Settings – Page 3 – Mansploitation

The Professor

Avery accidentally catches his hunky professor Studman in the act of taking advantage of a woman, and Avery is eager to show discretion… in exchange for a chance to swing on Professor Studman’s big throbbing meat!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was trying to nab one of the college’s janitors. But he was handsome enough, and charming enough, to get loads of females hanging off his every word, even as a janitor.
That was disappointing. If Avery could ever spend some time alone with him without any women around, he was sure he’d get to swing on his meat. The janitor really did have a remarkable physique.
Avery forgot all about him, however, when he showed up to the first day of his creative writing course. He’d had the impression the teacher was a woman. He saw the name on the course schedule, of course: Studman. But he thought that was too on-the-nose to be a man’s name.
But as it turned out, Professor Studman was a handsome hipster with brilliant eyes and a foppish smile. Avery was one of the few min in his class because women thronged to him. They liked his dimples and his hair, and his body — tall and athletic but not muscular. He was also the coach for the girls’s field hockey team. He had a gorgeous head of straight black hair that went nearly to his shoulder, and he had a perpetual five o’clock shadow and deep foreboding eyes.
“You know, when I was navigating the Zambezi with my guide Labotako-” He pronounced that name as though he fluently spoke whatever language it came from, “I learned that, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, they don’t take attendance in schools. Children have to pay for their education, and therefore they always attend. Labotako said their kids never play hooky. Labotako slapped his son every time he complained about going to school. So I’m not going to take attendance in this class either.”
The girls all oohed and aahed, gazing into his eyes. Avery thought this was silly. Professor Studman was hnadsome, but he wasn’t worth this reaction. These classmates would surely not have been impressed if a tubby slob said he beat his daughter when she skipped school, but they swooned over Professor Studman’s five o’clock shadow and abusive river-guide.
But Avery decided to just get into it. He was here to learn creative writing — his last year at GHU he had been told he was short one English credit — and, it turned out, daydream about making out with Professor Studman. This wouldn’t be the first time a handsome man blinded a bunch of women to his obvious douchebaggery. Avery thought of himself as immune, simply because he didn’t care about Studman being douchey. Women needed to justify finding a man attractive and well-formed. Avery simply accepted that this douchebag was a joy to look at.
Professor Studman wore a plain white tee shirt that showed off his forearms, which were well-muscled and taut, with a plain tribal tattoo sneaking down from his bicep. There was a blazer on the chair — he had worn a jacket over a tee shirt to class today, Avery thought, what a pretentious asshat.
Yet oh god he was handsome… Avery could feel the waves of desire from the women all around him. No wonder this class was so popular. The other two men in the class, sitting a few rows away from Avery, looked about ready to strangle Professor Studman.
“As the great Ursula Leguin said, art is an attempt to speak that which can not be said in mere words. In this class, we will learn the words that can express the inexpressible, the ineffable wonderness of our lives. Creative writing is a way to construct a window into reality itself,” he said. He smiled, showing off deep dimples. Some of the girls audibly swooned. “I met Ursula Leguin in a bar in Melbourne. She was there with some bikers — or bikies as they say in Australia. We did shots of whiskey until she took me to an Aboriginal farm where I learned to play the didgeridoo. Have you ever heard the didgeridoo?”
He went on, talking about how wonderful Aboriginal culture was. Nobody, as far as Avery could tell, paid much attention. The girls just smiled and nodded, and Avery had to admit he did the same — Professor Studman was just so damn charming.
The assignment after the first class was to write a description of your home without using any sight words — no color, no shape, no patterns, just sounds, textures and smells. Avery had to admit it was a good exercise for a creative writing class.
How many of the women in this class would have an affair with Professor Studman before the semester was out? Avery would have gambled on at least twelve. He was that kind of professor.
They were first assigned to write an actual story three weeks into class. Avery did a lot of writing anyway, so he thought it’d be easy. He ended up spending most of his free time for an entire week getting it done. It was a little tale about a parking lot that had a large volume of LSD spilled on it during a concert, resulting in it gaining sentience. There were even some anti-Trump messages embedded within, which Avery knew was sure to get him attention from Professor Studman.
But he ignored the story. Studman just wrote A+ on the paper and added a note on the end that said creative concept, well done! Avery was a little disappointed. He was hoping for more feedback than that.
Was there any market for short stories? The two girls Avery shared it with thought it was excellent as well. He wondered if it was sell-able. Did Playboy still publish literary shorts?
He came to Professor Studman’s office one Monday morning to see if he had any advice. His hand hovered over the door before knocking because he was unsure if he would be in the office. Avery had lost the syllabus with his office hours on it, and that info wasn’t available on the class’s official webpage because Professor Studman said that he had refused to work on a webpage ever since doing shrooms with Prince Kuni Asaakira of Japan, when they both decided that the Internet was a “soul trap that would sap its users of their intellect, their attention and their wellbeing”.
There was a loud cracking slap-sound emanating from the office and then a grunt of pain.
“You asshole! She’s such an ugly bitch anyway! How could you be with her? You know she likes jocks!?!”
The door ripped open, nearly knocking Avery over. A woman walked out — she was Jess Weatherspoon, one of Avery’s classmates, a beautiful blonde with narrow hips, frazzled hair and messed-up makeup. She glanced at Avery but didn’t register his presence. She just stalked out towards the main door.
“Hi, uh… Professor Studman?” Avery said as he came in the doorway.
“Oh come on in, Avery,” he said.
Avery was blinded by desire. Professor Studman was changing his tee shirt, another one of those plain white shirts he wore all the time. His silver-dappled chest hair entranced Avery, who couldn’t stop picturing himself sucking on the scruff of Professor Studman’s neck.
“You should know that she was upset because I refused to give her an extension on our latest assignment,” Professor Studman said. He carefully folded the tee shirt he had taken off. Avery noticed that there was lipstick on it — the same color smeared over Jess’s lips when she walked out — and that it was a Gucci shirt. How much had Professor Studman paid for a completely white tee shirt? That was now ruined?
“Oh? She looked more upset than that.”
“She’s very sensitive. Jess doesn’t understand a lot of things. She’s young and foolish,” he said. Then he was quick to add, “but she’s very smart. She will grow wise with time.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said. “So you haven’t been… messing around with her?”
Professor Studman frowned. “That’s a rather inappropriate question. I don’t wish to discuss my private arrangements.”
“I see.”
A long paused grew between them. Studman looked Avery in the eye and raised his eyebrows. Avery didn’t say anything. Studman cleared his throat, and then he shattered the silence. “I was hoping I could rely on your discretion.” He stood but only for a second before he painfully winced and sat down again. Avery stared at his crotch for the brief moment it was visible, and Avery was sure he had a huge hard-on in his khakis.
Obviously, Jess had blue-balled him.
“Well, I’m very discrete by nature,” Avery said.
“Yes… You know, among the Maori of New Zealand, there are these people called whackawahine, and I-“
“I’m not that interested in the whackawahine,” Avery said. “I’m sure they’re marvelous… but I’m much more interested in you.”
“Ah, I, uh…”
“Perhaps you would be willing to treat me like a nubile young coed,” Avery said. He stood up and came closer to the desk. He licked his lips.
“I… I find the word coed, when used as a noun to refer to a female, offensive,” he said. He gulped. “It is patronizing and dismissive of female accomplishments, and it implies that women’s ability to keep up with male students is a-“
“You don’t need to impress me, Professor Studman. I already think you’re handsome,” Avery said.
“Oh…” He shrugged and grunted. “I see. I…” He blushed and bit his lip.
Professor Studman ran his fingers through his salt-peppered black hair. He glanced towards the door to his office. Avery locked it for him.
“I would be glad to, uh, let you — for your discretion — I, uh…” he said. He straightened his tie.
“So you’d be willing to let me… do things, in exchange for that discretion?”
Studman closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes, then. I mean… I don’t want to do… y’know… There are certain things I won’t do-“
“Don’t worry, I’m a bottom. I won’t try to make you take it in the ass or anything like that-“
Professor Studman sighed again, this time louder, relieved. He rolled his eyes. “Ah, okay, good. You don’t need to be crass. It’s not about gender, it’s not about genitals, it’s about feelings, and reconnecting with the primal part of your soul-“
“Professor Studman?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up and stand so I can swallow your dick,” Avery said. “Your pretentious preening is not hot. You don’t need to impress me.”
He frowned and stood. “I am not pretentious. I simply value my experiences and the knowledge I have gained as a lifetime explorer. That’s what I call it, by the way, have I said that?”
He had said it numerous times in class. He saw himself as a “lifetime explorer”, like that was what he identified as; instead of “American college professor” or “writer and traveler”, he introduced himself as a “lifetime explorer”. He had spent a long time explaining why and what that meant, but Avery had been gazing into his eyes at the time and imagining cuddling with him in a ski lodge. Now he explained it again, and this time Avery could more easily ignore him because he got to slide to his knees in front of Professor Studman’s body.
He grabbed his dick through those pristine khakis — which were also name-brand, it seemed, though Avery didn’t recognize the Italian brand on the label when he pulled them down to Professor Studman’s ankles. He smelled strongly of cologne, something fancy with an odd melange of scents.
“Hmmm… That cologne is hot,” Avery said. He pulled down his silk print underwear too, revealing a hefty tan cock and trimmed pubic hair. That made Avery giggle. He was both excited by how big it was and a little annoyed — just because it would have been karmic justice for Professor Studman to have a tiny dick. No wonder he was so confident, Avery thought.
“It’s only available in Khabarovsk, in Russia,” Professor Studman said. “I went there last spring to see the romashka bloom — that’s chamomile, by the way. They use the blossoms to make this cologne. It’s a reputed aphrodisiac blessed by a Siberian shaman.”
“Hmm-hmm…” Avery kissed the tip of his dick, and Professor Studman grunted. Avery snuck his tongue out, sliding it left and right over the tip of his thick cock. He didn’t lick it just yet, he was still teasing Professor Studman, whose face turned ruddy.
“If you’ve never seen the romashka blooming in Russia, I suggest you go. It’s exhilarating-” His voice broke as his dick twitched, and he blushed. He began speaking more quickly, almost frantically fast. “They have vast meadows teeming with romashka, and the entire field is the purest white dotted with the yellow suns of their stamens. They have long said such fields are the tears of God looking down upon the evil man does to man.” His dick throbbed mightily, growing hard as Avery teased it with his tongue. Professor Studman’s eyes opened wide. “Uh… It makes me feel… I mean, seeing those daisies — they’re a member of the daisy family — it reminds me… the feelings do remind me, I mean… of you… I mean the feelings now remind me then of… those fields and, uh-” He groaned loudly and stopped talking.
“You don’t need to sweet-talk me,” Avery said. “I like dick. I don’t need ornate speeches about Russian flowers to jerk you off.”
“No, I, uh… I…”
“You can just say jerk me off, Avery.”
“No.”
Avery smiled. “Okay, well, you can keep seducing the air with your sweet nothings, if you like. I’m just going to swallow your dick some more.”
“I am, uh… I once studied love-making with the same Tantric teacher who taught Sting. I had the chance to meet Sting once but I turned it down. I don’t think celebrities are that interesting. I don’t click on celebrity news on Facebook.” He paused, then blurted out, “I don’t use Facebook! I don’t, uh-” He bit his lip as a shiver of pleasure ran up his spine.
Avery giggled. Professor Studman had been pretty slow to get fully hard even though he had been hard just moments ago, with Jess. Avery wasn’t worried he’d fail to get an erection, he was just slow and nervous. Professor Studman was probably unused to performing without a woman worshiping every word that came out of his lips.
For the first time, Avery wondered if all this stuff was nonsense. When did he find the time and the funds to travel so much? Who went to Russia to look at flowers? He had assumed Studman was exaggerating some, but seeing him with his guard down made Avery wonder if it was all made-up.
It couldn’t all be fictional. He did come across as well-traveled. But Avery had trouble believing all this. Still, it didn’t much matter to him — lots of attractive guys were bullshitters. It was cute, Avery thought. Usually it had more to do with bullshitting about athletic accomplishments and bedding beautiful women, but this wasn’t so far off.
In any case, once Studman was hard, Avery was ready to get stuck by that beautiful slab of veiny manhood. He thwacked himself across the face with Professor Studman’s cock, giggling at the sight of his nervous face grunting each time.
“Have you ever been with a man before?”
“Uh… in India, I was… no.” Studman said. “No, I never have.” He sucked on his lip. Avery suspected he was about to tell a lie that would sound impressive, but he couldn’t focus enough to come up with one, so he had told the truth.
Avery bent over and grabbed the surface of Studman’s desk. He lowered his head and jutted his ass up to meet Professor Studman’s cock. He rammed into his crotch first, just rubbing his asscrack of his moistened dickshaft as it throbbed and leaked precum onto his smooth flesh.
“Hmmm, pound me… Live life to the fullest, Professor Studman! This is the chance to explore your lifetime!” Avery giggled. “Go’n, stick it in.”
He had to crane his head to see Professor Studman’s tense face. It was obvious he had hoped Avery would actually guide his dick in, so he wouldn’t have to do it. He closed his eyes, gripped his cock and then let go. He paused.
“Do you not wanna do it?” Avery asked. “Cuz if you’re too inhibited and inexperienced, I can understand that.”
“No! I… I don’t have hangups,” Professor Studman said. “Of course. You know the Malays say that-“
“Unless there’s a handsome Malay with a hardon here, ready to stick it in me, I don’t much care, Professor Studman,” Avery said.
He gritted his teeth and did so, just to prove that he could. He sighed with relief when his dick slid in, then he tensed up all over again. A shudder of pleasure ran through him.
“Ah, uh… Yes, ah…”
It was just the tip. Avery had to reach behind himself to guide Studman’s cock the rest of the way in, grimacing as he focused on relaxing his ass. There was a little pain, but Avery had come to expect that — Studman’s dick was big enough to hurt, but also big enough to give him the prostate orgasm of a lifetime.
