would!” Dante said. “Maybe I should tell Gina ‘bout this.” Vito pulled out his cell phone. Dante roared and grabbed the phone out of his hand. “I swear to God, I will rip the pussy off your face.” Another fight broke out. This time Rob couldn’t hope to keep on Dante’s cock while it went on. They were both too animated and too close to each other. Vito came up so near, trying to grab the phone back, that his crotch bumped into the back of Rob’s head. Dante and Vito could have nearly kissed, and Dante’s moist dick pressed into Vito’s jeans, though neither seemed to notice that. Rob scurried away before the first punch was thrown. He watched Dante’s muscles writhe as he beat up Vito — though both were more or less equally strong, Dante was taller, older and simply better at fighting. Vito never had much of a chance. “Fuck you!” Soon Vito was on the ground, groaning, laying on his back. His t-shirt was torn in half, and he sputtered. Dante was on top of him, hard dick leaking precum onto Vito’s hairy chin. Dante thwacked his cock onto Vito’s face, leaving a layer of precum there. “Get off me, old man!” Vito was going to say more, but he gagged when Dante tried to shove his dick in his mouth. “Don’t be a prick then,” Dante hissed. “I’m doin’ this. We’re doin’ it to get back at Mistuh Winthrop anyway. You wanted to do that. If you don’t like it, you can go wait in the van.” He stood up and returned to Rob, plopping the tip of his dick into Rob’s mouth without stopping his conversation. “You was tryin’ to teabag his buttuh. Which is stupid, by the way.” “You’re fuckin’ stupid! You’re nasty, you’s tryin’-a jack off wit’ some pervert.” He looked at Rob. “No offense.” Dante clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You pussy-ass, Vito, you can’t even tell.” He groaned and reinserted his dick all the way down Rob’s throat. It tasted like fresh dickmeat all over again, and now tasted of Vito’s body as well, since it had touched the upper part of his cheeks where they peeked above his shorts. “A mouth is a mouth.” “What?” “Feels exactly like a female, you’d never know it wasn’t. “I would.” “Let’s try it. Let him go at you next. You’ll know who it is, but if you can look me in the eye and say you ain’t enjoy it-“ “Enjoy it? I couldn’t even get hard like that, man. No way. My dick right now has nevuh been softuh, man,” Vito said. He avoided eye contact with Rob like he might freak out if he saw his friend’s cock. Dante pulled away from Rob’s face, tendrils of spit still connecting his dick to Rob’s lips. He just assumed that Rob was willing — which of course, he was — and he turned him around to face Vito’s crotch. Then Dante kneeled behind Rob and put his dick at Rob’s asshole. He didn’t penetrate him yet, he just waited there, teasing the rim of Rob’s ass. His eyes open wide, mouth agape, Vito looked like he hadn’t expected to live up to his own prediction. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of Dante about to stick his dick in Rob’s ass. Vito scoffed and rolled his eyes. He pulled his shorts down. His dick was fully limp and clammy, his balls a bit buttery. He sneered by lifting his upper lip as he slapped his cock over Rob’s face. “You like dat mollywoppin’?” Vito said with a chuckle. He slapped Rob’s face again with his cock. “Remember when Tommy Rigilli passed out and we all mollywopped him?” He had a hoarse, donkey-like laugh. Dante didn’t answer because he chose that moment to slide his dick into Rob’s ass. Rob had been so aroused for so long that he was loose and ready to go. Dante’s uncut cock popped right in. He moaned as the first two-thirds or so of his massive prick fit easily in Rob’s ass. But then he felt resistance. He went slow at first, clicking his tongue caringly, massaging Rob’s back with both hands. “Relax yaself, boy, it’s okay. I’m gonna git up inside ya,” Dante said. Vito groaned and covered his eyes with one muscled forearm. He leaned back, like the more of his body that touched Rob the less likely he was to get hard. Vito’s hands fluttered above Rob’s head. He was so focused on taking dick in his ass that Rob had nearly forgotten Vito had sworn he would not get hard. When Rob felt his dick perk up in his mouth, he smiled. He knew this was going to work. So he ignored his ass — Dante seemed to have that under control anyway — and focused on deep-throating Vito’s dick. Rob knew perfectly well that he swallowed