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The White Trash Veteran: Chapter 4

The White Trash Veteran

Goose’s hair flowed free as a wave. He was plopping pretty atop his motorcycle, with li’l Buck clinging on behind him. The sun exploded into a horizon of oranges and yellows, as the motorcycle ate up asphalt and spat out sky. The engine was too loud to talk, but Goose heared Buck’s smile in his fingers clutching Goose’s torso. For now leastways, the both them done fling they worriment behind them — like that song says, let a worse-off man pick up that fig skin, for it is true, there always do be someone suffering more than you. They rode like cowboys, and both was content in that ever-lasting moment.
They made it on through to the campground just as the sun was setting, and they raced to get the tent up before it was dark. They ain’t quite make it, so they gotsta use flashlights to get they sleeping bags into the tent. Then they had just enough time to roast some weiners over an open fire. Buck be grinning like a puppy the whole time.
Goose got pockets fulla cash, greenbacks a-plenty, enough to buy that motorcyle. He been feeling centered enough to come back down to Martinsburg for a visit. Not to live. He could have a crash anytime, could get the bogey-logies, couldn’t let Buck see him how he was.
It was him and Buck’s first trip together. Buck was living with a foster family who owned a turnip farm. He said they worked him hard. He was strong as bourbon cuz the farmwork stretched him tall for his age. Goose beamed proud. Struggle do strengthen a boy, and Buck gots long expectations to fulfill.
The smell of roasting weiners lingered in Goose’s nose as him and Buck finished they supper. When the scent of meat done diminute enough, it was replaced by the bitter and intense aroma of burning wood.
But not just any burning wood. The scent was green wood. Some other family at some other campsite done light a fire with it. Prolly cuz they don’t know no better. Some people is damn fools.
In Vietnam, all wood is wet. Everything is wet in Vietnam. Ain’t nothing there burn without a cloud of steam. Whole damn country is steamy as kisses from a fat lady. But Vietnam don’t got no fat ladies, so how’d that happen?!
The burning green wood launched a catalogue of smells at Goose.
First, the acrid scent of gunpowder filled his nose. That was followed by a burst of coppery blood with the spicy aroma of a Vietnamey feller’s body odor. The gunpowder smell mixed with the burning green wood of the campfire Goose’s squad done cook they supper on. Harley did the cooking of that night.
Harley’s sweat smelled stinkhoggen and pounding in Goose’s nostrils, strong with the rhythm of his fluttery heart. The scent of Harley’s gun was potent too, bitter steel, clammy and reeking of unwashed flesh, which stuck to it cuz he only held it when afreared enough to sweat. For some reason, the gunpowder aroma of Goose’s own gun ain’t hit his nose hard — like his own armpits, he couldn’t smell the stink of it. He could damn well smell Harley’s though. Harley musta sweated through his shirt again, and Goose could smell the rankness of the Vietnameys surrounding him too. Burning plastic and skanky rodent fur filled out Goose’s nostrils.
Goose’s nose stayed stuck in Vietnam, but his eyes trained like snipers on Buck in the darkened here and the shadowy now.
Goose wanna take a shower. Maybe, he thought, that’d reset his nose. But Buck was too tired for a shower, and anyway the shower situation was a problem — there was a showerhouse for adult men and one for women and families. Goose couldn’t take Buck into that showerhouse, nor the other one. The campground people never figgered there might could be a shirt-tail boy with an adult man and no females.
No matter, they was only gonna be here till Sunday morning. Ain’t nothing wrong with a boy skipping a shower.
The Vietnameys used old dirty rope that smelled like a stack of cardboard boxes rotting in the rain. That was how they tied up they prisoners of war. They stinking bodies and breath assaulted Goose’s nose. They ate spices, the Vietnameys did, bunchesa spices, and Goose smelled it on them. The Vietcong uniform had a characteristic smell too, an unclean-laundry gookiness, and it either growed stronger as the war dillydallied onward or Goose’s nose got accustomed to seeking it out more the longer he was kept captive.
The muddy bootprints the Vietnameys left afronta Goose and Harley got the odor of rotting drawers. The smell of American tears was salty-strong, or maybe that was Vietnameys’s tears, cuz somea they own kept getting they bits blown up in a copper-scented mist. Goose preferred to only smell the American tears though.
Goose had gotta shower tonight. He was gonna be funky as a black boy if he ain’t redd up. He ain’t smell it, either cuz he couldn’t smell his own funk or cuz his nose was back in Vietnam, but he knewed he needed a shower.
When Buck was sleepy-deeping, his belly fulla sausages and cookies, Goose left him in the tent. He strolled over into the showerhouse wearing his boxers and carrying with him his ditty bag. He ain’t wanna dawdle, so he hurried to rip them boxers off.
He took a sniff of his bar of soap, which smelled clean and medicinal, and that at last brung his nose outta Vietnam. That was good. He got no desire to smell the prisoner of war camp. They ain’t got toilets, just a bucket to share.
When Goose went into the shower proper he seed a pinkthumb numbnut, less than middle-aged but he got a old soul, you could tell. Goose knewed the type. He stood there like a dotless question mark when Goose walked in, then he blistered like he got a vendetta against Goose.
A discourteous nod passed between ’em. The man still was curling his lip at Goose though, and Goose stood past him. He was foul cuz he was, till moments ago, deep in the first worst day of his life.
The rumpety milkweed man rinsed shampoo outta his hair. When his face was clear, Goose catched sight of his face and reckonized him as this feller who done give him a dirty look before, when Goose came riding in. Goose wondered if he knewed somehow Goose was a ex-con.
Was he a prison guard? He don’t look familiar.
“You got a pro’lem?” Goose stood there in the shower-spray, letting it run down his body. He set his ditty bag on the floor outsidea the water, but he ain’t get his soap or shampoo or nothing outta there. He done learnt in prison to never bend over in the shower when there’s bad blood in the air. Clear the air first.
Or better yet, just don’t bend over.
“This is a nice campground,” said the man, looking quakey like he admiredta walk off. “We don’t want bikers here. It’s for families.”
Now Goose weren’t really a proper biker, not like a Hell’s Angel or nothing like that. He was just a motorcyclist at that time. But the pinkthumb was pissing him off, and Goose don’t wanna explain the particulars of biker gangs and motorcycle clubs. Goose scowled. “I ain’t a biker, I j’st rides me a motorcycle, yes I do. T’ain’t none’ya business. In ar’y case, I’s he’uh wit’ mah son. We a family. You a slim slice of tuhkey, sissy.”
The man frowned. “What? You talk like a hillbilly.”
“You is in West Virginney, yankee.”
“I’m from Iowa!” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want a fight-” He ignored Goose scoffing. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not, you know, like… a bootlegger.”
“A bootlegger?!” Goose guffawed. “You in West Virginney, hoss, not the past.”
“Well, I don’t know, any of the… crime, or the drugs, or the gun-running, I don’t know what bikers do,” the man said.
“I ain’t a biker!” Goose shouted.
“That wasn’t a station wagon you rode in on!” The man shouted with such vitupery he dropped his soap. Then he turned around to pick it up off the ground from the river of shower water that ran on down to the drain.
With a cackling laugh, Goose darted from one showerhead to the other and rammed at his ass. His dick was soft, so all he did was wipe it up through the man’s buttcrack, which was moist and hot and sudsy.
The man yelped and stood up. He looked put upon and also shocked by the size of Goose’s cock. Apparently he ain’t look down till this very moment.
Goose got no plan on doing more than that, but the sensation of the man’s asscrack rubbing on his dick reminded him of dirty nights in prison. Goose be plussing. The dowdy pinkthumb in the showerhouse was putting out forlorn, like he ain’t never heared of cornholing. Most likely the case. He don’t look like a ex-con, he ain’t a Navy man for sure and he don’t seem like he spend time with black fellers.
“Get off me, what… what was that? You’re disgusting. Did you just try to…” He dropped to a whisper. “… pee in my butt?”
That made Goose guffaw like a goose. “What the fuck? T’ain’t a thang, hoss. Don’t nobody pee in no butt.” Goose got his pecker in his hand, stroking it hard and wondering if it was possible to pee inside somebody’s butt. Never occurred to him. You’d hafta be hard when you stick it in, then after you cum, leave it in.
Would it spill? Seemed chancy to keep it from spilling.
Goose don’t wanna try it, but he’d like to see a colored boy do it. They can do all kinda things with they peckers. They could prolly figger it out.
Anyway, as Goose pondered that notion, he got his wingwang hard, and the man either ain’t notice or ain’t pick up what Goose was putting down. He was done with his shower even, but he don’t leave. Foolish hawkeye! Naive as a ear of corn!
“Do you go to church?” the man asked.
“Sh’ore do,” Goose said. But before the man could ask any more of his rumpety questions, Goose grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him face first into the grimy wall of the showerhouse.
“Ow!” That knocked his bar of soap outta his hand once more.
The man ain’t acknowledge Goose’s hardon. He prolly come from a world of class, where men don’t have hardons in showers and where it’s okay to bend over afronta man with a pecker. Sounds like a nice world. Guess he was still on the pee-in-the-butt thing and assumpted Goose’s hardon would stop him from doing it again.
When the man was bent over, his ass high in the air, Goose went for it — he rammed hard into the pinkthumb’s pink behind, gripping them asscheeks to keep him in position.
“Oooooowwww!” the man yelped. Only the tippa Goose’s dick went in, but that was enough to make the hawkeye bug out and wriggle. Goose slapped his ass like a rodeo cowboy.
“Yee-haw, mothahfuckah!” Goose called out. The man’s knees buckled in pain, and Goose rode him to the nasty shower floor, sinking his heft atop the poor sucker.
Goose forced it in deeper, a thrill of pleasure rocking up his body. He do love breaking down a intact man’s intactness. He gotsta struggle to force every inch in, but the struggle made it feel good.
He rammed back and forth as the man howled in pain. Goose used all his body weight to slam down on the man’s backside, forcing his dick in and intense pleasure out. He moaned into the man’s ear and made him lick the shower drain, just cuz it got him gagging, which made his booty tighten up in agony all over again.
A burst of cum shot up the man’s guts. Goose spurted out a huge long flow of it, and Goose got the impression the dumbass man only now realized what that huge hot thang was in his asshole. He sobbed onto the shower floor.
A grunt came outta Goose with each thrust of his body and was accompanied by a jerk of pain from the pinkthumb. Goose shot a huge wad that coated his guts, then he slowly let the sissy-shithead clench his ass and force Goose’s cock out, inch by veiny inch.
“Don’chu talk to me again, pansy. Walk off, and walk off good,” Goose said with a chuckle as he rinsed his pecker off in the shower water. He spat on the man’s bawling face and walked out of the showerhouse, towel in hand. He didn’t even dry off until he was out in the moonlit night.
That felt good, and Goose was gladsome to have got a nut off this weekend. This would be his only chance, since he was gonna be with Buck the whole time. He don’t get a lotta time with his son, so he wanna make the mosta it, and he don’t need no hardon slowing him down.
And maybe, he thought, it would keep the pesky past at bay.

