Author: MNManmacker

“Well, it’s for men who got big ol’ balls.”

The men here in the green barn were rough-and-tumble types, would-be cowboys and brawny bikers, men who looked like they struggled to come in to work sober every day.

He felt small and weak in comparison to the other workers. He was the youngest by far — almost twenty, but most of the other young men from the college went to the red barn, it seemed. The men here in the green barn were rough-and-tumble types, would-be cowboys and brawny bikers, men who looked like they struggled to come in to work sober every day. Now that they were getting naked, Charlie could see their muscles and the military, sailor or maybe even prison tattoos they had, reminding him yet again that he was youthful, pitiful and frightened. Charlie’s father said that tattoos were a sin and that sailors were not trustworthy.
Yoder placed one hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You can still go to the red barn, if you can’t handle the green one,” he said. “You see… The green barn is for men who want to…” He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair, making his rattail shake. “Well, it’s for men who got big ol’ balls.”

From The Green Barn Is for Men

The Green Barn

So he decided to go to the green barn, which was a little further away, along the northeastern edge of the farm, away from the road and away from the main farmhouse. That, he thought, must be why the workers had mostly gone to the red barn, because it was closer and larger and newer. The green barn was distant, small, old-fashioned, ramshackle and it smelled permanently of goats.
It was just a small barn that had been rigged with running water for a big group shower. It wasn’t even an actual shower — the red barn had real showerheads in individual stalls, but not the green barn. The green barn sported a powerful hose suspended over the barn floor and possessing many small holes aimed in every direction — this was not an actual device, mind you, someone had simply poked holes in the hose and upped the water pressure enough to make it spray over the whole of the central showering area in the green barn.
The day was so hot that Charlie dreaded a warm shower, but when he got near, he realized it wasn’t that hot at all. It sprayed lukewarm water. Just warm enough that it felt like a relaxing hug, and it soothed his aching muscles. The barn felt steamy, even though the water wasn’t warm enough to make steam. It felt that way because of the humid air, which felt like mist in the stuffy barn
There was a little changing area with some slabs of wood to use as benches, and next to it was a shelf lined with ratty thin towels and bars of white, unscented soap. But almost the entirety of the green barn comprised the showering area, which was simply on, no way to turn it off that Charlie could see. Maybe it was turned on over at the water heater that Charlie could see was mounted on the outside of the barn. It was dimly lit, but it gave out a cozy air, exactly what Charlie wanted in a group shower.
He’d always enjoyed a group shower.

The Green Barn Is for Men

In Charlie’s summer job picking strawberries, he’s got to choose between showering in the red barn or the green barn… And it’s a choice that might change everything. That’s because the green barn is full of men exploring their needs and satisfying their curiosity, and Charlie is eager to do both!

Can he handle the green barn?

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Read the whole thing here!

