Twink on Top – Page 2 – Mansploitation

The Barbershop

Desmond becomes an unlikely hero when he saves the day at the barbershop he works in, and he gets a reward he never dreamed of — he gets his choice of men! He chooses his boss, a big burly man who would never bend over and take it… or would he?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

When the tall Jamaican thug walked into the Cityside Barbershop, Desmond wasn’t interested at first. He seemed like nothing more than another customer. A part of Desmond’s mind realized that the man had long, thick and unkempt dreadlocks — he obviously wasn’t here for a haircut.
But Desmond was deep in to an anecdote, talking to a handsome young man named Lamar as he finished giving Lamar a haircut. Desmond thought that if he played his cards right, he might be able to jerk Lamar off after the haircut.
And then it all changed — the Jamaican man pulled out his gun. He pointed it at Isaiah, the barber who was standing at the register at that moment. Isaiah yelped but did as he was told, taking all the money from the drawer and putting it in a bag. Desmond wanted to scream; he was so close that he could see the sweat beading on the Jamaican’s neck, and he could have reached out to pull on those dreadlocks.
The Jamaican got the money. It all only took a few seconds. He turned to flee out the door, put the gun in the waistband of his pants and ran. Desmond reacted without a second thought. He stuck his foot out.
He tripped the Jamaican man as he fled across the threshold. There was a loud splat as the Jamaican landed face-first on the concrete, dreadlocks akimbo. His jaw shattered, and he spent the next nine months in the hospital. He was still there when he was convicted of armed robbery. Rupert Alan was his name. It was all instinct. Desmond gave it literally no thought. He saw the possibility of tripping the man and did it without considering whether it would work or backfire — a lot could have gone wrong. Rupert could have avoided the trip and shot Desmond in anger, he could have dropped the gun and it went off, he could have gone on a shooting spree. If Desmond had thought about it, he wouldn’t have done it.
But he didn’t think about it, and he did do it, and that was how Desmond became an unlikely hero for the Cityside Barbershop, when all he wanted in the crucial moment was to swing on Lamar’s big fat dick (which he didn’t end up getting to do because the cops showed up and put a damper on the excitement). The whole thing happened so fast.
The other barbers treated him like a champion, especially Isaiah, but the one who was most appreciative was Johnny Cee. Johnny Cee owned this location of the Cityside Barbershop, so he was the one who had the most to lose if Rupert Alan made away with the day’s take.
“You really saved my hide, Desmond, damn,” Johnny Cee said over and over when he showed up an hour later. “Damn… My fuckin’ business insurance lapsed this month. Havin’ cash flow problems. If I’d got robbed, I’d have lost the shop for sure. No way I would have been able to keep goin’. How can I repay you, my man?”
But Desmond didn’t know how he could be repaid (aside from the obvious, money, which Johnny Cee said he simply couldn’t afford), nor did he even especially want it. He was happy to be treated like a celebrity all night. The others bought him drinks and clapped him on the back until they all stumbled home in the darkness of night.
When Desmond showed up for his shift the next morning, however, he was surprised to find the entire chain there, even Isaiah, who was supposed to be off today. They clapped and hooted when Desmond walked in.
He blushed and lowered his eyes. He liked being the center of attention, but this was becoming ridiculous. Then Johnny Cee stepped forward and cleared his throat. He stammered as he waited for the others to quiet down.
“Uh, hey… Desmond, I uh… I was talkin’ to the guys, and y’know, I can’t pay you a bonus, not even a dime. I’m sorry about that,” he said. “But I was wonderin’… I’d like to give you something. So, uh, as yo’ reward, I was gonna say… if you want… you can pick a nigga, and he gonna… you know… do whatever, even… you know, take some dick… or… y’know, on the bottom.” He looked relieved to have finally gotten that out.
All barbers looked at him like they were awaiting news on which of them had cancer. Desmond giggled and blushed. “So, I get to pick one of you, and you’ll jerk me off, take it in the ass, everything?”
They all nodded, and Desmond’s giggle turned into a cackle. They were treating this like such a serious offer, like they were choosing who had to take the fall and go to prison for a crime they had all committed.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Desmond said grandly, raising his arms in a long, low sweeping motion. “Johnny Cee, I thank you for your kind offer. And I choose you.” He didn’t even have to think about it. He loved older daddies like Johnny Cee, whose beard was tinged with exactly two strands of gray. He had a deliciously thick body, with just the right amount of meat in just the right places. Johnny Cee was also the only one here who had never gotten dome from Desmond on the downlow.
Johnny Cee made this offer assuming Desmond would pick one of the young handsome muscle-boys with dimples. But Desmond had tasted their meats already. What he wanted was Johnny Cee himself.
Everyone else whooped and hollered. Johnny Cee chortled. “Damn… I thought you’d pick someone younger, nigga.” He lowered his eyes, avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze.
Desmond laughed and took Johnny Cee by the hand, then gestured for him to lead the way into the backroom. He did so, and as Desmond followed he squealed with a leering grin aimed at the other barbers.
The sound of clapping only died out when the door swung shut behind Desmond. He followed Johnny Cee through the darkened supply area to a small spot with a chair and a bit of carpet. This was where Desmond plied his trade. There used to be porn magazines around, but Johnny Cee had made Desmond throw them away. They made it look unprofessional, he had said, though now he looked rather like he had regretted that decision.
Johnny Cee dropped to his knees as Desmond sat down. Johnny Cee sighed and smiled. “Damn, boy, you smell like a girl. Thanks fo’ that, it does help. You smell like a stripper.”
Desmond grinned. He wore women’s perfume to work for precisely that effect. Johnny Cee had to awkwardly stoop, he was simply too tall to bend right over Desmond’s lap and be able to take his dick in his mouth. Desmond felt a surge of guilt as he saw Johnny Cee’s face — he looked like he had just eaten an extra-sour pickle, and he hadn’t even tasted dick yet, he just undid Desmond’s pants and pulled them down. Desmond awkward lifted his hips to give him space to work on his pants. Johnny Cee averted his eyes when Desmond’s big brown dick flopped out. It looked like he had hoped that Desmond’s little twink body came with a little bitty dick, which was far from the truth.
“You know… you ain’t really gotta do this,” Desmond said. “Just lemme jerk you off. That’s all the thanks I need. I been wantin’ to taste your meat since I started here, nigga.”
“I know. I seen the way you look at me,” he said with a growl — he didn’t like it when Desmond used the n-word. Desmond blushed. “But I don’t mind. I gotta show my appreciation. You really saved my bacon.”
“Aw, your bacon is sexy, Johnny Cee. I’ll always save it.”
“This ain’t the first time I done this. Don’t tell the others.” He nodded to the front room, where nervous laughter could be heard — they were no doubt whispering about what Johnny Cee was doing in here. Johnny Cee took a deep breath. “I… Before I got married, me and my buddy Mando used to trade dome on the downlow.”
“Really? Mando Ray?” Desmond had trouble picturing that.
“This was befo’ Mando got real fat.”
“It’d pretty much have to be,” Desmond said.
Johnny Cee nodded, opened his mouth, scrunched up his nose and swallowed Desmond’s dick in one smooth motion. The smoothness only lasted a moment though, because he was overwhelmed by gagging when Desmond’s shaft penetrated the back of Johnny Cee’s throat.
“Swallow it, Johnny Cee!”
“Make him your bitch, Desmond! Fist him!”
It sounded like they were laughing so hard they were crying. There was more catcalling going on, but most of it was drowned out by a torrent of laughter and jeers. Johnny Cee often badmouthed them — reminding them of their religious obligations, mainly — when they were back here receiving dome, so it sounded like they all wanted to return the favor now.
“I’m tellin’ Reverend Chandler! He gonna punish the fuck outta you, Johnny Cee!”
“Maybe Reverend Chandler will go up your behind next! He could ram the repentance into ya!”
Johnny Cee tried to pretend it wasn’t bothering him, like he barely noticed it at all. His eyes were downcast and dark as he pushed his head up and down on Desmond’s shaft. His mouth was warm and wet, and it sent a shiver of desire through Desmond’s body. The whole situation was such a surprise that Desmond didn’t get hard right away, as though his body had forgotten how to react in all the confusion.
But as Johnny Cee’s tongue began stroking up and down Desmond’s shaft, he fell into the old groove again — he had been a bottom for a long time, and Desmond hadn’t received dome in nearly six months. He had never received dome from a big burly daddy-bear like Johnny Cee.
His hands roamed onto the back of Johnny Cee’s head. He had thick, kinky black hairs that were cut short, which was unfortunate, Desmond thought, as he would have liked to hold on as Johnny Cee got more and more into it. He gradually stopped gagging, though he never lost that sour-lemon look on his face. Then Desmond’s hands explored lower, sneaking under Johnny Cee’s shirt and caressing his rippling back-flesh.
“Can you take off your shirt?” Desmond asked, feeling uncertain that Johnny Cee would do it. Maybe that would seem too weird? Almost romantic? He wasn’t sure. Alphas had such weird rules about this sort of thing. But, Desmond thought with a sigh, that was part of what he loved about them.
“You feel spermies tryin’-a impregnate yo’ rectum, Johnny Cee? Hope you’s on the pill!”
Johnny Cee lifted his head and frowned as he unbuttoned his shirt, removed it and lifted his wifebeater over his head. He had a strong, thick-muscled body with a hairy barrel-shaped chest, his thick arms jiggling as he paused with his shirts in his hand. He had just one tattoo, the Lord’s Prayer in flowing script on his right bicep. He said a brief prayer, then leaned forward and kissed Desmond on the lips.
Desmond was so shocked he didn’t kiss back at first. That was one of the rules that most niggas at the Cityside Barbershop never broke — no kissing. They might even lick Desmond’s ass to lube it up, jack him off as a favor, taste his cum by accident, touch dicks with a nigga during a gangbang, maybe even let someone finger his ass while he was knee-deep in some pussy.
But none of them would kiss a man, except, it seemed, for Johnny Cee. His burly body pressed heavily down on Desmond’s thin chest as they made out, Desmond wrapping his arms around Johnny Cee’s body and clinging on.
They stopped only when Johnny Cee’s cell phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and growled in frustration, and the men in the frontroom burst into laughter again — obviously, they had sent him a teasing message.
“Whatchoo think, Johnny Cee? I know a pimp who’d treat you right!”
Desmond wanted to ask what it said, but before he could, Johnny Cee kissed him again. His grizzled chin was rough and scratchy, his tongue awkwardly flailing about. It was a weird kiss, Desmond thought, especially since he was so much smaller than Johnny Cee — it felt like he was a child again, being kissed by a giant, like Johnny Cee could open his mouth wider at any moment and swallow Desmond whole.
Then Johnny Cee undid his pants, let them fall and dropped his shorts as well. His heavy dick was thick, juicy, and not totally limp, which made Desmond giggle: Johnny Cee was more aroused by this than he let on.
Desmond stroked Johnny Cee to full erection as they kissed, and then Desmond licked his way down to Johnny Cee’s pecs. He looked like he had probably had a six-pack and a mountainous chest when he was younger, but now there was a perfectly thick layer of flesh atop his body, which hadn’t lost a lick of power since then. That was just the way Desmond liked it. He liked the massive meat of Johnny Cee’s middle-aged frame, and he enjoyed the way it nervously quivered as Johnny Cee got more and more into it.
Every fiber of Desmond’s body said he should start jerking Johnny Cee off, but Desmond didn’t want to, even though his dick was hard as steel and already oozing precum into Desmond’s fingers. This was an opportunity that wouldn’t likely happen again, and Desmond wasn’t going to squander it.
“Alright, be gentle,” Johnny Cee said. He sighed and turned around, his pants still around his ankles so he had to shuffle awkwardly. He bent over like a prisoner submitting to his cellmate: he put his hands on the floor and stuck his ass in the air.
Desmond giggled. “You greatly overestimate my height, Johnny Cee,” he said. Johnny Cee’s ass towered above Desmond’s head where he sat in the chair.
“Oh yeah,” he said with a grunt. “Mando was taller than me.” He lowered his ass slowly, yelping in surprise when Desmond’s fingers gripped those big hairy orbs. He grinned at Johnny Cee’s reaction. Johnny Cee winced and turned his head to face Desmond. “Yo’ fingers are cold, man.”
Desmond clucked like a mother hen. “Sorry, baby, lemme warm ‘em up.” He breathed on his fingers, then caressed Johnny Cee’s asscrack. Johnny Cee shuddered and stopped moving, his back flat and ass right at the level of the chair in which Desmond said.
“Make his ass bleed, Desmond! If you ram him hard enough, he’ll learn to love it!:
His skin was marked with hair and rough spots, which Desmond loved. He kissed both asscheeks and spat into the dark, funky hole. Then he dove his head in to get it loosened up.
The taste was musty and masculine, dripping with salty sweat and the flavor of coconut oil-scented soap. It was a decidedly feminine kind of soap, Desmond thought, no doubt chosen by Johnny Cee’s wife. His tongue plunged in to that tight, dark hole and explored it as Johnny Cee stiffened his entire body in response.
A loud, foundation-shaking moan escaped from Johnny Cee’s lips. He cut it off when he realized the niggas in the frontroom could hear and were guffawing as though they had never heard anything like that (which was very possibly true — Desmond had never heard that kind of moan either). Johnny Cee’s asshole bloomed, loosened and opened up all at once, while his dick spasmed and leaked precum even with no one touching it.
Then Desmond stood, ready to begin the actual ramrodding. Johnny Cee breathed fast, tense, and hung his head low. Desmond couldn’t believe this was happening, and he kept thinking that Johnny Cee was going to back out. He stood on the chair, looking over Johnny Cee’s broad, rippling back.
“Uh… damn…” Desmond said. “I, uh, I don’t know how to do this.”
“Well you’re the expert. Don’t ask me for help,” Johnny Cee snapped.
“I know, I know. It’s just you so big. Normally I’d give you a reacharound but I don’t even know if I can reach,” Desmond said.
“Don’t worry about that. Once you get into me, I ain’t gonna have a boner no more,” Johnny Cee said. His voice sounded clipped and annoyed.
Desmond didn’t think that was true, but he wasn’t about to argue. He decided to just go for it. He kneeled on the edge of the chair and wedged his dick between Johnny Cee’s asscheeks, which he pulled apart with both hands.
As soon as his dick entered him, Johnny Cee grunted, bit his lip and threw his head back. Desmond lightly caressed his meaty back muscles, or at least the lower third of his back, which was all Desmond could reach.
He tried to gyrate his hips, but with himself sitting on the chair and Johnny Cee lowering his ass onto him, that wasn’t too easy to do. His dick couldn’t move much in this position. That didn’t detract from the intense pleasure he felt as Johnny Cee’s tight asshole clenched around his dick. A wave of exquisite sensations rollicked through Desmond’s petite frame.
“Did you and Mando ever share any ass?” Desmond asked, his voice tight because he had a behemoth riding his cock.
Johnny Cee shook his head but didn’t answer. He groaned and sighed. Desmond suspected that meant the answer was: not in any way that counts, meaning we did it when we was drunk, stoned, in prison or homeless, or some combination thereof. Johnny Cee’s ass pinched and flexed as he struggled to take all of Desmond’s dick.
When it became clear that it wasn’t going to work like this, Desmond used the chair for leverage. He thought he’d ride Johnny Cee to the ground and just hump him there on the floor, but that wasn’t what happened — Johnny Cee easily supported Desmond’s weight.
So Desmond clutched his thick back and held on as he began working his dick in and out. He was completely off the chair, riding Johnny Cee like a piggy-back ride, just lower down on Johnny Cee’s back. He stayed bent over, on his hands and feet with his ass still high in the air.
Johnny Cee was so tall that he seemed to take up an impossible amount of room, filling the tiny space Desmond had set aside for jerking off horny men. He had never thought he’d use this space to top anyone.
As Desmond humped, Johnny Cee bit his lip to avoid crying out. The men in the front room were quiet now except for a few scattered giggles. Desmond had been back here often enough to know what that meant — they were listening at the door but not talking about what they heard, probably because there was a child in the shop. It was just past nine, after all, so the Cityside Barbershop was open now.
Johnny Cee staggered and bumped into a shelf, nearly knocking it over. A box full of unsold doo rags fell onto Desmond and scattered over the floor. Johnny Cee was breathing heavy, having trouble supporting himself not because Desmond was so heavy but because Johnny Cee was jacking himself off as he took it up the ass, which meant he only used one hand to support his body now.
That suggested that he was hard. Desmond wanted to point out that Johnny Cee’s prediction was proven incorrect, as he had known it would be, but his own pleasure was too intense to stop. The more he humped, the more frenzied was Johnny Cee’s reaction.
“Damn, get it in me, man…” Johnny Cee said softly. He grunted and heaved, stumbling throughout the room and bumping into the walls head-first. The emotions galloping across his tense face were equal parts agony, pride, humiliation and jaw-dropping bliss. Johnny Cee’s entire body reacted to each thrust of Desmond’s dick inside him, tension rolling up and down his flesh from head to toe and back again. His face, when he looked behind himself so Desmond could see it, was ruddy and covered with sweat, eyes bugging out of their sockets.
When Johnny Cee clenched hard on Desmond’s dick, Desmond didn’t know why. He just knew it sent a crescendo of pleasure up his spine, and Desmond grunted so loud the sound overpowered Johnny Cee’s reactions for a moment. But then it was clear why Johnny Cee had clenched down — he was cumming.
That much was a surprise. Desmond knew that most men would get hard when being rammed, simply due to prostate stimulation, that was why Desmond had disbelieved Johnny Cee’s prediction that he’d remain soft. But he was shocked that Johnny Cee had managed to cum while Desmond still pounded his ass.
“Aw, fuck yeah, nigga…”
But there was no mistaking the cummy smell that filled the area, and the intense moan that came from Johnny Cee’s throat. Someone applauded outside the room, leading to another burst of laughter. Johnny Cee tried to cover up his pleasurable groaning with a cough, but his coughing spasm sent a shiver of pain up his spine as it made Desmond’s dick grind even deeper into his ass.
That was it for Desmond, who couldn’t hold back anymore. He dug his nails into the flesh of Johnny Cee’s back while an intense orgasm rocketed through his body. It grew in waves, each successive outpouring of pleasure more incredible than the last. With his face buried in the meaty middle of Johnny Cee’s back, Desmond felt like he was ensconced in masculine flesh in a way he hadn’t felt even when being rammed all over by big men in the past. For a moment, he and Johnny Cee might as well have been one person.
Desmond yelped and squirmed atop Johnny Cee’s body, and he even bit at the flesh of his back when the intensity of his climax was too overwhelming for Desmond to accept. Johnny Cee didn’t even seem to notice the bite.
At long last it was over. Johnny Cee was perfectly still now, stooped over so his back was flat. He breathed heavily, waiting for Desmond to finish. Desmond was still too exhausted to react, so he remained there as his dick softened inside Johnny Cee’s ass. He tightly gripped Johnny Cee’s body, which he still clung to like a small adult riding a giant stallion. Johnny Cee cleared his throat, but Desmond still remained right there.
Then Desmond let go of his back, which made Johnny Cee let out a sigh of relief. That sigh accelerated as Desmond slid down and his cock finally plopped out of Johnny Cee’s ass. Desmond’s face rubbed up against the burly man’s lower back and his cum-dripping asscheeks until he finally landed on the ground on his feet. He nearly fell as his orgasm had weakened his knees, but Desmond managed to remain upright.
Johnny Cee turned around and winced. He kissed Desmond on the lips, and their tongues awkwardly interlocked once again — Johnny Cee’s massive tongue overfilling Desmond’s mouth, in which it barely fit. Then Johnny Cee pulled off and smiled bashfully.
“Sorry,” he said.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. You’ve got a nice ass, Johnny Cee.”
“Yeah, well… Thanks, for that, and for, uh… y’know, saving the shop,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” Desmond said with a gasp and a shudder. They both got dressed. When they were done, Johnny Cee took a deep breath.
“So, y’know, I’m gonna tell them niggas that you go hard but it ain’t hurt too much. I ain’t gonna tell ‘em… y’know… that I jacked off too.”
“Okay,” Desmond said, sighing and smiling at Johnny Cee’s nervous stammering. “No one ever has to know you enjoyed bottoming. Your secret is safe with me.”