The White Trash Veteran: Chapter 3

The White Trash Veteran

Goose holed up in Smashwood with Buck and Ellen for mosta the winter, and they lived like family. Goose was at his home, but he ain’t came home. He remained an outlander, like he missed all the inside jokes while he was gone but nobody would explain ’em to him or even repeat ’em with him in the room.
The money ran out by spring, and Goose got turned on to a job on over at a lumber camp in Pennsylvania. He worked there the whole of the summer of 1977. He got to heading back to West Virginia in the fall cuz he received some grim news.
Ellen died. Li’l Buck was an orphan. Or half an orphan at least.
The whole park stayed with sadness, locked in mourning. Goose hung his head proper-like as he workbooted in. Lotta folks came up to him and expressed they sorries and commiseries, and Goose accepted ’em polite as a pony. She got a bad dose of heroin, that was what Goose heared tell of.
Sly as snakes, oodlins of eyeballs judged him. He wished he weared a black shirt at least. But he done return to Smashwood in his wrinkledy workshirt like any other day, flecks of paint and sawdust clinging to the denim. For sure all the parkbodies thunk he shoulda been here, strong enough to control his household like a man, he shoulda been watching over Ellen, providing for her so she don’t gotta sling her cat for horse.
But ain’t nobody say a word about that. Goose heared ’em not say it in his twinging bones.
Lotta folks said Buck be running round like a stray dog, that Ellen weren’t watching him, weren’t keeping him proper. He went and asked folks for food, cuz mama was sleepy-deeping.
Ain’t nobody told Goose on the phone that that was happening. Only now that Ellen was dead. Again, nobody said it was Goose’s fault, which was how that Goose knewed they was all thinking it.
But there weren’t no work round here for a man like Goose, so he had no choice but to go away. He wanna blame Ellen for spending dollars on drugs steada feeding the boy, but a real man don’t blame a woman. A proper man shoulda been here, shoulda found a way. That’s how the cow ate the cabbage. T’is a woman’s nature to dream and dally. T’is on the nearest man to handle reality. That weren’t a duty Goose was living up to at the moment.
The war been tarrying in Goose’s shadow, jumping into light when the moment fit the frame. He been losing his temper at that lumber camp, got a ramstudious reputation, causing ructions over both nothing and everything, and he afreared what might happen when Buck was around. This feller he knewed from the Army, Thad Hoover, he got back to home in Michigan and plum killt his wife and daughters, then hisself. No reason. Just happened. Goose felt a random wheel in him, and he duked up at the dawn, early so nobody would see him boxing walls till his fists grew gnarled and knucklesome; he drownded his outerwards to slay his innermostlies, and it worked. The war be bubbling up, splattering its indignities onto him when he let his guard down, when his brain sputtered and his heart hanged. If he was home with Buck and Ellen, all kinda things might could have done happen. He be spotting ambushes in every corner, and in the lumber camp there was men — mostly veterans theyselfs — who could smack sense into him. Ellen and Buck couldn’t do that. Well, Buck couldn’t, and Ellen really couldn’t.
And yet his brain steady came back to Ellen’s death, telling him he shoulda been here. He did heroin in Vietnam, and he quit before coming over on back to America. He coulda, shoulda and woulda made Ellen do the same. A man should be the master of his home or leastways his own self.
A road is unlike a river in that a driver must know which way to go. A river unlike a road carves out a path that is never wrong. Goose accepted the truth of that but not the reality of it.
It almost felt bad to enjoy visiting with Buck. Soon as he seen the tyke, Goose wrapped him up in his arms. Buck be sobby-lobbing in the trailer of Miss Junebug, that’s who took him on in when Ellen came up dead.
“Is you gonna stay, Pops?” Buck asked when he stopped crying for a spell.
Goose wanna tell him, ‘Can’t stay cuz I got war in my bones, and I don’t wanna bring it to you, Buck. Parta me died in Vietnam, but I gotsta figger out which part’. All Goose said was, “I gonna hafta go out fer work, son. J’st the way t’is.”
Li’l Buck scuffed his feetses. “Oh.” He picked up what Goose was putting down, or he would one day, when his generation found a war or made one.
“You gotsta be tough, Buck. Stay strong. A man lives in the here and now, takin’ on burdens that ain’t fair, beatin’ back the night by buildin’ up the day. You let ya mama stay in ya heart, where’n e’erythang’s perfect,” Goose said.
Buck nodded like a warrior, and he swallowed down his tears as he shared his peanut butter crackers with Goose. They ate ’em together and drank milk and talked about Ellen’s hugs. Goose hugged Buck the bestmost he could, and he felt in them twinging bones that that was enough for Buck.
After that, Miss Junebug went on about the necessities — of foster families and custodianship, that kinda thing. She said Buck was a hellion, he don’t sit still and he do play rough with the other boys, he do! He don’t got control of hisself.
Goose couldn’t hardly complain about that. Goose had long troubles with rules. Goose couldn’t abide by a rule that weren’t enforced, and it don’t feel real till it was enforced against him. That ain’t a trait that agrees with a military life. The army discottoned to fellers who buck rules.
“You hoopie sumbitch think you can get away with not shaving!” his drill sergeant barked at him the day after check-in. Goose done got his head shaved, but the barber ain’t say he gots to shave off the mustache too.
“Suh, no suh!” Goose snapped down. He be solid at attention. The drill sergeant glared close as though daring him to square up. Goose ain’t take the bait. They got so close Goose could feel the aura of his nose, and Goose’s fat cock bulging through his camo pants felt of drill sergeant’s crotch too. “Suh! I ain’t know — I ain’t — nobody said-“
“Waah-waah-waah, I don’t wanna hear it! A soldier finds out the rules, or he suffers for breakin’ ’em, Sampson! Now get down and gimme fifty push-ups! And if you don’t do every one perfectly, ya whole damn barrack is doin’ ’em!”
No doubt drill sergeant thunk Goose wouldn’t do ’em right and the whole barrack would hafta do fifty push-ups. They’d put it off on Goose. But he did do ’em right, cuz he got arms like tractors, and drill sergeant couldn’t say boo about it. He did make the whole barrack do fifty push-ups a few minutes later, but nobody could blame Goose for it.
Drill Sergeant Tucker was like that — he steady punished the whole unit if’n one feller messed up. That forced ’em to hold each other accountable.
The one soldier who couldn’t quite live up to expectations was Samovich, who was skinny as a toothpick and sloppy as a bear. He couldn’t never do enough push-ups or clean his rifle proper-like or keep his bunk in good order. Whole dang unit got in a bad row of stumps again and again for that sumbitch.
Ain’t nobody wanna punish him. They hoped Samovich to improve, but Samovich cried for his mama and he tried a-sneaking like a clumsy ninja, even cheating on an obstacle course, stogging around the obstacles out in the woods where Drill Sergeant Tucker couldn’t see.
That was some low-manhood, high-sissy behavior, so far as Goose was concerned. And per his buddy Harley, who Goose ain’t barely know yet, but they later ran together cuz they shipped out together.
Once Tucker found out about the obstacle course, he shit his lid, and Samovich returned to the barrack with a heavy head, a black eye and a limp, and word soon got back that they wasn’t getting leave this weekend cuzza him.
Whole dang unit got no leave cuz Samovich couldn’t handle his shit.
That pissed ’em all off. It was Harley who badmouthed Samovich so bad them’all took a turn gutpunching him.
By then he was bawling in the corner of the barrack like a rank pussy, god did that weakling shit piss Goose off. It wasn’t even just that Samovich was a pussy — god knows the world’s fulla ’em! — but he was getting the whole barrack in trouble, and Samovich was going off to war! What’d he think this was? Prep for a trip to a circus? He gonna hafta toughen up or the Vietnameys gonna send him dirtwards. A man rises hisself to the situation at hand.
“Hey, watch this,” Harley said. The whole squad done talk trash like them’all was gonna beat him to bumpkins, but they only gave Samovich a lavish of gutpunches. That got the frustration outta the cadets, but they stayed mad. Beating him up was likeish to get them all in trouble. He already done got the breath knocked outta him, and he hurt so bad in the belly he dry-heaved up a mouthful of spit.
A sense of brotherhood done rise among ’em then, a unity of purpose. It felt right. Even Samovich prolly felt it. They moved as one, they acted as one, without thinking. That was a sensation only reckonizable in retrospect. A feller can never step in the same river twice.
Harley was the ringleader, the one daffy-laughing the loudest. “Watch, watch, watch, I’mma mollywop that skinny sumbitch.”
Harley took out his dick and slapped Samovich over the face with it. Harley got a fat pecker, but it weren’t too long, so he gotsta sorta jut his crotch forward, which let him dick-whack Samovich good and hard, solid enough to make a thwap-slap sound.
“Oh shit-“
“Harley dickslappin’ that sissy!”
That made ’em all guffaw, especially when Samovich looked like ain’t nothing happen, like he was stonefacing all of a sudden, despite the tears rolling down his cheeks. Goddamn was he a wussy! Like a woman, he was pretending, couldn’t accept the reality afronta him.
“Get ‘im-“
“-ruined mah damn leave!”
“I wuz gonna get wit’ this chick, maaaaan-“
Before Goose knewed it, bunchesa fellers got they dicks out, jobbing Samovich on the cheeks and chin and forehead. Samovich was looking like a red-faced statue, sniffling back his tears and his cries for mama. The wangs was all limp as hot green beans though. Samovich did wince when Hernandez got his pecker on his upper lip — he musta tasted it — and he held back a bawl.
T’was Goose’s giant cock that made Samovich cry out again. They all done shower with him, so it weren’t no surprise, but maybe them’all ain’t notice or ain’t reckon how big it was up close, till they saw Goose smack Samovich over the face with it. His fatness rested on Samovich’s light hawkbrown face, almost as wide as his face and longer than it for sure.
“Aww, sheeit, that’s a big one, you honky sumbitch!” said one the black fellers, Crowley, who got a fat dick too. He thwacked his thickness onto Goose’s meat and chuckled, as they shafts bounced and jiggled softly over each other.
Goose got no idear who first started ramming at Samovich’s mouth. He was laughing and swordfighting with Crowley, as they all jabbered about the whores they woulda fucked on leave if that pissant Samovich ain’t mess it up. On they first leave last month, most all the barrack ‘cept for Samovich all joined in for a whorish harridan who gave ’em each blowjobs, one after the other. She weren’t much to look at, but she drew a nut out in about two minutes each. Mouth like snappin’ velvet.
When Goose turned back around, Harley was shooting his nut onto Samovich’s mug.
“Oooooh, sheeit!”
“Ewww-!”
“Harley’s nuttin’! Harley’s nuttin’!”
“That honky shoot cream!” Crowley yelped and ran in a little circle in the barrack, guffawing like a barrel. “That honky shootin’ cream!” he said as though there was a chance something else mighta come outta Harley’s erection.
That made them all laugh the dickens! Samovich sat there, teary-eyed and wussy, practically begging a Vietnamey sniper to take him out. Jizz roped over his face from his forehead to his chin.
He did get shot, you know. Goose don’t like to think about it. At the time, when Samovich messed up they leave, Goose and all them all was thinking a rank-ass wussy like him deserved to take a bullet. Somebody got to, and it might as well be someone who couldn’t hack it in basic training.
But that was exactly what happened, Samovich got shot on patrol in Dien Fat Boo, and Goose was sad as a girl when he found out. He ain’t want nobody he knewed to get shot.
And in the end, Samovich did get through basic training. Barely, but that still counts.
Disregardless, at the time, the war seemed too far away to even think about, even though that was all any of them did think about. The war was both too near and too far for studyment.
Harley stepped away, dick swinging between his hands, still dribbling nut onto the floor of the barrack. Harley pumped his biceps like he just conquered a frontier, and everwho did cheer him on. As they did so, Crowley got hard in an instant, you know how black boys is, ain’t even gotta touch his meat, and he held onto Samovich by the ear to plow into his poor little mouth. Harley’s jizz dripped onto Crowley’s pecker.
“C’mon, yo’ mouf is my pussy, Samovich!” Crowley grunted like he was fucking a dislikable whore. He pumped and rammed at Samovich’s mouth, not using his hands so his cock kept slipping out and roping over Samovich’s face, making Samovich gag as both precum and actual cum coated him from bow to stern. “C’mon, pussy-fhroat, gonna wreck yo’ fhroat…” Crowley’s taut muscles rippled.
“Aw, fuck, Crowley, you doin’ it! You doin’ it!” Goose whooped and hollered. He done gone to prison by this point — Goose was old for a basic-training feller. He ain’t mention to nobody that he done shoot his nut in a sissy before. Mosta them’all was just eighteen years old, maybe nineteen in a couple cases. Goose was the old man at twenty-four. Them young’uns acted like they ain’t know a feller could nut in another feller’s mouth — and you just know they never heared tell of butt rangers. Goose acted similar, cuz he ain’t want nobody to guess what he done.
It ended up coming out anyway, but not at that time.
Crowley pounded his cock at Samovich’s throat, and while he did so, some other feller shot a wad onto Samovich’s face. Young’uns is like that, busting a nut in a instant. Whoever that was — Goose don’t remember now — they ain’t even get they dick in Samovich’s mouth. They prolly thwacked it on his face, maybe got some spit on it, definitely got smeared with cream from Harley and maybe Crowley, which was prolly what lubed up they dong. In any case, they was spewing they load onto Crowley’s dick still while Crowley was closing his eyes to fuck Samovich’s throat like a pussy, his heavy balls slapping at Samovich’s chin.
“Aw’ight, aw’ight, here I go,” Crowley closed his eyes and forced his dick down Samovich’s throat. His black shaft pulsated visibly as cum spurted down there. Crowley ain’t let up, not even when Samovich retched up jizz round his eggplanty knob. It plopped onto the ground at his feet.
Then Jerry Whathisname did much the same thing, he only needed a minute, maybe less than one, in Samovich’s mouth, he got a dinky peter, that was why. So did Manny Hernandez, Carl Taggart and that other black boy, the islander —Lucent — who was Trinidadian, skinny like a jaguar — and Yeller, Opie, Lyle, Abe, Nottingham, Goose weren’t sure of the order. He waited till the end.
Goose liked the idea of a well-lubed throat. By the time he swaggered his thirteen-incher in front of Samovich’s face, that sumbitch weren’t even visible. He got prolly thirty-nine cumloads on his face. Well, less, cuz Crowley and some others shot it down his gullet and Lucent missed, got mosta it on his shoulders. Samovich spat up mosta the ackempucky onto his own face, and Hernandez spat on Samovich’s face bunches, he was like that, he did that, made Samovich’s mug ugly, wet and sticky. There was fifty fellers in the barrack, but a couple was gone for various reasons at the time, so maybe thirty-nine loads hit him in various places. Big boy loads too!
Gommy puddles of it coated his face, no bare skin at all there. He was soaked on his ears, his shoulders, his neck. Mosta his crewcut was moist, and Samovich kept smearing it round with his hands, but he ain’t got nothing to wipe it off with — damn was he a sissy! Ain’t nobody holding him down, reckon! He just was too scairt or sad or whatever to move, got a pussy on his soul holding him down. He don’t fight back, he don’t even got smart-ass remarks like a short feller.
“Maaan, come on…” was all he said, leastways all that Goose heared. Then he erupted in more gags, his whole body undulating like a eel.
Samovich weren’t resisting one bit when Goose rammed his meat into that paltry sumbitch’s wide open mouth. He was well broke-in, his throat lubed. Goose got a good four inches in, the others cheering him on, then he held onto Samovich’s face and forced it in more. Samovich stretched his lips around the shaft. Got maybe eight inches in then. Pretty dang good, most fellers can’t get that far in no matter how hard they plowed.
He shot his fat wad onto Samovich’s face — he made sure to pull away, so all them’all could see every drop of it coat Samovich in creamy ropes. His giant balls shot giant loads, and Goose wanna paint Samovich white as cotton. So he aimed his dickmeat for the last few cum-free spots on Samovich’s face.
It felt good, but the main sensation was pride, not pleasure. Goose liked seeing Samovich take his cumload, even if he was jacking his own meat at the time. Samovich kept his mouth open though nobody told him to, he was just that muchuva pussy. He cringed and gagged as his mouth overflowed and spilled.
“Damn, Goose-“
“Whiteboy got mad meat!” Crowley was happy-dapping up and down, his own manhood jiggling like a angry baseball bat.
Still more jizz got Samovich on his back and his nape, as he at last reckoned he could crawl away. He sobbed on all fours, while Goose followed him, laughing so hard he couldn’t even keep ahold on his dick. It fell between his legs and dangled as the last couple drops dribbled onto Samovich’s legs and feet.
Then Goose sighed and pulled away, amid the claps and laughter from the resta the barrack. That felt good as candy, he thunk. Not enough to make up for the lost leave, but still, it felt good to get a nut off.
Even if Samovich was good for nothing else, leastways he could do that.

The White Trash Veteran: Chapter 2

The White Trash Veteran

It rained like rhythmic broth in the marshy jungle north of camp. The crippety call of crickets and the rattatat of machine guns boomed outta the steamy yonder and combined with the chop-chop of the helicopters overhead and the chirrup of the frogs and the splashing of Goose’s heavy boots in wetland muck, and his huffing breath lingered like saxophone sounds amid the clap-a-clap of his gun jostling to and fro.
Bwooooooooosh — schhhllaaat!
A bomb went off somewhere, and men cried out — maybe a landmine — them voices sounded gooky. They bumped and chattered and clashed crashing syllables somewhere nearabouts, maybe all around. The echoic jungle indistinctly whooshed past Goose’s ears, as he boot-splashed in some direction or possibly a different one.
“Woo-jai-goo!” sparked some gook, or some shit like that, it all sounded the same to Goose, who just arrived in Vietnam last week. Already, he be plussing.
More ding-dong chatter sounded from thisaway and thataway and yanway and from up on over yonder too, and Goose unclipped his gun. He dunno which direction to point it in, as all he heared now was the jungle calls of critters creepy-crawling. Vietnam got more bugs than sense. Goose hoped to draw his firearm.
But his hand was empty. No gun.
Goose had it a moment ago. Did he drop it?
“Stop! Stop right where you are! Hands in the air!” One the gooks had stellar English, with drawl and a trace of twang. Sounded like he was from somewhere proper, maybe Tennessee.
The peal of a siren shattered Goose’s rainy shards into panes of togethertude, and he stupored into stillness.
Cops surrounded him. Guns aimed himward. The sun blared in his eyes. No endless canopy clouding overhead. No wetlands under his boots. No helicopter sounds.
He was in America. Tennessee? Maybe. Pennsylvania? Indiana? Were those real places? Goose never was convinced Delaware was real.
“Put your hands in the air!” shouted the insistent cop in the lead. His gun glinted in the sun. He had a groomed mustache liketa grow into a beard but never quite got there.
“Aaaah… shit,” Goose said. He ain’t know where he was or what done happen. For a moment, he couldn’t even remember leaving Vietnam. Had he rotated out? Gone AWOL? Fragged his commander? Or did he die there?
Goose sunk to his knees. His mind still whirred as facts filed back into place. He recollected now the floaty-boat back to America. He was honorably discharged, if you can believe it, like a fucking knight. He did the paperwork. He got a medal. The cops stormed forth and slapped cuffs on him. Goose stumbled to the black and white, policemen shoving him this way and that like a sturdy man in a Navy brig, and they squeezed him into the backseat.
Martinsburg seemed very far away. Goose don’t know where he was, so t’was possible it was nearby, but it felt afar. He ain’t wanna ask after his current locale cuz he was feeling lazy in mind and soul, like a pecan floating down the gentle Monongahela. Nothing that happens now matters, because everything done happen, back in Vietnam. His ache for Ellen and for li’l Moses Buck was only a minor eddy in the current of the universe, and there was something comforting in the meaninglessness of it all.
The next few hours swirled through a relentless, incomprehensable tornado of questions and photographs.
But eventually it was over, and he lay in his jail cell, both sobering up and piecing together. He done start a fist and skull with a lippy larry in a bar, and then everything went blurry. He brawled ’em all like a hillbilly do. He punched up purple at a cop in his blues, then, seeing red, Goose took the cop’s black and white. He was going inside for sure. Hopefully for just a couple months.
“You okay, hillbilly?” came a deep voice from the cell next to him. It had a distinct New England tone to it, a portion of stawk and a dose of yip. Not quite New York, not quite Massachusetts. Yankee for sure.
“Who you callin’ hillbilly?!” Goose said as he sat up, which got him swimmy-headed. “Yankee bastard.”
The man across the way, with half-gray curls atop his squareness, chuckled. “Where you think you’s at, hillbilly?”
Goose shrugged. “Good question.”
“You’s in New Juusey,” said the man. “Name’s Dutch.” They both nodded back to each other. “You an Army man?”
Goose nodded. He rubbed his sore temple. “Yeah-um.” He grunted. “It’s 1976, right?”
“Yup.”
“When’s suppuh?”
“You had yu’s. You puked it up,” Dutch said. “You might get Castle to let you make yuuself a sandwich.” He sniffled and shrugged. “Prolly not. He’s a dick.”
Goose sighed. “Fine.” His belly done went queasy as a weasel anyway. He laid back on the bunk. He closed his eyes. He thunk he stayed awake and that only a few seconds passed, but when he opened his eyes, it was hours later. He awoke to the jailhouse door slamming shut, as a uniformed cop came in, looking like a blob-shape frown. He got a scruffy beard and a eyepatch over his right eye, which was blue as the Pacific Ocean.
He stopped at the cell bars by Goose’s head. His nametag read Castle. He held a clipboard. “You alive?”
“Yes suh.”
“What’s ya name, son?”
“Nobody.”
“Fingerprints gonna bring up a name?”
“Yes suh.”
Castle let out a long sigh. “Then why not tell me-?”
“J’st look at mah dog tag!” Goose said. He took off his dog tag and tossed it at Castle, who caught it.
A long pause sat ‘tween them two, and it grew like kudzu, snaking and sneaking, encircling the cell in sullen silence. Goose wondered if Castle done walk away, but he ain’t move his head to see. It was nice to stare at the ceiling, which was solid and unchanging.
“You gonna kill yaself?” Officer Castle finally asked. He scratched his eyepatch, which made him wrinkle his nose.
“No suh.”
“You got any medical whatevers?”
“No suh.”
“Good,” Castle said. He sniffled and rubbed his nose, which again made him wince. He dropped the clipboard and held it by his side. He looked at Goose for the first time since coming in here. “You okay?”
Goose shrugged.
“Ya public defender will be here in the morning.”
“Uh-huh,” Goose said.
“You took a swing at me earlier.”
“Sorry ’bout that. Suh.”
“Sorries don’t cut it, son. What happened? You was putting out crazy,” Officer Castle said. He paused but Goose kept them peepers trained on the ceiling. Goose was thinking of a response, but he ain’t show it and he ain’t wanna give nothing that sound like excuses. Officer Castle frowned so hard Goose heard it. “You lost control. You look strong, but you got weakness in you, son. You too weak to control yaself.” He took a step to the side, where’n he could better see Goose’s face. “You too weak, son-“
“I heared ya.”
“Well? You satisfied with that? Jesus Christ do pull thorns from the paws of lions, son. The pro’lem with you is you think you’re the lion, waiting for Jesus to show up. But really, you’s the thorn,” Castle said.
“Yessuh.” There was a huge bulge in Goose’s boxer shorts. He got a gigantic cock, and the too-small boxers made that obvious. He rearranged it so it didn’t look like he had a hardon. Rearranging it made it look like he did have a hardon and was concealing it.
“If you wanna take carea that stiffy, Dutch’ll jerk you off,” Castle said. He walked off, snorting at Dutch, who was in the cell leaning against his bars and smoking a cigarette.
“Yes suh.” Goose sat up and chuckled. He waggled his dick in his army-green drawers. The door to the jailhouse swung shut, and the lock loudly engaged.
All was still and silent. With no noise, Goose’s ears pricked up, and he soon heared the whirr of the ventilation system, the plink-plink of water dripping somewhere, the scurrying of a mouse in the walls. Them was good sounds, and a sortuva holy calm came over him for a few seconds, lasting until his thoughts commenced to pondering again.
He looked across the way at Dutch.
“I don’t gotta jerk you off.” Dutch puffed on his cigarette from across the way. “You got anything on you? Cigarettes?”
Goose patted his pockets and pulled out two nickels and a lighter. He showed them to Dutch. “Shit… I don’t got none. Can I get a cigarette?”
“No,” Dutch said as though that shoulda been obvious. Then he peered closer at the lighter. “Lemme see the lighter. If it’s full, I’ll trade you a couple cigarettes for it.” Dutch came outta his cell and over to Goose’s. Goose handed him the lighter, which Dutch hefted in one hand and looked at it in the light to see the silhouette of the level of fluid inside. Then he swiped the nickels too. “Three cigarettes.”
Goose nodded. He took the three cigarettes from Dutch and lit one. “I’s in New Juhsey?” he said as he exhaled. That only now sunk into his brain. “How’d I get to New Juhsey?”
“How in the name of Christ could I know that?” Dutch asked. He snubbed his cigarette butt out. He returned to his cell and laid down on the bunk with a magazine in hand. He leafed through it.
Goose puffed on his cigarette. The smoke felt good in his lungs, and it invigorated him. He felt truly alive, and for the first time since he woke up, all five senses was firmly in America.
“I’da signed up, you know, I’da done my part,” Dutch said. He was nose-deep in his magazine yet, laying in his bunk. “If I wasn’t in here. And if I was young enough. I’da signed up for the Army. Or maybe Navy, my dad was Navy.”
“Navy is a buncha nancies,” Goose said. He stood and jogged in place, which made his fat cock jiggle in his britches. Now that he was feeling fully awake, he really did admireta get a nut off, like Castle said. It’d help him get back to sleep. No point in doing anything else here but sleep.
First he finished his cigarette, and he did a quick workout in his cell. That helped settle the heeby-jeebies in his belly. He stopped when the push-ups reminded him of boot camp.
Dutch fiddled with the radio in his cell, trying to pick up a channel that was mostly static. He moved the radio round to find an effective spot. When that proved ineffective, he left his cell and went to the back of the jailhouse. The song finally came in clear. Dutch nodded his head in tune with the beat liketa dance, but he couldn’t cuz he was holding the radio in the one spot where it worked.
Goose checked his cell door, which was locked. “Why’s your’n unlocked?”
Dutch scowled, bopping his head to the beat. “I’m the trustee. I’m allowed out.”
“Ooooh, you the bucket trustee. Mil’tary police had them,” Goose said. He grabbed his cock through his boxers and waggled it in Dutch’s direction.
With a scowl, Dutch came to Goose’s cell and withdrew a key from his pocket. He unlocked the door and came in. “I’m doin’ it how — eckkkk…!” He stopped short when he seed the size of the basket in Goose’s boxers. He whistled. “Shit, you hillbillies don’t play. Don’t even think about puttin’ that in my ass. I don’t do that, Sheriff says I don’t gotto, no matter what. Not even the colored cops can make me do it. He said so.”
“Fine. I don’t wan’cha ass,” Goose said. He pulled down his boxers and thwacked his hefty cock against the palm of his hand. “C’mon, I won’t be able to sleep without blowin’ a nut.”
“Lay on ya bunk,” Dutch said. “I’m not gettin’ on my knees. Don’t blow in my mouth. I’m allowed to hit you if you do.”
“Fine-” Goose aimed his dick at Dutch.
“You can shoot ya nut into the toilet,” Dutch said.
Goose said with a weary sigh. “Fine. J’st do it, Dutch. Jaysus Christ, New Juhsey fellers do thangs slow.” He got one hand working up and down his limpness, but he weren’t trying to get it hard.
“I’m from Rhode Island,” Dutch said.
Goose snorted and settled back on his bunk, boxers round his ankles. Dutch bent over and took Goose’s dick in one hand. He gave it a couple strokes, then lowered his tongue and licked it from tip to root.
It firmed up in his hand. Dutch used just one hand at first, his tongue teasing the tip, slobbering up spit. Then he put both hands on it and kept at it hard. He kept sticking his tongue out like he was gonna lick it again, but his tongue barely touched the tip a couple times.
“C’mon, t’ain’t-“
“I’m gettin’ you off, I choose how to do it!” Dutch said. His tongue teased Goose’s knob, then he winced and pulled away. He spat into the toilet.
“It won’t get hard like that,” Goose said. “C’mon, put’cha mouth on it. Swaller it. I won’t force it in, I won’t throat ya down, I swan.”
Dutch rolled his eyes, but he did stretch his mouth around the tip. He teased it with his tongue. He kept going with both hands too, and Goose’s cock firmed up. It throbbed against Dutch’s lips.
The more Dutch mouthed up on it, the more it tasted like spit, not pecker, so Dutch found it easier and easier. His tongue rocked up and down the shaft, but he didn’t move past the first couple inches, making no effort to throat it. Goose ain’t complain.
Soon enough, his dick was rock-hard, and Goose let out a moan. Dutch ain’t throat it none yet, but he kept both hands on the shaft and his lips upon the knob.
Then all at once, Goose grabbed Dutch’s head and at the same time precum slipped out onto Dutch’s tongue. Goose ain’t force his dick in, but he did push down on Dutch’s head, just enough to signal what he wanted. Dutch paused, pulled off and cast a glare up at him, then moved back to Goose’s cocktip. After a few more seconds, he was overcome by a gag. He leaned over to the toilet and spat into it.
“Ewck, you taste awful,” Dutch said. He gagged up more spit into the toilet.
Overcome by a desire to nut, Goose hurried to a standing position. Dutch was bent over the toilet, so Goose grabbed him by the head and forced his dick into Dutch’s open mouth. Dutch’s broad shoulders tensed up.
He tapped then patted then outright hit Goose on his thighs and the meaty part of his asscheeks. Dutch tried to wrench his head away, but Goose kept a tight hold on his scalp. Goose pistoned his hips. He ain’t force his meat down Dutch’s throat, but he did push it to the backa his mouth and ain’t let Dutch spit it out. That meant precum slicked up Dutch’s throat.
“C’mon, swaller it, j’st throat it a li’l-” Goose murmured. He stopped when his cock hit the back of Dutch’s throat — as far as Goose was concerned, that meant he lived up to his part of the bargain. He hadn’t forced it in, hadn’t “throated him down”, as they say in prison.
But Dutch erupted in gags and whoops, and he shoved Goose off. He spat up into the toilet. “Nah! No way! That ain’t how I do it! No-” His chest muscles roiled and undulated, as he retched again. Goopy white precum clung to his lips and his teeth.
Goose slipped the tip of his dick back into Dutch’s mouth, and despite his protestations, Dutch did swallow the first couple inches. He kept both hands on the root to keep Goose from throating him down. A few meaningless syllables slipped out when Goose let his cocktip come in one of leaving Dutch’s mouth, but Goose ain’t let up enough for Dutch to form any words, specially once Goose felt his orgasm burgeoning deep within him.
Cum spurted into Dutch’s mouth, and Goose sighed grandly. He held firmly onto Dutch’s head, pleasure roiling Goose’s chest, until Dutch managed to drag himself off and gasp for breath. Goose’s second wad spurted onto Dutch’s face. Goose bent his knees to aim his dick for Dutch’s open mouth, as he clasped Goose by the thighs and tried to push him away.
That meant his third and fourth jizzwad jetted straight into Dutch’s mouth, huge fat wads that overflowed and were instantly retched out. Dutch spat up jizz all over his stony face, which turned red as he tried to catch his wind. With his hands behind his back, Goose rammed his meat at Dutch’s mouth and let it rope up his face, so his final couple cumwads matted Dutch’s hair.
“I said no-!” Dutch was overcome by a gag, and he spat up more cum into the toilet. Goose finished himself off with both hands, shooting a few driblets of creamy jizz over Dutch’s face and head.
“Sheeit, sorry, Dutch,” Goose said with a throaty chuckle, his voice wavering cuz the aftershocks of an intense orgasm still rocked him. He thwacked his limpening moist meat onto Dutch’s ear and the side of his cheek.
Dutch scooted away and wiped his face off, holding back gag after gag. He shot Goose a stern look. “Fuck you, asshole,” he said, hoarse as a horse. “That was it, no more. No matter how long you’s here.”
Bouncing his meat between his two hands, Goose chuckled. “Yeah. We’ll see, Dutch.”