Charlie Smitkowski felt like his body was falling apart. He was working a job at the Arnold family farm in the summer. Luckily he was in a rural part of northern Alabama where the soil was poor, which meant there was not enough demand for farmwork to attract very many of the braceros who did most of that labor outside of Alabama. That was the only reason he and his friends had managed to get a job picking strawberries at all.
It sounded like dainty women’s work. Charlie knew that it wasn’t, that just because little girls loved strawberries didn’t mean little girls were capable of picking them. It was just an odd thought that lingered in him as he got used to the role. It was not dainty work at all.
Not that he was complaining. A part of him wanted it to be a difficult job — Charlie had gained a couple pounds after graduating high school, and he thought a summer of hard work might help him lose the weight. He had a football scholarship to Goldendale Hills University, so he needed to get in shape. He thought a summer job working hard in the fields would be a great way to get himself ready for training in the fall.
Plus his dad was gonna make him work at his car dealership if Charlie didn’t find a job on his own. Charlie would rather work like a slave than work for his father at the dealership.
But he had no idea how arduous it would be. By the end of his first day, he was dripping with sweat. The hot Alabama sun pounded on him like a fist, like he could really feel its rays smacking into him, buffeting him, oppressing him like a wool blanket. It was windy, but that didn’t help, it just blew more waves of heat and humid air all over him. His shirt and his pants were caked onto his skin, like he might not ever be able to undress, he’s gonna hafta peel the clothes off. His socks were soaked in sweat, which also dripped off his brow in rivulets.
He stumbled at the end of the day, unable to even walk with dragging his feet. He staggered through the fields with the other workers, who talked and laughed like they did this every day — of course, they did do this every day. They were just as sweaty as Charlie, but they were better able to tolerate it.
“Yee-haw! I’s going out to the bar once the old lady passes out, who’s wit’ me?! I am gonna get sinful wit’ whichever bar wench looks at me first!”
“It’ll be Edna-“
“Any bar wench except Edna!” They all laughed as though this was a hilarious joke, but Charlie had the feeling they made this same joke every day. A couple of the men grabbed their crotches, outlining their cocks in the denim of their jeans, and spat on the ground — Charlie didn’t know if they were expressing scorn towards Edna or suggesting that they would, in fact, fornicate with her despite her being unappealing. He suspected it was both. He blushed. His father taught him that speaking ill of women, grabbing one’s lower regions, carrying-on and spitting in public were all markers of poor character. But Charlie did not reprimand the other workers; he wanted to be accepted just like the others, so he just nodded and went along with it. He was too tired and too eager to fit in to make a big deal out of it.
There were two barns that the workers split up to go to after their shift was done. One was a red barn at the north edge of the farm. That was where the vast majority of the farmworkers filed off to, already stripping off their shirts. Charlie suspected there would be a line there. There couldn’t possibly be enough showerheads for everyone at once, and Charlie didn’t want to wait.
So he decided to go to the green barn, which was a little further away, along the northeastern edge of the farm, away from the road and away from the main farmhouse. That, he thought, must be why the workers had mostly gone to the red barn, because it was closer and larger and newer. The green barn was distant, small, old-fashioned, ramshackle and it smelled permanently of goats.
It was just a small barn that had been rigged with running water for a big group shower. It wasn’t even an actual shower — the red barn had real showerheads in individual stalls, but not the green barn. The green barn sported a powerful hose suspended over the barn floor and possessing many small holes aimed in every direction — this was not an actual device, mind you, someone had simply poked holes in the hose and upped the water pressure enough to make it spray over the whole of the central showering area in the green barn.
The day was so hot that Charlie dreaded a warm shower, but when he got near, he realized it wasn’t that hot at all. It sprayed lukewarm water. Just warm enough that it felt like a relaxing hug, and it soothed his aching muscles. The barn felt steamy, even though the water wasn’t warm enough to make steam. It felt that way because of the humid air, which felt like mist in the stuffy barn
There was a little changing area with some slabs of wood to use as benches, and next to it was a shelf lined with ratty thin towels and bars of white, unscented soap. But almost the entirety of the green barn comprised the showering area, which was simply on, no way to turn it off that Charlie could see. Maybe it was turned on over at the water heater that Charlie could see was mounted on the outside of the barn. It was dimly lit, but it gave out a cozy air, exactly what Charlie wanted in a group shower.
He’d always enjoyed a group shower.
The green barn was primitive, but it was exactly what Charlie wanted in the heat of the moment. He didn’t want hot water — he would have been happy with ice-cold water if that was an option, but lukewarmish was nice too. He didn’t want to choose a spot to shower in or wait for his preferred stall, which is what he would be doing back at the red barn. He’d have to sit there crowded by naked, hairy men older than he was, their bodies brushing against him and everyone having plenty of opportunity to see Charlie’s dick.
“New guy’s horny, huh?” someone shouted when they realized Charlie was here. The other workers laughed.
Charlie smiled. What did that mean? He wasn’t especially horny. He was too tired right now to figure out what they meant. He didn’t like ribald talk. His father taught him not to act that way.
“Looks like the green-barn type, reckon,” said one twangy redneck with a cock of his head and a suck on his teeth. He chuckled throatily.
“Green barn! The green barn!” They were shouting, at each other and at Charlie, who had no idea what was happening or why they were so excited. Obviously there was some special significance to the green barn, something Charlie didn’t grok. He pretended to be just like the others, and he nodded along as though he knew why the green barn was important.
He felt small and weak in comparison to the other workers. He was the youngest by far — almost twenty, but most of the other young men from the college went to the red barn, it seemed. The men here in the green barn were rough-and-tumble types, would-be cowboys and brawny bikers, men who looked like they struggled to come in to work sober every day. Now that they were getting naked, Charlie could see their muscles and the military, sailor or maybe even prison tattoos they had, reminding him yet again that he was youthful, pitiful and frightened. Charlie’s father said that tattoos were a sin and that sailors were not trustworthy. Charlie felt a twinge of fear as he steeled his nerves.