“You can pound me hard, Professor Studman,” Avery said through gasps of pleasure. “You don’t have to be gentle with me, I’m no college freshman hiding from my daddy…”
“I don’t mess with underage girls. I check their ID,” he said.
“Like a true gentleman would.” Avery giggled. “Has the queen given you a knighthood yet?”
For the first time since Avery had met him, Professor Studman chuckled like he genuinely thought that was funny. “Only British subjects are eligible for a knighthood,” he said. He gripped Avery’s asscheeks, grimacing and sucking on his teeth as he did. His cock slid in the rest of the way, and he held his breath, watching it throb in Avery’s ass.
At last, Studman began pounding in earnest. Avery could just grip the desk and enjoy the show. His prostate rang out with every thrust of Studman’s cock into him, over and over, its thick shaft stimulating every inch of Avery’s insides.
He was really very good once he got into it. Avery could tell that he had relaxed, that he could forget for at least a few seconds that he wasn’t with a beautiful woman. Avery moaned in as feminine a voice as he could, while jolts of pleasure shot up his spine.
“Hey… Professor Studman? Did you read my story?” Avery asked. He had completely forgotten that that was why he came here to begin with.
Studman stopped moving. “I skimmed it. It was good, I could evaluate it without scrutinizing every word-“
“Because I’m not a hot chick, you saw no reason to really read it?”
He didn’t answer. He just resumed gyrating. He chuckled dryly. He placed one hand on Avery’s shoulders and lightly caressed the back of his neck. He leaned over and sucked on Avery’s left earlobe.
That made Avery shudder and shiver. It tickled a little, and it ratcheted up the orgasmic pleasure gathering deep within his body. Avery moaned. “Oh god… Girls love it when you do that, right?”
“Don’t even try to pretend you don’t love it too,” he said.
“I do… I still want to know — do you think I could sell it? The story I mean.”
Professor Studman laughed. “Yeah, if you go back to the fifties when people paid for short stories,” he said. “Assuming your audience is limited to present-day people: No.”
“Oh. Okay, I guess that’s kinda what I thought-” Avery’s voice broke as another wave of pleasure crashed over him. He lifted one leg and gasped.
The movement knocked a few things off Professor Studman’s desk, but he didn’t complain. He grunted too, his cultured demeanor vanishing as he neared his orgasm. He was normally so controlled that his frenzied pounding and the sweat dappling his shoulders seemed more exciting than they should be, like watching a man turn into a werewolf. Avery smiled as his most potent orgasm in recent memory filled his mind with intense pleasure.
He had to admit Studman was good. That was another thing Avery was kind of surprised by — he rather thought Studman would remain clumsy and reserved even with a raging hardon. But with Avery at least, when he finally neared his climax, Professor Studman plowed into him with wild abandon.
At last he was done. “Aw… yeah, shit, yeah…” His pretension was gone as his whole body quaked. Cum flew into Avery’s ass and coated his insides.
He shot great creamy gobs of it, and it filled Avery up more and more with each passing second. His balls slapped against Avery’s ass as he kept gyrating too. Much of his cum spilled out and into the crack of Avery’s ass.
“Ah… goddamn,” Avery said. He threw his head back. His own orgasm felt so good it kind of hurt.
Then, finally, it was over, and Avery lowered his head to the surface of the desk. He stared, eyes open but unfocused, at the form in front of his face while Professor Studman drained the last few drops of his cum into him.
Eventually he was done, and Studman sighed.
He felt tremendous relief and a second rush of bliss in his veins when his dick finally plopped out of Avery’s ass. Avery sighed too, falling limp onto the desk.
That was when Avery noticed the form he had laid his head on. It was a passport application form.
It took Avery a few moments to process that and what it meant. A passport was valid for ten years. If he needed to apply — not renew, for that was a different form — then that meant he hadn’t left the country (at least not legally) in a decade or more. He hadn’t been to Khabarovsk (wherever that was) last spring because he hadn’t had a passport.
“What’s this?” Avery held the form up. It was blank, so Avery couldn’t technically be sure it was for Professor Studman — perhaps he was filling out an application for his mother, for example — but his reaction made it clear that he didn’t want anyone to see it.
He snatched the form out of Avery’s hand, dick still dangling moistly between his legs. His khakis were still around his ankles too, so when he moved, he stumbled and fell over the desk.
Avery looked down at him and scoffed. He goosed Studman’s plump asscheeks. “You don’t have a passport.”
“No, I… It’s just a paperwork error. The government, y’know… Trump’s fault, most likely,” he said.
“Hmm-hmm, yeah, that seems likely,” Avery said. He wiped his own ass off, casually, using tissues from the box on Studman’s desk. Avery took a few steps away, still holding the box, while Professor Studman stood up. With his khakis still around his ankles, Studman couldn’t easily reach Avery or the box of tissues, and it was obvious he wouldn’t pull his pants up until he cleaned his dick off — those pants and the underwear were both name-brand, after all, he wouldn’t want to goop them up with bodily fluids. He looked ridiculous stumbling around his office with his pants and drawers around his ankles.
“Gimme those tissues,” he said, blushing. It looked like he was not used to the experience of blushing. He dabbed sweat off his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. “It… I trust I can expect your discretion? Regarding the passport as well as the… everything else… Since, y’know…”
“I have lots of discretion. The part of my spleen that secretes discretion is also the part that loves getting slammed by you,” Avery said. “So why don’t I come back next week?”
“Fine. Yeah. Sure. I’m fine with… y’know…” He gestured to Avery’s ass and gulped. “That’s fine. No need for blackmail. Just, uh… come over to my office. We’ll talk… plot structure.”
“Good. Make time for me,” Avery said before handing the tissues over and walking out the door.

On the Downlow

As the city burns in riots over police violence, recently released ex-cons Thumper and his prison wife Angel find themselves sharing the night with a handsome young thug named Rico… Can Rico make it through the night with his dignity intact?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

There were three people at the apartment that night as the sultry heat led to tempers flaring in the city streets outside. Timmy Angel was one, and another was Thumper White. The two of them were released from prison at the same time a few weeks ago and were living together in a small apartment.
As he looked out the window, where an occasional rioter fled cops heading towards Sycamore or a fracas of rowdy protestors spilled down the ave, Angel shook his ass and made a cock-swallowing face for Thumper, who growled and pursed his full lips. He licked his teeth and sucked on his tongue.
“Yo, whiteboi, you pretty on the eyes,” he said. “You got ass like a homeboy. I like that.” His eyes roved up and down Angel’s body, taking him in. He took a deep breath. “I already invited over this homeboy named Rico. I guess we gonna have a three-way. Rico’ll do it. That okay with you?”
“Hell yeah!” Angel said, and Thumper laughed — or rather, he lowered his eyes to slits and breathed slightly, which was as close to laughter as he could get without losing his hardcore-menacing-thug look.
“Good. I be in charge, whiteboi,” he said. “I set the rules-” He stopped because a torrent of sirens filled the streets with shrieks and then faded to a distant whine..
Thumper and Angel went to the window to look outside. There was smoke rising into the air in the distance, it looked like the library had burned down, or some building close to it. There was shouting, screaming, the rattatat of gunfire echoing in the night-time sky.
“You think this shit gonna lead to change?” Thumper asked. Angel wrapped an arm around his waist and hugged him like a girlfriend. Thumper patted him gently, and Angel nuzzled his muscles. He smelled like cocoa butter.
“Uh… Well, that’s hard to predict,” Angel said. He shrugged. “Things usually don’t change, but somehow… things are always different.”
Someone knocked on the door then, conveniently rescuing Angel from trying to come up with a better answer.
The man at the door was Rico. He was much younger than Thumper, at barely twenty-one years old, and he was a handsome, slimly-muscled thug with dimples and an ass so thick it looked like a mismatched body part, like he had stolen it from a bigger, taller man. He wore baggy jeans that were slung low enough for Angel to get a good look at his shorts-clad asscheeks. He sauntered in, swagger thick as pudding, and he sucked on his teeth. He bristled when introduced to Angel, like he done reach his limit for meeting white men. He lowered his eyes and glowered. Outside, there was the sound of twisting metal and a loud crash — a car accident, somewhere far away.
“Yo, homeboy,” Rico said to Thumper once he was in the apartment. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I… I’ll do whatevuh you want, but let’s just do it.”
“Whatchoo mean?” Thumper narrowed his eyes to slits.
“I mean… I know…” he laughed to cover up his nervousness. “I know, uh… them other homeboys told me why you wanted me to come over here. I-“
“Them other homeboys shouldn’t be talkin’ ’bout shit they don’t understand. I told you to come here tonight cuz you workin’ fo’ me now that I’m outta the joint. We gotta get to know each other,” Thumper said. “You gonna be slingin’ my rock, so I gotta know what you is like.” He clasped Rico on the bicep and squeezed. It started off like an affectionate pat, but Thumper left his hand there, massaging Rico’s arm.
“Yeah, uh… I already know what you like,” Rico said with a sigh. “You into that prison shit.” He shrugged. “Whatevuh. I’m hardcore, I’ll do hardcore shit.”
A long awkward silence ensued. Angel’s heart skipped a beat. There was gunfire outside, but Thumper and Rico ignored it.
“Take off yo’ shirt, homeboy,” Thumper said after a long pause. He flared his nostrils. “I gotta make sure you ain’t wearin’ a wire.”
Rico took off his shirt. He had been a basketball player in high school, and he had largely kept up the same training regiment even now, giving him a perfect six-pack and a powerful chest. He carried himself like he thought he was bigger and taller than his actual size. Thumper would say he was uppity like a fog in the sky. But Thumper do enjoy a pretty young nigga with dimples and a booty too big for his britches.
“I mean… Thumper, you ain’t gotta… y’know, grope me and shit,” Rico said. He glared again at Angel. “I’ll do it. I know… They said you was gonna, y’know, make me jerk you off.”
“I ain’t a ramrod,” Thumper said.
It did not look like Rico believed that. “Well, uh… just… you ain’t gotta seduce me, homeboy. I done fuck around on the downlow before. C’mon, tell me what to do.”
“Maybe I like seducin’ homeboys, man. Shut yo’ mouth. Don’t just say it. Seduction is half the fun,” Thumper said. He delicately kissed Rico on the side of the cheek and frowned when he winced. “Today is yo’ lucky day, Rico. Cuz I got this pretty whiteboi right here. He gonna service us both. You ain’t gotta do nothin’ but sit here and look handsome.”
“Oh… okay…”
Thumper cleared his throat. “Well, you gotta do a few things besides look handsome. Go on and do some push-ups, homeboy.”
Rico rolled his eyes. He just wanted to get straight to the nasty stuff so he could finish up with that and leave. He was missing the riot. If he went out there soon, he could still get into a few stores and do some looting.
He got down on the ground to do his push-ups, while Thumper and Angel sat on the couch together. Angel buried his head in Thumper’s arms. Thumper had taken his shirt off as well, so Angel could rest his face in Thumper’s bicep and smell his funky armpit while they watched Rico work out.
The lines on his back flexed and writhed as though his muscles were trying to escape. He had a little padding over his flesh — the perfect amount of padding in Angel’s eyes — but when he was stretched and straining to do more push-ups, all that padding seemed to disappear, leaving behind nothing but powerful curves gleaming with beads of sweat.
Angel kissed Thumper’s bicep, which flexed beneath his lips. Thumper didn’t look away from Rico though, and he listened intently as Rico grunted with each push-up. Angel smiled. Rico seemed to be surprised by how exhausted he was, like he had thought he was just supposed to do a few push-ups to pump up his muscles, but Thumper had him continue until he struggled to keep going.
Thumper watched like a coach angry over an insolent player, or like he was annoyed Rico hadn’t turned into a woman already. His muscles flexed where Angel touched him.
Then Thumper kissed Angel on the lips — he grabbed Angel’s hair and lifted his head. He kissed him as though it was an attack, planting his lips on Angel’s and shoving his tongue into Angel’s mouth. He held Angel’s head in place and opened his mouth wide.
Angel was so shocked by the suddenness of it that for a moment his tongue just lay there like a dead fish. Then he kissed Thumper back, their hearts pounding in sync as Angel contorted in Thumper’s powerful grasp.
“Ugh! That’s that nasty-nasty,” Rico said. He’d stopped his push-ups and was on his knees now, his upper body gleaming with sweat.
“Shut yo’ face. I ain’t say to stop yo’ push-ups, did I?” Thumper snarled. “They tol’ me that the only reason they give you any responsibility is on account of yo’ muscles, homeboy. So I gotta make sure they as big as can be. Do a hundred more push-ups.”
Rico shook his head and rolled his eyes like he didn’t want to do it. He had already done at least a hundred push-ups. His eyes flickered to the riots outside the window. “It’s hot in here,” Rico said. “You got air conditioning?”
“Nah. Take off yo’ pants if you hot.”
Rico hesitated like he didn’t want to do it, but he accepted that it was going to happen eventually anyway. He took off his shoes and pants. His ass was perfectly plump, cradled by his tight boxer shorts.
The sight of his cheeks, fabric clinging to the skin by the fresh sweat that dripped over his ass, made Angel so hard he had to resist jacking himself off right then and there. But instead Thumper kissed him some more.
Finally Rico groaned and collapsed onto the floor on his belly. “That was a hundred, Thumper. That was a hundred thirty-three total.”
“Was it? You sure you count right?”
Rico lay flat on the floor on his belly, covered in sweat. His arms and shoulders quivered. “Yeah, nigga. I sure. I counted right.”
It seemed clear to Angel that Thumper didn’t know if that was or was not right — Thumper was making out with Angel the entire time. It would be impressive if he maintained a count of Rico’s push-ups at the same time.
“You dance, homeboy?”
