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.
Then Marco entered with a scowl on his face. He was short, but he was a heavyweight, his body packed with muscle and body hair, which extended all the way to his shoulders. He had swarthy skin and dark eyes, with a curly mess of tangled black hair. His hawkbrown nose was hooked and regal — he was a dark hawkbrown, a darkhawk, as they say, not that Avery ascribes to that kind of thing. It had a crooked bent to it, like it had been broken recently. Marco’s voice was clipped, angry, almost sinister. He had a thick New York accent with a deep and guttural stawk in a barking baritone to it that made Avery shiver with delight. He ran his fingers through the thick black mane of hair, which clung flat to his head cuz he was so sweaty and it was hot and humid in here. A few tufts suggested he normally combed it up, and he had a voluminous head of hair, so it probably looked great on him like that. Pity he had a harsh, cocky-asshole of a face, a very punchable face, handsome but you’d never see him play a good guy in a movie.
Lester Darling looked like he used to be a boxer, with a powerful frame, flat ears and a crooked nose. His scruffy beard was tinged with gray, but he was still vibrant in his own way, dippy-dapping like a jazz singer whose song never ended. “C’mon wit’ me,” he said, and walked towards the back without waiting to see if Avery agreed or even understood his stawk-heavy Queens accent. He had such an authoritarian vibe, however, that Avery followed without giving it a second thought.
Jaequon Darling, who had a handsome blessing of a face and a sculpted heavyweight body, like a sculpture of onyx carved by some forgotten African civilization. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick afro but not a tall one. His front tooth was badly chipped. He sucked on the chipped part when he saw Avery. He had crazy dimples, which always did set Avery’s heart a-flutter. Jaeqon’s square jaw and round face went with his superhero-like body, which gleamed with a layer of sweat that ran down his body in the overheated sauna.
It was a serious gym for muscle-rats and boxers and ex-cons. Punching bags and old-fashioned medicine balls abounded. There was a large boxing ring in the center, and the equipment was scattered around nearby. Old ladies recuperating after hip surgery would not come to the Cornerside Gym of Queens.
Avery is working as a masseur when a cocky alpha boxer comes to him in need of some release. Heavyweight champion Jaequon Darling is too big, too brutish and too sweaty for women, so he lets Avery swing on his meat.
When Avery got a job at the Cornerside Gym of Queens, he assumed it would be like the gym back at GHU, where he had worked after graduating. Moving to New York City sounded like fun, so he sent in his application on a lark. At the time, he thought he might not even go if he got a job offer. It was just a spur of the moment decision to apply. But when he actually was offered the job, he took it. He didn’t even really know why — this wasn’t the career track he wanted — Avery hoped to open his own business one day. He just thought it was time to make a change, and New York City was big and loud and exciting. For a small-town boy like Avery, it was the shock of a lifetime. The most important shift for him was that, here in the Big Apple, there were different kinds of gyms. Of course there were different gyms at home too, but only a couple and all of them catered to the same people: everyone. There weren’t enough people to have a gym just for casuals or for older retirees. Or a gym for men. That’s what this Cornerside Gym in Queens was. It was a serious gym for muscle-rats and boxers and ex-cons. Punching bags and old-fashioned medicine balls abounded. There was a large boxing ring in the center, and the equipment was scattered around nearby. Old ladies recuperating after hip surgery would not come to the Cornerside Gym of Queens. He tried to avoid staring. He didn’t want to look like a leering pervert, especially when he noticed one boxer, Jaequon Darling, who had a handsome blessing of a face and a sculpted heavyweight body, like a sculpture of onyx carved by some forgotten African civilization. He had dimples you could bathe a giraffe in. Avery’s dick stirred in his pants from the moment he saw Jaequon. He felt flush and giddy like a schoolboy having his first crush, and he blushed the one time he sensed Jaequon’s eyes on him. He managed to avoid making a scene though. His first day was easy enough, and he was glad to have avoided making a fool of himself. He had managed to avoid staring at Jaequon, who in any case had disappeared in the afternoon. Avery assumed he had left. He was just about to walk out the front door when a middle-aged black man stopped him. “Yo, fancy-boy,” said the man. “You wuhk he’e, right? You off now right?” He looked like he used to be a boxer, with a powerful frame, flat ears and a crooked nose. His scruffy beard was tinged with gray, but he was still vibrant in his own way, dippy-dapping like a jazz singer whose song never ended. “C’mon wit’ me,” he said, and walked towards the back without waiting to see if Avery agreed or even understood his stawk-heavy Queens accent. He had such an authoritarian vibe, however, that Avery followed without giving it a second thought. The man stopped outside the door to the sauna and wrinkled his nose. He sneered at it as though he was disgusted by saunas. Then he turned to aim his disdain at Avery. “My boy Jaequonin de’e. He wanna see you.” “He wanna see me? What for?” “Don’t asx,” said the man. “Just do it.” He opened the door. Avery hesitated before stripping off his shirt and shoes, then walking in. It was a nice summer day, so Avery had changed to his jogging shorts to go back to his apartment. The sauna was thick with fog, and at first, Avery didn’t see Jaequon at all. His shorts fabric clung to his skin with moisture. “Yo, Pops, when can I come out?” Jaequon asked when the door was open. The man slammed the door shut without answering, then yelled from outside. “Latuh, nigga. You got a pound and a half to sweat off. Or whatever, shoot off.” His words came with a throaty chuckle that was part jealous and part judgemental, and it made the meaning of ‘shoot off’ very clear. He wanted Avery to jerk Jaequon off. The thought made Avery shudder with anticipation. Jaequon was covered in sweat. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick afro but not a tall one. His front tooth was badly chipped. He sucked on the chipped part when he saw Avery. He had crazy dimples, which always did set Avery’s heart a-flutter. Jaeqon’s square jaw and round face went with his superhero-like body, which gleamed with a layer of sweat that ran down his body in the overheated sauna. “Yo, wuzzup,” he said when his father shut the door. He eyed Avery suspiciously. He filled a cup with water from a bucket, sipped from it — a very tiny sip, cuz he was trying to drop weight before tomorrow’s weigh-in — then poured the rest onto the heating element near the wall of the sauna. It sizzled and sent up a fresh cloud of mist. “You new here, huh?” At the sauna at the old gym, where Avery used to work, they used juniper and cedar to give the steam a pleasing scent. It was nice, but it was nice for the old ladies sweating off the mimosas. In here, where only men came — big, burly men like Jaequon — Avery appreciated that the only odor was the stink arising from Jaequon’s broad shoulders and thunder-mad thighs. “Yeah,” Avery said. His heart pounded. He hesitated before sitting next to Jaequon. Avery cleared his throat. “You know I’m not on duty, sorry, I can’t help you with anything to do with the gym-“ “Nah,” Jaequon said. He clicked his tongue again, but didn’t add anything else. A long silence filled the sauna. It was so tense that Avery held his breath until Jaequon spoke again. “So wuzzup?” He stood and faced Avery, revealing a massive cock swaying between his legs. He thwacked it against the palm of his hand. “You wanna jerk me off or what?” He was so tall that his dick lined up with Avery’s forehead, while Avery was sitting down, so when he thwacked it like a club into one palm, it was inches from Avery’s face. A few drops of dicksweat splattered on Avery’s