“Why did everybody else go to the red barn?” Charlie asked Cabel Yoder.
Yoder was the nicest person in the green barn, at least out of the folks Charlie had met so far. He was tall, broad-shouldered, easy-grinned, with a Confederate flag tattoo over his heart. He had a thick mop of blond hair that was soaked with sweat even before he got under the spray of the water, and he had a short rattail sticking out the back. Yoder guffawed at Charlie’s question, attracting attention from the other workers.
“Hey, this youngblood don’t know ’bout the green barn!” Yoder called out. The others laughed along with him.
“What?”
Yoder placed one hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You can still go to the red barn, if you can’t handle the green one,” he said. “You see… The green barn is for men who want to…” He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair, making his rattail shake. “Well, it’s for men who got big ol’ balls.”
“… What?”
Yoder laughed again, and the other workers who were within earshot laughed too. Charlie blushed. He was down to his underwear, but most of the others were naked now, including Yoder, whose massive cock put Charlie to shame. It swung between his legs like a pendulum. Charlie found it very distracting, which made it hard to focus on understanding Yoder’s words.
Charlie wanted to drop his own underwear too, to get into the meat of the shower. It was crowded — with maybe fifteen men gleaming wet, soaping each other up, grinning, carrying on and slapping ass — and his underwear was getting wet anyway, from the shower water splattering and misting over this way. But he was still unsure of what Yoder was going to say, so Charlie waited with his hand holding the elastic of his increasingly soaked briefs.
“We trade…,” Yoder said with a wide grin. “Well, we trade, uh… we gets each other off, we do.” He raised his hand to get attention from the other workers, who filed their hairy, sweaty, tattooed bodies into the shower.
“Uh…” Charlie’s heart skipped a beat. Was this barn really meant for that kind of horseplay? He couldn’t believe that. Mr. Arnold — he was the farmer who owned this land, not to mention both barns — was a good, Christian man. He went to the same church where Charlie and his dad went — First Grace. That was how Charlie got this job. Mr. Arnold wouldn’t tolerate any kind of perverted masturbation stuff, would he?
“So, if you ain’t manly enough to handle this, go ahead back to the red barn. That’s a great place for small, weak men who don’t want anyone to see their manhood,” Yoder said.
With an eager grin, Charlie dropped his briefs. His heart thrilled, and he licked his teeth.
Yoder glanced down at Charlie’s cock, which was small. It wasn’t always tiny, it got a lot bigger when it was hard, but Charlie blushed just the same. Charlie touched his dick, which seemed ready to firm up. Normally that would embarrass him in a group shower, but it looked expected here. A couple of the men in the showers were erect.
“It’s okay. Only real men got a need to drain they balls like this. Don’t be embarrassed. If’n you don’t needta, you a bettuh, more civilized man ‘an us.” Yoder and the other workers cheered on their own barbarism. They pounded on their own chests and smacked each other’s hairy asses, laughing at their horseplay.
But of course, Charlie was embarrassed. He didn’t want to seem like half a man. So he cleared his throat and said, “No, I’ll stay. I’ll stay. I’ll… do whatever.” He hoped that sounded more macho than it felt. He looked down at his feet as Yoder clapped his hands.
“Really? Wow, you did not look like the type,” Yoder said with an appreciative whistle. “Thought you was a prettyboy.” He shrugged and headed into the shower area. He closed his eyes as water ran through his thick blond hair and washed over his flesh. His muscles rippled, attracting Charlie’s attention though he tried to look away. He didn’t want to look like what his father called a lavender type.
Charlie went into the spray of the water too. It did feel good. Now that he had relaxed for a few minutes, he was no longer quite so tuckered. He had caught his breath, but his legs still felt like jelly. They might have even felt worse now that they rested for a bit.
“Now get down on ya knees,” Yoder said. He wagged his dick in Charlie’s direction. His thick shaft was jiggly and soapy, fleshy, almost inviting for some reason. Charlie really did want to taste it, even if the others were already teasing him for it and he hadn’t even begun.
“Gulp it down, rookie! If you dare!”
Some of the other men were already touching dicks — frotting, they called that, and Charlie was eager to try it too. They laughed nervously when they did, like they were regretting choosing the green barn. Some of them grabbed each other’s cocks, others touched themselves as they watched, and one hairy men was already slowly humping his cock on someone’s thigh as they chatted about something Charlie couldn’t hear.
Charlie sunk to his knees, his heart swelling with desire as his dick firmed up, though Charlie didn’t touch it.
Yoder had a cocky grin on his face. He slapped his knob over Charlie’s face and laughed when he chased it with his mouth. The dickmeat was slick and sour. It still tasted like sweat even though it had been washed off by the shower spray; it still tasted of salt and body hair and sunlight and loamy soil and a bit of soap, and it still made Charlie hungry despite his distaste for the acridity and the funk of it.
Then Charlie choked but gurgled and swelled to accommodate it as Yoder fed his dick into Charlie’s throat. The taste of cock filled his senses. Yoder’s dick stiffened and hardened so quickly Charlie could watch it firm up until it was hard as rock. It throbbed in his mouth.
“Spread ya lips open widuh, hoss,” Yoder said with a chuckle.
“Is he gonna swaller it? Reckon he is…”
“Oh yeah, he doin’ it!”
Precum leaked down Charlie’s throat. It tasted sour and salty-sweet, and it made Charlie’s eyes water. He was surprised not just by how quickly Yoder was getting hard but also by how hard he got — Charlie was never that hard. Yoder’s cock was like a crowbar in his throat, a hot rod of steel.
He was also surprised because he really didn’t mind the taste of cock or of precum. It wasn’t exactly delicious, but there was something savory and craveable about it. Charlie wouldn’t have minded doing this again.
Not that he planned on doing it again, mind you. He fully intended to shower in the red barn from now on. He didn’t want to admit he had made a mistake, so he would just tell the other workers that he was no longer horny, that he had showered in the green barn today because he wanted to have sex, and after today, he will have chosen to shower in the red barn because he wasn’t that horny. No mistake. No perversion. No impotence. Not a sissy.
But before he could enact that plan, he had to get through today. He was so focused on swallowing down Yoder’s cock that he didn’t hear the other workers chant.
“Stick it in his ass, Yoder!”
“Make him ya whore!”
Yoder seemed wide-eyed and grim, like he didn’t expect it to go this far. Normally they all circlejerked in a big circle, but today half of them watched Charlie swallow Yoder’s dick.
“Okay, now it’s ya turn to bend ovuh, if you want,” Yoder said. He drew in a deep, satisfied sigh. “You don’t got to.”