The Pimp Bottoms

Madhu is approached by a pimp with a bizarre offer — tutor his brother in computer programming in exchange for the ride of a lifetime. You see, Perry the pimp doesn’t want his brother to follow in his footsteps, meaning he is willing to give Madhu a free swing on a ho for lessons…

But when Madhu’s not interested in a ho — he prefers Perry’s studly body — Madhu is in for a topsy-turvy climax of alpha male twink on top action!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Living in Philadelphia during presidential caucus season meant that Madhu Sharma was used to being harangued by ideologues of various sorts, distributing pamphlets, QR codes, rumors, surveys, social media pile-ons, revenge porn and, worst of all, merch. So when he saw a flamboyantly dressed man on his doorstep, knocking loud like a swat team, Madhu assumed it was some sort of political stunt. Gato had been calling Governor Saltieri a “pimp for ethanol” for a long time, so Madhu thought perhaps this was a Gato operative.
He opened the door with a dour frown. “I’m a registered Democrat,” he said. “Please don’t give me a sales pitch on any Republican-” He stopped talking because he realized the man in front of him was — or at least was very good at appearing like — a real pimp.
He was black as twilight, and the clothes were fine, tailored, brightly-colored, and seemingly real, not a costume. How many Republican political volunteers were black men with actual pimp clothes? Probably very few. This could only be a real pimp. He was tall, kind of lean but powerfully built, with a harsh face and a long scar from his chin to his cheek. He looked like he thought he was more handsome than he was, and he probably was very handsome as a younger man. Now he was craggy and scarred, with the despirate cast-iron look of an ex-con.
“I ain’t no Republican, motherfucker,” said the man in a hippy rhythm, like it was the opening line to a song. He put a big smile on his face. “The name’s Perry. Can I come in?”
“Uh…” Madhu didn’t answer, but Perry didn’t wait. He pushed past him into the house. He was a lot taller than Madhu, and Madhu’s face was shoved into the door by the massive man as he shoved his way in. Madhu shut the door behind him.
“Can I… uh… help you? I haven’t hired a… well, anyone. I haven’t hired anyone for anything,” Madhu said.
“I know. I gotcha, baby,” he said. “I pickin’ up what you’s puttin’ down, sweetheart. You got confusion, I got answers. Listen, cuz they is packing a wallop. Perry got answers for e’erything, man. Madhu, right? You got any questions about the universe, God, science, history, whatever you want, Perry will lay down the truth to you.” He walked into Madhu’s kitchen and opened the fridge. He snarled in frustration. “You got no beer?”
“No-“
“Liquor?”
“Uh, yeah, in the cabinet over there,” Madhu said. He pointed, and Perry found a bottle of bourbon. He poured himself a drink and added ice. As he did, he passed over his smartphone, which was open to a picture of a scantily clad girl. She looked pretty, but in a rather whoreish way. Madhu couldn’t tell if it was a photograph or a publicity still from a porno. He glanced at it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Look through there for a girl you like,” he said.
Madhu did as he was told, flipping through pictures of slutty-looking women in low-cut dresses. Many of the photos seemed to have been taken in the same low-rent apartment, some ghetto-ass place, and some of the girls were wearing the same dresses. His heart pounded as he tried to figure out what was going on. He had no interest in any of these girls. Why had a pimp burst into his house like this? Should he call the police? If he had his phone nearby, he might have done it, but it was sitting on the charger in his bedroom.
“You know my brother, Jerembee.”
“No I don’t,” Madhu said. “Look, these girls are nice. They’re very pretty, but I don’t see what-“
“That wasn’t a question, bitch, shut yo’ mouth,” Perry said with a dramatic sigh. “When Perry graces you wit’ a statement, you shut yo’ fool mouth and listen.” He took a sip from his bourbon. “You hear me?”
“Yeah… I get it, I just don’t understand-“
“Shut the goddamn fuck up before I shut you up. I is in the process of explainin’, but you ain’t respondin’ right. I’s talkin’, and you’s over there flippy-flappin’ like a penguin about the phone-“
“You told me to look in the phone-!”
“You can do two things at once, dumbass!” Perry jabbed a finger in his direction. “Both look at the girlies and listen to me!”
“Fine.” Madhu flipped back through the pictures of trashy women. He’d already seen them all. When he went back to the end of the photo album, he saw a dick pic of Perry’s cock — presumably — a photo of a birthday cake and some pics of puppies doing cute puppy things. He wondered if Perry realized he was able to flip past the women.
“”You do know Jerembee. He lives next door to you. He lives right over there.”
“Who? Oh, Jay Man?”
“He calls himself Jay Man?”
“Yeah, that’s what he introduced himself as,” Madhu said, though now that he thought about it, he had received mail addressed to his neighbor, so he did know his real name was Jerembee. He just hadn’t thought of it in time. Perry’s presence and his big-chested swagger made it hard to think about anything else.
Perry chuckled. “Don’t call him that. Call him Jerembee from now on. That’s good enough for our mama, it’s good enough for him.” He took another long drink of bourbon. “Fuckin’ Jay Man.” He looked at the glass of bourbon like he had just noticed it was in his hand. “That’s good bourbon. What is it, French?” He looked at the label.
“All bourbon comes from Kentucky.”
His face screwed up tight, and he wagged a finger at Madhu. “Don’chu dare educate me ’bout liquor, you spicetip shit, I will correct you in a most unpleasant fashion, you hear?”!
“Yeah, fine, I still don’t get why you’re here,” Madhu snapped.
“Don’t get snippy wit’ me. You find a girl you like?”
“I… uh… I’m not into prostitutes,” Madhu said.
Perry cocked his head to the side and looked him up and down. “What?” he asked. His eyes cringed at the sight of Madhu’s thin twink body and girlish face. He inspected Madhu up and down. His menace made Madhu shiver with fear. He frowned and grabbed Madhu’s crotch. Madhu felt a surge of pain as Perry squeezed hard on his cock and balls through the fabric of his pants, and Madhu sucked in his breath and stood on his toes. Despite that, Madhu’s cock swelled up, both from arousal and fear. Perry frowned again.
“I’m sorry… Why are you here?” Madhu asked.
“You know my brother, right? And you a computer programmer?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you teach him?”
“Teach him what?”
“Programming, motherfucker.”
“Uh… I’m not a teacher,” Madhu said.
“I know, but he can’t afford college or nothing like that,” Perry said. “Hs gotta go clean. I ain’t gonna let him end up a thug. I know he can get a job if he programs. I read them tech firms is lookin’ for niggas, cuz they get protested all the time, for being like ninety percent white.”
Madhu scoffed. “Try ninety percent Indian.”
“Well, not ninety percent nigga, that’s for damn sure. They want niggas, and Jerembee’s gonna be one of ‘em,” he said. “I was gonna let you go to town on one of my bitches anytime you want, if you keep givin’ him lessons. I was thinkin’ computer programmers is a bunch of nerds, right? Prolly a virgin, gonna teach Jerembee all kinda shit if he get some nice pussy.”
Madhu shook his head. “That’s gross. And I’m not a virgin. You’re taking advantage of those women.”
“Shut up.”
Madhu’s heart started pounding as he wondered if this meant he was going to get a chance to handle Perry’s meat. He blushed at the thought, and his eyes were inexorably drawn to the crotch of Perry’s crimson slacks. He’d noticed when Perry moved before, Madhu caught a glimpse of a massive bulge there.
Perry put his hands on his hips. “Well, fine, you got me,” he said. He wrinkled his nose. “Whatchoo want? You want me to jerk you off?”
“What? Really?” Madhu had thought maybe he could get a chance to swing on Perry’s cock — these ubermacho thugs sometimes let that happen, on the downlow, and Madhu was all too willing to keep it as downlow as they wanted. But he never thought Perry would be willing to bottom. He wasn’t even sure he had heard that correctly. “You want to bottom?”
“No.” He scoffed. “But I will. If it gets my brother the education he needs.”
“You know how to do it?”
“I can do anything, motherfucker,” he said. “I’m a pimp. You can’t be good at this job if you don’t know e’rything about dick. You gotta be willin’ to sacrifice. And I been locked up. So I done spent my turn on bottom before. Ain’t my preference, but if you’ll give Jerembee lessons, you can stick it in any hole you want, bitch.” He got on his knees, needing to stoop to reach Madhu’s dick.
“Wow, so you’ve done this before?”
“Just twice,” he said as he pulled down Madhu’s pants. “Not by choice. But you know, sometimes in prison the shitty-shit happens, and a nigga gotta bend over.” He was quick and unceremonious, like he just wanted to get this over with, to check the boxes that he had indeed handled Madhu’s dick. He put it one hand and gave it a few rough strokes. “And you best believe, if Perry is gonna give up the booty, it is gonna be fine indeed! I will show my own bitches up, they don’t act right, Madhu, if you can believe it, they do trifle, even though I try to teach ’em. You ever try to teach a woman?”
Madhu inhaled sharply and said, “No. Haven’t. Done. That.” He was still unsure if this was a trap or a trick, though he couldn’t imagine what the point would have been. He watched his dick spring free, already half-hard as much from nervousness as actual arousal. It throbbed in Perry’s hand.
He frowned distastefully at the sight of Madhu’s cock, as though he had been hoping it’d be smaller. He gave it a few long, slow strokes, and he looked up at Madhu as though expecting a big dramatic moan of desire. But Perry’s hand was thick and callused, and Madhu was only beginning to get into.
Madhu’s knees went weak, and he almost lost his balance. He gripped Perry’s thick arm muscles for support, which Perry frowned at but didn’t complain. He got both hands on Madhu’s meat now, one hand holding the root of his cock, the other expertly working the shaft. Despite the discomfort of his rough macho-man’s skin on Madhu’s sensitive dick, he was getting hard, slowly.
“I only did it in prison, when I ain’t have a choice… Cuz that’s just the way it is in there, and when you as sexy as me, you know… prison guards wanna take a whack at’cha. They only got millimeter peters though, mosta ’em, so I don’t count it, you feel me?” He leaned in. “Don’t tell nobody that, ‘specially not my brother.”
“Okay…” Madhu bit his lip. Precum was oozing out the tip of his dick now.
“You look kinda like a girl to begin with, so I’m already likin’ you better than the last one. That was a hairy-ass Italian dude. Smelled like a loaf of bread you forgot about in the backa the pantry.”
“Oh, okay,” Madhu said, holding his breath. He couldn’t really think about what was happening right now enough to formulate a more cogent response. Maybe Perry realized that, cuz he narrowed his eyes in Madhu’s direction.
Then, still kneeling in front of him, Perry opened his mouth. Madhu’s knees went weak again as his dick slipped into Perry’s mouth. He gripped Perry’s bright red fedora for support, holding him so tightly that the fedora fell off, and Madhu clutched Perry’s tight cornrows instead.
His dick got fully hard right away, as Perry’s tongue slicked spit up and down the shaft. Madhu was so shocked by what was happening that he could only look down at it as though it was a computer program that didn’t make any sense. Perry didn’t seem into it, but he didn’t seem to hate it either. He approached it like a non-vegan might eat a vegan lasagna when there was nothing else available. He frowned at it, but he slathered spit all along the shaft, and he didn’t stop to gag once.
Looked like he had to bite back a couple gags though.
Perry didn’t take his red and violet suit off, so his back muscles rippled beneath the fine cloth. He loudly suckled, clenching his throat every few seconds and sending waves of pleasure up Madhu’s spine. This day was not turning out at all like he expected.
“Oh, fuckin’ hell, Perry… Damn,” Madhu said, blushing at how exaggerated his reaction was. He twisted and gasped for air, and he leaned on Perry’s cornrowed head for support.
Perry didn’t stop to say anything, but he murmured around the cock in his throat. Madhu didn’t know what he said, all heard was a moist explosion of syllables. Perry’s grizzled chin scratched against Madhu’s thigh as he nuzzled his nose deep into Madhu’s crotch, and he produced so much spit it dripped onto the floor beneath him. His lips caressed Madhu’s shaft, so expertly that Madhu began to doubt that Perry was as ill-experienced as he had suggested.
Precum leaked down Perry’s throat. He gurgled and made a sour face when he tasted it, but it didn’t slow him down any. Perry grabbed ahold of Madhu’s bare asscheeks, slapping them as though appreciating their plump roundness, even if he couldn’t see them from his position.
Since Perry was so tall, he had to bend way over to get his head in Madhu’s crotch. That meant his broad, strapping back was laid out in front of Madhu. He leaned forward and slipped his hands underneath Perry’s clothes, caressing the man’s smooth, ropy-muscled back.
A humming, moaning sound came from Perry’s throat. He pushed his head all the way down, until his nose was buried in Madhu’s pubic hair. His throat clenched as he gagged out loud for the first time, then pulled away and spat on the floor of Madhu’s kitchen. Madhu was too intensely horny to care about the mess on his floor.
Avoiding eye contact with Madhu, Perry pushed his head between Madhu’s legs — his head was so big it barely fit, and Madhu had to spread his feet to accommodate him. Then Perry swallowed Madhu’s entire ballsack.
The sensitive skin of Madhu’s scrotum tingled, and his knees went weak again. He murmured to himself as he slowly sank to the ground, hips mounting Perry’s face. Since Perry had to struggle to lower his head under Madhu’s crotch, it was easier for him to just lay on his back anyway.
Lifting his balls, Madhu aimed his cock back for Perry’s mouth again. He swallowed it down greedily, as though he enjoyed it even as he gagged at the onrush of salty precum hitting his tongue. Perry was tall, with a big mouth and a cavernous throat, and he swallowed Madhu’s cock easily.
Madhu leaned forward as though to start sixty-nining, but he was nowhere’s near tall enough to actually jerk Perry off. He snuck his hands beneath those violet slacks and stroked his dick, which was, much to Madhu’s surprise, already hard as stone.
They continued like that, faux sixty-nining until Perry slapped Madhu’s perky brown asscheeks. Madhu pulled away, and Perry took a deep gasping breath. He sat up and frowned at Madhu. “How was that?”
“That was… amazing…” Madhu said, looking down at his feet. He was shocked once again as he saw Perry turn around and pull his slacks down. Perry bared his asscheeks, still keeping his shirt, tie and suit jacket on, just lifting them all up enough to show off his plump brown asscheeks.
“I always tell my bitches I could handle dick better than them. Pity they’ll never know. You best not tell no one about this,” Perry said. He thought for a moment. “He gonna ask me when I tell him about this. He gonna want to know if I’m payin’ you.”
“Uh, well…”
“You like niggas? I tell him I gave you Mackdog. He got that disease that make him white, just a bit on his leg. Tell him that.”
“Vitiligo?”
“That’s it, he got that and the biggest dick you ever seen. I ain’t ashamed to admit he packin’ more meat than me. He don’t know how to use it though, and he mess around wit’ any kinda nigga on the downlow. So you tell him you rammed Mackdog. Jerembee will get a laugh outta that,” Perry said, turning his head back to see Madhu. “I’ll tell Mackdog to back it up. He don’t care, he’s a animal.”
“Okay. Mackdog, yeah.”
Madhu felt tiny behind Perry, who was broad-shouldered and wide-assed. He had big round cheeks that Madhu had to stretch on his toes to reach, even with Perry on all fours. As soon as his finger touched the rim, Perry’s hole puckered. He winced even before anything penetrated him.
“You want me to lick your ass first?” Madhu asked.
“Hell yeah, sissy,” Perry said. “If’n you eat ass, eat away. I ain’t nevuh turn down a rimjob.”
Madhu got on his knees and dove in. He loved giving rimjobs, and he especially loved smooth black assholes like Perry’s. He ran his tongue through the asscrack, collecting all the sweat that dripped there. Perry had an intensely masculine musk, with a faintly chocolate flavor which Madhu thought of as the taste of the cocoa butter lotion most black men used.
Then his tongue plunged in to that musty dark hole. Perry lifted his head up and howled, his pride returning now that he wasn’t jerking cock. His body undulated as Madhu lapped at his ass.
Perry’s back arched as he grunted. It sounded like he hadn’t really expected this to feel that good. Madhu was proud of his rimjobbery skills and he beamed, not that anyone could see it. He inhaled noisily. Perry made a proudful sort of moan, and his cock throbbed — Perry was glad to be dominant for at least part and he rubbed his asshole all over Madhu’s face.
He made sure to lick loudly and messily. Madhu loved the sight of a man with spit dripping down his ass, some of it even sliding all the way through his taint and into the messy nest of sweaty pubic hair at the base of his balls. A few drops of that assy saliva even dribbled into the seat of Perry’s nice slacks, which were around his ankles. Madhu hoped he wasn’t going to be furious about that when he saw it later — he seemed like the kind of pimp who hated getting his clothes dirty.
“Ah, damn, you sure you ain’t black, boi? Cuz you eat ass like a nigga!” Perry said loudly. He slapped his hand on the floor as he said it. “Alright then, whiteboi, time to stick it in me. You be gentle, ya hear?”
“Yeah, I will. Just tell me to stop if it hurts too much,” Madhu said.
Perry grumbled as though he didn’t want to do that. Madhu got the impression he didn’t like to show pain. But Perry got back up on all fours and spread his perfectly round asscheeks. His hole twinkled, beckoning Madhu with its temporary looseness.
Madhu stood back up on his toes, slipping the tip of his dick in before Perry’s ass had time to tighten back up after the rimjob. Perry bit his lip and grunted.
Pleasure shot through Madhu’s body like a bullet. He worked his dick in inch by inch, smiling as he saw Perry wince and try to pretend he didn’t feel any pain, or even pleasure. He stayed as stoic as he could, stone-facing there on all fours, his muscles all tensing and relaxing in sync with the thrusts of Madhu’s cock into his ass. The pleasure was even more shameful for him, it seemed, than the vulnerability he showed when he writhed in agony. Behind that agony was the bliss he didn’t dare acknowledge out loud.
But his dick couldn’t lie — or at least, it didn’t lie, as Madhu noticed when he reached around Perry’s body to his cock and stroked it, rock-hard despite the meat in his ass. Perry grunted and held his head down.
Madhu felt his orgasm grow and grow, and though he wanted to delay it, this was too arousing to stop himself. He didn’t know how long he humped there, slamming his dick in and out, smiling as Perry grimaced with every thrust of his hips. It could have lasted for a minute, it could have lasted for hours, Madhu would have had no idea.
Perry squeezed and clenched. He grunted heavily as he endured the pain, but his ass remained loose and his cock pulsated in Madhu’s fingers — it was clear that a part of Perry enjoyed this, he just didn’t want to admit it.
“Uh, god, yeah, give it to me, nigga…”
Muscles writhing beneath the colorful suit he had never taken off, Perry’s grunts of agony turned to gasps of pleasure. His dick leaked precum into Madhu’s fingers as those thick veins in the shaft throbbed with sexual desire. Madhu could feel the cum flowing before he actually shot his load.
They both came at nearly the same time, Madhu just a few seconds earlier. He sprayed his load within Perry, coating his insides in creamy goodness. It was the most intense orgasm of his life, wracking Madhu’s body with uncontrollable pleasure. He bit his lip so hard he drew blood.
Then, without taking his dick out of Perry’s ass, Madhu reached both hands around Perry’s hips. He used both hands to stroke him off, faster and faster as Perry panted heavily. He could already feel the cum flowing, and he could sense through his body when Perry’s balls crawled up in his sac.
At last Perry shot his own load, Madhu’s cock still throbbing limply in his clenched ass. Cum spurted out all over Madhu’s hands, dripping down and onto the floor. Perry writhed in that suit, which was now soaked with sweat and matted against his skin in a few spots — hopefully that meant he wouldn’t notice the stains in the crotch of his pants, Madhu thought.
He pulled out and Perry breathed a sigh of relief. Madhu had him roll over on his back, with Madhu’s cum-coated hand still elevated. Perry winced when he saw it, but he reached for it just the same. He knew exactly what Madhu wanted to do.
He and Madhu both licked it clean, Madhu enthusiastically tonguing every drop, while Perry gagged and choked it down. He sucked on Madhu’s fingers and even let Madhu’s cum-filled mouth kiss him on the lips. It was only when Madhu pushed his luck by trying to put his tongue in Perry’s mouth that Perry pulled away. His smile faded to a sneer.
“Nah, no kissing,” he said. He flopped his dick back into his underwear and pulled his pants up. He finished the last of the drink he had poured for himself, then picked up the bottle of bourbon and chugged from that.
“Thanks, Perry, that was amazing,” Madhu said, blushing. He sounded like a fanboy who finally got to be with his idol, he thought to himself. He tried to stand nonchalantly but failed and just looked awkward. “You’ve got an incredible cock and ass and body.” He thought he should try to puff up Perry’s ego a bit before he left, or who knew how he might overcompensate.
“I know, sissy. Every thing I do, no matter what, it’s always amazin’. That’s the Perry guarantee,” he said, slowly regaining his pimpy cockiness. He even danced a little on his feet. He licked his teeth. “I’m takin’ the resta this bourbon. It’s nice.”
“Oh, well, I’ll do whatever you want if you keep comin’ back,” Madhu said.
“So you’ll teach him?” Perry asked. “I’ll keep coming over every month, as long as you’re still tutorin’ him.”
“We have a deal,” Madhu said.
He smiled and put his fedora back on. “See ya next month then, sissy. Buy lube. And more bourbon.”

The Marine Bottoms

Moshe often stumbles across Marines and cadets from the nearby base, so when one of each approaches his door, he wasn’t surprised. A cadet and his drill sergeant are in desperate need of something only Moshe can provide — a chance for the studly cadet to prove his devotion by bending over, grabbing his ankles and whistling dixie while Moshe goes to town all over his alpha-male ass!