dick better than any woman. Sure enough, once he got every last bit of Vito’s fat cock in his mouth, it started to get hard. Vito stopped laughing and groaning then. His hands kept instinctively going for Rob’s head — so he could grab on and plow down on his throat — but Vito didn’t want to touch him. So his hands just remained elevated, like he was surrendering to the police, alternating between holding them in the air and gripping his own head. “Oh! Is that a hard dick! Huh?” Dante asked when he realized Vito was erect. “Shut up, old man…” “Huh? Who was it that’s too macho to get hard wit’out a couple girls and some coke?” “I don’t need coke!” “You ‘pparently don’t need girls neither,” Dante asked. He groaned as he ground his hips, moving his cock in a wide circle within Rob’s ass. Rob moaned around the dick in his throat, which started to let precum flow down into his stomach. Rob gurgled merrily. “Man, you tricked me…” Dante laughed as Vito blushed. His dick spasmed in Rob’s mouth. Dante began drilling his own cock harder and harder. When Rob didn’t complain or resist, he pounded away, slapping his entire muscular body at Rob’s ass. The pleasure radiating through Rob’s body made him moan and writhe. It felt so good it almost hurt because Rob was so sensitive and so aroused. Every motion either man made — as they continued to argue over Rob’s body while spitroasting him — sent a wave of bliss through Rob’s flesh. Their hairy sacs swung against his body with every thrust of their hips. Like all ripped, swollen men, when they moved, all of their muscles rippled, as though it took every part of their body to move their hips. “You’re a pervert!” “Don’t make me punch you ‘gain, boy. Cuz I can make you look like a real punk, Vito,” Dante said. “You threw me off befo’ cuz you was naked, man, I can’t fight a man whose dick is touchin’ me,” Vito said. He remembered only just then about the money, and he grabbed Rob by the chin. “Hey, you’re paying me a hundred bucks still, right?” Rob nodded without taking Vito’s dick out of his mouth. He slathered spit all over the shaft, and let the saliva drip past his lips. It landed on the floor, forming a puddle around Rob’s knees and wrists. “You had better not stiff me-“ “Hey!” Dante and Vito both stopped moving because someone else came into the kitchen then. It was Rob’s father, his trim body quaking in his tailored suit as he watched Dante and Vito double-team Rob. “Oh shit, Mistuh Winthrop…” Dante said. He chuckled, his baritone voice echoing in the tiled kitchen. “Both of you get off him! Get out of my house!” Rob pulled away from Vito’s dick then. “This isn’t your house, Dad. It’s Mom’s. I live here more than you do,” he said. “I paid for it!” “Call the police then,” Rob said. He looked up at Vito and Dante. “Don’t worry, he won’t, and even if he does, they’ll take like an hour to come here. That’s what happens when you call the local cops incompetent buffoons in a letter to the editor.” “That isn’t what I said and you know it! That newspaper twisted my words!” Dad shouted. Dante and Vito laughed. They resumed moving their hips now, Dante pounding away at Rob’s ass. Vito seemed to have lost his discomfort with the situation, either because he was hard now and no longer struggling, or maybe because he was happy to anger Rob’s dad. “Ugh… Robert, you didn’t even make them take a shower first. Why would you let these apes stay in your mother’s house for any longer then necessary? Look at them, the sweat is dripping off them. There is such a thing as antiperspirant, gentlemen,” Dad said. “Obviously you ain’t nevuh worked as a mover, cuz that deodorant shit don’t work on real men,” Dante said. “You wanna watch my dick slide into ya son’s ass? It’s a good show. Get on your knees and look closer.” “No!” “You sure!” “Get the fuck out of my house!” Dad yelled again and again, but that just made Vito and Dante laugh. “It’s mom’s house! You get out! She invited me!” Rob smiled at his father’s irate face. It must have been his youthful vigor that made Vito cum, not only first, but quickly and suddenly. Rob was so focused on his father’s outburst that he was shocked by the mouthload of creamy cum that sprayed onto his tongue and jetted over his face. “Hell yeah! Fuck! Fuck you, bitch! Taste that nut! Fuck you!” Vito screamed. It wasn’t clear to whom he was shouting at, or if his orgasm just provoked intense feelings of every