Books – Mansploitation

Coachly Bonding

When wrestler Josh Chadwin has to shower with his college coach, he knew things would get awkward, but he didn’t know how enjoyable it could be! That’s cuz Josh is in for a wild ride of truck stop action, jock manhood and coachly bonding!

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Kyle Chadwin told himself he was being silly. Coach Walker wasn’t going to do anything to him. Chadwin was being punished, but it wasn’t like a real punishment; this wasn’t prison.
As he walked to that truck stop shower, it felt like prison though.
Chadwin was a college wrestler. He was one of the best athletes on the team, maybe the best, or at least the most consistent at meets, and everyone knew it. He was raised to be proud and confident and to make certain everyone knew that he could hold his own. He should show leadership. He needed to make certain the younger wrestlers understood his authority. He wasn’t the team captain, but if he got past this punishment and did well, he might be team captain next year.
Anyway, Chadwin had been trying to show leadership to the freshmen when some hazing got out of control. The end result was that Chadwin made one freshman wrestler run around the campus in his jockstrap. It wasn’t even really hazing, Chadwin thought, because the freshman was only doing it to be invited to an upperclassman party. But since the jockstrap exposed the freshman’s bare ass, it was treated as a “flashing incident” by the dean — women could have seen it, if there were any on campus at the time, which there weren’t, making the whole thing stupid, Chadwin thought. But he had been suspended for three weeks anyway. That suspension was up tomorrow, which was just in time for the state tournament. The dean even raced to institute the suspension so it would be over with in time for him to compete in the tournament.
But Chadwin had had no way of getting to the tournament aside from the team bus, which he was prohibited from riding in because he was still under suspension. The rest of the team had gone today and were spending tonight in a motel.
That was why Chadwin had had no choice but to ride in Coach Walker’s car.
They had to spend one night here in a Ramwide Truck Stop along the highway. Chadwin thought that was insane — he hadn’t asked beforehand, but he assumed they were going to sleep in a motel, separate from the team because the athletic department couldn’t pay for accommodations for him while his suspension was still on. He had assumed him and Coach Walker each have a room to themselves.
Now that assumption made him feel spoiled. Coach Walker said he couldn’t afford even one motel room. Chadwin could have asked his parents to pay. They probably would. But now he’d sound bratty if he said so, and it was too late anyway. The sun was going down.
“Does the truck stop have… beds?” Chadwin asked. He didn’t know if that was a foolish question or not. Semis have little bedrooms behind the truck cab, don’t they? But anyway, surely not all of them did, so maybe the truck stop did have rooms to rent overnight?
“No. But I don’t got the cash for a motel room, and the next one isn’t for miles anyway. All my money goes to my bitch ex-wife,” Coach Walker said with a dry chuckle, as his use of a curse word made Chadwin bristle and straighten his back. He patted Chadwin on the back. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. We’ll sleep in the car. I’ve done it before. My car’s real comfortable. My current wife makes me sleep out there at least once a month.”
Chadwin felt a sense of dread but agreed. He didn’t have any choice anyway — he wasn’t about to miss the state tournament for any reason.
But now they were at a Ramwide — that was a chain of truck stops known throughout the country — and Coach Walker told Chadwin to come take a shower with him. Chadwin had a much better body than Coach Walker, but he didn’t feel like it as they undressed together. Coach Walker snorted and sniffled, making noise every step of the way. He seemed ancient, though he was only middle-aged, and his darkly tanned skin was marked with scars and a few faded tattoos. He didn’t have a perfect six-pack, but he looked like he probably did back in the day.
Chadwin, on the other hand, was ropy-muscled and solidly built, but without all the heft of Coach Walker’s body. Chadwin was light-skinned and six-packed, with deep dimples and not a single scar, tattoo or mark anywhere on his mostly hairless body. Chadwin thought he shouldn’t be intimidated by the older man. If anyone saw them together, they’d say Chadwin was in better shape. He had a six-pack and plenty of muscles. Girls came running. Not that Chadwin was a pervert. He was ROTC, he was ready for the Army, or maybe the Marines, he hadn’t decided.
So he shouldn’t be nervous about showering with Coach Walker. He showered with his teammates and his ROTCmates. That was always awkward at first and even later. But they played around, snapped towels at each other’s asses, tried to fart on each other, competed to piss the furthest distance in the shower, talked about girls — horseplay, basically.
Can’t do horseplay with a grandfather. Coach Walker might not have been a grandfather, Chadwin had no idea. But he was old enough he could be, which was weird enough.
One of the Chadwin’s squadmates in the ROTC was a couple years older, and he was already out of boot camp. He said his drill sergeant came in and showered with his barrack cuz they kept getting in trouble for playing around, making a mess, squirting dandruff shampoo on each other and wasting time. He said his drill sergeant had a fat old wrinkly dick that was hard not to stare out, but they’d get shouted at for being pansies if they got caught looking at it.
Which was hilarious, but now that he was changing with Coach Walker in the truck stop bathroom, Chadwin also found himself unable to look away. It was big but not freakishly huge, and Chadwin suspected Coach Walker was a show-er, not a grower. Chadwin was the opposite. His cock was nothing to sneeze at, but it wasn’t impressive until it firmed up.
He gulped. Chadwin was stripped to his underwear, hesitating as Coach Walker got his socks off and then rubbed his feet with like a brush or something. Was that something old men did? Chadwin didn’t want to ask.
The other old man in the shower, some mangy redneck with a mustache, he came out into the changing area then. He too was naked and had a wrinkly old-man cock, though he was only maybe thirty. Looked like a hard thirty though.
“You fellers truckin’?” asked the mustachioed man. He stood there with his dingy tight-whites in one hand, scratching his balls and playing with his wet dick like he was trying to make it dry off quickly.
A disquieting sensation roiled Chadwin. He opened his eyes wide.
“Nossuh,” Coach Walker said. He sat down on the bench next to Chadwin, spreading his legs wide to let his cock and balls graze in the air. “We’s on the way to Richmond, for a wrestling tournament. Triple-A. This is Josh, he’s the wrestler. I’m a coach, obviously.”
The man nodded. “Cool, cool, wrestlin’ is a real man sport, I do declare,” he said. He stepped into his ratty tight-whites. “Not like gymnastics.” He sneered. “Or golf.”
They both chuckled, and Chadwin forced himself to do likewise. “Yeah, golf…” he muttered. Possibly neither of them noticed he said anything.
“Hmm-hmmm,” Coach Walker murmured, and he wrapped one arm around Chadwin’s well-muscled side. They both sat there — Chadwin still in his underpants — as the mustachioed man dressed and headed out the door. He did seem to notice that Coach Walker and Chadwin were just sitting there, not showering or anything, but he didn’t ask why. Maybe that was normal at Ramwide Truck Stop. “You okay, Josh?”
“Yes, yes, sir,” Chadwin said, as confidently as he could muster. Coach Walker’s hand stayed wrapped around his waist, gripping his ribcage firmly, as though the check how much fat there was there. None. Chadwin was aiming for a low weight class, that was why.
“I’ve been following that meal plan!” Chadwin blurted out. “And doin’ the sauna like you said.”
“Good, good.” Coach Walker stood up. His manhood dangled in front of Chadwin’s face, and Chadwin could smell the rank sweat of his ballsac. Or maybe that was just him. Chadwin wrinkled his nose. Coach Walker twirled his cock and thwacked it against one palm, then the other. “C’mon, let’s get our shower over with.”
Chadwin forced himself not to look at Coach Walker’s cock. Chadwin tried to tell himself it was okay, and it wasn’t bigger than his. That was true, it wasn’t, or at least it was maybe only barely right now, but when they were both hard — not that they were gonna both get hard, that would be ridiculous — but when they were both hard, they’d be the same size, Chadwin was sure.
Was Coach Walker getting a boner? As Chadwin finally dropped his underwear, he thought he detected a sliver of firmness in Coach Walker’s cockshaft.
He assumed that they’d go immediately into the shower, but instead Coach Walker grabbed Chadwin’s dick with one hand. He held it tight, almost tight enough to hurt. Chadwin sucked in his breath, then didn’t exhale.
Coach Walker’s other hand gripped Chadwin’s shoulder, then ran down his arm and to his chest. “Flex your biceps,” he said.
Chadwin did so. He cock throbbed in Coach Walker’s rough hand. Coach Walker rubbed his free hand all over Chadwin’s biceps and triceps, and he tweaked each pec until they twitched and rippled. Then — much to Chadwin’s growing wide-eyed horror — Coach Walker leaned in to take a deep long sniff of Chadwin’s armpit.
His nose got right in the hair too. It wasn’t a little sniff, it was a full-throttle snort, like he was hoping to inhale Chadwin’s sweat. Then he straightened up.
“Why you nervous, Josh?” Coach Walker asked. He placed his hand back on Chadwin’s dick, holding onto it like a handle. He normally called him ‘Chadwin’ even when most others called him ‘Josh’. Now that they were alone at the motel, he was calling him ‘Josh’. It sounded weird coming out of his old-man mouth.
“I’m not!” Chadwin blushed. He knew he sounded defensive. No one else was in the shower, so he really shouldn’t feel nervous. Only a pansy was nervous to be naked around men. A man. One man. One old man with big droopy balls.
“Big handsome boy like you, I know you get girls all the time!” He laughed. His other hand dropped to Chadwin’s ass, while his right hand stayed tightly wrapped around Chadwin’s cock.
Chadwin blushed. He was embarrassed though he didn’t know why. Coach Marshall — the head of the athletic department at GHU — had walked in on Chadwin plowing a nursing student in the girl’s locker room one morning. Chadwin had gotten in big trouble for that. The rest of the coaching staff kept saying that Chadwin was a real casanova and a pervert because of it, though Chadwin didn’t really think of it like that.
She was his steady girlfriend, after all. Not a one-night stand. They broke up last month, but it was a serious relationship. They were both Christian. They were talking about getting married. It was close enough to marital to be acceptable in Chadwin’s eyes.
“Hmmm… I know the girls love you and those dimples…”
“Yeah,” Chadwin said. He bit his lip. “I mean, yeah, yes, sir, Coach Walker.”
“Relax, relax, boy,” he said with a laugh. Both hands rested on Chadwin’s ass now, caressing his plump cheeks, which Chadwin was surprised to find he enjoyed. It was ticklish and awkward but pleasant. “Take a deep breath. We’s on a road trip now. I know you’re still young, you dunno what that means. On a road trip, y’know… when you’s away from home, Joshie-“
Chadwin grunted because Coach Walker was closer to him now, virtually hugging him and speaking directly in his ear. That meant his soft cock pressed limply against Chadwin’s thigh. Chadwin really hated it when anyone called him Joshie — that’s what his parents called him, and he didn’t even like it then.
“Nothing counts on a road trip, son,” Coach Walker said. “What happens here, it didn’t happen. Got it?”
“Uh, sir?”
“That means you can say what you want. You can do whatever feels right,” he said. He grabbed Chadwin’s cock with one hand. “You can smoke that weed I know you got in your duffel bag.” He chuckled, his hot breath condensing on Chadwin’s face. “As long as you share.”
“Oh…” Chadwin’s blood ran cold. Did it smell? He thought it might smell, but he double-wrapped it, then put it in a sealed container. It didn’t seem to smell.
“Have you ever thought about kissing a man, son?”
“No.” Chadwin’s voice trembled.
“I find that difficult to believe,” he said.
“I mean… I’ve thought about it. I would try it, uh, you know… if I knew anyone who…”
Coach Walker planted his lips on Chadwin’s. Chadwin quivered. It was a quick, chaste kiss. “You can go wait for me in the car, son. Or you can stay here and get dirty all over again.”
“Um… Okay.” Chadwin wanted to leave. He was glad to have that option.
But he didn’t.
No matter how much his mind told himself to walk away, he didn’t; he didn’t want to; he craved finding out what would happen next and how it would make him feel. His dick was already twitching and he was thinking about how much he needed a stiffy — he’d been single for a month, and his balls were aching. He wasn’t sure what was happening. A part of him still thought that maybe Coach Walker was just messing with him.
But nevertheless, Chadwin’s body apparently found it to get hard. His cock tingled and thrummed. He desperately wanted to blow his wad. He couldn’t think about anything else but Coach Walker’s hand encircling his cock. He wasn’t stroking it, just holding on for now.
“I’m glad you stayed, son. A lotta college boys is too scared to shower with me.” He flopped his dick between his fingers and hit Chadwin’s cock with it. Chadwin had a big slab of meat when it was hard — not as big as Coach Walker’s — but he felt small right now. “You scared this is gonna feel so good you forget about girls, huh?”
“Uh-“
“That won’t happen.” He smiled. “You wanna jack me off?”
“Uh, no…”
He frowned. “Fine. You don’t got to. You wanna taste my dick?”
“Uh, no…”
“You want me to ram you in the ass?”
“No!”
He laughed like he knew what the answer to that last one would be, he was just messing with Chadwin. He chuckled and shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Remember, once we leave this truck stop, none of this happened.”
“Yeah.” Chadwin’s voice was weak and wavering. “Yes, sir.”
Then, without another word of warning, Coach Walker dropped to his knees and popped Chadwin’s cock in his mouth. He smiled and looked up at Chadwin, who gasped.
A shiver of pleasure ran up and down Chadwin’s spine. He groaned and grunted. Coach Walker’s mouth was warm and moist, and it sent tingles of intense sensations to wrack Chadwin’s body. Coach Walker ran his tongue up and down the shaft, making eye contact with Chadwin, who stood on his toes and held his breath.
“That feel good?”
Chadwin nodded. He didn’t know why, since it was awkward for him, not pleasurable. He had never been with a man at all. He had never even let a man touch his dick outside of some wrestling team horseplay — and once he stuck his cock in a gloryhole to let a woman suck him off, but another wrestler on his team Wesley said afterwards that it was a man in there. His cock throbbed, sending waves of pleasure through his body. Chadwin gasped.
It felt good, in a way. Chadwin’s mind reeled as Coach Walker started really slurping on it, slathering spit up and down his shaft, using his mouth and both hands on it. Chadwin wondered if he was even going to be able to get hard. It felt like a blowjob from a girl, he thought, but somehow more distant, less real.
That lasted only until he managed to take a deep breath and relax a little though. When his eyes were closed, he could almost forget he was with a man. The longer this lasted, the more he felt pleasure instead of awkwardity.
Finally his dick was hard. He hadn’t even felt it stiffen up, but it was as hard as steel now. Coach Walker was a hefty man who could swallow the whole thing, nuzzling Chadwin deep until his nose was nestled in his kinky pubic hairs. He had a cavernous mouth. He was big enough that he had to stoop over to take Chadwin in his throat.
This wasn’t the first time Coach Walker had gotten a taste of one of his wrestlers.
He had been able to tell that Chadwin would be willing from just a few days after the season began — he had discovered one easy way to tell which jocks would be willing and which wouldn’t: they fucked ugly girls, or at least fat girls. Chadwin was a handsome, popular, dimpled young man with a nice body; he could have, and did, get laid nearly every weekend, Coach Walker was pretty sure, and his locker room banter had made it clear he didn’t mind fucking large girls, ugly or unpopular girls, or girls he simply didn’t like.
Coach Walker had long determined that those athletes who fucked girls despite their appearance would also be willing to be jerked off by a man, even if they didn’t know it yet. He savored the clean, salty flavor of the precum flowing from Chadwin’s cocktip.
Or maybe Chadwin wasn’t like that, he’d often said he was Christian. Maybe he was just pretending in that locker-room talk. It wasn’t cool to be prudish nowadays.
He looked up at Chadwin and smiled around the cock in his throat.
Chadwin’s eyes were closed — scrunched shut tightly — and his face was tense. Chadwin twisted and writhed, hands flailing because he had briefly touched Coach Walker’s head only to be reminded he wasn’t with a woman. Coach Walker’s bald head (shaved, but you could tell he was naturally balding) felt distinctly masculine beneath Chadwin’s fingertips. So his hands hovered in the air instead.
As he felt Chadwin’s orgasm rising, Coach Walker tried to make him grab his head. He didn’t say anything because he knew his deep, gravelly voice would make Chadwin uncomfortable again. But he guided Chadwin’s hand to his scalp. Chadwin gripped him for only a moment, rammed his throat like a tender womanhood and he was a rampaging viking, until his cock filled up Coach Walker’s neck and throbbed in his throat.
Walker sputtered and gagged despite himself, letting out a moan in his baritone voice. His beard hairs scratched at the base of Chadwin’s dick, again reminding him he was with a man. He let go of his coach’s head, opening his eyes again just in time to meet his coach’s gaze.
Chadwin gasped, unable to look away or close his eyes as an orgasm coursed through his veins. He blushed intensely and cried out. Coach Walker grabbed Chadwin’s ass to make him throat him that way, using his gullet like a pussy, and he got that entire pulsating dick back in his throat just seconds before Chadwin filled him up.
Creamy hot cum sprayed down Coach Walker’s throat, coating him in his sticky juices. He could feel it trickling through his flesh and spreading through his veins. Coach Walker moaned as he shot his own wad on the floor. Chadwin didn’t notice that.
That’s cuz Chadwin’s young-man orgasm was intense and lasted a whole minute or two, maybe three. He lost his inhibitions and, in that moment, he really plowed Coach Walker’s mouth. His balls slapped over and over on his chin.
And still more jizz spurted out. It coated every inch of Coach Walker’s mouth and belly, and it collected hotly in his stomach. It was thick and creamy like alfredo sauce and just as savory. The taste was bright and sunny, salty, warm, delicious in every way, and Coach Walker tried his hardest to swallow it all.
That proved impossible, as he was already starved for oxygen when it began. As Chadwin came buckets, Coach Walker choked up his cock, just in time for the last and thickest of Chadwin’s jizzoms to jet out over Coach Walker’s face. It coated him from his forehead to his chin in hot creamy goodness., and Chadwin’s hands firmly gripped him by the ear as though still throating him down, but his cock was roping out over Coach Walker’s face, so Chadwin could only hump his erection atop the creamy soup of jizz he’d made covering his head.
Then Chadwin took one small step away, and his cock slid off Coach Walker’s face.
Slurping up what cum he could get to, Coach Walker kissed his way up Chadwin’s body, licking all of that cum off and teasingly taking the shower water off his body too. Chadwin’s wrestling-toned muscles throbbed beneath his tongue. He sucked on both nipples, and again, his beard hairs scratched at Chadwin’s skin, reminding Chadwin he wasn’t with a woman. Chadwin pulled away before Coach Walker could kiss him on the lips.
Coach Walker cursed himself. He should have shaved first, he thought. Always shave first, I’ve learned that lesson before.
But he pulled off Chadwin’s cock, now that it was clear he was uncomfortable with this once more. He smeared up the jizz drying on his face so he could slurp it off his hand, while his other hand teased out every drop of cum from Chadwin’s rapidly limpening dickshaft.
When both men were done, Coach Walker stood. He sighed and placed one hand on Chadwin’s shoulder.
“How was that, son? That’s how things go on road trips.”
Chadwin blushed and smiled nervously. “I guess that was… okay… I mean…”
“If we shower together on the way home, I’m gonna do that again. So you can signal yo’ okayness by either showering wit’ me again or not. You got a couple days to think about it.”
He turned around and finally trooped into the shower, leaving Chadwin there to regain his breath. A lot of times there were other men in a Ramwide Truck Stop, sometimes many. The showers were a social affair in these kinds of places, and Coach Walker enjoyed that aspect of them, the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the manly bodies…
In fact, if he weren’t with Chadwin, Coach Walker would have played around with that mustachioed man who was there to begin with. Oh well, he thought as he turned on a showerhead and let the water wash him clean. There was always next time, so long as Chadwin chose to shower with him on the return trip.
He sensed the answer was yes. Coach Walker vigorously soaped himself up and washed his armpits — he’d loved the smell and taste of Chadwin’s armpits. They had a fragrantly masculine aroma that got his dick hard, and he was going to smell even better after the wrestling tournament. They always did.
By the time he was ready to join Coach Walker in his shower, Chadwin had already decided to do it. As long as it was on a road trip, he thought, he wouldn’t have to tell anyone and it wouldn’t count.
And he couldn’t wait to learn what else Coach Walker had in store for him.