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The Megillah was even more difficult to get right this year. Every year, Moshe found that he struggled a bit more to get the pronunciation right and to nail the rhythm of it — he didn’t speak Hebrew that well, much to his shame, and now that he no longer lived in Israel, he was losing his memory of the language. But every year during Purim, his family had him read the Megillah (that’s the same thing as the Bible’s Book of Esther and is part of the Tanakh whose recitation during the holy season of Purim is required for observant Jews; Purim is a March holiday that commemorates the Jews’s deliverance from certain genocide in the ancient Persian Empire). It was a sort of family tradition.
If Moshe had gotten married and had a child or two, his family would have had his kid begin reading the Megillah, or at least a few brief segments of it as he learned Hebrew. But Moshe had no desire for a child and seemed likely to remain a perpetual bachelor. That was exactly how he liked it.
That was why it remained his increasingly awkward duty to recite the Megillah every year.
There was a knock on the door. Moshe sighed and went to see who it was — if it was his NRA-loving, conservative neighbor with another gun-rights pamphlet, he was going to file a harassment complaint. He had promised himself that before as well, but he didn’t like to make waves, and it was always simpler just to take him at his word that he wouldn’t be back.
But it wasn’t that neighbor at all, it was the neighbor from the house on the other side, Sergeant Powers. Moshe didn’t see that much of him. He was from Camp Pendleton, the Marine Corps training facility here in San Diego. While Sergeant Powers was not exactly “nice”, he was always polite. Moshe rather liked him, certainly compared to the other neighbor.
It helped, of course, that Sergeant Powers was a big burly bear of a man, with muscles and a square jaw and so much swagger that Moshe nearly came in his pants the first time he had spied Powers lifting weights shirtless in his backyard. Today he was here, bright and early in the morning, with a younger man in tow.
The younger man was just as alluring as Powers and arguably even more sexy in a classic sense. The cadet had a Hollywood-handsome dimpled face, kind eyes and it was apparent he sported a six-pack under his t-shirt. Sergeant Powers was a bit older, with a few tinges of gray in his crewcut, and while he still had the body of a Marine, it showed notable wear and tear. The younger cadet was smooth, pert and taut, with dark hair and skin, an olive complexion and deep, dark eyes.
As Moshe opened the door, he realized the younger man looked like a cadet — he wore a crew-cut and a faded green t-shirt with short shorts, both of which appeared to be Marine Corps-issued. They were wrinkled as though he had been roused from bed early in the morning to come here.
“Shalom, Moshe,” Sergeant Powers said. He smiled. Moshe had taught him the word ‘shalom’ a few weeks ago, and now he used it every chance he got. “This is Cadet Pucci. He has a favor to ask you. May we come in?”
“Uh… I suppose,” Moshe said. He led them into his living room, where they both sat down. The situation was tense — Sergeant Powers appeared angry, enough so that Moshe wondered if he had done something wrong. Cadet Pucci, however, looked upset and guilty, as though it was he who had done something wrong. Moshe felt small and girlish in comparison to these two hulking brutes. Moshe cleared his throat. “A favor? I’m sorry, do I know you, Cadet… Antonio?”
Cadet Pucci shook his head. His face was worried, his dimples deep. He licked his lips. “Name’s Cadet Pucci, sir. I was askin’ Sarge here, man, I was-” He stopped talking and winced as Sergeant Powers cleared his throat. Cadet Pucci started again, his voice stilted and awkward. “Good morning, sir. I was hoping I could get your assistance this morning. I am a cadet at Camp Pendleton, and I need a day off-“
“The fuck you do!” Sergeant Powers barked.
Cadet Pucci again blanched and looked down at his feet. “I don’t need a day off. I want one. I’m a lazy guido bastard,” he said, looking to Powers as though expecting him to confirm it — he nodded his assent to Pucci’s words. Then Cadet Pucci continued. “I already had some leave, two weeks ago. And I met this girl. She was beautiful, you wouldn’t even believe it, she looked like, bam! She-” Cadet Pucci stopped himself, his hands fluttered by his sides like he wanted to mime out the silhouette of her body. He cleared his throat. “Well, she was hot as a frying pan, shit! And she’s moving to Georgia, so tonight is the last time I might see her. And I asked my sergeant if I could move a day of leave up. I wouldn’t even have to miss any training, I could leave at night-“
“Tell him why I said no,” Sergeant Powers said gruffly. He placed one hand on Cadet Pucci’s shoulder and squeezed.
“I… I have not always been followin’ the rules,” Cadet Pucci said. “I snuck out before. That was just to get laid though. I didn’t love that girl.”
“You don’t love any girl,” Sergeant Powers said with a scoff, like he disbelieved in the entire concept.
“I do!” Cadet Pucci said as his cheeks blushed. He looked to Moshe. “And anyway, Sergeant Powers said I had to prove I loved her and I wasn’t just after sex.”
“I may be a hardass, but I ain’t gonna stand in the way of true love,” Sergeant Powers said, mockingly wiping a tear from his eye. “Cadet Pucci skipped over a few details. He tried to sneak out for trim four times — that I know of. I caught him each time, so he been skatin’ on very thin ice for some time. He has been one mouthy fuck since the day his wop-dago ass got here.”
“So… uh,” Cadet Pucci said. “If you want… you don’t have to, sir. But, uh, if you want… we could, y’know… do stuff.” His cheeks were red as cherries now. “Like… masturbation stuff.” That made Powers snort and laugh under his breath. Cadet Pucci added, “Or like, whatever. I could do stuff — it’d be worth it to do, you know… whatever. Like cornholing.”
“What?” Moshe was shocked — he had thought Cadet Pucci was going to ask for a ride or for help finding the local girl, something like that. Sometimes cadets at the military base did that. Moshe liked to help them out when he could.
And he liked to help them out when they let him play with their dicks, which they very often did. Nobody is hornier than a Marine at boot camp. Or not yet a Marine, an almost-Marine.
“He’ll do anything you want, Moshe,” Sergeant Powers said. “I want to see how devoted he is to this girl. Plus as long as he gets his rocks off now, I’ll now he ain’t motivated by overflowing balls neither.” He looked at Cadet Pucci and nodded. “Go on, tell him.”
Cadet Pucci sighed. “I’ll… jerk you off, and you can plow me in the ass as hard as you want.” He blushed intensely. Then he took off his shirt, revealing a perfectly tapered torso and a powerful chest, which he flexed. He smiled proudly, though still shamefully, as Moshe looked on. He was splendidly muscled, his shoulders as broad as a barn, and he reeked of youth and sweat and power. Moshe’s dick was already twitching in his pants.
“I thought you’d enjoy this,” Sergeant Powers said.
Moshe nodded. This was awkward, but he certainly was not going to refuse such an incredible opportunity. He wasn’t sure how to begin, and now that he knew what was happening, he couldn’t stop himself from jumping right into it. His dick jerked to half-mast just from the realization of what was about to happen.
After a few seconds of silence, Cadet Pucci closed his eyes like he expected Moshe to get started, which was exactly what he did. Moshe dropped to his knees.
He dove into Cadet Pucci’s crotch before he could drop those shorts, which were musty, moist and sprinkled with dried salt from Cadet Pucci’s sweat. He must have been doing PT in these shorts for weeks, Moshe thought, wondering how long it had been since they were washed. It smelled like a long-time. He tasted layers of dried-in funk. His thick cock and heavy balls were cradled beneath the fabric by his Marine Corps-issued underwear. Moshe licked the bulge from top to bottom, and stuck his head between Cadet Pucci’s trunk-like thighs. Sergeant Powers laughed, either out of discomfort or glee at Cadet Pucci’s stiff-bodied anxiety.
“At attention, solider!” Powers barked. Cadet Pucci stood straight and tall, arms trembling as Moshe’s hands explored his bare upper body. His pecs twitched beneath Moshe’s fingers. Additional beads of nervous sweat appeared on his shoulders, and Moshe smeared them over his musculature.
Horniness arising from deep within and overwhelming him, Moshe wanted desperately to taste every inch of Cadet Pucci’s body and to feel his cock deep inside him. But Moshe also enjoyed topping, and he knew he’d never get a chance to top someone like this again. So he was in a quandary about how to proceed — he decided his best bet was to help Cadet Pucci relax a little by swallowing his cumload first. This would be better for everyone if Cadet Pucci were aroused too, and a virile young Marine like Cadet Pucci would surely cum quickly.
Moshe pulled down Cadet Pucci’s shorts and underwear, whistling to show his appreciation at Pucci’s big uncut cock — alphas loved it when you pretended they had some uniquely huge and wonderful cock. Pucci’s was in fact huge and wonderful, but then Moshe liked all dicks, so it wasn’t unique. Still, the smell of his rank crotch and his heavy balls made Moshe wrinkle his nose as desire flooded him, and Moshe’s dick rocketed to full erection in his pants. Without a word of warning, Moshe swallowed it to the root, as Cadet Pucci gasped and struggled to remain at attention.
“That girl worth it, Cadet Pucci?” Sergeant Powers asked. From his vantage point, Moshe couldn’t see or hear Cadet Pucci’s response, but it must have been yes, judging from the way Powers grunted back at him. Then Cadet Pucci’s entire body stiffened even more, and he yelped. Moshe saw Sergeant Powers’s hand disappearing behind Moshe’s ass.
“You got a tight ass, Cadet. That must be why all the girls like you,” Powers said. He smirked and licked his teeth as he did something with his hand that made Cadet Pucci gasp, bug out and clench his teeth tight.
He must have stuck a finger in there, Moshe realized with a sense of shock. Cadet Pucci’s toes curled and his hands tightened into fists behind his back as he submitted to the fingering. But the prostate stimulation helped him get hard too, and soon his cock was pulsating in Moshe’s mouth.
The taste of precum hit Moshe’s tongue. Above his head, he heard Sergeant Powers get close enough he was nearly kissing Moshe on the cheek. He spoke softly but with an authoritarian tenor to his voice. “That girl still worth it?” He violently rammed his finger — or maybe more than one finger, Moshe couldn’t see — in and out of Cadet Pucci’s juicy asscheeks. Cadet Pucci yelped and blushed, and for a moment he wasn’t at attention, he was leaning on Moshe’s shoulder, his knees buckling as pain and prostate pleasure alike rocketed up his spine.
“Yes,” Cadet Pucci said through gritted teeth. His muscles undulated in sync with his sergeant’s finger ramming into his asshole. His muscles all flexed every time he winced. He bit his lip. “I have to see her this weekend. I love her. Sir.”
Moshe stood and took off his own clothes. He felt tiny next to these two hulking men. Moshe was short, fair-haired and smooth-bodied, lean and trim. He had always been skinny, and though he had been working on bulking up, he simply didn’t have the body type to get big. That was very much unlike Cadet Pucci, whose broad body and fat cock seemed to take up all of the space in this room.
“Gimme one of your hands, Cadet Pucci,” Moshe said as authoritatively as he could muster. Sergeant Powers chuckled at the weak tenor of his voice, and he repeated the order.
“Give ‘im a hand, Cadet Pucci.”
Cadet Pucci did so, gingerly placing his hand on Moshe’s cock. He shrank back as soon as he touched it, as though he had never touched a hard dick before. Then he gripped it again and gave it a tentative stroke.
Moshe had to stand on his toes to kiss Cadet Pucci on the lips, which he did even as Cadet Pucci kept his face straight and stony, so it was like kissing a warm statue. Moshe’s tongue pushed into Pucci’s mouth — on one level, it was a bad kiss, Pucci’s tongue was limp and still like a dead rooster, but on the other level, it was warm and nervous and oh-so-macho. Moshe didn’t mind the lack of passion, as he rather enjoyed the roughness of Pucci’s fingers and the shamefully aroused passion of his body, which still stood at attention. He wasn’t even really stroking Moshe’s cock anymore, he just held onto it loosely while Moshe humped his manhood into Cadet Pucci’s grip. It took all of Pucci’s focus to remain at attention with Sarge’s finger in his tight ass and Pucci’s own hand on Moshe’s precum-soaked cock.
Then Moshe leapt into Pucci’s arms and mounted his chest. Cadet Pucci grunted in surprise and nearly fell over, but he was strong enough to support Moshe even without preparing for it first. He looked down in shock at the sight of Moshe’s hard dick on Pucci’s gym-toned torso, spewed precum over his six-pack abs.
Scooting up Pucci’s trunk-like chest, Moshe let his dick rest between those mountainous pecs, which were still hard from the tension and the pain in his ass. Now that his head was over Pucci’s body, Moshe could see Sergeant Powers’s cruel smile as he wedged a second finger into Pucci’s asshole. His cheeks jiggled marvelously.
Using Pucci’s head for support, Moshe climbed up even farther, until his crotch was right in Pucci’s face. His dick leaked fluids over his nose and cheeks, and Cadet Pucci trembled as he tried hard to avoid gagging.
“This still worth it, Cadet?”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Pucci’s voice was pinched and strained, and muffled by the cockshaft pulsating against his lips. He gagged as the taste of cock flooded his senses.
Moshe struggled to get his dick into Pucci’s mouth from this angle. He had to angle his hips outward, and Cadet Pucci had to support his ass with both hands, but when he did, Cadet Pucci swallowed his entire cock easily. He was a big man, so he had a big throat. Even as it spasmed and choked on the flavor, and Cadet Pucci blushed intensely, he let Moshe’s dick enter his throat. He swallowed it down deep, until his nose was nestled in Moshe’s crotch.
A moan escaped from Moshe’s lips, as Antonio gagged. Cadet Pucci had that thick lustrous dark hair that Italian men were known for. It was cut into a short Marine Corps crew-cut, but it was obvious that he had perfect politician’s-hair when he let it grow out. Moshe gripped his head, savoring the rolls of flesh in the back of his scalp as he shoved his dick down the man’s spasming throat.
From this vantage point, Moshe saw Sergeant Powers’s hand in Pucci’s ass. He smiled at Moshe, who threw his head back and moaned, and Sergeant Powers slowly worked a second finger in. Cadet Pucci bucked and he nearly fell over again, but managed to stay standing, despite the series of gags wracking his throat.
“Keep at attention, Cadet!”
It didn’t take very much for Moshe to feel his orgasm coming. He didn’t want to end like this, without plowing Cadet Pucci in the tight Italian ass, so he hopped down from the man’s shoulders. Pucci’s entire face was moist with precum and his own saliva, which dripped from his lips — he couldn’t wipe his face off without breaking his posture, so he remained there with his wrinkled-nose face shiny, manfluids running in rivulets down his square jaw.
“Gimme twenty!” Moshe said, and after a moment’s hesitation to consider whether to obey, Cadet Pucci dropped to the ground.
He began doing push-ups, counting them off as Sarge put one hand on his bare back to guide him. As he did so, Moshe mounted Pucci’s ass, just wedging his dick between the cheeks for now. Antonio struggled to keep going with the push-ups now that he had Moshe’s weight on his back. His firm back muscles flexed beneath Moshe’s smooth body.
“One!” Sergeant Powers said as he watched Cadet Pucci struggle to get his push-ups right. “I ain’t countin’ these granny-push-ups, Cadet. Do ’em properly!”
Cadet Pucci began doing push-ups much more slowly with Moshe’s weight on his back. He grunted and heaved with each motion. His powerful biceps worked up and down.
“C’mon, Cadet, don’t give up!” Sergeant Powers barked. He got on his knees right in front of Pucci’s face and demanded he keep going. Pucci’s back muscles strained, covered in sweat.
As Cadet Pucci struggled to finish his push-ups, Moshe again had to work on his angle so he could penetrate the cadet. He lowered his body until his cock lined up with Pucci’s ass, then he managed to get the tip of his dick in while still resting his body on Pucci’s ass. Instantly, Cadet Pucci dropped to the floor, gritting his teeth with pain. He squirmed there.
“Get up, Cadet! You fuckin’ pussy! If you can’t finish these push-ups, I swear to Christ you’ll never do a push-up without a cock in your ass again!”
Cadet Pucci struggled back to supporting himself on his arms and legs, while Moshe worked his dick in deeper, rocking his body back and forth to help it slide in. Pucci’s hole had been loosened a bit by Sarge’s fingers, but it was still so tight Moshe though he might cum from the moment he entered. The squeeziness of his booty sent waves of pleasure to crash through Moshe’s twink frame.
“He keepin’ hisself open how you want it, Moshe?” Sergeant Powers asked.
“Yeah, Sarge,” Moshe said. “He’s doin’ good.” That was when Moshe noticed that Powers had a bulge in his shorts too. Moshe reached for that bulge without giving it a second thought, and blushed when Sergeant Powers smiled.
“Stick it in me…” Moshe said, his voice weak and breathless as he worked to hold back his orgasm. He stopped moving with his cock all the way in Pucci’s ass, letting it throb there,
Powers grinned. He smacked Pucci’s ass and laughed at how the motion made him writhe and flex every muscle on his powerful body. Then Sergeant Powers got behind Moshe and pulled his shorts down.
He rammed his dick in hard and grunted as it melted right in. Moshe was well-practiced at taking huge cocks like his — and at taking Powers’s cock specifically — so he gritted his teeth and submitted to it. He dug his nails into Pucci’s broad back as he loosened himself up. He lost himself in the exquisite sandwich of Marine meat both in front and behind him.
Cadet Pucci stopped doing push-ups. Nobody was counting anymore, but Moshe was fairly sure he had hit at least twenty — though Sergeant Powers had refused to count many of them. Regardless, Cadet Pucci lay flat on the ground now, grunting with every thrust of Moshe’s dick and yelping when Powers thrust into Moshe, which forced Moshe to penetrate Cadet Pucci even harder.
Moshe felt like a bug being squashed between two large stone statues. Powers, however, was a bit soft — he was bigger than Cadet Pucci, but older, hairier and less perfectly etched. Moshe was fine with that. While he certainly appreciated the Hollywood-handsome good lucks of Cadet Pucci, he enjoyed the burly hairiness of Sergeant Powers as well.
As Moshe neared orgasm, he rested his face in Pucci’s broad, sweat-covered back. He licked his strapping muscles. Above him, Powers did much the same, resting his weight partially on his knees but also on Moshe. That put Powers’s head above Moshe and near Pucci’s ruddy, wincing face.
“You like this, Cadet?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“Good,” Powers said. He laughed as he licked Pucci’s earlobe, making Cadet Pucci shudder in humiliation and agony. Moshe managed to get one of his hands under Pucci’s body, and was surprised to feel a rock-hard cock — he must really enjoy prostate stimulation, Moshe thought. He stroked Pucci’s dick the best he could, and Cadet Pucci began humping his hips instinctively.
“Tell me when you feel cum in yer ass,” Sergeant Powers said. When Cadet Pucci winced and looked away, he repeated himself. “I wanna cum at the same time. So tell me.”
It looked like Cadet Pucci didn’t want to acknowledge the feeling of semen in his ass, but he nodded anyway. As Moshe felt his orgasm approach, Powers lifted both Cadet Pucci and Moshe, so all three were on their knees. Moshe was still sandwiched between the huge men on both sides of him, and Moshe barely even moved himself, allowing both men’s powerful bodies to provide all the motion. Moshe just licked and sucked on the taut muscles all around him.
In the end, Cadet Pucci acknowledged it even before Moshe had realized he was cumming. His orgasm washed over his body and made him shudder with delight. His spine was wracked by exquisite pain from his ass, which mingled with the pleasure he felt all over. Hot cum sprayed within Pucci’s asshole.
Then, a few seconds later, both Cadet Pucci and Sergeant Powers shot their own load. Powers had a huge wad that sunk into every corner of Moshe’s body, while Cadet Pucci bucked and gagged when he shot his load into the palm of Moshe’s waiting hand.
While all three dicks limpened, Moshe raised his handful of steaming cum to Pucci’s mouth. Cadet Pucci gagged again, and winced, still in pain from Moshe’s dick in his ass.
“Open your mouth, Cadet,” Sergeant Powers said. “Still worth it?”
Cadet Pucci opened his mouth. “Absolutely worth it, Sarge.” Moshe emptied the cumload into Pucci’s mouth, and sighed as Pucci’s ass clenched around his cock once more. Cadet Pucci choked and gagged down every drop.
And then it was at last over. Powers dismounted Moshe, who pulled away from Pucci’s naked, moist body. Cadet Pucci collapsed onto the ground, but only for a moment before Sergeant Powers barked at him to get up.
“Up, Cadet, at attention!”
Pucci’s ass was in terrible pain, so his knees buckled, but he managed to stand at attention. His limp dick hung between his legs. Moshe giggled as he stroked it and got a few nervous shakes from Pucci’s body, tensing his muscles again as his overly sensitive dick throbbed in Moshe’s fingers.
Moshe smiled. “I guess his love is true, Sarge,” he said.
Sarge nodded. “I sure thought he’d back out,” he said. “Alright, Cadet Pucci, you can have your leave, and I won’t charge you for conduct unbecoming.”
Cadet Pucci gasped. “Thank you, Sergeant Powers,” he said, then added, “And Moshe, thank you too.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps when I want an extra night off in the future-“
“Absolutely-” Moshe said, but was interrupted by Sergeant Powers.
“No way, Cadet. Next time, you submit to me,” Powers said with a grin.

