MN Manmacker's mansploitation
Mustafa was the kind of alpha who saw no need to talk to his bitch. That was why Rob liked him and women did not.
“Ah, your mouth is woman,” Mustafa said with a sigh. “Good.” He then cleaned himself up enough to leave and exited the hotel room without another word aimed at Rob. That did not surprise Rob. Mustafa was the kind of alpha who saw no need to talk to his bitch. That was why Rob liked him and women did not.
He hoped he didn’t look like a creep. He wasn’t flirting with her, he really wasn’t. Some girls assume anyone who looks at them is flirting. Would she like it or dislike it
It was going to be difficult to proposition this middle-aged black man with the tastiest-looking chest in Illinois, Avery thought, with a weeping white girl just a few yards away. It was distracting. From what Avery got through the girl’s tears, she had been on a date with a boy who got handsy, and she was upset because he had seemed like a nice guy.
She can’t cry forever, can she? Girls can though, they have an infinite supply of tears. She’s got two friends comforting her. This could never end. It’s really ruining the anonymous-groping vibe I was hoping for. Avery glanced at the girl and smiled. Wish I was still cruising. He hoped he didn’t look like a creep. He wasn’t flirting with her, he really wasn’t. Some girls assume anyone who looks at them is flirting. Would she like it or dislike it if a flamboyant stranger came over to comfort her? Dislike it, probably.
From The Short-Order Cook
Men shouldn’t behave that way, he thought, and for men in his own field, sumo, it was entirely unacceptable.
Nashimoro Hazumatsu was a fashion designer, well-known in Japan for his outrageous designs, his shockingly green hair and his old-fashioned erotic woodcuts. “He is watching, in the audience,” Miku said, an annoyed look flickering across his face. He did not like the flamboyant behavior and eccentricity of Mr. Hazumatsu. Men shouldn’t behave that way, he thought, and for men in his own field, sumo, it was entirely unacceptable. But his patronage did help keep the league going, so Miku didn’t complain.
From The Shotputter
“You’re not going to be the hero of any action movie. Maybe a villain’s henchman. Maybe.”
“Oh shit, that’s awesome, man. Do you think I could get a cover on Men’s Fitness? They have it at my gym and I want the guys I lift weights with to see it. I really wanna be in a action movie too, and I know I got the physique for it-“
“I’m sorry, Arnold, I think I misspoke. I didn’t mean ‘I’d do you’ like I’ll be your media consultant. I won’t do that. Sorry. You have a bull face. You’re not television material,” Bart said. He felt bad saying that, but it was true, and it didn’t do Arnold any good to pretend there was some chance he’d wake up tomorrow a heartthrob. “You’re not going to be the hero of any action movie. Maybe a villain’s henchman. Maybe.”
From The Shotputter
“I have this one series — have you ever heard of The Wolfen Wild? That’s me. By J.P. Loggerhead.”
Raleigh shook his head. “What kinda book is that?”
“It’s a shifter thing. Werewolves. Women dig werewolves.”
“What? Women are into werewolves?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why do they always bitch that I’m too hairy?!” Raleigh lifted his arms and grunted. That bared his armpits and the big bushy fur protruding there. He slapped his thighs — which had inspired his last girlfriend to call him ‘Thunder Thighs’, because whenever he slapped himself there, there was a loud slapping sound like the thunder still roaring outside the house.
“What? Well… Most of the women who buy my books are… I mean, they wouldn’t literally hook up with a werewolf if that existed,” Bart said. “It’s just a fantasy.”
From The Fat Landscaper
his father resolutely believed men should do whatever it took to avoid going “on the dole”, so he forgave any man for being motivated by poverty to do something immoral
Robby was raised to be very religious and to think any masturbation was a sin. His mother would be scandalized if she knew he jacked off even alone, much less with another man (his father wouldn’t, Robby suspected, but only if he knew Robby had been paid — his father resolutely believed men should do whatever it took to avoid going “on the dole”, so he forgave any man for being motivated by poverty to do something immoral — his father would also approve better if Robby lied that he robbed Bart rather than accept the money that had been agreed upon — not that Robby was going to tell either parent about this).
Bart’s ass was smooth and perky like a porno-star. Robby had daydreamed about plowing into asses just like this one. His hole winked like it was begging Robby to do it. In real life, Robby couldn’t get trim girls to look at him, much less offer up their tight little asshole. Robby occasionally got girls as thick as him, and he once had gotten a female to give up the ass — he lied about how often that happened, but it had actually only ever been once, and she had been a nasty fat-ass who stank like a fetid pond.