“What…?”
“Don’t worry, it’s real easy. Just get down on all fours,” Yoder said. He gently but firmly pushed him into position on his hands and knees. Lukewarm shower water sprayed over Charlie’s back, and someone swiped a wad of goopy shampoo — or maybe outright lube — on Charlie’s ass to slick him up.
Then a powerful, mounting pain hit him in the backside. Charlie moaned, in pain first and then pleasure as the most incredible sensation of his life hit him. There was intense pressure that he couldn’t quite handle, and he screamed. Yoder’s powerful body pressed into him.
The other men clapped and hooted. They were shooting their own loads now as they watched, circlejerking onto the floor of the green barn just a few feet from where Charlie crouched.
“Hey, get off!” Yoder shouted, yelping as he pushed Lawrence away — Lawrence was a greasy cowboyish farmworker who had rammed his finger in Yoder’s ass because he thought it was funny. While Yoder worked his dick into Charlie’s butthole, Lawrence got the other workers to watch him slip his pinkie finger into Yoder. They all guffawed together as Yoder shoved Lawrence away.
Yoder grabbed ahold of Charlie’s hair, and he pulled just tight enough to keep him from squirming. “Don’chu try and blueball me, hoss…” Yoder said with a baritone grunt.
Bliss coursing through his veins, Charlie reared his head up. That placed Yoder’s strapping chest muscles right against Charlie’s bare back, so Charlie could feel the strength and the power radiating off him. It made Charlie feel weak, but he didn’t mind anymore. He was glad to be weak in front of Yoder. He wanted to feel Yoder’s dominance on top of him, inside him and throughout every inch of Charlie’s body.
“Don’t say I never did nothin’ fuh you,” Yoder said as he reached around to Charlie’s cock. It was hard, so it had grown considerably, but Yoder still snickered. “Damn, that is one tiny cock.”
“It’s not that small!” Charlie gasped and begged for more pressure in his ass.
But arguing about it just made Charlie seem defensive and drew attention to it. Soon the other workers were kneeling in front of him to see, and they all laughed, gibbering about how tiny it was.
“It’s like a fingernail!”
“Are we sure he ain’t a female?”
Cum popped off all over the place. The shower did not feel very clean, and Charlie now felt dirtier than he had when he first came in. If it was like this all the time, he thought, then the floor here must be covered in cum. That made him feel grimy and gross because he was on the floor now. How many stale old loads was he rubbing himself into right now?
But he couldn’t concentrate on that. His body writhed in both pain and pleasure, precum leaking down Yoder’s fingers as he stroked Charlie off. It was embarrassing to get hard with a cock in his ass, but he couldn’t help it, and Charlie cried out for more.
“Oh, wow, Li’l-Dick Rookie is into it! He loves it!”
“With a cock like that, I knew he was a girl!”
His prostate sang and screamed as Charlie reached orgasm. He grunted. He gasped. He heaved for air, writhing beneath Yoder’s farm-toned muscles. Cum sprayed over the floor and Yoder’s fingers.
Charlie sighed. His entire body went limp and he collapsed belly-first onto the pile of steaming-hot cum he had just sprayed. Yoder cheered.
“Hell yeah, I made ya blow first! That makes me a champion!”
Every else clapped and laughed. Yoder pumped his biceps and wiped his cum-dripping hands off on Charlie’s back. The shower water washed away all the mess from his back, but his stomach — which had become covered in cum when he laid in his own load on the floor — was not facing the water, so most of his semen stuck to his skin there.
Then Yoder withdrew his cock all the way from Charlie’s ass. He called for silence and everyone watched as Yoder very slowly pushed his entire manhood back in.
“Gonna finish now, fill you up on the inside…” Yoder groaned right into Charlie’s ears.
Charlie squealed and yelped. He couldn’t even pretend to be in pain anymore — there was a little pain, but it was overshadowed by the mind-blowing pleasure of his prostate being stimulated. Charlie moaned. His fingers tightened into claws that ripped at the loose, splintery boards of the green barn floor.
He sensed Yoder’s orgasm a few seconds before it began. Yoder’s chortling laughter turned into a low, grumbly groan of bliss, a cringing sound so intense it made the hair on the back of Charlie’s neck stand on end.
Cum sprayed into his ass, a big, creamy load that soaked into his flesh. It dripped into the folds of his guts as he took wad after wad of hot cum. Its heat seeped into his body, and Charlie could feel it in his arms and his legs, his fingers, his toes and even in his face.
Finally it was all over. Charlie was limp, on the floor on his belly, both sides of him covered in cum, both his own and the other workers — they had circlejerked onto the floor, but in the confusion and cramped quarters, Charlie ended up with more than a little bit all of him as well. He couldn’t tell if he should cry, fight or beg for more. He wanted to do all three.
But more than that, he wanted to lay there and bask in the aftershocks of his orgasm. They cracked through his body like earthquakes, so intense he couldn’t think about anything except the mind-blowing experience he had just had. He didn’t know how long he rested there on the floor. It felt like eons.
Eventually, however, he was done. He crawled to his feet, and sheepishly exchanged glances with the other workers who were still here. Yoder had gone, as had most of the others — once they blew their wads and finished their showers, there was no reason to stick around.
One person was left, standing there naked and watching him with pity in his eyes. He was Ernest, the oldest of the farmworkers, well into his forties, maybe even early fifties, though with a well-muscled body that could keep up with the younger workers.
“You okay?” Ernest asked. He put one hand on Charlie’s shoulders as Charlie finally rinsed off all that cum. He felt clean for the first time since he had started work this morning.
Charlie nodded.
Ernest smiled. He led Charlie back to the changing area, where they both slowly put some clothes on. Charlie was dazed and groggy.
“Next time,” Ernest said, “You should hold back. One of the rules of the green barn is that whatevuh you give, you gotta take too. So if you ain’t nut first, you coulda made Yoder bend over and take it up the ass.”
“Really?”
Ernest nodded. “Next time. If’n you ready, I’d be glad to ram you next time.”
“And then I get to ram you?”
“Well… Imma give you a reacharound just like Yoder did,” Ernest said with a grin. He headed towards the door to the outside, and Charlie followed. “If’n you blow ya load in my hand, then you don’t get to ram me. So enjoy it, but don’t enjoy it too much.”
“Oh, okay. I, uh, I can do that,” Charlie said. He wasn’t very confident in that though. He had enjoyed himself so much he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to hold off on cumming the entire time. If it always felt like it did today, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to delay it at all. If it was always like that, he’d never want to slow down.
He decided right then and there that he was going to shower in the green barn every day this summer.