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Lance is a victorious lawyer given a reward he’ll never forget: Seven Minutes in Heaven with a hunky jock named Chris. He gets seven minutes to do anything he wants to Chris’s studly body, and he fully intends to get the most out of every minute!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Lance didn’t want to go to the party, but it was being thrown in his honor, so he couldn’t refuse. The Smashwood crew had lit a big bonfire by the time he got there, and they were all shotgunning beers — they hadn’t been allowed to drink while they were on house arrest, so now they were making up for lost time.
To Lance, it was bittersweet. He had been living in Oklahoma for most of a year, and he had gotten his local law license in time to defend a group of offenders from Smashwood Trailer Park, who were accused of a series of small-time robberies and assaults. He was proud of his success in getting all of the charges dropped. On the other hand, he knew they were guilty. They had beat a man so badly he spent ten months in the hospital. On the other, other hand, the state of Oklahoma had been unable to prove it, so he didn’t regret getting them off. That was his job, after all, and he was good at it.
“Congrat’lations, man!”
“My girl’s pussy thanks ya!”
“Hell yeah! Best lawyer in Oklahoma!”
Someone handed him a beer, and Lance sipped it at first, then realized the others were all chugging, so he did likewise.
“Come on, broh, drink it!” Chris Hazel yelled through a barrel of drunken laughs, and the others echoed him. Chris was the youngest here, only nineteen, and built like the high school football star he had been just a year or two ago. He had a jolly-cute face though. “Chug it! Chug it!”
“Hey, so… uh…” Math sidled up to Lance, shooing his friends away and telling them to stop pestering him. Math was the leader of the Smashwood guys — a loose-knit gang of small-time thieves — alleged thieves — he was the one who faced the most extensive charges, so he benefited the most by Lance getting the whole crew acquitted. Math leaned in so close his face was right next to Lance’s ear. “So, uh… How crazy is you?”
“Very,” he said. Then without thinking about it, he kissed Math on the lips. Math’s eyes opened wide amid the laughter and shocked gasps from the other rednecks. For a moment, Lance thought Math was going to hit him, but then Math smiled — it hadn’t been much of a kiss, after all, just a dry peck on the lips.
Math pointed to the three girls at the party. They were hot, in a slutty redneck way, and they lounged in one corner as though waiting. They wore skimpy outfits that showed off their tits and ass, and they each had trashy tattoos on their lower back. Lance strongly suspected they were prostitutes.
“You wanna fuck one of them? Or all three?”
Lance shook his head. “Thanks,” he said. “But no thanks. I’m not interested.” That was both because he wasn’t in a mood for women right now and cuz he didn’t do prostitutes. Lance preferred a more elegant class of women. “No prostitutes for me, Lyle.” Lance called him ‘Lyle’ because ‘Math’ was a gang name and he had denied throughout the trial that he was the person known as ‘Math’. Lance chose not to use it when he could avoid it. He had made the argument in court, after all, that Lyle was not Math.
“I told you guys!” Math called out to the others. Math’s voice was suddenly loud, booming across the trailer park. Most of them had moved on and were trying to get a three-wheeler unstuck from a muddy ditch it couldn’t extricate itself from, so the party was quiet enough for an ordinary conversation.
A burst of chatter hit the guys around the bonfire. Lance didn’t hear what they were saying because everyone spoke at once.
“You want a different female?” Math asked.
Lance shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Lyle. You already paid me for my services.”
“I ain’t tryna-a pay you,” Math said. “I’m tryna-a congratulate you.” He sneered as though Lance should have known the difference.
“Let ‘im cornhole you, Math!” said someone else with a laugh.
“Yeah, Math, you do it! You the one who had the most to lose.”
That was true — Math had faced some extra charges because he was in charge of the beatdown, plus the bloody bat had been found in his trailer here in the Smashwood Trailer Park. But Math looked horrified at the thought, and he furrowed his brow at Lance as though he hadn’t considered he would be willing to cornhole a man but not fuck a woman.
Then Math’s eyes lit up. He must have concluded Lance was Christian. Which was true, but not the reason Lance didn’t want a prostitute.
“He don’t wanna cornhole me,” Math said with a wrinkle of his nose.
“Uh…?” Lance smiled. “No, Lyke. You’re wrong about that.”
“Really? We was gonna let you swing on some dick if you wanted, but we thought you’d want a woman instead,” Math said.
“You thought that, Math,” someone said with a laugh. Whoever it was shrouded by the darkness beyond the bonfire.
Math shrugged. “Well, fine, pick someone to jerk off,” he said. “Ain’t no one here gonna take no dick up the ass, but a mouth is a mouth, right guys?”
Lance was astonished.
Chris, that young fresh-faced jock, chuckled and blushed. “Seven Minutes in Heaven! We should play Seven Minutes in Heaven with him!” he blurted out a few times until the others heard. He was a husky baby-faced redneck, with a literal red neck and scruffy chin like he only just gained enough facial hair to shave and was growing a beard because he finally could. His meaty lineman-jock body jiggled. “Seven Minutes in Heaven!”
“What are we, middle-schoolers?”
“Shut the fuck up, Chris.”
“What’s Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Lance had never heard of it.
Despite most of the rednecks saying no and telling Chris it was a stupid game for teenagers, they all accepted his idea. Lance had no idea what he was talking about, as the rednecks all formed a tight circle near the bonfire.
Math explained, “So this is a game, we normally play it with just the girls, or we used to play it in high school,” he said. “It’s stupid, a kid’s game. We don’t do it no more.” But despite his words, they got ready to play, Math included. The girls joined the circle as well. “It’s basically Spin-the-Bottle but rather than just kiss, you have to go in the dirty-dawg trailer-” he pointed to an uninhabited trailer next to the bonfire, “for seven minutes.”
“And we… do what??”
“Whatever you want,” Math said.
Math nodded grimly. “Even me, man. It’s just dome, or whatever. Just let ‘im taste yer nut. Ain’t a big deal. We all spent a night in lockup-” He stopped because the other guys clapped and coughed over him as though they had all promised not to speak of whatever had happened there. His voice trailed off.
Someone put the bottle in Lance’s hand. If he weren’t so nervous — and excited — he would have declined. But he spun the bottle anyway.
“Not me! Not me!”
“Hey, after the sissy, let’s keep going, we got three girls, that’s nine holes to fill!”
It almost landed on one of the girls, then just barely managed to rotate to the next person in the circle. Chris.
Lance’s heart started pounding — if he had thought rationally about it, Chris would be exactly whom he would have picked: the handsome jock with the muscles and the dimples… He would be ideal. But this was all happening so fast that Lance didn’t even think about his ideal first choice before it was all done.
“Makes sense, it was your idea,” Math said over the hooting laughter. The others laughed and catcalled at Chris, who blushed beet-red. Somebody smacked him on the ass as he walked towards the trailer. He cast a nervous glance at Lance. He had a nice phat ass, and his cheeks rippled when his friends tapped him on the ass. He bristled like he was uncomfortable with it, but didn’t complain.
“I don’t even care, I’ll let some sissy swing on my dick,” Chris said. “I need to get my dick wet!” He grabbed his overflowing crotch-bulge as he stood in the threshold of the trailer, then entered. His confidence disappeared entirely once he was in the trailer. He made eye contact with Lance and winced.
Chris was a tall, beefy young man, with broad shoulders and a barrel-shaped body. He had been a linebacker on his high school football team, and he still retained all that heft and meat even now, a couple years out of school. He had peachfuzz on his cheek and his chest — visible under the wifebeater he wore — and a thick mop of blond hair on his head. He had a powerful body beneath his layer of padding, which was just thick enough. He had the physique of an athlete who had never watched what he ate, so his perfect frame was concealed by a layer of sexy plumpness. He smelled of sweat and cheap deodorant, a scent that made Lance’s dick get hard in his pants.
“Whatchoo wanna do?” Chris asked, his voice wavering. It sounded like he rarely lacked confidence, and was uncomfortable with it.
“What, uh… What are the rules?” Lance asked.
“You can do whatever you want,” Chris said. He blushed again, as his friends outside called out to him.
“You swallowin’ that sissy dick yet, Chris? Bet you regret comin’ up with this idea?!”
“Fuckin’ retard!”
“Cornhole Chris! Cornhole Chris! Make him cry, Lance!”
Chris sighed. “I know Math said you can say no, but you ain’t s’sposed. Or I ain’t s’sposed to, I mean… neither of us is s’sposed to. It’s bein’ a bad sport.”
“Oh,” Lance said. Not wanting to waste any time, he sunk to his knees. Chris wore dirty, loose jeans, and Lance grabbed his crotch through the denim. He sniffed the filthy material, then looked up at Chris, who watched as though terrified of what was happening.
The rednecks outside outside the trailer were chanting “Cornhole Chris!” over and over as they directed flashlights through the curtains into the trailer. Their light danced on the walls like searchlights. The curtains meant they couldn’t see inside anyway, but the lights were still blinding for Chris and Lance.
Chris nodded. “I play by the rules, suh,” he said. “Just tell them you jerked me off, and I have a huge one. Ain’t gotta lie ‘bout that. I don’t give a shit who swallow my nut.” Despite his words, he sucked in his breath as Lance touched his dick. Lance suspected he had rarely, if ever, let a man jerk him off, except perhaps that one time in jail (when it seemed the whole crew had done so — Lance wondered who had done the swallowing then; had it been one of them? Or was there an outsider in there with them?).
Lance unzipped Chris’s jeans and pulled them down. He wore plain dingy white briefs, which Lance also pulled down. He whistled at the sight of Chris’s massive cockshaft, which hung limply between his trunkish legs.
“Hey, Chris, squeal like a piggie, okay? I know you can do it! Yee-haw!”
A blush spread across Chris’s face, and he frowned like a part of him wanted to run outside and start throwing punches. Lance guzzled down his limp dick before he could change his mind. Chris had a thick, greasy slab of meat, and his youthful vigor meant it perked up in Lance’s mouth right away.
“Ah, damn…” Chris said, a blush appearing on his babyface as though he hadn’t meant to reveal how good this dome was. “You swallow that like a champion mare, boy.”
Lance smiled around the rapidly firming cock in his throat. He slathered spit up and down Chris’s shaft, and he grinned as the plump cocktip tickled the back of his throat.
“He’ll do anything, Lance, remember that! This is Seven Minutes in Heaven, not Seven Minutes in Compromise!”
“Stick it in his ass! Make ‘im squeal!”
They laughed as though it was a huge joke, but also with a trace of seriousness. From the faint grumblings that Lance heard indistinctly outside, he suspected that two men had, on occasion, gone into this trailer before for a similar purpose. They were whispering about it as some long-ago scandal.
Chris grunted as though surprised at how good this spot of dome felt as Lance swallowed his cock down to the root. He quickly got hard, and he humped his hips into Lance’s face. Chris’s round jaw wriggled as he chewed on his lower lip, whether out of passion or anxiety or both Lance wasn’t sure.
The sour flavor of precum coated Lance’s tongue. He moaned and let some of it drip out of his mouth, running in rivulets down the veins that wrapped over Chris’s plump shaft.
Six minutes left!
Lance wanted to see how far he could take Chris, so he licked the man’s heavy, low-hanging balls while taking his own cock out of his pants. He licked a trail from Chris’s cock and over his belly.
Chris was in excellent shape, but he didn’t have a six-pack — it was obvious, to Lance anyway, that he didn’t have the body-type for it. This was probably about as close as he was capable of getting, just a little paunch and a layer of padding over his dictionary-sized pecs. Lance sucked on his nipples as Chris’s muscles rippled and he held back a moan.
Chris either didn’t care or didn’t notice as Lance jousted with his cock and Chris’s. Lance stroked off both shafts at once. Chris was more focused on moaning as his nipples grew erect in Lance’s mouth. With both men’s precum running from their cocktips, it wasn’t obvious to Chris that the sensation on his dick came from Lance’s manhood rather than his fingers.
Then Chris blanched. His hands fluttered like he didn’t know where to put them — he had realized he was touching dicks with Lance. He moaned with pleasure, then blushed as if he was trying to stop from moaning.
“You want me to stop?”
“Nah,” Chris said. He took a deep breath. He spoke quietly to be sure no one outside could hear. From the occasional rocking and banging on the walls, it sounded like the other rednecks were right on the other side, listening for any hint at what was going on in there. “I’ll do anything you want,” Chris whispered. He looked down at his massive trailer park-bred feet. Lance got on his knees and kissed him on the lips, which were dry and thick. Chris opened his mouth as though he had been waiting for that, and their tongues interlocked. Lance was shocked that Chris kissed him back.
As someone outside called out, Five minutes left, Lance decided to hurry up. He sunk back down, tongue leaving a trail of spit down Chris’s thick neck, chest, belly, crotch and thigh. He intended to let Chris ram his face.
But it seemed Chris didn’t get that. Chris instead grumbled a bit but mounted Lance’s body backwards, as though he was going to sixty-nine. Lance gasped with shock as Chris’s cock and balls plopped on his face. Sweat and precum dribbled down his cheek.
“Thanks for getting me outta prison,” Chris said.
Then, before Lance could tell him he didn’t have to do this, Chris swallowed Lance’s dick. He gagged right away, even before it hit the back of his throat, and then he gagged continuously until he got used to it. His tongue battered Lance’s cockshaft, which was already erect and throbbing. Lance sucked in his breath, and his toes curled.
Absolutely shocked by this development, Lance nearly blew his load immediately. He had rarely felt such intense pleasure, as his cock throbbed and pulsated in Chris’s mouth. Chris gurgled, and he sucked down every drop, regardless of how his throat spasmed around the salty precum that leaked down his gullet.
Lance instinctively used one hand to guide Chris’s head up and down, while Chris’s meaty body planted his own cock in Lance’s throat. Lance swallowed it to the root, and he too slathered spit up and down the shaft. Chris hadn’t lost any bit of his erection, so it firmly filled Lance’s throat and it too spewed precum into Lance’s belly.
Seemingly overcome by passion, Chris stopped playing with Lance’s precum-nearly-cumming cock. He lifted his head up and grunted as he slammed his dick deep into Lance’s throat. He gasped, and Lance choked. His thick arms grabbed both of Lance’s legs and held on to them tightly.
His mouth open and his head near Lance’s dick, Chris was trying to swallow that dick once more, but his orgasm was too intense to do it. He couldn’t concentrate, all he could do was moan as pleasure shuddered through his body, while Lance’s dick did little more than bob and spasm, leaving a trail of juices along Chris’s butterface.
“Yee-haw, fuck! Yeah!” Chris said as quietly as he could muster. His back arched and the peachfuzz on his spine stood up.
Chris’s entire muscular body jiggled when he came, spraying a load all the way down Lance’s gullet. He felt up his own nipples with each hand, and his burly body puckered beneath Lance’s grasp. Lance savored the creamy texture and salty flavor as it overwhelmed his senses.
Then Chris kneeled, planting his hairy ass on Lance’s face. He laughed as Lance licked the ticklish taint between his thighs. He reached out and stroked Lance’s dick with one hand, while his other caressed Lance’s smooth chest.
Chris breathed deeply, with a sick smile on his face as he watched Lance lick his sensitive taint. Every few seconds a shudder of post-orgasmic pleasure shot through him, and Chris’s whole body writhed atop Lance’s face.
“Damn, you smooth as hell, boy,” he said.
“Have you ever messed around with a man before?”
Chris looked away. He didn’t answer out loud, but it was obvious the answer was yes — Lance really wanted to ask for details, but he didn’t think Chris would provide any, and regardless, Lance was too aroused to concentrate. He couldn’t believe this football jock was touching his cock.
It was probably in prison, anyway, before the trial, when it seemed Math, Chris and all the others had messed around. As the youngest, they might have made Chris bottom for the whole crew, Lance thought, a possibility that Lance wished he could have watched.
He took his ass off Lance’s face, then mounted Lance’s crotch. He squatted over it and let his ass land on Lance’s hardon. He looked pained even before Lance’s dick sunk inside him. He winced and hung his head to avoid eye contact with Lance.
“Oh shit that hurts!” Chris said with a wince. That made it seem like he was intact, Lance thought, as another burst of bliss wracked his body, emanating from his sensitive cock.
“Sorry, sorry,” Lance murmured, his lithe body growing sweaty as the trailer heated up. He let out a cringing moan of passion as Chris lowered his plump cheeks. Lance chuckled. “Ow, shit, Chris! That’s too big!”
“Ah, damn, horse-cock Chris strikes again!”
“Hold ‘im down, boy! Ain’t no backin’ out!”
His dick disappeared in Chris’s well-muscled ass, which was firm as overinflated basketballs. Chris’s blushing face turned even redder from both embarrassment and pain. His post-orgasmic dick even spasmed a few times when Lance hit Chris’s prostate. Jizz leaked onto Lance’s belly and slid into his crotchhair.
Lance grabbed Chris’s body and felt his muscles, which were tense and flexed. Beneath the padding he was like a statue though, gym-toned muscles firm as rocks, and the feel of his masculine physique made Lance want to ram him like this forever, instead of a mere seven minutes in heaven. Chris remained perfectly still aside from an occasional gasp and wince.
“Damn, Chris, you got a perfect ass…” Lance muttered, as the tightness of it sent waves of sensation through his body. He kissed Chris’s muscular torso and licked the sweat that had collected there.
His dick was all the way inside Chris now, sliding in and out. Chris was such a big boy that his asscrack was huge, matted with dark blond hair and dripping with sweat, spit and assjuice. That meant he was well-lubed, so Lance could easily slid his dick in and out. Chris did suck in his breath every few seconds in pain, but he didn’t complain.
One minute left!
The more they got a good rhythm going, the most Chris seemed to get into it. It wasn’t clear that he even heard the men outside giving him just one minute left. Lance didn’t want Chris to get caught in this position when they opened the door, so he plowed hard back and forth, ignoring the spasming pain of Chris’s muscles. Instead Lance rammed his crotch against Chris over and over as his climax mounted.
Finally that orgasm hit him like a linebacker tackle, just as Lance heard the men outside chanting and counting down the last thirty seconds. Lance gasped, and Chris squealed his discomfort. He blushed at having made such an unmanly sound. Luckily nobody outside seemed to hear it.
As the orgasm washed over him, Lance yelped and squirmed. He made enough noise that the rednecks outside heard and laughed. They were knocking on the door now, but it seemed they had a rule of not opening the door until the seven minutes was up.
Lance’s limp cock plopped out of Chris’s ass. Chris breathed a sigh of relief. Then without another word, he backed up, making all of the jizz up his backside flow out and plop onto Lance’s back.
As the last ten-second countdown began, Chris rested his balls right on Lance’s nostrils, and the scent of his rank sweat coated Lance’s nose. Chris’s balls smelled like his own ass, mixed with feet and cum and perspiration. It was almost enough to make Lance nut all over again.
Chris guffawed. “I’s teabaggin’ him, guys!”
“Four. Three! Two! One!”
They flung the door open, obviously hoping to catch Chris in a compromising situation. But Chris was on top of Lance, leaving no clue that Chris had been penetrated. His gigantic cock was plainly visible — that must have been his goal, Lance thought, to make sure his friends saw he had a giant cock, and Chris was teabagging Lance. Lance’s body was covered in cum — and so was Chris’s ass, not that they could see that.
They clapped at the sight of Lance’s moist face. Chris blushed as though he hadn’t meant to get caught at all, and he pulled his underwear on. Someone handed him a beer as he left the trailer, still wearing nothing but his briefs, and Math smacked his ass with a howl. His asscheeks must have had jizz clinging to them — Lance’s jizz — but Math either didn’t notice or didn’t want to point it out in front of th ewhole crew.
“You alright, Lance?” Math asked. He side-eyed Chris.
“He’s fine,” Chris said, winking at Lance. “His ass couldn’t quite take the Big C-” He grabbed his cock through his shorts and wagged it at Math. “But his mouth managed to hold in there. It was seven minutes in heaven for sure.”
“That’s right,” Lance said with a knowing grin as he too stepped out of the trailer. “It truly was seven minutes in utter heavenly bliss.” He was exhausted but he tried to hide it, thinking it might look obvious that he had done some plowing and that Chris had bottomed.
But most people were drunk by then, and they just guffawed at Chris’s embarrassed look. No one even seemed to consider the possibility that Chris had bottomed.
And in any case, they were all focused on moving onto the next round of the game. That meant getting the remaining men — plus those three prostitutes — to sit down in a circle with a bottle yet again. Lance hung out near that trailer, hoping he would be able to get a peek inside at what happened during the next Seven Minutes in Heaven.

The Cop

Desmond has long heard tales of the cruel cop known as Officer Awful, but Desmond can’t wait to experience the kind of punishment Awful metes out! He likes to make men bend over and take it, which is exactly what Desmond craves.