Downlow at the Basketball Court

Desmond is in for an adventure in urban machismo, downlow action and hot, throbbing black men! That’s cuz Desmond is back at his old haunts, servicing the ghetto thugs and alphas of the Bullmass Park basketball court. That’s where the city’s toughest, strongest men hang out and where Desmond services their every alpha male need!

What has Desmond got himself into this time?!

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The Whiteboy in the Barbershop

Cullen’s the only whiteboy in the Cityside Barbershop of Lawndale, which means he’s in for a wild ride. That’s cuz every brothah from the hood swings on the downlow at the barbershop, giving Cullen his choice in alpha male manmeat!

Can he assimilate to his new workplace?

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Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

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!

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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.”

The Tijuana Alpha

Anthony is not really a cholo, but his brothers are, and that means he needs a bodyguard, Messimo. When he finds out Messimo was a bottom in prison, Anthony realizes that means this hardcore vato is ready for a little twink on top… whether he wants it or not!

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Anthony wasn’t told about things that didn’t concern him or his life. That was almost everything that happened. As the youngest of seven brothers, Anthony was used to being the small, weak one, especially since his family ran the Latin Kings here in Tijuana. His brothers and father had built the cartel out of nothing and had created a multibillion dollar empire with operations in seven countries.
Even though Anthony had never had the machismo or the knowhow to get involved, he still lived on the cartel’s compound. Nowhere else was safe. He admitted that even if he hated it. He wanted more than anything to have a normal life. He didn’t like it here. The men here were tough, muscular cholos who never smiled or danced. Anthony was allowed to go out, as long as he went to safe places (not nightclubs) and brought his bodyguards with him. He couldn’t live like a normal person.
Anthony did not like having bodyguards or limitations on his travel. He had to admit it was justified though. The one time he ditched his bodyguards for a night of fun had ended up being disastrous — he was kidnapped and had to be rescued after being tortured for hours. The compound did get shot up, attacked by helicopter even this one time. Men who worked for the cartel were kidnapped or murdered on the street by rivals. Not the streets of Tijuana, but elsewhere in Mexico.
So he left the compound increasingly rarely.
These days, he was getting frustrated and angry, and he frequently shouted at his brothers for minor complaints. They treated him like a yapping dog they weren’t allowed to punish. He knew he was being picayune, that his world had shrunk but Anthony’s problems hadn’t. He became fixated on trivialities like the sheets on his bed being less than top notch. They could afford nice sheets, and Anthony couldn’t buy them on his own. But his brothers were slobs, they didn’t care.
“You need to get laid, hermano,” was the sum total of their response to his outbursts. They seemed to think all problems could be solved by pussy.
Since the compound was safe, Anthony’s bodyguards were not always right near him when he was home. They hung around and followed when he left the compound. So when he got a new bodyguard, he didn’t always know it right away; he just noticed a new large man hanging around and refusing to go away.
Méssimo was one such bodyguard. He’d been around for a couple days before Anthony realized he was his bodyguard.
He was tall, burly, broad-shouldered, hairy, more of a rough-and-ugly type than most of the bookish cartelistos who made it onto the compound — Anthony’s brothers only needed people at the compound for things like accounting and distribution. He didn’t want thugs.
Except for the security team, of course. 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.
Anthony changed into his bathrobe in his bedroom, then sat down to pretend to read in his room. Méssimo was by the door, not technically in the room but right beside it. Anthony checked him out from behind — Méssimo was facing the window that looked out into the cartel’s courtyard and the Mexican desert beyond. His ass filled out his low-hanging khakhi pants, and it made Anthony’s mouth water. He had a meaty pair of asscheeks, cradled by tight drawers.
The male form had always intrigued and allured Anthony.
“Méssimo, did you ramrod Morales?”
Méssimo winced at the question. He turned around and made eye contact with Anthony, but he didn’t answer. His muscles roiled, and he frowned. He came closer.
Morales was a smuggler who had lost a few pounds of coke. Or maybe a lotta pounds, Anthony didn’t know, they don’t tell him those kinds of things. But he did learn through the grapevine that Morales had gotten ramrodded by “like a thousand cholos”. That was an exaggeration, obviously, but it must have been a substantial number.
And nobody thought to tell Anthony about it at the time!
Anyway, Anthony didn’t even know who Morales was. Someone said he was fat. So maybe he hadn’t missed out on much. Group ramming was how Latin Kings punished those whose incompetence harmed the entire organization. Anthony wished his brothers would tell him about it beforehand so he could join or even watch, but even though they always promised to do so, they never did. They put it in the same category as smuggling, that was why. They don’t want Anthony involved in anything unsavory, which obviously includes ramrodding.
Méssimo nodded. His tattooed face aimed down at his feet. He had tear-shaped roses tattooed leading down from his eyes, except one of the rose-tears was replaced with a red skull. Anthony was pretty sure that meant Méssimo killed a cop.
“What did you do to Morales? Did you plow him in the ass or the mouth?” Anthony asked.
“Both,” Méssimo said, his voice a low, rumbling growl. He grabbed at his crotch, then grunted. His cock was briefly outlined by the fabric.
“Come closer,” Anthony said. Méssimo did so.
Anthony unzipped Méssimo’s khakhis, giggling at his growl, which was equal parts displeased and horny. It sounded like he was glad to get some dome, and he just wanted to pretend he had to be pushed into it — not that Anthony planned on stopping there. Méssimo would do whatever he said, and Anthony intended to say a lot.
Méssimo’s hips flexed just slightly as though he fought off an instinctual urge to hump Anthony’s hand as soon as he gripped it in those sweat-jungle khakhis. He had a fat cock, limp but throbbing already and twinging with the power of an imminent erection. He pulled out Méssimo’s big uncut cock, which had a rooster tattooed on the shaft. It stuck out his fly like an oversized sausage.
“Quiquiriquí,” Anthony said with a laugh.
Méssimo was stiff and wooden, showing no reaction, even when Anthony repeated himself while clucking like a chicken. His brothers always laughed at that.
Not Méssimo, whose cock was the only part of his body that wasn’t hard like iron — he must have been nervous, Anthony decided. His biceps flexed, and his pecs rippled beneath his shirt. Anthony stroked Méssimo’s dick with both hands like a lovable length of rope.
“Are you uno pasivo, señor?” Méssimo asked with a nervous frown. He narrowed his eyes to slits as he checked out Anthony’s body.
Anthony knew what that meant. In cartel culture, men were either hombres or pasivos. An hombre like Méssimo might plow a pasivo but would never be penetrated by one willingly. Anthony was normally uno pasivo, but today, he didn’t give an answer. He wanted to leave Méssimo unsure of himself.
“Señor?”
Keeping his own face stoic, Anthony stood up. Méssimo stood next to the mattress with his hard brown cock sticking out the fly of his chinos. Anthony took his own dick out of his bathrobe and thwacked it together with Méssimo’s.
“Uh, señor, are you uno pasivo? That is okay…” He repeated himself and took a deep breath, like he desperately wanted Anthony to say yes. Méssimo’s voice trailed off as he submitted to the jousting. When he looked down and saw his dick throbbing next to Anthony’s, he winced and blanched. He straightened his shoulders and kept his hands clenched in fists at his side, as though if he moved them at all he’d be overcome by passion and start jacking Anthony off himself.
“You work for me, when you are assigned to me,” Anthony said with a smile. “So you will have to do as I say.” He stroked both dicks together, holding back a moan as his body was overcome by pleasure. He loved the feel of Méssimo’s hot, half-hard meat throbbing against his own.
Méssimo shook his head. “I work in sound of obedience, esé. I will do as I am told.”
“Good,” Anthony said. “Take off your shirt.”
Méssimo hesitated, then undid the top button (the only closed button) of his shirt. Under that he had on a wifebeater, which he also took off. He had a broad, strapping chest, lined with tattoos and scars. His chest was tight and stiff with anxiety right now, and he breathed shallowly. His dick began to get harder and harder with every motion Anthony made on his meat.
“Where did you get this one?” Anthony asked, using his precum-leaking cocktip to gesture to a broad, x-shaped scar on the side of his belly. Méssimo winced when Anthony’s dick touched his skin — Anthony had to get on his toes to reach.
“I was stabbed. When I was in the metal can,” he said.
“Ooh, did you have a bitch?” Anthony asked with a grin. “Did you have a puta?” The thought of Méssimo holding some man down as he plowed him made Anthony shudder with desire. A part of him wanted Méssimo to plow him like that, but Anthony had other plans as well. He could get Méssimo to top him pretty much any time, that was easy. He leaned against Méssimo’s chest — he was much shorter than Méssimo, but since he stood on the bed, his crotch was right between Méssimo’s mountainous pecs. He humped Méssimo’s tense, quivering muscles. “Don’t look down, look at me. Ignore what I’m doing and answer my questions.”
His pecs rippled, as Anthony’s cock left its first few drops of prejizz. It dripped down Méssimo’s tattooed chest. He ignored it even when Anthony’s dick poked him in this chin.
“Umm… I was… I had a boyfriend… I was smaller then,” Méssimo said, trying to look down without looking down.
The smell of funk filled the air. Méssimo couldn’t tear his eyes away from his own chest, where Anthony’s dick slid over a puddle of sticky precum. Méssimo kept his mouth open, either out of a shock or because a tiny corner of his mind wanted to taste Anthony’s cock.
“Smaller.”
Méssimo nodded. “I was young.” He added a sound effect suggesting he was weaker then, that he could not defend himself. He looked behind himself as though hoping for a rescue.
“Oh, you were on the bottom?”
Méssimo nodded. “I am not ashamed. I was smaller then, and I was showing respect to a cholo was bigger and tougher than me. That was… right, honorable for me. He saved my life, many times. It was right for him to be my hombre. I am not embarrassed. But do not tell anyone.”
Anthony kissed him on the lips, his tongue exploring the inside of Méssimo’s big mouth. Their tongues touched, and for a moment, Méssimo kissed him back. But that was instinctual, and it only lasted a few seconds before Méssimo’s callused fingers caressed Anthony’s smooth chest, reminding him that Anthony was not a girl. Méssimo was both surprised and repulsed by the kiss. He pulled away after a few seconds.
“Sorry,” Anthony said. “So you’ve bottomed before?”
Méssimo nodded. “Do not tell your brothers, señor. Please.”
“I won’t,” Anthony said. He kissed Méssimo, and this time, Méssimo endured it. He didn’t kiss back. His hands remained squarishly at his side. Anthony felt the heat radiating off Méssimo’s powerful chest.
“What, uh…. What do you want me to do now?” He had a resigned, hangdog look.