The Dallas Alpha

When Rob meets a mysterious biker, he never thought he’d wind up exploring every inch of the man’s studly body. But at the legendary bar Lipsweet, anything is possible, and the redneck ex-con Cooter is willing to give Rob a swing on his most studly of meats!

Read it as an ebook!

Read the whole thing right here

The bar was less crowded than it usually was, although Rob didn’t normally go on a Thursday night, so he couldn’t say for sure. He noticed a few regulars — Francis playing pool with Deshawn and Tiny, Suzette in her tied-up flannel shirt and cut-off denim shorts, Tall Bear with a few beers already lined up in front of him on the bar. Rob nodded a greeting to a few folks he knew as he passed by, making his way to the bar and sitting a few stools down from Tall Bear, whom he gave a half-hearted wave to.
Tall Bear wore a Cowboys jersey, as Lipsweet was a football bar, and in Dallas, that meant the Cowboys. TVs mounted on the walls blared a highlights show running through clips from previous games. Rob ignored it. He wasn’t a football guy. Most of the other patrons too, but for the opposite reason — they ignored the clips show because they’d watched the games. They already knew the highlights.
But there was no actual game to watch at three o’clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday.
Rob nodded again to some acquaintances and ordered a beer from Teddy. He made small talk with Tall Bear and a few other imbibers he knew, sipping on his beer, until the loud sound of a gravelly motor growing louder quieted the din of conversation.
Around here, a motorcycle meant bikers, which meant the Jagged Right, which meant trouble.
The bar practically held its breath. Rob turned around in time to see the door open, revealing a tall, solid man in a black tee-shirt, leather jacket, and tight, fitted denim pants. His boots thumped solid and heavy against the concrete floor as he walked up to the bar and sat down right next to Rob. He was middle-aged but powerfully built, with a spring in his step like a much younger man. His wild beard like a gold prospector made him look like a vicious Amish or maybe a redneck Muslim.
A new murmur of conversation sprang up, people craning their necks to get a better view of the interloper. Rob watched the man out of the corner of his eye. He was tanned and had a strong jaw, dark brown hair, darker brown eyes. He sat with a confidence that was inherently alluring, and Rob shifted uncomfortably in his seat, turning his attention back to his beer. The man’s biceps flexed within the confines of his t-shirt, almost bursting the seams, and Rob couldn’t think of anything else but what those muscles would feel like wrapped around his body.
Conversation resumed when it became apparent this was not a robbery, a fistfight, a naked woman or the arrival of a football player, which were the only things that could interrupt drinking at Lipsweet. Rob resumed drinking his beer.
After a few minutes, though, Rob sensed someone’s eyes on him and turned to see that interloper looking at him, a knowing smirk on his face. “How ya doin’?” he asked. His accent was thick with redneckery, but with a Western twang to it, the sound of a native longhorn. Rob was from out east, but here in Texas, most folks jawed like that stranger storming in like a silent tornado.
Rob fought the impulse to check behind him for another person, knowing that the man could only be addressing him. “Doin’ alright. Yourself?”
“Pretty good,” the man answered. He let his eyes trail slowly over Rob, blatantly checking him out, and smiled. “Name’s Cooter.” He held out a large, callussed hand, and Rob shook it. His heart was pounding, as the man’s alpha male demeanor and his well-muscled solidity gave Rob a frisson of excitement. Rob did appreciate the male form.
“Rob. You new around here?” In this tiny town, everybody knew everybody, so Rob was the only one who didn’t know that Cooter was from elsewhere. He was not one of Dallas’s Jagged Right.
That was a motorcycle gang in these parts and most other parts as well. The Jagged Right was strongly regional though. If Cooter wasn’t from the local club, he couldn’t try anything in Dallas, or the local club would come after him. In any case, Cooter looked more likely to drive an unlicensed dirtbike on a public road than to do any serious crime.
“Nah, not really. Just tryin’ a change of pace for a night. Hey, let’s have another drink,” Cooter said. He let his hand trail down Rob’s arm after he signaled for the bartender.
Rob gulped, determined not to show how eager he was. “Yeah, sounds great.” Cooter’s muscles thrummed and flexed beneath his black leather jacket.
The bartender — Teddy — brought over two beers, passing one to Rob and the other to Cooter, watching them with suspicion and interest until Cooter glared hard enough for Teddy to turn around. Rob took a sip of his beer, trying to ignore the way Cooter watched his mouth wrap around the lip of the bottle.
He tried to ignore it, but he failed, and he sensed that Cooter wanted the same thing Rob wanted. Cooter was a biker, on the road, needing a little release, and Rob was willing to release whatever Cooter had pent up.
Goddamn do I love a biker! Rob thought to himself.
“So, you come here often?” Rob asked, wanting to hit himself as soon as it was out of his mouth. It sounded like some cheesy pick-up line from a bad movie, and he was sorry to have said it without thinking about it.
Cooter laughed, ignoring Rob’s question. His shoulders clenched and flexed as he let out a dry, dusty chuckle. He licked his teeth and looked Rob up and down. He glanced around the bar too, maybe checking out if there was a woman he could go away with. But he was an out-of-towner and not a football player or even a football enthusiast, it seemed, so none of the women here seemed likely to give him the time of day. Actual football players did come here — the Titans, a local semi-pro team haunted Lipsweet — so the jock-chasing women of Lipsweet were likely going to wait for them.