forehead and nose, and the smell of his unwashed ballsac flooded Avery’s nostrils. “Really… uh, yeah…” Avery said, blushing because he was flustered and thought he sounded stupid. He had thought this was coming, but still managed to be surprised when Jaequon asked it. He swallowed the man’s dick, or at least the first half of it, in one smooth motion. It was slick with sweat and dripping on the floor, still limp and fat, jiggly, warm, intensely salty. For just a moment, Avery let it rest in his mouth, waiting to see if Jaequon changed his mind. But he didn’t, and Avery slurped on it, battering the tip with his tongue. He pushed his head down to deep-throat the shaft as deep as he could go right now — he needed to loosen up to be at his best. Then Avery took it out of his mouth, slathered his tongue up and down the shaft, which was already beginning to firm up. Avery liked playing with limp dicks too though, so he roped it around on his face as he chased it with his tongue. Jaequon moaned loudly. He leaned forward to put his hands on the wall as though he couldn’t keep himself balanced because his cock felt so good. He pounded on the wall with one hand, his powerful biceps shaking. His dick perked right up in Jaequon’s mouth, his shaft pulsating as it swelled to full erection. Avery slathered spit all the way down to the hairy root. He tried moving his head, but Jaequon held him still and plowed his cock into his face instead. The plump saltiness of his cockhead invaded Avery’s throat, his nose nestling in unkempt pubic hair. He murmured, and rubbed Avery’s neck with one hand. Jaequon ground his hips into Avery’s mouth. “You like sweaty men, doncha, fancy-boy?” Avery nodded without taking Jaequon’s dick from his mouth. He looked up and smiled at Jaequon, who frowned as though he hated the dome, even though he kept making sounds like he liked it. Avery caressed the meat of Jaequon’s sweat-soaked pecs. “Lick my balls den,” he said. He sounded a little guilty, as though a lot of his sex partners had refused to lick his balls. Not Avery, who loved low-hanging ballsacs like Jaequon’s. He slowly licked a trail down Jaequon’s veiny shaft to the sweat-slickened sac beneath. He put first one ball in his mouth, then the other, and suckled them each in turn. He had huge goose egg-sized balls, throbbing and juicy between Avery’s lips. Since he had been in the sauna for awhile — and was working out intensely before that — he was dripping with sweat. The moisture trickled from Jaequon’s taint and into Avery’s mouth. Avery loved sweaty men. He loved their sour, bitter taste and the way their flavor overwhelmed his senses. He loved the succulence of their moist muscles. He loved the way Jaequon looked at him as though shocked that someone would be willing to suck on his hairy balls. “Damn, you must be into sum nasty-ass shit,” Jaequon said with a sneering chuckle. “You swallowin’ it deep, like my sweat makes yo’ dick bigger o’ some shit. Beg me fo’ it, fancy-boy.” Avery didn’t take Jaequon’s balls out of his mouth for him to talk. He let both balls fall in at once, overflowing from his drooling lips. Then he spoke with that sweaty scrotum spilling over his cheeks, so the only sound that came out was a muffled burst of gibberish. He made sure that the noise had a begging-like quality, however, so Jaequon knew he was following instructions. Jaequon chuckled, and he pounded on the wall again. He smiled and grunted with satisfaction. “Why ain’t girls into swallowin’ balls?” Jaequon asked. Avery didn’t answer. He let his tongue flicker into the fleshy scrotum in his mouth. Jaequon lifted his balls up and smiled, dropping them back down with a splash into Avery’s sweat-filled mouth. Jaequon laughed. “I love that, man. Dunno why, but ain’t nothin’ better fo’ me than the sound of my balls splashing into some bitch’s mouth.” He did the same again a couple times, laughing each time his balls splashed into Avery’s mouth, which filled with more sweat and drool with each passing second. Avery didn’t swallow, or spit, to better allow his mouth to fill. Then Jaequon hesitated, holding his balls right above Avery’s face, so all Avery could see was their thick pendulousness. “Beg me, fancy-boy.” “Please, Jaequon, let me slurp on your balls some more. They taste so good,” he said. Jaequon grunted his satisfaction and plopped them back in one time. “Now gargle,” Jaequon said, gargling himself to demonstrate. Avery did so, even as he gagged from a pubic hair in his throat the first time. The gagging and the gargling combined to make Jaequon sigh. He felt his left nipple with one hand and pounded on the wall with the other. “Quit bangin’ on de wall, Jaequon! Niggas tryna work out!” Pops’s voice rang out. “Shut up, Pops!” Jaequon yelled. As Avery gurgled on his balls even more, Jaequon grunted loudly. “Donchu tell me to shut up, I can still pound yo’ ass!” “Try it, motherfucker!” Pops said something else outside the sauna, but Avery couldn’t hear what it was. He was too focused on Jaequon’s balls. It sounded like these two argued vociferously all the time — it had seemed like workout bravado when Jaequon was actually training, but now Avery thought it was just the way they interacted. “Yo, Pops, there another whiteboi out there?” The door opened, but Pops didn’t come in. He sighed. “Nah, nigga, you know that. Whatchoo want wit’ another one anyway? Somethin’ wrong with this one?” “He swallowin’ on my balls real good, Pops, I just want one on my dick too,” Jaequon said. Pops paused. “Nah, nigga. You ain’t need that. Just hurry up and bust ya nut,” he said. “Gimme my phone,” Jaequon said. His voice was a little breathless as though he found this ball-jerking exhilarating. He gave his long shaft a stroke, then let it lay there, pulsating, atop Avery’s face. “I wanna send a video of this to Raitha-“ “No, nigga, no,” Pops said as though they had had this argument before. “She gots a restrainin’ order against you. Why ain’t you got no sense, boy?” “I ain’t gonna hit her!” “You ain’t allowed to talk to her, not at all. You definitely can’t send her no pitchahs of yo’ balls, fuckin’ idiot,” Pops said. “Yeah, say dat to my face, old man!” Jaequon yelled. He was facing away from his father, lifting and lowering his sac onto Avery’s squirming tongue. He smiled down at Avery’s sweat-covered face. “I just did, muddahfuggah. You’s a gawddamn idiot,” Pops said. “You’re a moron.” Then he shut the door. Jaequon muttered to no one in particular. “That fuckin’ asshole,” he said over and over. “I’s gonna beat that old man down one day, fancy-boy. You just wait for it.” He bit his lip and felt his nipple again. “You ready to try some cock again?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He took his balls out and rammed his dickhead right in. It was so sudden that Avery’s sweat-filled mouth gagged and spilled the spit that filled it up. That made Jaequon laugh loudly and bang his hand on the wall — this time, he was obviously being as loud as he could to annoy his father. “Hey, I say keep it down, nigga,” Pops said. He poked his head into the sauna, but even though Avery was facing away, he could tell that Pops was avoiding looking. He might have snuck a peak though, and he scoffed at what he saw. “You nasty, son.” “Don’t act like you ain’t done it, old man,” Jaequon said. “Yo’ prison bitch came to de house. Remember that? Afronta Momma, beggin’ you-“ “Fuck you!” Pops screamed. He slammed the door shut, still outside the sauna. “You shut ya fool mouf, boy!” “You stopped cuz yo’ dick don’t wuuhk no mo’!” Jaequon yelled back, loud enough that Pops could hear out in the hall. Jaequon sat down on one of the benches, and took hold of Avery’s head to guide it up and down. “You couldn’t ram any kinda bitch now, old man!” After a moment, the door opened again. Pops sauntered in. He was naked, floppy club-like cock in his hands. “I’ll show you whose dick works, nigga,” he said with a snarl. Then he wedged his dick between Avery’s asscheeks. “You know what yo’ problem is, nigga?” “Tell me, old man.” “You got no respect!” Pops said. He rammed the tip of his dick in to Avery’s ass. It was just as iron-hard as Jaequon’s cock. Pops snarled as he flexed his hips, uncaring of Avery’s feelings. Avery loved being treated as an object, and Pops