Anthony placed one tiny hand on Méssimo’s broad shoulders. He pushed down, keeping a sympathetic smile on his face. Méssimo didn’t resist. He lowered himself to his knees and opened his mouth. “You don’t have to do anything, Méssimo. I won’t tell my brothers anything. But I bet I look like more of a girl than your hombre was in the metal can, right?”
He nodded and trembled as he sunk to the ground. When Anthony’s dick pushed past his lips, Méssimo responded both like he wanted to vomit and like he was finally doing what he had wanted to all along. His eyes scrunched up and he gagged, but he also enthusiastically, loudly suckled on it, choking up spit that frothed up and covered his tattooed chin and neck. His tongue slathered spit on Anthony’s hard shaft.
“Don’t use your hands,” Anthony said. “Jack yourself off instead.” He pushed Méssimo’s hands away. “Look me in the eye, Méssimo.”
Méssimo winced but did as he was told. His cock was floppy now, not totally soft but having lost most of his erection now that there was a cock in his mouth. He had trouble making eye contact with Anthony, who loved the look of his frantic eyes struggling to stay put as cockmeat slid down his throat. Anthony knew cholos like Méssimo demanded their bitches (male or female) look them in the eye while swallowing their cock, so Anthony figured Méssimo expected that.
Another torrent of gagging hit Méssimo’s mouth with a full spurt of precum. Anthony shuddered and giggled as Méssimo’s big square jaw trembled, and his whole body writhed. His burly, hairy stomach roiled.
A mouthful of spit and a teaspoon of prejizz came from Méssimo, who tried to catch it with one cupped hand. That triggered a second gag, and his cupped hand overflowed.
“Oh, shit, I am sorry, esé,” Méssimo said, racing to blot the saliva up with his shirt. Anthony’s cock got him in the temple, where those tattooed roses ran down from his eyes like tears. Méssimo ignored that, but when Andrew aimed his dicktip for Méssimo’s nose, he upretched all over again. “Sorry, sorry, esé,” he said. “I will not gag-” He paused to gag again. “With my boyfriend, before, in the prison, he — he-” He held his hand over his mouth, biting back a gag. “He did teach me to not gag. I can do it.”
“Swallow the whole thing,” Andrew said as he slowly fed his hardon into Méssimo’s mouth once more. Méssimo’s hands were still trying to blot up the spit that had spilled — not that Anthony cared — even as he was still choking up more spit and trying to catch it.
Anthony thought it was cute that Méssimo was trying so hard to please him by not gagging. Did he have no idea that gagging made it feel better? The gagging was the best part, that was what Anthony always said. He liked to gag when he was on top, and he liked to gag when he was in Méssimo’s position.
Despite his apparent disgust with the flavor, Méssimo only grew more and more aroused as he got into throating Anthony to the root, until Méssimo’s nose was ensconced in Anthony’s pubes. Anthony didn’t need to direct him to deep-throat his dick; he sunk into a familiar groove as though remembering his life in prison. His head bobbed up and down on Anthony’s manhood. His free hand crept up to gently play with Anthony’s balls.
“Ay, god, Méssimo…” Anthony grunted. He had to bite his lip to avoid being too loud, because he didn’t want to attract attention from the other bodyguards and hangers-on who might be outside the room.
His brothers would tell him not to do this kind of thing. He’s allowed to, but it’d be bad for morale or something dumb like that. They’d want Anthony to fuck some trashy whore who could barely stop snorting coke long enough to swallow a dick like Méssimo was doing, and Anthony hadn’t even told him to! He’d definitely learned to serve his hombre under the sound of obedience indeed!
Taking a pause to grab a deep breath, the look on Méssimo’s face flashed between so horny he couldn’t breathe and so disgusted and ashamed he wanted to cry. Anthony humped his squarish face, leaving a trail of spit and precum on his nose and cheeks, his dick jabbing atop Méssimo’s tattoos. Méssimo gagged again even as he stuck his tongue out to lick up Anthony’s ballsweat.
Then Anthony pulled off his face, wanting to go for anal before shooting his load, which he could feel rapidly approaching. Méssimo looked with hungry eyes at Anthony’s dick as Anthony pulled out a bottle of lube. Méssimo winced and laid on his back on the bed, on those insufficently thread-counted sheets that Anthony had complained about. He lifted his trunk-like thighs up.
“I bet you didn’t use lube in prison? This’ll be nicer then.”
Méssimo shook his head. “No, no lube, just spit,” he gulped nervously. Be dulce. You are nicer than him. It is better, you are… more like a girl. Less hairy. Smaller.”
Anthony nodded. He bristled a bit, but he was used to the cholos who surrounded him in this place to think of him as a girl. He was treated as more feminine than some of the actual females who worked here. That was mostly fine with Anthony.
Anthony moaned as his dick entered Méssimo’s ass. It was so tight Anthony had to struggle to get it in, even with copious lube greasing him up. Méssimo was so much bigger than Anthony that he had enormous assflesh, which Anthony separated to bare his bootyhole. Méssimo’s ass tightened and clenched instinctively.
His asscheeks were tattooed too. Prison tats, it looked like. The thought of Méssimo being tattooed naked in prison made Anthony’s eyes bug out.
The eyeballs and bare tits tatted on his ass jiggled when Anthony’s cocktip pushed in. Méssimo grunted and sucked in his breath.
“¡Me duele el culo!” He blushed and bit his lip to keep the sound down. His eyes darted back and forth to make sure no one else had come in the room to see him take it in the culo. Méssimo stifled his moaning and writhed as pain overtook him. He clutched the bed beneath himself. His pecs flexed and stayed tight as Anthony played with his nipples.
For Anthony, it was one of the tightest, best holes he had ever had. As Méssimo adjusted to the meat in his asshole, Anthony stayed still, letting Méssimo handle all the motion. It felt like an odd position, he thought, since he was maybe a third of Méssimo’s weight. It made him feel like a little boy inexplicably plowing a giant. Méssimo gasped and threw his head back, clutching the bedspread as though it would take the pain away.
“Those tats on your ass,” Anthony said. He stopped moving with his cock all the way up Méssimo’s guts, his assflesh jiggling because of Méssimo’s staccato breathing. The tats of Méssimo’s ass included a huge pair of knockers, one on each cheek. They were crudely tatted, definitely prison tats. “Did your boyfriend put those on your ass so he could look at tits when he ramrodded you?”
Méssimo nodded, and he choked in pain or humiliation or maybe even arousal, or more likely a mixture of all three. Anthony’s cock throbbed in his ass.
Then, without Anthony’s prompting, Méssimo began stroking his own cock. He seemed to enjoy the prostate action, and his dick was leaking precum even before Anthony managed to get a smooth rhythm going. Méssimo’s ass was too tight still, but it loosened with every strugglesome pump of Anthony’s hips.
It was obvious that Méssimo was in pain, but he was also enjoying himself. He closed his eyes and grunted. It was like there were two parts of Méssimo, Anthony thought, the lower half was ready to shoot his load right now, while the upper half was humiliated and in terrible pain. Lucky for Anthony, the upper half had the upper hand right now, and Méssimo’s dick only throbbed and leaked precum into his grip.
He breathed shallowly while Anthony began plowing harder and harder, making Méssimo let out pained mewling sounds. He lowered his head to the mattress.
Anthony’s balls slapped against Méssimo’s hairy thick asscheeks. Both of his hands caressed Méssimo’s body, and his left hand slowly moved upward until he gripped Méssimo’s neck. He didn’t squeeze, but he liked to hold onto it — Méssimo was so muscular he didn’t have much of a neck, but Anthony managed to get a grip on it just the same. He didn’t squeeze, but he held on tight, tight enough to make it hard for Méssimo to take a deep breath.
The cholos like Méssimo sometimes competed over how hard they could fuck their females. The females who lived here loved it, no matter how their cholos tried to smash their pussies, or at least they pretended they did. Méssimo presumably fucked them, they all did.
But if they could fuck a woman like that, Anthony could damn well ramrod Méssimo in the same way. So Anthony decided to imitate that the best he could. Of course, since he was smaller than Méssimo, he couldn’t do much more than slam against Méssimo’s plump asscheeks. But he liked the way Méssimo’s flesh jiggled as he pumped his dick in as deep as he could manage, and he moaned when Méssimo’s mewling turned plaintive.
“Tell me you want it,” Anthony said. That was another thing the cartelistos would say when fucking their women.
Rather than answering, Méssimo grunted and sprayed cum over his tattooed torso, his words turning into an intense moan of desire. His dick spasmed in his fingers, that parlor-done rooster tattoo rippling as semen poured through it. He blushed like he hadn’t meant to blow his nut with a cock in his ass, that made him seem less like of a natural hombre.
“I said tell me you want it,” Anthony said, his own voice wavering as he reached his own climax, his dick deep in Méssimo’s ass.
“Ah, plow, damn my culo, fuckin’ puta!” His voice was tight and clipped, pinched, like he wanted to shout but couldn’t because the pressure and pain was too great. He turned his head and whispered, his underhushing too indistinct for Anthony to make out. Anthony could still tell what he was saying though: please don’t tell anyone I blew my load while getting ramrodded, because true hombres don’t do that; only pasivos get hard with a dick in their ass.
But Anthony wasn’t about to tease him for it or tell anyone — he was beginning to think this could be a regular event, since Méssimo would do anything to be sure nobody knew he came with a cock in his ass. An orgasm rolled over Anthony’s body, and a tight, clenching pleasure washed over his frame.
A fat wad of cum spurted into Méssimo’s cavernous guts, and Méssimo let out a howl, his own orgasm just now ending. Méssimo contorted when he felt it, and the writhing of his muscles made it seem like Anthony could see his cumwad spraying over Méssimo’s insides.
Méssimo gasped and hyperventilated. Anthony had never shot such a huge load, it just kept coming and coming, and Méssimo threw his head back. His eyes rolled in their sockets as cum coated Méssimo’s hot, spongy prostate.
“Ah, si, si, si,” Méssimo said, quietly, as though a little embarrassed by his own excitement, as he writhed and moaned. His limp dick and balls jiggled massively afront Anthony’s own crotch, which was daggering as Anthony turned his own cumwad into a big frothy mess.
At last Anthony pulled out. He scooped up all the cum on Méssimo’s belly, intending to swallow it himself. But when he saw Méssimo’s eyes — which he had just opened, looking on with wonder like he was shocked he had allowed this to happen — Anthony knew what to do.
He brought his hand up to Méssimo’s mouth. Méssimo opened despite his humiliation, and Anthony waited for him to take the plunge. After waiting a few seconds, Méssimo grabbed Anthony’s hand and dumped the cum into his mouth.
He gagged and spat, but licked up what coated his face, even as his whole body spasmed and his muscles contorted. Anthony caressed his belly and neck until he was still, cum-streaked face tense. Anthony climbed onto his chest and kissed him on the lips, tasting remnants of semen in his mouth.
Anthony’s limp, juice-dripping cock rested in the sweat-dappled chest hair on Méssimo’s torso, as Anthony licked every drop of cum off the big cholo’s face.
“I’m glad you’re my bodyguard, Méssimo,” he said with a giggle. “If I ever get locked up, I’m bringing you with me.”
“I can’t wait, señor…”

The Annapolis Alpha

Abdul’s latest IT job brings him onto a naval base, where the hunky older officer Chumbers corners him in a closet with an urgent need for a little twink on top!

SIR YES SIR!