Can Desmond handle the punishment Officer Awful has in store?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Desmond staggered down the road, pretending to be drunk. Well, partially pretending. He was drunk, just not extremely drunk. He staggered like he was extremely drunk. He’d had a few drinks to settle his nerves, which didn’t work. His heart raced. He had never done anything quite like this before. The city was quiet but bustling in the early evening. Desmond stood out both because he appeared to be drunk and because he was the only black man here.
Sure enough, the first part of his plan worked: Desmond saw the police car pull to a stop, and Officer Auffernan got out. He was tall and strapping, his broad shoulders barely fitting into the uniform shirt he wore. He was both a literal and figurative redneck, his tan skin having a ruddy hue from working outside. He had a military crew-cut, but his hair was a dark blond so it almost looked like he had a bald head.
“Young man, come here,” he said. He sounded both bored and aggressive, and Desmond shivered in anticipation.
He smiled, dropping the drunken act. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”
“You drunk…?” Auffernan asked, eyebrows furrowing as he realized mid-question that Desmond no longer seemed drunk.
“No, sir. But you can charge me with public intoxication if you want.”
He chewed on his lip. He looked like the kind of man who was not often surprised during the course of his work and didn’t much like it now that it had happened. “What’s yer game, boy?”
The way he drawled out the word boy made Desmond shiver again. This time it must have been obvious that it was sexual, and Auffernan bristled. Desmond felt cold and small, and he had to resist the urge to grope Auffernan’s broad chest right now, here in public.
“I probably shouldn’t say in front of all these people,” Desmond said. There were a few onlookers on the other side of the street. No one was close enough they could hear, but it certainly wasn’t private.
“I feel like you wastin’ my time, boy. So I’m gonna put you in handcuffs for now and take you down to the station. I’ll figure out why later,” he said. He slapped cuffs on Desmond, whose dick burst into life when Auffernan’s hands gripped his wrists.
As soon as he was in the back of the cop car, Desmond caught a whiff of leather and sweat and uniformed musk. He took a deep breath before Officer Auffernan got in the front seat and drove off.
“Well, boy, out with it. What ain’t ya wanna say in public?”
“I’ve heard you… sometimes take young black men and have your way with them, and-“
“You one of them Black Lives Matter folks?” He looked away from the steering wheel, frowning at Desmond.
“No, sir.” Desmond’s heart nearly pounded out of his chest. “I was hoping you’d have your way with me.”
Auffernan paused, then let out a long, booming laugh. “Well, boy,” he said. “First of all, I do not have my way with black men, or wit’ no one I arrest. That would be a crime.”
“Certainly.”
“Let’s say if’n I was gonna do somethin’ like that, I wouldn’t be targetin’ black folks. I love black folks. My deputy is as black as night,” Auffernan said. His squad car glided down the moonlit street. “But I don’t like thugs. I don’t like cocky thugs comin’ down here and making a stink in my nice little town.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You ain’t a thug.”
“No, sir.”
“So you see my problem, boy?”
“You won’t abuse me because I’m not a thug?”
“I ain’t say that. I don’t abuse no one.”
“Would it help if I acted like a thug?”
“Boy, you the queen of all the sissies.” Auffernan said. “I doubt you could pull that off.”
Desmond knew Auffernan was right. He could not pull off a thug act. He tried his best though. He leaned back in the backseat and gave off the disaffected air of a real thug. “You, pig, you best jerk ma dick like ya life depends on it, muddahfuckah-“
“That ain’t workin’. You about as thug as Urkel, boy,” Auffernan said. He sniffled and sighed. “You know I gotta charge you, right? I called this in. There gonna be questions if I just let you go.”
“That’s fine.”
“Gonna be a two hundred dollar fine,” Auffernan said.
“I can afford it.”
“Well hell, ain’t you the uppity kind? You loaded or what?” Auffernan said with a laugh. He made eye contact with Desmond in the rearview mirror.
“Not exactly loaded,” Desmond said. “But I can afford a couple fines.”
Auffernan pulled into the parking lot of the police station. It was a tiny building, barely bigger than an efficiency apartment. Auffernan dragged Desmond out of the back seat. Desmond struggled like a thug the best he could.
“Yo, pig, get off me!”
Auffernan dragged him to his feet. He whistled. “You really like it when it hurts, huh?” He tightly gripped Desmond’s arm with one meaty hand, causing a twinge of pain where Desmond’s wrists were bound.
“Yes, officer. Pig. Go fuck a donut.”
As he walked him to the front door, Auffernan snorted in derision. “Shit, most thugs get more creative than that, boy.” He slapped his thigh.
“I’ll work on that,” Desmond said. He followed Auffernan inside the police station.
There was no one inside. It was just an open room with a few desks scattered about, and at one end was an office — Auffernan’s, presumably. The other end had two small jail cells. That was where Auffernan led Desmond. He added a second pair of handcuffs attaching the first pair around Desmond’s wrists to the cell bars, so Desmond was forced to face away from the rest of the station. “You wait there, bitch. Gonna make you show a little respec’.”
Desmond shuddered. He felt sure Auffernan was going to do it now, and his dick raged in his pants. He had trouble sounding like a thug when he was so horny and so desperate to be submissive. “Who you calling a bitch, pig?”
There was a loud clattering noise, then Auffernan loudly locked the front door. “You shouldn’t be comin’ ‘round to my town and insultin’ me, boy.”
“You evolved in a cave, cracker!”
That made Auffernan stop walking. His menacing cop routine vanished. “What?”
Desmond dropped his thug act as well. “It’s a Five-Percenter thing.”
There was another long silence. “What?”
“Five-Percenters. They believe white people evolved in a cave… Nevermind,” he said. “It’s just what I thought a thug might insult you with-“
“Ain’t all people evolve in a cave? Like cavemen?”
Desmond shrugged. “I dunno. I guess so.”
“Every black person I ever arrested was better at insulting me than you is,” Auffernan said with a sigh. “Even this deaf motherfucker I arrested a couple years back.” Auffernan was right behind Desmond now, unbuttoning his shirt. Desmond moaned.
Desmond could hear Auffernan taking his clothes off but couldn’t see him. The police station had become dark since Auffernan turned the lights off, leaving only the illumination of the emergency lighting in the jail cell.
“Sorry,” Desmond said. “I’ll try to get better.”
“You want something to bite on, boy?” Auffernan asked. He was right behind Desmond now, so close his breath condensed on Desmond’s cheek. He wrapped a piece of red vinyl cloth in front of Desmond’s face, like a tether he could bite on.
As Desmond opened his mouth to let it in, he realized what it was — a Confederate flag. That made him feel even hornier, and he wished he could take his pants off.
“Ain’t nothing racist about me using this flag, boy. ‘S just about culture and heritage, not race,” Auffernan said. “You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I use this flag e’ry time I got a northerner come down here, need to be reminded he ain’t from ‘round these parts,” Auffernan said.
“You fucking honky,” Desmond said. He meant for it to sound threatening, but it came out like a seductive groan as the situation made him aroused and panty.
“You gonna jerk me off, boy.”
“Yes, oh god yes!”
“T’weren’t a question,” Auffernan said. “It was a prediction.” He uncuffed Desmond from the cell bars, leaving his wrists cuffed together. He pushed Desmond to his knees. “You ain’t gonna bite me, right?”
“I won’t bite! I promise!”
“I’m sure you won’t. And you got nice soft lips, so I think I’m gonna like this,” Auffernan said. He had a wide, strapping body and a furry blond chest. He had unbuttoned his uniform shirt but not taken it off, revealing a Confederate flag wifebeater underneath, torn and stained with sweat around the armpits. Auffernan still wore his black uniform slacks.
“Can I lick your armpits, officer?”
Auffernan sneered in disgust. “Yes, but you can’t enjoy it. That’s gross,” he said.
“Fuck you, pig, you can’t tell me what to do. Muddahfuckah,” Desmond said. He smiled and attacked Auffernan’s left pit. He inhaled deeply and licked the hairs there, tasting the stale salt of past sweats sticking to his skin. He managed to gag in an authentic way — it was musky and disgusting in an objective sense, so it was easy to respond like it was foul, even if Desmond actually loved it. “Oh god yes,” Desmond said as he moved to the other armpit. “Don’t make me suck on your balls next.”
Auffernan chuckled. “You like swallowin’ white balls?”
“I like the taste of redneck balls.”
Auffernan’s eyes flashed darkly. “I don’t like it when people who ain’t rednecks call me a redneck. Seems kinda like a slur,” he said.
“Let’s talk punishment, hillbilly,” Desmond said before diving his head between Auffernan’s legs. He still wore his slacks so Desmond’s tongue wettened the fabric, which was salty and sour.
“Oh now, I ain’t a hillbilly. I ain’t that rural,” Auffernan said as he undid his belt. His pants fell to his ankles, and he had on a pair of white briefs, dingy and grayed. His cock and balls bulged, thick pubic hair sneaking around the edges of the fabric.
Desmond whistled. “You sure you ain’t part black? You got a massive slab of meat there, ‘specially for a redneck.”
“You just tryin’-a piss me off now, boy.”
“I’ve been trying to piss you off since you arrested me,” Desmond said. He used his teeth to bite the elastic of the briefs, then awkwardly pulled them down — he was still handcuffed, so that was the only way to do it. He had never done this with briefs before — only boxers, but he had ample experience with them — and it was awkward. Auffernan looked down at him with his arms folded over his chest.
“There’s a part of my ballsac-” the way he drawled out ballsac to last for what seemed like ten syllables to Desmond — “thass always itchin’ me, boy. I wanna see if yo’ tongue can scratch that itch.”
As much as a part of Desmond wanted to go right for the dick, which was plump and already stirring with a trace of erection, he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. He stuck his head between Auffernan’s legs and licked his balls.
They were thick and heavy, dripping with sweat — there was air conditioning in the station, but it did not seem to be effective, and the building remained extraordinarily hot, making Auffernan’s balls slippery. The sweat flowed from those hairy balls right down Desmond’s greedily guzzling throat. The musty, salty flavor exploded on Desmond’s tongue, and he gurgled as he savored it.
Auffernan pointed to the rear of his balls, having to awkwardly reach behind his own ass to get his finger there. “Right there,” he said. The spot was right where his scrotum met his taint, and it was covered in sweat-stickied hairs.
Without taking Auffernan’s overflowing ballsac from his mouth, Desmond stretched his tongue out to that spot. The taste was grimy and dirty, making Desmond moan around the flesh that quivered in his mouth. He had to strain to get his tongue out that far, but when he touched it, Auffernan grunted.
“Damn, you one hell of a ballslurper,” Auffernan said as though he was shocked. “Ain’t nevuh had no one suck my balls who really liked it, I guess.” His dick sprang to full erection above Desmond’s face, and it twitched every time Desmond lapped at Auffernan’s sensitive sac.
Goober in. Auffernan, you there? What’s up?”
Auffernan reached to the uniform shirt that he had placed on a nearby desk. He grabbed the radio mic off it and said to Desmond, “This is that black deputy I was tellin’ you about. He always messin’ wit’ pinkboys. Keep quiet fo’ now,” Then he spoke into the mic. “Hey, Goober. Nothin’ going on right now. I picked up a drunk boy. You might have some interest in him.”
A long pause. Crap. My wife’s gonna kill him. Rashaad right? He promised he wouldn’t drink outside the home. Was he on liquor? His mom made him promise only beer-
“Nah, stop, Goober, no-” Auffernan said until Goober stopped talking long enough that Auffernan could transmit. “Nah, not one of yer boys like yer son. I just mean he’s black.”
Oh, well, whatever. You givin’ him the standard welcome?
“Even as we speak,” Auffernan said with a chuckle. “He got a real sour look on his face, and he making these chipmunk sounds.” He held the mic near Desmond’s face so the sound of his moist sputtering could be heard. “You hear that?”
Not really. Just sounds like static. I’m sure it’s a pretty sound. You tell him to keep it real for me, Auffernan. I’m-a go serve that warrant now.
“Roger that,” Auffernan said. He put the radio mic down. Then he looked down at Desmond’s red face and bugging eyes. “You keep it real, okay?”
“Yes, officer,” Desmond said through the balls filling up his mouth.
“You ready to swallow that dick?”
His dick had gotten rock-hard from Desmond’s attention to his balls, and from his position underneath the massive cop, Auffernan’s cock took up almost all of Desmond’s field of vision. He gurgled his excited agreement around the ballflesh overflowing from his throat, which continued to send trickles of tasty fluids down Desmond’s throat.
He pulled away, keeping his mouth open so Auffernan could see the pool of drool and sweat that had collected in the back of his mouth. He stuck his tongue out and licked the entire shaft from root to tip. It twitched. With his tongue, Desmond traced the veins that ran up the side of the shaft. He choked up plenty of spit, which ran down Auffernan’s dick into his bushy forest of crotch hair.
Auffernan lost his disaffected pose, and he shuddered, pleasure visibly rippling through him. His arms were crossed over his chest, but as Desmond licked, he clutched at his body and played with his nipples as though uncontrollably aroused.
“Shit, yeah!” Auffernan muttered. “You do that good!” Desmond swallowed his precum-leaking cocktip, letting that mess of fluids in his mouth leak out and down Auffernan’s shaft to moisten it up. Auffernan sighed. He leaned against the cell bars. “Shit…”
Desmond began deep-throating him in earnest, working his dick all the way down his throat. He was an expert cock-sucker, so he didn’t need to gag on it, but he liked to, both because it was enjoyable on its own terms and because it made Auffernan get cockier, which turned Desmond on.
“You can’t handle this much meat, huh?”
He didn’t want to stop to answer, so Desmond just said ‘no, it’s too much!’ around the meat in his throat. All that came out was a gurgling sound, but Auffernan seemed to get the gist of what he was saying.
“Lemme lube it up some,” Auffernan said. He very slowly spat, letting a thick wad of saliva drip down, plopping onto Desmond’s upper lip as he slid down the shaft.
Desmond suckled the spit into his mouth as he stretched his jaw and got all the way down. Then he let that spit roll out down Auffernan’s shaft, as Auffernan grunted. His knees buckled. His balls crawled up in his sac as though about to cum, but then Auffernan removed Desmond’s face from his cock. He lightly slapped it.
“You’s tryna’-a make me cum too early,” he said. “I’m cornholin’ you in the ass, boy. Ain’t gonna let you cum neither.” He chuckled throatily. “You ain’t gettin’ outta here with an intact booty. No way. Not on Auffernan’s watch.”
“Never, you fuckin’ pig!” Desmond said. He stood up, taking a deep breath now that his throat was clear. He grabbed the cell bars with his cuffed wrists and stuck his ass out a bit to give Auffernan a good angle. “I’ll fuck you up, officer!”
“Speaking of pigs,” Auffernan said as he rammed his dick in. A jolt of pain shot up Desmond’s spine, and he howled. Auffernan gripped him by the waist. “Lemme hear you squeal.”
Desmond squealed as loud as he could. He wasn’t sure how pig-like it was, but it was an animalistic squeal anyway. The cock in his ass pushed in a little farther, pulsating deep within him. It awakened a chord of intense pleasure that sounded up from his booty, traveling up his spine and hitting him with a wave of exquisite sensations.
“That ain’t a pig. You just squealed like a… big, retarded rooster,” Auffernan said. “Try it again. Like this.” Then he made a rough, honking noise — to Desmond, he wanted to say it sounded like an angry goose. But he didn’t argue, the pleasure exploding in his ass was too intense to form any words. He just made the sound the best he could.
Auffernan’s dick was all the way in him now, and Desmond’s prostate throbbed with every thrust of his cock. He squealed again, making that angry goose sound.
“Hey, here, make that sound again,” Auffernan said, shoving the radio mic in front of Desmond’s face. He pushed the ‘transmit’ button.
Desmond squealed as loud as he could to be sure the mic could pick it up. The pain was melting away now as his ass loosened up, and Auffernan’s cock flowed in and out easily. Auffernan slammed with all his mind, ramming Desmond into the cell bars with each thrust of his hips.
After a few seconds, there was a click, and then Deputy Goober’s bass laughter came out of the radio.
There a pig loose in the station, hoss? Want me to get the assholes at Animal Control?
“Nah, I got this piggie under control. He just makin’ noise to let me know he feel strongly ‘bout what’s happenin’ to him,” Auffernan said into the radio. Then he whispered into Desmond’s ear, “Alright, boy, I’m-a give you this flag to bite on again.”
The cold vinyl Confederate flag again pushed between Desmond’s lips. He bit down hard, which made the plowing a little easier to take. The fabric was thick enough to have some purchase, so he could relieve the pressure he felt with a strong clamp of his teeth on the flag. As he did so, he bucked his ass backward, forcing it deep onto Auffernan’s cock — he wanted to make this as good as possible for Officer Auffernan, who groaned appreciatively. That groan turned into a shudder like he was holding back his orgasm.
“Fuck yeah,” Auffernan said. He looked around as though checking for anyone else in the station, then whispered again. “Look… I learned somethin’ in the military, a sorta rule. I don’t follow it on the force,” he said. “Cuz normally I only cornhole pissheads.” He took a deep breath. His hands reached around Desmond’s body, squeezing first his nipples as though Auffernan hoped to find tits there. Then his hands roamed lower down until they came to Desmond’s rock-hard cock. Auffernan pulled away for a moment like he was scared. Then he resumed touching and even stroking Desmond’s dick with one hand, while his other hand held the flag in place in Desmond’s mouth. Auffernan moaned, sounding a little disgusted. “My drill sergeant said you can ram a man in the ass, but you gotta give a reacharound. It’s against the rules otherwise.”
“Really?” Desmond asked through gritted teeth, his voice muffled by the flag that was still in his mouth.
Auffernan shrugged. “I’m sure that wasn’t a real Army rule or nothin’. Just what my drill sergeant was into,” he said. “You ever tell anyone, I will get you locked up — not here where you gonna get rammed all the time neither, I’ll get you locked up somewhere terrible where the guards are all fat.”
“Won’t. Tell.” Desmond could barely speak. His ass was on fire with orgasmic energy, while his dick pulsated beneath Auffernan’s fingers. He wished he could prolong it, but he was already bucking and shooting his load. All it took was a few strokes from a massively muscled alpha like Officer Auffernan.
“Dang, boy, you nut fast!” Auffernan let out a wolf whistle.
Semen sprayed across Auffernan’s fingers and into the cell, dripping all over the floor and coating the cell bars in Desmond’s cream. Desmond groaned loudly, and then Auffernan did likewise, but with a more grossed-out tenor, his hand still stroking Desmond’s orgasming cock. He lifted the fingers of his other hand to Desmond’s face, where he wiped cum the cum off his hands onto Desmond’s cheeks.
Then he took both ends of the flag in his hands, pulling tight so Desmond’s head was forced upward. As though he needed to reassert his masculinity after touching Desmond’s cock, Officer Auffernan began pounding his dick in and out, all the way with each powerful stroke. That only continued Desmond’s orgasm.
“Take it, boy,” Auffernan said, growling through gritted teeth. Just as he was saying boy, his voice broke and the first jet of cum hit Desmond’s ass. He continued longdicking through the shoulder-shaking power of his orgasm.
Desmond shuddered and squeezed as though trying to hold on to Auffernan’s cock with his ass. A huge load of cum sprayed into his guts, and a seeping warmth spread to his guts. Desmond moaned along with Auffernan as jet after jet of white-hot cum coated his insides.
That orgasm seemed to last forever. Desmond’s had begun when Auffernan jacked him off and continued through Auffernan’s climax, and even now, Auffernan’s cock spurting out the last of his cum, Desmond writhed and gasped as ecstasy coursed through his veins. His prostate thrummed and hummed, and Desmond struggled against the handcuffs binding his wrists together.
At last, when his balls were good and drained, Auffernan pulled out and Desmond breathed a sigh of relief. His ass felt cold and empty. He stayed there, bent over and with a Confederate flag in his mouth — Auffernan no longer held on to it, so Desmond could have spat it out anytime. He didn’t want to though. He wondered how many other men had bit this flag while they got rammed. He hoped it was a lot. Maybe that was why Auffernan used it. Maybe he liked the flag soaking up all the ass-pain sweat and drool of the men he ramrodded.
Officer Awful. That was what they called him. Desmond had heard about that, and he came running to this tiny town so he could run into him.
As Desmond recovered from his orgasm, he turned his head to see Auffernan writing him a ticket. He was still naked, his sweaty body swaying, limp dick moist with cum and assjuice. Auffernan put the ticket in Desmond’s hand.
“Here you go, boy. That’ll be two hundred dollars. You can pay at the county courthouse.” Public intoxication was checked, but at the bottom of the list of possible charges, Auffernan had written in, inappropriate squealing, and checked that box as well.
“If I don’t pay, do I get to stay here?” Desmond asked with a grin and a gasp.
“That is exactly correct,” Officer Awful said.

The Vor

Mefody is a champion gymnast who gets to enjoy a most unusual reward. It’s seven minutes in heaven with a massively muscular brute, a vor with the Bratva who want to congratulate Mefody on his victory!

Can Mefody get the most out of his Russian mafia alpha male gift?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Mefody refused all media requests in the immediate aftermath of his gold medal win at the Olympics. He wanted to bask in his own glory, and to ponder his success on behalf of Mother Russia and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. He had won the world championship in gymnastics. A lot of people would say it didn’t really count — the United States and sixty-four other countries boycotted this year’s games, but Mefody didn’t feel any less victorious. He was still the world champion in men’s gymnastics, and no one could take that away from him.
The only people he called were his parents. Mefody had his own phone in his room at the hotel in Moscow, so he could call them directly and in private. They had paid for his career as a gymnast, and they had supported him the whole way, so he felt he needed to tell them thanks. He thought he’d know what to say, but in the end, he just cried into the phone.
When tournament officials started knocking on his door, Mefody sent them away. They pushed though and kept returning until Mefody had no choice but to speak to them. They insisted he give interviews to the world press in which he extolled the virtues of the USSR and the communist regime. That took all evening and promised to consume the next couple days as well.
But it was in the “fine print”, as the yankees do say. Mefody spoke English well. That was another reason they wanted him doing interviews. He spoke to the press from fifteen countries, mostly the socialist paradises around the globe: Cuba, North Korea, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia, etc. Then he also met with Americans, British, Japanese, French and even the Indian press.
There came a knock in the early night, when the last round of the day’s competitions were finishing up — Mefody watched the women’s gymnastics on the closed-circuit TV. This knock was different than all the knocks Mefody had heard earlier. It was not the uncertain, hesitant knock of a man who hoped Mefody would answer. It was the commanding knock of a man who was used to being obeyed. It was not a request to open the door, it was a statement that he was here and the door, therefore, was to be opened.
Mefody opened the door. The man standing in the threshold was short, broad-shouldered and terrifically ugly. He had a nasty scar across his face, which looked to have been craggy and harsh even before the scar. His nose was crooked, his upper lip askew, multiple teeth missing.
But he wore a fine suit like an Italian, Mefody thought, it was perfectly tailored and it looked expensive. He was flanked by a trio of men in similar suits. These were tall muscle-bound meatheads, and they were handsome, unlike the ugly man who appeared to be their boss. Their muscles rippled beneath their suits as they glowered at Mefody.
These men, Mefody strongly suspected, were vory.
That meant they were thugs in one of the clans of the Russian mafia, the Sons of Vasilisa, if rumors could be believed. They controlled this tournament — they had built the venue; they had sourced the athletes; they claimed the actual competition was fair, and no one had asked Mefody to cheat, but Mefody assumed it was not as fair as it appeared. The Russian mafia — or Bratva, meaning brotherhood — would not have put on a tournament like this if they weren’t going to fix the results and make money off the gambling.
A flash of fear hit him as Mefody wondered if he was supposed to throw the match and didn’t. Maybe there was a miscommunication, and the vory thought he was told to lose even though he wasn’t. Maybe they’d think he was being disobedient. Or maybe, he thought hopefully, they had forced the other gymnasts to lose deliberately — maybe Mefody was the chosen winner. They’d have no reason to tell him, and if he had known, it might have even made him perform worse because there was no pressure.
“Mefody Bragin? Congratulations on your victory,” the ugly man said. His voice was gravelly and rough, like a heavy smoker. He was the same height as Mefody, but he seemed short in comparison to the tall goons standing behind him.
“Thank you, sir,” Mefody said, too nervous to think of anything else to say. “Glory belongs to the socialist revolution. I have won this honor for the workers of the Soviet state-“
“Yes, indeed. I have come to offer you a gift, from my clan to you, in recognition of your success. You have brought pride to our entire country,” the man said. He spoke like he didn’t often talk in this manner: articulate, non-threatening, prepared. His muscles twitched beneath his suit. “You will come with me to a hotel that I manage. It is nearby, and it is full of… entertainment you are sure to enjoy. We have a stable of girls for you to choose from. You may have an entire night with any one of them. What kind of girls do you like?”
“Oh, uh… thanks, but, uh… I’m not… I would rather not spend the night with any girls,” Mefody said. He blushed. If he wasn’t so scared of the vory, he would have come up with a better excuse.
The man flared his nostrils, and he looked Mefody up and down. “You are… not interested in girls.”
“No,” Mefody said.
The man turned around and looked at his three bodyguards, who stared straight ahead. Their square jaws and tightly-pursed lips betrayed no hint of emotion. The man cleared his throat. “You like these lunkheads?”
“Uh…”
“Just pick one. I can’t give you the whole night with him, we have further business to attend to this evening. You may have one of them for just a few minutes. Let’s say seven. You can have seven minutes in heaven with any one of them.”
“Him.” Mefody said it without a second thought. The tallest one, with a deeply dimpled face, high cheekbones, a good Russian boy, Mefody thought, though the man was well out of boyhood. He was far more than six feet tall, so big that Mefody couldn’t even hazard a guess, but he was probably closer to seven feet than six feet. He was built like a barrel-chested bear complete with a dense mat of black fur on his chest — Mefody couldn’t see it beneath his suit, but he could sense it in the way the fabric shifted over his broad chest as he walked into the room.
“He is Ivan,” the man said. “Ivan, you do whatever he wants for seven minutes. We will not tease you for it afterwards, I swear. It will not count. This you do for Mother Russia, and we will think no less of you for it.” He shut the door and called out, “I’ll give you one minute to take your clothes off, then start the seven minute timer.”
“Ah, damn, this is happening so fast,” Mefody said as he quickly stripped. He blushed intensely. Ivan did not seem unwilling, but he was clearly not thrilled that Mefody had chosen him. Mefody whispered, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I want to show you I appreciate the honor you have brought to our country,” Ivan said. His deep voice resonated in the small room. “I wish to please you, comrade.” He sighed as he stripped off his shirt, revealing that thick hairy chest towering above Mefody’s thin, hairless body.
Mefody couldn’t resist plowing his face between Ivan’s massive pectoral muscles and sucking on the thick nest of hairs there. Ivan’s entire upper body rippled, and for the first time, serious emotion flickered on his face — a mixture of awkward embarrassment and intense arousal, with a souciant of shock like he hadn’t known where this was going. He smiled, but only for a moment before he wiped the grin away and resumed his stony-faced stare.
Your seven minutes starts now, comrade!
A surge of adrenaline made Mefody hurry into action. He undid Ivan’s belt, letting his pants fall to the ground and then pulled down his underwear to reveal a fat cock that dangled between his legs. It was charmingly limp, and it smelled sweetly of manhood, like engine grease and tractors and concrete. Mefody wanted desperately to swallow it, but he saw no reason to do that — if he was going to be feted as a champion, he might as well push his luck and see where Ivan’s personal boundaries were. He would not likely have a similar opportunity ever again.
“Get on your knees, Ivan.” Mefody said. He tried not to sound weak and girlish, but he didn’t think he was successful. That was simply the way Mefody was. He was tiny in comparison to the Russian giant, whose broad body exuded heat like a beast. He smelled so intense of masculinity that Mefody could already feel an orgasm brewing within.
That was good, because he had only seven minutes to finish.
Ivan’s nostrils flared as he sunk to the ground. Mefody grabbed his dick, which was a foot long and thick as a bottle of vodka. It throbbed in his grasp, limp, but with a powerful beat that sent a frisson up Mefody’s spine. He gave Ivan’s fat meat a squeeze as he suckled on each nipple, which made Ivan’s powerful pectoral muscles ripple. His chest was hairy, dappled with both old sweat from the day’s work and a few beads of anxiety as he no doubt wondered what Mefody was going to do to him.
That dickshaft was firming up in his hand, despite Ivan’s bristling discomfort. His face remained stoic though, even when Mefody kissed him. Mefody had never felt such a thick cock, like holding onto an extra limb, he thought. His tongue danced along Ivan’s supple pectoral muscles, then tweaked his nipples until they became erect. Either Ivan was ticklish or so nervous his muscles flexed when Mefody touched his tattooed chest.
He still remained silent though. Mefody kissed him again, and he plunged his tongue into Ivan’s mouth. He kissed him like that, like a French girl, and Ivan showed no reaction. His own tongue remained still. Mefody kissed him for what felt like hours but undoubtedly wasn’t, and by the time he pulled off Mefody’s cock had spewed out a load precum that coated Ivan’s muscular chest.
“Hmmm… Thanks,” Mefody said. Ivan stone-faced. Mefody cleared his throat.
It seemed Ivan picked up on what Mefody was about to ask for, because he stooped over before Mefody could tell him to do so. He lowered his head and swallowed Mefody’s dick in one smooth motion.
He got almost the entire cock down his throat before he let out a loud grunt, and a big ball of spit choked down Mefody’s shaft. He gagged, his whole chest writhing as he uncomfortably swallowed Mefody’s cock to the root. Mefody grunted too, with a more ladylike demeanor, as pleasure overwhelmed him. His dick spasmed and nearly came right then and there.
But Mefody held back his orgasm, so as not to cum too early. He closed his eyes and sucked in his breath. His cock lay at rest in Ivan’s throat. Mefody didn’t move to avoid triggering a cum, as waves of pleasure made his toes curl and his breathing grow jagged.
After his initial reluctance faded, Ivan started slurping like an experienced bottom, Mefody thought with a grin. He wondered if he had ever done it before. It sure seemed like he must have.
Probably in prison. All kinds of things happened in Russian prisons, or so Mefody had heard.
Mefody gripped Ivan’s head to guide his rhythm up and down on Mefody’s shaft, which made Mefody marvel at the man’s size — his head felt like a giant’s beneath Mefody’s dainty grasp, and his shoulders were so broad that Mefody’s arms couldn’t reach the breadth of them.
Precum dripped down Ivan’s throat, in a trickle at first. The vor’s eyes watered, either from the taste or from lack of oxygen or both, maybe shame, but whatever it was, it didn’t slow him down any. He nestled his nose deep in Mefody’s pubic hair, his own nostrils flaring again as he forced himself to deep-throat. Mefody kept his hand on Ivan’s head, but he didn’t force his dick down that massive gullet. He couldn’t have even if he wanted to; he simply enjoyed caressing the man’s body, from his head to his toes, and his head was the only part Mefody could easily reach right now.
But as this went on, Mefody did stretch down and rub Ivan’s shoulders, which were so broad and thickly muscled that it was like a concrete slab made of writhing snakes. His skin was tattooed with strange symbols, which Mefody knew all signified something in his Bratva clan, the Sons of Vasilisa. Mefody, of course, didn’t know and didn’t ask what they meant.
Some things it was better not to know.
“Oh god, Ivan, yeah, swallow it…” Mefody didn’t usually do dirty-talk, but he couldn’t help it today. The room seemed to be getting smaller he thought, or Ivan was bigger. He was bent over with his giant ass in the air so his head could reach Mefody’s crotch, and the entire room seemed to be filled with his throbbing, fur-covered Mother Russia-loving muscles.
Five minutes left!
“Okay, I’m going in that ass, alright?” Mefody said, breathless, wanting to pull his cock out of Ivan’s mouth to avoid cumming but unwilling to actually do so. He writhed. It felt too good to stop.
“Glory to the Soviet Union!” Ivan said when he suddenly pulled off of his own volition. He cried out as though reminding himself why he was doing this. When Mefody’s cock popped out of his mouth, it left a trail of spit and precum over Ivan’s craggy face.
He sniffled and wiped his face off. Then Ivan dropped down to all fours, and he stuck his smooth pale ass high. He had a pair of firmly muscled asscheeks atop trunkish thighs, and he had to bend his knees to get his ass low enough for Mefody to mount him from behind. Mefody’s dainty fingers massaged the meaty muscle of Ivan’s torso.
His dick was already nicely lubed with fluids, so Mefody went straight in. He just rubbed the hairy hole of Ivan’s ass for a few seconds, then pried the tip of his cock into that tight opening. Mefody’s heart raced as he wondered what would happen if he didn’t cum in time — would Ivan just leave and blueball him? Mefody didn’t intend to find out.
Ivan threw his head back and let out a wordless howl, glancing towards the door — it was clear he didn’t want his comrades outside the room to realize what he was doing in here. He bit his lip and lowered his head. “Glory to Mother Russia and the Soviet Union. Long live the Communist Party!” he said again, this time with a pained waver to his voice.
With their vast disparity in size, the positioning was rather awkward. Ivan ended up laying on his belly on the ground, his massive arms outstretched — on all fours, Mefody would have had to climb atop his body to get into his ass. He was willing to do that, but it seemed Ivan preferred to lay on his velly.
Ivan buried his face in his own meaty forearm as Mefody worked his dick in bit by bit. His asshole was so tight it gripped at Mefody’s meat, sending waves of intense pleasure through Mefody’s tiny body. It felt like every single scrap of muscle on Ivan’s entire frame clenched down on Mefody’s dick.
The sensation was so overwhelming that Mefody didn’t even notice when he finally got his entire cock into Ivan’s ass. He had to use both hands to stretch open those broad, fleshy cheeks, which were slick with smooth hairs — there was so much tight and toned flesh that Mefody just about got lost in it, like his entire body was going to fall into Ivan.
But instead he just pistoned his hips, driving his dick into Ivan’s ass as his face nestled in the rippling muscles of his back. He licked and teased the flesh there, grunting with every thrust of his cock into Ivan’s sensitive ass. His hands kneaded the muscle of Ivan’s shoulders, which Mefody had to stretch above his head to reach.
“Ah, damn…” Ivan said, wincing. As he went on though, his grunts of pain turned, slowly but surely, into grinding groans of bliss. “Ooooooh!” Ivan’s voice reached a special crescendo.
Eventually, Mefody knew he had reached that special secret spot inside each man’s ass, the spot whose every touch caused an unimaginable sensation in his mind. Sure enough, as Mefody’s cock danced along that sensitive spot, Ivan’s entire body twisted and writhed. Sweat covered his muscles and precum dripped out of his own cock, smearing over the ground which he instinctively humped.
Finally Ivan could stand it no longer. He stood — Mefody thought he was going to shake like a wet dog and throw Mefody off, but he didn’t — he lifted Mefody with his back and bent over the table, sticking his ass in the air and his head down on the surface.
“Oh shit, quit moving!” Mefody exclaimed. He held on to the meaty muscle of Ivan’s back, riding him as he got into a more comfortable position bent over the table.
But Ivan was simply much too tall for Mefody to ram him in any normal way like this. It didn’t slow Mefody down any — he just held onto Ivan’s back and humped his hips up and down. It was somewhat awkward but that didn’t make it feel any less incredible in Mefody’s body. It might have actually made the sensation even more intense, and it certainly prolonged Mefody’s orgasm.
He wanted to reach around Ivan and stroke him as he plowed, but Mefody couldn’t do that without letting go and falling to the ground, and he didn’t think he could reach Ivan’s cock from here anyway. Ivan just jacked himself off instead. He let out a blood-curdling moan, which he bit back to avoid making too much noise. Mefody could feel it in the rumble of his chest as much as in the sound coming from his throat.
He must have been near orgasm from the moment he touched his cock, because Ivan busted his nut just a minute or so later. The smell of cum filled the air as Ivan covered his hand with his creamy seed. A fat long jet of it arced across the room, accompanied by another slow rumbling moan of pleasure from Ivan’s lungs.
He groaned and grunted, this time so loud it made the other bodyguards in the hallway snicker, which in turn caused Ivan to blush. Mefody would have laughed as well but he was in the throes of his own climax.
His orgasm exploded within him as Ivan’s asshole clenched from his own aftershocks, Ivan now panting and mewling quietly to himself. Mefody moaned like he had never moaned before, and the feeling was so uncontrollable that Mefody gnawed weakly on Ivan’s strapping back muscles. He spasmed like an epileptic atop Ivan’s body.
Cum flowed into Ivan’s ass, a great creamy load that spread and seeped into every nook and cranny of his body. It was hot and thick, dripping, flowing from his cock. Ivan was a big man, but somehow Mefody thought he shot enough to fill him up.
It was a bigger load than Mefody had ever shot before. Maybe that was from the eroticism of the situation or maybe it was his swelling pride at winning the championship, but Mefody came for eons, it felt like, pouring pump after creamy pump of cum up Ivan’s now frothy guts. With each thrust of Mefody’s hips, his cock slammed in to the root and ejected another burst of jizz, while turning the previous fluids into a cummy soup that ran from the small of Ivan’s back to his taint and even around to his balls on the other side.
At last it was all over. Mefody sighed as he slid down, his cock audibly plopping out. A great big ball of cum came with it, dripping into Ivan’s dense mat of black leg hair. Some of it made it all the way to the ground where it landed and spread into a puddle, soon joined by a smattering of droplets making their way out of Ivan’s great ass.
Thirty seconds left!
Mefody was shocked he had any time left, but he didn’t want to waste it. He darted around to the front of Ivan’s body, where his limp dick dangled, cum dripping beneath it. Mefody dived right in and licked it from tip to root.
It must have been exquisitely sensitive because Ivan squealed like a piggie. He collapsed, his weakened body landing on his ass on the ground. He spread his legs wide to give Mefody easy access to his cock. He gripped Mefody’s head and held it in place, as he pumped his sensitive post-nut cock all the way down Mefody’s throat.
Mefody suckled and guzzled it down, snarfing every drop of cum he could find. Then he moved down from the shaft to Ivan’s low-hanging balls. Mefody sucked the sweat there, savoring the spicy flavor of fresh sweat.
Another knock on the door. Okay, time is up. You can stop, Ivan. Put your clothes on.
A blush spread over Ivan’s face. He paused and smiled at Mefody, then the smile turned into a stony frown. He stood and hurriedly grabbed for his clothes. He raced to get dresset against the insistent knocking and tapping of his feet of his boss, the ugly man — Anatoly Troganovich — who waited outside the room with Ivan’s two compatriots.
Ivan winced when he stretched his legs, and he rubbed his sore ass.
But in seconds he had his pants on and he breathed a sigh of relief. The door opened moments later. The suited man and the two remaining bodyguards looked on with baited breath, as though they had no idea what they might see. They were visibly relieved that both Mefody and Ivan were clothed — Ivan’s massive, bearlike chest was still bare, but there was no signs of sex. Ivan’s ass must still be soaking wet. It might be visible through his pants. Hopefully that underwear would soak it up.
It must have smelled like cum in the room though, Mefody thought as he saw all three of them wrinkle their noses.
“Congratulations again on your victory,” the suited man, Anatoly Troganovich, said. He held out his hand to shake Mefody’s, then withdrew it. “Sorry,” he said with a blush — it looked like he was a man who rarely blushed and wasn’t sure how to deal with it. “I’d rather not shake your hand. I do not know what kind of fluids are on it.” He cleared his throat and laughed a low grumbling laugh. “Well… I do know what kind of fluids are on it.”
Mefody shrugged and put his hands on his hips. “Okay. Thank you, sir. I am glad to have brought glory to Mother Russia.” He smiled flirtatiously at Ivan, who sighed and avoided making eye contact. He buttoned his shirt up quickly.
After peeping a subtle wink from Ivan, Mefody closed the door, and the last thing he heard was the suited man with the ugly face say, “I meant what I said: no making fun of Ivan for this. If either of you ever bring it up, I’ll make you do the same thing again. You’ll keep that gymnast so satisfied he never goes out again!”
“Yes, sir,” they all said.