kind and anger was the only one he didn’t suppress. A massive wad coated Rob’s mouth. He groaned and gurgled around it, savoring the salty flavor as it overwhelmed his senses. For what felt like forever, it was all he could perceive — even the cock in his ass faded into the distant background. All that mattered was the creamy nut seeping into his belly while he choked it down his gullet. He moaned as Vito pulled out. He flexed his biceps and pounded on his pecs. He barked at Dad, who blanched and looked away, shrinking back in fear. Vito cackled and came closer, waving his wet dick between his fingers. “You gonna give us a tip next time, Mistuh Winthrop?” But Dad either wasn’t listening or was too upset to say anything. He held back his tears and sniffled. For him, that was an animated reaction — he considered it improper to show emotion in front of anyone, especially “the help”. He suppressed a gag as he watched cum drip from Rob’s mouth. “Please, son, stop this…” He mumbled. “Stop spending my money this way.” Rob wanted to throw back a bunch of insults and reminders of why Rob behaved this way in the first place. But he was overcome by passion then, as he shot his own load into his hand and his prostate was awash with cum from Dante’s dick. Rob moaned too, but his lilting voice was overpowered by Dante, whose gravelly baritone boomed and resonated in Rob’s ear. Dante groaned so loud it made Dad jump. Rob clenched his ass and writhed on the tiled floor. Cum flowed like a flood into Rob’s ass. His muscles all went limp as he felt Dante’s dick throb and pulsate within him. He loved this part of it, feeling like nothing more than a repository for an alpha’s nut. Dante touched him as little as possible, just his dick in Rob’s ass and one hand on his back to hold him in position as Dante filled him up. At last Dante was done. He pulled out and moaned. Rob’s ass gurgled, and a few drops of cum dripped out. The sight of that made Dante chuckle, Vito groan and Dad sob. Vito made the sign of the cross and kissed his crucifix. He pulled his shorts up, grabbed his dick through the fabric and shook it in Dad’s direction. “Next time, maybe you’ll leave a tip,” Vito said. “Fuckin’ asshole.” Dante remained in position, his limpening cock in Rob’s ass. Then Dante sighed. He leaned down and let his massive chest rest on Rob’s back, muscles rippled against Rob’s shoulders. He lowered his head and kissed Rob on the cheek. “Thanks, boy.” Dante’s words were simple and direct, but there was real caring in his voice. Being a rough and tumble mover gave Dante few opportunities to get close to someone — women assumed he was a muscle-bound macho, and men insisted he act like a muscle-bound macho — and he was grateful for the opportunity to feel someone who cared and lusted for him. He hadn’t felt that since prison. “Ew, man, you kissed him!” Vito exclaimed. “Just on the cheek,” Dante said. “That don’t count.” He pulled out. When his dick plopped out, Rob took a deep breath and moaned. A wave of relief and post-orgasmic pleasure assaulted his senses. He didn’t want to get up yet. He laid there and let Dante’s cum trickle into every corner of his body first, while he heard them get dressed. “Where’s our money?” Vito asked, his voice now gruff and hostile. Rob grabbed his wallet from his pants and threw it in their direction. “There’s three hundred dollars in there. Dante gets two hundred since he did me in the ass-“ They both laughed and Vito groaned in dismay. “That ain’t fair. You ain’t even tell me that. You gotta split it with me, Dante,” Vito said. “No way, gaguzz’,” Dante said as they both walked away. He turned around. “Hey, Winthrop, thanks a lot. I needed that.” He made another kissy face, and Rob shuddered with desire. He kissed the air back, in Dante’s direction. Then they were both gone. Rob laid there, writhing as his father watched his ass gurgle and twinkle. Rob finally sat up and smiled at Dad. “Sorry you had to see that,” Rob said. “But you should have tipped them.” He stretched his sore legs and pulled his pants up. “Mom won’t like the paintjob in the bathroom, by the way. She hates pink.” He walked away, leaving his stepdad there to smolder and fume by himself.
Rob is ready to buy a car, but the hunky salesman is desperate to get him to yes, which gives Rob the power to demand a taste of his manhood. When the dealership’s burly mechanic joins in, all bets are off, and Rob puts these company reps to the test!