Nobody told Cooter that, but nobody needed to. Cooter is nobody’s fool.
“I got a bike outside,” Cooter said with a casual sneer. He looked down his nose at Rob, not in a haughty way, just in a way that recognized that Cooter was an alpha and Rob was a passive sissy. Well, maybe not quite a sissy, but a passivo nonetheless. “Wanna see it?”
“Yeah, sure,” Rob agreed.
Cooter reached into his back pocket and pulled out his leather wallet, throwing a few bills onto the bar, more than enough for both his and Rob’s drinks. Cooter downed the remainder of his beer in one gulp, then did the same to Rob’s beer. With one smooth motion, Cooter refilled his beer from the tap behind the bar — Teddy was engrossed in a conversation with Tall Bear — and shot Rob a confiding glance. Then he headed for the door.
Without even an explicit invitation, Rob sensed that he was to follow, so he followed. The thrum of expectant conversation continued behind him. Cooter opened the door to the parking lot, which Rob thought was held open for him — what a gallant gentleman! — but then Cooter pushed in front of him and went out first. Rob wondered if that was deliberate, if Cooter wanted to signal that Rob was no woman and would not be treated like one.
That was true, of course, Rob was no woman, but he did like to be treated like one by big alphas like Cooter.
Rob followed Cooter out into the lot, receiving curious and disapproving stares from the other people in the bar as he went.
The bike was parked sideways across what could have been two spots in the gravel parking lot, and looked thrillingly, strikingly out-of-place among the pickups and rusted jeeps surrounding it. Rob had never seen a motorcycle up close like that before, he didn’t know any bikers or even any casual riders. His own family — the Winthrops — were the kind of classy Southern upper-class twats who looked down on bikers. Not Rob though. As long as they were alphas with muscles and grizzle and scruff and big fat cocks, he appreciated them, and he sensed Cooter made the grade in every way.
Gravel crunched under his feet. Rob took a couple steps closer, admiring the spotless black frame and, upon further inspection, the tribal sun painted on the black in red and gold, the symbol for the Jagged Right biker gang. It was painted into the motorcycle. That symbol sent a rush of excitement through him, adrenaline pounding through his veins — Cooter was a real biker. The Jagged Right don’t play, they were the ones who robbed that bank last week. Rob saw that on the news.
He felt Cooter step behind him, pressed close to his back. Cooter leaned down to speak in Rob’s ear. The heat from his bearish chest burned, and Rob squirmed with desire. He felt the firmity of Cooter’s muscles just centimeters from his back, and then, tantalizingly enough, Cooter came even closer. His breath condensed on Rob’s nape, and his chest pressed against Rob’s back.
“Wanna go for a ride?” Cooter asked, in that deep drawl- and twang-dripping voice.
It sent a shudder up Rob’s spine. “Yeah,” Rob nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
Cooter smiled a cruel and predatory grin, then offered Rob a spare helmet. Rob put it on. his heart thumped. Dad would hate it if he knew Rob was going to ride on a motorcycle, with some stranger, a stranger in a gang!
In front of Rob, Cooter straddled the bike like it was made for him, the denim of his pants straining across his ass and thighs. Rob hesitantly copied the position, his chest pressed flush against Cooter’s back and his thighs pressed against Cooter’s. Cooter revved the engine once as a warning before he kicked off, flying down the dirt road with Rob twining his arms around Cooter’s torso. Rob couldn’t believe his luck in being allowed — nay, forced, by circumstances — to fondle the great barrel chest and greasemonkey muscles of this mysterious man’s body.
Once he was no longer entranced by Cooter’s words and his presence, Rob did feel a surge of worry — his father would say this was a grave risk. Cooter could be robbing him. This could be a kidnapping.
Maybe Cooter was gonna ransom him. That thought was somehow alluring too. Rob giggled, and Cooter bristled like he sensed that despite the roar and rush of the Texas landscape whooshing by.
The wind stung Rob’s cheeks, and a few times he had to clutch desperately onto Cooter so he didn’t fall off as they went over a bump too quickly . The ride was exhilarating: the vibrations, the warmth of Cooter’s body, the mystery inherent in the dusky night air, the looks they got from people on their porches as they whipped past in a cloud of diesel and dust — all of it churned together into a current of lust with eddies of warm, burning need, and by the time Cooter pulled up to a trailer home and cut the engine, Rob was embarrassingly hard in his jeans. From the look Cooter gave him, he must have known it, too. He probably felt Rob’s cock pressing through both pairs of jeans into Cooter’s sweaty asscrack.
But he didn’t complain, even when Rob had to rearrange his manhood in his pants as he dismounted from the motorcycle. Rob still felt the thrum of the engine rocking through his body.
They were in Smashwood Trailer Park, which was on the outskirts of Amarillo. Rob had passed it by many times. It had a reputation in Amarillo as a trashy spot, with shanties and abandoned trailers in the back where hobos lived. Rob had been told to never go there to buy drugs, as he would be surely robbed. This wasn’t a drug deal, and Rob didn’t want any drugs, but still, the warning rang out in his memory.