“What?”
“I axt you if you dance. homeboy.” Thumper spat his words like he didn’t tolerate repeating himself. He scowled at Rico.
“Uh… Yeah. I mean… Sorta.”
“What? You best get better at answerin’ questions, nigga,” Thumper said. He kissed Angel again, frowning at Rico as he watched his body tremble on the floor. Angel nuzzled the tight, tattooed flesh of Thumper’s neck. He inhaled of his delicious old-homeboy scent — Thumper wasn’t really old, but he smelled like an old man, like all the older homeboys he had lived with behind bars until just a few days ago. He smelled like an old homeboy whom time had left behind.
That was fine with Angel. He didn’t like conflict, but he loved Thumper’s body. He tongued Thumper’s prison-toned chest and arms as Thumper settled back to watch Rico, who stood on weak knees at Thumper’s command.
“Dance for me, homeboy. Make it girlish,” Thumper said.
Rico had that macho awkwardness around dancing, especially in an unusual situation like this. He actually danced a lot — with girls, in darkened nightclubs, when no one really paid much attention to him, and where there was loud music playing with an easy beat to dance to. None of that was true right now, so Rico did little more than writhe awkwardly.
But Thumper nodded as though that was acceptable. He looked Rico up and down hungrily, like he wanted to reach out and touch Rico but wasn’t allowed to. Instead his hands roamed over Angel’s smooth body.
“You a pretty whiteboi.”
Thumper’s fingers were callused and work-roughened from his time behind bars. He had worked on a chain gang nearly every day of his thirty-four years behind bars. He had built most of the new prison infirmary building, and Angel could sense all of that hard work in this thickened pads of his fingertips caressing Angel’s smooth skin.
Now that he had gotten started, Rico was dancing a little better, with more confidence. He bounced around in front of the couch, his massive cock and balls flopping beneath his boxer shorts.
“Turn around and get yo’ ass up in the air,” Thumper said. He resumed kissing Angel, as Rico backed himself up and started to shake his ass right in front of Thumper.
His boxer shorts stuck to the skin of his ass as he shook his cheeks. Thumper watched those massive globes tremble and vibrate in sync with an unheard beat — the only sounds in the apartment, aside from moist kissing and Rico’s tired grunts, were the pop of gunfire, the blare of sirens and the shouts of an ongoing brawl outside.
Then, without warning, Thumper rammed his entire face between those cheeks, planting his nose in the fabric covering Rico’s asscrack. Thumper loudly inhaled, like Rico was cocaine and Thumper wanted to snort him up, and he sighed at the intensely sweaty smell in his nostrils.
“Take off yo’ shorts now, nigga,” Thumper said. He guided Angel’s hand to his crotch. Thumper still wore his jeans, so Angel massaged his cock through the denim. It was rock-hard and throbbing already.
Rico bristled as he dropped his shorts. His brown ass was perfect, and his mandingo dick was so big Angel could see it from behind, where it dangled between his legs. It was like a forearm, Angel thought, a veiny slab of meat that Angel wanted to suck to the root.
“Keep dancing.”
He sighed again but did so. His bare asscheeks shook in front of Angel’s face, but Angel focused more on kissing Thumper’s nipples, sucking on his powerful pecs, as he stroked Thumper’s cock.
The smell of his fresh sweat was alluring. It was intense and it brought tears to Angel’s eyes. He wanted to lick that ass more than anything.
“Go’n, whiteboi, do it,” Thumper murmured. “I wanna watch you do it.”
Angel’s heart thrilled as he dove between those cheeks. Rico yelped in surprise, and he stopped moving, bent over with his ass high in the air. Angel had to stretch his neck to reach his ass.
The sweat tasted just as good as he hoped. He licked each asscheek, and a jolt of desire shot through him as he felt Rico tremble beneath Angel’s tongue’s touch.
It was Thumper who guided Angel’s head. He grabbed Angel’s hair and rubbed his face up and down between Rico’s cheeks, murmuring and groaning as Angel licked and sucked on every inch of Rico’s backside.
“Turn around, Rico,” Thumper said.
Rico did. His eyes were half-closed, and his dick was half-hard, sticking straight out from his hairy crotch. He was a big man with a cock to match; it was at least twelve inches long and it wasn’t even fully erect yet.
“You hard, homeboy,” Thumper said with an annoyed grunt.
Rico winced and frowned. “I don’t mean nothin’ by that, Thumper. E’ryone knows you into this shit. I just like gettin’ my asshole licked. Not many girls is into that.”
“Hmm-hmm,” Thumper said. “I need to check ya for contraband, homeboy. You got a wire under there?” His hand snaked between Rico’s legs and under his balls. He thoroughly fingered the flesh there, making Rico’s dick twitch and grow even harder.
Angel started sucking without really thinking about it. He got the feeling Thumper wanted him to, and of course Angel wanted to, and it seemed Rico was eager to just get his nut off so he could go out and loot with his homeboys. So Angel swallowed his cock while Thumper played with Rico’s balls.
“Damn…” Rico laughed to cover up his anxiety. “I, uh… I know you ain’t checkin’ for a wire under my balls.”
“Shut yo’ facehole, Rico.”
He deep-throated Rico’s cock even before Rico started throating him down. He nestled his nose deep in Rico’s crotch, his tongue slathering saliva all along the shaft as it pulsated inside Angel’s throat. He couldn’t quite deep-throat the whole thing, but he enjoyed trying.
One of Thumper’s hands was on the root of Rico’s cock, stroking it, just that little length that Angel couldn’t fit into his mouth. Thumper’s other hand wrapped around Angel’s body, gently stroking Angel’s dick — since Angel was on the verge of blowing his load already, Thumper didn’t fully jack him off, or Angel would have cum in seconds.
“You ain’t gotta cover it up, Thumper. No one cares. They know you did time for the organization, nigga,” Rico said. His voice broke and he shuddered as a wave of pleasure went through him. Sour-sweet precum coated Angel’s tongue. Rico grunted. “They got respect for you even if you a pervert.”
“I said shut yo’ facehole, Rico,” Thumper said. “I’s just gettin’ to know you, that’s all. We gotta know each inside and out, nigga. ‘Specially inside.” Then he pulled on Angel’s hair to drag his face off Rico’s cock. In one smooth motion he leaned in and licked Rico’s shaft, from root to tip, slowly and with great care like if he did it wrong, Rico might shatter into a million pieces. Rico shuddered. Thumper smiled, then reinserted Angel onto his cock. “Now I know you a little better, Rico. I need to rely on you to do yo’ part, and I need to know how you work. Now I know how a piece of you work.”
“My cock? You know how my cock work, homeboy? It work the same as any other cock, nigga-” Rico cut himself off and blanched as Thumper scoffed at him. Rico bit his lip. Then his dick spasmed and his balls crawled up in his sac. Angel could feel the orgasm beginning in his cockroot and extending out in waves. Rico’s muscles flexed as Thumper massaged his chest and his plump asscheeks.
Then a burst of cum sprayed into Angel’s mouth. It was a thick and creamy load, which coated Angel’s tongue and the roof of his mouth. It trickled down his throat.
He continued cumming for what seemed like a long time, as though there was a big backlog of cum in his balls. Angel moaned at the salty flavor overwhelming him, and Thumper even moaned too, his face so close to the action that Angel’s sputtering resulted in drops of cum and spit landing on Thumper’s face.
Then finally Rico was done. He sighed. His cock throbbed as it grew limp in Angel’s mouth.
“You blow a good load, homeboy,” Thumper said. He kissed Angel on the lips, licking up the remnants of cum that still coated Angel’s face and tongue. He groaned into Angel’s mouth. “Yeah… now I think we gettin’ to know each other fo’ real.”
Rico took a step back. He pulled his exquisitely sensitive dick away from Angel’s face. Thumper stroked his moist shaft.
“So, Rico… Do you like the taste of chocolate or vanilla better?” Thumper asked. He and Angel leaned back on the couch.
Rico rolled his eyes. “Uh… Chocolate, I guess.”
“I’m glad you said that, Rico. You got a nice mouth. My dick’s gonna look real nice in there,” Thumper said. “Come here and sit on this whiteboi’s cock.”
Rico shrugged. He turned around with his ass aimed at Angel, who had him wait for a moment while Angel licked his hole some more to open it up. Once he had it well-lubed with spit, Angel leaned back. Rico gritted his teeth as he lowered his ass onto Angel’s meat.
All at once when Angel’s cocktip slid into Rico, the big thug grunted, his muscles tensed and his asshole clenched. A jolt of incredible pleasure shot up Angel’s spine.
“Relax, homeboy, take a deep breath,” Thumper said. He massaged Rico’s ass, rubbing on the fleshy cheeks and caressing his back. Rico remained right there with just the first couple centimeter’s of dick inside him. Thumper licked the sweat off his back. “Ain’t nuthin’ bettuh than watching a homeboy get it up the ass fo’ the first time.”
“Ain’t the first-time, homeboy. I tol’ you I mess around on the downlow, right?” Rico wrinkled his nose. “No pro’lem. Feels fine. I don’t even notice no whiteboy dick.” Despite that, he did grimace in pain.
Thumper snorted like he was disappointed, but he didn’t say anything. Rico bit his lip as he lowered his ass a little more. Angel’s fat white cock slid into his tight hole.
The positioning was awkward for Angel, though all he had to do was sit there. Angel massaged the muscles of Rico’s back, but could only reach halfway up, not even far enough to touch those awe-striking shoulder muscles.
Then Thumper stood up. His body was much more toned than Rico’s, his asscheeks like tight little orbs. He didn’t have a perfect six-pack either — he was too old for that — but he was thickly-built. He stood on the couch next to Angel, who was overwhelmed by stimulation from the massive ass now riding his dick. Rico grimaced and grunted with each motion he made, his ass lowering itself onto Angel’s throbbing meat.
From his vantage point on the couch, Angel caressed both Rico’s asscheeks and Thumper’s thighs. Meanwhile Thumper grabbed ahold of Rico’s head, and slowly, gently but firmly, guided Rico to face Thumper.
Rico sighed and opened his mouth. Without a word of warning, Thumper’s fat cock pushed in past his lips.
With Rico focused on the cock in his mouth, Angel could really start plowing his dick in. Rather than Rico lowering his ass onto Angel’s cock, Angel started to pump his dick upward, ramming Rico deep in his backside.
“Nice mouth, homeboy, I can tell you got good experience at it,” Thumper said with a moan. “You gotta introduce me to the homeboys you on the downlow wit’. I can swing downlow too.”
Though Rico flexed and snorted in pain at first, he soon relaxed, and he took every inch of Angel’s cock. It slid into him, slapping into his massive ass, as his muscles writhed beneath Angel’s touch. Angel reached around to handle his dick, which was still moist and soft — there was always something appealing, Angel thought, about playing with soft dickmeat. It felt like a piece of loose flesh, an extra muscle not attached to anything, and its veiny shaft pulsated beneath Angel’s grasp.
The whole situation was so incredible that Angel shot his load first. He pumped his dick all the way in, surprised at how intense his pleasure was as it rocketed up his spine. His fingers turned into claws that gripped Rico’s meaty back.
Cum flowed and poured into Rico’s ass. It coated his insides, its warmth spreading to every corner of his body. Angel could tell that his load was huge even though he couldn’t see it. He just sprayed wad after wad of manjuice into Rico’s body.
“Sit over here now, homeboy,” Thumper said, pointing to the spot on the couch next to Angel.
Rico pulled off Angel’s cock and sighed with relief as his ass emptied. A giant wad of cum escaped, landing on Angel’s dick and his thigh. Then Rico sat down on the couch, wincing as pain enveloped his sensitive ass when he first put his weight on it.
“Open up, but you gotta share, homeboy,” Thumper said. He didn’t give Rico much of an opportunity before shoving his precum-leaking cock back into Rico’s mouth.
Angel joined in. Rico seemed to want to let Angel take over on Thumper’s dick, but Thumper didn’t allow it. Angel had to stand on the couch in order to put his face even with Rico’s, so he could lick Thumper’s shaft and slurp on his balls.
“Both you handle a nigga dick pretty good,” Thumper said. Only Rico was really doing that though, since Angel was licking up and down Thumper’s juicy ballsac, slurping up the sweat that clung to his underside.
Angel had only barely gotten started when Thumper groaned. Thumper’s hands guided Rico’s up to his chest, where Rico awkwardly played with Thumper’s nipples. Thumper bucked his hips, slamming his dick all the way into Rico’s choking throat.
Angel felt the orgasm even before it began, in the throbbing of Thumper’s heavy ballsac in Angel’s mouth. Then those balls ascended in his scrotum, and Angel sensed the cum pouring forth from Thumper’s cock.
“Swallow it, nigga. So you get to know my body,” Thumper said with a moan.
Rico gagged at the taste of cum coating his tongue, but he didn’t stop. So much spit was generated that it spilled out past Rico’s lips, coating his massive chest and dripping onto Angel’s face.
It was both cum and saliva, as Rico drooled and accepted the torrent of fluids down his throat. Thumper’s powerful trunk-like thighs flexed and shook.
Finally, when he was done. Thumper pulled out and kissed Rico on the lips, tasting his own cum. Rico grimaced but accepted that. “Nasty, nigga,” he said when Thumper pulled away. “I knew you was gonna do that too.”
“Oh, you think you know e’rything, huh, Rico?”
Rico shrugged. “Can I go now? I wanna go loot some, befo’ the riot is all done.”
“Fine, nigga,” Thumper said. He sat next to Angel and wrapped his sweaty body around him. Angel snuggled into his muscles. Thumper smiled and kissed Angel on the cheek.
Rico stood up to leave. He looked relieved.
“Just make sure you come back,” Thumper said. “Get some lube while you out. Come on back befo’ too late. We got some all-night… tasks to perform.”