Rob’s got a hunky poolboy named Todd, and he’s got enough cash to get Todd’s pants off. Can he satisfy Todd’s throbbing young alpha needs?!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read it here!
Rob Winthrop clicked through pages from an online Chinese dictionary, looking for the tattooed symbols that danced along the pool boy’s shoulderblade. It turned out to be more difficult than he thought to identify them by sight. The poolboy had a few tattoos, and Rob thought they were sexy. He had been trying to identify the Chinese symbols for a long time. He suspected they meant nothing at all. Rob had an app that was supposed to identify them, but he couldn’t get a good enough picture. Or maybe the app was crap. “Yes, sell it when it hits twelve no matter what. That’s what I said, isn’t it?” That was Rob’s father, the multibillionaire Eugene Winthrop. His gruff voice filled the air, followed by some tinny suckuppery from whichever employee was on the line. He glanced at Rob and scowled. “Tell them to go fuck themselves.” He hung up his phone. “You’re going to this fundraiser tonight.” “What kind of fundraiser?” “It’s a dinner thing. Some kind of cancer. Or maybe teachers? I don’t know. Just bring the checkbook, they’ll have a vegetarian option-“ “I’m not going, and I haven’t been vegetarian for years.” Rob was vegetarian for about three weeks back in high school. He gave it up because his dad was oddly supportive of it. It was a pitiful rebellion, and Rob winced every time his dad reminded him of it. “You have to go,” he said, and they both erupted in shouting, as Rob had known would happen. They almost never interacted without shouting. “You don’t control me-!” “I pay for so much-!” “You fucking asshole!” “Me?! How am I the asshole? You have to play a role in this business, Robert! You’re not just an inheritance hole!” The servants scurried away. None of them wanted to be around Mr. Winthrop when he was angry, or he was wont to fire them. Rob didn’t think that was right — he was always nice to his servants. He didn’t even really want to have servants, beyond the security that was necessary for him to be safe — as an heir to a multibillion-dollar company, Rob was always a kidnapping risk. Rob deeply despised his father and used every opportunity at his disposal to humiliate him, so he liked seeing him blush and wince at the sight of his servants pretending not to listen to the argument. “You ungrateful brat! I built this company so I’d have enough to provide for you.” Rob scoffed and went to the sliding glass door, beyond which sat the pool. The poolboy was out there. He had brown hair that hung down in a casual, tangled mess around his head. His eyes were bleary and blue, his body lanky, ropy-muscled. He said he played basketball in high school until graduating last year, but he didn’t come across as a jock. Those Chinese characters — or probably-faux-Chinese characters — were visible on his back around the edges of his sleeveless shirt, one of those strappy kinds that barely covered his shoulders at all. His name was Todd, and Rob had been trying to figure out how get a taste of his dick from the moment he saw him. “I’m going to stay here and hang out with the poolboy,” Rob said. “You can’t make me go to some stupid fundraiser-“ “That’s disgusting, he’s a poolboy, for god’s sake, we don’t even let him in the house! Look at that hair!” “His hair is glorious. It’s better unwashed and uncombed.” “I forbid it!” “Well, stick around, and you’ll be able to watch anyway,” Rob said. He stood up and headed for the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. He slid it open. Todd was by the pool, skimming the leaves off the top. His bare shoulders flexed as he dipped and dapped to the beats emanating from the headphones he always wore when working. “You had better not do anything to embarrass me!” Rob’s father shouted through the door. He banged on the glass. Rob smiled and waved at him. He went to Todd, who saw him and pulled the headphones down. Todd blushed — he was always nervous around upper-class people like Rob and his father. Todd ran his fingers through his confused mess of black hair. “Hey,” Rob said. “Hi. I’m just about done,” Todd said. “Cool, cool…” Rob giggled. “So… Todd… do you have a girlfriend?” “No.” Then a wry smile appeared on Todd’s face. “Well, there’s this girl. She’s… I