hadn’t said one word to him since he entered the sauna. “You ain’t even ram dis bitch in de ass, didja, nigga?” “Dat’s nasty, old man! Dat’s whah’s nasty,” Jaequon said with a scoff. He smiled as Avery gagged on his dick, and Jaequon ground his hips onto Avery’s face. Now that Avery was experiencing a cock in his ass as well, he had trouble maintaining concentration on the dome. Then they both began shouting at once. The argument only ended when they both leaned forward to punch each other. Since neither was willing to take their cocks out of Avery, it wasn’t much of a fight. Their sweaty bodies clasped each other as they tried to put the other in a headlock. Pops got a good punch in on Jaequon’s face, but Jaequon took it easily and shrugged it off. Jaequon, to his credit, seemed to be holding back, or so Avery surmised — Jaequon had fifty pounds on his father, was twenty years younger and had to be much stronger. But on the other hand, Pops himself was a boxer too in his day, and while he didn’t have the athleticism he used to, he still packed a wallop. Avery wasn’t even sure what stopped the fight, or who had “won”, if anyone. He focused on the swelling pressure in his ass as Pops pounded his insides, and the sour-sweet flavor of precum flowing down his throat. “I’m-a tell Momma you rammed a man,” Jaequon muttered. For a moment, Avery thought another fight was going to break out. Pops actually stopped plowing with his cock all the way in Avery’s ass; he just stayed there, swaying and sneering at his son. “Go ahead, ya fuuuwckin’ snitch. She knows I done it before, and she know I’s gonna do it again,” Pops said. “If’n I tell her you do it too, she gonna freak out. She gonna make you go to chu’ch-“ Jaequon clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I ain’t ramroddin’ no man,” he said. “Mouf don’t count.” “You can splain dat to her. She be impressed,” Pops said. Jaequon muttered defiantly. Despite his tone, it was clear that Pops had won this debate — Jaequon apparently didn’t want his mother to know what he was doing. “You gonna snitch on yo’ father or not? Whatchoo say, nigga?” “I said quit slappin’ yo’ oldman balls on his ass, nigga, dat sound make me wanna frow up,” Jaequon said. “I don’t gangbang bitches no moh.” “Cuz you can’t get any?” “Nah! Fuck you, old man, I got girls hanging off my meat,” Jaequon said with a wide grin. He moaned as his dick spasmed in Avery’s mouth — it felt like he was near orgasm, close enough that Avery slowed down to drag this out as long as he could. “Oh, where dey at?” Pops asked. He chuckled as he made a big show of looking all over the sauna for girls, peering under the benches and into every corner. “I mean… Fuck you, you know what I mean. Raitha dumped me, but I got a waitin’ list, Pops.” “Like dat fat-ass skank who smelled like a faa’t?” “No! That was three years ago, and she was ne’euh my guul, Pops! She just a slut who suckt my dick back when I was stickin’ my dick in any waa’m hole,” Jaequon said. “I selective now, muddahfuggah. Dat’s why I don’t do gangbangs.” Avery’s mind cleared suddenly as Pops pulled out of his ass. Avery gasped around Jaequon’s cock in his throat, and the sudden change triggered Avery’s own orgasm. He sprayed his wad over the floor and moaned; Jaequon didn’t seem to notice, though Avery suspected that Pops did, by the disapproving cluck of his teeth. It turned out that Pops had pulled out of Avery’s ass to play a prank on his son — he quietly approached with his dick swinging, and then slapped Jaequon in the face when Jaequon’s eyes were closed. Avery saw just as the aftershocks of his orgasm rocked his body. Jaequon roared and pushed him away. “Fuckin’ asshole, nigga!” Pops slapped him across the face, and Jaequon stood up to punch back. Again they exchanged a few blows that Avery couldn’t see because it was above his head. This time, Jaequon was so upset he did remove his cock from Avery’s mouth. Then Avery moved back down to Jaequon’s cock, which spasmed angrily. It was definitely near orgasm now, and Avery desperately deep-throated it. He caressed the shaft with his tongue, savoring the taste of sweat that now tasted fresh since Avery hadn’t paid attention to Jaequon’s dick for a few moments. That acrid flavor combined with the pit hair stuck to Avery’s lip, overwhelming his senses as he felt both men reach orgasm. Jaequon moaned as he nutted. He held onto Avery’s head by his hair, and he closed his eyes, feeling up his own nipples. He murmured, “Don’t swallow that yet, lemme see it, baby. I wanna see my cum on yo’ tongue.” Nut dripping from his mouth because Pops was still plowing and rocking his entire body, Avery tried hard to hold it for him. But Jaequon shot a huge load, and he leaned back, stroking himself for what felt like a long time. Avery strained to keep from spilling the entire load. Then, just as Jaequon opened his eyes to look, Pops grunted. He smacked Avery’s ass, sending a wave of agony up his spine. It made Avery’s asscheeks ripple though, and Pops grunted his approval of that. Maybe it was that ripple, so like a thick woman’s ass, that triggered Pops’s orgasm. He let out another grunt, this one intense and moanish, and his yellow-fingered paws dug into the smoothness of Avery’s backside. His grunt turned from a moan to a groan to a growl, accompanied by one more thrust of his waist. That daggered his dick deep into Avery, sending wave after wave of pleasure through both men’s bodies. Avery’s ass squeezed. Pops sucked in his breath and ejaculated a fresh deluge of jizz. Hot cum flowed into Avery’s guts, and the creaminess of it seeped into Avery’s flesh. Avery cried out for more, not that the other two paid him any mind. His voice was swallowed up by the humid mist of the sauna, which had a physical solidity to it, thickened by the sweat emanating off both men’s naked bodies. Pop shot a huge load too, just like his son, and he kept sliding his dick in and out, even as it got limp in Avery’s ass. His load turned cummy, coated his cockshaft and dripped onto the floor of the sauna. “Lemme see dat nut,” Jaequon said. “Ew, you got it all up in dere.” He spat into Avery’s open mouth, then inserted his finger. He pulled out all the cum with one hand, and he looked at his fingers as though someone had made him do that. He sneered in disgust as he smeared the cum all over Avery’s face. Then he plopped his balls right in Avery’s open mouth. There was a splash as his scrotum was coated in his own cum. He chuckled, lifting his balls up and dropping them back in. His dickshaft gleamed with remnants of all that came before, and his Avery choked up the river of sweat that flowed down his throat, which made Jaequon’s ballsac shine with moisture too. Avery slurped as hard and as loud as he can, and Jaequon’s bullying laugh of derision turned into a shocked, slightly ticklish giggle of desire. His fat cock jiggled above Avery’s head, and when Avery touched it, Jaequon’s whole body twitched. That prompted him to at last get off Avery’s face. He stood in the center of the sauna with a chagrined look on his face. He swayed his hips, helicoptering his cock in a little circle and beaming like he had invented something. A few drops of sweat or jizz or spit flung off his dickshaft. “Damn, pops. Love dat! He was really slurpin’ on mah nuts, you seen dat, right?” “Shuddup. You nasty, son,” Pops said. “Dis why Raitha dumpt you. She told yo’ momma it was cuz you stay after her suckin’ yo’ balls.” “She told Momma dat? Fuckin’ whore!” He screwed up his face. “Ain’t true. Tell Mama it ain’t true.” “You can’t treat girls like dat, son,” Pops said. “A girl ain’t a sissy.” He rubbed his limp dick clean on Avery’s asscheek, which he again slapped and watched ripple with great interest. That interest turned to disdain, and he stepped away from Avery. Then he put his hand on Jaequon’s asscheek, which he jiggled as they headed to the door out of the sauna. Pops said, “Let’s go weigh you, nigga. If dis whiteboi drained a pound and a half offa you, you can go home.”
Avery is working as a clerk at a low-rent motel near the state prison, so when an Aryan alpha is released after nineteen long years behind bars, it’s up to Avery to alleviate his unsatiated urges!
Can Avery help this possible-Nazi brute get his load off?!