The Retired Boxer Bottoms

Avery is a masseur with an older man as a client. He’s a retired boxer, and he has some interesting ideas about how to get his needs met. Can Avery do what it takes to satisfy his studly new client?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery awkwardly accepted payment from a client. He smiled and said some polite things, but that didn’t make the situation any less awkward. This client was a hefty young man, a beefy jock with a powerful body but also a big belly and a hairy, unpleasant ass. He had come to the massage parlor in search of sexy Asian masseuses who could give him a handjob for a few dollars. There were no sexy Asian masseuses here, there was only Avery, and he didn’t give handjobs to tubby stinkbombs.
It was a miscommunication that happened often in this massage parlor right off campus. It simply came with the territory. He didn’t mind — it was awkward, but on the other hand, he sometimes got a hunky jock who was just horny enough to go for it, and on those occasions, Avery both got paid and got to give a handjob.
He was finally almost done with college. He needed this one massage practical credit to complete his degree in physical education. Then, at last, his parents would get off his back about graduating.
He went back into his massage room and cleaned up in preparation for his next client, whose name was Carver Weatherbee. That was such an old-man name it made Avery chuckle to himself. He liked mature men with good physiques, but not old guys. Aa lot of decrepit old men came in here for massages in lieu of surgery they had declined over and over.
Carver Weatherbee was probably another man like that. Avery got a lot of that kind of business because this massage parlor accepted Medicare. They barely paid anything for the massages he gave, but Avery made them quick and simple. Some of those old people told their younger friends, family and nurses that he gave good massages. A lot of those who didn’t want a handjob — who genuinely wanted a massage — preferred to find out about massage parlors through word-of-mouth because all advertising for massage parlors ended up looking prostitute-y.
Carver Weatherbee… Avery snickered. If he was a screenwriter brainstorming names that screamed “old coot”, that’s what he would come up with.
He went out into the waiting area when he heard the bell tinkle, fully expecting to see a rickety white man with an oxygen tank and a Congolese nurse at his side.
Instead, however, he saw a mature black man with the physique of a warrior. Avery blushed and dropped his clipboard. He blanched and covered his face as he picked up it up.
Carver Weatherbee was about fifty, and, though his face didn’t look younger than that, he did have the body of a younger man. He was built like a boxer — which was because he, in fact, was a boxer. Or had been thirty years ago, and he’d been a boxing coach for more than a decade, helping him keep his barrel-shaped box-like stack of muscles intact.
His face was worn and weathered now, wrinkles along his cheeks and his square jaw. His hair was mostly black and streaked with gray, but his unkempt goatee was mostly gray and streaked with black. He chewed on his lower lip.
“Hiyuh,” Carver said with a sigh. He had rather hoped his masseur would be a woman, even though his daughter said that wouldn’t happen — she said “masseur” meant “male”. Carver didn’t believed her. As far as he was concerned, no self-respecting man would ever become a masseur. That was woman’s work.
He had forgotten about pansies, he thought as he followed Avery into the back. The pinkboy shook his ass in a most tantalizing way. Carver flared his nostrils, looking Avery up and down hungrily.
“So, uh, Mr. Weatherbee, is there a specific area of the body you need assistance with? I believe your daughter mentioned you had shoulder pain on the phone.”
“Umm-huh. Shoulder.”
“Okay, okay, well, I’m going to do whatever I can to make you feel better,” Avery said. He opened the door to the massage room.
Carver looked Avery up and down with a horny simmer in his eyes. Avery sensed that, and caught a glimpse of the tall man’s eyes aimed down at Avery’s ass. Was he checking out Avery’s behind? Or was he angry that he had to let a sissy touch him? Could be either one.
“Is it both shoulders that are hurting you?” Avery said. He patted the exam table, and Carver hopped up onto it. He wore a sleeveless work shirt, through which his long, fleshy arms protruded, the sleeveless hole having ripped to the point where Avery could see his side and his armpit. He wore tattered old basketball shorts too, the real long kind they don’t make anymore.
Avery shuddered with desire as Carver took off that shirt and explained. “So, uh, yeah, mistuh, uh, I gots pain in my left shoulder, evuh since this time last year, right, I was helpin’ this homeboy move into a new ‘partment on Windsor Ave, huh? You feel me?”
“Hmmm.” Avery had trouble focusing on his words because Carver’s chest and broad back beckoned. He took a deep breath and quickly checked out Carver’s joints — if there was something seriously wrong, Avery wasn’t allowed to do the massage; he would have to refer him to a doctor or orthopedic surgeon. But he saw no clear anatomical reason for pain.
“So, uh, this homeboy be askin’ me, like can I help and shit? Ya know? And I’s like, yeah, sure, cuz I’m his coach — I coach boxers and shit, y’know? And uh, I was like yeah I help ya motherfucker, but I ain’t know he wasn’t even gonna do nothin’. I ain’t expectin’ payment, ya feel me? I’s doin’ that as a friend. As a coach. As yo’ homeboy. You feel me?”
“Hmmm… Yeah, I, uh-” Avery wasn’t sure how this story seemed to have gotten away from the shoulder pain.
“But he ain’t even try and buy me no dinner or nothin’. He got a Puerto Rican girl too. They can cook, I reckon. They got them little tamale things — they don’t call ’em tamales, they slap the fuck outta you if you call ’em tamales. But they good as shit. I can eat the crap outta them, lemme tell you!” His big booming voice echoed.
“Your shoulder?”
“Right, yeah, so I’s like liftin’ and shit, puttin’ his junk in the truck, right?” He demonstrated himself lifting and even stood as though he needed to re-enact it. Avery didn’t mind watching because it meant he could see those broad shoulders flex and stretch. He even massaged them a little as he looked for anatomical irregularities. Carver continued the story. “See? And I lift his shit up into the truck — he got his girl’s brother to let ‘im borrow that. You best believe I don’t let no one borrow my truck, no suh, I tells ’em straight up I been burned on that one too many times. I don’t care if I’m yo’ coach, yo’ friend, yo’ homeboy, yo’ goddamn identical twin brother, I ain’t handin’ ovuh my truck, ya feel me?”
“Hmm-hmm. Your shoulder?”
“Yeah, so it started hurtin’. I tol’ that homeboy, you best show some goddamn gratitude, ya feel me? I done took you in when ya mama wasn’t takin’ no care of you, and I done raised you like a son, and you can’t even buy yo’ old man some pizza or some shit?”
Avery rolled his eyes. It took that incredibly long story and all he had to say was that he lifted something and his shoulder started hurting. Trying to get information from old people, he thought, was impossible.
“I see, okay,” Avery said. He patted Carver on that broad, firm back. “Go ahead and lay down on your belly. Take off your shorts please.”
Most men only took off their actual shorts, not their underwear. Even the ones who knew Avery would give them a handjob didn’t do that. But for some reason, Carver did, without a second thought.
He just dropped his shorts and his boxers, and flopped his limp dick between his fingers. “You ain’t gonna try and jack me off, is you?”
“No, sir,” Avery said. He was deflated. Obviously that clued him in that Carver was in the no-handjob camp. Avery almost added: unless you want me to but he thought that might not go over very well, so he bit his tongue.
“Shit, I don’t do that handjob nonsense. Man, that is some weakling bullshit,” he said. “I got real man dick, ya feel me? I got homeboy-dick.” He flopped his hefty shaft against his palm, then climbed up onto the massage table.
His back stretched out, his asscheeks bare and quivering as he settled into place. He had nice, huge plump cheeks, not perfect, just slightly fleshy and saggy, just the perfect amount, Avery thought, enough to grab onto and play with but not fat or flabby. He wanted to kiss each cheek.
“Man, I need this shit, damn. Wifey don’t touch me much these days, swear to God,” he said as Avery began kneading his back and his thick muscles. He rolled his spine, undulating as though trying to massage his own back on Avery’s hands.
He had that dense muscularity that barrel-chested men had, and which Avery adored. It felt like there were layer after layer of meaty muscle atop Carver’s body, and Avery caressed every inch of it.
“How’s that feel?”
“Good….” Carver said, letting out a deep roaring moan.
“Okay, you can roll over,” Avery said.
Carver hesitated. “Hey, so, uh… I don’t wanna, like… I mean, I ain’t mean nothin’ by it, but you know… I got a big dick and I get hard at anything, man, I swear, like a homeboy half my age. I ain’t meanin’ nothin’. I ain’t sayin’ I is gonna ramrod you or nothin’.”
“Oh? Do you have an erection? That’s okay, it’s very common,” Avery said.
Carver grimaced as he rolled over. His foot-long cock throbbed, as hard as his muscles beneath all his padding. That was not as common as Avery had implied — sure a little chubby here and there was normal, but a full-on throbbing boner? That was not typical.
As professionally as he could muster and without looking at Carver’s dick, Avery massaged his chest and his shoulders. Carver closed his eyes. He grunted like he was frustrated.
“Man, lemme show you a spot… Okay?” Carver’s callused paw gripped Avery’s hand.
Avery sucked in his breath. Carver brought Avery’s hand down to his cock. His fingers brushed against it. Carver opened his eyes wide.
“I thought you didn’t want me to… Do you…?” Avery blushed, his heart thumping.
“Ssssssh… I don’t wanna hear you askin’ no questions,” Carver said. “I said I don’t want no handjob, cuz I’m a real man. That don’t mean you can’t touch it a bit.” He gently touched Avery’s head. “You act a sissy, right?”
Avery nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He licked his lips. “Goddamn, I love it when whiteboys call me sir.” He watched as Avery’s hand wrapped around his cock and began stroking. Carver instantly threw his head back, sighed and pistoned his hips, forcing his dick up and into Avery’s hand.
He kept touching Avery’s head. It was obvious he wanted Avery’s mouth, but didn’t want to ask for it. Avery slowly lowered his head. He pretended to be hesitant, like he had never done it before. “Do you want me… to put my mouth on it?”
“Shush, no questions, boy. Just do what comes natural. You the massager, you know how to do it. Just massage me, okay? Massage me like you feel-” He groaned as Avery’s mouth touched his dick.
He guided Avery’s head as he licked the shaft, then suckled on the tip, making lots of spit drip down into Carver’s crotch. Avery deep-throated him the best he could.
Carver’s hand remained on his head, pushing and pulling him up and down. It soon became apparent he wanted Avery to focus on the underside of his shaft.
“Yeah, lick it down real low, man, lick it real low,” Carver said with a throaty moan.
Avery did so. He placed his head underneath Carver’s big black cock, which flopped all over his face. He licked and slathered spit on the throbbing vein there, near the base of his dick where it met his scrotum.
“Hmmm… You doin’ real good, boy, just keep slurpin’. Do what comes natural to ya. I know you like dick, right? You like balls too, most likely, I ‘xpect,” he said. He moistly sucked on his lower lip, making his salt-and-pepper goatee shake.
Does he want me to lick his balls? That seemed to be where he was pushing Avery’s head, so Avery obliged. They were big and full, ripe, moist with sweat and precum. He tasted salty and delicious. Avery guzzled it down and let his mouth with fill with that heavy sac, until his nose was pressed into the base of his shaft.
“Hmm, you got it, you got it good, boy, hell…”
Then in one smooth motion, without a word of warning, Carver lifted his legs. He was laying on his back, and he lifted his giant trunk-like thighs. That gave Avery easy access to Carver’s balls.
And his taint and his asshole. Does he want a rimjob now?
Avery did it. He licked a trail down Carver’s taint to his ass and plowed his tongue right in. Carver shuddered and moaned.
“I ain’t say you could lick my butthole, boy,” he said. He opened his eyes and lifted his head to look down. He grabbed Avery by the hair and made eye contact with him. “I’ll allow it this time, but I don’t let no one play wit’ my butthole. No fingers.”
Avery nodded. He was definitely trying to get me to lick his ass, he thought. What game is Carver playing? But for now, he just licked
Carver’s ass was warm and funky and just slightly hairy, just enough to remind Avery he was licking a man. Still though, he sensed Carver wasn’t quite done. Carver was waiting for something. When Avery tried to jack him off as he lapped at his asshole, Carver swatted his hand away.
Does he want to ramrod me? Avery was excited at the prospect.
Carver took Avery’s hand in his once more, taking it away from his cock and to his ass. He seemed to want Avery to spread his cheeks to get his tongue deeper in there.
“Don’t you dare finger me, sissy,” Carver said with a knowing smirk on his face.
Avery caught that smirk and stopped licking for a moment. Was Carver hinting the opposite of what he said? His face looked sarcastic. Did he want to get fingered? He dragged Avery’s finger closer to his ass.
“There ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ gettin’ pleasure, boy,” Carver said. “I can get pleasure from all kinda females. Ya know? They do… different things.”
“Hmm-hmm.” Avery pulled off his asshole and slurped up all the moisture that leaked out of his tight hole. “Did you want me-?”
“No questions. Just do what comes natural, sissy. If I don’t like it, I will smack the tongue outta yo’ mouth,” he said, with a moist, gravelly mouth.
“I…” Avery wasn’t sure what to do or say. He resumed licking, but this time he planted his finger very near Carver’s hole. He played with the rim, just pressing down lightly.
Carver again pushed his hand, just a tiny bit, pushing his finger a half-inch lower.
That made Avery’s fingertip slip into Carver’s ass. Carver grunted and groaned, his whole body coming alive. He writhed in exquisite pleasure. Carver closed his eyes and covered his eyes with his arm, which bared his big furry armpit.
“Hmm, whiteboy, I like the way you think. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ gettin’ a nut off in strange places, is there? Nosuh, nothin’ wrong wit’ that at all.” He sucked in his breath as Avery’s entire pinkie finger slid into his ass.
His ass is definitely not intact, Avery thought. He kept fingering Carver with one pinkie while jacking him off with his other hand. It made him giggle to think his tiny pinkie finger could bring such intense pleasure to such a large man.