The White Trash Veteran: Chapter 1

The White Trash Veteran

The cricks and thickety hollers of West Virginia smelled just like Goose Sampson recollected. While he was gone, he wouldn’ta, couldn’ta and repeatedly did not conjure up the aroma in his imagination. It was unlike any scent his nose done made acquaintanceship with in the jungles of Vietnam. T’was fresh like snow but musty like rain, both dirtsy and woodish, earthy like a campfire and airy like a whetstone, memorable as mama and homey as hugs. He appreciated the fougère of the terroire, though Goose remained polite-nod strangers with both them words.
Carrying a poke fulla dollars and a pocket fulla pantyhose, he hurried by shanks’ mare on through the Appalachian woodlands, darting from sods to bald and back. Sirens blared yonder. Goose stopped when he got to a babbling run and sent the pantyhose floating yanway.
He knewed the area round Martinsburg like the upper sidea his pecker, and he learnt plenty about sneak-a-sleeking through the wooly wilderness of Vietnam. T’wasn’t so different here. Scurrying like a stinky sally on over muddy drafts fulla ferns and towering trees past critters and bugs and varmints chirping and growling and hissing, and there he was, a hillbilly blundering again through laps and laurel hells.
Vietnam got more wetlands, that was the only difference. T’was enough though. Goose discottoned to wetlands.
And skeeters. Vietnam got a peck of skeeters.
Of nightfall, he made it back to Smashwood Trailer Park. He was outta wind, dirty like a cellar, armpits sweat-soaked, but he sauntered in, casual as a bowl of buttermilk. The park was working alive with folks and fellers who Goose knewed since he was a boy. Did them’all know he robbed a bank? They couldn’t know, and ain’t nobody took no note of him. He returned from Vietnam a couple weeks back, so nary the whombodies got whopper-jawed at him moseying home buttermilk-like. He had a poke, t’was all. Just a knapsack, like any feller might could tote.
Nobody knewed it was fulla red-hot greenbacks.
Nobody knewed Ellen been hooking it on the other side of town neither. Ellen was Goose’s wife. They ain’t never done live in matrimony, as they jumped the broom only days before Goose shipped out to the steamy greens. Ellen done come up in the family fashion, so they got married with a hurry and a hoop-dee-hoo. Now Goose returned to the joyness of meeting his newborned son Moses and to the sadness of Ellen admitting she been turning tricks to pay the bills. Army don’t pay diddly.
Goose did more shouting than he cared to admit, and he blistered and kicked up purple, raring and pitching, then he punched a hole in the wall and regretted letting his son see that and afrearing from it, and nothing Goose could do would make him stop crying. He said no wife of his gonna go and sell her God-given ladyness to any pecker-toter with dollars and a stiffy, cuz what was the point of being a man if you can’t keep your little lady from hooking it? But he done got drafted to the other side of the ever-blesséd world, so what was he sposedta do about it? Can’t do squat! Goose screamed like a river at a dam, til Ellen begged him to stop or the neighbors gonna call the sheriff, and Goose wanna ram his noggin into the wall until something somewhere broke.
The whatnots rising in him, Goose only regained hisself when he saw Vietnameys watching him like sentries from the woods behind the trailer. That turned out to be an illusion, but it got Goose calm as a clam, sending Ellen and Moses inside. Then he felt hisself a fool when he reckoned t’was just some shadowy tree swaying in the breeze, and he pretended ain’t nothing happen. He don’t want Ellen to think he couldn’t cope or Moses to think his pops was fearful.
So he steeled up for the woman and the boy. They got needs, and a rock don’t. He ain’t think twice about giving Ellen the cash-money from the robbery. “Don’t spend it all at oncet,” he said.
And he felt bad that he felt good about leaving. He gotsta skedaddle while the heat was on. And he gotsta go less he lose control of his fists again. That boy ain’t a wall, and the lady ain’t a soldier.
She nodded, and she whispered, “Thank you…”. She kissed Goose upon the cheek. That felt good. Damn good. Something about tenderness from a lady reassures a man he is alright and cures a touchous soul. Her lips wouldn’t tremble so soft-like if he was a monster. Ellen wouldn’t kiss a john the way she kissed Goose. He ain’t tell her not to whore it out no more cuz it was implied from the hole in the wall and cuz he ain’t want her to lie and say she would quit off when she really wouldn’t.
The only thing better than kissing Ellen was playing with his son — Moses, but Ellen said everwhom was calling him Buck, cuz he be climbing like a goat. Goose liked that, cuz he was called Buck as a tyke too, on account of his buck teeth. Ellen ain’t know that when she fell to calling Moses Buck.
Buck afreared Goose all afternoon. He ain’t never met the hairy stranger — Goose been letting his hair and his beard go wild now that he ain’t got a sergeant jawing at him about it — it was still coming in dry and coarse though, only gradually returning to health. When Goose smiled like a lamb and pooped down onto the floor of the trailer at Buck’s height to vroom-vroom with his toy truck, Buck giggled and played along. He clum on Goose’s back and rode him like a pony.
Playtime was interrupted when there came a knocky-knock upon the trailer door. It was Anita Daylily, a high-headed whomgoody with a puff of hair and her muff in a huff that some policeman was on the wander, asking if anybody in the trailer park seen Goose — course he asked after his real name, Martin Sampson.
Ain’t nobody in the park gonna make it easy on a policeman. Goose was from round here. Officer Whomsoever was not. Or maybe he was, Goose don’t know. Anyway, that was his cue to scram. Some snoop-nose peckerwood at the bank musta reckonized his voice.
“I gotta go, son,” Goose said. He got down upon his knee to give li’l Moses a big hug goodbye. “Moses…”
“Bye.” T’was all li’l Moses Buck said. He weren’t muchuva talker yet.
Goose kissed him goodbye, and he kissed Ellen goodbye too but in a different way, then he went on back to bush in the wilds up behind Smashwood. He ain’t wanna whisk off, but he ain’t wanna stay even harder. It was better this way, for him to be gone. He gotsta get a grip on hisself, and a man gotsta do that alone.
The world seemed right before the war, right in a way he couldn’t perceive then or articulate now. Expectations done broke, he thought. Goose went to war, he pulled the appropriate trigger at appropriate times, he followed orders mostly, he came back alive, he got money, he gave it to a woman to spend. He did his part. He completed the minimum requisited of a man. But it felt like he done jack up every single thing in the world. He was a retard in boot camp, he dropped his rifle, he got scared as a bunny, he was captured, needed rescue, he lost, he failed, he fell, he wailed. He could get done up by the Vietnameys prolly crawly-trawling the countryside anytime. He done develop a sixth sense about ’em, and it been twinging like a siren. Ain’t quit off since Muck Dan Foo. He don’t wanna go look in the woods lest he either get took captive again or see that he imagined phantoms.
He stayed on the hoof, alert but hazed. He gotsta hide til the cops stop looking for him, wander til the sun sets, lay awake til the dawn comes. One day at a time.
He left Smashwood Trailer Park, but in a way, it felt like he ain’t never return from the Army. He only ever left Smashwood once really. Wise honkies say home is the place where, when you show up, they have to take you in. But war is too. Dumb hillbilly says home is the place where, once you leave, you can never return. War is that too.
The road ran to the highway, and Goose stayed parallel to it so nary a cop or a Vietnamey could see him. They did that in Vietnam, staying parallel to rivers, not roads, but it was the same idea. A river was just the universe’s road. If the Army controlled a river, they’d travel on a riverboat afloat, but if the Vietnameys did, they’d walk parallel to the river, far enough away to be unseen from it.
He noodled on a destination, any one would do, so long as it was away from Ellen and the boy and the skeeters and slant-eyed jaspers of Vietnam. He armybooted through the woods till he wound up on the highway. Rambling along the roadside for a spell, he let his mind dangle like a rod. Plans formed like constellations, but Goose bit back the bubbles of his notions and pondered like a buddha.
The camp cook Sam learned him pondering, but moments jumbled and mixed like phuh. Goose put one foot in front of the other, like the first drop of water striking out a path to sea. T’was hard to build a river with cops and Vietcong and Ellen’s johns blocking the route.
He might as well hitch a ride, he thought, so he thumbed out. It was mostuva hour before a truck pulled over, a big rig hauling cabbages to Roanoke, Virginia. The truck cab smelled of raw cabbage and chewing tobacco.
T’was good enough for Goose, who said he wanna go to Roanoke too. The trucker got a calypso song playing on the eight-track, and Goose wondered why a white man got a feel for calypso, but Goose ain’t ask after it. Goose was in boot camp with a Trinidadian feller, who did flop his dingdong on the regular to calypso records. Goose got no quarrel with calypso.
The driver was Buford, a right-country sumbitch with a ruddynut face and a extra-ruddy mustache that drooped in two lines down to his chin. He got a big head of curly hair.
“You was in the Army?” Buford asked.
Goose dunno how that Buford could tell he was Army. Maybe he done seed Goose’s dog-tags or something. Maybe he just assumpted — Goose weren’t cowering in Canada, and he looked too dumb for the Air Force and too tough for the Navy. Goose said, “Yessuh.”
Buford nodded. “I’s a Navy man, mahself.”
“Oh, tha’ss nice, didya enjoy ya vacation durin’ the war?” Goose said with one whoop, two guffaws and a series of slaps upon his knee.
Buford laughed along with him, and them two swapped insults and war stories like ornery nurses. Turnt out they was both in the same engagement in Na Doong. They might well have done pop off at the same damn gook. Felt good to know it, it settled the cockles of Goose’s manhood. The war was only over a couple months ago, so it warmed his heart to speak of it like history.
But it lingered upon his mind like only the present could. The future stopped the moment he arrived in Vietnam, and Goose ain’t slow his uppermostness down, not then, not now. The past might could still pop outta the woods anytime. There oughta be a after-war boot camp, so somebody could demonstrate that there was a thing called Not-War and that he was in it.
“Hey, you got cash for gas?” Buford asked when they pulled over at a gas station.
“No, suh,” Goose said.
“You got grass?”
Goose shook his head.
“Hmmh… hmm.” Buford said. He got out to pay for the gas hisself.
But Goose reckonized what that murmur meant. A Navy man can’t help hisself. Buford hoped Goose to pay up in cash, grass or ass. That’s how hitchhiking works out in the country.
But Goose don’t give up his bootyhole if he can help it, so when Buford returned, Goose said, “I’ll get’cha started, Buford. But if’n you go’n make me give up the bootyhole, lemme off right now.”
Buford made a dismissive snort. “I ain’t a niggruh,” he said. “I don’t wan’cha rear.” He unzipped his jeans and pulled out a long fat cock. He gave it a couple strokes, then leaned back in the driver’s seat the best he could while still steering the truck onto the highway.
“Sheeit,” Goose said as he wrapped one hand around Buford’s meaty cock. “You Navy men is all the same.” Goose leaned over and put his mouth upon Buford’s knob. It twitched against Goose’s lips when Buford laughed.
“Army is jealous cuz a sailor’s dick do work,” Buford said. He put his left hand upon Goose’s head to push it deeper on his shaft, while his right hand stayed upon the steering wheel. “Ship got no place for a limp dick. Send ’em to the Army!” He cackled. “Or the Marines, I don’t vouch for them.”
Goose made some mouthy noises to communify that he disagreed with Buford’s as to regarding the Army, but he ain’t stop slurping and also don’t dispute the Marine Corps’s reputation. He don’t welch. Goose do what he gotsto. He done so numberous times before, and he likeish would again.
In any case, he know how to get a man going. He commenced to batter Buford’s knobtip with his tongue, and he slicked his lips up and down the shaft. Lotta fellers don’t realize jackin’ a man off with ya tongue is the same as doing it with ya hands — you don’t gotta taste it longer than it takes, just move ya lips up and down same as you would ya hand. If a man’s dick works, it’ll happen quick as candy.
Sure enough, Buford got to leaking prenut in no time. When Goose tasted it, he pulled off, but he kept stroking it with one hand. T’was called ‘starting it off’. Leastways that was what they called it in the Army. Navy prolly calls it ‘e’ry morn’ b’fore breakfast’! They do that, they do be like that. Never get put in the brig on a Navy base, or you gonna taste more meat than a vulture, Goose learnt that good. He learnt that like math.
Buford held onto his head, jabbing at his face and trying a-force Goose to put it back in his mouth. Goose did plant his tongue upon the tip a couple times to mollify Buford, but the taste of pre-jizz got him gagging, qualmish. Buford couldn’t tussle with his head too much while steering, ‘specially once he got close to busting a nut.
Stroking Buford’s dingus fast as a badger, Goose got both hands upon it. His left hand worked the shaft, and his right hand squeezed the base. Buford’s dick was big enough to accommodate both hands. The precum flowed like wine, lubing up Goose’s mitts.
“Ah, wait, wait, here I go, wait, shit…” Buford sucked in his breath. His cock went throbby-lobby like an alien beast, and Goose hurried his rhythm. Buford grunted like it hurt. “Wait, ah, shit, wait, got it, shit-” He cut his own self off with a hiss.
A fat spurt of jizz came outta his dick, jetting into the air and landing back in his hairy crotch. Goose ain’t stop stroking, even when his hand was coated in ackempucky. He kept working Buford’s meat up and down till his balls was good and drained. Cum got all the way up Goose’s arm to his bicep, but he ain’t miss a beat.
Buford’s dick roped limply in Goose’s left hand even before plopping out one final wad of fatness, but Goose leggo with his right hand. Buford was still making noises, whole body contorting, his veiny shaft still throbbing. Then at last Buford sighed and twitched, and a few final drops dribbled into Goose’s grip.
Goose leggo. He wiped up the gom with a napkin, while Buford tucked his man-meat away and redid his jeans with one hand. His other hand stayed on the wheel.
“A Navy man j’st can’t help hisself,” Goose said with a chuckle and a mournful whistle. “You know you ain’t gotta get a man to jerk ya meat? You can stick it in a woman.”
Buford laughed and countered that Goose’s face was ugly as pussy, which worked on two levels, then he turned up the volume on the eight-track. That calypso jangled out bright and clear. Goose liked that. T’was good music to whisk off unthoughted, its lively beat like a river’s current carrying Goose away to benighted shores, and the best part was that it don’t sound nothing like Vietnam.

The White Trash Veteran

When Goose returns from Vietnam, he thought he’d be coming home again. But nothing could be further from the truth! He’s gotta travel for work and to escape the police, and that’s gonna send him an odyssey of alpha male man-on-man action, Buddhist enlightenment and raunchy, filthy situations!

Goose is in for a bevy of rednecks, machos, hicks, hillbillies, soldiers and more, as he overcomes his hangups from war and finds a way home to his family.