This was nice, Robby thought but would never admit. He didn’t have to worry about his fat-ass turning the girl off, or about accidentally getting so sweaty she made him stop and shower a second time (which had happened before). He stood up and bent his knees, ramming his dick into Bart’s ass without hesitation — he thought it would be easier if he just did it quickly, like ripping a band-aid off.
From The Fat Mechanic
Pat knew what the problem was too. Curly ain’t like Pat because he wasn’t a “man’s man”. He ain’t spit or smoke or drink whiskey. He ain’t talk about whores and sluts all the time. He ain’t have an enormous cock, and he was embarrassed to show it off. He wasn’t anybody’s idea of a tough guy, and Curly evaluated every man he met on toughness. Pat was found wanting.
Pat knew what the problem was too. Curly ain’t like Pat because he wasn’t a “man’s man”. He ain’t spit or smoke or drink whiskey. He ain’t talk about whores and sluts all the time. He ain’t have an enormous cock, and he was embarrassed to show it off. He wasn’t anybody’s idea of a tough guy, and Curly evaluated every man he met on toughness. Pat was found wanting.
But still, Pat ain’t even think about declining a night out. He had been working too hard to skip it.
He followed Curly to the tiny town where Curly had said the “women begged you for it”. Pat ain’t need to ask what it was, and he couldn’t admit that he ain’t want to give anything at all to any women.
From The Cowboys
Alphas tried to be slow and gentle with women because women demanded it, and men (sometimes) wanted a long-term relationship with them.
Normally Avery would try to slow down something like this. Alphas tried to be slow and gentle with women because women demanded it, and men (sometimes) wanted a long-term relationship with them. But that didn’t apply to Avery. So it was up to him to slow his men down or else they’d just dagger his throat like jackrabbits and be done in mere moments.
Today, however, Avery didn’t want to slow down. He sometimes enjoyed letting men really have free reign over his throat, letting them plow into him deeply and letting their balls slap against his chin. He adjusted and loosened his neck to allow every inch of Woody’s cock in there.
“We have, eh, the, eh… infinite manhood.”
“I did. I fall into love with all women, no matter their size or age or shape. They have such beautiful flavors, and each one is a papaya of infinite sweetness. I could consume their tender womanhoods for hours, each one different but each one the same, and-” Galeno saw Teddy’s expression and fell flat. “Yes, I like women. But they must pay. I give them very much good love, it is worth it.”
He chuckled. “I am Brazilian. I can go again as soon as you wish,” he said proudly. “We have, eh, the, eh… infinite manhood.”
He didn’t know that Galeno had done this for him — Galeno had been hired by more than one man over the years, and he knew well how to appeal to them. While women preferred him in a clean suit like a businessman, men preferred him in a skimpy outfit to show off his muscles. Galeno had gone for a quick jog to get good and sweaty, then showered without soap — just rinsed off — so he would be musky while still smelling clean. If he had more time, he would have grown one day’s worth of beard-stubble too and even let his chest sprout a layer of fur. But that would require more than an hour and three hundred dollars.
That was because Galeno was Brazilian. Like most Brazilian men, Galeno saw himself as so horny, so virile and so masculine that he could be aroused by anyone, and he did not see it as problematic to do anything at all with a man — except get penetrated. He thought nothing of kissing a man on the lips, or even licking that man’s asshole like it was a pussy.
Galeno sniffled and puffed out his chest. “All Brazilian men are better lovers, it is certain. They are better than any man. But I am better than them all.”
From The Gigolo
“You let those black guys tell you what to do, you let some liberals tell you to call them African-Americans, you let your coaches, those scouts for the Orioles, your priest, you let everyone tell you what to do. You’re a grown man,” Avery said. “Take responsibility for your choices.”
“Hmm…” Avery shrugged. “I don’t agree, but whatever, you have to make your own decisions, Byron.” He kept one hand on the root of Byron’s cock as he rubbed lube onto the shaft. “You let those black guys tell you what to do, you let some liberals tell you to call them African-Americans, you let your coaches, those scouts for the Orioles, your priest, you let everyone tell you what to do. You’re a grown man,” Avery said. “Take responsibility for your choices.”