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Abdul was nervous when he got to work on the base at Annapolis. He had two reasons to be nervous, though luckily he hoped the second might counteract the first — he was a brown-skinned Muslim named Abdul, and he knew a lot of American military folk were skeptical of Muslims. So he was worried about anti-Muslim harassment and xenophobia. Counteracting that, Abdul was a slim nerd of Turkish extraction, and while he normally had only a slight lisp and a bit of limp wrist, he accentuated both right now. His glasses and dorky demeanor probably helped too, and he was sure to make a Star Trek joke as he checked in with the secretary. Hopefully that made him seem less like a terrorist.
Indeed, everyone on the base ended up being extraordinarily kind and helpful. That was no doubt in part because they desperately needed his help. The wireless router in one building had been broken for weeks, and no one with the Navy was able to fix it.
Fixing stuff like that was Abdul’s job. He could fix anything, as long as it was a computer.
The secretary was a perky young man who looked about twelve years old, but he was in the Navy, so presumably he was older than that. He had no idea what a router was, where it might be or who would know about the wifi. He was the most useless secretary in the history of the Navy.
But he did manage to make a call, to a Captain Chumbers, who must have told him where to go. He then showed Abdul the closet with the routers in.
He got to work, glad when that babyface sailor left him alone. Abdul had been unsure that would be allowed. Maybe, after all, they would require a security minder to be present.
Honestly, they ought to. Did the Navy know they had some random fiddling with their wifi? Abdul could have installed a bug. He didn’t bring that up because he didn’t want to tempt fate.
First of all, the permissions were all messed up. Abdul had to get into the mainframe to open up the router, and that alone took a whole hour. He had to go find that useless secretary to get the password, and then he had to explain what a password was, and then he had to wait for the password. It took forever. The Navy have a real problem with efficiency.
Eventually though, he fixed the permissions issue, and he got down into the nitty-gritty of the broken wifi.
“Do you know what’s wrong?” asked a deep man’s voice, startling Abdul.
Abdul was nearly done fixing it, but he didn’t want to say that because there might end up being more work to be done, and then he’d look like he failed. In fact, he suspected that the Navy’s own IT folk had been messing with it while they tried to fix it, and they might have broken it even worse. “I think a few things are wrong with it,” Abdul said without turning to look at the man behind him. He forced his voice to deepen as he became self-conscious about his nerdiness. “I’m about to finish fixing the main thing. That was probably the initial problem. But these issues have a way of snowballing and causing more problems as time goes on, so I’ll need another couple hours.”
It was only as he finished speaking that Abdul looked up and saw that he was not speaking to that secretary or the cadets he had met earlier. This was clearly someone in charge — he was tall, stately, broad-shouldered and stiff-necked. He had a square jaw and pale skin, with a few colorful tattoos peeking out from under his uniform. He had such an authoritarian demeanor that Abdul jumped up and saluted as soon as he made eye contact.
The officer smiled. “At ease… sailor?”
Abdul blushed and looked down. “Sorry. I guess I watch too many movies.”
“That’s fine. My name is Captain Chumbers,” he said with a throaty chuckle. He cocked his head to the side as though considering Abdul. “You are… uh… I’m sorry, I’m not sure the politically correct way to ask this, you’re-“
“I’m Turkish,” Abdul said. “And I’m Muslim. But don’t worry, this doesn’t actually give me access to the secure server, I don’t have access to any classified information.”
“There’s nothing to speak of on this network anyway,” he said. “All you’d find out is what we’re having for lunch this week.”
“Is it pork?”
Captain Chumbers chuckled. “No, we don’t serve pork, or beef. We have Muslim and Hindu seamen,” he said. Despite the gravity of the situation, when he said seamen, Abdul had to stifle a laugh.
“Cool. Okay,” Abdul said.
“Oh.” It was apparent he wanted to ask for more, but didn’t think he should, so he shut up. He shifted his weight on his feet. “I’m sorry, I’m distracting you from your job.”
“No, it’s okay. This next part needs to run on its own. It should take like a half-hour,” Abdul said. “Did you need this room? I can wait-“
“No, stay here,” Captain Chumbers said. He sidled in and closed the door behind him. This was a small, cramped IT closet, with servers and computer gear scattered about on rickety old shelves. Captain Chumbers had an intent look on his face, like he had a very serious plan, and whatever it was, it made Abdul’s heart flutter.
“Okay…” Abdul’s eyes opened wide. He stammered over his words, though he had nothing to say. What was Chumbers’s plan?
“My wife just gave birth,” Captain Chumbers said.
“Congratulations. Is that your first child?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, awesome,” Abdul said. This was such an awkward situation he wasn’t sure how to muster up any enthusiasm. He blushed. It seemed that Captain Chumbers wanted something, but Abdul didn’t know what. “That’s really great. Cool. It’s cool to be a dad.”
“She lives in Georgia. That’s where I’s from,” he said. He had only a trace of an accent, but now that Abdul knew it was there, he couldn’t unhear the drawl dripping broadly from his voice.
“Oh. I’ve never been to Georgia. It’s… uh, it’s hot there, right?-” Abdul gulped. This closet was feeling more and more cramped with every passing moment.
“I haven’t seen her in almost a year. We talk on the phone, but it’s not the same.”
“Yeah, I understand. That’s tough.”
“I haven’t seen any women in almost a year.”
“Really?”
“I mean… not literally,” Captain Chumbers said. “I’ve seen women, of course. But I haven’t been with one or even flirted with one.”
“Oh, yeah, that must be difficult-“
“When I was a cadet…” His voice trailed off. “Officers were allowed to order cadets to do pretty much anything. On my first day, my commander ordered me to bend over and grab my ankles. You can guess where it went from there.”
“Yeah-“
“But that isn’t allowed anymore. Cussing is ‘gainst the rules now,” Captain Chumbers said with a dismissive scoff. He came closer to Abdul.
“Hmm-hmm.”
“I’m going to order you to do something in a moment,” he said. He frowned and blushed, averting his eyes, appearing nervous for the first time since he had come in this room. “I’m gonna make it seem like you have to do it. But you don’t. I just… I don’t want to have a conversation about it.”
“Okay…”
“I’ve been giving and receiving orders for so long, it’s hard for me to interact normally,” he said. “If you say no, or walk away, that’s fine. I won’t stop you.”
“Captain Chumbers, what are you doing? What is this?”
“Take off my clothes, sailor,” he said. His voice was soft and weak, so Abdul at first thought he had misheard.
“Sir?”
“I said take off my clothes, sailor!” he barked with the stentorian tone of a drill sergeant who expected utter obedience.
Obedience was something Abdul could provide. He jumped to his feet before he even thought about it. It was difficult to disobey someone like that. He stood there for a moment, calculating his options. Of course the idea of servicing some studly navy officer was alluring to Abdul, who did appreciate the male form and physique, but was that what was really happening here?
His pristine white uniform was tight, a little too small for him, and it was stiff, starched. The fabric was firmer than Abdul had expected. His heart raced as he fumbled with the buttons. He had never taken off a navy officer’s uniform before.
“Quicker, sailor!”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Abdul said. His voice trembled and broke. He blushed. Why was he calling him sir? He didn’t need to. Chumbers simply exuded such authority that Abdul felt no choice but to show him the respect of an underling.
This was probably how that babyfaced secretary reacted when Chumbers gave him an order, Abdul thought.
Underneath that uniform shirt, Chumbers wore a plain white t-shirt, bleached white, presumably by some sailor who worked in the laundry. It was also perfectly clean. His colorful tattoos were more visible now that only the t-shirt separated them from — there was a fight scene between two knights on horseback on his left bicep, and a tractor on his right. An American flag waved in the wind over his heart, the vibrant colors visible through his t-shirt. He had a broad, muscular chest with a few tufts of hair on it. Abdul gulped.
Abdul tried to take off that t-shirt, but Captain Chumbers was so much taller than him that he couldn’t do much more than lift it up to his shoulders. That put Abdul’s fingers beneath the fabric, however, and he shivered with anticipation as he brushed past those powerful pecs, which flexed beneath his touch. Chumbers’s was broad and muscular, and it exuded warmth that enveloped Abdul.
“I can’t lift your shirt all the way up.”
“If’n you don’t address your superior officer smartly, I swear I’ll rip ya dick off, sailor!”
“Uh… Sir! I can’t lift your t-shirt up all the way, sir! You’re too tall, sir! Or… I’m too short. Sir.”
“Then you might have to put me on my knees, sailor!” he said. He still stood straight as an arrow, at attention, with his hands clenched into fists as though he was going to beat Abdul any moment.
“Uh… Okay. Sir,” Abdul said. He had to stand on his toes to reach Captain Chumbers’s shoulders, then he gently pushed down. He had no leverage, and even if he had, Captain Chumbers outweighed Abdul by at least a hundred pounds of solid muscle. So he did not, in any meaningful sense, push him down.
But nevertheless, Captain Chumbers sunk to his knees as though being forced. His torso remained straight, and his skin puckered as Abdul lifted his t-shirt up. Captain Chumbers raised his arms so Abdul could pull the shirt up and over his head, then lowered them again now that his chest was bare.
Abdul hesitated, not sure what to do next. But Captain Chumbers had said to take off his clothes, not just his shirt, so Abdul did as he was told. He undid Captain Chumbers’s belt and pulled those pure white dress uniform pants down. Since he was on his knees, they didn’t go all the way down, but they did reveal his unfashionable white briefs, which were tight, clean and hugged his plump ass. Kinky black hairs escaped from the elastic waistband.
“Take your dick out, sailor!”
Again Abdul was so nervous he didn’t follow orders right away. This was rather looking like Captain Chumbers intended to bottom — that would explain why he was on his knees and why he demanded Abdul take his own dick out rather than taking Captain Chumbers’s out. But that hardly made any sense. Surely, Abdul thought, a big macho Navy captain like him was a top, if he was willing to jack off with a man at all.
Maybe that was why he mentioned his wife being so far away? Abdul’s heart quickened its beat.
“I said-” He paused because some sailors walked past the closet. Once they were safely out of earshot, he narrowed his eyes in Abdul’s direction. “I said take your cock out now, sailor!” Chumbers barked.
Abdul gulped and did as he was told. He dropped his pants and pulled his dick out of his boxers. His crotch was sweaty because this tiny room was hot, a problem that was worsened by all the heat from the computer equipment in here. It was like a hamam.
“Now, grab my head and put it in position, sailor,” he said. Captain Chumbers still stared straight ahead, his face solid and emotionless. His grizzled jaw worked as though he chewed on his tongue.
“Which, uh… position-?”
“Now!”
Just as before, his tone was so strict Abdul jumped into action instinctually. The only logical position was to force Captain Chumbers’s head low enough that he could swallow Abdul’s dick. Nothing else made sense, even if that also didn’t really make sense given the situation. But Abdul hurried to follow orders, and once again, Captain Chumbers did as he was “forced” to do. His upper body awkwardly stooped over so that his face was right in front of Abdul’s dick, which was half-hard even though neither of them had touched it yet.
The situation was so arousing that Abdul’s cocked jerked, resulting in it brushing against Captain Chumbers’s lips. He gagged lightly and winced.
“Sorry.”
“Sailor, what did I say about addressing me as sir.”
“Sorry, sir. I, uh… I should have said… Sorry, sir,” Abdul said. “I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t say sir when I said sorry, sir. I mean, I said sorry, but not sir, and now… I’m sorry, sir. I-” He cut himself off because he realized he was babbling and thought he looked like an idiot.
“Open my mouth,” he said. “Use your hands to open my mouth, sailor!”
“Oh… what? Are you sure? Sir?” Abdul asked. His voice stammered, certain he had misheard the command. Was this man really going to bottom? In Turkish culture, a man was either a top or a bottom, strictly, no exceptions.
“Jacking off wasn’t even allowed in this navy until recently, sailor,” Chumbers said. “You are going to have to force my mouth open, sailor.”
Abdul’s mind raced. He flopped his dick against Captain Chumbers’s lips, which were pursed shut tightly. Again Captain Chumbers winced as though he found it disgusting, like Abdul’s dick was gonna make him gag. Abdul gripped his jaw to spread his mouth open.
His fingers seemed so small in comparison to Captain Chumbers’s big head and thick jaw. His cheeks and chin were shaved smooth but Abdul could already feel a bit of the day’s stubble growing in. He gently pulled Captain Chumbers’s jaws apart.
Despite being forced, it was apparent that Captain Chumbers didn’t resist. When Abdul just exerted a bit of pressure on his jaw, Captain Chumbers opened wide, though Abdul did feel tension, like he had to fight against himself to do it.
“Now throat me down!” Captain Chumbers said — he had to close his mouth to talk, then opened it again — and he growled at Abdul. “Do it hard and merciless, sailor.”
Abdul’s heart raced, but he didn’t need to be ordered twice. He wedged his dick in and gasped as Captain Chumbers accepted it. He was a big man, so he had a big mouth, and he easily got most of Abdul’s dick in before it reached the back of his throat. Then he gagged, but didn’t stop.
Abdul sighed as pleasure overtook him. His dick was rock-hard now, throbbing in Captain Chumbers’s throat. His fingers held onto his nearly bare head, and Abdul began slowly, gently plowing his mouth, his erection hitting the back of Chumbers’s throat.
That caused Abdul to just stand there. He didn’t want to throat Chumbers down if that wasn’t what he was supposed to do. He figured Chumbers would just do whatever his plan was. If he wanted to deep-throat Abdul, he could do that anytime.
But Captain Chumbers was having none of that — he put his hands behind Abdul’s body, clutching his smooth twink asscheeks, and forcibly made him drill his dick deep into Captain Chumbers’s throat.
It was such an arousing situation that Abdul thought he might blow his load within seconds. That would have been disappointing; he wanted to savor this. But he couldn’t do much to stop himself. He gasped as he plowed Captain Chumbers’s face, balls slapping against his chin. Captain Chumbers choked with every thrust.
His ass was visible, hugged by those tight briefs, down below — since he was stooped way over to swallow Abdul’s dick, his ass jutted out behind him. His big body filled up the small IT closet.
Captain Chumbers pulled away. He still stared straight ahead, looking at the saliva dripping from Abdul’s uncut cock. “Can you reach my ass from there, sailor?!”
“Uh…” Abdul strained to reach forward, pushing his cock and balls against Captain Chumbers’s face. His dickskin was so sensitive he could easily feel that day’s stubble scratching against his flesh. He shuddered as he smeared precum all over Captain Chumbers’s nose and cheeks. His hand barely reached his ass. “Sort of, sir.”
“Well, you better find a way to get your finger in my ass, sailor, or I’ll dish out a big barrel full of serious trubs!” Captain Chumbers barked, his voice muffled by Abdul’s cock. He reopened his mouth and swallowed Abdul’s dick. He also raised his hips as far as he could, which put his ass within reach. Abdul didn’t know what trubs meant, but he assumed it was some American idiom, and he got the gist of it.
Abdul slipped his hand under those tight white briefs, shuddering with desire as he felt Chumbers’s powerful asscheeks clench. Abdul stroked his sweaty asscrack, then hesitated as his finger massaged the rim of his asshole.
He didn’t need Captain Chumbers to order him onto the next step. Abdul could tell what he was about to say. He plunged his finger in, which made Captain Chumbers arch his back. He gurgled around Abdul’s dick, and saliva dribbled out past his lips. Chumbers grunted as his face turned ruddy.
Since he had to stretch to reach his asshole at all, Abdul couldn’t fit more than the tip of his middle finger in. But that was enough to loosen Captain Chumbers’s ass up. It clenched tightly but submitted to Abdul’s fingering.
He pulled off and looked up at Abdul with stern eyes, the first time he had made direct eye contact since this began. He didn’t need to bark his order this time before Abdul guessed what it was, but Abdul did wait for him to say it.
“Now you got two seconds to get ya dick in my ass before I beat’choo senseless, sailor!”
“Yes, sir!” Abdul was wedged between him and the wall, so he had to awkwardly squeeze out of the way — Captain Chumbers didn’t move to make it easy for him. Abdul gripped Captain Chumbers’s back for support as he climbed around him.
It did take more than two seconds, but Abdul didn’t think he was actually timing it. Captain Chumbers’s asshole twinkled as Abdul rammed his cock in, rushing to get it in before Chumbers changed his mind.
For a moment, all was silence. Then Captain Chumbers grunted and moaned in a combination of pain and pleasure. He lifted his head up and gripped the wall tightly. Abdul had to stand on his toes while Captain Chumbers bent his knees to help him get in position.
“Ram me harder, sailor! Don’t think I won’t throw you overboard if you don’t!” he shouted at the wall through gritted teeth. It was obvious he was in pain, but from the rippling of his back muscles, it was obvious he experienced intense bliss as well. He was so much taller that Abdul’s head was pressed against the meaty center of Captain Chumbers’s back. He felt like a child riding his father, and he had never felt so small.
Plowing back and forth with as much power as he could muster, Abdul gripped Captain Chumbers’s sides for support. He humped his hips to pump his dick all the way in and out of Chumbers’s tight asshole, uncaring of Captain Chumbers’s instinctive clenching and grunting.
“Now, grab my dick, sailor!” he said, and then without even giving Abdul the chance to comply, he repeated himself. “Now! You don’t look like the kind of man who would be so rude as to cornhole a man without the common courtesy of a reacharound, are you? Are you that kind of man?”
“Uh, no sir,” Abdul said, his voice nervous and strained. He again had to struggle to reach, but this was easier than reaching his ass had been. As soon as he touched Captain Chumbers’s dick, it spasmed, spewing precum. He was obviously very near orgasm, despite the pain he was in.
He stroked, and the sensation was so exquisite that Captain Chumbers writhed. He gasped, and Abdul did too. His ass clenched on Abdul’s dick as though going to squeeze his dick off with his sphincter, which sent a thrill of arousal up Abdul’s spine.
Captain Chumbers heaved and moaned. His muscles undulating, flexing as an orgasm ran through him. Abdul could actually see the orgasm flow up his back in the contortions of his muscles. Abdul licked the sweat that trickled down his spine, holding on for dear life — he wasn’t even really ramming anymore, since he couldn’t get much leverage on his toes. Captain Chumbers’s body writhed, and his hips pushed back and forth, so all the power and motion came from Captain Chumbers instead of Abdul.
The cum flowed from Captain Chumbers’s dick so suddenly that Abdul gasped in surprise. He shot a huge load, most of which landed on Abdul’s fingers. His ass tightened again, which sent Abdul over the edge as well. He exclaimed in Turkish as he bucked atop Captain Chumbers’s expansive ass.
He shot his own load moments later, yelping and squealing when the exquisite pleasure rolled over him. He clutched at Captain Chumbers’s back and held on tight. He had never experienced such an intense orgasm, heightened this time by the awkward positioning and the difficult situation. A part of him still worried he was getting in serious trouble.
But then it was all over. They both limpened at once, and Captain Chumbers took a deep breath. He sighed. Abdul’s knees went weak, and he leaned into Captain Chumbers’s back for support.
“Get your dick outta me, sailor,” Captain Chumbers said with a growl. He no longer sounded like he enjoyed the plowing, and Abdul hurriedly pulled away. His cock popped right out.
“Sorry, uh, sir-“
“Shut up,” he said. “Make me suck my cum off your fingers, sailor.”
Abdul again hesitated, but Captain Chumbers turned around. He lowered his head until it was near Abdul’s cum-coated hand. But he stopped there, mouth open, waiting for Abdul.
It looked like Captain Chumbers was going to punish him for his delay, so Abdul hurriedly rammed his fingers in. Captain Chumbers’s mouth was so big Abdul could probably have fit his entire first in, but he didn’t. He just put his fingers in, and Captain Chumbers sucked off every drop of cum.
Then he dropped Abdul’s hand and pushed him away. Abdul breathed a sigh of relief that this was over. He pulled his pants up while Captain Chumbers put his dress uniform back on. His shirt was crooked, and Abdul fixed it for him.
“Thank you,” Captain Chumbers said. “I hope… I hope our Internet breaks again sometime.”
“Yeah me too.”
“I’ll be sure to call you.”
“Okay!” Abdul blushed. He hadn’t mean to sound so eager. “If you ever wanna…-“
“No, I don’t want to. You’re going to have to hold me down if you want to plow me again,” Captain Chumbers said. He gently rubbed Abdul’s smooth cheeks. “You look like a girl. You wouldn’t last ten minutes in the Navy.”
“Yeah… No, probably not,” Abdul said. He had never even considered joining the military.
“Get this Internet fixed,” Captain Chumbers said. “Now.”
“Sir, yes, sir!”

The Baltimore Alpha

When Elton comes home and finds a big-ass Baltimore thug waiting for him, he thought he was in for a robbery. But it turns into the most outrageous episode of twink on top yet!

Read The Baltimore Alpha as an ebook!

Or read it here in its entirety!