Avery’s hands shook from the moment Hassle walked into the lobby of the Top Inn, where Avery was a clerk. Avery tensed up and bugged his eyes up at sight of Hassle’s broad shoulders, square jaw and simmering swagger. His cueball head gleamed, and his square jaw jutted, chewing, boxing, his crooked nose and cauliflowered ears giving him the mien of a fighter. He sent a chill up Avery’s spine. Hassle exuded violence like an aura. He had a smile on his face, but that just made him look more sinister. That’s because Hassle was an Aryan, fresh out of state prison. At more than six and a half feet tall, he was a towering beast of a man, all bone-white skin covered in tattoos — swastikas and Gothic lettering and a map of Germany on his forearm — and a chest that puffed out, straining against the fabric of his over-tight tee shirt. He had worn that tee shirt when he was incarcerated nineteen years ago. Back then, he had been skinny, that was why the tee shirt no longer fit. It clung to his muscles like a second skin, and his tattoos were clearly visible through the threadbare fabric. A scowl plastered on Hassle’s face. “Donchu be scared,” Hassle said, showing off his dimples — he would have been charming and handsome if he weren’t a nazi. “I ain’t no kinda racist or nothin’.” “Oh.” Avery was new to this job, so he fumbled with the reservation software. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he waited for it to work. Hassle looked down his nose at Avery. At last, it was done. Avery slid the key to Room 244 over the counter to Hassle. “Here you go.” Avery held his breath. “I just got outta lockup. You know how it works in there, right? You seen movies? You gotta pledge a gang-“ “Sure.” “And you gotta do what the gang tells ya, you feel me?” “Uh-huh.” “So if they say you gotta talk shit ‘bout black folk and put a swastika on ya belly, then that’s what you gotta do,” Hassle said. “Right, yeah. Gotta do what the boss says,” Avery said. He forced a weak, wan smile on his face. He did understand having to join a disagreeable group to survive, but in this moment, it hardly mattered — all he could think about was how terrifying Hassle was. He loomed overhead like a moai. “Uh-huh.” What Avery wanted to say but didn’t have the wherewithal to do was that he understood and wouldn’t hold it against Hassle. Avery worked at the Top Inn of Abilene, Texas, which was near the state prison. It was a cheap motel, and a significant part of the clientele were recent releasees needing a place to crash. Avery knew that coming in. “Ya see?” Hassle lifted his shirt to show off the swastika crudely tatted on his belly. His prison-starved body was devoid of fat, so he had a six-pack that was almost too perfect — it looked painfully lean. He flexed his chest. “Huh?” He hadn’t said that Avery should touch it, but he looked at Avery with a sort of a flirtatious smile. Avery’s hand moved as though of its own accord and touched Hassle’s six-pack. Avery was too scared to be really aroused though, despite his natural predilection for appreciating the male physique. That swastika consumed Avery’s attention, and Hassle’s massive body loomed overhead like a thunderstorm. There’d been other hardcore gangsters, these Russian guys, a bunch of cholos with teardrop tattoos and the like. They were intimidating in their own way too. Swastikas were just such a taboo in Avery’s life he found it hard to look away. He blushed and looked down at his feet. “Whatchoo think?” “It’s… Uh… Okay.” Avery blushed. “I’m not like… in charge, of, you know… anything besides the keys. And the vending machines. You don’t have to convince me of anything.” Hassle shrugged and dropped his hand holding his shirt to his side. His alabaster pecs rippled, and he sucked on his teeth. He grabbed his cock through his jeans, which fit better than his shirt — he had worn his jeans slung low when he was arrested. He was a thug at the time of his arrest, he hung out with the black kids at his old high school in Houston — he sold coke with them, this was in the early seventies, so crack wasn’t a thing. In prison though, he lost touch with his homeboys and had gotta join up with the Aryan Way, lest the other gangs take a crack at him. He walked outta there shirtless, “See ya, y’know… Later tonight or whenever.” Hassle said before he walked out the door. He backed out, so he kept eye contact with Avery the whole way out, his bare chest gleaming with sweat. He probably hadn’t had a real shower in nineteen years, not a shower in a normal bathroom. That thought sent a shiver of desire through Avery, but only after the Nazi giant was gone. Avery breathed a sigh of relief. He felt safe again. The lobby was quiet as a rabbit, the only sound the tick-tocking of the perpetually incorrect clock above the desk. Avery sighed. Now he kinda missed the excitement of having an Aryan in the lobby. And his muscles were remarkable. He would have been quite handsome if it weren’t for the tattoos. He could be a model. Or more likely, if he weren’t in prison, he’d have gorged himself on beer and french fries, and he’d be fat right now. Quite a physique conundrum. But all afternoon, that final moment hung in his brain. Had Hassle grabbed his crotch like that because he was signaling Avery should come jerk him off? It almost seemed like it. He had even said he might see Avery “later tonight”. What did that mean? A lot of men at the Top Inn did want that. That was one of the reasons Avery wanted this job. He liked the alphas and ex-cons who came out from the state prison with urges and stiffies and no women to come rub their backs and lick their dicks and tell them they’re still handsome. Avery wanted to be that guy. Ex-cons don’t ask too many questions. They just want to bust a nut. And there were maybe a dozen of them who seemed likely to agree if Avery went and propositioned them right now. There were a couple black guys, this cholo who was definitely interested but was kinda fat, what a pity, some weird like Laotian guy who might be worth it, a few plain old whitey-whites. One of them was quite alluring, the white man in Room 29. But he wasn’t the statuesque muscle-mountain that was Hassle. That was who Avery’s mind continued to drift to. He was a nazi, Avery reminded himself. He wasn’t safe. Avery shouldn’t go and seduce nazis. That was bound to end poorly. He got a text from Officer Heartley, asking him to start a fresh pot of coffee — Heartley came in most mornings to talk to Avery, drink coffee and look for open warrants among the people at the motel. That made Avery feel more confident. He started the coffee and responded to Heartley, letting him know that he “might be in Room 244” when Heartley showed up. Avery felt safer then, not that he was planning on going to Hassle’s room. If Avery wasn’t around, Officer Heartley would come looking for him. Hassle was still a nazi, after all. That was the permission Avery needed, in his mind, to go see what Hassle meant by grabbing his crotch in that suggestive manner. Leaving the lobby with the ‘back in ten minutes’ sign turned over, Avery went to the two-hundred-block of rooms, on the second floor. They all had doors that faced the outside, and a window next to the door. Avery told himself he was just going to check that Hassle wasn’t doing something illegal. The blinds were closed, but not quite all the way, and the light was on inside. Avery could see clearly through the edge of the window into the room. Hassle was in there, doing push-ups, wearing only a pair of prison-issued boxers. His plump ass was perfectly round, and it swallowed up a bead of sweat that Avery watched slide down Hassle’s spine. Avery gulped. His shoulders flexed up and down as he rose and fell with military precision. You could rap to the beat of his push-ups, Avery thought. He knocked on the door without a moment’s hesitation, or even really a first one, since Avery had never decided to go through with it. It just occurred to him Hassle would be sweaty and intense and arousing even if he turned Avery down, and Avery wanted to experience his presence again. He held his breath as he awaited Hassle opening the door. “Howdy,” Hassle said, a casual smile showing off his dimples. He cackled and slapped one of his trunk-like thighs, which made his dick sway in those paper-thin but starchy white boxers. Avery’s eyes opened wide, entranced by Hassle’s massive chest and the scent of his musky body. “Hi,” Avery said. He blushed. Hassle grabbed Avery by the shirt and dragged him in. Avery held onto Hassle’s iron-like biceps, unable to tear his eyes away from Hassle’s bright stare and deep dimples. He had brilliant flashing blue eyes. “What do you want from me?” Hassle said, screwing up his lips like he was furious. He narrowed his eyes to slits, then planted his lips on Avery’s before Avery could react. His tongue rammed into Avery’s mouth like it was Poland, and Avery’s hands fluttered, then gripped Hassle’s muscle-ripped chest. His skin was hot and moist with sweat. The air conditioning was not turned on yet in the room, even though it was stuffy and sweltering in here — Hassle was used to the unchilled air of a prison, that was why. He hadn’t yet thought to check the air conditioning. The scent of his sweat assaulted Avery’s nostrils, as Avery swooned in his powerful arms and accepted his aggressive kiss. He could sense the sexual frustration roiling withing Hassle, the nineteen years of incarceration, the complete lack of women… No wonder Avery could feel an erection poking through those thin boxer shorts. The kiss left Avery flummoxed. He had a knack for seducing men but they almost never kissed him. Avery didn’t usually ask because a lot of them were uncomfortable with the request even if Avery wasn’t pushy about it. But Hassle didn’t seem to care, though he kept a sour look on his square mug like he was being forced into it. His tongue was firm and aggressive, and it battered Avery’s mouth, then his lips and even his smooth cheeks. Avery was ensconced in Hassle’s powerful frame. Hassle was well over six and a half feet tall, so he had to lower his head to meet Avery’s lips. “Huh?” Hassle asked when he pulled away. His hot breath condensed on Avery’s face, and Avery was enveloped in the greasy sweat pooling on his tattooed paleness. Avery’s uniform shirt was already soaked. “How you wanna mess wit’ me? Tell me now cuz I don’t like listenin’ to my bitches when I cornhole ‘em-” He held up a hand as though to forestall objections. “I just don’t like hearin’ complaints and shit. So pick now-“ “I, uh-“ Hassle slapped Avery on the cheek. “Don’t interrupt me. You pretty as pink, but I’ll still fuck you up fo’ disrespect.” He paused. “I ain’t a violent man, I just don’t accept disrespect. I won’t mess you up, and I wouldn’t even hurt’cha for bein’ colored or Jewish or nothin’, I love the Jews, swear to God. My little sister’s youngest daughter is half-Jewish on her daddy’s side, and I love her to bits — my sister won’t let me see her on account of she’s a