Humping the Enforcer

Avery has to pay protection money to the mafia, but when the don comes by too, Avery is given a gift that just won’t stop giving! He gets to do what he wants to the crude enforcer Joey, who has muscles and swagger and not a lot of brains.

The don is frustrated by Joey’s idiocy, which gives Avery a chance to explore another episode in the world of Twink on Top!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

When Avery Flowers saw Joey at the door of his shop, he felt the usual surge of feelings: fear, annoyance, rage and a dash of arousal, since Joey had an alluring and arousing physique.
But this time, the mafia enforcer Joey Rizzoli was accompanied by a stout older man in a fine suit.
That older man kept a faint grin, and he stopped to look at the flowers on the counter. Joey, as usual, stone-faced, sturdy as a chair. He looked vaguely displeased at everything, even the flowers that filled the store.
Avery sighed. Running a florist shop in Little Italy in New York meant he had to pay protection money to the Mafia. He had been doing it since before the shop even opened. Today was the fourth of the month, making it Joey Rizzoli’s regular day to collect a payment.
The money was in an envelope hidden in the register. Avery made sure to put it there this morning. He liked to tease Joey, who was gruff, mean and macho, riddled with muscle and bravado. He had a temper and a cocky attitude, but he was barred by Mafia rules from hurting anyone who paid proper protection money. That meant Avery could flirt with him, squeeze his biceps, repeatedly ask him out on a date as if Joey was a slutty woman, and Joey just accepted it like an awkward statue made of frowns. He occasionally growled and flexed his pecs beneath the ill-fitting suit he always wore.
But Avery had no idea who the portly older man was at first. That changed when the man took off his hat and spoke — this is the Don! Don Caprinelli! Avery gasped and bit his own lip.
“Good afternoon, Mister Flowers,” the stout man said. “My name is Tranquillo Caprinelli.”
“Yo, you should address him as Don Caprinelli,” Joey cut in, barking at Avery as though he had been disrespectful already.
Don Caprinelli held a hand up to silence Joey, whose crude yet handsome face scrunched up. The Italian flag tattoo on his neck stretched when he tightened his visage. He wrinkled his nose at Avery, and his broad shoulders expanded as he took a deep breath. From their body language, Avery gathered that the Don often told Joey to take a deep breath and calm down and that Joey was annoyed every time he said it.
“It’s nice to meet you, Don Caprinelli,” Avery said. He bowed his head respectfully.
“My daughter’s wedding is this month, Mister Flowers,” he said in a smooth voice like melted caramel, “And in recognition of that joyous day, I am asking that you spend the money you would normally pay for Caprinelli security services. Spend it on yourself or on the charity of your choosing, and have a joyous month.” He smiled.
“Oh! Okay, thank you, Don Caprinelli-“
“Do not mention it, and as always, you and your beautiful shop here remain under my protection for the entire month. And the usual perks at the Hotel Sweet,” he said with a smile. He shook Avery’s hand.
“Oh… thank, you, that’s… the Hotel Sweet?” Avery had no idea what that meant. The Hotel Sweet was a rundown motel down the street. It was known as a hotbed of prostitution.
“He doesn’t… Don, he, uh… has never been interested,” Joey said. He stammered like he had done something wrong, and when Don Caprinelli shot him a quizzical look, he looked down and bit his lip.
Don Caprinelli turned to Avery, looked at him with shock in his eyes, then examined him head to toe. He nodded in realization.
“Yeah, sorry,” Avery said. “I’m not into anything down at the Hotel Sweet… Unless Joey ever hangs out there.” He smirked as Joey, who, predictably, blushed. His glowering face looked down at his feet, then glanced at the flowers as though he was suddenly very interested in petunias.
“He does not spend time at the Hotel Sweet…” Don Caprinelli smiled, then spoke quickly with Joey in Italian. Joey let out a laugh as they talked — the first time he had laughed in all the time Avery knew him. Their conversation sounded like a negotiation to Avery. Joey continued to laugh, nervously, with many cautious glances towards Avery. He kissed the crucifix around his neck. Don Caprinelli’s Italian was fluid and rhythmic, while Joey’s was halting and sounded like mispronounced English.
“Ten minutes,” Joey said softly — another first: the first time he ever sounded less than totally confident. He had been collecting extortion money from Avery for years and never showed any hesitance or uncertainty about what to do.
“What-?”
“I have worked out a deal. I give all the businessmen who pay me a free weekly visit to one of the ladies at the Hotel Sweet. Since Joey failed to offer you anything as a substitute for that perk, he has agreed to give you ten minutes with him. You may do anything you wish to Joey for ten minutes,” Don Caprinelli said.
Joey spoke with that thick New York-Italian stawk that had always turned Avery on so good. “No stickin’ it in.” He looked down at his feet yet again when Don Caprinelli clucked his tongue and shot him a harsh look.
“Uh… what?”
“You can… like… gimme a handjob, or whatever. No penetration,” he said. He sniffed and pushed past Avery into the backroom, Avery’s office. Joey’s heavy body barely fit in the doorway, and Avery felt a surge of body heat and intense desire as Joey’s suited muscles brushed past him. Joey called back to Don Caprinelli, saying something in Italian.
Don Caprinelli chuckled. “He is afraid you will hold him down and cornhole him-“
“That ain’t what I said!”
“I tell him you are three times the boy’s size, Joey, you can overpower him if he tries to cornhole you,” Don Caprinelli said. He smiled and followed into the backroom. “I will not watch, but I will stand at the doorway.”
Avery turned to enter the office, still trying to comprehend what, exactly, was happening, Was Joey really letting him give a handjob? Joey stood there in front of him, scowling, with his arms across his chest. He filled out that suit nicely; it looked even better on him than a nicer suit would have, Avery thought, the undersized shirt and oversized jacket making him look like the world’s meanest high-schooler getting ready for an away game.
“No poop or pee neither,” Joey said. “And no putting cigarettes out on me. And no farting.” He threw his hands in the air. “No puttin’ it in!”
“In where? By whom?”
“Any hole. Anyone, man,” Joey said. “Just gimme a handjob or whatever.”
“Oh, I think I can get more creative than that,” Avery said. He smiled as Don Caprinelli chuckled behind him. He quickly stripped off his clothes.
Joey snickered at Avery’s small body, pale skin and weak muscles. “How old are you, man?”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“You look like you’re about twelve. Gonna feel like I’m lettin’ a little boy grope me up,” he said.
“You’re exaggerating, I don’t even get carded for cigarettes. I just have a youthful, girlish glow,” Avery said. His dick was out, and he tried not to feel self-conscious — not about his cock size, which was ample, just that he was so much smaller than Joey.
Joey didn’t look like he bought into Avery’s defense. He faced away as Avery unbuttoned his shirt. It was cute to see Joey nervous for the first time after he had been extorting money from Avery for years. Avery slowly stripped off Joey’s suit and suit.
He kissed his nipples beneath the tight a-shirt he wore. Joey’s pecs rippled, sending a thrill up Avery’s spine. His hands roamed over Joey’s muscled side, which made Joey twitch out of either anxiety or ticklishness or a bit of both.
Then Avery pulled the t-shirt off Joey’s body — or he lifted it up, anyway, Joey was too tall for Avery to actually take it all the way off. Joey removed it himself. He had a broad chest and a nearly flat belly, with just a hint of meat there. Avery’s mouth moved down to that belly, licking the trail of black hairs there leading down past his belly button.
He undid the belt holding up Joey’s slacks. Joey let out a strange sort of mewling sound as Avery dropped his pants, then pulled down the plain tight white boxers he wore.
His massive cock sprung forth. Avery gasped and smiled at Joey’s cocky grin. He must have liked showing off his big dick.
Don Caprinelli clucked his tongue. “You like his monster, huh? That’s the difference between ‘fairy’ men and girls. Girls run screaming from it-“
“No, they don’t, Don, that happened one time,” Joey said with a hangdog look. “One girl walked away because she said it was too big.”
Avery stroked his shaft, slowly at first, as Joey spoke. Then he sped up, as Joey’s face went from annoyed to surprised at how aroused he was. He looked down at his dick as though he had never seen it get hard before. Its long shaft throbbed beneath Avery’s grasp.
“And Anita?” Don Caprinelli said, snickering from the doorway, where he remained, still facing away from the scene.
“She didn’t see it-“
“She saw you. She said he looks like a caveman. I bring him a girl to bed, as a present for his years of loyal service, and he acts like a goon-“
“Don Caprinelli…” Joey’s voice turned into a moan as his dick pulsated in Avery’s hand.
“Shut up, you embarrassed me. The sissy probably understands girls. Maybe he can help you avoid the same fate if I ever bring you another girl,” Don Caprinelli said.
Avery smiled, stroking Joey faster and faster. Joey’s muscles rippled and he closed his eyes like he was ready to cum. Avery wasn’t ready to let that happen, but he liked seeing Joey prepare for it. He chewed on his lower lip, and his biceps flexed as he flailed his arms, too embarrassed to touch either Avery or himself at the moment.
“I’m no expert in women. They’re mystifying to me too,” Avery said, hands working hard at Joey’s cock. “Virtually any girl could dress like a slut and get all the big hairy macho men to bang them, but almost none of them do that. That doesn’t make any sense to me. If I was a girl, I’d be such a cheap lay. I’d suck your dick every day, Joey, I’d let you and all your buddies demolish me.”
Joey chuckled dryly, like he wanted to laugh harder but was too distracted by his dick leaking precum into Avery’s hand. Don Caprinelli guffawed from the doorway, laughing so hard he bent over and slapped his own thigh.
He let go of Joey’s cock. Joey’s eyes bugged out, and he flexed his hips, humping the air. His muscles twitched again, and he let out an involuntary growl. It seemed he wanted Avery to continue jacking him off, but he didn’t want to admit that because Don Caprinelli would hear him.
Avery walked around Joey, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw his ass. It was thick and plump, but firmer than Avery thought possible. Joey was tall enough that Avery had to reach up to massage those round cheeks, which were as hard as overinflated volleyballs — it was clear that Joey was tense, which was part of the reason his flesh was hard, but it was also clear that Joey’s ass was simply bursting with strength.
“Will you bend over?” Avery asked.
“You can’t put nothin’ in my ass!”
“I won’t,” Avery said. He lightly caressed the strapping muscles of Joey’s back. He felt Joey sigh through his spine, then Joey bent over and grabbed his ankles.
That position forced his asscheeks to separate, revealing his hairy hole. But as much as Avery wanted to stick his fingers and tongue (and everything else) in there, it was clear Joey wouldn’t cotton to that. So Avery just massaged the hairy crack of Joey’s ass, then had him bend his knees until he was crouched.
Avery hadn’t really known where he was taking this until he saw Joey in that position, his great, hairy trunk-like thighs pressed close together. Avery stripped off his own clothes while both Joey and Don Caprinelli were facing away from him.
Then he lined up behind Joey’s crouching body. Joey winced and trembled when he felt Avery’s cock pushing into his back, but Avery made sure to wrap his fingers around Joey’s cock first. Joey sighed and forced his muscles to relax as his dick re-hardened beneath Avery’s grasp.
“Damn, fairy… what is this?” He asked.
Avery didn’t answer. He pushed his dick lower still, through the tangle of coarse black hairs on Joey’s thighs. Joey didn’t even seem to notice as Avery’s dick slipped between his legs and poked out below his crotch.
Since Joey was crouched over but was much taller than Avery, the simplest position was for Avery to kneel behind him. He wrapped his arms around Joey’s broad body, his left hand straining to reach Joey’s nipples while his right stroked Joey off.
“Uh, oh…” Joey realized Avery’s dick was between his thighs. He cleared his throat. “Don Caprinelli… Is it… a sin if you… If uh, his… dick is uh, not in me, but…-“
“Then no, Joey, please spare me the details. Don’t let him put it in a hole. That is what the Church teaches,” Don Caprinelli said. He kept his face angled well away. “Is the little fairy hurting you?”
“No!” Joey said.
“Then it is fine. You can stop him if you wish. I would give you a girl instead, but you would only scare her away,” Don Caprinelli said. “You should develop some culture and sophistication, Joey.”
Joey hung his head and sighed. It was obvious he had heard this lecture many times before. “Yes, Don.”
“I brought him to the symphony, Mister Flowers,” Don Caprinelli said. “He fell asleep. I pay for his tuxedo and for a girl to sit next to him, and he falls asleep. He snores so loud the oboist dropped his instrument in the third movement-“
Avery snorted and held back laughter.
“He tells the girl he prefers hot air balloons-“
“I like Led Zeppelin!”
“I tell you, he is a caveman. I have never been more mortified, Mister Flowers,” Don Caprinelli said. He still faced the other way in the door threshold, so he didn’t see Avery dry-humping Joey’s thighs.
Avery thought it was a funny story, but the funniest aspect was how embarrassed Joey was. He had always looked uncomfortable in the suit he wore to extort Avery, but now it was obvious how humiliated he was by his lack of class. Joey’s face burned a bright red, and his thighs tensed, squeezing Avery’s cock.
The increase in tightness sent a shiver of sexual pleasure up Avery’s spine. He began humping harder and faster, and he reached around to Joey’s long cock with both hands.
“It smells like a brothel in there,” Don Caprinelli said. He wrinkled his nose. “It smells like Hotel Sweet.”
But Avery was too aroused to answer, and Joey was either too tense, too horny or too embarrassed. He grunted, nostrils flaring as his ass puckered, its iron-hard globes pressed against the smooth, slim flesh of Avery’s torso.
Joey slowly leaned forward. It didn’t seem he was really aware he was doing it, at least not until he was on his belly, where Avery couldn’t jack him off anymore because his dick was jammed against the floor.
But that allowed Avery to crawl atop Joey’s back. He was so much shorter than Joey that his face pressed into the center of Joey’s back, which was dappled with sweat and a few stray black hairs. Avery licked him while Joey growled, out of either discomfort or desire or even ticklishness again, it wasn’t clear which.
Meanwhile Avery slammed his dick in and out of Joey’s thigh. It really did feel exactly like cornhole a man in the ass, Avery thought, just without the hole — the thighs felt like an asscrack, so Avery felt like he was ramming his dick between asscheeks.
And that thought gave him an idea. He crawled up Joey’s body until his cock throbbed in between Joey’s cheeks. Then he humped the hot, sweaty groove there, his dick pulsating against the tight rim of Joey’s asshole.
“Nope, nope,” Joey said after just a few seconds. He rolled over, pushing Avery onto the ground beside him. “I ain’t doing that, fairy.”
“Joey-!” Don Caprinelli snapped.
“I’m sorry, Don, he was trying to-“
“You can simply be more polite. This is why girls run in terror from you,” Don Caprinelli said.
“He ain’t a girl-“
“Politeness is mandatory, Joey.”
Joey sighed and shook his head. “Mister Flowers, I… You best not… I mean… I would prefer you did not… touch my, uh… You know… Back there… My… I don’t know the polite word for it, Don.”
“Anus,” Avery said with a giggle. The word made Joey chuckle too, like a little boy laughing at a fart joke.
Avery wasn’t surprised that Joey had backed out of the ass-humping. But now he was laying on his back on the floor, his rock-hard dick sticking straight up. Avery mounted his thighs and pressed his dick right next to Joey’s.
Joey’s body remained stiff and hard, almost as rock-solid as his dick, which pulsated hotly in Avery’s fingers as he jacked them both off together. His other hand tweaked Joey’s nipples, and caressed his broad shoulders. Joey’s chest was once again hard, the tension making it impossible for him to relax his muscles.
When the first few drops of precum lubricated Avery’s hand, he realized Joey wasn’t going to let this continue for long. Joey heaved and gasped for breath as though he was terrified of how aroused he was. It was his dick producing the precum, but Avery thought he shouldn’t point that out or risk angering Joey.
Avery instead lowered his body until he could once again stick his dick between Joey’s thighs. This time he was on Joey’s front side, so his face nestled in Joey’s chest, between his mountainous pecs. Joey’s dick dug into Avery’s flesh above his crotch.
Then Avery’s rod plunged between those thighs, reawakening Avery’s arousal and making his shaft spasm. He gasped and even lightly nibbled on Joey’s skin, which made him twitch and bark.
“Hey! Don Caprinelli, he’s trying to eat me!” Joey said like a boy tattling on his friend.
Don Caprinelli snorted. Avery didn’t see Don Caprinelli glance over with a sick look on his face, because Avery was slamming his dick up and down between Joey’s thighs. Joey’s dick throbbed and leaked precum onto Avery’s belly and chest.
“It is fine. It is dry-humping,” Don Caprinelli said. “Or it is humping, at least. I do not think he is a cannibal.”
Then a potent orgasm began, deep within Avery, who only dimly heard Joey sigh and mutter to himself. Avery gasped and threw his head back. Joey looked down at him from his reclining position, eyes wide like he had no idea where this was ending up. He watched in horror as bliss wracked Avery’s body, and Avery buried his face in Joey’s mafia-tatted chest.
Meanwhile Avery’s whole body spasmed and roiled atop Joey’s powerful frame. He rammed his dick back and forth as he licked and sucked hickeys onto Joey’s pecs. His dick spewed cum down onto the floor, making a big mess on the backside of Joey’s thighs and ass.
“Oh god, he’s doin’ it…”
Avery felt the most intense pleasure of his life rolling through him. He writhed and moaned into Joey’s body, his spine arching as the orgasm overwhelmed his body. By the time he was done, his skin was dripping with sweat, both his own and Joey’s.
He lifted his head. Joey was still rock-hard, with a vaguely nauseated look on his face, and Avery gripped his dick with both hands. He rubbed it against his smooth chest, intending to get Joey off that way, but then Joey got his attention.
Joey pulled lightly on his hair until Avery looked up at him, still gasping from his own post-orgasmic pleasure. He made a shushing face, then grasped an imaginary penis in front of his face. He pretended to jack it off, using his tongue to push against his cheeks.
“Damn, you one nasty fairy…”
Avery was still recovering from the aftershocks of his orgasm, so he was confused at first. After a moment, he realized what Joey was asking for — they both glanced up at Don Caprinelli, who faced the other way with his arms across his chest. He gave no indication he realized that Joey’s actions and his words were no longer quite linked.
That was interesting, Avery thought, he had assumed that Joey didn’t want to do anything and Don Caprinelli had talked him into it. Now it seemed that Joey’s reluctance was, at least in part, a show for Don Caprinelli’s benefit — maybe Joey had only been unpleasant about it because Don Caprinelli would punish him for being enthusiastic.
Without a peep, Avery lowered his head until he could swallow Joey’s dick. He tasted that salty cocktip, precum flowing like water from a tap as Joey’s aroused body spasmed. But it only lasted a moment: Joey must have been on the verge of orgasm already. From the moment Avery’s lips encircled his dick, cum throbbed in his thick shaft, and his balls crawled up in his sac.
By the time Avery managed to get his mouth all the way down the first two-thirds of Joey’s dick, his tongue slathering spit along the piss-slit, Joey had gripped his head. He sneered at Avery like he was punishing him for the puddle of cum Joey now sat in, and he slammed Avery’s head down on his dick.
“Hurry up and finish, fairy-“
“Be nice, Joey. Let him take his time,” Don Caprinelli snapped at him. “You have forgotten all the manners I have been teaching you.”
Joey threw his head back, but he had to suppress making any sound beyond a vague, quiet grunt. Avery could imagine how girls were scared of him if this was how he made love, Avery thought, but he didn’t say so because his mouth was full.
A hot load of cum sprayed into Avery’s mouth. It was creamy and sweet, thick like yogurt, and it coated Avery’s tongue and throat. It slipped down into his gullet as Joey made harsh, violent love to Avery’s face. Avery gagged involuntarily; as soon as he did, he realized he had attracted Don Caprinelli’s attention.
“Joey!” Don Caprinelli snapped. He had turned around, and he saw what was happening.
Joey winced and pulled away. He hurried to his feet as Don Caprinelli glowered at him. Cum still dripped from his cocktip as he tucked his dick away and blushed.
“Sorry, Don. The fairy seduced me-“
“Do not blame it on the fairy. He did what is only natural to him,” Don Caprinelli gripped Joey by the hair and pulled his head down to the level where they could look each other in the eye. It was arousing to watch for Avery, who cleaned cum off his face as it unfolded — once again, Joey was forced to submit to someone much smaller than him. Don Caprinelli shook his head with disgust. “I do not wish to have such depravity in my organization.”
“I’m sorry, Don.”
“Yes, you are,” Don Caprinelli said. He let go of Joey’s hair. “Now put your clothes on. We will go home now.” He turned to Avery and nodded politely. “Thank you for making loyal payments these last few years. You have been such an aid to my organization.”
“Uh, yeah… Thank you, Don Caprinelli,” Avery said. “For keeping my business safe.”
He nodded again. He pushed Joey towards the bathroom. “Clean yourself off, beast. I think you can please Mister Flowers every month from now on, Joey. Perhaps you will learn your manners that way.”