It’s free! Read it now as an ebook or read the whole story on this site!

The White Trash Veteran

The Cholo Bottoms

Anthony got it bad in prison, and he never thought his fortunes would be turned upside-down! That’s cuz the bad-ass cholo who hurt him is gonna hafta turn around and bend over, so that tiny twink Anthony gets to climb on top!

Read it now as an ebook! Or read the whole thing below!

When Anthony got out of the prison infirmary, he struggled to walk at all. The doctors had sewn up his cuts and got his bruising to go down, but he was still in intense pain with every step he took. That’s because he got cornholed, and it felt like his ass tore in half, like wet tissue paper, like he was being torn up all over again each time he stepped forward. The stairs were especially difficult to make it down.
Much to his surprise, the guards were kind. Officer Bignose in particular allowed him to walk back to his cell as slowly as he needed. Usually he pushed guys along, practically dragging anyone who didn’t hurry.
Anthony’s ramrod was named Franco, but he went by Sucio — a Spanish word that means “filthy or vulgar” and implies sexual perversion as well. He was tall, heavily tattooed from forehead to feet, broad-shouldered and meaty, strong as an ox. He had cornholed Anthony harder and harder until Anthony begged him to stop. He made Anthony lick the prison toilet seat; he stuck his assjuice-stained dick in Anthony’s mouth, and he pissed on his face. It was a tortuous experience.
Anthony certainly didn’t intend to wag his ass at any more cholos. He had thought he’d be able to get on Sucio’s good side by seducing him, but he didn’t know Sucio’s intense desire to remain uno hombre. His authoritarian manhood demanded he take charge of uno pasivo like Anthony.
But he was safe now. Anthony shared a cell with an elderly man, and he didn’t plan on leaving the cell any more than he had to. Sucio was sent to solitary confinement as punishment for the attack, so Anthony didn’t see him for a long time.
When he finally did return to the cell block on the same day Anthony did, Sucio made a kissy face as he walked by in chains, and the sight of that reawakened the lingering pain in Anthony’s ass. Shame flooded him, and he blushed as he looked down at his feet. Everybody knew Anthony was small and weak in comparison to Sucio, but he was still embarrassed for that to be made obvious. Officer Bignose led Sucio through the cell block. When they saw the kissy face, Bignose pulled on the manacle connected to Sucio’s legs, tripping him. He fell in a big bronze lump on the floor.
Sucio’s dingy white prison shorts and wifebeater were filthy with his sweat and raunch from his time cooped up in solitary. Anthony felt a surge of sexual desire, followed by shame. Anthony wished he could have serviced him in a consensual way. On the outside, he’d have said he wanted Sucio to ravage him. But it didn’t go how he had pictured it in his head. Anthony guessed that Sucio would never allow it — Sucio wouldn’t want to do it so Anthony enjoyed it. He was always going to do it harder than his victim wanted. His machismo demanded it.
“Come on out here,” Officer Bignose said, poking his head into the cell Anthony shared with the old man. Anthony had backed away from the door, not wanting Sucio to see him. Fear surged all over again as he wondered if Bignose’s kindness had only been a front for his true aim: retorturing Anthony by setting up another ramrodding. When Anthony didn’t respond right away, Bignose barked his order again, “Inmate Delunez, get the fuck out here right now!”
Anthony trembled but nodded and crept out of the cell. The cell block was having a Sunday afternoon indoors today, since it was raining outside. That meant dozens of men milled about, almost all of them vatos and cholos — Cell S99 was reserved for inmates associated with the Latin Kings. Anthony had only a glancing connection with them, which was why he had been turned out as Sucio’s bitch.
Bignose held a hand up, palm out, which made the cell block stop whispering. They all glared at Bignose. Anthony shivered with fear — was Bignose going to cornhole him now as well?
Outside of prison, Anthony hadn’t been a thug at all. He had only pledged himself to the Latin Kings because he was going in for a year and needed protection, and luckily his brother was a well-respected vato who could vouch for him. Of course, that hadn’t ended up mattering for very much.
“Listen up, you shitheaps. A lot of you are aware of what happened awhile ago. Inmate Delunez here was treated… poorly, to say the least-” Bignose was interrupted by a chorus of cheers and jeers from the assembled cholos, who yelled insults at Anthony. He blushed, especially when Sucio — standing nearby in chains — sneered at him. Someone pinched Anthony’s ass. Bignose whistled and demanded silence; everyone ignored him until he brought out the taser and brandished it. “Shut the fuck up! There’s a prison policy here we ain’t always followed. That’s because the victims are usually as bad as the perpetrators, but it’s a rule we got a right to enforce.”
“Fuck yo’ rules, esé!” Sucio said. He pumped his hips as though literally fucking Bignose’s rules. His dick-bulge shook in his prison shorts, and he rolled his tongue beneath his lips.
Bignose smiled at Sucio. He nodded to the other guards around him, and one of them jumped into action. Before Anthony could process the sudden turn of events, Sucio had a mouthguard placed on his face. Sucio roared and pulled away, but there were four guards on him, and they kept him in place, even forcing him to his knees. His complaints vanished into a wordless burst of syllables.
The mouthguard was a plain piece of plastic with wire forceps-like edges and a strap binding it to the face. It was made for prison dentists who couldn’t otherwise safely put their hands near the inmates’s mouths. Sucio tried to spit but with his jaw stuck pried apart, all he could do was sputter and writhe in the muscular guards’s arms.
“The rule that we’re going to enforce from now on,” Officer Bignose said with a cruel smile, “is that prison tops get bottomed.”
Total silence filled the room. Then there was a torrent of shouting, angry Spanish and vituperative English — a few of them were in support of the policy, it seemed, but many were against it, and some just wanted to watch the world burn. A few of the inmates rushed towards Bignose as though going to fight him, but Bignose flipped his taser on and they backed off when the sound of electricity crackling hit the air.
Silence once again fell over the cell block.
“Now, not all you alpha cholos are gonna get it up the ass. I ain’t got no interest in that,” Bignose said. “But if yer bitch complains, then I’m gonna let him treat you the same way you got treated. That’s how we gonna decide what’s consensual or not. If your bitch is upset enough to file a complaint, he’s gonna get to climb on top of yer stupid ass. Inmate Delunez here is gonna be first.” He smiled at Anthony, and extended his arm like a fancy butler unveiling an expensive dish.
It all happened so fast that Anthony only realized what was happening right now, as he stepped towards Sucio. The inmates mostly quieted down. None of them really loved Sucio, after all. Bignose had no doubt started off with what seemed like terrible news in order to be sure they’d be supportive and happy when he backed up into a less atrocious rule.
Anthony blushed as he took his dick out. He had been showering with these men, and occasionally jerking them off, for more than a month before Sucio attacked him, so this wasn’t the first time they had seen his dick. But he was still self-conscious knowing that they were looking at him now, and no doubt comparing his dick to theirs — when he was just another prison punk, they avoided looking at his manhood; his ass and his mouth were his only body parts that mattered.
But now his rather thick dick was the center of attention. Anthony had never felt smaller, despite the grande size of his meat. Sucio roared as he tried to pull away, but the guards kept him on his knees. His chest and shoulders were soaked with sweat, which made his wifebeater stick to his flesh. His muscles strained the fabric.
¡Destrozar el culo! ¡Que sea sangrienta!
Anthony chuckled as he flopped his limp dick onto Sucio’s face, his heart racing — this felt so dangerous, even if it wasn’t. Sucio’s face was heavily tattooed, seven tears dripping from his eyes (which meant he had murdered seven people, and the fact that one of the tears was colored red meant that one of those seven was either a cop or a snitch).
¡Su garganta es su culo!
Sucio flinched and writhed. He breathed heavily, drool dripping past his lips. It was obvious he was trying to say something but couldn’t with his mouth pried open. All he could do was champ up moutfuls of saliva.
“You ever tasted cock before, bitch?” Anthony asked, simply because the silence made this all more intense, and he felt a need to do something to break the tension. The pain in his ass was gone now, and he smiled as the cholos filling the cell block burst into laughter and applause. Sucio was a powerful gangbanger, and though they were all nominally allied with him, no one liked him — now that he was a bitch, they’d treat him like one, which meant everyone here could move up a rung in the Latin Kings hierarchy.
Fuck ‘is throat, Anthony. Make him choke! ¡Hacer que se ahogue!
Anthony pushed his dick into Sucio’s big, wide mouth. His moist tongue shook as though trying to find a place to hide, but Anthony just pushed his dick all the way in to the root in one smooth motion — Sucio was big enough to swallow a lot of meat. Sucio retched and gagged, a big ball of spit dripping down his chin and onto his wifebeater.
“Keep your eyes open, puta!” Anthony said. He pounded on his thin twinky chest. This was exactly how Sucio had treated him, so he enjoyed returning the favor. “Bitches should look in they owners’ eyes. I wanna see yo’ stupid bitch face suffocating on my cock, esé.”
He rammed his dick in all the way, even lifting one leg to hump his face like a dog. The mouthguard on Sucio’s face pinched at his jaw whenever he tried to open it, so his mouth was open as wide as it would go — every time he stretched it a little wider, the mouthguard didn’t allow it to go back without pinching into his gums.
Anthony rubbed the Gothic lettering tattooed on Sucio’s forehead — Latin Kings por vida, it read. He spat right onto that tattoo, and when he saw that Sucio shook and gagged, he did it again. He spat on Sucio’s nose and hocked up a big loogie, which he plopped into Sucio’s mouth.
This felt so good that Anthony would have gladly kept going until he came. But he felt his orgasm coming and he knew Officer Bignose wouldn’t hold Sucio down again, at least not unless Sucio cornholed him again. So Anthony decided to go after him in the ass while he could.
After all, he wasn’t gonna get more chances to ramrod a muscle-bound alpha like Sucio.
There were now five guards holding Sucio down. One was on each limb (which were also manacled), and one kept him in a bear hug from behind. That one behind Sucio winced like he was disgusted when Anthony pulled out of Sucio’s mouth — he was awfully close to the action, getting splashed. Anthony blushed, still unused to being the center of attention.
The guard with Sucio in a bear hug leaned onto his back, forcing Sucio onto his back as well, his big body resting on the guard’s chest. He squirmed but with his chained arms and legs held by the other quartet of guards, there was little Sucio could do.
Officer Bignose pulled on the chains of Sucio’s legs and attached them to the wall nearby. That forced Sucio’s legs up. Anthony pulled those dingy prison-issued boxers up, revealing a thick and meaty ass coated in kinky black hairs and amateur tattoos. His cheeks quivered and tensed — he was clenching his ass.
Not that that was gonna stop Anthony.
When Anthony saw that cock again, he knew he was going to stroke Sucio off — both because he genuinely wanted to, and because he knew he could get Sucio hard in front of the entire cell block. Nothing would be more humiliating than treating Sucio like a bitch and making him like it, in front of every cholo in this joint.
There was a Salvadoran flag tattooed right on Sucio’s dick, its blue and white stripes waving in unseen wind. Anthony gave it a stroke while just resting his dick at the entrance to Sucio’s ass.
“You want this real bad, donchu?” Anthony asked, then repeated it loud enough that he could be heard over the hoots and hollers of the other inmates.
¡Si, él realmente quiere!
Sucio’s body roiled and writhed. He struggled against the guards holding him down, but there was nothing he could do, especially on his back with his legs in the air — he was like a turtle stuck on its back.
“You ever took it in the ass before?” Anthony asked. Sucio shook his head and heaved out some indecipherable syllables, but Anthony couldn’t understand him. He cupped one hand behind his ear as though asking Sucio to speak up. The inmates behind him all roared their approval of Sucio’s humiliation. Anthony smiled and said, in an overly loud voice, “Oh, you loved getting rammed by sumisos?! Well, I got exactly what you want! Don’t worry, I’ll ram you again whenever you want. You just let me know.”
He rammed one finger in Sucio’s ass, keeping his dick right there so Sucio could feel it. His other hand remained on Sucio’s cockshaft, lightly stroking it — it was just a bit hard right now, no doubt more from anxiety than actual arousal.
Sucio arched his back and clenched his ass when Anthony’s pinkie entered him. Anthony laughed and smacked him on the asscheek, over and over until Sucio let go of his clenching for just a second, long enough that Anthony could ram his pinkie all the way in.
The sweat drenched Sucio’s body now, soaking those guards who held him down. They looked like they regretted agreeing to this — they probably enjoyed the idea of holding a giant cholo like Sucio down while he got cornholed — Sucio had been insulting and threatening them for years, after all — but now realized that the actuality of it was more difficult and less satisfying than they had predicted beforehand. His sweaty muscles and coarse black hairs rubbed all over their bodies, especially the burly redneck guard who held onto Sucio’s bare back.
“Gonna get that ass to open up one way or another…” Anthony shouted over the din — that was another thing Sucio had said over and over while cornholing Anthony hard. Anthony did it the same way Sucio had, by strangling him.
His thin, delicate fingers gripped Sucio by the neck and squeezed, just hard enough to make him heave and writhe. It was a sudden enough surprise that his ass unclenched when Anthony let go a moment later, and Anthony rammed his ring finger in alongside his pinkie. Sucio breathlessly gasped, his tongue writhing in his mouth as he tried to shout.
Anthony had been so focused on watching Sucio’s agony that he hadn’t really taken a moment to savor the fingering. With two fingers now in Sucio’s virgin ass, he wiggled them. He loved that tight moistness and he especially enjoyed how Sucio’s dick pulsated in his hands now that Anthony was on his prostate.
“Muy apretado…” Anthony said with a slow smile. The other inmates rushed forward to either join in or clap Anthony on the back, but Officer Bignose waved them away.
He rammed his fingers in and out, each thrust making Sucio contort. His muscles were pulling the guards this way and that as they held him down — they couldn’t quite keep him from moving, but they could keep him from getting up. His chains rattled loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd of inmates.
Then Anthony pulled out. He pushed his dick in before Sucio’s ass had time to clench again, but Anthony didn’t want to go too fast. He just put the tip of his dick in and held on as Sucio flexed all over. Motionless, Anthony bit back his burgeoning climax, so he could drag this out.
Pain rattled up and down Sucio’s body; Anthony could see it in the undulating tension in his muscles, which tightened and loosened in waves from his trunk-like thighs to his broad muscles. Those muscles clenched his ass as though to grip Anthony’s cock.
“Taste some ass, puta!” Anthony shouted, too aroused to think of anything wittier to say. He wished he could — Sucio had thought of lots of (relatively) clever insults and threats to shout as he had fucked Anthony, but Anthony couldn’t think of a single one right now. He just laughed as he pushed his ass-slickened fingers into Sucio’s mouth.
Sucio sputtered and gagged as soon as he tasted his own ass. He spat the best he could with an open mouth, but Anthony just wiped his fingers off on Sucio’s tongue, groaning as he slid a few more inches of his manhood into Sucio’s behind.
“You feel it in you, bitch?” Anthony asked. “Huh? You feel my dick in you?”
Sucio shook his head, throwing his neck back and forth. He wasn’t really saying no, probably didn’t even hear Anthony’s question, but Anthony decided to take it as a no.
“Oh, okay, I’ll ram you harder then, so you can feel it!” Anthony said. He smiled as the cholos behind him screamed their approval.
Make ‘im bleed, Anthony! Wreck his ass!
Anthony pistoned his hips, slamming his dick the rest of the way in. He pushed his cock all the way to the root, which made Sucio arch his back. He gasped and choked on the fingers Anthony still kept in his mouth.
Then Anthony remained still for a moment, working on Sucio’s dick. It was rock-hard, but he gathered that Sucio wasn’t even aware; he was in too much pain to notice his erection. Anthony used both hands on the meaty, uncut shaft, then cupped his low-hanging balls. He gathered up all the sweat from Sucio’s own crotch and then wiped it over Sucio’s tongue, which stuck out of his mouth like a panting dog.
He wanted to really humiliate Sucio by making him cum with a dick all the way up his guts. So he stimulated Sucio’s prostate while stroking off his manhood.
The tension was so great that it was actually quite easy — Sucio was too distracted to fight against it, so his body’s instinctual arousal was enough to send him right over the line. His orgasm was painful, bringing tears to his eyes as his asshole clenched around Anthony’s rampaging dick.
Cum sprayed over Sucio’s chest and belly. He blushed a bright red as the other inmates, his fellow gangmates, all roared their shocked approval. Some of the cum missed Sucio’s body and landed on the face of the guard holding onto his right arm, who flinched but didn’t pull away even as the semen dripped down his lips.
Anthony pumped his biceps over Sucio’s body. He knew he looked ridiculous, since he was acting like he had overpowered Sucio when he was actually about a third Sucio’s size. But it felt good to be victorious — Anthony hadn’t felt like a real man since even before Sucio plowed him.
Gathering that the guards were losing patience and weren’t going to hold Sucio down for much longer, Anthony decided to finish up. He had been on the verge of orgasm pretty much since this began, so he focused his energy on going hard. His hands sopped up all that cum and wiped it off on Sucio’s tongue, making Sucio retch, writhe and clench down on Anthony’s dick.
The pain must have been excruciating; Anthony knew well that getting plowed with a clenched asshole was excruciating, and Anthony wasn’t even using lube besides Sucio’s own spit, so it was no doubt tortuous. He rammed his dick back and forth, cackling with laughter as Sucio heaved for breath, gagging on his own cum which he couldn’t wipe away. Anthony made sure that what semen that did leak out his mouth got smeared all over his tattooed face.
When his orgasm finally hit, Anthony pulled out — a part of him wanted to cum inside Sucio’s guts, which would have been humiliating for him, turning his culo into a panocha. But it would have been invisible to all the men watching.
So he pulled out instead. Sucio breathed a deep sigh until he saw that Anthony aimed for his face. He gagged again even before Anthony had made it to his head, a potent orgasm rocketing through Anthony’s body. His dick was more slimy than he had ever seen it — Sucio’s ass had really reacted to the hardcore fucking, excreting copious fluids that clung to his cockshaft.
He managed to get his dick in Sucio’s mouth just moments before he came. Sucio wretched and writhed, and spat up a big ball of bile that just leaked out over his face. Anthony groaned as the orgasm finally hit him. His little lithe body writhed, ass clenching and fingers gripping Sucio’s face tightly.
Anthony had never seen someone retch so badly. He shot a huge load right into Sucio’s gullet, but Sucio just spat it right back up. Cum dripped from his lips and coated his face, alongside that slimy assjuice that Anthony brought back from Sucio’s hole. His face was shiny with fluids, eyes scrunched up and flashing bright.
A long, loud sigh escaped from Anthony’s lips as he finally fell limp. His knees buckled, the orgasm so intense he could barely support himself. He used Sucio’s meaty belly for support, and he tweaked Sucio’s nipples.
Finally the guards — disgusted by all the fluids that had leaked to every inch of Sucio’s body — slipped away. Sucio dropped to the ground and landed with a thud. He writhed and rolled over, groaning as he tried to get to his feet. He winced in pain every time he moved, just like Anthony had when he had been led away from the infirmary.
Officer Bignose grabbed the chain attached to Sucio’s neck and pulled until Sucio could do nothing more than pull against the chain, n his knees. Bignose pulled the mouthguard off and Sucio screamed a litany of Spanish insults. He couldn’t reach his face to wipe off.
“Shut your mouth, or we’re all gonna ram you!” Bignose said. Sucio couldn’t breathe with his chain pulled taut, so he soon had no choice but to fall silent. Bignose cleared his throat. “I’m gonna take you back to solitary to chill out for awhile. You’re a bitch now. You’ll have to accept that.” The other inmates roared their approval, but Bignose waved them quiet with one hand. “Now thank Inmate Delunez.” Sucio pulled against the chain again as he growled, but Bignose snapped it tight. Sucio sputtered, spit dripping past his lips. Bignose smiled. “Thank him.” When Sucio didn’t respond right away, Bignose whispered something in his ear.
Sucio blanched. “Thank you… Anthony,” he said through gritted teeth. “I… am alegre you done ram me.”
“Why, you’re welcome, Sucio, de nada. Anytime, I’d be alegre to ram you again.” Anthony held his hand up.
Sucio narrowed his eyes but kissed Anthony’s hand like a suitor wooing his girl. Anthony giggled at the sight of his big cholo body being dragged away. The other inmates clapped Anthony on the back, congratulating him and Anthony’s red face smiled.
The pain in his ass had diminished entirely, and Anthony was beginning to think his prison stay might not be as bad as it had initially seemed. He wondered if he could afford to buy a bitch, and if so, he knew exactly which one it would be. Anthony strode back to his cell like a returning champion.

