Author: MNManmacker

Annie and two big men

“Why don’t you go ahead and undress, big man? Lemme see what you’re working with,” Annie said with a blush and a giggle. Buck tore his clothes off, and his giant manhood unfurled. Annie stopped giggling, and she let out a groan of excitement. “Ooh, that’s nice and hefty.” She took a deep drink from her cup of creme de menthe.
“He heavy as hell, baby,” Lem said. “He’ll crush you. Lemme go first. I ain’t gonna break you apart.”
“Neither will I! I is real gentle, ma’am,” Buck said. He bent over and plowed his massive tongue all the way into her pussy. Lem dropped his briefs and raced to thwack his dick on Buck’s tongue, leaving a layer of precum dripping from his lip to her clit. “Get off me, Lem, that’s gross!”
“No fighting, boys,” Annie said. She let out a well-rehearsed moan, then patted Buck on the mullet. His hair was wet and smelled like the brothel’s shampoo. He looked up, face and beard moist with her pussyjuice, tongue still lapping at her womanhood. “C’mon up here, Buck, lemme see your dick.”

From Buck the Roughneck

Annie Chuckle

Annie looked good as hell in her room, which was softly lit with a pinkish light. It made her look young. Her plump body was not fat, her ass was perfectly defined — not bleeding together into her thighs and her belly — Lem had said over and over that that was what separated ugly-fat from sexy-fat.

From Buck the Roughneck

Rig gets cold at night

It was going to get colder, eventually cold enough for Buck to want to put some clothes on. Being allowed to walk around naked was one of the things Buck liked about the rig — he was a hefty lad who liked to let his bits hang free when he could — so he was gonna lay here until he woke up cold. Then he’d put some night clothes on and get under a blanket, and then Lem’s body curled up next to him like an elderly cat would feel nice.
“Psst, hey Buck,” Lem said softly, cooing, trying not to wake Buck up all the way. He gently poked him with one finger. “Can you roll ovuh?”
Buck grunted sleepily.
Lem poked Buck’s hairy, tattooed bicep with a finger again. “Roll ovuh for a sec. I gotta reach somethin’.” They did often have to move each other in order to reach something or in order to get out of the dead-end and head out to the bathroom, stuff like that.
So Buck did roll over. “Huh? Why?” Buck murmured, still half-asleep. He sprawled out on his belly.
“So I can attempt at’cha,” Lem said softly, kindly. Buck’s ass was bare and thick like a pleasantly fat female, but it was too hairy to be really enticing. Lem was hard enough not to care. He sat up and mounted Buck from behind. He got a massive fleshy-thick backside. Lotta meat in those buttcheeks to spread apart. Lem gotta use all his fingers to spread them. “Ssssh, don’t move, Buckums. I’mma get up ya guts.”
He got more lotion out and smeared it over his dick. Lem spread Buck’s hairy asscheeks with one hand, then used his other to guide his dong into the hole. He moved slow to avoid waking Buck up.

From Buck the Roughneck

Pull-ups

“I know it ain’t nevuh been cool to got cornrows lookin’ like graverows. Ya scalp look like the cemetery you ’bout to move into, Lem.”

“This is my space too!” Lem said. “I don’t wanna live in ya pigsty!” He licked his teeth as Buck resumed doing pullups. “Don’t get all sweaty neithuh. You stink at night.”
“You stink at night! You smell like asphalt, old man,” Buck said with a grin. He was getting good at these pullups. It was more like a gymnast on the parallel bars than a traditional pullup, and he could feel it working his shoulders and his thighs real good. “Asphalt and menthol cigarettes. Why you smoke menthols anyway? Taste like toothpaste.” He did another pullup, angling his hairy feet towards Lem, who dodged them and took a drag on his cigarette.
“Bullshit! You a redneck hillbilly mothahfuckah! You got so much hair! Why can’t you shave nothing?”
“Just makes it grow back thicker,” Buck said. His biceps strained to keep him parallel to the ceiling, his feet now above Lem’s head. Buck placed one foot on Lem’s cornrows. His scalp was palpable and smooth beneath the coarse rows of silver-and-black hair. “Old black men with cornrows look ridiculous, Lem, you know that, right?”
“Shut the fuck up. What do you know about black hair?” Lem glared at the foot resting on his scalp, but he didn’t push it off. Buck’s balls dangled between his legs in front of Lem’s face.
“I know it ain’t nevuh been cool to got cornrows lookin’ like graverows. Ya scalp look like the cemetery you ’bout to move into, Lem-” He put both feet on Lem’s shoulders.
With both of Buck’s feet on his shoulders, his cock and balls were right in front of Lem’s face. Lem didn’t complain because Buck’s heavy feet weighed him down, and he didn’t want to look like he was unable to handle that. “I ain’t — ain’t nothin’ wrong with cornrows on a man who got some years — I ain’t gotta justify myself to some knuckle-headed honky who look like he too trashy for the trailer park.”
“What’s that mean? I am from a trailer park-“
“Figures. Ain’t nothin’ worse than white trash-” Lem stopped because Buck had used his feet on Lem’s shoulders to pull him closer. Still dangling from the pull-up bar, Buck had his ankles on Lem’s shoulders, holding him in place as Buck humped the air to make his dick flop forward — he was trying to slap Lem on the head with his dong. Lem still didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of complaining about the weight on his shoulders.
“What’s so bad about trailer parks? I like mine. It’s called Smashwood,” Buck said. He got enough momentum to angle his body and angle Lem’s too, a little closer, and that was enough for his fatty pecker to land on Lem’s forehead.