He found Carver’s prostate and pressed, making Carver’s whole body quiver and flex. Carver sucked in his breath.
“You got a big dick, sissy?”
Avery blushed and looked up from Carver’s ass. His voice was shaky. “Uh… Not… huge, I guess. It’s… normal.”
Carver grunted as though he didn’t care. “I know you wanna bring it out. Don’t me stop you. Don’t you dare try and stick it in my ass. I ain’t on the DL.”
Now what was this? Given everything that had happened up to now, the only reasonable explanation was that Carver wanted to take dick in his ass.
But surely that wasn’t it.
Regardless, Avery did take his dick out and gave it a few strokes. He was ready to bust any time. He kept licking and fingering Carver’s ass, using both pinkies now, not even stroking him off. Carver had both hands behind his head.
“Shit, man, that little whiteboy dick ain’t barely bigger than yo’ pinkie,” Carver said. “Wouldn’t hurt at all to take that in.”
That had to be a sign. First of all, Carver hadn’t even looked. He didn’t know how big Avery’s dick was. Secondly, Avery’s dick was much bigger than any pinkie finger. He didn’t have a giant dick like Carver, but he was certainly way bigger than a pinkie finger.
He wants to get cornholed.
“Have you ever… y’know… been cornholed?” Avery asked. He blushed.
“I done ramrod some prison bitches and certain disreputable mothahfuckahs who needed to get taught a lesson,” Carver said. He chuckled, making his whole body writhe and clench around Avery’s fingers.
“So you don’t want to… get ramrodded now?”
“Man, yo’ questions is ruinin’ the mood. I said no questions,” Carver said. “I ain’t a bumbasher.”
Avery frowned. He still didn’t have a clear answer. Was a bumbasher a sissy? Or a ramrod? Either way, it wasn’t an answer to the question. “So if I started to put my dick near your ass, like this-” He stood up excruciatingly slowly and wedged his dick into Carver’s asscheeks. “You’d stop me if you were going to hit me for doing it?”
“I ain’t some kinda bashful homeboy. I will beat yo’ ass if you even think ’bout makin’ me into yo’ bitch,” Carver said, his eyes scrunched tightly shut. He closed his eyes, reached for his own ass and gripped Avery’s cock. He guided it to his hole. “You gonna stick it in, sissy?”
Avery thought the more he said, the less likely Carver was to keep going. So he just shrugged and slipped the tip of his dick in. Carver’s hairy tree-like thighs trembled. He had been holding them aloft for a long time, but he showed no signs of being exhausted.
With a stool to stand on, Avery was able to slowly drill his cock in. Carver squirmed and writhed as though he was already on the verge of pleasure — obviously, Avery thought, Carver loved the butt-stuff.
“Have you ever been ramrodded before-?”
“Hey!” Carver barked, wincing because that made his ass move painfully around Avery’s dick. “Hey! I ain’t nevuh get ramrodded, no way. I got… I got pleasures deep inside me, and yeah, I let mothahfuckahs go diggin’ for ’em…” He smiled like he was imagining it, and he even touched Avery’s chest as though there might be breasts there. “You pretty as pink, boy. I can forgive you not having titties. But remember, no way am I lettin’ you ram me — I got anal integrity, yessuh! I will let you… you know… when we in the throes of passion, boy, rules don’t apply. Don’t you dare go thinkin’-” He howled as Avery’s dick slipped the rest of the way in. “C’mon, boy, slam it in. Work it!”
Avery tried to plow him hard. But Carver was so much bigger than him that it was awkward, and Avery had to hold onto his legs for support. He pushed his meat in, using all of his might to keep Carver’s massive flesh in position.
He stroked Carver off at the same time, making it hard for Carver to stay still. He squirmed and gasped and bit his lip, undulating beneath Avery. Avery had never rammed anyone like this — not anyone that old, anyone that strong, anyone that macho.
He had never even thought this might be where his appointment with Carver Weatherbee would go.
It was obvious Carver was aroused because he shot his wad before Avery. Avery was still plowing into him over and over, making his big asscheeks shake. He felt Carver’s hole clench around him, and Carver let out a bellowing scream.
He gripped Avery by the neck and pulled him roughly down to his face. He kissed Avery on the mouth, tongue ramming violently in as Carver sprayed his cumwad all over his belly. Carver gagged too, from the taste of his own ass still clinging to Avery’s face, but that didn’t slow him down any. He kept on kissing as Avery plowed in and out of his ass.
At last, Avery orgasmed too, his tongue still intertwined in Carver’s. Carver’s goatee scratched at his face.
Great creamy gobs of cum filled Carver’s tight ass, more and more pouring out with each thrust of Avery’s hips. He slammed into Carver over and over — it was nice to plow such a big man, Avery thought, because he could really take a pounding.
“Ah, god-“
“Fuck yeah, whiteboy! Get it in there!” Carver slammed his fists on his chest and screamed in both pain and pleasure.
Avery shot the biggest load of his life. He’d never done anything like that. It made him scream and shout too, but his voice was much weaker than Carver’s.
Then, it was done. Avery blinked a few times, still in shock that this had even happened. His dick limpened slowly. He let it pour out of Carver’s ass, which gripped it as though not going to let go, even though Carver gritted his teeth and growled as though he wanted Avery to pull out faster.
“Ah, shit, whiteboy…”
Every inch sliding out of his ass was exquisite pleasure for both of them. Carver’s heart pounded, his whole body tensing and shaking until at last, Avery’s dick plopped out.
Carver was suddenly exhausted. He closed his eyes. His legs flopped down, nearly knocking Avery to the floor. Carver sprawled out on the massage table, arms dangling off the sides.
“Hmmm… You okay?” Avery asked.
“Hmm-hmm. You give a good massage,” Carver said. He didn’t open his eyes though. Avery got some tissues and wiped Carver’s dick clean, and then he rolled over so Avery could clean his ass.
“Thanks,” Avery said. He blushed. Carver looked like he wanted to take a nap. “Uh… did you…-?”
Carver sighed and stood. He looked down at his massive dick, dangling between his legs, and he winced at the pain in his ass. “Hey, boy, if I send you some homeboys. Boxers — they won’t all be homeboys, some’ll be Puerto Rican,” he said. “Would you take care of ’em?”
“Take care of them how?”
“You’ll see. Just do what comes natural, boy,” Carver said. He took his clothes in hand and walked out, not even getting dressed. His dick swung, still a bit hard, thwacking his meaty thighs. He sniffed his own armpit and wrinkled his nose. “Need a shower, damn…” he murmured to no one in particular.
Avery was too exhausted to tell him to put his clothes on before leaving the building. He didn’t care. Carver would figure it out, he thought, and after that tense encounter, Avery just wanted to nap.
Luckily he had no clients for a couple hours. Just as luckily, Avery was already excited about the prospect of a bevy of boxers coming through. What did Carver expect him to do with them? Avery could imagine he meant anything from giving a real massage to plowing them hard.
Oh well, he figured. I’ll enjoy anything in between there.

The Model

Avery hires a hunky model for a photoshoot, but the stud’s girlfriend ruins everything, and he’s got an inconvenient bulge he can’t get rid of… That’s where Avery comes in! He’s willing to service this handsome alpha if that’s what it takes!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Apparently, this was the only weeping willow tree in front of a barn and a pond in this area. Avery didn’t think that could possibly be true. Weeping willow trees were everywhere. Ponds and barns were quite common. How could this be the only suitable location? It was probably just the only one they could find a picture of on the Internet.
But Avery wasn’t about to complain. He had a spot laid out he thought would look good, so long as the model showed up soon, before the sun moved.
He paced back and forth. This was the first time he had been hired as a photographer, after months of selling cut-rate services online. Thus far, it had been kind of a bust.
But then all of a sudden, a large Indian company hired him to take twelve pictures — of handsome shirtless American men. They were making a calendar, it seemed. Avery was excited. This seemed like a real possible entrance into the world of professional photography. On the one hand, taking shirtless-hunk pics was kind of cheap, but on the other hand, it was indisputably professional, not amateur — Avery would be able to put on his resume that he had produced the pictures for a best-selling calendar (obviously he didn’t know if it would be best-selling, but no one regulated that kind of claim, and for all he knew, it would be a best-seller in India).
He wondered if he should have looked up what Indian women thought was handsome. He hadn’t considered that. Should he assume they wanted what he would want? Would an American man think the same thing was sexy as some Indian women? The Indian company who hired him hadn’t even said that they were releasing it in India, so that all might not even matter.
He tried doing some googling with the Google India portal. As far as he could tell, aside from a preference for beards, there wasn’t much he could glean about handsome Indian men.
They wouldn’t want a picture in front of an American barn if they wanted him to look Indian, Avery thought. What if the model is Indian? He should have asked more questions when he accepted the gig. It had seemed so simple at the time: just snap some pics of a handsome bare-chested dude in front of a weeping willow, a pond and a barn. They even found the location for him and hired the model (and when the original model had had to cancel, they found a replacement).
Finally a little red Ferrari zoomed along the winding country roads that carved through the mountains. It was going way too fast, Avery thought. It came to a screeching halt on the asphalt — not on the little gravel road that led to the barn, which was where Avery had parked.
“Oh my god, Owen if you think you’re parking my dad’s Ferrari in the fucking gravel, you are very mistaken,” said a female voice. She was Veranda, and she was a pretty but harsh-looking woman with an angular face and blonde hair so perfectly cascading past her shoulders that it looked like she had scalped a Barbie. Avery instantly took a disliking to her and not just because she was Owen’s girlfriend.
Owen was the model, and he was dreamy, impossibly hunky, cringe-inducingly handsome. Avery wanted to gaze into his soulful eyes and hear him wax philosophically about sunsets. He wanted to slather him with kisses. Avery hadn’t expected him to be like that. He was kind of lean, but well-muscled, long-limbed, tall but not extraordinarily so. He had dark hair in an impeccable little foppish wave, every strand in place and plastered there with some sort of mousse that Avery guessed was very expensive. He had dour dimples and a disaffected grin on his face as he got out of the car, tossed his head back to get his hair out of his eyes and nodded at Avery.
Still on the road, they had to walk to meet Avery. Owen was mostly silent the whole way, but Veranda kept talking. “This is all so ridiculous. I can’t believe we drove all this way for this.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I mean, we drove for like an hour to get here, an hour back, that means you’re making like twenty bucks an hour. That’s bullshit. I’m sorry, I wouldn’t piss on a dead dog for that,” she said. She lit her cigarette. “And for that…” She glanced over at Avery as though she didn’t want to finish her sentence in front of him.
That’s because she and Owen had been about to have sex when he got the call asking him to come here for a photoshoot. Owen had been struggling to break into modeling for awhile. He was desperate for any gig he could get. So he went even if it disrupted them from having sex.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen until after Owen took a little blue boner pill.
It wasn’t until Avery had shaken Owen’s hand and gotten him to take his shirt off that he noticed the erection. Owen had aimed it up so it wasn’t that obvious at first. Once you saw it though, you couldn’t hardly miss it.
For one thing, he had worn tight skinny-jeans. There was nowhere to hide his ten inches of manmeat in those pants. Avery snuck glances at it as he explained the photoshoot and got a look at Owen next to the barn and weeping willow. He looked good in the right light, real good. This was going to be a nice photoshoot. But Avery’s eyes were drawn over and over to the Wiagro-fueled bulge in his designer jeans.
Owen blushed when he saw Avery checking it out. He again re-angled his cock upwards, so it wouldn’t tent his pants. It was still visible though.
“Ah, so… You have a, uh…” Avery blushed. “That’s going to be a problem.” He pointed to Owen’s crotch. “It’s very distracting.”
“Sorry, man… what kinda pants am I supposed to wear? I can hide it,” Owen said. He bit his lip nervously, showing off those outrageous dimples that made Avery swoon. His whole body sort of undulated when he got nervous, showing off those outrageous abs — he did one-hundred sit-ups twice a day. He demonstrated that, with his cock at the right angle, it wasn’t visible. But every time he moved, it was no longer at the right angle, and he winced each time because his erect dick was so sensitive. “Sorry. I, uh… I have a hardon. It’s hard to get rid of-“
“He’s not kidding, it won’t go away for hours.”
“Don’t worry, I, uh, I have spare pants. They’re corduroys,” Avery said. “Let’s go into the barn and change.” He glanced back at Veranda. “I’ll… I’ll work around, uh… your anatomical… issues-“
She scoffed and took a deep drag. “He took a pill, mister, that thing’s not going away for a couple hours. Cuz if he thinks I am letting him fuck me in a fucking barn in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere, he is sorely mistaken-“
Owen interrupted her, his face suddenly tense and red. “I didn’t fucking ask you to fuck me in a fucking barn in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere-!”
“Don’t you shout at me, you loser!” She shouted right back. “Go ahead and get him off, mister! He’s gonna stay hard until you do.” She crossed her arms over her chest and took out her phone to start texting. Avery got the feeling she had been waiting for a good opportunity to lose herself in her phone and that she was not going to pay any more attention to Owen. Owen seemed relieved by that.
Avery nodded as politely as he could muster at her, not that she was paying attention, she was focused on that phone. He walked away, arm in arm with Owen.
When they got in the barn, Avery handed the corduroys over to Owen, who dropped his pants. That was when Avery saw how huge his cock was, and how throbbing that erection. He had been blue-balled, it seemed, and Avery was tantalized by its meaty heft and how close it already appeared to orgasm
I bet I could just run my finger along the top of it and he’d bust out, Avery thought. He blushed.
“Corduroys, huh? Do people still wear corduroys?”
“Maybe in India,” Avery said with a shrug. “They told me these would be good pants to wear.” He watched as Owen tried to fit into the corduroys, but they were a little small for him, and his massive erection kept getting in the way. Owen blushed until he was as red as Avery.