bitch and she don’t like nazis, but I like the little Jewess.” “Oh. Uh-huh.” Avery gulped. “So you tell me how you wanna do it? You wanna do anal? You want me to plow into that butt?” Hassle grabbed Avery’s asscheek and squeezed so hard it hurt. Avery squirmed, and Hassle grunted right into his ear. “Use ya big boy voice.” “I, uh… I wanna mess around, and…” Avery knew he should ask for something that was kind of a stretch. He didn’t often get it up the ass from skinheads, so that was special enough, but he had a feeling Hassle would do more than the average ex-con. “Will you… gimme a reacharound?” Hassle paused, then shrugged. “Hell yeah, boi, I can do that. Ain’t nothin’ like makin’ a man jack off wit’ yo’ dick in his ass. Make him cum before you cum, I like that. Could take hours.” He eyed Avery up. “I mean, not you. You gonna cum real quick. I make you orgasm right away.” He sniffled and dropped his boxers, revealing a massive white cock the color of heavy cream. “Go’n then. Get it wet.” Avery dropped to his knees, heart thumping. He couldn’t believe this was really happening. He opened his mouth and let the tip of Hassle’s dick slip onto his tongue. Immediately Hassle gripped him by the head and forced it in. He was still limp, so Avery couldn’t swallow it, and it roped around his face, leaving a layer of dicksweat, the smell of which clung to Avery’s upper lip. He cupped Hassle’s balls with one hand, and he chased the tip with his lips. He could have grabbed it with his other hand, but Avery preferred to tease him. Until he looked up at Hassle, whose no-nonsense frown was aimed down at him. The subtext was clear: quit playin’ with it, pansy. So Avery grabbed it with the other hand and held it by the root, while he put the knob in his mouth and choked up as much spit as he could manage. A baritone rumble came out of Hassle, whose cock rocketed right to full erection faster than Avery had ever seen. In moments his foot long behemoth was pulsating on Avery’s tongue, while still Avery gripped the root with one hand and cupped his ballsac with the other. His sac was so sweaty it was silky, and the scent of his aroma wafted into Avery’s nostrils. Having jerked a lot of guys, Avery was good at it. He could deep-throat anyone, and he loved getting throated down. Hassle was probably not used to anyone handling his meat willingly, or at least, he acted like he wasn’t expecting that. “Ah, shit, you got throat like velvet…” He held Avery’s head in place as though he had to stop him from running away, and he pumped his trunk-like thighs to fuck his throat like a pussy. Actually that’s not quite right either. Hassle didn’t ram Avery’s face, he made love to it. He wrapped one of his hands over Avery’s mouth, as though to conceal the fact that Hassle’s dick was in there, so he didn’t have to actually watch Avery swallow his dick, and he used his other hand to force Avery’s lips to tightly seal around his shaft. He drilled his dick in without regard for Avery’s choking, but he didn’t do it in an aggressive way like Avery would have guessed. He slid his dick in as though he expected Avery to grow to adore it filling up his throat, which he did. Avery was glad to choke on a massive slab of manhood like that. “Spread that neck open, lemme feel it open up,” he said softly, cooing, licking his lips. One of his hands massaged Avery’s neck like a vet getting a dog to swallow a pill. “Keep eye contact when you swallow my dick.” That was difficult because Hassle had an intense gaze, but Avery managed to do it despite his thumping heart and sputtering throat. Hassle’s dark eyes flashed down at him, overtop a sick grin — he obviously liked seeing Avery struggle just as much Avery enjoyed doing it — and he even laughed when Avery’s hands reached up to his pecs. He stooped over a little to give Avery better access to his nipples, and he flexed his pectoral muscles like a stripper. His cock throbbed, precum leaking over Avery’s tongue. Hassle swayed his hips, moaning seductively every time Avery choked on it. When some drool snuck out of Avery’s mouth, Hassle smiled and smeared it over his face. “Hmmm… You handle my dick nice and nasty, and I ain’t even gotta train you in the proper way,” Hassle said. “That’s nice. That’s real nice.” He sucked on his middle-finger, the one that had just smeared his own precum over Avery’s cheeks, so he tasted his own cum. He grimaced like it was nasty, but then he did it again. He held onto Avery’s ears and drilled into his throat. He smiled at the frantic expression in Avery’s eyes. He moaned caringly as he did, lightly slapping Avery on the cheek when he felt resistance. “You ready fo’ some butt-stuff? I’m-a get deep inside you. Give you the reacharound of a lifetime.” When Avery didn’t immediately answer, he repeated himself but with hand motions, like sign language. He kept pumping his hips to make love with his dick to Avery’s gullet the whole time. Avery nodded the best he could with Hassle’s entire manhood in his throat. He gasped for air when Hassle pulled it out, but his gasps were swallowed up by another kiss. Hassle rammed his tongue into Avery’s. There was something oddly dispassionate about his kisses. Avery had no way of knowing that Hassle kissed him as a show of dominance — in his prison gang, that was how someone like Hassle took an exclusive claim on a weaker man. If he hadn’t kissed Avery, that would be a sign that Avery was a prison bitch, or would be punked out for money; kissing was a sign of affectionate ownership. That was why Hassle kissed him, without regard for the cum on his lips — there was no room for squeamishness behind bars. Gagging at the taste of your own cum on “your man’s” lips got you a punch from all the real men in the gang. “I’m ready,” Avery said when Hassle pulled off him. Avery had brought his own lube, luckily, so he smeared some on his ass while Hassle bent him over the motel bed. “Alright, here’s ya reacharound,” Hassle said wearily, with a grunt. Though he enjoyed the actual practice of a reacharound — in particular the moment when a man’s ass clenched as he shot his wad, clenching tight enough to bring Hassle to orgasm — he didn’t so much enjoy the actual stroking of a cock. Once he got into it, he could forget he was doing it and just focus on destroying that bottom boy’s ass. He slipped one hand around Avery’s slim body and held his dick just as he rammed his own cock into Avery’s asshole. A burst of pleasure hit Hassle, who moaned and slapped Avery’s asscheek. He smiled. He had rammed plenty of men before his release from prison earlier today, but it had rarely been as good as this. Avery was even better than most other men Hassle had ever been with. He didn’t whimper when Hassle rammed his dick in, he just gritted his teeth and loosened his ass the best he could. “There you go, baby, lemme in, I’ll make you feel so good,” Hassle said with a howl. “I-” He bit his lip and stopped talking because Avery’s ass sucked in the last inch of his cockmeat like a vacuum cleaner, and Hassle was shocked. For a moment he thought Avery’s ass wouldn’t let go and he’d be stuck deep in there. He didn’t mind that idea. But Avery gripped and released, and Hassle let out a cringing moan that echoed in Avery’s ear. Hassle’s hand began sliding up and down Avery’s cock, which was already hard and throbbing, leaking precum over Hassle’s fingers. Waves of pleasure wracked the both of them, and Avery let out a howl. Hassle instinctively swallowed his sound as though to hide from the guards doing their rounds. He pounded away. He kissed Avery again as he ground his dick within Avery’s ass, and this time avery was less intimidating, so he kissed back. He writhed in ecstasy swaddled in Hassle’s powerful arms. A loud cry escaped from Avery’s lips, but Hassle swallowed the sound up. Hassle groaned, his big body pressing down on Avery’s back. Avery squirmed and gasped. It was one of the most potent orgasms of Avery’s life. He couldn’t believe it could feel this good. He wanted to cry and beg for more, but he didn’t think he could take anything more intense than this. He just clawed at the bedspread beneath himself as a prostate orgasm erupted deep within him. Cum sprayed into his ass, and Avery moaned. Hassle’s hand furiously stroked his dick off. Avery even lifted one feet off the floor as waves of pleasure crashed over him. The smell of jizz exploded in the motel room, as Avery panted and begged for it to never end. “Goddamn, boy,” Hassle murmured into his ear. His voice was tense and moist, and he gritted his teeth as he came. He shot a massive load, wad after wad filling Avery up. He could feel it sloshing within him, like Hassle hadn’t cum his entire time in prison and now had all that built-up nutjuice ready to go. Avery knew that wasn’t true, but he couldn’t help but think it as he felt Hassle’s rod throb and shoot more and more cum into him. The heat seeped into Avery’s flesh. “Shit…” Avery mewled. “Aaaah….” Hassle held up his right hand, which glistened with Avery’s cum. Avery had shot a pretty big load as well, so it dripped down his palm in clumps. His dick slowly limpened in Avery’s ass, and with every passing second, Avery found it more and more difficult to pay attention to anything but that sensation. In the Aryan Way, being “squeamish” with your prison “girlfriend” was a faux pas. There was no rule about what you had to do with your prison bitch, prison wife, jail girlfriend, etc, at least not a strict, consistent rule. But when one Aryan sucked his “girlfriend”‘s cum off his fingers, the others usually did too, lest they be called squeamish. The bigger men like Hassle competed over who could be the least squeamish — as long as they didn’t take it in the ass or swallow dick, they didn’t lose any face. So Hassle actually liked sucking his bottom’s cum off his fingers. It wasn’t the first time he had done it. The taste was gross, the texture snotty, and his stomach rebelled, making him gag; but it was intense, visceral and so real he had craved it every moment he was behind bars. His limp dick twitched in Avery’s ass. “Ugh, it’s nasty,” Hassle said with a laugh. But he jerked his fingers clean just the same. He was a little queasy when he was done, but it felt good. He let his cock flop out of Avery’s sensitive asshole. Cum spilled out too, onto the mattress. Hassle chuckled. “You got my mattress all nasty.” Avery stood and stretched his legs. “I’ll put you in a new room,” he said, “if you promise to let me wake you up in the morning.” Hassle frowned. “Nah. Not in the mornin’. This is my first night outta prison, man. I ain’t gettin’ up till noon.” “Perfect. That’s when I get off duty. I’ll come in and wake you up with a mouth on your dick,” Avery said. He put his clothes back on. “There’s a cop on his way to get coffee, just so you know. He gets coffee here this time every morning. Don’t be scared.” “I won’t. I’ll be sleepin’ sound as a pound, motherfucker, waitin’ for yo’ mouth to tell me it’s time to wake up,” Hassle said.