The Gas Mask

When Rashid sees a gas mask, it arouses strange feelings in him, feelings that he can’t help but act on! That means this alpha male bouncer at a nightclub is gonna bend over and take whatever his buddy Teddy will give him.

Can Rashid handle the liberation the gas mask inspires in him?

Read it now as an ebook! Or read the whole thing down below!

Rashid Jenkins sighed. He was always glad when he got through another shift at the nightclub without seeing anything he couldn’t unsee. Rashid had been a bouncer for pretty much his entire adult life — when he wasn’t in prison for a spell — and he was working now at one of the highest-paying clubs in the city. So he was glad to have the job, even if it made him uncomfortable.
It was unfortunate that it was a Leathertop Nightclub, which was part of the kink-and-fetish scene. That meant the freaks came dressed in black leather and the waitresses went into the back and wielded whips and chains, tying down the customers and doing… well, Rashid didn’t entirely know what they did, because he was a god-fearing man. He tried not to think about it, and he never went past the front room.
The front room itself was just a normal bar, and it was there that Rashid went at the end of the night. He had taken to getting a drink from Teddy, the bartender, who was a flat-leaf, limp-wrist sissy hunk of honey. Rashid made sure to snarl and look dour every time he sat down because he didn’t want Teddy to think he was friendly.
Bouncers aren’t sposedta be friendly.
The bar emptied early tonight. As it neared closing time, the last of the customers either left or went into a backroom with a waitress/dominatrix. Only one waitress remained, the plump white one with leather straps separating her fat into foldy chunks — Ellendra. Rashid gave her a polite nod but no smile — he don’t want her thinking he’s flirting — and he sat down at the freshly-wiped bar. Teddy slammed his cell phone onto the counter. He bit his lip and held back tears, his elfin face scrunched up tight.
“Hi, Rashid,” Teddy said, his high voice nasal with repressed tears. “Bourbon?”
Rashid nodded. His heart stumbled as he realized he was supposed to ask what was wrong — he wasn’t expecting emotions in a bar like this. Not like that. That’s… He wrinkled his nose. Honkies, man… Honkies be tripping. He tried to stand up on a look both kind and unapproachable, but that’s a hard face to pull off.
The bar was empty, and Teddy’s tears were blatant. Not acknowledging it was awkward. “What’s… uh, wrong?” Rashid finally asked, when that fat waitress was gone. She oughta have handled this, Rashid thought. She was a woman, Rashid was just a bouncer.
The bartender sposedta be like a therapist, right? At least in the movies. Who’s the bartender’s sounding board? Who therapizes the therapist?
Rashid, apparently.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Teddy said, lips pursed so it was clear that that wasn’t true and that he would be explaining shortly. “My girlfriend dumped me. By text message. Not that that’s a problem, she’s a bitch. She’s a rank bitch.”
“Oh, okay. Uh… Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s not a problem,” Teddy said, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice broke, letting out a jagged cry of saprotude — that’s an emotion combining anger, sadness and self-righteousness, common in people who have been dumped. He sniffled and crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his feet like he was about to explode. Then he remembered he was pouring Rashid a glass of bourbon, so he got out the bottle and spilled several shots worth before he got the glass set up. “I knew it! She deserves to be alone though. That fucking bitch!” He slammed the bourbon in front of Rashid. He had put way too much ice in it, but Rashid didn’t want to complain.
He just sipped his ice-cold bourbon. There was a gas mask on the bar, which drew his attention. Rashid didn’t like to see the fetish gear normally, because it reminded him that he was surrounded by freaks. But the gas mask didn’t seem as bad — it had a function, after all, besides sex, even if it was an old-fashioned design that would probably be useless today for actual protection against poison gas attacks. It was fetish gear, but it seemed more appropriate, maybe even less sinful to Rashid.
That wasn’t logical, but it made sense somewhere in his heart.
And it did look like a real gas-mask, just old and battered, cuz it had been in this fetish club for who-knows-how long. It wasn’t manufactured as fetish gear, he was sure of that. Rashid wondered if it had ever been used. Did they use gas masks like that in… maybe Vietnam? World War 2 for sure, but it wasn’t that old.
Maybe.
“Girls are such a pain in the ass. They’re weak-willed, you know…”
“Yeah.”
“My last girlfriend dumped me and then immediately went out and sucked off like ten guys,” Teddy said. He threw his hands up, pacing behind the bar. “I really know how to pick ‘em!”
Rashid winced and shook his head. The television screens behind Teddy all turned on, playing porno. Now that they were closed, the monitors should have stayed off, but sometimes they came off and on. They were linked to the lights in the back or something. Rashid’s eyes were drawn to the screen. His dick got hard in his pants as he half-listened to Teddy.
The woman on screen was blonde, beautiful as hell from the back — she got that white-girl ass that Rashid craves — but she got kinduva dumptrucky face. Whatever though, Rashid could fuck her from behind. He was so engrossed in that that he ignored whatever else Teddy was saying, his relentless bitching about his girlfriend.
His attention only returned to Teddy when the porno movie onscreen revealed itself to be bondage-themed. Rashid had no interest in that. The camera lingered on the knots and the rope pulling itself taut, her skin pressing against it hard. Rashid’s eyes and ears tuned back into Teddy’s ongoing litany of complaints.
“And girls will not shut up!” Teddy said. “She never shut her mouth, not even when my father was telling us about his prostate cancer. I mean, am I right or what? He’s going off about the side effects of chemo, and she suddenly brings up some stupid reality show about penguin researchers banging each other in Antarctica.”
“Yeah…-” Rashid said with a shrug he hoped was both kind and dismissive. His attention was now drawn away the TV screens playing porno and the milky rope-clad tits jiggling up and down. — instead, Rashid’s attention aimed itself at that damn gas mask.
Who wore it in the backrooms? The man or the woman? The fact that it was here now suggested a woman. If a man wore it, he’d have brought it himself and taken it with him when he left for the night.
So a woman wore it. While she got fucked. Massive cock ramming into her pussy or maybe her tight ass.
Prolly not a massive cock. Prolly a normal honky peter. Rashid got a massive cock, but he assumed mosta the tubby crackers who come through his place had small manhoods.
“I’m sorry,” Teddy said, biting back tears. He bit his lip. “I’m just really upset right now. Have another bourbon.”
He slid a glass down the bar to Rashid, who was glad to have some more liquid to drown out the ice in his first bourbon. He sipped it and tried to watch the porno behind Teddy, forcing his eyes to lock on to the beautiful brunette’s bouncing tits and plump pussy onscreen. His dick was raging hard.
But what he really wanted right now was that gas-mask. It prolly smelled awful, he thought. Awful but in a good way. Awful like a slut’s pussy. A clean slut, but still, a slut’s pussy. Right after a shower in her filthy apartment bathroom. Yeah…
“I need to get laid,” Teddy said, blinking the last of his tears out of his eyes. He sniffled. “I won’t get over this without blowing a nut tonight. I won’t be able to sleep, I’ll just be tossing and turning, thinking of her.” He hurriedly typed out a text message, presumably asking someone if she could come over for sex. Maybe one of the waitresses. Rashid was glad that Teddy was getting ready to leave. Rashid wished he could leave too, but his shift didn’t technically end until he escorted Teddy to his car. Closing time was literally one minute ago, so he couldn’t hardly complain.
Then Teddy threw his cell phone down on the counter again. He had gotten a text message he didn’t like, it seemed. He blinked back another wave of tears. “Those bastards,” he said. “Everyone’s taking her side.”
“Sorry, man,” Rashid said. A thought had occurred to him: he could plow Teddy.
Teddy did that, he was like that, a bit of a sissy. A small bit of a big sissy. He was petite and pale and kinda effeminate in his way. Rashid could always make Teddy keep it a secret, and he could deny it when Teddy inevitably spilled the beans. Teddy had spilled the beans last week that one of the other bouncers ramrodded him — this old head Thumper, he was like that, Rashid wasn’t surprised at all.
And there was that gas mask sitting right there. He didn’t even understand why that was a kink — the bondage stuff he got, because there was a level of interaction there, it had an impact on the orgasm. Orgasms with a gas mask on were the same as orgasms without a gas mask on, except maybe a little stuffier and weirder.
But why was it so arousing?
Rashid hadn’t even heard Teddy rant for the last few minutes, but apparently his booty calls all told him not to come over. Possibly even his male friends had sent discourteous texts, Rashid hadn’t paid attention and now it seemed rude to reveal that by asking what happened. As Teddy shut down the bar, he raged over each text message he received.
It seemed Teddy’s friends were really his girlfriend’s friends. That happens, a lot of men are like that. Not Rashid. He got his own niggas. When he hooks up with a female, she got her friends, he got his. Women on her side, men on Rashid’s. Simple, easy, copacetic. All good.
Bet that gas-mask would make a man feel good. Covers up the face. No inhibitions. Rashid looked away from the gas-mask but just for a moment.
Rashid did time in prison. He knew damn well how bad it hurt to take a cock in the ass, though he never let it happen to him. He saw it plenty, this rat-face nigga named Ratty rapping on a nigga backdoor. Ratty was like that.
Yet he sensed that it might feel good for a sissy like Teddy. Rashid’d never admit to that, not publicly.
But if the gas mask was on Teddy’s face… that wouldn’t be public at all. It would be like nobody saw, not even Teddy. Rashid could just feel. Nobody would believe Teddy if he said Rashid let him ramrod him with a gas mask on. Rashid couldn’t stop thinking about how it’d feel if Teddy’s cock came pushing into his ass, not like Ratty’s nasty crackhead pecker, Teddy’s dick wouldn’t be like that at all. It’d be clean and gentle…
Rashid gulped.
Teddy scowled and blushed a bright red. He looked down at the counter he had been polishing for an unreasonable amount of time. The bar was shut down, all he had to do was press the total button on the register and take the cash drawer into the office to lock away in the safe. He set about doing that.
“Uh… Teddy,” Rashid said, looking around to be sure nobody was around. “You know… I uh, I sometimes mess around on the downlow. If you promise not to tell no one…”
Teddy’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”
Rashid stood up and grabbed the gas mask. “Here,” he said. “Put this on. If you cover up your face, I might be able to forget you’re not a girl,” he said. “But when this is done, you better stop crying about that ex. She ain’t worth it.”
Teddy dropped to his knees next to the stool Rashid sat on. He didn’t even put the cash drawer away, he placed it on the floor next to himself, so he could rush right into it. He pulled down Rashid’s pants so quickly and so enthusiastically that Rashid was unsure if he wanted to do this. He considered backing out.
But his worries vanished moments later when his dick flopped out in the warm, humid air of the nightclub, then filled Teddy’s throat. The familiar warmth of an expert mouth filled up Rashid’s mind, and he sighed. He finished the last of his bourbon, and he filled the glass again quietly so Teddy wouldn’t notice.
His dick swelled to full erection. Rashid guided Teddy’s head up and down, glad to have the opportunity for a simple, consequence-free orgasm. His mouth stretched to swallow Rashid’s fat meat, and with a little concentration, Teddy managed to deep-throat him to the root.
A sigh escaped from Rashid’s mouth. He needed this. And he didn’t need the gas-mask.
He kept sneaking glances at it though.
Sensing he needed to commiserate more, Rashid said, “Girls complain all the time, and they never tell you what they think. If they wanna dump you, they drag it out over like ten conversations over three months, like they get paid by the minute, man.” As he talked, he guided Teddy’s head up and down on his shaft.
From his cock-filled murmurings, it didn’t sound like Teddy exactly bought Rashid’s explanation, but he didn’t stop jerking to argue. Rashid groaned as pleasure rocked his body. His cock was rock-hard now, throbbing, precum flowing onto Teddy’s tongue.
“Damn… ” Rashid said, snorting back laughter. He poured out some more bourbon, and only then noticed that the porno had changed.
Rashid was surprised at how not disgusted he was. He must be getting more comfortable with freaky stuff now that he was working at a kinky club. That thought was vaguely disquieting — his pastor, Reverend Chandler, had said that might happen, and Rashid refused to believe it.
One of his hands roamed down and squeezed Teddy’s nipple. Rashid groaned when he realized what he was doing; it had been so instinctive he didn’t think about it until his hand was grasping for the breast that wasn’t there.
Then Teddy pulled off and stood up. Rashid leaned in and kissed him on the lips, again without giving it a second thought. His mind told him to pull away, to smack Teddy even, for making him do this, even if Rashid knew Teddy hadn’t made him do a damn thing. Rashid didn’t even kiss girls so soon after they sucked cock because he didn’t want to taste his own dick, which was exactly what he tasted on Teddy’s tongue.
When Rashid stopped kissing him, he looked down at his feet. He hoped Teddy didn’t say anything about that. Teddy must have sensed that desire, because he indeed said nothing. Instead, Teddy stroked both men’s cocks together, frotting with Rashid. Rashid bristled with pride at the realization that his dick was so much bigger than Teddy’s. He always liked showing it off.
Without a word of warning — with only a sly, knowing grin — Teddy put the gas mask on, again like he had sensed what Rashid wanted without Rashid saying so. Immediately the kinky porn vanished to the back of Rashid’s mind. All he could think of was how alluring Teddy’s body was. Aside from the lack of tits and vagina, he had a very girlish shape, he thought. He kissed Teddy again, this time on the smooth neck, just below the mask, and then his lips trailed down to those nipples.
“You got a nice smooth body, boi,” Rashid said with a low, seductive growl, embarrassed at himself even as he said it.
Teddy moved to turn around, but stopped as Rashid took hold of both cocks. He was enjoying this jousting, and he didn’t want it to end. Teddy’s dick pulsated beneath Rashid’s fingers, its middling thickness and pale whiteness contrasting with Rashid’s meaty member and dark brown color.
If it weren’t for that gas mask, Rashid was sure he would never have touched Teddy’s cock. He hadn’t done that since prison.
As though he wasn’t in control of his body, Rashid found that he wanted to go much further than he ever thought he would. He blamed the gas mask. Without seeing Teddy’s face, it was easier to follow his instincts, no judgmental eyes staring at him.
How had he ended up on his knees?
Rashid didn’t consciously sink to the ground, but there he was just the same.
If he wasn’t so much taller than Teddy that he had to stoop to reach his crotch, he would have started jerking him off without a second thought.
As it was, he gave it only a very brief second thought, then deep-throated Teddy to the root, swallowing every inch of his cock. He choked a little on the smooth texture and lotion-scented flavor, but something about it was deeply fulfilling for Rashid.
He moaned around the cockmeat in his mouth and gripped Teddy’s thin legs, which were smooth like a girl’s. He could really have pretended he was with a female, he thought, if it weren’t for the dick in his throat. He was surprised by how much it tasted like pussy.
The sour flavor of precum hit Rashid’s tongue, and he moaned. He wanted more. Teddy’s thin fingers gripped Rashid’s kinky hair and guided his head up and down. His breathing was loud and labored, made louder by the action of the gas mask. His trim chest heaved for breath.
His dick felt perfectly right in Rashid’s throat. It rubbed past his bristling mustache, and his heavy balls swung against Rashid’s grizzled chin. He felt weird, submitting to someone so much smaller than himself.
But it was intensely arousing too. He felt Teddy’s graceful fingers dance along his shoulders, which seemed so broad as to be superhuman in comparison with Teddy’s tiny body. Rashid had played football in high school, and he retained that beefy body shape.
The precum flowed like wine down his throat. He greedily guzzled every salty drop, no matter how it made his lips pucker and his mind race with confusion. He had never thought jerking off a man could feel so good.
Then Rashid pulled off. He looked up at Teddy’s gas mask-clad face and frowned. “I don’t know why I’m doing this…”
Teddy didn’t say anything. Rashid probably wouldn’t have been able to hear the words through the gas mask anyway, he thought, and he didn’t want to say anything.
He knew what he wanted, and it filled him with embarrassment. But he knew he would never have such a perfect opportunity to try it. So he stood, glad to show off how much bigger he was than Teddy — he didn’t feel intimidated at all, but still, it was good to remind Teddy that he wasn’t really in charge, even with the gas mask. Rashid flexed his biceps and frowned at Teddy, but his face was concealed by the mask, so it was impossible to see if Teddy was intimidated or even if he had noticed at all.
With his pants and underwear all the way around his ankles, Rashid sunk to all fours. He leaned his head near the floor to get his ass in the air.
It was too high for Teddy to get in position, but Rashid liked making him work for it. He kept his ass up, and Teddy had to get on his toes so he could align his cock with Rashid’s asshole. Rashid’s back twitched with anticipatory excitement.
But after just sliding his dick between Rashid’s cheeks for a few moments, he paused. He got down on the ground and jammed his tongue right in, smooth and unceremonious.
“Ah, fuckin’ hell, nigga…” Rashid said, then chuckled at himself for calling a whiteboi nigga — because he only ever messed around on the downlow with black men, it was just an instinct. It seemed that Teddy was too focused on licking ass to notice, however.
For a girl, a rimjob was a very big deal — Rashid loved getting rimjobs, but virtually no girls were willing to do it. When they did, they made him shower and shave his ass and shower again and get himself so clean and prepared that by the time he started, it wasn’t very sexy anymore.
So he was surprised when Teddy plunged his tongue into Rashid’s broad ass. Teddy gripped those plump cheeks and lapped at Rashid’s hole, teasing it open and loose. He growled through the gas mask, and Rashid shuddered with anticipation. Was this going to hurt? He supposed it probably would, a bit, but he still wanted to try it.
His body undulated as moist pleasure flowed from his ass and up his spine. If he wasn’t so eager to try something new, Rashid thought, he could have gotten this rimjob forever. His mind didn’t work while his prostate roared with pre-orgasmic pleasure, and his dick leaked precum into his fingers.
Then at last Teddy returned to standing on his toes with his cock resting against Rashid’s asshole, as though giving him another opportunity to change his mind. Rashid seriously considered backing out, but when he glanced behind himself and saw that gas mask, he wanted nothing more than to be penetrated.
When it happened, Rashid gasped. There was a faint, reedy twinge of pain, but even more than that, there was a sinking sensation of intense pleasure.
He bucked and moaned as Teddy used lube he pulled out from behind the bar, slickening up his cock while pushing in deeper and deeper. Rashid clenched his ass and gritted his teeth as the pressure and orgasmic bliss grew greater and greater.
Without saying a word, Teddy communicated to Rashid to roll over. He placed one delicate hand on Rashid’s back, and Rashid did as he was ordered. He laid on his back on the filthy floor, his great trunk-like thighs in the air. Teddy clutched his thick leg muscles with one hand, while his other caressed Rashid’s pecs and nipples.
He felt the orgasm approaching a few minutes before he did — it was always a surprise, of sorts, when he finally came with a girl, but this time he felt it encroaching on him even before it did. He was jacking himself off, so when his balls pulled up in his sac, he grunted and stroked more furiously.
“Ugh, nigga, yeah…” Rashid said, again forgetting he wasn’t with a black man.
Cum sprayed both within Rashid’s ass and over his chest. Teddy grunted and groaned, the sound muffled by the gas mask over his face. Rashid roiled and stroked the cum on his cockshaft into a frothy mixture that dripped into his body hair and onto the floor behind his back.
Great waves of pleasure rocketed Rashid’s body, buffeting him with feelings so intense he yelped like a girl. He was glad no one else was in the club right now to hear. His back contorted as he accepted every drop of Teddy’s creamy seed.
Teddy pulled out and sighed. He took the gas mask off, and the fantasy ended as Rashid realized where he was and what he had just done. He scurried up off the filthy floor and wiped his ass off with a napkin. His ass ached a little, but it didn’t exactly hurt.
“Uh, thanks,” Teddy said.
“Sure.” Rashid tried not to sound humiliated, and in truth, he wasn’t. He enjoyed what had happened, even if he didn’t intend to do it again (unless you can bring that gas mask home with you, a part of his mind thought but immediately pushed down). He just felt a sort of residual humiliation at the thought of Teddy going home and bragging about how he got to top a sexy big black bouncer like Rashid. “You better not tell no one,” Rashid said.
“I won’t.”
“I’ll deny it. No one will believe you,” Rashid said.
“I know,” he said. He put the gas mask down, then hesitated. He extended it towards Rashid and raised his eyebrows. “You wanna take this home with you? I’ll tell management it just disappeared.”
Rashid paused. He scowled and grabbed the gas mask. “Okay, prettyboy, if I’m going to escort you to your car, we better go now. I ain’t sitting here with a sissy like you all night. I got chicks waiting for my meat at home.”