“Uh… I’ve been working out, getting more muscle tone,” Owen said. “I prolly need bigger pants. I have big thighs now. I can do it though, I just… uh…”
“Was your girlfriend serious about me jacking you off?”
Owen nodded. “You’re like… into that? Is that… cool? I mean…?” He was one of those people who talked as if everything was a question, so it was hard to tell what he actually intended as a question and what was a statement.
Avery dropped to his knees. “I just need you to go soft enough for us to take a couple pics. No biggie. I’m a professional like that. I’ll do what it takes to make this photoshoot a success.”
Owen sucked in his breath and nodded again. He peered outside to see if his girlfriend was coming closer. She was focused on her phone and wouldn’t likely put it down until he said he was done. Owen rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’d let a man jack him off. Owen found a lot of modeling gigs came easier if he let a producer manhandle him. He didn’t mind. In this case, it wasn’t even that — he already had the gig. He could even have masturbated if he really wanted to.
But that would have definitely made Veranda make fun of him. She would have called him a pussy for jacking his own self off, like a loser-ass pansy. She was like that.
Avery sunk to his knees at Owen’s feet, and he pulled those corduroys down until his cock was bare. Avery chased it with his mouth, while Owen stood there like he was modeling already, putting out a smoldering handsome face aimed in no direction in particular. He looked contemplative, serious yet casual.
Finally, his dick plopped heavily on Avery’s waiting tongue. It tasted like sex, Avery decided, you could tell he had been thinking about sex, maybe even precummy, not that long ago. He might have fucked Veranda recently. Though she did seem like the kind of girlfriend who usually found an excuse not to have sex. She was like that, Avery could tell.
He could sense that Owen had been hard for a long time too. He was rock-hard but still springy and just a bit floppy in the best possible way. His veiny shaft was not pulsating like a normal hardon at first, but it did begin to throb once Avery got it excited — basically, it was still and dull when his erection was caused by pharmaceuticals, but once it was caused by arousal, it was a potent, throbbing stiffy like any other.
Avery played with it a bit first, while Owen made nervous mewling noises and kept checking his girlfriend. She had said he “could” do this, but he didn’t want her to know he actually did it. She’d probably insist he make friends with Avery so anytime she didn’t want to suck him off — pretty much always — she’d tell him to get his nut off from Avery.
That’d be a great plan from Avery’s perspective. Not so much for Owen.
He sighed and tried to relax to enjoy the mouth on his cock, which Avery worked on with enthusiasm. It did feel good, he thought, as Avery slathered his shaft with spit and slurped merrily on the tip. It was nice to get jacked off by someone eager to do it. Veranda treated it like a chore, like doing the dishes — a chore that Owen couldn’t even tell her not to worry about, because she insisted he would cheat on her if she didn’t do it. Somehow she did things neither of them wanted, yet it was Owen’s fault.
Not Avery. Owen could tell Avery did this because he wanted it, because he needed it, because Owen’s cock was that good. Avery guzzled it down.
“Hmmmm…. You taste sweet,” Avery said when he pulled off Owen’s shaft. A few drops of precum came out the tip, and Avery slurped them down. The bright, salty taste of Owen’s body hit his senses.
Avery slurped on the tip with a smirk as he played with the underside of Owen’s shaft. He let it dance overtop his face, with his mouth and lips planted right at the root, on the underside. He let his tongue snake out and tickle the veiny spot where his dick met his ballsac. The taste was salty and funk, accentuated by the vaporous chypre of the drugstore cologne Owen wore.
Owen groaned and closed his eyes. “Goddamn, man, you got a nice mouth. You’re better than Veranda. I swear, she’s like ninety-percent teeth. She’s like a shark.”
Avery chuckled. He spat on the shaft then licked it off, making Owen groan and shudder in excitement. Avery licked his way down the shaft until he got to those low-hanging balls, which were clean and ripe and juicy. Avery guzzled them down, letting his mouth fill with Owen’s fleshy sac.
“Can I lick your ass?” Avery asked. He didn’t often give out rimjobs, but if he were ever going to do it, Owen was perfect. He had a nice clean ass, fleshy and firm and strong. It smelled of sunshine and coconut soap.
His eyes opening wide, Owen blushed as he turned around. He once again checked his girlfriend — she was texting angrily now, presumably either bitching about him or sympathizing with one of her friends who was bitching about her boyfriend. She ignored him. She didn’t seem to have even noticed that this was taking a long time — technically, Owen had only come in here to change his pants. But it had already been a good five minutes, maybe more like ten.
For all she knows, this photographer turned out to be a serial killer and he’s already turning my dick into a lampshade, Owen thought to himself. The more time he spent with Veranda, the more he wanted to dump her.
But Owen was one of those guys who was literally never single. Since middle school, he always had a serious girlfriend. He hadn’t gone more than a week or two without a girlfriend in years. He didn’t know how to handle life without a woman telling him what to do.
And supporting him. Owen didn’t make enough from modeling to pay the bills.
Avery kneeled behind Owen, who leaned on a railing of some kind — this barn wasn’t used anymore, but it looked like at one point it had been for milking cows. Owen grimaced and spread his legs wide so Avery could get between his cheeks. His thighs were thickly muscled, and his buttcheeks were smooth like porcelain. Avery rammed his tongue in quickly, his hands kneadig the flesh of Owen’s backside.
“Oh god…” Owen wasn’t expecting it to feel so good, especially right away. He threw his eyebrows way back, and he let out a long moan.
From the moment Avery’s tongue hit his asshole, spasms of pleasure shot up Owen’s spine. Owen grunted and groaned. Avery’s tongue rammed into him. It seemed impossibly long, and Owen even looked behind himself to check if it was really his tongue or if it was a finger.
But he’d never gotten a rimjob before, so he didn’t know what it was supposed to be like. Was his ass that sensitive? Or was Avery’s tongue that big? Or maybe Avery was just really good at it. A wave of pleasure exploded in Owen’s body, like something he had never experienced, it was toe-curlingly intense.
Regardless, Owen’s eyes bulged out and he lifted one foot like a dog getting scratched. He wrenched his head back and held his breath.
Avery lapped at his perfectly clean and smooth ass. Owen had even gotten his anus bleached a few weeks ago, so it was pristine. His asscheeks were a lightly tanned brown, the same shade as the rest of his skin — obviously, Avery thought, he tanned in the nude. He had no tan lines at all.
Finally Owen had had enough. His cock strained to finally shoot his wad. He pulled away a little gingerly, his knees going weak when Avery’s face moved away from his ass. “Okay, man, I gotta nut. I swear it feels like I’ve been hard for years, man. I don’t even remember what it feels like to not… y’know… to be able to think about something else.” He gasped. “Oh god, I need to nut-“
“You wanna stick it in me?” Avery asked. He turned around, baring his own ass, which was paler and not as perfectly smooth as Owen’s, but still it was good enough for Owen’s horny body. He didn’t even care anymore, he just wanted to ram his dick in some tight hole and finally blow his wad.
So he didn’t even answer Avery’s question. He didn’t want to speak for fear of attracting attention from Veranda out there. She might have genuinely gotten angry if she knew what he was doing. She didn’t even know about cornholing, Owen was pretty sure. Or if she knew about it, she thought it was an urban legend, not something anybody would do.
And she’d never touch Owen again if she knew.
In any case, Avery was plenty loud for him from the moment Owen’s cock rammed up his backside. Avery grunted and groaned, pawing at the ground just from sheer excitement as that meaty shaft slid between his cheeks. It felt even girthier because Owen was skinny-muscled. It looked like he had stolen a thick man’s cock, Avery thought, making him giggle as he squeezed the lube he always kept in his pocket over his own ass and Owen’s shaft.
That helped the rest of Owen’s erection slide into Avery’s ass. Owen grimaced, humping his dick between Avery’s cheeks until he saw lube bubbling in and out of the hole. Then he aimed it in, closed his eyes and moaned.
It felt so good. Fucking Veranda hadn’t been this good in years, not since they first hooked up, if ever. None of his girlfriends ever made him feel like this.
He completely lost track of time. Owen didn’t even care how long it took or about the money from the photo shoot. None of that seemed important. All that mattered was ramming his entire rod into Avery’s ass, ramming into him over and over, exploring every inch of his tender body. Sensations exploded through both men’s bodies. Owen moved with more passion than he ever had.
“Oh god, stick it in me!” Avery called out. He had completely forgotten Veranda was out there. Owen didn’t think much about that either. She had excised herself from his life, Owen thought, so why should he care if she knew about this? What was the worst she could do? Bitch about it like she already bitched about every single thing that happened?
He wasn’t sure he had ever gotten his entire dick in a woman’s ass. He was big enough that that was a challenge, and he was too much of a doe-eyed prettyboy to really push for it anyway. So it felt nice to jam his dick in and out, clapping his hands and smacking Avery’s plump cheeks. Most women couldn’t even take his whole cock in their pussies, and Veranda would never lower herself to trying. She thought only ghetto-sluts did anal.
Finally he felt an orgasm approach, exquisite bliss spiderwebbing through Owen’s body, making his muscles all tighten up at once. Owen sighed and moaned out loud, blushing as he saw Veranda poke her head into the barn. Her eyes opened wide.
She was just in time to watch Owen’s six-pack undulate as he orgasmed. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and sucked in his breath. His balls slapped against Avery’s asscheeks, making a loud thwack-thwack sound with each thrust of his hips at Avery’s tight booty. Veranda’s face froze.
He stayed there all the way in, cock throbbing within Avery’s ass, as the most intense orgasm of his life burst within him. Owen shouted and pounded on his chest. He ran his fingers through his coiffed hair, finally messing up his hairdo and giving himself that ‘just-fucked-a-chick’ look. A similar surge of pleasure coursed through Avery’s veins, and Avery panted, crying out for more.
“Owen!” Veranda shouted, yelping at the sight of her boyfriend’s ruddy face and bulging eyes. She held her breath and tried to look away but found herself unable to do so.
Owen didn’t respond. He was too busy writhing with bliss as he climaxed into Avery’s tight ass. Avery had been stroking himself off the whole time, and he shot his own wad soon after, spraying it over the wooden floor of the barn. A vast flood of it spurted several feet in front of him, as Owen’s cock stimulated a prostate orgasm that wracked Avery from head to toe.
Her feet tapped on the barn floor. Veranda had said Owen should get jacked off by Avery, not stick him in the butt. She had trouble thinking of a reason she should be angry about this, but she wasn’t about to let an opportunity to win an argument pass her by.
“Owen! How dare you?!” Veranda scowled.
“What?” Owen said, his voice wavering because he was still in the throes of orgasm. “You said to jack off with him.” The last few drops of his load filled up Avery’s ass.
Only then did Avery realize Veranda was even here. She seemed so unimportant to him. Even now, as Owen and her yelled, Avery’s attention remained on the fat cock in his ass, stimulating his prostate and causing a symphony of sensations to continue sparking up and down Avery’s petite body.
“I said to put it in his mouth, you jackass!” She scowled. “That’s disgusting, what you’re doing… It’s… It’s…”
“Nuh-uh,” Owen said with a throaty laugh. He took a deep breath, watching his dick throb within Avery’s cheeks. Then he pulled slowly out. Both him and Avery sighed when his cock left Avery’s ass, and both men’s knees went weak. “Goddamn, man, I needed that. Shit, you-“
“Don’t you talk back to me!”
“-you got hella nice ass, man,” Owen said, speaking over Veranda. He blushed intensely. That was true and he meant to say it, but he said it mainly to prove to Veranda he didn’t need to hang on her every word. He was his own man, not simply her boyfriend.
“Thanks. You got a nice dick. It’s a pity this photoshoot isn’t naked,” Avery said. He cleaned himself off with a wetnap.
“You hear me, you jerk?! This photoshoot is over!”
“No! We’re over. Go home, Veranda,” Owen said. He looked to Avery. “You’ll give me a ride home, right? That’s her car. Or her dad’s, I mean. Nothing is hers. You can play with it some more on the way. I’m sure I’ll be hard again by then.”
“Sure,” Avery said as Veranda stomped away to her car. Avery cleared his throat. “Okay, well, get those corduroys on. We’ll have to hurry to get these pics taken before your boner comes back.” Avery smiled. His first photoshoot as a professional photographer had gone better than expected.

The Ladysman

Teddy winds up hiring the handsome Turkish gigolo Emre… Emre needs cash and is willing to pleasure anyone who’s willing to pay, giving Teddy a wild ride in gigolo action!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The convention was as boring as any convention ever was. Teddy wanted to tear his eyeballs out — he had experienced a lot of conventions, and this was the worst one yet. He had to sling drinks to dozens of businessmen in cheap suits while they tromped all over his hotel.
Of course it wasn’t really his hotel, he was just a bartender who worked at a country club that was also owned by this hotel, so he had been transferred here when the regular bartender called out sick. That sickness had continued so long that Teddy now knew every inch of this place.
Mostly the guests had come here to ski, if they weren’t here for the convention, which was for bathroom fixtures. Teddy couldn’t imagine a more boring topic for a convention. He didn’t even understand how people could have the idea to schedule a convention for bathroom fixtures without dying from absolutely boredom. What kind of person would brainstorm ideas for business ventures and think, “yes, a convention for bathroom-fixture salespersons, that would be a compelling thing that people will pay money for”? And then, the most shocking part of it all, they were right! People did pay money for it! It was a sound business venture!
Just seeing them drink after a day spent doing whatever, Teddy had no idea what someone would actually do at a bathroom fixtures convention, was enough to make Teddy bored to tears. Did they discuss toilets all day? Advanced urinal theory? Ten tricks to make a tampon disposal box more festive for the holidays?
Teddy sighed. Mostly the convention-goers were tubby men with pasty cheeks and layers of flab ensconced in cheap suits. A few sturdy women who look like they get plenty of fiber filled out the ranks. Well, he thought, they certainly look like they know their way around the bathroom. These men look like they’ve spent most of their lives sitting on the toilet trying to get rid of the Big Macs they scarfed down.