Elton stumbled home late at night. He had been very drunk earlier, but he stopped drinking because he struck out. He knew if he kept drinking, he’d get sleepy. He’d wind up napping in the men’s room or in the alley behind the building. That’d happened before. He wanted to stay up long enough to find a woman who wanted to come with him. So he ate bread and drank coffee, then returned to the nightclub for another few hours of dancing.
And in the end, he came home dazed, tired and alone. He had been totally unable to meet a likable woman. Or even a tolerable one. Women were positively awful these days, he thought.
“Hello.”
Elton screamed. Someone was in his apartment. He hurried to a lamp, flicked it on and then fumbled for his cell phone.
A tall thick-bodied black man in a red shirt and doo rag stood in front of Elton, frowning at him. He gently picked the cell phone out of Elton’s hand, and Elton was too surprised and drunk to hold onto it. His heart pounded in his chest, which had never felt thinner than it did now, standing next to this sculpted mountain of well-muscled meat.
“Who are you? What are you doing?” Elton asked, though the answer was obvious — this was a robber. He was robbing. He was engaged in burglary. The question was superfluous. Elton blushed.
“Yo, hush up yo’ mouth, man,” he said as though surprised and offended that Elton responded badly to his home invasion. He scoffed and placed one hand over Elton’s mouth. “I say shut yo’ mouth, man.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Elton said through the man’s hand, which tasted. Tears twinkled in Elton’s eyes as he saw visions of this gigantic gangbanger strangling him.
He shook his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Damn, man, all whitebois sound like absolute freaks to me,” he said. He took a deep breath. “My name is Dumphry. I ain’t gonna hurt you. I ain’t gonna rob you. That ain’t why I’m here. If I take my hand off yo’ mouth, you gonna scream?” When Elton didn’t respond right away, he added, “I’m here to give you money, man.”
“What?”
“That got yo’ attention, huh?” Dumphry said. He dropped his hand. “Look, you don’t know me, I get that. I scared ya. I’s sorry ‘bout that. I here to give you five thousand dollars and a night wit’ any of these whores.” He handed over his own cell phone, after opening up a folder of pictures. Beautiful women, mostly black, in skimpy stripper-type outfits made sexy poses in pic after pic. Elton’s heart raced too fast for him to think about what was happening.
“Okay… What?”
“You remember last week? You was that coffee shop on Lennox?”
“What? Well… Yeah, I go there a lot. I’m writing a novel. It’s about a time-traveling florist who solves crimes-“
Dumphry grunted. He put two fingers on Elton’s lips. “Nah. Never tell a black man about a novel.”
“Uh… Yes, sir, okay.” Elton winced. Why am I calling him sir?
“There were two people there too. Remembuh? A white woman and a nigga. You was checkin’ out the woman the whole damn time, eyeing her like she a steak and you a Béarnaise sauce. You remembuh her?”
“No,” Elton said. He felt like he was going to cry, especially if he got beat up for looking at this guy’s woman, which hadn’t even happened. He remembered the woman, but he didn’t remember her being attractive and he certainly never “checked her out”.
Dumphry shut his mouth and cocked his head to the side. “You denyin’ it?”
“Yeah! I deny it. Consider it denied, man.”
“Well… Fuckin’ shit,” he said. “I guess…”
“I won’t steal your girlfriend, is that what you’re worried about?” Elton said.
“She weren’t my girlfriend.”
“You weren’t even the black guy. He was different, he was more handsome, and he had a mustache.”
Dumphry frowned again, cuz that seemed to be his default response. His muscular chest rippled. He was built like a professional athlete, and he had a thick beard. Tattoos poked out from under his red shirt. A heavy gold crucifix dangled around his neck. “Don’chu ever compare another man to me and find me wanting. Nevuh.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“You was checkin’ out that girl.”
“I wasn’t! Were you there? How did you see me?”
“It’s on the security camera,” he said.
“Well, don’t hurt me! I just thought it was weird because she wasn’t cute, not really, I didn’t understand why they were together.”
“They ain’t ‘together’,” Dumphry said. “She was a cop. She is a cop.”
“Oh.”
“She was in the papers yesterday, ain’t you see that? Arrested fo’ corruption and shit.”
“Really?”
“Nothin’ important. She just let some pills get sold, that’s all. Medicine.”
“Oh, well, that’s not bad.”
“Nah. She cool and all,” he said. He ran his fingers through his beard and nervously shifted his weight on his feet. “Well, I give you five grand to say you heard ‘em talkin’ ‘bout making love. You gotta call it that. They’s in love.”
“They’re in love? Why do they need me-?”
“Look, it’s better if it’ll be a surprise. You won’t hafta act like you ain’t know what’s goin’ on,” he said. “But sooner or later, someone is gonna ask if you heard what they was talkin’ about. You don’t look like a snitch, whiteboi.”
“I’m not! I just… I don’t understand. I didn’t hear what they were saying.”
“Not good enough. Tell ‘em they’s having an affair.”
“Tell who?”
“Whoever axes, motherfucker,” he said. “You get five grand, remembuh that? Five grand and some fine pussy from the Bloods stable. Any kinda pussy you want. You want blonde? We got blonde.”
“I don’t want any pussy,” Elton said.
Dumphry paused. “Lemme call someone. Maybe I can hook you up wit’ somethin’ else,” he said. He called a number, looked down at his feet and bit his lip. “Hey. Yeah. I’m here now, wit’ him. I dunno, he ain’t say yes or no yet. I don’t think that’ll work. He weren’t checking out that bitch. Yeah.”
Elton grimaced. “I won’t snitch, I’m not like that. It’s not — I don’t, uh… premarital sex… I don’t see prostitutes.”
“He said he’s a wuss, not man enough for a whore.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Dumphry shushed him with a wave of his big meaty hand. “Uh-huh. What? No shit? What about Kinsey? Oh.” Then Dumphry made eye contact with Elton, opened his eyes wide and stumbled nervously over his words. “What?! Oh… Ok… Okay. No! I ain’t-” He closed his eyes and shook his head, then whispered, facing away from Elton. “I done… a few things, or whatever. You know… Man, nigga… Not since high school and shit. I ain’t nevuh… done all that.” Then Dumphry paused for a long time, sighed dramatically and said, “Okay. Yeah, I’ll do it. I said I’ll do it, ain’t I? Yes, I’m sure. You want a note? Fine. Yeah Later, nigga.” Another long pause. The person on the other end repeated something a few times, then Dumphry finally acknowledged it. “Yeah, I ‘ll have him write a note. One love.” The he hung up.
“Are you okay?”
“I… you a cross-dresser?”
“No.”
“Can you be? You got girl’s clothes here? That’d be easier fo’ me.”
“No,” Elton said. “What is going on?”
“My boss said I gotta do it.”
“Do what?”
“You. Or whatever, you can do me,” Dumphry said. He took off his shirt, revealing a powerful chest covered with gray and blue ink. He kept that gold crucifix on and even kissed the cross. “You gotta write a note.”
“A note?”
“My boss is named Carson. When we’re done, you gotta write him a note sayin’ I let you do whatever you want to me,” Dumphry said. He handed over a wad of bills. “And here’s that five grand.”
“So I get five grand and…?”
“You can plow me up behind if you want,” Dumphry said.
“Really?”
He blanched but nodded as he dropped his sagging jeans. “Can we get this over with?” He had on loose boxers with a big bulge in the crotch, the sight of which made Elton’s eyes bulge out. He wasn’t a sissy, but he had to admit cornholing a massively muscular black man was somehow alluring.
“I don’t wanna… ram you,” Elton said. “I mean… I’ll just do whatever you’re comfortable with.” He grabbed a note pad and started writing a note to “Carson”. He glanced up at Dumphry, who stood there in his red boxers, watching Elton with confusion in his deep-set eyes. “I’ll write a note now. You can tell Carson you did what you were supposed to.”
“Really?”
Elton nodded. He couldn’t believe he was really doing this. He bit his lip. “I’m gonna look into it. If that cop-lady is accused of doing something worse than letting people sell pills, I’m not gonna tell any lies,” he said. “Tell me now, is it more than that?”
“I swear, that’s it. Speeding tickets too,” he said. “She gets us outta speeding tickets.”
“Okay, well, that’s fine,” Elton said.
“You can do… I mean… whatever,” Dumphry said. He dropped his boxers, then flopped his massive cock left and right between both hands. “I’m glad you ain’t a snitch. If you wanna mess around…”
“Why don’t we just get started? You can always say no,” Elton said. “I’ll stop. You’re like three times my size, don’t be nervous, I can’t force you into anything.” Elton felt nervous and skinny without his clothes on, next to this barrel-chested gangbanger.
His skin was too dark to blush, but Dumphry made a face like he was blushing on the inside. He nodded furtively. He winced and looked at his feet.
Elton rammed his hand into Dumphry’s crotch and held onto his cock. It was hot and sweaty, and it pulsated in Elton’s grasp.
“Aw, damn, nigga…” Dumphry’s big body flexed and rippled, all his muscles tightening at once. He trembled, then steeled his nerves as his massive cock grew hotter in Elton’s hand. Elton gave it just one stroke, and it twitched.
As his cock throbbed in Elton’s grip, Dumphry shook and moaned, like he was upset with himself for enjoying the sensation of Elton’s hand caressing his manhood. Elton was down to his own t-shirt and underwear, still feeling a little too self-conscious to get fully naked.
Instead, he used his free hand to take Dumphry’s right hand and place it in Elton’s boxers. Both of them sucked in their breaths. Dumphry was a foot taller than Elton and much heavier, so his hand was much bigger. It made Elton’s cock seem small in comparison. Dumphry winced, and his thick-fingered hand wrapped around Elton’s dick.
“Jack me off, okay?”
Dumphry’s whole body roiled as his fingers awkwardly encircled Elton’s cock. His beard trembled. His hand moved up and down on Elton’s shaft, slow and steady.
It would have been a terrible handjob, Elton thought, if it weren’t for the context and situation — but Elton loved Dumphry’s nervous, alpha-male awkwardness. His hand gingerly rubbed Elton’s dick to full erection. Elton’s knees went weak, and he would have gladly done nothing else, but knowing Dumphry would do whatever he said, Elton felt an urge to see how much he could get away with.
Pulling down both sets of boxers, Elton felt his anxiety melt away as he thwacked both dicks against each other. Seeing them together made it clear that Elton’s cock was quite a bit smaller the than Dumphry’s when soft, but once Elton got an erection, their dicks were very nearly the same size. Dumphry’s was thicker and veinier, and something about it felt right in Elton’s hand.
Both shafts got hard in Elton’s hand. Dumphry’s body was stiff and unmoving, his knees bent so his cock lined up with Elton’s much shorter body. Dumphry’s dick stayed soft, but Elton kept stroking it anyway.
When Elton strained to reach upward and place one hand on Dumphry’s shoulder, he intended to simply caress the man’s corded muscles. He rarely got the chance to feel up someone who was so strong.
But Dumphry apparently took it as a request for him to get on his knees. He winced and did so. “Damn, whiteboi…” He opened his mouth to swallow Elton’s cock, then opened his eyes too and realized that wasn’t going to work — he was so much taller that even on his knees, his mouth only lined up with Elton’s nipples. “Shit, you’s a short-ass whiteboi,” he said with a staccato laugh, like he was making an accusation.