Avery is summoned into a steamy sauna by a wrestling coach, cuz one of his athletes is in a rage-filled fury over a ref’s bad call, and only Avery’s tender touch — and his mouth — can calm this livid alpha! That’s cuz Marco’s a hothead with a need to dominate other men, which is something Avery is eager to sign up for.
Can Avery get Marco to calm down long enough to spill his seed?!
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Avery struggled to remain professional. He was in the men’s locker room at the Cornerside Gym near the GHU campus. The smell of sweat filled the air even though no one was in here. It stank of manhood. Avery had an urge to just go through smelling things, checking out the shower where it sounded like someone was still cleaning himself off. The locker room was full of clothes scattered over the floor. That’s because there was a wrestling match going on. The wrestlers had changed, gone out for the match and left their clothes behind. That was the source of the smell that Avery craved. As a masseur working for the Cornerside Gym, he had to stay professional. He was not hired to sniff the jocks of this college wrestling team. “Just wait here,” Coach Thickman said when they came to the physical therapy work-space at the back of the locker room, connected to it by a hallway. His bristly mustache shook. Avery suspected that Thickman was supposed to give him more instructions, but Thickman just walked away. “The match is over. Marco will be here soon.” Avery didn’t know why he was here. He had been hired to give someone named Marco a massage, but Avery had a feeling that was just an excuse to get him here. Marco was probably going to ask for Avery to jerk him off. That was also part of being a masseur for the Cornerside Gym. Avery was expected to — and was eager to — fulfill that part of his duties. Avery greatly admired the male form, and the Cornerside Gym was full of men with the most admirable of physiques. It was a serious gym, men only, home to real athletes and bodybuilders, and of course, this regional champion wrestling team. A series of loud whoops and hollers filled the locker room. The sound echoed and resonated. They were angry, upset, Avery gathered, they must not have done well in the match. There were grunts, recriminations, possibly some almost-fights. Avery had to fight back his urge to sneak out there and watch. The physical therapy room was set back a little, with lockable doors since it was accessible from both the men’s and women’s locker rooms. Avery would have to step well out into the hall to see anything. He wondered if he’d get in trouble. Then Marco entered with a scowl on his face. He was short, but he was a heavyweight, his body packed with muscle and body hair, which extended all the way to his shoulders. He had swarthy skin and dark eyes, with a curly mess of tangled black hair. His hawkbrown nose was hooked and regal — he was a dark hawkbrown, a darkhawk, as they say, not that Avery ascribes to that kind of thing. It had a crooked bent to it, like it had been broken recently. “Yo.” Marco sneered. “Man!” He threw his hands in the air like he was upset. He turned back around. “Coach! I-” He took one step out of the door and rammed right into the beefy chest of Coach Thickman, who pushed him back into the physical therapy room. “What?” “Lemme go talk to that ref, coach. He made a mistake.” Marco’s voice was clipped, angry, almost sinister. He had a thick New York accent with a deep and guttural stawk in a barking baritone to it that made Avery shiver with delight. Marco straightened the tight straps of his wrestling singlet. His chest hair was matted to his skin with sweat. His pecs and his biceps and shoulders and back all kept rippling as though it took every muscle he had to adjust his cock in the crotch of his singlet and stretch then release each strap of the singlet. He ran his fingers through the thick black mane of hair, which clung flat to his head cuz he was so sweaty and it was hot and humid in here. A few tufts suggested he normally combed it up, and he had a voluminous head of hair, so it probably looked great on him like that. Pity he had a harsh, cocky-asshole of a face, a very punchable face, handsome but you’d never see him play a good guy in a movie. “No. You’ll hit him.” Marco scowled. “No I won’t.” But he mean-mugged at Avery as if that was a lie. He again stretched the fabric of his sweat-soaked singlet. The GHU colors were silver and red, so there was a silver U whose lower part stretched to his crotch. His fat cock protruded against the fabric. Avery could see that it had fallen out of his jockstrap, probably because he kept scratching it and rearranging his junk in his singlet. He sniffled and rubbed his nose. He might have been sniffing the hand that just arranged his cock and balls in his singlet. “I won’t hit the pansy.” He glanced at Avery, then looked down at his feet and again rearranged his dick in his singlet. “I don’t hit pansies.” “You can’t hit someone every time you lose, Marco. You said-“ “Lemme out there!” “You can’t hit the ref!” “Fine, lemme fuck the slut. Where’s that slut-?” Marco paced, his hefty ass jiggling up and down in his singlet. It was riding up in his asscrack, so he pulled the fabric out of it as he paced. “You said I could have a slut-“ Coach Thickman slapped Marco across the face. A loud ringing sound boomed and echoed through the locker room. The moist sweatiness of Marco’s skin could be heard in the slap. Thickman shoved Marco back into the physical therapy room. “Don’t make me lay down the law, boy. I let you have a lotta leeway. You know I can’t bring you a female, the university is lookin’ into that shit, I could get fired if they found out. They wouldn’t even let me keep a cheerleader calendar in my office, cuz it could give you boys stiffies you can’t control, you gonna go groping waitresses at the Waffle House and shit, damn-“ “That wasn’t me!” Marco said. “Shut yo’ fool mouth, sumbitch!” Thickman said. He jabbed a finger in Marco’s face. “You get’cha temper under control!” He sucked on his teeth, mean-mugging Marco harshly. “You got that Latin blood, that’s what that is. You got pepper under yo’ collar.” He feigned like he was gonna smack Marco in the balls, and Marco flinched. Thickman laughed and patted him on the cheek of the face, then the cheek of the ass. “So slow yo’ roll, whiteboy.” “I told you it ain’t my fault!” Marco shouted. He pounded on his chest. Avery detected a casual stawk in his voice, like he was from New York or pretended to be. “Lemme out there, I ain’t a pussy. I can kick that blond motherfucker’s ass too, that last one I wrestled. He wrestled like a rank coward, like he don’t know nothing, Coach, swear to Christ! He over there in the other locker room, right? C’mon, he ain’t gonna bitch me out. No way. I ain’t lookin’ like a sloppy punk-ass sumbitch! I’ll go right over there, coach, swear to fuckin’ Christ! I’ll rip his goddamn nuts off and shove ‘em down that ref’s throat! I keeps it real, you know that!” “Marco!” Coach Thickman barked. He smacked Marco again, and Marco stepped towards him like they were going to fight. Thickman pushed Marco, who was red-faced and fuming now, unable to stand still. He came at Thickman as though trying to pick a fight with someone behind him, even though there was no one there. “You promised, Coach, you said you’d get me a girl! You said that! I ain’t playin’, I ain’t that kinda man! That fuckhead from Portsmouth State, man, I swear, you know I could have kicked his ass if it wasn’t for that damn ref!” “Marco, shut up!” Thickman wrapped one arm around Marco’s head and put him in a tight headlock. Marco screamed and twisted, trying to get out of it, but he ended up only ensconced more tightly in Thickman’s arms. Thickman shouted incomprehensibly. Marco was bent backwards, with made his sweat-soaked crotch bulge aim upward. Avery’s eyes were drawn to it. Marco was uncut. Avery could see that through the singlet. He licked his lips. There was a long awkward pause. Avery was both nervous because this