mean, she’s not a girlfriend. But she’s like…” He blushed. He pantomimed a woman’s hourglass-shape in front of himself. “Tits like sirens on an ambulance, dude. She’s fucking awesome, man. And she smokes weed.” “Yeah? There’s nothing better than hot chicks who smoke weed.” “I know, right!” “So… Todd… has my dad paid you yet today?” Todd shook his head. “He direct-deposits it in my account, but not till the end of the day. Actually he never paid me last time, I just asked him about it and he said-“ “I don’t know anything about that,” Rob said. “But maybe I could help. Do you see that cabana over there?” Todd nodded. He glanced over at the row of cabanas at the far end of the pool. “Why don’t you go in there and take off your clothes? I’ll meet you inside in just a minute, and I’ll go to town all over your body,” Rob said, smirking at Todd’s blushing face. “In return for that, I’ll give you five hundred dollars. Plus I’ll make my father pay you for last time and this time, because he was probably going to stiff you again.” “Oh…” Todd’s eyes opened wide. “Oh… wait… Oh…!” Rob giggled. “Have you ever done anything like that before?” “No!” Todd took a deep breath. “Wait… I mean… what?” “Oh god, Todd… Smoke less weed, okay? This is a very simple transaction. You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you are dumb,” Rob said with his hands on his hips. “Just go in the cabana and get ready for me to come jack you off. I’ll give you money.” Rob headed for the house, leaving Todd there to ponder what had just happened. Todd looked like he had more questions, but then he just shrugged and went to the cabana. Rob rolled his eyes — the handsome ones were always dumb. He opened the door. His father had been waiting, watching by the door, but before Rob opened it, he scurried off. He pretended to be cleaning the kitchen — as though he ever cleaned anything himself — and nodded at Rob like he didn’t care that Rob was jerking off the help. Rob knew it bothered him though. He just stopped complaining because he was smart enough to realize complaining made Rob do it more. “So he said no? The poolboy had enough class to turn you down?” “Of course he’s not into it. I don’t want him to be into it.” His father looked at him and furrowed his brow. Then he scowled at Rob. “You act like a fucking teenager sometimes, Robert. You’re a goddamn grown-up,” he snapped. Rob just smile insouciantly and went back outside. The pool was deserted. Rob strode, shaking his ass for his father’s irate benefit and went to the row of cabanas. He hadn’t actually intended to point at any specific cabana when he told Todd where to meet him. There were four here, but Rob had rather assumed Todd would go to the first one, the one closest to the pool. But something in his bleary-eyed stoner mind made him think Rob had pointed to the fourth one, the one furthest from the pool. So at first Rob opened the door and was disappointed to see no one in it. Had he scared Todd off? He hadn’t seemed that uncomfortable with it, Rob thought. But then he saw Todd poking his head out of the fourth cabana. “There you are,” Rob said. “Why’d you come to this one?” “What?” “No one ever uses this. We only ever use one cabana at a time,” Rob said. “It’s always the first one, just cuz it’s closer to the pool.” He came in and closed the door. It was always warm and humid in the cabanas. No matter the weather outside, it was always a bit warm and very humid in the cabanas, which had a certain smell too — bamboo, Rob assumed, since the inside was lined with it. This cabana had a few old tiki torches too. The servants must have put them here a long time ago (tiki was so gauche Rob would never have allowed a tiki party here while he lived in the house, so it must have been when he was away). “So why have them?” Todd asked. He sucked in his breath nervously because Rob came closer. Rob could smell Todd’s intoxicating aroma. It wasn’t a “good” smell in the sense that it was fruity and sweet. It smelled a bit chemical, like chlorine, a bit of bamboo, some cheap almost metallic-scented deodorant and the musk of an early twenties inconsistent-showering slacker. Todd wore a sleeveless shirt, so his biceps flexed as Rob came near and touched his arms. Todd still seemed confused and didn’t react to Rob groping his bicep. “Huh? Why do you have cabanas if you don’t use them?” Rob sighed. “What?” He hadn’t really wanted