From Buck the Roughneck

The whole room

Lem was the one who told Buck about “the hole room”. Buck first thought Lem said “the whole room”, and he was mystified about what that meant.
“You can stick it in the hole in the hole room,” Lem said — Buck thought — and when Lem saw that Buck didn’t get it, Lem repeated it. “The hole room. Stick ya dick in it.”
“I stick my dick in the whole room?”
Lem nodded. He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, whiteboy, you walkin’ ’round wit’ a hardon, I seen that. Let’s go. It’s nasty, and ain’t nobody enjoy peepin’ that. You got a hundred bucks?” He grabbed Buck’s dick through his oil-soaked jeans.
“I still dunno what you mean!” Buck said with a grin. “I put my whole dick in the room?”
“That ain’t what I said,” Lem said. “You are one straight-up retarded white-trash bigfoot.” He opened the door and went in. Buck followed. Lem pointed to a hole in the wall and said, “There.”
Buck looked at the hole. He furrowed his brow. He still hadn’t realize this was the hole room, not the whole room — Buck wasn’t much of a reader, so he wasn’t even aware those words were spelled differently. “This is it?” Buck asked, meaning is this the entire room?
So he was surprised when Lem nodded. “Yep. Ain’t you was in jail a couple weeks, right?”
Buck had told Lem that, about when Buck and his post-high-school wrestling team had gotten drunk and picked a fight, Buck spent two weeks in jail. Lem had spent nine years in prison.
The hole was the only thing in the room. It stank in here, but other than that, Buck didn’t know why he had come here. He smiled like this was a prank he understood. He looked into the hole, but all he saw on the other side of the wall was another empty room.
“Ain’t ya jail got a gloryhole?” Lem said. He had a lopsided grin, which revealed his yellowed teeth. He took a folded hundred-dollar bill out of the pocket of his workjeans. He undid the belt, let the jeans fall to his ankles, then waddled to the hole. He lowered his underwear just enough to bare his crotch.
“You put ya dick in there?! You pissin’?” Buck’s eyes opened wide and he stepped back. He couldn’t actually see Lem’s cock from behind, but it was obvious where he had placed it. “What — What the fuck, Lem? What’s in there?! Is it gettin’ cut off?”
“You gots a fool mind, redneck. You think I’s stickin’ my dick in a hole to cut it off?” Lem asked. He had an odd look on his face that Buck couldn’t identify, and Lem’s ropy muscles all flexed like he was humping the hole.

From Buck the Roughneck

Beach sauna

Dale and Poahi wore their togs under trousers, and Poahi wore leggings below that. They came to the beach in big puffy coats. It was, of course, deserted. Wind-swept waves battered the beach, and the sun beat down on the sand, adding bright light but not a mote of heat.
They brought tarps too. So did Keith and the other dudes in the 504 Crew. They arranged the tarps over the top and openings of the showerhouse on the beach, then they put lawnchairs in, turned on the hot water and rolled some joints. Heat from the hot water was trapped in the showers by the tarps. The heat reacted with the cold to create a billowing cloud of steam that stayed beneath the tarps.
So that was the annual beach sauna tradition. They sat in the heat, drank beer from an ice-filled cooler and smoked joints, had a real-man korero and, eventually, if they got drunk enough, they’d go for a brief swim before scurrying back into the warm sauna.
That was a tradition Poahi loved. He wished the others would quiet — it seemed meditative, Poahi thought. It should be meditative. The steam was relaxing. If this were a Maori tradition, it would have a spiritual side. People would be silent mostly, interrupting it with an occasional waiata. But Americans do not have a spiritual side, and they simply chatted and drank beer and dared each other to enter the freezing cold ocean.

From Poahi the Lackey

Scotty Sambone

Scotty Sambone was a short spit of a man, with one heavily tattooed sleeve that ended just past his elbow. He was so tanned he looked Portuguese, but Poahi did not think Scotty Sambone was Portuguese. He was just a white man who spent all his time on the beach, with a rugged sea-cucumber-like face.

From Poahi the Lackey

504 Crew

Dale and Poahi saw this area of the beach as their own — the two of them and their buddies, the 504 Crew, as they called themselves — so they walked like shirtless sheriffs down the beach. They made sure tourists didn’t swarm the place, and they yelled at kids who littered or leered at women. Poahi’s giant frame intimidated them without saying much, which was fine with Poahi. He preferred Dale to do the talking, and Dale preferred for Poahi to be the enforcer. Today was quiet though. Aside from picking up a couple empties and fast-food wrappers, the beach was in good order. Dale walked with a serious stride and a scanning gaze, but Poahi loped along at a slower pace whilst still keeping up with Dale due to Poahi’s heaps longer legs.

From Poahi the Lackey

Dale Waters

Dale was a mop-top blond from San Diego, his skin baked to loamy brown by sunlight. He stood up on a serious face, self-importance oozing out of him. He liked all the beachgoers and volleyballers nearby watching, realising that Dale was an authority figure around here. He was one of the head dudes of the head dudes who ran this beach. Locals were coming to him with problems. Dale liked that.

From Poahi the Lackey