The Superhero Bodyguard

Teddy meets up with a studly bodyguard at a superhero’s compound, which means he’s in for an alpha-male ride he’ll never forget! Brick Marble is a super-soldier who works for a scientist and adventurer, but when he needs to get his rocks off, he’s all too willing to let Teddy take a swing on his meat.

This super-masculine adventure will supercharge the cockles of your manhood!

Read it now for free as an ebook or below!

Teddy was catsitting for a friend named Creosote. He had taken it on as a favor. He didn’t really want to catsit. It was embarrassing. He had rearranged his entire schedule for the weekend to take care of this stupid cat.
He didn’t even like cats. He thought maybe Creosote would have a nice house, and it was, sort of, but it was also built like a necromancer’s lair — all gloomy and dark, gargoyles, evil-faced Asian statues, creepy paintings of old white men and spooky dreamcatchers lining the walls. The decor was not a surprise because Creosote was, in fact, a necromancer. So it was an odd house, creepy-looking, seemingly haunted though Creosote said he had gotten rid of all the Apache ghosts that used to be here. That was cold comfort for Teddy, who was scared of ghosts. It seemed silly to risk a haunted house encounter just to watch a cat for a few days. If the cat could survive the ghosts and the vampires and everything else that came through here, why did it need a sitter?
He sighed and flopped into a big chair. I wonder if Creosote’s daughter has some pot laying around. He was already bored. The cat ignored him. Teddy went to the window to consider taking a walk — it was too hot today, but Teddy was trying to walk for an hour every day no matter.
A big, burly man come out to the herb garden behind the main house. He was a broad-shouldered Winnebago of a man, a strapping stack of power and bulging muscles. He had a squarish jaw and a rather harsh face, stony, stark, staid. He plodded along with a light foot, like a man a tenth of his size. He wore a black polo shirt that seemed too small for him, his biceps straining against the fabric, and he wore tight jeans. Between the clothes, the mullet and the Led Zeppelin tattoo on his arm, he looked like he time-traveled here from the 70s.
He presumably worked for the super-scientist next-door. Teddy came out of the house to say hello — it would be polite, he thought, to introduce himself to the neighbors.
When Teddy got just twenty feet away or so, the mulleted blond turned around and cast a hostile stare at Teddy. His upper lip quivered.
“Who’re you? No costume, so you had better not be a supervillain. I got a direct line to the Villains’ League, man. If you’re arching Dr. Adventure out of costume, you’re going to be in so much trouble-“
“No, no, I’m not a supervillain. I’m a friend of Creosote’s. I’m just catsitting.”
The blond lit a cigarette. He eyed Teddy closely as though he didn’t entirely believe his story. But he nodded, sighed and flared his nostrils. “Yeah. Creosote said he’d have a friend house-sit.”
“That’s me.”
“You lookin’ for Dr. Adventure? He’s getting his… a medical procedure done. He’s in Thailand.”
“He went to Thailand for a medical procedure?”
“It’s cheaper,” the blond said. “I’m his bodyguard, Brick Marble. What do you want?”
“Oh, well… an autograph, but since he’s gone, I guess I can’t,” Teddy said. He put his autograph book and head shot away. He batted his eyelashes at Brick. “So, you’re a bodyguard?”
“Yeah.”
Teddy cleared his throat. “You wanna earn some extra money?”
Brick stared at Teddy. He couldn’t tell if he was trying to decide if Teddy was serious or if he was hostile or if he was just thinking about it. Then Brick crossed his arms over his chest. He took a deep breath. He glowered at Teddy as though he already knew what Teddy was going to offer.
“Is that… ? Are you… gonna punch me?” Teddy’s voice sounded weak and tinny in comparison to Brick’s baritone bravado.
Brick frowned. “No! No, man, that’s… Yes. I know what you’re gonna ask, and I’ve never agreed, but I need some money and at least you’re not Shore Love — that’s this freak I know, he’s been after me for years,” Brick said. “If I let him do it, he’ll never stop. So, fine… six hundred dollars.” He sighed. “You can jerk me off. I’ll ram you in the ass if you want. No reacharound, no kissing. Got it?”
“Uh, okay.”
“Good. No looking me in the eye either,” Brick said. “C’mon. Get outta my herb garden. We’ll do it in the garage. I like plowing on the hood of my car.”
Brick walked briskly into the garage. He walked stiffly and awkwardly, like he either already had a hardon or was just plain awkward in a civilian setting. He didn’t look military, exactly, but he did carry himself like a long-time soldier who struggled with normal life.
Teddy followed him. Brick closed the garage door, then led him to an old classic car, cherry-red. Brick hefted his heavy body onto the hood, leaned back and shimmied his jeans down. He had a nice, plump body, covered in scars — relics of a life as a bodyguard and spy, presumably — and a six-pack more perfect than any Teddy had seen in a long time.
Teddy nervously approached Brick, who sat on the hood of his car and smoked his cigarette. Brick leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. It seemed he didn’t intend to be involved in this beyond allowing it to happen.
His muscles writhed beneath Teddy’s touch. He wore classic white briefs, the old-fashioned kind that Teddy hadn’t seen anyone under sixty wear in years. That made him laugh as he pulled them down. They were immaculate white, and they perfectly outlined the shaft of his cock.
“Shut up,” Brick said like he knew why Teddy was laughing. “They’re standard-issue for field operatives.”
“Sure, sure, they’re hot,” Teddy said. He didn’t mean to come across as sarcastic, but that’s how Brick took it. He really did think they were hot — in a kind of a silly way.
Brick sighed and shook his head as he rolled his eyes. He stood there as though waiting for a doctor to pull his dick out. He had his hands on his hips, tapping his feet. Teddy liked to go slow, both because it was more intense and because he liked to tease big macho alphas like Brick. Buck let Teddy pull his briefs off, and a fat cut cock popped out. His meat was limp still, dangling like an uncooked sausage between his legs. His briefs were sweat-soaked and clung to his thick thighs, making it difficult to pull them all the way down. Eventually Brick got frustrated and ripped them off himself, tearing the waistband. He tossed the useless underwear away. “Damn it!”
“Hmmmm…” Teddy blushed and planted his tongue on the tip of Brick’s cock. That made Brick’s entire body ripple, his muscles flexing and relaxing in turn as he bit his lip and looked away nonchalantly. Again, he seemed to want to be as little involved in this as possible. He lay there on the hood of his car as Teddy kissed and teased his dicktip. Brick crossed his arms over his chest, making his pecs bulge. He scowled.
Teddy had no sooner gotten a taste when Brick jumped to attention, knocking Teddy off the car. He slid off the hood.
He darted towards the door, grabbing the gun concealed in his pile of clothes on the floor. “Someone’s coming. Stay here.”
Brick ran to the side-door of the garage. Teddy’s heart raced as he followed. Brick waved him back, but Teddy didn’t want to stop. He wanted to know what was happening. Maybe it was an exciting super-bodyguard adventure; it could have been a monster, a ghost, a demon, a supervillain and his army — Teddy wasn’t going to miss this.
If Brick realized that he was naked, he gave no indications of it. Maybe he was used to running security operations with his balls flapping in the breeze. He ran out into the front yard of the compound, gun drawn, cock flopping half-hard against his thighs. “Ah, Phantom Fist, what are you doing here?” Brick said.
“Where is your employer, sir?” came a deep, haughty-sounding, educated voice. Teddy couldn’t see where the voice came from. “I must dispute his latest bill. For this was not my-“
“He ain’t here, Phantom. You know those charges are set by the Villains’ League. You can’t just come in here blowing up antiques and expect to get away with it-“
“Antiques my ass! First of all, Mr. Marble, those antiques are entirely fictional-“
“They were not. They were Dr. Adventure’s father’s and they were worth a lot of money. They were insured.”
“Insurance fraud and you know it!”
“You weren’t cleared for Level Seven doom, Phantom. You’re not even his official arch right now-“
“Don’t talk to me about League business, Brick Marble. I know the rules,” Phantom Fist said. He wore a fine purple suit that concealed his muscular body. He wore no sleeves, which he didn’t need because his arms were invisible. He paused and bit his lip. “Why are you naked, Marble? I am not one to pooh-pooh the many benefits to remaining skyclad, but-“
“None of your business, Phantom,” Brick said. He looked down at his cock as though he had only just now realized he was outside naked, with a half-hard dick. “Get outta here. Doc’s not home.”
As they continued to argue, Teddy crept out of the garage to get a better look. He wasn’t in any danger — the Villains’ League set down strict rules to be sure that the battle between heroes and villains never got too bloody. Teddy was a civilian, which meant Phantom Fist couldn’t hurt him, and Phantom Fist was a high-ranking operative, so he wouldn’t break the rules.
“You are a thick-skulled scoundrel, Mr. Marble. Your muscles have clogged your brain like cerebral cholesterol-“
“You’re a pretentious twit, Clayton.”
“Mr. Marble! My name is Phantom Fist! You know very well that calling me by my real name during an arching is a violation, and one about which I am fully prepared to file a complaint! I know-“
“This isn’t a valid arching! Dr. Adventure’s not here! Go to Thailand if you wanna arch him — oh, wait, no don’t, you can’t arch him when he’s receiving medical treatment.”
“Liposuction?”
“None of your business.”
“Hair plugs? Both? It’s both, isn’t it?” Phantom Fist sucked in his breath. “No, wait, don’t tell me — is it a penile enlargement?”
“It’s a necessary medical procedure!” Marble shouted.
The more angry he got, the more Brick Marble’s plump asscheeks quivered. He seemed to have not a shred of fat on those cheeks, Teddy thought, they were hard like over-inflated soccer balls. They dimpled and flexed as Brick gesticulated and shouted at Phantom Fist. Teddy was just outside the garage, concealed by a shrubbery. He watched and stroked himself. Brick’s curving back muscles bulged, making Teddy shudder with desire. He couldn’t wait to get back to business.
The argument was only resolved when a tall, spindly-bodied robot appeared. It was powder-blue, and it was named Assistant. It came out onto the lawn, buzzing past Teddy, and beeped at Brick Marble.
“Thank you, Assistant! You’re correct. Phantom Fist, you’re not technically Dr. Adventure’s arch right now. That means you’re trespassing and I can call the cops.”
“Oh, the great Brick Marble, reduced to calling the cops to get rid of the kids on his lawn.”
“You’re no kid, Clayton. You’re older than me.”
“Fine. I’ll leave. I’ll leave you to… make love to your toolbox, or whatever men like you do,” Phantom Fist said. He walked a few feet away, then bent down. His right arm was invisible — hence the name — so it wasn’t obvious what he was doing until the tarragon plants on the edge of Brick’s herb garden were ripped out of the ground. His invisible hand pulled them out.
“Hey!”
Phantom Fist threw the tarragon, roots and all, at Brick. “You let your tarragon grow too leggy, Mr. Marble. It gets bitter.” He spat that last word vituperatively. Out of everything he had said so far, this was the only thing that he sounded genuinely upset about. He stalked away from the compound.
Brick watched him go. Then he muttered to Assistant, “Gardening people are always talking about things getting leggy. I’ve never figured out what it means. When a girl is leggy, that’s a good thing.”
Assistant beeped at him.
“Is that what it means? How do I control that? I thought tarragon was supposed to be bitter.”
More beeping from Assistant.
“I should never have downloaded that French cookbook into your databanks,” Brick said. He turned to face Assistant, his erect penis nearly touching the robot’s body.
Assistant scooted away and beeped at him once more.
“It’s just a cock, Assistant. What do you care? You’re a robot.” Brick walked away, returning to the garage. He stopped when he saw Teddy hiding there behind a bush. “I told you to stay in there, not trample on my rhododendron.” He grabbed Teddy and dragged him into the garage — Teddy didn’t fight back, of course, but Brick dragged him by the arm just the same.
When they got inside, Teddy giggled.”Will you give me a ride?” He leapt onto Brick’s back and kissed his shoulder. Brick winced and shuddered. He rode him like that, piggy-back, all the way to his car.
“Damn, give me a warning next time,” he said. He paused and tensed his back muscles. “Get your dick off my back, man. I’m not doing that. You can jerk me off and I’ll ram you, but no way you’re dry-humping me.”
“Oh… It won’t be dry-“
“Even worse, get off,” he said. His back muscles rippled beneath Teddy as he dropped off the rear of Brick’s naked body. He let himself slide as slowly as he could, so his face drifted through Brick’s fleshy asscheeks.
When Brick didn’t complain or stop him, Teddy stayed where he was. He bent Brick over his own car, and dove his face between Brick’s asscheeks.
“Tongue only. No fingers,” Brick said. Then he paused and shuddered. “Okay, one finger. You can put one finger in. A pinkie.”
“Really?”
“Don’t tell anyone. I like the butt stuff,” Brick said. He was facing away from Teddy, his blond mullet shaking, but Teddy could tell that Brick blushed a bright red.
Teddy had had no expectation that Brick would allow anything like that. Teddy didn’t even normally ask about fingering the men he seduced. But a lot of guys were into pegging nowadays. On the other hand, Teddy knew there was a big difference between getting a girl to stick a dildo in your ass and getting paid to let a man stick a finger in your ass.
Brick was so huge that his massive asscheeks were warm and had plenty of real estate to explore. Teddy loved it. He teased his tongue up and down the sweat-choked crack of his ass, while Teddy’s pinkie finger teased the rim of his hole. Those cheeks tightened around Teddy so hard they were like vise grips that wouldn’t let go. Teddy gently kissed and licked both cheeks and played with the fine blond hairs there.
A loud, car-rattling roar escaped from Brick’s lips. He shuddered, his broad back undulating beneath Teddy’s free hand. Brick’s fingers tightened into claws as his face turned red.
Teddy slipped his pinkie finger in, and Brick’s whole body perked up. Brick tensed. “Oh god, shit, yeah!” Brick’s face turned tense and red. He dropped his chest onto the hood of his car, giving Teddy even better access to his ass. Brick squirmed as Teddy’s tongue fleetingly explored his hole as well.
Then Teddy’s other hand roamed around to Brick’s cock, which was trapped beneath his body and the car. Brick lifted his hips up so Teddy could jack him off while fingering and licking his ass.
“God damn, man, you got a nice tongue back there,” Brick said. He bit his lip. “Damn… How many fingers is that?”
Teddy giggled. “Just one. Just my pinkie.”
Brick groaned and roared like he didn’t quite believe it but didn’t want to challenge it. Teddy loved the feeling of power he had. His pinkie finger — not even the whole thing, but about a third of his pinkie finger — was enough to control Brick’s entire massive body, which was easily four times Teddy’s size. Every time Teddy so much as shifted his finger a tiny bit, Brick’s muscles all flexed at once and he let out a lusty groan.
“Ah, shit… Ah, shit…” Brick grunted. “You had better not tell Creosote about this.”
Teddy giggled. “Creosote won’t judge you, you know.”
“I know. He’ll tell me how supportive he is,” Brick said. “That’s even worse. I’d rather have him call me a pervert so I can kick his ass.” He paused and blushed again. “You can add a second finger.”
But before Teddy did, Brick turned around again. He grimaced and howled in pain as he rotated his body around Teddy’s pinkie finger. But he sighed and his dick twitched too, spewing precum even though Teddy wasn’t even touching it now.
Brick laid down on his back on the hood of his car. He lifted up his trunk-like thighs, giving Teddy easy access to his entire crotch and his ass. Teddy slipped his ring finger into Brick’s ass, just the first half-an-inch or so.
“Damn it!” Brick screamed. He pounded on his pectoral muscles, which pulsated beneath his fists. “Oh god, stick it in! Ram me!”
Teddy kept one hand lazily stroking Brick’s cock, while his tongue and his other hand explored his ass. Brick responded like he had never felt anything so powerful. He squirmed atop his car hood, especially when Teddy licked a trail from his ass to his throbbing cock.
His manhood disappeared down Teddy’s throat. It was more than a foot long, but Teddy had been practicing jerking off big men for a long time. He could swallow almost anything. He managed to get his nose all the down into Brick’s pubic bush.
“Damn… Not even Mol can jerk this good,” Brick said through gritted teeth. If it weren’t obvious he was aroused and horny, it would look like Brick was angry: eyes slitted, grinding his teeth, muscles tensed and remaining so, his whole body shaking as he endured Teddy’s dome and fingering.
“Is that your girlfriend?” Teddy asked. He put his lips on Brick’s cock and moved up and down with his tongue out, slathering copious spit on his shaft, but he didn’t actually jerk it just yet. Brick squealed and shuddered. Teddy knew men loved being teased like that, and Brick was no exception: he writhed and grunted, moaning in agony when he shifted his weight on the fingers in his asshole.
“No. She’s just… this assassin I know,” he said. His eyes were closed. “I love her.” That made him blush. Teddy got the impression he had never meant to say that out loud. “I mean… I don’t love her. I love fucking her.”
“Uh-huh,” Teddy said. “I’m going to sit on your cock now.”
“I mean, she’s a total bitch. She’s tried to kill me, I dunno, fourteen times, I think. She killed John Bonham just to piss me off,” Brick said. “She’s a cold-hearted murderer.”
Teddy removed his fingers from Brick’s ass, making the big man sigh grandly. His muscles all relaxed at once. Tremendous relief flowed through his veins like lemonade, and Brick had never been this calm.
That meant that, when Teddy mounted him to sit on his cock, it was like climbing a warm clay statue, both firm and soft at once. Brick did not assist him at all, and his skin was sweaty enough that Teddy kept slipping. Teddy didn’t really mind because it gave him plenty of opportunities to squeal and squirm all over Brick’s broad chest muscles. Brick completely ignored him and just kept talking about that girl.
“I mean, she’ll work for anyone. She worked for Hunter about a week after surviving him hiring a different assassin to kill her,” Brick said. “And she’s got a villain of her own — he’s this lawyer who… Nevermind, I’m not allowed to say. She’s got a bad guy she’s in love with. She’ll never leave him for me.”
“You poor baby,” Teddy said. “It sounds like you really love her.”
Brick grunted in a disapproving way, but he didn’t argue it directly. “Nobody could love her. She’s not capable of receiving love, man.”
“Uh-huh.” Teddy licked the sweat off Brick’s chest as he lowered his ass onto Brick’s cock. When it slipped into his tight hole, they both gasped. Brick bit his lip and suppressed a moan, which turned into a loud, almost angry grunt.
“You ever know people like that?” Brick asked. He wrapped both of his powerful arms around Teddy’s body, pulling him down on his cock slowly but inexorably, ignoring Teddy’s frantic wriggling. “You know? Someone who might be the most beautiful person in the world but she just insists on making herself act as ugly as possible, like she’s scared to be loved.”
“Yep…”
“You alright? I’m not goin’ easy on ya,” Brick said, “Cuz I wanna get this over with. You want me to be more gentle?”
“God no,” Teddy said, his voice breathless and pinched. His ass slowly adjusted to the fat cock inside him. “Ram me as hard as you can, please? Ram me, Brick Marble! Destroy my ass!”
He chuckled, the motion of which forced Teddy the rest of the way down on his cock. It was deep in his ass, throbbing, sending waves of pleasure through Teddy’s limbs.
“Alright, nancyboy,” he said. “You can tell me to stop. But you might have to bite me to get my attention.” He pinned Teddy’s back against his chest, with one iron-hard forearm in front of Teddy’s face so he could bite if he wanted to. He curled his legs around Teddy’s ankles, pinning him in position there, impaled on Brick’s cock.
Then he took a deep breath and used every muscle in his body to lift Teddy up while flexing his hips backwards, then slamming Teddy back down on his cock. Agony exploded in Teddy’s ass, and he had to suppress a scream. It lasted only a moment, however, before Brick picked him back up and potent relief flooded Teddy’s body.
That, of course, lasted just as brief a moment before he was unceremoniously shoved back down on Brick’s cock. Teddy fell totally limp — except for his own cock — and submitted. This was the part of rough trade service that he absolutely loved, he thought, being dominated and utterly controlled by an alpha stud like Brick Marble.
“Aw, fuck…” Brick grunted directly into Teddy’s ear.
Teddy had no idea how long this lasted. He was supported entirely by Brick’s body, so Teddy sensed nothing but the sweat-dappled scars of Brick’s chest beneath his back and the massive cock slamming into his ass. Brick kept Teddy pinned atop his body, groaning with each slap of his cock into Teddy’s ass.
When Teddy finally had the presence of mind to jack himself off, it was difficult to control his hands, which wanted to flail uselessly above Brick’s head. He managed to stroke his dick, while he leaned his face to the side and nuzzled Brick’s blond beard hairs and the long mullet whose hairs were just barely reachable by Teddy’s tongue.
Almost as soon as Teddy touched his dick, he triggered his own orgasm. That, in turn, made his asshole clench as he rode Brick’s dick, and that sent Brick over the edge as well. They both screamed, Teddy’s flamboyant alto drowned out by Brick’s resonant, booming bass. His sweaty chest muscles rattled beneath Teddy’s back.
Cum flew over Teddy’s belly and into his ass. Teddy moaned, writhing within Brick’s powerful biceps, which held him in place so every drop of Brick’s load sprayed directly into his body. Brick sighed, but the cum just kept spurting inside him.
His hot, creamy load filled Teddy up, but still it continued. Teddy felt luxurious warmth seeping through his body, a continuous flow of hot manly juices trickling into every corner of his flesh. Teddy melted into Brick’s muscles, his orgasm making Teddy so weak he could do nothing more than fall back on Brick’s body.
At last it was over. When Teddy tried to move — to alleviate the awesome pressure on his prostate — it caused a reawakening of his own orgasm as well as Brick’s. Brick hugged him tighter again, and even kissed him on the ear, sucking on his earlobe with those big, plump lips.
He shifted his hips, grinding his limp dick within Teddy’s ass, making a moist plopping sound as cum dripped out and onto the hood of Brick’s car.
“Okay, you’re done, you had your fill,” Brick said with a practiced, forced groan. “I did it. Pay up. You talked me into it. Don’t tell anybody or I’ll never get left alone.” He snarled and bucked, pushing Teddy off him. He glowered. “C’mon, man, don’t try and cheat me.”
Teddy nodded. He was still breathless, gasping for air as his ass recovered. He pulled out his checkbook and began to write it out. He watched Brick wipe himself down with some paper towels, gingerly cleaning off his cock. He looked like he had wiped his body with paper towels before.
With the check half-written, Teddy kneeled behind Brick and giggled. He placed the check on the shelf-like upper buttocks of Brick’s ass, which made Brick groan and flare his nostrils. Despite his annoyance, Brick allowed it. Teddy used his ass as a shelf while he signed the check.
Then Brick grabbed the check off him. “Okay. You’re done, man. Go on. Go back to Creosote’s house. Take care of that fucking cat.”
“Yes, sir, Brick.” Teddy said. He didn’t wipe himself off because he wanted to have that sense memory and the scent of Brick’s body to remind himself of what had just happened.
He watched Brick try to fix the herb garden — he was still shirtless, body turning golden-brown in the brilliant sunlight. Eventually, Teddy fell into an exhausted and satisfied sleep.
His last thought before slumber was to wonder where Phantom Fist was and what he was doing. Teddy had been in the mood for a handsome villain before this ridiculous cat-sitting obligation appeared on his calendar.
He could track down Phantom Fist and have fun. A lot of fun indeed.