Elton sat down on the couch, giving Dumphry a more workable angle. Elton’s dick spasmed, excited, begging for attention. Elton couldn’t believe his night had turned out like this — he struck out with every woman in Baltimore, and now he got seemingly one of the toughest thugs in the city swallowing his manhood.. Dumphry leaned forward to bury his nose in Elton’s crotch. Elton moaned even before the man’s moist tongue hit his shaft, sending spasms of pleasure up his spine.
Dumphry swallowed his dick in one smooth motion, his nose burying itself in Elton’s pubic hair. He gagged and sputtered, but didn’t slow down, even when Elton’s cock hit the back of his throat. His thick lips caressed Elton’s dick, sending droplets of drool into Elton’s shaved, smooth crotch. Dumphry’s heavy crucifix dangled, its cold metal surface bumping into Elton’s thighs as Dumphry’s head bobbed in his crotch.
He looked up at Elton, eyes watering, whether from disgust or lack of oxygen or surprised arousal, or a mixture of all three, Elton didn’t know which. He gripped Dumphry’s head and guided him up and down, gently at first, then more firmly, using Dumphry’s big-man head like a fleshlight.
And it did feel startlingly like a vagina, Elton thought. Sparks of pleasure erupting through his body, Elton stood on his toes and sucked in his breath. Sweat dappled his forehead.
“Ah, damn, Dumphry, you swallow dick good…” Elton chuckled. He felt more confident than he had since this started, maybe more confident than he had felt in years.
His tongue caressed Elton’s shaft. It was slow and hesitant at first, but became quicker the more time passed. Elton moaned, leaning back on the couch.
Elton watched Dumphry’s big round ass shake as he struggled to swallow Elton’s now throbbing cock. He couldn’t see the man’s asshole from his seat on the couch, but he could tell it was puckering at the thought of being plowed. Elton felt a rush of arousal as he realized that Dumphry was not going to tell him no — it seemed Dumphry either secretly wanted to do this or was afraid of disappointing his boss, or maybe a bit of both.
He leaned forward again and spread Dumphry’s asscheeks. He had a perfectly plump ass with nice round cheeks and a hairy crack. Elton inserted his pinkie finger, ringing the hole, while his free hand felt around for the nightstand by the couch. Inside the drawer there was a tube of lube.
He spread some of that lube on his fingers, then rubbed it into Dumphry’s ass. Dumphry arched his back at the cold feeling, but he didn’t stop working his head up and down Elton’s shaft. He gagged again as he struggled to deep-throat Elton’s smooth meat.
His cell phone rang. Dumphry picked up his phone, looked at the screen and groaned. “It’s Carson,” he said, a few tendrils of spit connecting his thick lips to Elton’s cock. Dumphry wiped his face off and answered the phone. “Yo. I’m doin’ it now.” He sighed. “Fine…” He switched the phone to speaker. “Okay, you’re on, Carson.”
Yo, whiteboi, you there?
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Whatchoo doin’ right now?
“I’m, uh, getting dome from Dumphry while I finger his ass,” Elton said.
Good. He give good dome? Carson chuckled throatily.
“Yeah. He’s doing great,” Elton said, his voice gaspy cuz his dick was still throbbing with sensations, though Dumphry was standing there like a naked lump of clay.
Lemme tell you, this nigga Dumphry be fuckin’ up left and right. You into anything kinky that don’t require a woman?
“Not really…”
That’s a pity. If you wanna whup him or somethin’, you go ahead. Make him drink peepee if you want.
“Carson! Come on, nigga!” Dumphry said. “Don’t tell a white man to whup me!”
I thought you was swallowin’ dick, nigga? Why ain’t yo’ mouth full?
“Sorry, man…” Dumphry went back to his knees. He held onto Elton’s dick but didn’t stroke it or put his mouth on it.
Lemme hear it. Put the phone near that nigga mouth, Mistuh White Man..
Elton did as he was told. Pleasure wracked his body again as Dumphry resumed deep-throating him. He wrinkled his nose and subdued a gag. Dumphry his arm across his belly like to keep the gags in. His lips spread around it, like he was hoping it wouldn’t come into contact with his lips or tongue.
Make it noisy, nigga.
Dumphry started gurgling, suckling loudly. Carson cackled and either clapped or slapped his thigh, maybe both. Moist sounds emanated from Dumphry’s mouth, and clods of saliva slipped down Elton’s shaft.
Hey Mistuh White Man, is his dick hard?
Elton had to peer underneath his body to check. “No,” he said.
Carson sounded surprised. Lemme hear that finger in his ass too.
“You know I can record it,” Elton said. “You can watch the whole thing-“
No! I don’t wanna watch that shit! Just lemme hear it.
Elton fumbled with using one hand to hold the phone in place, while the other continued to finger him. It made a moist penetration sound, but it wasn’t very loud.
I ain’t hear him beggin’ for you to stop.
“Well… You said I could do whatever I wanted with him, right? I’m not tryin’ to torture him. I just put my pinkie finger in there.”
You don’t understand. He been fuckin’ up-
“Then you finger him, Carson!” Elton said. “You want me to do it, I’ll do it my own way.”
There was a long silence, then Carson burst into deep-chested barrel laughter. I like you, Mistuh White Man. You got balls. He got balls, Dumphry? Huh? Huh?
“Yeah, nigga, he got balls,” Dumphry croaked, his mouth full of saliva and precum.
Lemme hear you suck on ‘em.
Lowering his head, Dumphry gagged as soon as Elton’s moist sac slipped past his lips. His coarse beard scratched at Elton’s shaft and thighs, which would have been uncomfortable if this entire scenario weren’t so sexy. Dumphry had to really stoop, nearly laying on the ground, to get his face under Elton’s balls.
Sounds like some nice ripe balls, Dumphry. How they taste? Huh? You can take a break to answer.
“They taste like sweaty balls, Carson!” he snapped, then gagged so hard and so suddenly it seemed to surprise Dumphry himself.
Elton stood. He wanted to take control of the situation, so he withdrew his finger from Dumphry’s ass, stood up and got behind him. Dumphry was still on all fours, his thick ass trembling in the air. “I’m gonna plow him now, Carson. You wanna listen to that too?”
Yeah. Put the phone on the small of his back, Mistuh White Man.
Elton did as he was told. He put the phone on Dumphry’s rumbling back, and he massaged the man’s broad muscles as he worked his dick between those tight cheeks. His back muscles rippled, and his asscheeks jiggled. Dumpy clenched his mouth shut.
As soon as the tip pushed in, Dumphry lifted his head up and let out a low, slow growl. Elton felt unimaginable pleasure suffusing his system, his dick squeezing in to that muscular ass.
You regrettin’ bein’ mouthy wit’ me, Dumphry?
“Yes, Carson! I weren’t bein’ mouthy wit’ you anyways! You just a fuckin’ control freak ‘nd shit!”
You gettin’ mouthy again. go up him harder, Mistuh White Man. Make ‘im cry.
“Carson… I’m hanging up the phone now,” Elton said. He picked up the phone as his dick squeezed a little further in. Dumphry moaned loudly, in a mixture of pleasure and pain, or maybe just pain but he was showing off for Carson’s benefit.
You got spunk, Mistuh White Man. You wanna sling dope fo’ me-?
Elton hung up the phone before he finished his question. He threw the phone onto the couch near where Dumphry buried his head in the cushions. Then Elton could really get to ramming, forcing the rest of his dick into those broad cheeks. That sent a wave of sensations through Elton’s petite frame.
Dumphry’s muscles flexed all together, as though it required every muscle group to take cock in his ass. He bit his lip and grunted, hooting and howling — he must have been holding back on making noise because he didn’t want to give Carson the satisfaction of knowing how intense this was.
“Hey, uh… man,” Dumphry said, his voice nervous and pinched. “Will you… gimme a reacharound? I’d feel bettuh ’bout this if I got a reacharound. My uncle always said-” He paused for a moment to wince in pain. He looked at his ass, then looked away. “My uncle is always said a man don’t lose face so long as he get a reacharound outta it. He was a Marine though, you know how they is…”
Elton was so overwhelmed by his pleasure that he didn’t understand those words at first. Then he shivered with delight as he realized Dumphry had become rock-hard since Elton penetrated him — he must enjoy prostate stimulation.
He reached around Dumphry’s body and gave his dick a squeeze. His manhood was like an iron rod, and Elton felt his orgasm roiling already within the veiny meat of his cockshaft. With every thrust of Elton’s dick past his prostate, Dumphry moaned and vibrated, muscles trembling as his orgasm approached.
“Oh god, yes!”
Then Elton’s climax overwhelmed him. Intense bliss washed over him, and Elton’s spine arched. He gripped Dumphry’s broad back with his free hand, while Dumphry’s cock spasmed. Precum leaked copiously down Elton’s hand.
A jolt of cum sprayed within Dumphry’s ass, which clenched around Elton’s cock. At the same moment, Dumphry shot his own wad into Elton’s hand, as though he had been triggered by creamy cum striking his prostate.
As unimaginable pleasure moved through both their body, Elton felt up his own nipples. It was like the climax moved in waves between them, from Elton’s dick to Dumphry’s ass to Dumphry’s dick to Elton’s hand and back through the cycle all over again. They both writhed, Dumphry’s muscles contorting beneath Elton’s tender grasp.
Then it was all over. Elton stayed there for a moment, his dick limpening inside Dumphry, who remained still. His big chest heaved, back dappled with sweat above those gangbanger tats.
Elton pulled out, but left his moist dick there wedged in Dumphry’s asscrack. He had always loved it when a top did that after sex, though he wasn’t sure if a straight boy like Dumphry would like it so much. He let his dick marinate there in the mess of fluids that leaked out Dumphry’s hole.
“Lemme taste my nut,” Dumphry murmured. “I always wanted to taste it, but I guess there ain’t no better time than now.”
Much to his surprise, Dumphry grabbed Elton’s hand, the one that had been stroking Dumphry off, and licked the fingertips. He gagged profusely at the taste of his own cum, but he licked every inch of Elton’s hand clean. Cum stuck to his lips and his kinky-haired beard.
They remained there for a long time. Elton had no idea how long. It only ended when the phone buzzed again.
Dumphry roared in frustration, picked it up and grunted. He handed the phone to Elton. “He want you to take a picture of my ass wit’ yo’ cum dripping from it,” he said.
Elton laughed as he did so. It was a beautiful sight, and he made sure to send himself a copy as well. A minute or two later, Carson sent a smiley-face back.
Elton sat on the couch and kissed Dumphry on the lips. He was awkward at first, somehow both limp and stiff at once, but then he pushed his tongue into Elton’s mouth and kissed back.
“I hope that wasn’t so bad,” Elton said when they dislipped.
Dumphry shrugged and took a deep breath, like he was glad it was over even if it had been exhilarating while it happened. “It was okay. I’m gonna tell Carson I hated it. I’m gonna tell him I begged you to stop,” he said. “If I tell him it was okay, he’ll make me do it again. He’ll make the whole crew gangbang me.”
“Sounds like kind of a prick.”
“Yeah,” Dumphry said. “He is.” He stood up and stretched his sore legs. He winced as he put his clothes back on, tucking that massive slab of mandingo meat back in his sagging shorts. “You’ll say what I told you to say? ‘Bout that cop in the coffee shop?”
“Of course,” Elton said.
“Okay. Hey, whiteboi… I might come back and see you again. That okay?”
Elton smiled and patted Dumphry on the back. “I look forward to that, and I’ll try to keep witnessing crimes for you.”