to discuss cabana theory. “You said you only ever use one of them. So why have four?” Rob thought for a moment. “I dunno. I guess the builder told my dad that was how many was normal for a pool of this size,” he said. “It just seems stupid to build more cabanas than you need. Of course the builder is always gonna exaggerate, you shouldn’t just take his word for it-“ “Maybe he suggested ten and my dad talked him down to four,” Rob said. He rolled his eyes. “Why am I defending my father? I agree, it was stupid. We don’t really need any cabanas. They’re just a place for people to change. They could be replaced with one of those Asian folding wall things.” “Yeah!” “Are you gonna complain about the cabanas? Or are you gonna make five hundred dollars?” Todd thought for a moment as though this was a serious debate. Then he shrugged. “I guess I’ll make five hundred dollars. If your dad ever wants to get rid of some of them, tell him he can hire me. I’ll do it for real cheap.” Rob sunk to his knees. He knew he should just get right to jacking dick. Todd seemed very distractible — he was still talking about cabanas — so Rob thought this would never proceed unless he forced it along. But he also felt bad for Todd. “You know, Todd, you shouldn’t advertise yourself as cheap.” “What?” “It makes you seem low-quality. You didn’t demand my father pay you last time you worked, and now you volunteer to work cheap before you even find out how much work the job is? That’s bad salesmanship,” Rob said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t mean to get involved in the economics of the pool-cleaning business, but he was on a roll now. He tugged down Todd’s board shorts. “You should try to convince people that this stuff is hard, that they need to hire you and pay you good money to do it. If my dad wants to hire someone cheap, he’ll find an immigrant willing to do it for half a Twinkie.” “Really? A half a Twinkie-?!” “That’s an exaggeration, but yeah, basically. Don’t compete for the bottom, Todd,” Rob said. “And my dad will never pay you once he knows he can get away with stiffing you.” Todd sighed again, the sound turning into a growl. He blushed at the realization that his shorts were down, revealing threadbare boxers. He had been so involved in the conversation he had barely noticed Rob pulling his shorts down. Then Rob got his boxers down too, and Todd’s hefty tan dick popped out. It was thick and juicy, and it twitched even before Rob planted his lips on it. He looked up at Todd, whose face turned bright red as his whole body shook. The smell of Todd’s musty crotch, liberally seasoned with chlorine, hit Rob’s nostrils. “Ah, shit, man… you’re like… serious…” Todd’s eyes opened wide. He leaned back against the wall of the cabana, jutting his hips forward and forcing his still-soft dick deeper into Rob’s mouth. Since Todd hadn’t even gotten a bit erect yet, Rob had to lick his limp dick. He always thought that was kind of arousing, Rob liked it when men needed a minute or two to get hard. A lot of them were nervous they’d be unable to get hard without a woman around, but Rob hadn’t yet met one who proved unable to do so. Rob could get any man hard. Todd was no exception. Once he had taken a deep breath and Rob noisily suckled on his dick, Todd let out a moan. Then his dick twitched again, and again, and it slowly firmed up in Rob’s mouth. It was long and throbbing, and the more it firmed up the more Todd sucked in his breath like he couldn’t decide if it hurt or not. Or maybe he thought he wasn’t supposed to moan, so he kept suppressing them when Rob’s mouth sent shivers of pleasure up his spine. Soon it was as hard as any cock Rob had ever tasted, and Todd jammed it down his throat. He didn’t pound into Rob like aggressive alphas usually did — Todd was more of a gentle slacker than that — but he did ram his dick in, he just did it more obliviously. Rob wondered how often he had been with a female — definitely some, Todd was too handsome to be a virgin, and he had fantastic hair. Surely some ladies had snapped him up. But he certainly plowed at Rob’s throat like he had little experience. He was probably nervous because this was his first encounter like this, Rob decided. His dick awkwardly slipped in and out of Rob’s throat, making him choke and sputter on it. Todd kept stepping back when that happened, like he was used to women who never wanted to gag and