had turned into a very angry encounter for no comprehensible reason and aroused because Marco’s massive body rubbed against Coach Thickman’s. Marco’s sweat rubbed off on Thickman’s muscled flesh, which made his white polo shirt translucent. “You okay? You better now?” Thickman asked when there had been a few moments of silence. Marco’s glistening chest heaved up and down, his pecs rippling under the straps of his singlet. “Yeah. Fine. Lemme go.” Marco scoffed as though that should have been obvious, like he had never lost his temper. Thickman let him go. Marco again straightened his singlet. He glanced at Avery as though he hadn’t noticed him until now. “Man, coach-“ “Shut ya face, Marco.” Marco bit his lip and looked down. His muscles were tense. He opened his mouth to complain a few more times, then stopped. Thickman crossed his arms over his chest. “You wanted me to keep you out of trouble, right? You wanted me to make sure you didn’t get kicked off the team and arrested?” “Man… Just… I won’t hit him.” Marco didn’t sound like he believed that even as he said it. “Who? Some random lady in the parking lot?” Marco sucked on his teeth. “No!” Coach Thickman glared at him. Marco cleared his throat. “The ref, man.” “He’s gone, Marco. The only person you’ll find out there you can hit is maybe a lady in the parking lot.” “I can go after that blond fuck from Portsmouth State. He wrestled like a fucking pussy, Thickman-“ Thickman slapped him again. “Do not call me Thickman, you little shit. You speak to me with respect.” “Sorry, Coach.” Marco shifted his weight between his feet. Thickman looked at Avery. “This is Marco. He’s a fucking moron with a temper problem. His idiot brain is always picking fights-“ “Man, Coach-” He sucked on his teeth. “Shut up. Every time he loses he throws a little baby hissyfit and punches someone. Then I gotta clean up his messes with the police, with his teammates, with the dean, with the goddamn rabbi that one time-“ “It ain’t a hissyfit, shut up! I ain’t a fuckin’ pussy, coach, I’ll kick anyone’s ass, swear to Christ! I’ll come at those motherfuckers with e’rything — I’ll punch a Jew if he comes at me, you know that, I keep it real, Coach! Motherfuckers are always comin’ at me-“ “Shut up!” Thickman roared. “Which motherfuckers, Marco? There’s no motherfuckers here to hit. You just lost a match. You can’t get arrested every time that happens.” “I ain’t get arrested every time it happens!” “Sixty percent of the time!” “Not every time! That ain’t every time!” Thickman sighed. “You said you needed to get a nut out, Marco-“ “Not a man!” “You specifically said you didn’t care! We agreed on this! You said you ain’t care cuz you a top. As long as you get ya dick wet, it don’t matter. Ah, coach, you don’t even know, where I come from, real man gotta stick his dick in someone, just fuck the shit outta her, or him, it’s all pink on the inside! I make any kinda bitch squeal!” Thickman did an exaggeratedly caveman-like impression. “Remember? The hood in Brooklyn.” “I ain’t say that! I ain’t say that! I was just talkin’ ‘bout, y’know, my old ‘hood back in New York, coach. That’s how wise guys do it, y’know. They don’t care ‘bout males…” Marco’s voice trailed off. He looked at Avery like he had just noticed him there. “I mean… Yeah, hell yeah, I can do it. You ready, boy? I’m-a rock ya world.” He grabbed his dick through his singlet and shook it in Avery’s direction. “Wreck ya ass, boy. Like the old country.” Thickman slapped him again. “What’d I say about that shit?” He lightly smacked Marco’s ass through that tight blue singlet. “Go’n cornhole him. He’s into it.” He looked at Avery, who eagerly nodded. Thickman smacked Marco’s ass again, making his cheeks jiggle like Mount Aetna. “Go’n hurry up. Don’t hit him.” “I won’t!” Then Marco was quiet for a long time, chewing on his lower lip. His anger seemed to have diminished, but his chest still heaved, soaked in aggression-fueled sweats. “What happened to that girl?” Thickman sighed. “I tol’ you that ain’t happenin’, on account of two reasons. Firstly, you lost and I ain’t bringin’ you no girl when you lose.” “Man…” “Secondly, you called that girl a bitch and a slut and a ho. You tried to get her to suck ya brother’s dick.” “So? She could’ve done it.” “Marco… You told me you couldn’t concentrate cuz the girls around here are prudes. You said you’d stop getting in trouble if you-“ “Coach-!” “You said that! You said you needed to drain ya nuts! You ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout double-teamin’ some slut with your brother! Who ain’t even in this state, dumbass! What’d you think she was gonna do? Hang out in here while your brother drives for eight hours to get a blowjob?” “Man, shut up!” “She said you were too mean and too hairy and you said you took a shower but she didn’t think you took a shower and you fucked her too rough and you got a dick that looks like a goblin!” “She did not!” “She did! She said all that! She said she chargin’ extra for you next time. I don’t blame. Son, you nasty. Get right wit’ God.” Marco hung his head. He shrugged and sucked on his teeth. “Whatever, that bitch was a fuckin’ prude, and she had a stank ass.” “She had a stank ass? Shut up, Marco. Just go stick the pansy. Don’t hit him.” “I won’t,” Marco said. He looked at Avery and shrugged. “Alright, then. You, uh… How, y’know, how you wanna do this?” Coach Thickman scoffed. “I thought you knew how to use ya dick like a champion, Marco? Remember? Like in the old country? Of Brooklyn? You can get ya nut off in-“ “Shut up. Get outta here. I don’t wanna do it wit’ ya old-ass watching me.” “Keep talkin’ ‘bout my ass, boy, you’ll find your tongue deep inside it,” Thickman said. “I’m-a wait right outside, so you ain’t tempted to start punching.” “I wouldn’t. Punching sissies is like punching girls. You ain’t allowed to do that,” Marco said indignantly as Thickman went to the hall. He faced towards the locker room. Marco looked back at Avery. Despite Marco’s apparent confidence, his face looked tense and nervous, and he yet again rearranged his cock in his singlet and ran the same hand through his mop of hair. “That’s why she said you stink,” Avery said. “What?” Marco said with a snort. “You keep touching your balls,” Avery said. “Then your hair, or you rub your nose. It makes you smell like ballsweat. Marco snorted again. He threw his eyebrows way back. “What? Oh.” He grunted. “Okay. Thanks.” Avery nodded. “Be gentle with girls.” “Man, shit, shut up, you dunno nothin,” Marco said. Avery walked right up to him, ignoring his fluttering heart. The scent of Marco’s post-match sweat filled the air. It was intense because it clung both to his body hair — which was substantial — and his singlet. Avery planted his tongue on Marco’s chest right above the edge of his singlet, which Marco began to remove. “I done this before, man,” Marco said. “It ain’t shameful for me, y’know, cuz I’s on top. I ain’t no less of a man, nuh-uh.