The Apia Alpha

When Lance goes through a bad breakup, he never thought his neighbor the Samoan rugby player would console him like this! That’s because Poahi wants to explore the world of twink on top!

Read The Apia Alpha as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Lance had smoked weed a few times but not often, and he had never enjoyed it. It sometimes gives him a headache, and sometimes he doesn’t even get really stoned, just sleepy. It just wasn’t his bag. He never sought it out until today.
And even that was only because he was upset. His girlfriend dumped him, completely out of the blue. Lance cried himself to sleep as he wondered if he’d be forever truly alone. In the morning, he woke up and immediately decided he wanted to get high. Maybe that, he thought, would put him in a good mood. It helped that his only easy source of weed was smoking with his neighbor, which had its perks.
Lance’s neighbor was a massively muscular man with an excellent physique that Lance often admired. He was Poahi, a Samoan immigrant who had played professional rugby for half a season before getting kicked off the team for failing a drug test — rugby fans called him the “Titan of Apia”, referring to the capital city of Samoa. Poahi didn’t care, it seemed, rugby was his ticket to an American work visa, which he now had and could use. Now that he was here, he had little need for rugby. He was nearly seven feet tall, brimming with muscle and swagger. But he wasn’t cocky at all, he was just confident in his body and his masculinity, and he was stoned all the time.
That was not an exaggeration. Lance smelled weed wafting into his apartment from next-door about twenty minutes after Poahi first moved in. He literally hadn’t moved anything in besides his bong and a lighter. He was taking bong hits before he had a chair to sit in.
And now for the first time in his life, Lance wanted to join him in that.
He wondered if that was a sign of a burgeoning addiction, but he didn’t care, he just wanted to feel better. That was why, this morning, he waited to hear the sounds of Poahi getting up — he always had a cup of tea first thing in the morning, and Lance could hear his kettle whistle.
When he heard that shrill whistle, Lance went over and knocked on the door.
“Hey, hā, mate,” Poahi said, bleary-eyed from his early morning rise (it was nine o’clock, which for Poahi was very early). He wore nothing but a pair of shorts and sandals, his gigantic chest heaving as he drank coconut milk from the carton. A few driblets of coconut milk ran down his powerful torso. He was nearly seven feet tall, so Lance had to crane his neck to make eye contact with him.
“Suzanne dumped me!” Lance hadn’t meant to blurt that out and come across as an overly emotional weakling.
Poahi was definitely uncomfortable. He ran his fingers through his thick curly hair, which he let grow into an unmanageably dense Polynesian-afro. He frowned, his jovial brownness suddenly awkward and tense. But despite his obvious desire to get away from this conversation, he did submit to listening as Lance explained — in entirely too many words — the entire course of his relationship with Suzanne, which had ended badly yesterday. Poahi acted as though this was the first time he’d heard of Suzanne, which was incorrect. His memory was subpar.
“And so apparently she was still mad about all that stupid bullshit drama from like a year ago!”
“Oh, uh, wow, I’m sorry to hear that. Shitty as, mate,” Poahi said. His lilting accent was deep and resonant, rumbling on account of his huge body and low voice. He had that typical alpha-male reluctance to acknowledge any feelings, so he stood awkwardly in his doorway. He leaned against the threshold clutching a now-empty carton of coconut milk in his hand. It was a huge bottle, but since his hand was so big it looked miniature to Lance’s eyes.
“I was just… I could use some weed,” Lance said. “I don’t feel like getting a prescription. And I’ll probably just do it one time, just today, so there’s no point in buying a bong myself or anything.”
“Oh, you want some weed?” He sounded a little unsure, like he didn’t want to give it up.
“I, uh… I’ll pay for it,” he said. “And I’d like you to show me how. I mean, I know sort of. But not really.”
Poahi nodded and shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “Come on in. I was just about to wake-and-bake, mate.”
He had a typical bachelor apartment. His clothes were scattered over the floor — and they were huge clothes since he was a giant, so they took up a lot of space. His living room was dominated by a weight set, which smelled of sweat, and the zesty funk of it made Lance aroused. Lance adored the male form, and Poahi’s form was highly appreciable. Poahi had to stoop to fit his bigness through the doorway, and his body was so broad he barely fit in his kitchen.
As Poahi finished putting together his breakfast in the kitchen, Lance told him all about the breakup. It didn’t sound like Poahi was listening, but it felt good to say it all out loud regardless. Verbalizing problems had a way of putting them in perspective.
Poahi ate five eggs and six links of sausage for breakfast, and he finished another entire bottle of coconut milk. He ate like an athlete too, shoveling food in his mouth as though it was going to escape if he didn’t eat quickly. He smacked his lips and chewed with his mouth open, snorting as he swallowed like a feral hog, as though it took every muscle in his cavernous body to eat. He listened — or pretended to listen — as Lance told him stories of the better times between him and Suzanne.
When Poahi was done eating, he looked significantly more awake and less bleary-eyed. He sat down on his ratty old couch, tossing an enormous pair of jeans aside to make room for himself. He grabbed a tall green glass bong, which was shaped like a dancing hula lady.
He pointed to the hitter, which was still packed up from the night before. “Okay, you light this bit right here as you inhale from the bong part, then when your lungs are starting to feel full, put the lighter down and pull the stem out — that’s what you call this bit, the stem — and inhale the last of the smoke that’s in the shaft.” He demonstrated. It looked simple when he did it.
Lance shivered with sexual tension. He was horny because of the recent breakup and because Poahi’s physique was in even condition than usual today. He looked like he had recently gotten a pump on, even though he just got up moments ago. The fluid movement of his muscles as he inhaled was arousing, as though it took every ounce of strength he had to light and inhale from the bong. He pursed his lips as he took his bong hit, like he was kissing the smoke inside the bong.
He passed the bong to Lance, holding the breath in his lungs for what felt like a long time — maybe normal for such a big man, but it sure seemed incredible to Lance. The fragrant smell of weed filled the room when he finally exhaled. A long puff of smoke filled the air.
Lance had taken precisely one bong hit in his life before this. He had embarrassed himself at a party by not knowing how to do it many years before. But he had seen it a million times since then, mainly when visiting Suzanne’s brother, who was a daily smoker. Suzanne loved her brother hated weed, which was why they had never partaken together.
He coughed before taking the bong away from his mouth, which meant he spewed bong water through the stem. It sprayed over the multi-stained couch.
“Whoah, party foul, mate,” Poahi said, though he didn’t really seem all that concerned. “Take a small hit, since it is your first time and you are small.” He held up his hand with two of his fingers about a half-inch apart.
Astringent tears twinkled in Lance’s eyes — this weed was much harsher than that bong hit he had taken before, and it was way stronger than the handful of joints he had smoked with a former girlfriend. The taste was acrid and intense.
But it wasn’t bad. It hurt his lungs, but he did feel a mental lightening.
Lance tried again, this time barely lighting the weed for a second before pulling the lighter away. He managed to finish the hit, and he got a lungful of smoke. He sighed as he exhaled. This one was much smoother, smaller, less painful. He felt like he manipulated the bong correctly.
“Hold the smoke in as long as you can,” Poahi said, taking the bong back from him. He emptied the hitter and packed it up. As he did, he smiled at Lance’s watery eyes and pained expression. “That hurt, man?”
“A bit.”
“Good. That means you will get real high,” Poahi said in his pitchy Samoan accent. “It’ll make you forget all about that Suzanne, mate. Fuck her.”
Lance burst into a sob that he tried to hold back a sob, and he blushed. He really wasn’t crying because he was so emotional, it was mainly the weed in his eyes and the potent smoke still in his lungs, though the reminder of the breakup didn’t help. But it must have looked to Poahi like he had made Lance cry.
“Oh, sorry, mate. I should not have said anything.”
“No, no problem, it’s okay,” Lance said. “I don’t even really care, not really. I was thinking about dumping her anyway. I just feel like an idiot for not realizing this was coming. Have you ever felt like that?”
Poahi shook his head as he took a hit. Then, with his lungs still full, his voice deep yet nasal, he said, “I have never been dumped, not by a serious girlfriend or anything.”
“Really?”
“Nope. Only person who ever dumped me and made me cry was… well, I was young then.”
“High school sweetheart?” Lance took the bong and lit it. This time his hit was much more practiced and fluid, and he coughed, but wasn’t in a lot of pain. It didn’t look so amateurish.
“Sort of. I was in school, back in Apia. She wasn’t, she was older,” Poahi said. He paused as though there was more to the story that he wasn’t saying.
“Did you love her?”
“No,” he said as though the answer should have been obvious. “She was… A lot of the guys in my school rammed her.”
“Ah. So she was kind of a slut?”
He shrugged. “I guess so. It wasn’t like that. She was…” Poahi sighed. “She was a fa’afinafe.”
“… What?”
“It’s a Samoan thing. She was a, well… We call her a woman. But she was really a man,” he said as he exhaled. “She was…”
“A man who lived as a woman?”
“Yeah. We call them fa’afafine. Her name was Kekepovi, and I felt alofa for her,” Poahi said. “Do not tell no one, okay? Only Polys understand.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Nobody knows how to make a cock feel better than someone who has one,” Lance said. He declined his next bong hit, as his head was already swimming. He smiled. He felt much better now, and the breakup felt like the distant past.
“Hell yeah.” Poahi took one more big hit to finish the weed off in the stem, then put the bong down. “Can I tell you a secret? Something not even other Polys understand?”
“Okay.”
Poahi exhaled a huge plume of bluish smoke. He sighed with satisfaction. “Uh… She jerked me off a lot. And I put it in her ass.”
“Okay… That’s kinda what I assumed happened.”
“But that is not all. She…” He blushed and averted his eyes.
“She plowed you too?”
He winced. “Don’t put it like that.”
“Oh, sorry. I mean… she made love to you too.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Bloody hell, don’t put it like that either.”
“Sorry.”
“But yeah,” he shifted his weight on his couch.
“I know.”
“But it wasn’t bad.”
“Poahi… Do you want to do it again?” Lance asked. He didn’t really think too much about the question, he just saw an opportunity and went for it. He assumed Poahi was going to say no, and Lance was all set to pretend he had just been kidding.
But then Poahi did not say no.
There was a long pause. Poahi blushed and looked away, more bashful than Lance had ever seen him. He put down the bong and the lighter.
“I, uh… Just cuz you are so upset over the breakup,” Poahi said. “And you are so small, like she was. She was little too. Sorry, I mean… You are-” He snorted and pulled his shorts down without another word, revealing a huge cock, thick and jiggly with fat. It was uncut and veiny. “I never say no to starting the day with a nut.” A long throaty chuckle came outta his mouth.
Lance dropped to his knees, wanting to get started before Poahi changed his mind. Guys with a physique like Poahi never backed out once they got hard, he knew that from experience. He kissed the tip of Poahi’s cock, which instantly twitched against his lips.
“Aaah, yes, mate…” Poahi grumbled, and his bare chest muscles rippled. As Lance slurped on the tip of his dick, Poahi picked up his bong and took a long deep hit.
When he exhaled, letting out a long plume of smoke like a train engine, Lance licked a trail from the tip to the root of Poahi’s manhood. The taste was sunny and musty at the same time, reeking of Poahi’s unwashed manhood and his ratty old bachelor sheets.
“Ah, yeah…”
His dick twitched and swelled to attention beneath Lance’s lips, as Lance sent his hands creeping up Poahi’s bare chest to those gigantic, rugby-toned pecs, each one the size of volleyballs. His nipples puckered at his touch. His flesh was firm as rocks beneath his smooth skin.
Poahi leaned back on the couch and groaned, still holding the bong in one hand and his lighter in the other. He spread his legs so Lance could crawl between them. Poahi was so tall that the couch was awkward for him, and his ass barely fit on the cushion at all. Most of his chest and back extended above the back of the couch, and his knees angled up like he was in a booster seat.
His tongue slurping down Poahi’s fat, throbbing shaft, Lance moved lower and lower. He teased the root of Poahi’s sweaty cock. Then Lance let both of his big sweaty balls fall into his mouth, and he suckled loudly on them. He wasn’t entirely sure what Poahi was agreeing to, so Lance took it slow as he removed his own clothes. Poahi either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Did Poahi really mean it when he said “she” plowed him up the ass? That didn’t sound right. Maybe it was a translation problem, Lance thought, maybe that meant something different in Samoan.
But he wasn’t going to tempt fate by asking. Poahi had a marvelous manhood, and Lance was willing to do whatever with it that Poahi would agree to.
“Come on, let us sixty-nine,” Poahi said, sliding to lay on his back on the couch. He didn’t even come close to fitting — the entire length of his legs were raised to drape over the foot of the couch, and his head was still jammed up against the other end. It didn’t look particularly comfortable for him, but then he was so tall, he was probably used to furniture not fitting him, Lance thought as he climbed aboard the man’s mountainous chest. His muscles rippled beneath Lance’s body.
Lance giggled. “Uh… You were with that fay-aff-in-a-ffay when you were a lot shorter, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” Poahi said, realizing the problem — Lance was much too short to sixty-nine with Poahi. If Lance jerked Poahi’s cock, his own crotch would be above Poahi’s chest, lower than the nipples even, nowhere’s near close enough for Poahi to touch his dick.
But Lance thought it would be fun to try — he did want to swallow Poahi’s cock some more, and this would be a good first step to getting his dick in Poahi’s mouth, he thought. Poahi could get comfortable touching dick without having to really do much with it.
He mounted Poahi’s broad chest and took the tip of his cock in his mouth. Lance played with the head as he ground his cock between Poahi’s cavernous pecs. He let his spit dribble down Poahi’s long manhood, which was even bigger than it looked. It smelled of coconut and sea salt, and Lance’s mouth watered as he sucked it down as deep as he could get.
“Hmmm…”
Poahi growled and smacked his ass. He let his pinkie finger travel between Lance’s cheeks until it pushed into his asshole. Lance bent his back and moaned. His finger felt so good inside Lance that he was unable to focus on swallowing dick, so he just flopped its shaft against his face and panting tongue.
When Poahi spread his legs a bit and scooted his ass far as it would go to bare his hole, Lance got the impression he wanted Lance to finger his ass as well, but was too embarrassed to say it. So Lance didn’t stop licking on that massive meat as he crept his finger between Poahi’s sweaty thighs and past his hairy taint. His massive legs raised like wind turbines above Lance, who slurped spit all up and down Poahi’s shaft and his hefty ballsac.
Poahi had to lift his hips up a bit, but soon Lance was able to get his own index finger in the hole. As soon as he did, Poahi grunted and arched his back. Lance gripped both sides of his broad barrel belly as he jerked on that veiny brown shaft. Poahi’s ass was so thick and broad that Lance’s entire wrist fit between his cheeks just to get the tip of his finger in his hole.
“Uh, yeah, mate, that’s nice as…” Poahi said, his chest muscles quivering. Lance leaked precum between those meaty pecs, which he humped slowly — titty-fucking him, in a sense, Lance thought. Poahi actually had enough pec muscle that Lance could sort of do that.
It reminded him of Suzanne though, so Lance didn’t say anything. She fingered his ass too. He was into that, and she was willing to put up with it. She pretended she liked it, but she didn’t really like anything sexual. Lance was pretty sure she was asexual and was just willing to put up with sex if it was necessary. That was why she was willing to do most anything — none of it was any more or less appealing to her, so she might as well agree to whatever Lance wanted to do. What Lance wanted to do was have a woman who wanted to have sex.
And he wanted a man with a physique like Poahi on the side. Or in the relationship even! Lance didn’t care, he was fine with polyamory. But he worked for a staid accounting firm. It would be scandalous for him to do anything that wasn’t passionless penis-in-vagina sex, horizontal, in a bed with the lights off at night.
Lance and Poahi both lay there fingering each other. Lance writhed above the towering Polynesian’s body, which was big enough he could explore it for hours. He had had a six-pack when he was a professional athlete, but he wasn’t in training right now, so he had just a hint of flab over his otherwise flat belly. That was just enough for Lance, who didn’t like his men too chiseled. A physique was better when it had some heft to it.
It was apparent that Poahi liked prostate play more than Lance would have guessed. He gasped and grunted as he spread his own cheeks to help Lance get in there. When he tasted precum, Lance knew it was time to try something else before Poahi shot his load. Lance pulled off him and stood.
Much to his surprise, Poahi leaned off the couch, took Lance’s cock in hand and licked it. He winced and gagged a little but didn’t slow down as he deep-throated. He had a nice, loose throat that easily swallowed every inch of Lance’s meat. He showed no reaction as he gulped it down, sending a wave of pleasure up Lance’s spine. Poahi’s nose nuzzled Lance’s crotch.
“Oh, damn, Poahi, you really did learn a lot from that, f’af’a… f’affinafe?…”
“Fa’afafine.” He pulled off, still showing no reaction, even as his mouth overflowed with spit and the goopy cream of Lance’s precum.
Lance had intended to sit on his dick, but after Poahi returned to sucking down Lance’s cock, Poahi got off the couch. He had to stoop all the way down until he was nearly laying on the floor to line his mouth up with Lance’s dick. Lance gripped his rippling shoulder muscles as his knees went weak, bliss rushing up his body and his face blushed bright red.
But then Poahi pulled away and turned around, splaying his legs apart and spreading his asscheeks with both hands. Lance’s heart pounded as he realized he was going to get to plow Poahi.
That was not a mistranslation. That was what Poahi wanted. Lance’s eyes bugged out, already on the verge of orgasm.
“Stick it in me, mate…”
Lance pushed the tip of his dick in, and he sighed as warmth suffused his body. He couldn’t believe his luck in getting this gigantic bear, so soon after getting his heart broken. Poahi was tight and his whole body shook as Lance penetrated him.
His asshole was warm and tight, and it squeezed Lance’s manhood. Both of them gasped. Lance felt exquisite sensations wracking his body, and it took all of his concentration not to cum alredy.
He gasped and said something in Samoan as Lance began pushing his dick in and out. Again, Poahi’s size worked to his advantage — he simply had a large enough asshole that it didn’t seem to hurt all that much. His broad cheeks jiggled with each thrust of Lance’s dick. Poahi moaned, a low, deep sound — he was trying to keep his voice quiet, but he was the kind of person who had no whisper, not even when he was moaning.
Lance’s hands crept around Poahi’s body. He had to strain to reach Poahi’s crotch due to the man’s enormous size, but as soon as he did, Poahi twitched. His cock oozed precum in Lance’s grip.
Poahi’s back bucked as intense pleasure ran up his spine, and Lance ran his finger along to match the pre-orgasmic bliss. Lance kissed his muscles as he worked the last of his dick in, pushing it in and out.
They were moving in sync now. Poahi lost all of his alpha-male awkwardity, and his body writhed along with Lance’s gyrations. It felt like a comical mismatch, Lance thought, since Poahi was preposterously huge in comparison with him. Even on his knees, Poahi had to stoop and Lance had to stretch on his toes to get his cock in Poahi’s ass.
But the awkwardity of the positioning didn’t slow Lance down any. He grunted along with Poahi as they both reached orgasm at once.
Cum sprayed over Lance’s fingers and onto the couch beneath Poahi’s spasming body. Meanwhile Lance’s own load filled up Poahi’s ass with his creamy goodness. Poahi again said something in Samoan, an outpouring of vowels and sonorants that echoed in his small apartment.
Poahi’s muscles tensed and flexed all at once, the intricate agate-colored lines tattooed over his biceps and half of his torso rippling as he contorted. He groaned and bit his lip. Lance kneaded the meaty flesh of his chest.
“Yeah, mate…”
Lance sighed and pulled out. He used his thumb to rub Poahi’s sensitive rim, pushing the cum back in when it started to ooze out. With every centimeter he inserted, Poahi flopped over the couch and gripped the cushion. His coconut-colored skin writhed, sweat dappling his forehead and neck.
“Ah, god, fa’afetai, that was even better than before,” Poahi said. Then he blushed and said quickly, “I mean… I hope you feel better now, about the breakup.” Poahi sighed and leaned back. Lance kissed each of his nipples, and Poahi again bucked. He leaned up to kiss Lance on the lips.
“Thanks, Poahi. I really do,” Lance said.

The Santa Monica Alpha

Moshe’s violin concert ends on a surprising note, when a massive alpha cholo comes to him with an unusual request… Sazonito wants to explore the exciting world of twink on top!

Read it now as an ebook!