would complain if he was impolite. That wasn’t Rob. Rob never complained about an aggressive throating. “C’mon, plow my face, force it down my throat, it’s okay…” Rob said when Todd pulled away. Long tendrils of spit still connected Rob’s lips to Todd’s cock. Todd’s eyes opened wide and he stammered. “Oh… you’re into that? Oh… Oh…! I see… Oh!” He pushed his dick in again and laughed. “It really feels like a girl, but uh… you swallow dick better than them,” he whispered. He looked around as though people might have been hidden in this tiny cabana. “You go, like, way deeper. Waaaay deeper.” “I know,” Rob said the best he could as he sucked on the tip of Rob’s dick. “Men always do it better than females, because we have the equipment ourselves. We know what it feels like.” He slammed his own face deep onto Todd’s cock, making himself choke loudly and his throat clench around Todd’s manhood. Todd’s tautly muscled chest rippled, and his eyes opened wider. Now Todd began to get into it, his inhibitions gradually diminishing because he was hard. Precum flowed down Rob’s throat. It was salty and warm, and it made Rob’s own cock throb painfully in his pants until he took it out. Todd didn’t seem to notice. “Shit…” Todd’s voice broke, and he chuckled quietly to himself. Rob smacked his lips as he pulled off Todd’s cock. He thwacked it against his cheeks a few times, making Todd jump each time there was a satisfyingly meaty thwack-thwack sound. “You ready to stick it in me?” Rob asked, gurgling on the mouth full of precum he hadn’t swallowed yet. Todd smiled with a flash of excitement first — he didn’t get anal very often — and then nervousness. He had known this was coming, but he was nervous that he wouldn’t do it well. Of course, one of the nice things about being a “hustler” — aside from getting paid — was that he didn’t care how it made Rob feel. It seemed Rob preferred it that way. Todd didn’t need to sweet-talk him like he would a girl or find a way to be sure this wasn’t painful. He could just bend Rob over and plow into him as deep as he could manage. It didn’t even matter if he came too quick. So that was what Todd did, or would have done if he were a more aggressive sort of muchacho. He grimaced at the sight of Rob’s ass — it was pale and smooth and perfect like a statue’s. He kind of wished there was something imperfect about it. But he’d been with women who had hairier asses, and Rob even smelled like a woman (he wore female perfume on his ass precisely to make encounters of this sort go more smoothly). So Todd grunted and gritted his teeth as he lined his cock up with Rob’s backside. He used both hands to spread Rob’s asscheeks. “Oh god!” Rob bit his lip when he felt Todd’s dick slip into him. The pain, as it usually was at first, was intense and mind-blowing. For just a moment Rob considered backing out — Todd’s dick was very girthy — but as usual, that lasted only a moment. He liked his dicks a little “too” thick. He enjoyed the challenge. Sure enough, with just an inch or two of dickmeat sliding into him, Rob’s pain slowly transformed into pleasure. Todd’s awkwardity made the same transition, as his staccato breathing shifted from sounding like he was on the verge of running away in terror to sounding like he might blow his wad at any moment. “Shit…” Todd moaned as he began to plow in earnest. He used all of his strength to pound away at Rob’s tight ass, his cock sliding in and out with each thrust of Todd’s hips. Todd was surprised that this felt so good, it seemed maybe embarrassing to be that into it. Todd wasn’t an ex-con, after all. It felt so amazing because Rob knew how to use his ass. He was somehow both loose and tight at once: loose enough for Todd to plow away with all his might, tight enough for there to be a struggle and for Rob’s ass to clench around Todd’s cock. It was incredible. Todd didn’t know anal could be like this. It was enough to, for a moment, make Todd wonder if he could be a hustler as a career — could he find numerous wealthy men like Rob? Probably not, he figured that was likely more difficult than it seemed. Plus they’re probably all into black guys. He wondered if he could keep Rob as a consistent lay — this could be a nice little side-income stream, he thought. Plus when he was unable to get laid… It would be convenient to both blow a nut and get paid. As an orgasm exploded deep within him, Todd finally smiled, the