“Go’n, hit me. As hard as you can, go fer it, Simon, wit’ all ya might,” Buck said. His voice stayed jagged cuzza Simon jostling him up and down, back and forth. He bobbed and weaved with his body like he was boxing — Buck usedta be a amateur boxer — and pretended liketa dodge Simon’s strikes. He ain’t move away though, just kept letting Simon bag on him. “You gotsta put ya thumb on the outsidea ya fist,” Buck said, “Or you gonna break ya thumb.”
Readjusting his fist, Simon punched harder and harder. His shoulders ached, but he didn’t stop. His punches did slow down and get weaker though. Finally he got Buck right above the navel, which was nuff to make Buck grunt. His belly and pecs rippled. The punch ain’t hurt, it just hit right ‘tween breaths, and Buck threw his eyebrows way back. But he played it up to encourage Simon.
“Damn, Simon, you throw a firm fist fer a li’l feller!” Buck said with a whistle.
“I’m tired, Buck,” Simon said. He blushed. He didn’t move away though, he just stopped punching Buck’s chest and started groping it. Buck’s pecs rippled when Simon’s fingers gripped it tight like he wanna see how firm it was under the layer of padding Buck had. He was so tall Simon couldn’t reach past his shoulders. Simon’s hands crept into the hefty under-pec area, the sweaty crevice ‘neath his pectoral muscles, and Simon even stuck his nose under there and took a long deep sniff.
“A’ight, buddy,” Buck said with a shrug. He gently pushed Simon off his pecs, then sat down upon the edge of the bed. “Relax, relax, you don’t gotta…”
Simon nodded. Though Buck done move, Simon moved with him, and he was again caressing the curves of Buck’s powerful chest. “How’d you get so strong, Buck?”
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MN Manmacker's mansploitation