“Do ya wanna come in?” Cooter asked. He stepped away from the bike and put his helmet on the seat. The warm firmness of his muscular arm brushed against Rob’s own thinner arm, but he felt it and barely managed to bite back a groan.
Rob greatly appreciates a man with muscles, and Cooter was powerfully built, strong as a bear. Rob had to fight back the urge to worship his muscles here and now.
Having asked Rob to come in, Cooter headed straight for the door to the trailer as though Rob’s answer was assumed. “Yeah, yes, that’d be great,” he rushed to answer, his voice pitchy and breathless. He was too horny to care about playing it cool. Rob hurried behind Cooter, and they both passed a bench press in the grass, weights scattered around it and reeking of mansweat so strong Rob could smell it without going near.
Cooter led him up the flimsy steps at the door of his trailer and pressed open the door, and this time he gestured for Rob to go first. He did, taking in the unmade bed; the couch piled with papers and wrappers; television set; the table with a gun, polish, and a cleaning kit; a counter with a six-pack of beer on it. A Confederate flag was mounted on the wall.
“Sorry, ain’t have a chance to clean up earlier, and I don’t got much furniture,” Cooter said, “But you can sit on the bed if you want.” Indeed, there were no chairs in the trailer.
Rob just smiled and moved to the bed, shucking his canvas jacket onto the couch as he went. He tried to avoid staring at the pile of dirty, sweat-stained t-shirts and boxers shorts on the floor by his feet. When he turned and sat on the bed, Cooter was right there in front of him.
“You beautiful, you know that? Pretty like a girl…” Cooter said as he ran his hands through Rob’s hair, down his body, making Rob tense and shiver. His fingers were callused and firm, gripping like a vise. “I wanna know how those lips would feel on my meat, I been thinking about that from the minute I saw you back at the bar. I sensed them lips would feel soft as silk on a man’s pecker. Wanna know how my lips feel? I sure as sugah you gonna like ’em. I sawn how you was lookin’ at me, and I felt yo’ dick gettin’ hard on my bike.”
Rob nodded, eagerly licking his lips, which made Cooter smile while he unbuckled his belt. Rob’s eyes lit up, his heart racing — that started the moment he saw Cooter back in the bar, in Lipsweet, back when Rob thought tonight would be boring and fruitless. Now he was ready to have a night of his dreams with a man of his fantasies.
A groan was already escaping from Cooter’s mouth, as Rob reached forward and unzipped Cooter’s jeans. He tugged them down until they were around his ankles, leaving behind a pair of black boxers that showed the clear outline of Cooter’s hard dick. They were plain white boxers, starchy like linen — possibly prison drawers, Rob thought. He didn’t have the presence of mind to ask though, as Rob was overwhelmed by the rush of passion.
The scent of Cooter’s unwashed crotch sent Rob reeling, his mouth watering. Cooter put his hand on the back of Rob’s head, encouraging him to get on with it, but Rob took his time — he liks to tease.
Holding back his flirtatious giggle, Rob touched the bulge in Cooter’s boxes. The merest of touches made Cooter moan again with desire. Rob palmed Cooter through the soft fabric of his underwear until Cooter leaned his head back, his mouth open and chest panting, pressing his crotch forward. Then, at last, Rob leaned forward and released Cooter’s dick from the fabric of his underwear, pushing it down to join the jeans bunched up at his ankles.
“Yeah, come on, don’t be a tease,” Cooter groaned. “That’s what I don’t like about females. That, and child support.” His cock jabbed in the air like a javelin waiting to be thrown, and it throbbed like it was already on the verge of cumming. He must have gotten hard on the rumbling motorcycle just like Rob did, Rob thought but didn’t say.
Pumping his hips like to fuck an invisible pussy in front of Rob’s face, Cooter’s cock rammed around his head. It touched his cheek, his nose, his ear, and Rob chased it with his mouth as though unable to catch it. He stuck his tongue out, and Cooter finally got a direct hit, square on his mouth and his waiting tongue.
“Awwww, damn…” Cooter’s whole body shook, as the flavor of unwashed musk and potent manhood flooded Rob’s senses.
Rob took Cooter’s dick in his hand and stroked up and down the length of it a few times, making Cooter hiss through his teeth at the contact. The smell of sweat zest and black leather astringency assaulted Rob’s nostrils, making his rod iron-hard in the prison of his own pants. Cooter’s hands tightened in Rob’s hair, gripping his scalp, and Rob let himself be guided forward, until his lips were against the head of Cooter’s cock and he was spreading them open, taking Cooter into his mouth. He licked up the underside of Cooter’s dick slowly, teasing, letting his teeth graze just slightly.
“Shit, Rob, oh my fuck….” Cooter moaned. “Shit, if you was my cellmate, I’d make you my prison…”
That was exactly what Rob was just thinking — he’d serviced plenty of alpha males, and he suspected Cooter was an ex-con. Maybe only recently released. You could tell in how he demanded, no, craved a physical touch and seemed averse to actual womanhood. He needed a man to service him because he had lost his capacity for tenderness, and for Rob, that was ideal.
There was nothing better than getting pounded by a man who could treat you no other way.
Rob pulled off again, licking his way down the shaft and to Cooter’s balls, where he licked, nipped and jerked, until Cooter was groaning and pulling Rob’s face back to his dick, using one hand to hold Rob still and the other hand to guide his manhood back into Rob’s mouth.