The Abilene Alpha

Lance is an accountant who just bought his first motorcycle, so he’s hanging out at a biker bar. That means when an alpha biker named Banner comes to him with an intriguing offer, Lance is ready to do what he wants.

So Lance is in for another exciting episode of Twink on Top!

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Lance was unsure about Lipsweet before he walked in. It had a reputation as a rough joint. Someone was stabbed here a couple months ago, it was in all the papers. Walking into a biker bar — the toughest biker bar in Abilene, he had heard — sounded like a bad idea. When he was a young man, Lance would have done that in a heartbeat. Did do it, and a bunch of similar things. He waltzed into a legendary yakuza bar in Tokyo once. Walked right out when the pinkie-less man with the neck tats said gaijin weren’t allowed.
But middle age was looming nearer and nearer with every passing day for Lance. He was a married man. He still looked young enough, but he was seeing and feeling the signs of his age. There were strands of hair in his sink. He woke up at night to pee sometimes. Many times. All the time. He woke up to pee many times all the time. He started getting sleepy at like nine o’clock. He felt young right up until he realized he had been feeling like an old man for months.
That was why Lance was not interested in playing it safe anymore. The rough-and-tumble biker bar didn’t phase him. He bought a motorcycle on a whim and found that he loved it — once he actually figured out how to ride it. That was why he had come to Lipsweet, the most notorious biker bar in Abilene. The rumbling of the engine beneath his body made him feel young again; it reminded him of when he had first started going to raves, before he met Juliet — his wife — and this bar felt like the perfect place for him, like he had been constructed just for it.
At some point he stopped feeling that way dancing to electronic music, but he kept going. He wasn’t a drug user, which was part of what made him not really fit in at raves. He liked the music, and he liked the dancing, but he didn’t do ny of the increasingly diverse bouquet of drugs the others did. The people he came up with became burnouts and losers, scrounging up dollars for a hit of chemicals with street names like love and ecstasy and oneness. They’re named after the things they don’t provide.
So he bought a motorcycle, and he felt young all over again. It was hot and firm, rumbling, like an extension of his cock, an industrial, gasoline-gulping manhood that sprayed speed and smog in equal measures. He felt bigger and stronger as soon as he sat on that leather seat. Nobody knew he was a mere accountant.
Going to Lipsweet seemed natural when sitting on the bike. Everyone knew it was the biker bar — or one of the major biker bars in Abilene, which was a biker town. Lipsweet was controlled by the Jagged Right. Lance didn’t have any gang connections, but he bought the motorcycle at a Jagged Right-connected dealership. Or maybe that was just a marketing trick, but it worked, and anyway, the salesman had a Jagged Right tattoo.
He felt like a real biker as he actually walked in to Lipsweet, amid a sea of sweaty biceps and tattered black leather jackets, smell of engine oil and gun grease lingering in the air. As the rumble of the motorcycles doing circuits outside faded from his ears, Lance felt weak and insecure all over again, like an old man at a rave he wasn’t invited to.
It was a good thing he didn’t go to raves any more. He’d look like an out-of-place old fool. At least bikers aged without aging out.
“Chug it! Chug it!”
“Double whissshkey, straight up.”
After some initial awkwardness, Lance began to fit in. A few drinks helped, and he gulped them down quick enough to impress anyone watching and quick enough to get tipsy right away. He liked to drink, and that was all the bikers here seemed to care about. They ignored him at first, like they thought he was an undercover cop. But when he didn’t ask anyone for drugs, they gradually warmed up to him, and the alcohol helped loosen Lance up,
Soon enough he was a chatty Cathy with all the bikers, and he started to learn everyone’s name. They were really pretty nice and welcoming once you got to know them. He learned that that salesman he bought the motorcycle from was a real Jagged Right.
Lance was good at chugging, which helped him to fit in. He downed beers like he did it regularly, which he did, years ago. Juliet — Lance’s wife — would not allow him to chug beers now. She wouldn’t even want him drinking beers you could chug. She only bought fancy white wine and occasionally, for Lance, expensive German beer or “bitters” from England. You ever had bitters? It’s like beer but disgusting, truly revolting stuff. Juliet didn’t see any point in doing anything unless it was status-raising, that was the problem.
The blistering hard rock on the jukebox and the chatter filling the air meant a lot of them barely noticed him in the first place. He chugged beers alongside them, and they clapped him on the back. They fell over each other to offer help with his new bike.
But Lance was simply glad to be accepted. His bike was brand-new and didn’t really need anything right now, though he was certainly glad to have made about a dozen new mechanic-friends. Maintaining a motorcycle could get expensive.
“More beer for the new man!”
“Chug it! Chug it!”
He had no sooner finished chugging his latest beer when the bar was distracted by a fight. One leather-clad biker punched another, for reasons unclear to Lance — something to do with a girl, he suspected, which was always a good bet when bikers were fighting. Maybe disrespect, maybe something motorcycle-related. The others immediately chanted for more. Fight! Fight! Fight! Lance felt a twinge of desire at the sight of the two big guys fighting, hefty muscles shaking with each thrust of their fists.
He added his own chant to the melange of voices. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” But by the time his drunken self got into it, the fight was already over, and the two sloppy-drunk bikers were buying each other bourbons.
“Here, lemme buy you a shot,” said the one of the other bikers. His name was Banner — Lance had met him a few minutes ago — and he sported a powerful body and no belly at all, a fact that was obvious because he wore only a tattered wifebeater that had more holes than it had shirt. He was wearing a black leather jacket earlier, but he must have taken it off cuz this bar was like a furnace. Banner didn’t wait for Lance to accept the offer of a shot. The bartender was trying to break up the fight, so Banner reached behind the bar for a bottle of whiskey. He poured two shots (each of which were really doubles, and fat doubles at that). “Come on, let’s do a brüderschaft on this.”
Lance didn’t know what that meant — and the German unnerved him — but he followed along. Banner had Lance’s thin arm interlock with his softball-sized biceps, as though they were chorus line dancers facing in opposite directions. Lance felt another surge of sexual thrill at being so close to Banner’s tattooed biceps. The warmth of his body heat suffused into Lance’s flesh. Then Banner lifted his shot glass to Lance’s lips, and Lance did likewise. With their arms interlocked, they both swallowed each other’s shots, and Banner laughed as the harshness of the straight whiskey made Lance shudder and bug out. It tasted like gasoline.
When they were done, Lance took a deep breath. Tears welled in his eyes from the astringent whiskey, which was cheap — this bar didn’t stock anything fancy. He didn’t often take shots, especially doubles. Banner cleared his throat.
“So… you’re like… cool, right?” Banner had to speak loudly to be heard over the din of the crowd. The fight had died down, and the combatants were engaged in a drinking contest that attracted the attention of most of the bar’s patrons. Though Banner raised his voice, he aimed it directly for Lance, who felt the hot breath condensing on his cheek, and nobody but Lance could hear his words.
“Yeah…” Lance said. He was tantalizingly close to Banner’s heat-exuding muscles, and he couldn’t help but touch the rock-hard bulges of Banner’s biceps.
“Thought so,” he said, giving no notice to Lance’s hands feeling up his arms. “You, uh… wanna plow me?”
Lance just assumed that Banner meant ‘would you like me to plow you?’ So Lance said yes. He might have taken it as a joke, but Banner had a serious look on his tan, craggy face. It didn’t occur to Lance he might have heard the question correctly. The bar was loud, Lance’s mind was hazy with drunkenness, and a huge alpha biker like Banner would never let some accountant plow him up the ass.
Worried that Banner would back out, Lance tripped over himself to agree. He nodded like an overly enthusiastic otter.
Without another word, Banner smiled and put a finger to his lips, motioning for Lance to be discrete — he just motioned ‘down’, and somehow he and Lance were sympatic enough that Lance knew he meant keep it on the downlow.
As casually as he could muster, Lance followed Banner to the bathrooms in the back, pretending they were going to watch the drinking contest that remained the center of attention. Instead they slipped into the back of Lipsweet, and the roar of the drinking contest faded to a dull drone muffled by the wall.
Most of the bikers just pissed outside, so the bathroom was empty when they walked in. Bikers walked back and forth from the bar to the alley using this back corridor though, so they all saw Banner and Lance go into the men’s room. Banner locked the door behind them, stripped off his wifebeater and threw it on the filthy floor.
“Hey, Banner, whatchoo doin’ in there?”
“You know it!”
Banner wasn’t in the least embarrassed about this, it seemed. He opened the door again, stuck his head out and said, “Y’all said I’d never have the balls to do it, but I am gonna plow this sissy into next week! You gonna hear him begging for mercy back here, but don’t none of you try to stop me! You know what my dick’s like — once it gets moving, it’s an uncontrollable freight train!” Banner relocked the door amid the boisterous laughs of his friends.
“You really gonna plow that sissy? Wreck his ass!”
“Relax, man, he ain’t gonna take it in the ass. We know you was in prison too, don’t pretend you never plowed a bitch.”
“If you ain’t in prison, that’s nasty.”
“It ain’t nasty if you’s on top.”
“It ain’t nasty if yo’ balls don’t touch.”
“It ain’t nasty if you don’t make eye contact!”
Lance’s eyes bugged out, as his ears filled with the raspy-voiced boasting of the bikers. This was all happening so fast, it was dizzying.
“I ain’t hear ‘im beggin’ you to take it easy on him.”
“That’s cuz I’m goin’ slow, hoss, relax yo’ shit. You listenin’ at the door? You that turned on by a man gettin’ plowed you gotta jack off and listen?” Banner asked. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You the perverted one then, man. I ain’t touchin’ this man’s dick, and I ain’t gonna listen to his cries… unlike you, apparently.”
Lance was shocked and terrified. Was Banner threatening to ram him? Lance wanted to go through with this, but what if he took it too far? When Lance was younger, he would have loved the idea of being held down and used by the sterling manhoods of any number of bikers. Now he was a little more hesitant.
What would Juliet say?! That thought made Lance bite back a laugh of derision. Juliet wouldn’t go anywhere near a biker bar.
“Don’t worry, I’s just playin’ for the crowd,” Banner said softly. He looked suddenly bashful, and the muscles on his bare chest and belly rippled. He stroked one of Lance’s cheeks, then pulled him closer. “I… ain’t gonna treat you wrong.” He kissed Lance on the lips, and he rammed his tongue into Lance’s mouth.
Lance was so shocked to be kissed that he nearly fell over. He swooned into Banner’s powerful arms. His biceps were hard, inked, ropy like a statue of a man, lined with scars and imperfections that made him feel so very real and much more arousing than all those smooth-bodied, perfect-faced twinks that Lance had been messing with when Juliet was out of town. Banner felt like a motorcycle, brimming with power and uncontrollable heat, rough-edged and hard to manage. But his mere presence and the smell of his unkempt body made Lance hard. Banner’s words from earlier ricocheted within Lance’s head — ‘You wanna plow me?’ — now that they were outside of the roaring crowded bar, Lance knew he hadn’t misheard and that Banner hadn’t misspoken. He wanted to get plowed.
This biker was ready to bottom, and he wanted Lance on top.
“I want you inside me,” Banner said, whispering in that raspy baritone, though there was no chance anyone outside the bathroom would hear unless he yelled as he had before — the bathroom door was thick and muffled all the sounds from outside, except for those men yelling at the wall. His whispers were desperate and plaintive. “Please? Plow me in the ass. I want ya dick, man…”
“Really? You wanna bottom?” Lance asked. He still thought maybe he had misheard, maybe Banner was just testing him, though for what purpose Lance couldn’t imagine. He certainly didn’t want to try to make Banner bend over and take it unless he was sure that’s what Banner wanted.
Banner nodded. “I gotta put on a show for them out there though, I’m gonna make it sound like I’m ramroddin’ you, and you can’t ever tell anyone I’m bottomin’ for you. If you do, I’ll fuck you up for real,” he said, forming a fist with one hand and punching it hard into the palm of the other. His smile vanished, and his menace was so authentic it dripped off his face. Lance shuddered and nodded. He had no problem keeping it a secret.
“Ram ‘im, Banner! Make ‘im squeal like a piggie!”
“Oink, oink!”
“You seen Banner’s cock, right? He gonna mess that accountant up!”
Banner had to get on all fours and drop his jeans because he was so much taller than Lance — if they both stood, Lance’s face was in his torso and his dick in Banner’s thighs. Banner didn’t seem to mind touching the disgusting bathroom floor, which was grimy and stank of feet and homeless men.
The smell was intriguing, even desirable to Lance, who did appreciate the physiques of men, especially men like Banner. Alphas. Masculine, dominant men with pecs and neck tats, bullet-wound scars on their bellies. Banner smelled so funky it got Lance’s dick hard before they even got started.
Lance knelt down, lining his crotch up with Banner’s ass, and pulled his dick out. It was already throbbing hard, ready to go, and the slightest touch sent a twinge of pleasure up his body. He pushed his dicktip between Banner’s thick, hairy asscheeks, which spread open for him like the Red Sea. He sighed, a part of him worried still that Banner would call it off and start bashing him. His heart raced.
“Take it, bitch!” Banner called out. “You gonna take every inch whether you like it or not! I don’t let my bitches take just inches one through eleven, slut! You gonna take all twelve inches, got it? You don’t get to pick and choose which parts of my dick get up in ya!”
Lance forced out a pained cry, and men outside the bathroom laughed. Lance laughed too. They hooted and hollered; it sounded like a bunch of them were clustered near the door. Then Banner cried out for real, biting his lip to avoid making too much noise, that was because Lance’s cocktip finally entered his ass. Lance didn’t mean to stick it in so suddenly, he was just hovering the tip at Banner’s butthole when he let out that performative cry, and the motion made his dicktip slide in.
So Lance leaned into it, and he forced the whole shaft in — Banner took every inch, strongly suggesting this was not his first time. His ass was tight and warm, and instantly Lance had to bite back a howl of ecstasy. He didn’t want the men outside to know who was on top and who was in pain. He turned his cry of pleasure into a grunt of pain, while Banner’s face turned red and taut beneath him.
When he realized that Banner was stroking himself off and having trouble maintaining a rhythm as he submitted to Lance’s plowing back and forth, Lance reached around him, grabbed his cock and began stroking. Banner jerked and spasmed in a combination of pleasure and pain. The sound of him sucking on his clenched teeth seemed plausibly to come from Lance, so the men outside accepted that it was Banner on top.
“Hey, you doin’ some nasty-ass shit in there, Banner!”
“Wreck him! Wreck him! That accountant won’t be able to walk in a straight line ever again!”
“You gonna ramrod him hard enough he’ll forget his numbers!”
Slamming his cock in and out with all his might, Lance felt his orgasm coming only moments before it hit him. He moaned and grunted as he filled Banner with his seed. He gulped, wondering if it was obvious to the men outside that Lance’s moan was a top’s orgasm, not a bottom’s prostate climax. But they cheered as though assuming it was Banner filling Lance with his juice.
He shot so much it dripped out of Banner’s ass, onto that bathroom floor that was already coated with fluids of various kinds. The smell of funk in here was ripe and thick, and Lance inhaled deeply of it as the climax rolled through his body. A huge flood of jizz seeped into Banner’s body, and Banner let out an intense howl. The men outside must have accepted that it was a howl of pleasure — which it was, in a sense.
A whole series of grunts escaped from Banner’s lips, despite his best efforts to muzzle it. His dick spasmed in Lance’s fingers, signifying that his orgasm was imminent as well.
“Take it all, bitch! You gonna swallow every drop! I know my dick is covered in yo’ ass, but you know you love it! You want that filthy nasty in ya mouth, bitch, I can see it in yo’ slutty bitch eyes!”
“Aw, gross!”
“He really doin’ ass-to-mouth, Banner?”
“Ain’t nevuh got a girl to do that, not countin’ whores.”
“Make ‘im gag on his own ass, man!”
Then Lance dropped to his knees in the filthy bathroom, just in time to taste Banner’s dick. He had to stretch his neck to reach Banner’s crotch, opening his mouth wide. Banner’s dick was thick, pulsating, dripping precum so copiously it flowed down Lance’s throat.
Banner pounded on his chest and did a Tarzan yell, causing everyone in the main room to cheer him on. Banner’s tatted chest undulated as he orgasmed in Lance’s mouth, shooting jet after jet of cream to coat Lance’s gullet. He bucked as though the orgasm was painful, and he shot such a big, sour-tasting load that Lance didn’t need to pretend to gag. It hit the back of his throat, making Lance’s stomach gurgle and roil despite his love for hot cum in his mouth.
“Yeah, I can tell, that’s the sound of ass-to-mouth.”
“Bet that pervert is regrettin’ goin’ in there!”
“Banner can make any bitch regret touchin’ him.”
“I can make you regret insultin’ me, man!” Banner called out. “You know I can treat you like a prison bitch. You seen me do it before!” He paused and gasped as he shot another wad right down Lance’s throat. “I don’t even care whose hole I stick it in next — if this sissy ain’t available, I just might take you.” It sounded like Banner wanted to keep shouting through the door, but a wave of orgasmic energy rocketed through him then. His knees buckled and his body writhed. His voice trailed off as he sighed, draining his nuts into Lance’s waiting throat. He chuckled, hollered and banged his fists against the door like he was trying to knock it down.
Hot cum overflowed and dripped down Lance’s lips. He swallowed what was in his mouth, then licked up the rest. It had a wonderfully salty-sweet flavor that made him drool, wishing he could swallow even more — Banner’s load somehow tasted like a motorcycle, Lance thought, reminding him of the smell of gasoline and chrome and leather seats; it vibrated in his mouth like an engine. He traced the veins that ran along the side of Banner’s shaft as he jerked up every drop of cum he could find.
Much to his surprise, Banner knelt down and kissed Lance on the lips. His tongue penetrated Lance’s mouth, then licked up and down the breadth of Lance’s face. Lance was so shocked he just sat there, submitting to it, not even kissing him back, just focusing on the scratchy sensation of Banner’s scruffy chin rubbing against Lance’s skin. Banner let out a long, slow sigh of relief. He smeared the remaining cum over Lance’s cheeks, and smiled.
“Alright…” he said, breathlessly, pulling his pants up. His kind, impassioned face disappeared, replaced by that menacing visage he had briefly flashed before. He know looked more like the biker-thug Lance had expected to meet rather than the easygoing stud he had met earlier. This was the Banner that made Lance’s blood run cold. Banner narrowed his eyebrows and sneered at Lance. “I’m gonna tell them I left you in here covered in cum and crying, wit’ a bloody asshole. I told you to sit there covered in my nut for five minutes, then you could clean yourself off. Alright?”
“Okay.”
“You should come see me at my garage sometime,” he said. “I got a garage on East Street. Tell Sally at the desk that you’s a friend of mine, and she’ll tell me you’re there. I’ll help you with your bike, and you can plow me senseless.”
“… Okay.”
“My other mechanics are gonna want dome, and they’re gonna call you a pervert. That okay with you?”
“Yeah,” Lance said, too tired to pretend he needed to be talked into it. He loved the idea of jerking off an entire garage of dirty blue-collar mechanics.
Leaving his raggedy wifebeater on the piss-covered floor, Banner walked out to the cheers of his friends, who clasped him on his sweaty back. He flexed his biceps and closed the door right behind him, so no one saw Lance, who stayed in a corner — he thought for sure if they saw his face they’d realize he hadn’t been plowed at all. A few men tried to poke their head in but Banner stopped them with a shut door. The last thing he said was, “Lock the door behind me. Five minutes. Pretend ya ass hurts.”
“Okay,” Lance said, glad to have a few minutes to collect his thoughts. Thinking of how to pretend his ass hurt made him realize that Banner clearly was not in pain — he must have been plowed before, probably quite often considering how easily he had take it. He sighed as he began counting down his five minutes to wait.
He was sure happy he had taken a risk, he thought, and he wished he had become a biker a long time ago. He couldn’t wait to check out Banner’s mechanic shop.