Teddy was not happy with this weekend.
“Hey, how are you doing? Gin and tonic, please,” said a throaty woman’s voice. “Make it a double. Double gin, single tonic. Don’t bother trying to upsell me on the gin, just gimme the rail. Or hell, gimme vodka that’s been stored near a spice-cabinet, that’ll do.” She put a cigarette in her mouth. “Got a light?”
Teddy nodded. He lit her cigarette and made her drink. She sipped from it. She was pretty in an upper-class, upper-age, upper-bitch way, with soft brown hair and a botoxed face. She was probably beautiful twenty years ago. He liked her already.
“Slim pickings here this weekend, huh?” Teddy said. He made sure to say it as flamboyantly as he could so she would know he was referring to males.
She chuckled throatily. “Yeah. I guess I never thought a bathroom-fixtures convention would be full of excitement, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
“You should have been here a couple months ago, we had a bouncer-event. It was pretty hot. Muscle-bound meatheads everywhere,” Teddy said. He blushed. “You’d have had your pick of men then. Assuming you like ’em big and macho.”
She nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m no muscle-queen, but anything would be better than these toilet-shaped dweebs. I wish I was in that field. Bouncers.” She scoffed. “Well, if only there was money in it…”
“There’s not many women here. What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m in marketing. I know, bathroom fixtures is a boy’s club. I’ve talked to all of the women here, and they’re all stuck-up bitches like me,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. A smile appeared on her stretched-taut face, and she sighed as she finished her drink. “Well, I didn’t come here to get laid anyway. I came here to network.” She paused. “Is there a local joint worth visiting in this one-horse town?”
“Not really.” Teddy paused. “Are you… like… horny?”
She furrowed her brow. “Uh… Well, are you propositioning me?” She laughed haughtily.
“No, not me,” Teddy said. He blushed. “Just… if you wanted to… there’s a guy here, a guy who works as a masseur for the country club next door.”
“Uh-huh.” She yawned and took a long but small sip from her gin and tonic. “I don’t normally hook up with, y’know… the help. Sorry if that makes me sound elitist-“
“No worries. He’s not really the help, exactly. I mean, he’s a masseur, but that’s just a way to meet clients and launder his income,” Teddy said. “He’s really a gigolo. The hotel looks the other way.”
“A what?”
“He’ll fuck you for five hundred dollars,” Teddy said. “And he will rock your world. He’ll make you feel so good your pussy falls off.” He paused. “Or so I’ve heard. He licks pussy like nobody’s business.”
“Are you serious?” She looked like she was going to laugh and say no. Then she fell silent. She looked around the room, then back at Teddy. “Five hundred dollars?”
Teddy nodded. “Just call to the front desk. Ask for a massage. Ask for Emre. If you don’t ask for Emre, they’ll send you this fat Polish lady. I don’t know what she’d do for five hundred dollars, but you probably wouldn’t enjoy it as much as Emre.” Teddy shrugged. “He’s Turkish.”
Her eyes lit up. She didn’t respond right away. She was a smart, well-adjusted businesswoman. She wasn’t here for some prostitution.
But on the other hand… if she were ever going to pay a man for sex…
Teddy had another customer then, so he had to walk away. He watched the lady at the bar consider the possibility for a few moments before she got up. She smiled at Teddy and walked out into the hotel lobby.
Well, there’s a hundred dollars. Teddy could virtually smell the horniness wafting out from under her skirt. She was definitely going to do it.
The rest of the convention was uneventful. Teddy served drinks and pointed men towards the one brothel in town when they asked about women — which they all started doing a little after midnight. Teddy didn’t get paid per client for the brothel, so he wasn’t too enthusiastic about referring them. Emre, however, paid him for each client he sent that way.
Teddy saw the woman — Wendy Allister — the next morning, looking shame-faced yet relaxed. Emre had treated her right, that was clear. He always did. Teddy wished he could watch sometime. Emre made women feel “like liquid gold”, as one lady had told him.
Teddy blushed when he nodded at Emre, who came over to the bar and surreptitiously slipped Teddy his hundred dollars — that was Teddy’s commission for sending Emre a woman.
“Thanks for the lead,” Emre said. He had a dense spatchocking accent, all clutters of consonants and staccato vowels that made Teddy lose himself in those dimples. Seeing Emre smile at him always made Teddy blush and stammer over his words. “She was a very good client.”
He kept talking, but Teddy was entranced. Emre was so arousing it hurt. He had an incredibly thick mane of black hair, densely curly, extending up and down and out all at once. He was strong but lean and ropy-muscled, not at all bulky, with a square jaw and a hooked nose whose imperfect shape made his face all the more handsome.
Teddy was drawn to those sterling green eyes, so bright they were almost fluorescent. Teddy had insisted for months that Emre must wear colored contacts, but Emre denied it.
“She was a very good woman,” Emre said with a grin. “She was a little old, but I do not mind. Old women need loving too.” He pulled out a lottery ticket. It was a winner — two hundred dollars — but he hadn’t cashed it yet. “She gave me this too.” That was a lie, but Emre was a well-practiced liar. It didn’t even occur to Teddy that Emre had been holding onto the lotto ticket for months.
Emre had a gambling problem.
No one knew about it. Teddy knew that Emre occasionally gambled on sports, and he had seen him scratching lottery tickets, but no one knew that Emre barely managed to keep it together — every month, he paid his bills and then spent most of the remainder on lotto tickets, scratch-offs, betting or even trips to the casino on the Indian reservation nearby.
So that four hundred dollars he made this weekend went away pretty quick. He paid off a debt to his bookie. It meant he wouldn’t be able to pay his rent on time this month, but he could get past that. There was going to be a human resources convention next weekend, and Emre thought he’d make plenty of money then.
He’d held onto this winning lotto ticket for months now. He could always cash it. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was winning. Emre had read somewhere that that was one technique to reduce “problem gambling” — not that Emre believed he was a problem gambler — because he could pull it out anytime and feel like he had just won. He would maybe not feel compelled to gamble if he could feel like he had won anytime.
Once he had it in his pocket for a couple days, he didn’t even think about cashing it. It was only two hundred dollars. No problem. He didn’t need the money.
He did need the feeling. He needed to have it in his pocket, so he could finger it and look at it and anticipate what it would be like to cash it in. The way they would look at him at the lotto place — he could go to any gas station and cash it in, but he wanted to go to the lotto office. It felt righter to do it there. They knew how to do it right. They’d look at him like a winner. He’d feel like a winner.
And as long as he didn’t do it, he could savor that feeling.
Regardless, it was that next weekend that the HR convention was in town. Emre figured a human resources director convention would have to be ground zero for gigolos. So many lonely women! He could make bank.
But then that HR convention didn’t happen. The HR directors didn’t show up — the convention was cancelled after a freak snowstorm shut down the airport for the whole weekend. Emre had no way of making money. He needed a couple hundred bucks to pay his bills this month. He’d counted on that HR convention and spent some money he probably shouldn’t have.
Okay, he put money down on a basketball game. A couple basketball games. And he lost every dime.
Not an app either. Emre had been banned from all the sports betting apps because he showed “problem behaviors” and sent a manic avalanche of emails to the developer of one app, when he found a bug — a real bug, he identified how it worked and everything. He’d told the developer about it in emails sent through LinkedIn, which got him banned both from that app and from LinkedIn, and he even got a “stop harassing people” email from GMail.
Anyway, Emre had a bookie, and he now owed that bookie a hundred dollars. Not that much, but he also was late on rent and had these medical bills due…
He was expecting to make at least two grand out of these HR ladies. That should have been easy. If the HR convention happened, he would have, no problem.
But as he pondered his situation, Emre could think of only one way to make the minimum he needed to pay off his bookie and get up to date on his rent.
Teddy wiped the bar down at the end of the night. It had been slow tonight because there was no convention, just a few dozen lonely businesspeople having small meetings or rendezvousing with their mistresses. Emre watched Teddy clean the bar as the night drew to a close.
Unlike Emre, Teddy was glad the HR convention was canceled. He could think of nothing more boring than spending the entire weekend with a bunch of HR ladies. What did they talk about? The mind boggles. It’s probably a marathon of threats to add things to “the permanent record”, endless self-evaluations and probing questions asked by idiots.
But at least Emre was here. Teddy snuck glances at him as he shut down the bar.
Emre was good at flirting with women. He did it without even thinking about it. But how did he flirt with a man? Emre had no idea. It didn’t come naturally to him, and the more he thought about it, the more he didn’t think he could do it.
He flashed a dimpled smile, hoping to get Teddy’s attention. It worked, but then Teddy just went back to cleaning the counter as though he hadn’t noticed — he hadn’t realized that seductive smile was aimed at him. Teddy was so used to seeing Emre flirt with women he didn’t recognize when he was the actual target.
Only gradually did Teddy realize there were no women around. The bar was empty of women. Who was Emre smiling at?
“Hey,” Emre said when Teddy got near him again.
“Oh, hi. Slim pickings, huh?” Teddy said, laughing to himself — that was the same conversation-starter he had used with that woman. Emre didn’t get why it was funny, but he laughed too.
Emre smoothed his hair and straightened the collar of his shirt. “There was a lady in here earlier who seemed like a good prospect, but then she got all mad at me. Said she’s Mormon. I guess they don’t do gigolos.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Mormons don’t do most things.”
A long silence sat between them at the bar. Teddy was ready to take the cash drawer into the back, to put it in the safe, but he sensed Emre wanted to say something more than small-talk. Emre licked his teeth and looked down the drink he was still finishing. Then he knocked back the rest of his brandy and tonic.
Finally, Emre cleared his throat. “I could use a client this weekend for sure. So, uh… you’re… you’re nice, uh.. In the hair.”
“What?” Teddy screwed up his eyes. He had never been complimented like that. He didn’t even understand that Emre was complimenting his hair at first, then when he did get it, Teddy ran his fingers through his hair.
Emre blushed. He was never flustered like this. Women took compliments better than that. He straightened his collar again. How do you compliment men? “I just mean, your hair is nice. Your-“
“My hair? What are you talking about? It’s the same it always is.”
“Sorry, I mean… I just wanted to say, y’know, I know you’re… You have, uh… good… qualities,” Emre said. He was trying to think of things women complimented men on. They always mentioned Emre’s hair, which was dense and jet-black and perfectly wavy, and they liked his dimples and his muscular body. But Teddy was slim and had ordinary white-man hair. Emre wasn’t sure what to compliment on a man like that.
“Okay.” Teddy’s eyes were open wide like he was mystified by what was happening. “Thanks. I guess.”
“Sorry. I, uh… I was just…”
“Do you want to say something to me? Just say it.”
“Will you pay me five hundred dollars to jack me off?!” Emre blurted out. He blushed. He was never that direct. He didn’t even raise his price to give himself room to negotiate down. Teddy knew that was the same price Emre gave to women, but surely it would make sense to charge more for a man. Emre had just forgotten, and now he was leaving money on the table. He couldn’t raise the price now. Oh well, that was enough to get caught up. Five hundred bucks would suffice. He cleared his throat again. “I mean… you know what I mean, right? You do the… You get me off. And pay me. I’ll, you know… treat you like a woman. In ways that you want. That you’ll enjoy.” Emre clammed up. He never got like this with women. Was this how women feel when he made them tongue-tied?
“Hush, you’re babbling,” Teddy said. “You want me to pay you to jack you off?” Emre nodded. Teddy’s mind raced. He had an instinctive desire to say no and tell Emre he’s an arrogant asshole, that Teddy didn’t want him that bad, that he’s not God’s gift to dicks. But Teddy could hardly pretend he didn’t want Emre, and he certainly wanted to do it. “Fine.” He cursed himself immediately because he thought he could have talked Emre down on the price — obviously, Emre was only doing this because he needed the money, so he must have some flexibility.
They both walked away annoyed with themselves for not negotiating more, but neither were willing to call it off for a minor monetary dispute.
And so that was how they ended up in the storage closet just after the bar officially closed. The last of the drinkers had only just left, and the door was locked. The waitresses hadn’t all gone home yet, and some of the tables had yet to be bussed.
Nevertheless, Teddy led Emre into the storage closet in the back, and nobody noticed them sneak in there. In that enclosed space, the reek of Emre’s exotic cologne — something Turkish, vaguely funky, sunny, zesty, like a stretewise lemon — assaulted Teddy’s nostrils and made his dick twitch in his pants. Emre’s solid frame seemed bigger in the dark, his muscles bulging through the fabric of his fancy clothes.
He dressed well, in a Moroccan-style suit. Teddy had never noticed how nice Emre’s clothes were. So few men dressed up these days…
Emre was used to seducing women, and in the dark, he simply did what he would do with a female. Teddy was rather feminine in both shape and mannerisms, so Emre thought he could pretend. He kissed Teddy right on the lips.
Teddy got lost in Emre’s warm arms, and he swooned. He kissed Emre back as his hands explored Emre’s broad chest and shoulders. Their tongues met in Teddy’s mouth.
“Aaaaah…” Emre let out a moan. It was forced, but he knew women were aroused by that sound, so he thought Teddy might be as well.
Teddy’s fumbling fingers undid the buttons of Emre’s shirt, and Emre shrugged off that Moroccan suit. His chest was bare, gleaming in the dim light, and his muscles were firm beneath Teddy’s touch. Teddy’s lips sucked a few droplets of fresh, sparkling sweat off Emre’s broad shoulders.
His kisses traveled down Emre’s body. Emre was glad to get some mouth on the one hand because he very rarely got to do that. When women paid you for sex, he thought, they didn’t want to suck dick. Emre preferred to make love in the womanhood anyway. He stood there, stately and elegant though Teddy couldn’t see him in the darkness, while Teddy kissed a trail down his body.