The Circus Strongman

“You’s had bettuh take a nice tone wit’ me, Dandy Littlepants, I’m boutto give you’s a present you’ll enjoy.”

This is the entirety of “The Circus Strongman“. To download it as an ebook, see here.

Randy Hollingsworth was billed as “The Littlest Dandy” in the Warren Heights Traveling Carnival, so everyone there called him Dandy. He was just above two feet tall, making him — so some doctor said — the shortest man in the state (the state at that time being California, where Dandy grew up).
He was the barker for the carnival, gathering folks in with his loud mouth and smooth laugh, controlling crowds and lubricating the transitions between attractions. He long ago learned he had the outsized gift of attracting attention and making men laugh, and his flamboyant personality didn’t draw hostility because it came across as a harmless byproduct of his small size. He could lilt and prance like a showpony without threatening anyone’s sense of propriety.
It was approaching the end of the summer of 1928 when Dandy and the Warren Heights Traveling Carnival approached Chicago. Dandy spent the day passing out fliers and answering questions about the carnival and his height, and by the time he got back to his own tent, he was too tired to do anything more than sit back and rest. His little legs ached, his knees throbbing, his throat graveled like an untended road.
“Hey, Dandy!” boomed a bone-shakingly deep voice from outside the tent.
Dandy jumped to his feet, so startled he yelped. He had just been drifting off to sleep.

Grumbling his way to the tent flap, he rehearsed telling Pavel no if he was here to ask for another favor. There was no mistaking the voice, it was Pavel.
Pavel was a carnie like Dandy. He was the strongman, and he too was one of the most extreme men in the country — he was both tallest and biggest. Pavel was a Polish-American boy of nearly twenty years old, already seven feet tall and still growing. He had a farmwork-toned body that he kept building as they traveled, practicing athletics and lifting sacs of potatoes every time the carnival stopped moving for a few hours. He was a boisterous, adventurous man, domineering and brash, macho and more than a bit intimidating when he wanted to be. He was billed as The Powerfull Pollack of Pennsylvania.

At the flap to Dandy’s tent, Pavel’s thick mustache twitched as he made eye contact with Dandy. He smiled broadly. One of his hands nervously clutched his muscular chest, which he had shaved smooth for today’s show. It glistened white as marble.
“What do you want, Pavel?” Dandy asked. He stood in the entrance to his tent as though he might be able to exclude Pavel from entering. He had to look practically straight up in order to see Pavel, who towered above him. His chest muscles seemed impossibly thick from this angle.
“You’s had bettuh take a nice tone wit’ me, Dandy Littlepants, I’m boutto give you’s a present you’ll enjoy.” Pavel had a deep voice like a bronze bell. It was tinged with both the stawk and holler of his Pittsburgh home, as well as traces of the Polish-American accent of his family. “You’s gonna jump like a junebug, boy!”
“Oh, a present? What is it? Do I have to go somewhere?” Dandy asked. He was much too tired to walk even to the other side of the carnival’s encampment with Pavel, who had such long legs that Dandy had to sprint to keep up with him. To Pavel, that was hilarious. Dandy took a dim view of it.
“No, we’re doing it right here,” Pavel said. “I… I know you is not a believer in the Christian Lord our God. But-“
“I really don’t feel like having a theological discussion, Pavel,” he said, but Pavel wasn’t listening. Dandy had to talk very loud for Pavel to hear him. Most of the carnival was Christian like Pavel, and Dandy’s non-churchgoing attitude did not always sit pretty with the others.
Pavel pushed right in to the tent, oblivious to the fact that Dandy hadn’t invited him in. Dandy sighed. Large men tended to blunder past him like that. Pavel sat in the only chair in the tent, which was too small for him, so he had to wedge his ass into the seat. Dandy stood in front of him with a hand on his petite hips.
“I went to the church in town, yes I did. And I wents muhself to confession, Dandy. You know what that is?”
“Yes, Pavel, I know what confession is,” Dandy said with another sigh. As usual, Pavel was oblivious to his social cues. Dandy tried to sigh when he thought he had Pavel’s attention, but he was thundering right ahead with whatever this was.
“I… confessed some sins… sins of a sexu’l nature, Dandy. That woman back in Missurrah? Remembuh? Well… The priest said to say the hail mary nine times and, uh… the point is he told me to do a few things. One of them was to make a moral invent’ry of muh life, to see what muh sins is and how they have done affected the victims of muh deviance.”
“Deviance? Pavel… are you talking about the women? God’s not going to throw you in hell for-“
“You don’t even believe in God, little man,” he said with a wag of his fingers. “And I’s wearried about it. I needta make muhself feel what them wimmin feel when I plunders ’em. I know… that’s ya speciality. And you’s a li’l guy, it couldn’t hurt that bad wit’choo. I’m hoping I’ll learn-“
“What?! I… You want me to cornhole you?” Dandy opened his eyes wide. Dandy enjoyed touching and laying with men more than he enjoyed sleeping with women.
But he didn’t think Pavel was the same way.
Pavel paused and gulped, the sound of which was impossibly loud to Dandy, it sort of echoed and thrummed out through Pavel’s broad chest. Pavel nodded. His hand clutched his smooth white pectoral muscle, which twitched; its gigantic size attracted Dandy’s attention as it rippled. Pavel scratched at his bare chest, making all of his chest, stomach, side, shoulder and arm muscles tense and flex in turn.
“You make it sound stupid.”
“If that was a part of Catholicism, which it isn’t, it would be stupid. Your priest told you to do this? Are you sure he wasn’t trying to cornhole you? Cuz they do that. You can’t trust priests.”
“Not in so many words, he ain’t say that exactly. He said I needta confront what the victims of muh sin ‘xperienced. This is what I came up with,” he said. His squarish face aimed at the floor of Dandy’s tent.
“There’s a big difference between a woman-” Dandy stopped himself. “Why am I talking you outta this? It’s idiotic, but you’re an idiot, so that checks out.”
“Get bigger, shitwit,” he said with a shy grin.
“Bend over and grab ya ankles,” Dandy said with a laugh. He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt. Pavel sighed as though a part of him had hoped Dandy would say no (but what kind of dandy would say no?).
Of course, Dandy realized as Pavel took off his pants that their size difference was going to make for some awkward positioning. Dandy couldn’t even reach Pavel’s ass without standing on a chest.
Pavel sighed, his chest rattling. It seemed that he was having second thoughts. He hesitated before removing the tan singlet he wore for performances.
“You really wanna do this? I won’t… tell God if you back out,” Dandy said. He couldn’t help but laugh. He had always thought religion was silly — would an omnipresent God make a midget like Dandy? Someone whose body was never meant to be this size? He could feel God’s nonexistence every day in his weak knees and his pained spine, in the doctors who stayed surprised that Dandy was still alive.
Pavel shot him a heated look. “You don’t gotta laugh at me. I believe in God-“
“I know, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Then quit laughing at me ’bout it,” he said. He flared his nostrils. He dropped his underwear, and his massive, uncut cock flopped out. That was why he needed forgiveness — his big dick and bulging muscles attracted women, many of whom were married. Some of them even paid him. That was a basketfull of sins. He rolled his eyes. “Okay… How do you do this?”
Dandy was still trying to figure out the mechanics of it himself. Instinct would take over, he thought. He motioned for Pavel to sit down on the ground, which he did. He plopped his heavy ass on the floor of Dandy’s tent.
But even sitting on his ass, Pavel towered over Dandy, who climbed up to stand on his thighs. That let Dandy grope Pavel’s chest and inhale of the masculine musk he exuded.
The thick muscle of his hairy legs was like a rock beneath his feet. His pecs and their hard nipples were right there in front of Dandy’s face. The left breast was tattooed with the red and white flag of Pavel’s native Poland. Dandy kissed each pec in turn, his petite fingers massaging the powerful muscles of Pavel’s chest and shoulders.
Pavel giggled like a schoolboy, his booming laughter audible through his chest. It rattled around in Dandy’s tiny skull. He felt awkward, but the more Dandy groped those gigantic slabs of Polish muscle, the more aroused he was. He dropped his own shorts and let his rapidly hardening dick swing free.
Then he jumped up to Pavel’s neck. Pavel oomphed as Dandy gripped his neck and lifted himself up. He didn’t mean to choke Pavel — he just wanted to kiss him on the lips — but that was exactly what happened.
Pavel sputtered and dropped Dandy onto the ground. He shook his head. “What the hell-?”
“Sorry, I was trying to kiss you! Come down here,” Dandy said.
Pavel shook his head but did so. He lowered his neck, then had to get down on his belly on the ground. Only then could he get his head low enough to easily kiss Dandy on the lips. He puckered like he was sucking on a lemon as he did.
After all the fuss, the kiss was crude and passionless, anticlimactic. Once again, however, what Dandy missed in enthusiasm was more than made up for by the thrill of touching the man’s huge muscles. Dandy stroked his broad shoulders, each blade of which was as big as Dandy’s entire chest. He plunged his tongue into Pavel’s mouth. Pavel was still, his tongue laying limp like a dead fish at first, but after a few moments, it moved around some. Their tongues interlocked as Pavel’s bristly mustache — which seemed impossibly huge, thicker than Dandy’s own forearm even though it never looked that big from a distance — scratched at Dandy’s face.
The muscular lines on Pavel’s back beckoned. Dandy had always loved staring at Pavel’s back muscles; he didn’t know why, but something was appealing about those perfectly smooth, looping curves. He kissed Pavel’s smooth chin, then around to the back of his neck. He lowered his head, kissing the dimpled skin atop his spine, as Dandy’s fingers gripped his flesh.
Pavel lowered himself until he lay flat on his belly on the ground of Dandy’s tent. Outside Mariella — the bearded lady — cleared her throat as she began warming up her voice. She practiced singing every night, still hoping a professional opera company would look past her beard and hire her. It made Dandy giggle, because her fancy opera was going to be a strange score for his and Pavel’s fumbling.
Dandy’s mouth reached the small of Pavel’s back. Dandy stopped there for a moment and kneaded the copious flesh of Pavel’s plump asscheeks. Then Dandy dived between them.
Pavel gasped — it sounded like he had no idea this was coming. He likely had never got or even asked a woman to lick his ass, so he might have been unaware it was possible.
Dandy’s head disappeared between those massive cheeks, hairy and musty and dripping with sweat from the day’s workout. Dandy licked up every drop as his tongue explored the nooks and crannies of Pavel’s ass. The taste was sour and sweet, with a flavor that Dandy could only describe as pure, unadulterated manhood.
Then his tongue entered the grimy rim, and an explosion of masculine flavor overwhelmed Dandy. He moaned with desire, which made Pavel laugh and arch his back. Pavel’s cheeks separated and his hole loosened to allow Dandy’s tongue better entrance.
This was one area where Dandy didn’t feel his size made a difference. Pavel’s asshole was as tight as a small man’s, and Dandy’s tongue struggled to push inside just the same as it did with any other person’s. For a moment, Dandy could nearly forget his stature.
It felt so intensely pleasurable to Pavel that he sucked in his breath and held it as he lifted his ass, making Dandy’s tiny body chase it. He groaned and grunted as he submitted to Dandy’s tongue-bath. He even bit his lip as intense sensations roiled his muscles. It wasn’t very long before his ass was too high for Dandy to lick it.
That was okay with him. He was ready to move on. As Pavel lifted his ass up, his heavy cock and balls dangled. Dandy scooted beneath him, his tongue tracing a trail from his ass to those hairy ballsacks.
He tried to get the entire hairy sac and both balls in his mouth, but Pavel was too big. One ball took up all of Dandy’s mouth, and the folds of hairy, sweat-dripping flesh enveloped Dandy’s face. He didn’t mind; it felt like Pavel’s body was all-encompassing, his heavy-hanging sac spreading to every aspect of Dandy’s perception. His little tongue snaked out and caressed the sensitive flesh of Pavel’s scrotum.
Pavel yelped and squirmed. “Oh God!” he cried out. His dick was rock-hard now, and Dandy wanted nothing more than to suck him dry. He could feel all the tasty cum brewing up in those balls, which pulsated in and on his mouth.
But Dandy knew he wouldn’t have many opportunities to do more than that. There were a lot of muscular guys who would let a dandy jerk them off. There weren’t many who would let Dandy be on top.
So Dandy just licked up the veiny shaft of Pavel’s dick, then continued licking the best he could up Pavel’s chest. Pavel was on all fours, with Dandy standing beneath his chest and the floor, as though Pavel’s body was Dandy’s new tent-within-a-tent.
He crawled up to the chair that Pavel had sat in. With Pavel on all fours, his head was right around the chair’s height. That meant he could swallow Dandy’s dick while Dandy sat on the edge of the seat.
People were often impressed by Dandy’s dick size, he showed it off to strangers sometimes who insinuated he couldn’t measure up to taller men’s manhood. It was big, at more than six inches, but Dandy knew that wasn’t really remarkably big — it seemed that way because Dandy was so short. His dick was nearly a quarter of his body’s height, and it stretched to his knees.
Pavel was clearly surprised by its heft now that it was in front of his face. He screwed up his eyes, looked away and opened his mouth. Dandy was already rock-hard when he pushed his dick down Pavel’s throat.
Dandy moaned. Most men had trouble deep-throating his dick, but Pavel was so big that his throat was vast. He swallowed the whole thing easily even as his body gagged and rejected it. It slid down his throat until his nose was buried in Dandy’s crotch hair. Pavel’s muscles all flexed at once, undulating with each sputtering choke.
The sensation for Dandy was incredible, like his dick was massaged by all of those strapping muscles, which writhed before his eyes. He gripped Pavel’s shoulders, then grabbed his thick mop of black hair. Using his tiny fingers and delicate hands, Dandy guided Pavel up and down on his dick.
The sound of Pavel’s moist sputtering filled the tent, and the smell of prejazz followed it. Dandy wondered if Mariella — whose clumsy Italian phrasing emanated from outside — could smell it. Probably not, he thought, as she bathed in perfume every day. Dandy leaned his head back and groaned as pleasure wrapped over his body.
His hands seemed impossibly tiny next to Pavel’s head, which he gripped and led up and down on his shaft. Spit dripped down to his root. Every few seconds, Pavel gagged when Dandy’s cock hit the back of his throat. His petite fingers gripped Pavel’s massive cheeks to hold him in place. Dandy was used to being short, so it wasn’t often that he was bothered by these disparities in size anymore, but Pavel was so massively huge that Dandy couldn’t help but feel conscious of it. He loved the feeling of power he got, however, from his weak little arms pushing Pavel’s massive Pollack head up and down.
Pavel licked Dandy’s cockshaft, his giant head moving along with his tongue up and down. Dandy’s dick jerked and spasmed, and Dandy yelped as arousal overcame him. He had to force himself to pull away to avoid shooting his load right then.
Wanting to move on before he blew his jazz early, Dandy pulled out. Pavel gasped and said something breathlessly in Polish — it sounded like he was expressing his dislike for the taste of Dandy’s cock, but Dandy didn’t bother asking him to say it in English.
“Turn around,” Dandy said. “Lemme at your ass.” He smiled as Pavel sighed, wincing and blanching. He turned around, remaining on all fours, backing his wide ass up to the chair where Dandy still sat.
His ass was right at chair-height, but Dandy couldn’t lean off the chair and support himself that way, he’d probably fall. He hesitated before simply jumping off the chair and landing right on Pavel’s bottom. He held on like a drowning man clinging to the liferaft of Pavel’s sweaty back muscles.
Pavel lowered his head, while Dandy lined his crotch up with Pavel’s ass. He didn’t have much leverage in this position, since he had to lean on Pavel’s heft as he pushed his dick between those perfectly juicy cheeks.
He shuddered as his dick slid inside. Pavel’s ass was loosened and moistened by Dandy’s spit earlier, so now Dandy could get the first few inches of his meat inside easily. A wave of pleasure suffused Dandy’s body. He couldn’t help but moan. It felt so good his knees went weak, and he would have fallen if he weren’t relying on Pavel’s body for support.
Then Pavel’s muscles all tensed at once and stayed that way; his asshole clenched and he bit down hard on his upper lip. He growled and muttered something Dandy couldn’t hear because of Mariella’s blasted opera singing from the tent next door.
“Relax, Pavel, relax your ass. You’re doing fine,” Dandy said. He lightly stroked Pavel’s back.
Pavel breathed heavily through gritted teeth. He snorted and shook his head, and his ass bloomed into laxity again, just long enough for Dandy to ram another few inches in.
“Damn, Dandy… I thought you’d have a small dick,” he said. He chuckled as his face turned red. “Did you kill a big man and take his dick?”
“Yes,” Dandy said. He laughed at Pavel’s pained reaction. “You still don’t have to do this, you know. The whole idea is idiotic. God won’t love you more because of this-“
“Just finish up, little man. God supports a sacrifice,” he said. His voice was weak and pinched by pain.
Dandy grunted as he nodded and pumped his hips. He forced the last few inches of his dick inside, sighing when he actually felt his dick disappear into Pavel. Pavel had such a thick ass that a substantial part of Dandy’s dick didn’t actually enter the hole — Dandy simply couldn’t separate those asscheeks enough for his little body to get in there, especially with his feet not even being on the floor, as he still had no leverage.
It was all he could do to hump like a dog. He flexed his hips, slamming his entire little body down with every thrust on Pavel’s ass, the cheeks of which flapped and jiggled each time he descended. His fingers formed tight little balls, and his nails dug into the flesh of Pavel’s back.
“Normally,” Dandy said, panting and breathless. “I’d give you a reacharound. You can probably guess what that means. But my arms are way too short.” To demonstrate that, Dandy reached around Pavel, but his hands barely made it past his hips. He couldn’t even get to Pavel’s thick pubic hair much less touch his dick.
“You’re short? I never noticed,” Pavel said, his laughter hidden by the agony evident in his voice. “I just always figured there was more of you that you kept locked safely away.”
“Why don’t you jack yourself off?”
Pavel laughed, then cut off his own laughter. He made a strained and pained sound. “I can’t, little man. It hurts. I couldn’t get hard right now if I wanted to.”
“You sure about that?” From his vantage point, Dandy couldn’t see Pavel’s dick, but he had a strong suspicion about it. He knew there was a spot in every man’s ass that, when touched, triggered intense physical arousal. He was certain he had been hitting that spot. Due to the pain, Pavel hadn’t noticed. But when Pavel shifted from all-fours to just-threes, leaning to the side so one of his hands could grab his dick, he yelped in surprise to find it was hard and throbbing.
“Well… I ain’t see that comin’.”
“Big men never do,” Dandy said. He spoke through gritted teeth now too because Pavel had shifted to using just three limbs to support himself and in turn to support Dandy. That meant his body was not flat anymore, and Dandy had to clutch desperately at his flesh to avoid falling to the floor.
Somehow, despite the awkwardness of the positioning — or maybe because of it — Dandy felt his orgasm coming on. He humped wildly at Pavel’s ass, which was now loose enough that he could go for it with abandon. His balls slapped against the man’s flesh, the sound becoming impossibly loud.
As his climax erupted, Dandy could feel Pavel shooting his own load at the same time. The most intense orgasm of his life overwhelmed Dandy. He moaned, making a sound that was, to him, a loud shout. It was buried in the meat of Pavel’s lower back, however, as a minimal grunt from Pavel exploded and reverberated in the tiny tent.
Cum flowed into Pavel like water from a hose. Dandy shot more cum than he ever had before, and he could tell that Pavel’s load was similarly impressive, even if he couldn’t see it. Dandy shuddered, and every motion he made caused a wave of sensitive pleasure and exquisite bliss to flow up Pavel’s spine.
Dandy didn’t know how long he lay there, clutching Pavel’s flesh for support as he clung on like a puppy holding onto its mother’s scruff. His post-orgasmic daze only ended when Mariella finished her song, and the sound was replaced by Sandell, the head clown, barking orders at the other clowns — they were practicing their new act.
Letting out a sigh of relief as he slid down, Dandy’s cock left a trail of assjuice and cum clinging to Pavel’s thick thighs. Dandy’s knees were weak with the power of his orgasm. As soon as his ass was empty, Pavel collapsed to the ground in an exhausted heap of sweaty flesh.
Dandy sat next to him, using his back for support. He lay across Pavel’s shoulder and kissed his muscles there. “Do you feel forgiveness, Pavel?”
“I ain’t sure. I… I thought it might weaken muh desires for female flesh,” he said softly, or as softly as he could manage with that booming bass voice. “But I fear it has only done add to muh desire.” He chuckled.
“We’ll have to try again to find out,” Dandy said.