The Gladiator

Flavius services the gladiators, including the crowd favorite Brutus, who has an unusual request. He wants to experience the glory of submission to Flavius’s manhood. That means Brutus is in for one exciting adventure in Twink on Top!

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The gladiator cells were dingy and cold. They always were, but Flavius never really got used to it. He didn’t understand how anybody could get used to that. It was as cold as the waters of Cocytus. He hurried down the hall, pouring slop into bowls as he went, and he shoved a bowl into each cell. The barley-and-water gruel didn’t smell like anything. He had taken a bite once, just to see what it was like. It didn’t taste like anything either; it’s only flavor was “nourishment”. It was like thick, clotted, starchy air.
Flavius always rushed through the cells because there was one cell in particular he liked to spent his time at. He gave everyone else their meals first, and he saved Brutus until the end.
“Salve, Brutus,” Flavius said when he got to the end of the hall, arriving at Brutus’s cell. Brutus looked at the gruel and smiled. Flavius was always shocked at how excited Brutus was to be fed gruel.
But Brutus didn’t seem to mind it too much. He had been a gladiator since he was a boy, and he was past thirty now — ancient, for a gladiator. He must have gotten used to the non-flavor of gruel.
Flavius always gave Brutus his food last because he was charming and funny and because Flavius liked spending time with him. He makes Flavius laugh.
Most of the gladiators were boring brutes who spent their spare moments flexing their muscles and showing off for tips in the form of beer — their cells opened on the outside, and they could do feats of strength or who-knows-what for passersby. But then most of them failed to survive more than a match or two. The life of a gladiator did not last long. Only Brutus among the master’s fighters had survived for a long time. That was because Brutus was a profitable draw — he was handsome, always smiling and dancing, making the crowd laugh. He was a wonderful showman. That meant no one ever wanted to put him up against impossible odds. He was one of those rare gladiators who made more money alive than he would having his entrails ripped out by a bear for an adoring crowd.
“Thank you for dinner,” Brutus said. He grabbed the bowl and spoon through the opening at the front of his cell. He had the biggest cell in the dungeon on account of his high status. It gave him plenty of room to work out while he was in his cell. That was what he had been doing; his muscles were bulging and veiny, palpably warm from just a foot or so away and covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
Through the barred window, passersby passed by, and a few kept peeking in to see Brutus and his legendary strength. But Flavius was more important to him, and Brutus did not divert his attention from his jailer.
Or rather, his jail attendant. Flavius worked for the jailer, but he was not in charge of the incarceration, just serving the food.
“I enjoy your cooking and the nourishment it brings me,” Brutus said with a dour nod. He seemed distract, maybe even upset, in a way Flavius had never seen him before. “I do so enjoy your presence, Flavius.”
Flavius’s heart jumped up in his chest, as it always did when Brutus said his name, it sent a frisson of excitement up his spine. Brutus was tall, towering over every man in the master’s employ, and he had the broad shoulders of an ox. His chest was hairy and strapping. Flavius, in contrast, had never been able to grow so much as a beard, not that he ever wanted to. He had not a single hair on his chest, not that he wanted one.
The one perk he liked most about the position was that he got to service the gladiators in his fashion, whenever he wanted — or rather, they could say no, of course, but few ever did. They weren’t allowed women because the master thought denying them sex encouraged a fighting spirit, and it allowed Flavius to grant them access to a prostitute as a reward for very rare special occasions.
And that meant he got to watch and inspect their muscles as they did it.
Brutus took only one bite of the gruel before he stopped. “What… uh… have you heard? About me?” He looked like he’d been working up the courage to ask that question. Flavius had never seen Brutus hesitant about anything. He normally brimmed with confidence.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… I heard a rumor that I was up for the slaughter. The master wants me to fight a couple tigers. There’s no way I can win against that. Even if I did, they’d just keep throwing more and more beasts at me until I die.”
“Oh. Oh!” Flavius said. “No! He can’t!”
“I’m getting old,” Brutus said. He lowered his grim, gritty voice. “The master doesn’t want me to die in some minor fight or of a disease in my cell. He wants to ensure my death is a good show. I do want to die in glory, of course. Just… not so soon.”
“Oh, poor baby! I haven’t heard anything about that. I hope not,” Flavius said. “I’ll see if I can find out anything.” He shrugged. He didn’t have access to any special information. Brutus knew more about his upcoming matches than Flavius did. He grinned up at the hook-nosed gladiator. “You want me to come in and treat you right? I’ll jerk you off just how you like it.”
He smiled wanly. “Yeah. Thanks, Flavius.”
Flavius opened his cell and came in. Brutus sat on the cold stone ground, where he wolfed down the rest of his gruel while Flavius massaged his shoulders. His muscles were firm as sandstone, and they rippled beneath Flavius’s fingers. His skin was crisscrossed with scars from his many fights, and he had the master’s symbol branded onto the center of his upper spine.
“Flavius…”
“Yes, Brutus?”
“I wanna try something different,” he said. He closed his eyes and shook his head as though trying to talk himself out of saying whatever it is he was about to say. “I wanna… I wanna do something special before I die, and I dunno, it could happen anytime.”
“Of course it could happen anytime, if the gods will it,” Flavius said. Flavius smiled and nodded. He lowered his head to Brutus’s thickly-hairy bush. He inhaled deeply of Brutus’s unwashed musk, which had a zesty, sunny smell that Flavius adored, unlike the cooped-up stink of most of the other gladiators. He pulled down Brutus’s trousers and licked Brutus’s huge cock from tip to root. Brutush took off the rest of his clothes, hefting his fat cock between each hand. “You want my ass? You can make my ass into your pussy,” Flavius said. He loved getting plowed in the ass, but Brutus didn’t often partake. He preferred Flavius’s mouth most days.
“Not that either.” Brutus took a deep breath. “I wanna taste you. I wanna taste your cock. I wanna feel you inside me, in my ass. Is that alright? Can you handle being on top?”
“Yeah, I can do that. You want me to? You really want to do this, Brutus?”
“Yes! Please Jove, yes, I’ve been doing the same things my whole life. I need to do something new. Flavius, please!” he said, and he sounded like he was near tears. “I want to take it up behind before I die!”
“Brutus…” Flavius was shocked. Men like him — effeminate sissies — were not supposed to plow big brutish gladiators like Brutus. Brutus was expected to fight tooth and nail against that. The worst punishment the master could dole out was bending a gladiator over a barrel and sending him out into the arena to get cornholed by a legion of men in front of an audience. Brutus’s master didn’t do that kind of thing — he thought it diminished the men, not just the one being punished but all of them.
Brutus sank to his knees. He fumbled with Flavius’s toga. But Flavius reacted instinctively. He very much did want to plow Brutus, even if it felt wrong and possibly outright sacrilegious. In any case, it seemed Brutus was eager to get started. As soon as Flavius’s toga was off, Brutus dove into Flavius’s crotch and swallowed his dick in one smooth motion.
“By Jove!”
Flavius’s knees buckled as intense pleasure rocked his body, his cock throbbing and pulsating in Brutus’s cavernous mouth. He moaned and nearly fell over, but he supported himself by grabbing ahold of Brutus’s massive shoulders. His muscles rippled beneath Flavius’s fingertips, which danced over his tight flesh. He caressed the brand of the master’s symbol above Brutus’s spine.
His dick was hard so quickly Flavius wondered if he had lost track of time. He had to stand on his toes to make sure Brutus could actually swallow his dick because Brutus was so tall that, even on his knees, it was difficult to match his face up with Flavius’s crotch.
This had all happened so fast. A few seconds Flavius assumed he would be bottoming for the alpha gladiator, and now all of sudden his sissy dick was filling up Brutus’s grizzled mouth. He had a sour look on his face like he disliked the taste but craved more, and he swallowed Flavius’s shaft as deep as he could, until his nose teased Flavius’s pubic hair.
“Oh Jove, damn…” Flavius was at a loss for words as intense ecstasy rollicked his bones. His knees went weak.
Brutus had been the recipient of a man’s mouth so much he seemed to have a good idea how to do it. He suckled loudly, producing copious spit that dripped onto the straw-covered floor. He wasn’t quite able to deep-throat Flavius, but he tried and nestled his nose deep in Flavius’s pubic hair. Flavius had to take his toga all the way off, revealing his thin, hairless body.
Flavius had always been embarrassed about how big his dick was. He was from a nice family, so no one ever expected him to have a big barbarian dick, and he had endured many taunts over it from men with smaller members. Now Brutus — who was similarly endowed, though no one expected anything better from a gladiator-slave — seemed surprised by how big it was, pulsating in his mouth like an overgrown finger.
“Brutus… you’re so good at this,” Flavius said, the surprise evident in his voice, which was wavery and jagged. It felt so good he was unable to take a deep breath, and his hands flutteringly darted between Brutus’s hair and his shoulders and his chin.
Precum dripped down Brutus’s throat, and he winced as though upset by the flavor though it didn’t slow him down any. Indeed, after a few seconds his frown turned into a smile, and he wrapped his tongue around Flavius’s cockshaft. Then he really sucked, like he was trying to pull more precum out of Flavius’s manhood.
Flavius shuddered as another intense wave of pleasure hit him, and he focused on not cumming so he could drag this out even longer. He grunted so loud and so boomingly that the gladiators in the other cells chortled and banged on their walls, thinking that it was Brutus on top of Flavius instead of the other way around.
“Destroy him, Brutus! Break his throat!”
“Rip Flavius a new one!”
They all enjoyed being serviced by Flavius from time to time, though Flavius only really loved Brutus. The others were cruel and harsh. They didn’t like plowing Flavius so that he enjoyed it, they wanted to make it hurt. Flavius didn’t mind. He liked the pain.
But now that he was feeling the tender mouth with one of his charges, Flavius found himself wondering if he had been looking for pleasure improperly all this time. Maybe he should have been seeking out someone like Brutus whom he could be with all of the time. Maybe that would have been more fulfilling.
As instincts took over, Flavius gripped the thick black hair of Brutus’s head and held him in place. Brutus gurgled merrily as he swallowed every drop of precum. Flavius forced his dick all the way in until he could feel Brutus’s crooked oft-broken nose digging into the meat of his crotch.
Then, feeling that he was nearing orgasm, Flavius pulled away. Brutus gasped for air, his face red. Gobs of spit clung to his lips and to Flavius’s shaft. He spat up a mouthful of prejizz, which he slurped off his own face and swallowed.
“Oh, by Jove, thank you,” Brutus said. His voice was craggly with moisture, and it broke weakly, as though he held back tears of joy.
“Brutus…” Flavius felt a surge of anxiety as Brutus turned around and bared his ass. Flavius had only ever plowed one man in the ass, and that had been another thin weak-faced man like himself. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle a massive hunk of gladiator meat like Brutus.
“Hmmm… stick it in,” Brutus said in a low grunt. He kept his voice quiet so the other gladiators in the other cells wouldn’t hear. He had a huge meaty pair of asscheeks, both of which rippled and jiggled as he got into position. He squatted on those trunk-like thighs, separating his asscheeks and giving Flavius access to his intact hole.
Brutus bending over in front of him just reminded Flavius of the extreme size difference between them. He felt like a child mounting a bull as he got behind Brutus, whose biggish frame trembled nervously on all fours. Brutus was three times his size, maybe more — the rumors said he was a distant relation of Hercules, that was why. Flavius wasn’t sure he believed that, and Brutus said he was a foundling, so nobody knew where he came from, but still, the rumor had an air of truth to it.
“Be gentle,” Brutus said. For once his voice sounded weak and tender, vulnerable, begging Flavius to treat him right. For the first and sadly the last time in his life, he wanted to feel the glory of submission instead of dominance.
“I will. Tell me if it hurts,” Flavius said. He struggled not to touch his own cock, lest he accidentally cum too early. His hands hovered in the air instead.
There was a wooden box on a shelf in the corner, filled with a mixture of cow and horse-fat. Brutus kept it there for those rare occasions when he was horny enough to pretend Flavius’s ass was that of a woman. He used it to lubricate his cock and make it slide easily into Flavius.
Now Flavius used it for the opposite purpose. He coated his dick in it, since he knew his manhood was bigger than most men, it would likely hurt more than most as well. He didn’t want to cause Brutus any harm.
And Brutus had never done it! That hole was intact and tight as could be.
As he wedged his dick into Brutus’s ass, Flavius had to use both hands to separate his cheeks. Brutus was so big and his ass so wide that Flavius felt he was pushing the tide away. The meaty flesh of Brutus’s cheeks were stronger and thicker than Flavius could handle. He had to struggle to keep the man’s ass open long enough for Flavius to slip his dick into that tight, hair-choked hole.
But once he did, pleasure suffused Flavius’s body while Brutus arched his back and moaned. The sound had an odd tenor to it, a mix of pleasure and pain, a cross between a wolf’s angriest howl and a kitten’s most seductive meow. Everyone in the other cells fell quiet and murmured amongst each other — they must have realized Brutus was being plowed, but they probably assumed the master was doing it.
“Ah, plow me, fill me up, Flavius!” Brutus said loudly, his inhibitions having shattered. The other gladiators would have heard except that they were still rattling their cages and shouting, overpowering Brutus’s deep voice. It was hard to tell if they were surprised or shocked or upset or even accepting of Brutus bottoming for Flavius’s twinkie body.
Flavius got his dick in with the help of that lube, and as sensations exploded deep within, he plowed harder and harder with each thrust of his hips. Brutus struggled to accept it all, but it was clear he enjoyed himself despite the pain. He grunted and groaned, and his whole hefty body shifted back and forth in sync with Flavius’s motions. Brutus shuddered with ecstasy when Flavius found that magic spot deep in his ass that, Flavius suspected, all men had. Tt sent shockwaves of pleasure through Brutus’s quaking frame.
He roared with desire, and there was no doubting what he was moaning about. The other gladiators must have known, Flavius thought, at least the ones in nearby cells.
His hands caressed the strapping muscles of Brutus’s back, savoring the perfect curves of his shoulders and ribs. Then Flavius’s hands roamed over to the other side — he really wanted to touch Brutus’s chest and nipples, but Flavius was much too short to reach that high on Brutus’s body.
Instead, he gripped Brutus’s dick, which was already rock-hard. It pulsated beneath his fingers, throbbing like it begged Flavius to stroke it.
As soon as he did deliver that first stroke, Brutus threw his head back and Flavius could see the pleasure undulating through his muscles. Brutus moaned so loud the men in the other cells clapped and applauded.
“You destroying him, Brutus?”
“What’s going on over there?”
“If it’s a Gallic man you’re plowing, Brutus, you have to let us join in. Those barbarians will wilt before the might of Rome!”
All of their catcalling and caterwauling made Flavius chuckle, but it didn’t slow him down. He gasped and moaned, while Brutus did likewise in a more baritone voice.
“He ain’t plowing a Gaul, he’s taking it up the ass from someone. Can’t you hear that in his voice?”
“Sounds like he’s in pain.”
“Sounds like he loves it!”
But Brutus didn’t say anything to them, and didn’t even seem to care anymore that some of them thought he was submitting. He must have decided not to let his last days on this world be dominated by hiding and shame. He writhed beneath Flavius’s tiny, tender frame. It would have looked ridiculous, if anyone was around to see, Flavius thought as he plowed harder and harder, like Brutus was being held down by a man less than a third his size.
The harder he rammed back and forth, the more Flavius had trouble staying in position. Brutus lowered his hips and bucked with each thrust, and soon enough Flavius found himself entirely off the ground, laying atop Brutus’s broad back as he humped into his ass.
“That’s definitely Brutus plowing Flavius. I’ve heard that a thousand times before.”
“It doesn’t sound like Flavius moaning.”
Brutus’s dick throbbed beneath Flavius’s fingers. Flavius found it difficult to jack him off in this position, but it didn’t seem that Brutus was annoyed by that. He grunted and snorted, moaning as his face and chest turned ruddy with the power of his oncoming orgasm.
Brutus soon let out a gritty, booming groan that could only signify an orgasm. The other gladiators cheered, though they weren’t sure who precisely they cheered. Brutus’s whole body quaked and his ass clenched tight on Flavius’s dick, sending another wave of pleasure through Flavius’s limbs.
As Brutus’s toes curled and his fingers clawed at the straw-covered stone floor, cum sprayed over Flavius’s fingers. Flavius could almost see the orgasm itself in the rippling of Brutus’s massive muscles beneath his very eyes.
“Whoever’s on top, they’re just now finishing up. Hear that?!”
“I hear it…”
It was the tightening of Brutus’s ass around Flavius’s dick that actually sent him into throes of ecstasy like some mad Bacchae. He hollered and whooped, his voice temporarily imbued with so much masculinity that the other gladiators didn’t know who it was — they could tell it wasn’t the master or Brutus, but none of them believed Flavius could sound so manly.
Many Romans claimed that bending a man over brought you his strength and bravery; that was the reason many of them were so keen to do it to the conquered armies. But Flavius had never believed in that until this moment, when he suddenly felt like a real man instead of a girlish weakling.
He moaned and dug his cum-covered fingers into the meat of Brutus’s muscles. It might have been painful if it weren’t for Brutus laying flat on the ground, breathless and dazed; he didn’t even seem to notice as the most potent orgasm of both men’s lives overwhelmed them.
Cum poured from his dick like a tidal wave from Neptune’s domain, spreading to every inch of Brutus’s ass. They both let out a long, low chest-rattling moan as it happened, and a huge cumwad filled Brutus up from his toes to his head.
Flavius felt it flowing from his dick as pleasure assaulted his senses. If he had been standing, his knees would have been to weak to keep him up and he’d have fallen over, but he was already resting atop Brutus’s back. Flavius imagined he could feel the cum spreading beneath Brutus’s skin, coating his insides in Flavius’s manly juices.
Finally that was it. It was all over. Flavius had no idea how long it had taken; it felt like forever, but surely that wasn’t true. Josephus would have come to find him by now if it had been very long. Flavius blinked sweat from his eyes, licked the sweat off the quivering muscles of Brutus’s back and lifted himself up.
When his softened cock plopped out of Brutus’s ass, both men moaned with relief. Brutus’s crimson cheeks cooled and he sighed. All the tension in his muscles evaporated to nothing, and he was just a limp pile of manhood beneath Flavius.
Flavius still felt too weak to stand. He had never experienced anything like this. He remained resting there, atop Brutus’s back like a sleeping cat, his dick wedged between Brutus’s hair-matted asscheeks, his face dug in between the strapping muscles of Brutus’s shoulders.
“Okay… Flavius, you can get off me now,” Brutus said with a chortling laugh.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Flavius said. He stood and stretched his legs.
Brutus did the same, then winced and nearly fell over. He reached behind himself and massaged his ass like it still hurt, which Flavius knew it very probably did.
Before Flavius could tell him he was being unduly pessimistic, a loud, stentorian voice filled the air. “Flavius! Where are you!”
“In here, Josephus!” Flavius called out. “I’m in the last cell on the end! With Brutus!”
They both looked at each other nervously. Flavius wanted to say that Josephus was probably just here because Flavius was late to feed the next cell block. That was indeed plausible.
But they both knew that wasn’t why Josephus was here. There was something in his voice that suggested his actual purpose.
He came to the cell door and peered in. He wrinkled his nose — he didn’t approve of Flavius jerking off the gladiators, which is what he undoubtedly assumed had happened.
“Why are you still here? The western cell block still needs their gruel,” Josephus said.
“Yes, sir.”
Josephus turned to Brutus. “You are in for some excitement tomorrow. You better pray for Mars’s favor.”
“What am I fighting?”
“Three tigers and, if you happen to win that, they’ve got an hungry bear with your name on it,” Josephus said. “I’m putting money on the bear-“
Josephus went on, but neither Flavius nor Brutus were listening to him. They made eye contact with each other, and they were in perfect sync. Flavius might as well have been able to read Brutus’s mind: he knew exactly what the man wanted.
He wanted Flavius to come visit him again in the morning, and Flavius, of course, couldn’t wait. He was going to make Brutus’s last twenty-four hours the best twenty-four hours of his life.

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!”