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “That’s how it is in th old country. Italy.” “Of course,” Avery said. He dropped to his knees as Marco’s singlet landed on the floor. He wore a plain jockstrap, which Avery removed, making his thick, uncut cock pop out. He had a heavy pair of low-hangers too, which Avery cupped in one hand. “Yeah, there it is, man, swallow that shit,” he said. He smacked Avery across the face with it. “Is it the biggest you’ve ever seen?” “Hell yeah it is,” Avery said, following the shaft with his mouth. He stuck his tongue out until Marco held still long enough for him to lick it. The unwashed taste of body sweat and sun-drenched male flesh hit Avery’s tongue, making him moan. It wasn’t actually the biggest cock Avery had ever seen — it wasn’t even the biggest — but it was plenty big and Avery thought Marco’s arrogance was alluring, so he said it was the biggest. “By far the biggest, man, for sure.” He chased it with his tongue. “I know,” he said. He sniffled like it didn’t matter. He kept thwacking Avery over the face with it though, emphasizing how it was almost as long as Avery’s entire face. It was thick and meaty too, and it was indeed uncut, just as Avery suspected when he saw it through the singlet. Avery took that foreskin-clad tip in hand, and he started stroking it. He didn’t often get to jerk off uncut men, so it was a nice change of pace. He liked the way it seemed to have excess skin as he stroked it up and down, but then it grew more taut as it firmed up under the grip of his hands and his tongue. The funky smell of Marco’s dick got even more intense when it hardened up and that cocktip came out to play. As a series of aggressive moans came outta Marco’s throat, Avery slathered spit up and down it, slobbering saliva all over the shaft. Marco bristled, shuffling his weight between his feet. Marco’s face showed his anxiety and his surprise at how good this felt, but he scoffed like he wasn’t impressed and kept his eyes away from Avery’s. Avery said, as though the answer should have been obvious, “You’re Italian, right?” “Hell yeah.” “Uh-huh,” Avery said. He thwacked Marco’s fat erection over his face. Each time it hit Avery’s tongue and bounced off, it jiggled and roped over his nose and his forehead. And each time Marco twitched like he had seen a ghost. His cock pulsated atop Avery’s face. “So you’ll do it old-country style? Or not? Doesn’t matter to me, that’s just how real Italians do it. It’s a machismo thing.” He sniffled and shifted his weight between his feet. He wiped his face off. “Hell yeah,” he grunted. “‘Course I do it that way, slut. I know what it means.” He sniffled. “I’m from Brooklyn, dawg. We keep it real.” “Oh, great, okay,” Avery said. His heart thumped. Was this really working? He turned around and aimed his ass for Marco’s cock. “What’s that Italian saying? A virile man makes his bottom feel it all. I don’t remember it in Italian.” “That’s right.” He spoke in stuttering Italian, a language he obviously had only a dim knowledge of. “Uh-huh. That’s how you say that.” He was so focused on his dick sliding into Avery’s ass that he barely seemed to notice his hand being brought around to Avery’s front. The heat emanating from his sweat-soaked chest hit Avery’s smooth back, as his cock rammed its way up Avery’s backside. That sent a spasm of pleasure to wrack Avery’s body, and he let out a harsh, jagged moan of a breath. Avery dragged Marco’s to his own cock and had Marco start stroking, just as his manhood filled Avery’s ass up all the way. “Ah shit!” Marco yelped and backed his hand away when he realized he was giving Avery a reacharound. “What the fuck?” “Oh, I thought you were going to gimme a reacharound? That’s how the toughest tops do it in prison and stuff, y’know, but that’s fine,” Avery said with a grin. “That’s how mafia guys do it. I thought you were from New York? They’ve got old-country Italians there, I just assumed you were into that.” “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I know. Yeah,” Marco said with an indignant sniffle. His hand moved slowly back to Avery’s cock, and he gulped as he touched it. “Yeah, ‘course. That’s how they do it in the old country. It ain’t, y’know, America is… things is different over there.” “Your cock is so big,” Avery said with a moan. He leaned his head back, which both allowed him to grind his ass onto Marco’s cock while licking his chest hair as well as gave Marco easy access to Avery’s cock. Avery got swallowed up in the thickness of his arms and his chest. It was an awkward reacharound, but Avery didn’t mind. The nervous yet cocky sounds emanating from Marco’s throat made the awkwardity worth it. Avery turned his face to the side so he could suck all the wrestling sweat off Marco’s chest, while his body squirmed and experienced Marco’s increasingly harsh ramming. Soon he slammed his dick in all the way with each thrust of his hips. At first he seemed to want to do it hard enough to make Avery tell him to slow down, but when it became clear that wouldn’t happen, he stopped trying. Instead he closed his eyes, bit his lip and slammed his dick in and out as hard as he could. His balls slapped agsinst Avery’s asscheeks. But Avery wasn’t surprised that Marco had trouble keeping a girl after fucking her — he was not gentle, and he wasn’t aggressive in an obviously good way either. Avery loved it because he liked a little pain, and he thought Marco’s machismo was hot. Girls, Avery thought, would find it a lot less appealing. That, he thought, must be why Marco was so angry and high-strung. That and the smelling-like-ballsweat thing. “Alright, boy, gonna fill you up,” Marco said with a grunt. He held Avery’s body in place with one hand while his other stroked Avery off. He had no sooner warned Avery when his balls crawled up in his sac. He stopped moving for just a moment, grunted in Avery’s ear and then let go of him. Hot cum sprayed into Avery, great arcing jets of it that filled him up and turned his prostate on. Before Marco had even finished cumming, Avery was having his own orgasm — luckily Marco didn’t notice Avery’s cum coating his fingers — as the most intense sensations of his life ran up his spine. It was a moment that seemed to last forever, Avery being filled at one end while his own cock sprayed onto Marco’s pudgy fingers. His hairy Italian muscles rippled behind Avery’s back, and his hot breath condensed on Avery’s neck. Marco pulled away the moment he was done, so quickly that the last few drops of his cum landed on Avery’s back. They dripped down his asscrack and onto the floor of the filthy locker room. He sighed like he had thought he might not be able to do that. “Alright, Coach Thickman, I done it,” Marco said. He snorted and jogged in place, half-hard dick bouncing as it slowly limpened. Thickman walked in and groaned at the sight of his hard cock. “Boy, cover yourself up.” But Marco just glared first at his singlet and jockstrap, then at Coach Thickman, then at Avery, then back at Thickman. “Nah,” he said like a cocky jerk. He walked towards the locker room, stark-naked. “I gotta take a shower.” Thickman followed him trying to make him put clothes on, but Marco ignored him. Avery didn’t mind. He stayed there with Marco’s jockstrap and singlet, sniffing it and bringing himself to a second orgasm that was so intense it was almost painful. He spurted his second wad onto the pile of sweat-soaked clothes Marco had worn in here and forgotten about on the floor. When he was done, Avery gathered up the singlet and the jockstrap, he hurried out of there. Those, he thought, were going to give him orgasms for many nights to come.
Their spot was in the Crambighter Woods Campground. That was a low-budget spot near the highway, somewhere between a campground and a homeless encampment. It was a semi-legal encampment of semi-homeless men, a little splat of tents and trailers, a splat that was hoping to grow up into a trailer park one day. Anyway, the campsites were spread over a two-mile-long road that looped back on itself, but you were allowed to go deeper into the woods to set up your own site. A few of those informal campsites were well-maintainted, and one of them was where Jacob and Ransom always went. They considered it their campsite.
acob and Ransom had never disputed that because they didn’t want to admit they were scared to do anything more than jack off next to each other and both were sort of still virgins. Neither would admit that to each other or to Cooter.
Cooter had been in prison for years, and everybody knew he was a booty bandit. He had a “girlfriend” in there, and he said all the time that only a wuss jacks himself off. Real men have girlfriends or they swing on the downlow. Jacob and Ransom had never disputed that because they didn’t want to admit they were scared to do anything more than jack off next to each other and both were sort of still virgins. Neither would admit that to each other or to Cooter. Jacob gulped. “I was just… I dunno, man, you surprised me, I was bangin’ that ass pretty hard you know, and I was — I only just got started. I was, you know… rampin’ up-“ “A real man don’t need to ramp up,” Cooter said.