Moshe Katz always meditated after a concert. The actual performance was so nervewracking that he needed a release or he’d remain wired, unable to sleep, for hours afterwards. He’d be jittery untol the morning. His shows were not huge — he was as big of a star as existed in the classical piano scene, but that was not saying much. The audience was just big enough to be scary and anxiety-provoking, and it was made even worse tonight because the Israeli Minister of Cultural Development was in attendance here in Santa Monica.
There was a knock on his dressing room door. Moshe sighed. He had requested not to be bothered after a concert. He told everyone that. He was almost done with his half hour of meditation, but he still had two minutes left. He got such little time to himself, he was jealous to maintain it. He even considered ignoring the knock for two minutes, but whoever it was kept knocking.
Ignoring the knock would seem petty and rude, he decided. He was petty and rude, so he tried to hide it when he could. It might have been a fan anyway.
Yes, a classical pianist has fans. He has a Facebook group! Almost two thousand subscribers!
When he opened the door, he had to suppress a yelp. His eyes bugged up. Standing in front of him was a tall Latino man with the staggering body of a football player, crammed into an ill-fitting suit made of mismatched parts. Cholo tattoos crept up his neck, barely visible behind the suit. He had the macho air of a gangster, and Moshe’s heart leapt into his chest.
“Yo, hombre, Meester Katz, señor,” he said, narrowing his eyes as though to size Moshe up.
Moshe forced on a smile. “Please, call me, Moshe, sir.” He hoped that didn’t sound rude. This man was making him both scared and aroused — he looked like a thug, a vato, a murderer or extortionist, maybe, what Moshe would have called in Hebrew a בִּריוֹן. Moshe knew the type well from his native Israel — this was simply some Mexican-American variant of it. He was only vaguely aware of the word cholo, but he knew this man was one. He also knew security was just around the corner, and Moshe’s mind told him to yell for help. But the man was also a big burly-bear type who looked like he hadn’t worn a suit since high school prom, if he even was still in school then. His slacks were slung low, pristine sneakers poking out from the oversized trouser-legs.
As a long-time connoisseur of the male form, the stranger’s powerhouse body allured and intrigued Moshe.
“Moshe,” the man said, with some difficulty. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Yo, hombre… I… I gotta say, I ain’t come here tonight cuz I thought I wuz gonna like yu’ music, yo.”
“I see…” Moshe said, though he very much did not. The man’s face was tight, tense, and fearful, like he struggled to put into words what he wanted to say — or perhaps he just struggled to find the English words. Moshe didn’t know whether this guy was going to rob him, burst into tears or plow him, but Moshe felt sure it was going to be at least one of those things, maybe all three at once.
“I’s just here, hombre, cuz I need a alibi, right? I need everyone to know I weren’t at this other place somewhere else, cuz I know the polizontes is gonna think I was there,” he said. “But I’m here. My… boss, he said to come here. To see you. Mess wit’ my parole officer’s head. Gonna flip his lid when he find out I ain’t lying ‘bout where I was.” He laughed dryly. Then he blinked his eyes. “But yo’ music, esé… It was… special to me. I dunno how to say it. It moved me, hombre.”
“Oh, okay… That’s, uh… amazing. Flattering. Thank you, uh… I’m sorry, your name is-“
“You can call me Sazonito,” he said. He pushed into the room and let the door shut behind himself. “You are… a sissy, right?” He whispered as though it was a secret.
Moshe nodded, heart pounding. Was this burly vato about to let him jerk him off? That was the impression Moshe got from the aroused look in the man’s eye. What did Sazonito mean in Spanish? Moshe didn’t know. He had a feeling it was not a name though.
“I feel like… you and me, we had a close connection when you was playing. I been alone along time, Moshe,” he said, again struggling to say the name in his thick accent. “I wanna taste. I want you to fill me up wit’cho manhood. Please, esé. I wanna feel you inside me. You gots a beautiful soul, hombre.”
“Oh… You want me to plow you?” Moshe asked, certain that this was just a language barrier. Gigantic macho bulls like Sazonito didn’t let themselves get plowed by tiny Jewish twinks like Moshe.
But he couldn’t deny that Sazonito knelt down and kissed Moshe as passionately and intensely as any woman ever had or could. It was also clear that Sazonito was uncomfortable with it and had either never done it before or maybe never done it willingly. He hesitated as he kissed, like his body fought against himself to do it.
His lips were thick and plump, the surface a bit dry and chapped but not grossly so. His massive arms wrapped around Moshe’s body and held him close. He was so much taller and thicker than the notably tiny Moshe that Moshe felt like a little boy being hugged by his daddy. He reeked of cheap cologne covering up the intense musk emanating from his armpits and his sweat-soaked back.
“Uh… Sazonito…?” Moshe pulled away. This time it was his body’s turn to fight it — he wanted nothing more than to do whatever this massive hulking brute demanded, but Moshe’s instincts said to either run away, surrender or get on his knees and jerk Sazonito off rather than the other way around.
“What? Please plow me…” He sounded like he was near tears.
“Are you… sure?”
He hung his head and began unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged his tuxedo jacket off, and it fell on the floor. “I was in prison for six years. They just let me out last week, esé. I… I wanted to try it in there, but I can’t lose face. I would be disrespected. I want to feel your cock inside me. I want to pretend I love you.”
Well, that was pretty clear, Moshe thought, Sazonito is certain he wants to do this. No more ambiguity about his intentions.
Yet Moshe still felt sure a catch was going to come up sooner or later. Was he an undercover cop? What would be the point of that — he wasn’t proposing anything illegal. Was this all a trick to do with that alibi he had wanted to establish? But simply coming to the concert in front of all those witnesses and cameras would be enough. Jerking someone off in secret wouldn’t make the alibi more convincing.
And he was here. Whatever was going on somewhere else, Sazonito wasn’t there. He was here. That was not a trick. Moshe stared in disbelief as Sazonito removed his clothes. He carefully folded up his suit — which he had obviously made by purchasing cast-offs from a thrift shop — and placed it on the chair in Moshe’s dressing room.
His tattiied chest was even bigger and sexier than Moshe had imagined, brimming with power that Moshe could feel radiating off it. He was more aroused at the sight of Sazonito’s naked body than he ever had been before. It might not have been his usual cup of tea, but Moshe intended to guzzle every drop of it.
“Déjame probar su polla…”
Sazonito was inked all over with tattoos and scars. Since tattoos were forbidden under Jewish law, Moshe had rarely seen any in person. He had never seen a naked man with numerous tattoos covering nearly every inch of his body. A lot of them appeared to be amateurish, perhaps done in prison. Scars, seemingly from knives or perhaps bullets or taser prongs, dotted his muscles, which bulged as though they were going to burst out of his skin.
Keeping eye contact with Moshe, Sazonito sunk to his knees as he dropped his prison-issued boxers to the ground. His long cock was uncut, dangling limp and meaty between his legs. That was another part of Sazonito’s physique that was new to Moshe — his uncircumized cock. Moshe had never seen a foreskin up close and personal.
Moshe instinctively wanted to get on his knees as well, because Sazonito’s cock was fat and juicy, and it was already stirring with the beginnings of an erection. Yet much to his surprise, Sazonito really did want to take that place, kneeling afronta Moshe.
Still certain the rug was about to be pulled out from under him, Moshe was so distracted he hadn’t even started to undress himself. Sazonito’s thick fingers fumbled with Moshe’s designer slacks, dropping them to his ankles, which was enough to wake Moshe from his fugue. He quickly took off his own shirt and tie while Moshe pulled his underwear down as well.
Was this really happening? Was it a dream? Moshe still wasn’t sure this wasn’t a trick. But if so, Sazonito was taking it all the way.
“Te ves tan sabrosa…”
He picked up Moshe’s dick and smelled it like he was checking to see if it was ripe, then he wrinkled his nose as though he wasn’t sure. That didn’t stop him though, he opened his mouth and swallowed it as deep as he could. Sazonito’s eyes widened, and he paused for a moment like he was holding back a choke.
Nothing happened though. Moshe was still so shocked he didn’t even feel anything at first, then the sensation of Sazonito’s warm mouth and moist tongue sent ripples of pleasure through Moshe’s body. His cock rapidly swelled to full tumescence, and it poked into Sazonito’s throat.
Moshe wasn’t small in the cock department, so Sazonito’s unpracticed mouth didn’t manage to deep-throat the whole thing. He let out a loud retching sound, which Moshe couldn’t quite interpret — was he suppressing a gag or pushing back a moan of desire? Maybe both?
This was all happening so fast. Moshe’s knees went weak as his dick went hard. His hands fumbled — he was too nervous to actually grab Sazonito, who seemed too frightening to touch. Moshe’s instinctive mind worried he wouldn’t let a little Jewish man touch him, so Moshe’s hands hovered above Sazonito’s head.
Sazonito was so much larger than Moshe that he had to stoop way over to swallow his cock. It felt like Sazonito took up the entire dressing room, and Moshe just inhabited a tiny corner of it. As his dick throbbed in Sazonito’s mouth, Moshe moaned exquisitely.
“I, uh… Oh… Wow, Sazonito…” Moshe mumbled, too embarrassed to think of anything to say. Moshe had too much propriety for dirty-talk. He could only mumble as he worked his precum-leaking cock down Sazonito’s throat.
But breaking the silence made this whole thing easier for Moshe; it relaxed him and made him realize that, if a reprisal was coming, he was safe for now. He came crashing back down to reality just in time for a wave of pleasure to roll over his body like a tsunami. His knees again went weak, and as he buckled, he would have fallen but he gripped Sazonito’s broad shoulders. The warmth of his rippling muscles was intense; was it normal for someone to be that hot to the touch? Moshe didn’t think so, but all he could do in response was moan again. He bucked his hips, slamming his dick all the way into Sazonito’s throat. Sazonito’s nose nestled itself in Moshe’s pubic hair.
He thought that might make Sazonito pause and back out, but he only got more into it. He nuzzled his nose deep in Moshe’s dick as he forced himself to deep-throat it. Moshe’s cock rammed all the way down his gullet, the precum flowing copiously now. Sazonito guzzled it greedily as though he had been swallowing cock his whole life.
Moshe’s instincts kicked in and he grabbed ahold of Sazonito’s head. He pushed his dick in and pulled it out, with so much force each time he didn’t think he had ever throated anyone so aggressively. For tiny twink Moshe, it was the most potent plow of his life — he had a feeling Sazonito still thought of him as weak and feckless.
Then Sazonito pulled off. Thick tendrils of saliva connected his face to Moshe’s dickshaft and down to his balls. He flat-lipped his face up at Moshe and said, “You are beautiful, esé. Can you play your violin while you plow me?”
“Yes,” Moshe said without thinking about it. He wasn’t sure that was really true though. The violin required all of his concentration, could he really do it while plowing Sazonito up the ass? It seemed dirty, almost disrespectful of the instrument.
But the sight of Sazonito’s broad bare ass as he bent over in the center of the dressing room made Moshe willing to try anything. He grabbed his violin and put it on his shoulder.
“Please, plow me hard, Moshe,” Sazonito said softly. He hung his head as though a bit ashamed, even as he reached one hand behind himself to spread his asscheeks. He had powerful thighs and thickly muscled cheeks, so thick he felt like two powerful men stuffed into one skinsuit.
Without hands, Moshe managed to wedge his dick into the hairy crack of Sazonito’s ass — Moshe had always thought a hairy ass was unattractive, right up until this moment. Now he wanted more than anything to fill Sazonito with his cock.
But he needed both hands to play the violin. That meant he couldn’t guide his dick in. In any case, Sazonito’s intact butthole was resistant, and even when he attempted at it the best he could, not even the tip went in.
Then, much to Moshe’s surprise, Sazonito’s hand spread his cheeks and then pushed the tip of Moshe’s dick in. The soft, luxuriant hair of his ass brushed against Moshe’s pulsating manhood.
“Ah, damn, hombre…”
Sazonito arched his back as Moshe played the first few notes of “Shalom Chaverim”, an Israeli folk song that he knew very well because he often used it to warm-up. It was the only simple song he could think of that he knew well and that wasn’t religious or nationalist (both of which seemed inappropriate, even sinful, to play in this situation). The notes rang out in the tiny dressing room.
Sazonito stuck his head up and moaned. Again it wasn’t clear if he moaned in pain and humiliation or in bliss, or maybe a bit of both. His ears wiggled as though he carefully scrutinized every ringing note from Moshe’s violin.
He was surprised how easy it was once he got started. Moshe could play on autopilot since the song was so simple, and once he got started, it was surprisingly easy to plow Sazonito without the use of his hands. Sazonito’s ass practically swallowed his cock up. It was not easy, however, to get his entire dick in there. Sazonito was clearly intact and had trouble taking the whole thing.
Not that he was resisting. Every thrust of Moshe’s cock sent a bolt of pleasure through his body and a wave of some sensation through Sazonito’s too. Sazonito grunted like he was in pain, and he moaned like he was in bliss, and he clawed at the ground as Moshe’s balls slapped against the meat of his asscheeks.
Judging from the look on Sazonito’s face, he was more entranced by the music than overwhelmed by the agonizing pleasure in his ass. After a few moments, Sazonito even started jacking himself off with one hand. He must have already gotten a hardon.
The more and more he rammed at Sazonito’s ass, the braver Moshe got, until his balls were thwacking against Sazonito’s meaty asscheeks. Moshe’s dick slid in and out, easier with every thrust of his hips, and each time Sazonito gasped while pre-orgasmic pleasure rippled over his tattooed back muscles.
With one powerful thrust, Moshe managed to shove the last of his cock into Sazonito’s body. Sazonito moaned and grunted. His ass clenched, which Moshe could tell was because he neared his orgasm. Neither man was quite there yet, and Moshe tried to drag this out — he didn’t want to rush through the sexual experience of a lifetime. It felt so good his knees went weak.
Then the phone rang.
Both Moshe and Sazonito stopped moving. Moshe’s heart skipped a beat thinking he had been caught, then realized that was silly — he wasn’t breaking any rules.
And in any case, he soon realized it wasn’t his phone. It was Sazonito’s
Sazonito grabbed his cell phone out of the pants of his tuxedo, which was folded up on the chair near his head. He put it on speaker because, it seemed, he was too overwhelmed to hold it to his ear.
“Yo. What?”
You still there, vato?
“Si.”
What’s going on?
“Todavía estoy allí.”
Yeah, I… Somethin’ wrong? Speak English, motherfucker. You know I don’t know español that good.
“I’m still here. I’m talking to the violinista entre bastidores. Él es judío, pero él está bien.”
What? Nevermind, man. Just hurry up. It’s all good.
“Okay.”
… You takin’ a shit, vato?
“No.”
You sound like-
“Shut up.”
Fine, look, vato… Just don’t go to Mario’s place like we planned. His mama there. But it all went down just like we wanted.
“¿Son los traidores muertos?” He groaned, the words escaping from gritted teeth. His voice had an agonizing slowness to it, like he was grinding the words from stones in his mouth.
Si, esé.
“Good. Estoy colgando el teléfono. No me llame de nuevo unless someone is dead who is not s’posed to be,” Sazonito said, then he angrily hung up the phone and threw it back at his crumpled-up tuxedo on the floor. “Fuckin’ puta…”
Then Sazonito’s back arched as though he only just remembered he was getting plowed. His mouth opened like he wanna shout or maybe moan, but no sound came out. He pushed his ass back on Moshe’s dick, sending a wave of pleasure rocking up Moshe’s spine. Moshe gasped, his fingers digging into the meaty thickness of Sazonito’s back. Sazonito writhed before him, lifting one of his massive trunk-like thighs up as he accepted every inch of Moshe’s dick.
Moshe had gradually lost his inhibitions, and by now, he was ramming back and forth as if Sazonito’s ass was his fleshlight. At this point he figured if it was a trick, he might as well lean into it. It was the most enjoyable trick of his life.
He started playing the violin again. This time he played “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds”, another song he knew well enough to play by heart. Once again Sazonito shuddered and moaned as though the violin itself made him orgasm.
“¡Su musicalidad es más hermoso que cualquier cosa que mis oídos han tenido!” Sazonito shouted to be heard over the violin. He groaned and bucked beneath Moshe’s hips, which slammed powerfully against his jiggling asscheeks. Moshe didn’t need to know Spanish to know that Sazonito was complimenting his plowing, or maybe demanding to be plowed harder.
Finally Moshe felt his orgasm coming on, just as he felt it running through Sazonito’s body as well. He thought he’d have to stop playing while he busted a nut, but his hands were on autopilot. He definitely lost the rhythm and played some notes incorrectly, but it was clear Sazonito didn’t notice — he didn’t even seem to recognize the song, though he reacted as though the sound itself caused his orgasm.
Cum sprayed into Sazonito’s ass, so thick and creamy that it clung to every corner of his insides. Moshe shuddered and shivered as he filled Sazonito up. The load was bigger than anything he had ever produced — Moshe rather wished he had pulled out so he could see how much it was. This was such an incredible experience that his body kept spurting more and more, like he was getting rid of reserves that his balls had been storing up.
As Moshe’s body twitched and he yelped, Sazonito barked; his massive muscles writhed. His pain was obvious, his humiliation apparent in his dim, dark eyes, but the overwhelming feeling that Moshe could read in every muscle in his body was arousal and fulfillment. He had genuinely wanted this.
Somehow in that moment, all language and cultural barriers between them dissolved. Moshe knew exactly why Sazonito was doing this, and it was precisely as he had explained. Moshe was just too set in his ways to realize it. Sazonito had ramrodded prison bitches, but just one was important to him, a girlish man who had been Sazonito’s lover when he was in jail; he had formed a serious relationship with that man. He had treated his bitch like a wife, and a part of him had always wondered how far their relationship could be taken. His prison bitch had probably treated him better than his girlfriends on the outside. They were friends and lovers and roommates, allies, confidantes and more, but the one thing they could never be was equals. Sazonito had wished he could have a real relationship as his sexual peak dwindled while he was locked up.
But in prison, big macho tops didn’t bottom for tiny twinks, not even behind closed doors and with makeshift curtains up to block the view. That was not a rule Sazonito could break. Not until he was out of prison and he had come to a place where no other vato would be, where nobody would know what taboos Sazonito was breaking.
The smell of cum filled the dressing room as Sazonito shot his own load, just as Moshe was finally finishing up. A few final jets of jizz spurted up Sazonito’s guts, creamy goop spreading to every corner of his insides and seeping into his inner being. From his vantage point Moshe couldn’t see, but he could experience every bit of Sazonito’s orgasm through the tight clenching of his ass and the low, rattling groan that escaped from Sazonito’s throat. Sazonito’s hands were claws that raked the ground.
Then at last it was all over.
Moshe pulled his cock out and smiled sheepishly as Sazonito sighed like he had been waiting for that exact moment — Moshe had taken enough big cocks to know what he was feeling. The stress relief of that moment was intense, and Sazonito’s moan of desire was an aching rumble that echoed in the tiny dressing room. Sazonito crumpled to the dirty floor of the dressing room, his big muscles limp, perhaps limper than they had been since he was with his beloved in a prison cell.
Moshe sat next to his prone body and gently rubbed his muscles. They twitched under Moshe’s grip. “Sazonito… do you want me to call you? When I am in town again?”
“Yes. Si.”
“Okay,” Moshe said. “I will. We can have whatever relationship you want, and I won’t tell anyone.”
Sazonito nodded. “And if anybody asks, you will tell them I was at your concert, esé? Tell them I was here early, that you saw me before the show and then you saw me during the show and after.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes to slits. “Do not tell them what we did after the show.”
Moshe nodded. “I will.”
“Good. Thank you. Nunca lo reemplazará.” Sazonito closed his eyes and gripped Moshe’s hand with his massive meaty fingers. Then Sazonito’s sweat-dappled back fell limp and soft, and he drifted off to sleep right there on Moshe’s dressing room floor.