Masculine Shockers: Chapter 1

Masculine Shockers

Chapter 1: The Cookie Jar Collector
Chapter 2: The Librarian
Chapter 3: The Scented Candle Enthusiast
Chapter 4: The Florist

“Hello, I’d like to see Eugene Markland,” said Teddy. He smiled at the receptionist, who was a handsome man of Indian descent, with a thin, shrill voice that made him seem less handsome once you heard it.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked the annoying assistant. “Mr. Markland is a very busy man. He is a tycoon of industry. He oversees companies — companies in the plural. He doesn’t just take meetings with anyone. He’s very busy.”
“Oh, I understand, I really do. I think he’ll want to take this meeting,” Teddy said. He glanced at the door into Mr. Markland’s office, but it was a heavy door latched shut, perhaps even locked. There was no way in without permission. Teddy had rather hoped to just barge in, but that was clearly not going to happen.
The waiting area looked like a ski lodge, paneled with rich wood, photos of snow-covered mountains framed and dappling the walls giving the whole area a chill, like just being reminded of a chalet was enough to make Teddy shiver. Or maybe it was the overly air-conditioned air. The only part of the office that looked like what it was — an ordinary office on the forty-sixth floor of a skyscraper in Manhattan — was the cheap off-blue carpet, which looked like it had been a luxurious azure at one point years ago.
“Hmm-hmm.” The assistant smiled politely. “What can I tell him this is concerning?”
“Cookie storage.”
“Cookie storage?” He had been holding onto a telephone, but he put it down when he heard Teddy say cookie storage. He smiled again. “I see. So you, uh… represent… a warehouse? Or-“
“No, sorry, this is about the storage of a small number of cookies, not, like, trucks worth,” Teddy said.
“… Is that something Mr. Markland is interested in?”
“You’d have to ask him,” Teddy said. “He’s free to say no. I’ll gladly go if he doesn’t want to see me. Please just ask him.”
The assistant looked at the phone as though deciding whether to ask Mr. Markland about this on the phone or to go in his office and ask in person. He went in. Teddy wasn’t surprised. He’d learned a long time ago that it was better to ask for something preposterous in person in a situation like this. If he’d said he was here to discuss becoming the new supplier of steel cables or high-tech camera lenses for Mr. Markland’s businesses, the assistant would never have let him in or even considered it. If you said something seemingly preposterous, the assistant wouldn’t know if it was a real thing or not, if it was code or a reference to something above his pay grade. There were a lot of possibilities that simply didn’t exist if you claimed you represented something mundane like a steel-supplier.
Teddy wasn’t lying though. He really was here to speak to Mr. Winthrop about cookie storage.
“Mr. Winthrop will see you now,” the assistant said, glaring at Teddy as he walked in. Teddy shut the door behind himself.
Mr. Winthrop sat at his desk, head cocked to the side, eyebrows furrowed like he wasn’t entirely happy with Teddy coming here. Teddy wasn’t surprised about that either.

He was momentarily flummoxed because Mr. Winthrop was handsome. That was also not a surprise — it was the entire reason Teddy was here — but it did throw him for a loop when he finally saw him in person. He was broad-shouldered and thick, black-haired but with a few silver roots as though he dyed it and needed to redye it soon. Teddy was fine with him like that, since he liked the older daddy-types, especially powerfully built daddies in fine Italian suits.

Billions of dollars to his name didn’t hurt either.
“What can I do for you?” Mr. Winthrop asked.
“I wanted to show you something and see what you thought-” Teddy busied himself with opening his briefcase. “Ah, there we go.” He lifted up a beautiful ornate cookie jar and placed it in his lap. It was a panda bear, arms and legs wrapped around a bee whose body was the actual jar. Its insectoid eyes were the lid, giving it an sinister vibe that was counteracted by the jolly bear with its amygdaliformic eyes.
Up until this moment, Teddy had thought of the jar as just a tool to get what he wanted out of Mr. Winthrop. It didn’t even occur to him to wonder why a cookie jar might be important or valuable or that it might really have an artistic statement. Once he pulled it out of the briefcase, however, he briefly saw it in the same light that Mr. Winthrop did, and it made him feel flush with fear, disgust, comfort, humor, hunger, warmth, cold, all at once.
He was almost reluctant to give it up.
Mr. Winthrop’s eyes opened wide. He gripped his desk tightly, then frowned and gritted his teeth. “First, I’d like to know why you came to see me about this.”
“Because I know you want it. You probably recognized it right away, didn’t you? It’s a Caranzano. They call it L’Abbraccio Eterno-“
“L’Abbraccio Eterno.” Mr. Winthrop murmured with a much better Italian accent than Teddy. “You believe I have an interest in cookie jars?”
“Look, you don’t have to hide it from me,” Teddy said. “I know you went to Cookie-Con in 1991, and I have records from an insurance company showing you have a collection in your home-“
“How did you get that?” His silky voice turned stentorian, and his eyes narrowed to slits.
“None of your business,” Teddy said.
“It is precisely my business. My insurance policies are literally an example of my business-“

“Relax, relax, I’m not going to blow your secret. It shouldn’t matter to the Board of Directors anyway,” Teddy said. “But we both know it does. They don’t want a cookie-jar-collecting weirdo as CEO.” He giggled and blushed. “You don’t have any way to buy something this high-profile without them finding out.”

Mr. Winthrop’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What do you want?”
“I want to taste your dick,” Teddy said. “That’s all. Then you can add this fine Caranzano handmade cookie jar to your collection. They only made a hundred of these-“
“They made a hundred and ten, counting the prototypes.” Mr. Winthrop frowned again — he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He blushed a little, though he was good at hiding it.
“You don’t have anything to be ashamed about. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It’s well-made, gorgeous-“
“It doesn’t need to be gorgeous. You don’t understand. A cookie jar is not just a place to store cookies. It is a living, breathing piece of art, a piece of childhood set in a fixed form. It is more than you can dream of, little man,” Mr. Winthrop said. He stood and came to the front of his desk. “Why should I let you jack me off? For a cookie jar?! You would sully a cookie jar with tawdry perversion?”
“I would. Yes.”
“Let me pay you for it. The last time one was sold the price was seventy-four thousand dollars. My cock is not worth that much.”
“I know. I think it is definitely worth seventy-four thousand dollars,” Teddy said. “I don’t get to taste a lot of billionaire dick.”
“You really want to jack me off with your mouth — which is utterly foul — instead of making seventy-four thousand dollars?” Mr. Winthrop said.
“Do you really want to pay that much instead of blow a nut?”
“This isn’t really something I do.”
“I know. That’s the best part,” Teddy said, smacking his lips. He got on his knees in front of Mr. Winthrop. He had jacked off enough men to know that they would say no if the answer was no. If they started trying to convince him to want something else, the answer was yes, they just didn’t want to admit to themselves that they were willing to do it without proving they tried really hard to get around it.
“You have to tell me where you go it,” Mr. Winthrop said. “Is it stolen?”
“No! I inherited it from my great aunt. I barely knew her, this was just in a storage locker I got,” Teddy said. “I have no desire for a fancy cookie jar. Or even a normal one. I don’t eat carbs.”
“And you don’t want the money?”
“I have plenty of money. What I don’t have is a billionaire’s cock in my mouth.” Teddy crossed his arms over his chest.
Mr. Winthrop pursed his lips and nodded. “Fine…”
Teddy slowly tweaked Mr. Winthrop’s cock through the soft fabric of his slacks. When Mr. Winthrop just sighed without complaining, Teddy stroked it more fully, and leaned forward as Mr. Winthrop sat on the edge of his desk.
He leaned back farther, both to give Teddy easy access to his crotch and to reach his phone. He pressed a button. “John? Please hold my calls and don’t disturb us in here.”
“Yes, sir,” John said through the intercom. His desire to know what was going in here was audible even through the tinny speakers, and Teddy smirked. He suspected John would be out there listening at the door before Teddy was finished.
He unzipped Mr. Winthrop’s slacks and hefted his cock out. It was thick and smooth, heavy-balled. Teddy slapped himself over the face with it. Mr. Winthrop yawned and rolled his eyes.
“Have you ever been gotten a nut off in a man before?”
Mr. Winthrop crossed his arms over his chest. He closed his eyes when Teddy licked his shaft, then cleared his throat. “I was poor in college. I… I may have made some money in… in ways I do not tell people about now.”
“Oh yeah? I bet you had lots of fans back then,” Teddy said. “I like you better a little older though.” Before Mr. Winthrop could respond, Teddy started throating him deeply, opening his throat wide to swallow every inch of his foot-long meat.
“Goddamn…” Mr. Winthrop had obviously not expected this to actually feel good. His eyes opened wide and he looked down. His face simmered ruddily and sweat dappled his chin.
He watched as his cock firmed up in Teddy’s mouth, until it was rock-hard, veiny now, throbbing, pulsating. Teddy slipped all the way down it until his nose was buried in Mr. Winthrop’s dense pubic bush.
Teddy looked up at him and made eye contact as Mr. Winthrop threw his head back. He gripped the surface of the desk he sat on as though he might fall over if he didn’t hold on.
A gurgling moan escaped from Teddy’s lips as he felt Mr. Winthrop approach orgasm. His heavy balls rose up in his sac.
And then he moved suddenly, reaching behind Teddy. For just a moment, Teddy thought he was robbing him — Teddy did a lot of rough-trade, so that happened. Then he realized that was ridiculous — why would a billionaire pick some random man’s pocket?
He had grabbed the cookie-jar. Teddy leaning forward had nearly knocked it off the edge of the desk, and it would have shattered on the floor of the office. Mr. Winthrop frowned and swore.
“You clumsy oaf! You almost broke it! You ridiculous mincing fool-!” Mr. Winthrop gasped, his face turning red as he held onto the cookie jar with all the concentration he could muster. He shuddered and his voice broke. “Aaaaah-!
Since he was doing something else as he came, Mr. Winthrop’s orgasm was strained, almost painful. He grunted. He was going to keep scolding Teddy for almost breaking the cookie jar, then he stopped because the pleasure wracking his body was too intense to speak through.
“Ah, oh…” he sighed and groaned, his face turning red.
Finally creamy cum sprayed into Teddy’s mouth, great gobs of it that spurted right down his gullet. At first he didn’t taste it because Mr. Winthrop’s horsey cock was so big and so long that it aimed right down his throat, lower than his tongue, and he couldn’t taste it at all.
But soon some of it slipped onto his tongue, and Mr. Winthrop slowly withdrew his shaft, giving Teddy an explosion of salty flavor.
“Ah, man…” Teddy sighed as he pulled off his cock and smacked his lips. Cum dripped from his chin.
“You… You do that pretty well,” Mr. Winthrop said with a gasp, as though he was shocked by Teddy’s skills. He gently placed the cookie jar on his desk. He frowned again, both at the cookie jar — he didn’t have any easy way of taking it home without his assistant seeing it — and because he was flummoxed by the mind-blowing orgasm he had just experienced. He never thought a man could make him feel like that. Certainly no woman had ever swallowed him as deeply as that.
“You have a nice dick, it’s easy to swallow,” Teddy said as he cleaned his face off. He stood. “Thanks.”
“No. Thank you,” Mr. Winthrop said. “Perhaps if you encounter any new… pieces in the future, you will contact me. I would be glad to set up future trades of this sort.”
“I will definitely let you know,” Teddy said.
“Next time, please come to my home, not my office,” Mr. Winthrop said. He wrote down his address. “I will instruct the doorman to let you in.”
“I will be there,” Teddy said.

Masculine Shockers

Chapter 1: The Cookie Jar Collector
Chapter 2: The Librarian
Chapter 3: The Scented Candle Enthusiast
Chapter 4: The Florist