Spit now ran up and down the shaft, which gleamed and throbbed like a beast in Rob’s grip. It was huge, more than a foot long, long enough for Rob to get both hands on it. He gripped the root tightly with one hand, stroked the shaft with the other and sucked mightily on the knob like a stubborn straw.
His tongue teased the piss-slit, which now let out a stream of salty precum. Rob sucked down every drop he could get, and he savored the intensely salty flavor of it. It was creamy and warm, and it tasted musty, like you could sense the cooped-up manhood of Cooter’s prison stay in his prejizz.
Rob kept his mouth open and loose, letting Cooter hold Rob’s head between his hands and force his dick into Rob’s throat. When Cooter tightened his grip, Rob hollowed out his cheeks, taking in as much of Cooter’s length as possible until Cooter was shooting hot and thick ropes of down Rob’s throat.
More and more flowed into him. Rob had rarely swallowed such a massive load, but Cooter had his cock deep down that throat, and Rob could easily gulp down every drop. Cooter’s balls lay against Rob’s chin, and they drew up as they spewed their seed down Rob’s gullet.
“Hmmm-hmmmm, you got a helluva throat, hoss,” Cooter said, his voice shaking and breaking like a hormonal teenager. His knees even went weak. He very gently fucked Rob’s throat through the last of his orgasm, which made his final cumwad fill Rob’s mouth.
It overflowed past his lips, and Cooter’s muscles rippled as he coated Rob’s mug in his cream and spit. A moan escaped from Rob’s mouth, followed by a flood of jizz that Cooter’s continued humping turned into a frothy mess. It coated Rob’s face from his scalp to his neck, and the cottony smell of Cooter’s orgasm filled Rob’s nostrils.
“So good, that was so good,” Cooter said, still breathless and shaky. His cock dangled between his legs.
He pulled up his underwear and jeans, tucking himself away again without even wiping his dick off. Then he pushed Rob onto the mattress, laying on his back, and Rob was still so overcome by the sunny taste of Cooter’s jizz that he din’t react.
Cooter did nothing with Rob’s flannel shirt, but he roughly pulled down Rob’s jeans and boxers, exposing his red, swollen cock and pale, toned thighs. Cooter let out a long low rumble of desire, as his rough hands kneaded the soft flesh of Rob’s torso.
“I don’t jerk men off,” Cooter said in a thrummy growl. “But I know it’s wrong not to finish a man off after he gets a nut out. I learned that in prison, yessirree. You gotsta recip-ro-cate.” His hand touched Rob’s cock, which was ready to bust its own nut at any moment.
It sounded like he didn’t quite know what reciprocate meant, but Rob was in no mood to educate him.
Without preamble, Cooter took Rob into his hand and started jerking him off, steady and relentless. Most likely Rob would have cum in literally moments, as he was on the verge already, but Cooter’s hands were rough and callused and kind of painful, but in a good way, and it made Rob writhe and bash his head against the pillow under him.
His cock throbbing like a heart, Rob wanted to cry out for more. He fisted his hands in the sheets beneath him, biting his lip to keep from screaming out. He should have done so, of course, as this trailer was separated from the others in the trailer park, but Rob was used to hiding his passions.
When it felt too good to resist, Rob tried to shift himself around, fucking his dick up into Cooter’s hand, but Cooter held Rob’s hips down with his free hand, leaving Rob totally reliant on the rough, twisting motions of Cooter’s grip. It wasn’t long before Rob was spilling over Cooter’s hands, a scream tearing from his throat despite himself. A hot wad of sticky cum spewed out of his massive cockhead.
His own hands kneading the muscles of Cooter’s chest, Rob shot a massive wad onto his belly and over Cooter’s fingertips. Cooter kept stroking the whole time, not missing a single beat, as Rob endured the most intense orgasm of his lifetime.
“A screamer?” Cooter said, standing up to wipe his hands off on a towel. “I like that.” He walked over to the couch where Rob had dropped his jacket and tossed it to Rob, who was barely cognizant enough to catch it. Rob was still shaking through the aftershocks of his orgasm. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride back.”
Rob, after a shaky minute, managed to get himself back into his pants and put on his jacket. The denim felt too rough and the canvas was itchy against his now-sensitive skin. Cooter was already outside by his bike when Rob came down the steps. The ride back wasn’t as awkward as Rob had been expecting, and he grew sleepy in his post-orgasmic stupor. When they stopped at the bar, Rob hopped off the back of the bike and handed Cooter the helmet.
“Do you come to this bar often, Rob?” Cooter asked as Rob started to walk to the door to Lipsweet..
“Yeah,” Rob answered, smiling, his heart ready to pound out of his chest. “I sure do.”

Angus Butterman

Angus Butterman was a towering bull of a man, at well over six feet tall and as hefty as a heifer and a half. He was burly and bristly like a barrel full of push-brooms. He wore only his overalls now — he took off his shirt because the sleeves were soaked with cow blood, but he had worn an apron that protected the overalls. His big fleshy arms flapped as he washed his hands.

From Chunky Alphas

Méssimo Escarra

Méssimo Escarra was one such bodyguard. He was tall, burly, broad-shouldered, hairy, more of a rough- and-ugly type than most of the charming thugs who made it onto the compound. For bodyguards, big and brutish were the ideal traits. Méssimo was ideal by those criteria, with plenty of swagger, a barrel-shaped chest and hair covering his body.

From The Tijuana Alpha