last of his reluctance melting away only now that he was done. This, he thought, was a lot less nervewracking than he had seemed. He ran his fingers through his scruffy hair and let out a loud moan that resonated in the cabana. “Rob!” Rob’s father’s voice filtered through the air. He had been looking in the first cabana — the one everyone actually used — and when he heard Todd’s moan, he realized they were actually in the fourth cabana instead. Rob orgasmed too. Waves of pleasure emanated from his prostate. The best thing about getting cornholed by young men was that they didn’t even understand the prostate — they just slammed, hard and passionate and intense, and their dick went wherever it ended up, which was somehow always right there on the prostate, Rob’s little pleasure-button, making him gasp and moan and writhe there on the floor of the cabana. “Robert! Robert Winthrop!” His father was outside now, pounding on the door. It wasn’t locked, but he wouldn’t open it. “Are you trying to humiliate me?!” “Aaaaaah….” Rob called out and sighed, attempting to say yes though all that came out was a wordless moan. He tried to giggle too, but the orgasm still flowing through his veins made it hard to concentrate. A surge of fear hit Todd even before his orgasm was even done. He pulled out, heart pounding — was he in trouble with Mr. Winthrop? He hadn’t really considered what would happen if he got caught. At the very least, he thought, he probably lost this client for his pool-cleaning business. “Don’t worry,” Rob said with a dry chuckle. He stood and stretched his legs. “My dad won’t do anything. He hates me for getting it in the ass, not you for doing it.” “Oh…” Todd looked down at his limp dick like it had betrayed him. He wiped it off with a towel that was here in the cabana. His cheeks and chest were ruddy and dappled with sweat, both from exertion and from the humid air of the cabana. “Robert Winthrop! You had better come out of there! I need you getting ready for the fundraiser!” “I told you, I’m not going unless it’s Spiceman Catering!” Rob said. He crossed his arms over his chest, then realized his father couldn’t see that because the door was still shut. He just shrugged and pulled his pants up. Todd’s panicked expression continued, so Rob added, “and you have to pay Todd! You shouldn’t have stiffed him last time.” After a long pause, Rob’s father said, “if I pay him now, will you go to the fundraiser? And behave yourself.” He gulped audibly. “Yes, it is Spiceman Catering. But you have to-“ Rob threw the cabana door open. “Why didn’t you say so?” Spiceman Catering was a Sri Lankan catering company whose employees were the entirety of a local semi-professional cricket team, trying to launch a league in the United States. They were all hunky jocks, and they had big dicks and marvelous mustaches, and Rob had jacked most of them off at previous black-tie events. They were his favorite catering company. “I didn’t want you to embarrass me!” “I won’t! I’ll be as discrete as possible,” Rob said with a grin. “Oh, almost forgot.” He looked at Todd. “You should have reminded me to pay you. Don’t let rich folk stiff you.” He counted out the five hundred dollars. “And dad, don’t count this as his payment for cleaning the pool. You still owe him.” “Yeah, fine. Donate five grand to whatever the fundraiser is for, and make sure Adam Patelli sees you do it.” “Sure, whatever,” Rob said with a shrug. He didn’t care about that part. He had his own goals for the evening. Ignoring his father, Rob headed into the house to change into a tuxedo. He didn’t like dressing up, but for some studly Sri Lankan caterers, he’d wear whatever it took. He remembered only at the last moment to go back out there and meet Todd before he left, making sure he got paid for all of his pool-cleaning. It was funny that that was probably what pissed his father off the most. Getting off the poolboy was embarrassing, and getting plowed by the caterer was too — but most of his wealthy buddies messed with the help too. That was expected. Rob’s mother was fucking her tennis pro, and everybody in the Western Hemisphere knew it. Actually making sure the help was paid? That was beyond the pale for the Winthrop family, or at least the older generation of it. Rob, on the other hand, was already figuring out how much cash he’d need to bring to nab an entire cricket team’s worth of Sri Lankan man-meat.