“Oh, yes, your lips feel so soft and sweet on me…” Emre gulped, hoping he sounded natural. This was the kind of thing he would say to a woman. Somehow it come across as stilted aimed at Teddy, but Teddy either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
It was nice how little effort Teddy required. Women required such constant affirmation, an endless dose of assurances and reassurances and comforting. Every time something was less than perfect, Emre had to apologize and make up for it. With Teddy, all that mattered was his body. It was a tool for Teddy’s pleasure, and it required so little from Emre.
Then Teddy undid Emre’s pants and pulled his dick out. It was big enough to be hefty but not so big as to be painful or intimidating. Teddy thought it was perfect. He kissed it right on the tip, then popped it in his mouth.
Emre moaned. He hoped nobody walked past the closet right now or they would definitely hear him. Normally he moaned in a fake, seductive way — he’d learned what turned most women on — but this time, he had no reason to be seductive. Teddy wanted him already, Emre didn’t need to work to make that happen, and he didn’t even especially want Teddy to like him too much. That would be awkward, and it meant the pleasure suffusing his flesh was more intense and visceral than he was used. His moan was genuine, and it surprised even Emre himself.
His dick stiffened up. Emre shifted his weight into his feet and leaned against the wall of the closet. Precum flowed down Teddy’s throat. Teddy guzzled it greedily, craving every drop. It tasted sweet and sunny, like the Mediterranean islands Emre claimed his ancestors came from (which was a lie, his family had worked in a goat slaughterhouse in urban Istanbul, not that Teddy knew that).
“Ah, man…” Emre sighed. He was surprised by how good this felt. He felt like a teenager again. He wasn’t used to feeling genuinely out-of-control pleasure, rather than carefully-meted out pleasure that he had designed to maximize his clients’s desire for a second go-round. Teddy’s mouth worked up and down on his cock, sending wave after wave of pleasure to rock Emre’s handsome frame.
This time, it was a real orgasm.
He grunted and shook as intense bliss ran through his body. It felt like a real mouth — it was, of course, it was just strange to feel it, no performance, no exaggeration, no seduction, just a real, genuine, authentic climax — and it made Emre’s knees weak. He held onto Teddy’s head for support as he sprayed his cum down his throat.
That was another thing the women who hired him never did: blowjobs. A lot of them just wanted to be eaten out, but even among that minority who wanted to suck his dick, not a single one had ever wanted him to cum in their mouths. So it was nice to shoot his wad directly into Teddy, focusing entirely on his own pleasure for once. His seed coated Teddy’s throat and sat hotly in his belly. Teddy swallowed every drop and begged for more when Emre finally pulled out. Remnants of jizz stuck to Teddy’s face. That was delightfully unclean, so unlike making love to a woman. It made Emre chuckle.
“You taste so good… Let me taste you some more, please?” Teddy crawled to him and thwacked Emre’s till-sensitive cock over his face. That made Emre jerk and twitch. He chased the shaft with his tongue, while a few final drops of cum dribbled from his cocktip. Avery chased those with his tongue too.
Emre grunted and pulled his pants up. He had to pull his cock away from Teddy. “Not now,” he said. “You got what you paid for.”
“And I got my money’s worth!” Teddy blushed and smirked, taking in the body heat emanating from Emre’s body. He stayed where he was though, in that closet, arms wrapped around Emre’s well-muscled body. He had a six-pack like Teddy had never seen on anyone besides movie stars and models before he met Emre. His muscles rippled beneath Teddy’s touch, until eventually he felt he had done enough for the money, and Emre extricated himself.
“Thank you,” Emre said as politely as he could muster. His hair was mussed up now. He’d have to fix it before he headed out there, just in case he found any more women before going home tonight. He hoped he did meet a woman, because the money Teddy gave him was burning a hole in his pocket.
After all, he could stop at the corner shop for a lottery ticket. Or more than one. Surely at least one would be a winner…

The Dad

Avery is after a studly baseball coach for a kids’s team, and he just might land his man! Once the game is done, Avery’s favorite dad-coach Gordon is in need of a little release and some affection, which Avery is eager to provide!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was at the baseball game at Dirkfield Park, but not to watch the baseball, or the kids, or even the parents in the bleachers. The strongest dad was always the team coach, Avery had learned that a long time ago.
The pattern held true today too. He was Gordon, mid-forties, rustic, bearded, thick-bodied and flat-bellied but not skinny, he bulged all over, like his body didn’t realize how muscular he was. He was good with kids. Judging from the callused fingers and the scuffed workboots in place of athletic shoes, he was some kind of blue-collar worker, but Avery didn’t know what he actually did for a living.
The impatience was clear on Gordon’s face. The third-graders were not capable of playing baseball to any significant degree. Not a single real hit had been had all night. Gordon shouted encouragement when they got close, and he futzed with the pitch-machine every few minutes, growing increasingly exasperated with it. He seemed to hold out hope that they would play some real baseball at some point, but that hope was eternally dashed.
“Okay, Jakey, run! Jakey, take your base! Jakey, we’re counting that as a hit! You have to run! Jakey! Jakey! Jakey!”
“Austin! You can’t sit down in the outfield, bud! Stand up!”
“Watch the game! Where is right-field, bud?”
“Throw it to second-base! J’waun! Second-base! That’s not second-base! J’waun! J’waun! You have to pay attention — J’waun, I’m sorry, I’m not yelling at you. Just… It’s hard to get your attention sometimes. Please watch the game… No, don’t throw the ball to me!” Gordon hung his head and took a deep breath. “Okay, J’waun. That was a good throw. But it also matters that you throw it to the right place.”
“No, I’ve told you a million times, no phones in the outfield! You’re supposed to be watching the game! Playing! You’re supposed to be playing the game! Watch for the ball! You might have to catch it!”
“Fox! Fox! Fox! Fox! The ball, Fox! Look at the ball! Fox! Don’t close your eyes! Fox!”
It didn’t help that it was a hot, humid night. It didn’t even cool down once the sun set. Even in the darkness, the humidity was like a swollen woolen blanket that filled the air and refused to let any heat dissipate. Avery handed Gordon a bottle of water from the vending machine between innings. Gordon took a long swig from it, some of the water slipping out onto his scruffy cheeks.
“Thanks, man,” Gordon said with a nod. His voice was croaky and crass, hoarse like he chain-smoked, or used to. There was a southern twinge to his voice, though Avery didn’t think he was from the south. He sighed.
“Good game, boys, you’re doin’ great.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “You’re doin’ real great.”
Avery thought Gordon was great, the way he milled about dumpily in his ill-fitting clothes (which occasionally bared a flash of his hairy belly or well-muscled back), his uncaring swagger and focus on the game, the work-built muscles — you could tell he didn’t go to a gym, at least not regularly enough to matter, but he must have worked his muscles all day every day. The one thing that annoyed him was that Gordon’s wife was there in the bleachers too. She was a shrill harridan with dark hair and thin lips. She looked drunk too, Avery could tell. She sipped from a thermos in a way that seemed more suggestive of wine than water.
Avery thought it was adorable how good he was with the kids. He was patient and supportive and he always remained positive even when the kids made error after error after error. He kept that wan, well-practiced smile on his face no matter what.
“Okay, Fox, that was… Remember throwing? We practiced throwing. You can’t run the ball back to first, you have to throw it. Remember your hands! Remember your hands! Remember your HANDS! Good hustle, J’waun!”
It wasn’t until the next inning switch that the wife went to Gordon with a look of fury on her face. She ignored her own son, and she murmured intensely with Gordon. Gordon looked hurt, his square jaw quivering. She wagged her finger at him.
Avery felt instinctively protective of Gordon. He wanted to help. But Gordon didn’t say anything at all, at least not that Avery could tell. This was a one-sided argument.
“Well, fuck you, Gordon! I don’t need you, and I don’t need this shit!” she shouted. The kids and parents all stopped talking. Everyone looked over there as Gordon blushed. His wife was drunkenly bold though, and seemed uncaring of being the center of attention. The parents looked away, but not the kids, who were halfway on the field and halfway off it.
Gordon said something softly.
“Oh go fuck yourself! I’ll make a scene! I’ll make a real big scene! I’m a drunk, everybody! I’m a drunken hag, and I’ve ruined Gordon’s life! He woulda been a contendah!” She cackled. “You’re shit! You know that? You’re a big pile of hairy redneck shit, and you can’t blame me for that.”
“At least he’s not a drunk moron shouting profanity at a little league game!” Avery said. He stood up and went to Gordon’s side. “Ma’am, I thought it was inappropriate when you tried to score coke off me earlier, but I didn’t want to make a scene. Since we’re past that point now-“
“Wha-?” She cocked her head to the side as though ransacking her memory. (That hadn’t happened, she hadn’t tried to score coke. Avery just wanted to change the terms of the debate. The other parents all clucked their tongue and looked at her with cross eyes.)
“If you want to go snort coke, go do that but don’t corrupt the rest of our children,” Avery said as the crowd of parents murmured their approval. “They don’t need to see you off your mind on Peruvian marching powder.” Avery had to suppress a giggle. Nobody here, he guessed, knew anything about cocaine or that ‘Peruvian marching powder’ was not real slang for it. They all nodded and furrowed their brows at her.
A few people hollered at her to leave. She blushed and looked around as though trying to remember if she had actually tried to buy cocaine off Avery. It seemed she couldn’t rule out the possibility that she had done so and then forgotten. Avery guessed she probably used coke — she looked like the type — and he was glad to have guessed correctly. Avery smiled, clutching Gordon’s side and feeling the coarse hairs on his belly through his shirt. “I really think you should go so the kids can enjoy the rest of their game without you bringing down the tone,” Avery said.
There was a long, awkward pause. Finally she belched. “Whatever.” She looked at Gordon and scoffed. Then she tottered away. She had only just gotten off the field when she turned around. “Martin, sweetie! Call Mommy when the game is over!” Their boy, Martin, blushed and looked away like he might be able to pretend she wasn’t his mom (he wasn’t even standing in the direction she waved; she was too drunk to actually find him in the crowd of children).
Gordon took a deep breath. “Thanks, uh…” He paused.
“No problem,” Avery said. “I’m Avery.” He addressed the silent bleachers. “Okay, play ball. And someone call the cops to report a drunk woman leaving the park.” He looked at Gordon. “What does she drive?”
“Blue hatchback with Delaware tags.”
“Oh a Delaware bitch? Never marry a Delaware bitch, Gordon. That’s Rule One,” Avery said softly. He laughed and clutched Gordon’s bicep. “She’s remarkably stable and nice for a Delaware bitch.”
Gordon snorted. “Where were you eight years ago?” He clapped his hands and looked back at the players. “Okay, play ball!” He said it in a much more masculine and authoritative way than Avery had, so the kids erupted in activity right away.
After that, Gordon’s team, the Lammerdale Lions, was at-bat, so Gordon had less to do. One of his assistant coaches hung out by the pitcher’s mound to remind the children how to hold the bat, while Gordon stayed in the dugout with the other kids. That gave Avery plenty of opportunity to sneak peeks at his ass.
“Are you okay?” Avery asked. It was blatant how the other parents kept sneaking judgmental glances at Gordon, as though it was his fault his soon-to-be ex-wife was a drunken bitch.
Gordon shrugged. “She always been a bitch, hoss. Don’t worry.” He paused and cleared his throat.
Avery smiled. “The game is almost over. If you send your kid home with someone else, you could stay and clean up with me.”
“Why can’t my kid be there for that?”
Avery shrugged. “You never know what else we might do. I could help you forget about your ex-wife. I have a couple tricks that are very effective at that…” He licked his lips, loudly and moistly smacking them.
Gordon turned to face him and his eyes opened wide. “I ain’t down with that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Avery was disappointed, but he hadn’t given up. A lot of guys said no right away. That didn’t mean the answer would be no forever. It just meant they needed to prove to themselves that they weren’t too eager. Plus, he thought, it was easy to say no when it was just a theoretical option. When Avery was actually on his knees ready to swallow, Gordon might reconsider. There was still five and a half innings left (though the game would be called two hours after it began no matter what, so it really only had about twenty minutes). That was enough time for Gordon to change his mind.
“Yeah, good hit, Jakey! You got deep on that one!” Gordon shouted when one of the players actually hit the ball. It wasn’t even a foul, it was the first real, actual hit of the night. Jakey waddled straight for the bleachers to tell his parents. “No, Jakey! Run to first! Jakey! Jakey! Stay on the field! We practiced this!” But Jakey ignored Gordon and tried to get his parents to congratulate him, even as the entirety of the crowd shouted for him to run for first. Everyone wanted to see an actual baseball play occur.
Jakey got tagged out before he made it to first-base, which was impressive because the first baseman failed to catch the ball and then spent two whole minutes struggling to pick it up with his mitt. So all in all, that play took more than five minutes from when Jakey picked up the bat to when he finally made it back into the dugout. Five minutes for nothing to happen, one-quarter of the remaining game-time.
Baseball, Avery thought, was interminably boring. If it didn’t exist and somebody invented it, everyone would say “that’s not a real sport, it’s statistically indistinguishable from doing nothing”. Avery really did not like baseball. But he had to watch a couple games as part of his idiotic P.E. class — he couldn’t graduate without it.
Not that he really wanted to graduate anyway.
He entertained himself by watching Gordon’s ass in his tight baseball pants. They were wrinkled and unironed, a light gray with a green stain on the left ass. Avery drooled at the sight of his plump ass, and was he aiming it towards Avery? As he leaned over the dugout wall, it kind of looked like he was.
Gordon loved baseball. Unlike Avery, he not only thought it was a good sport, he considered it exciting. He spent hours at the batting cages nearly every weekend; he watched every Orioles game and nearly every other major league game; he even watched the Japanese, Mexican and minor-league teams (he had favorite teams in every league). He owned all the gear and could recite all the stats for his favorite players. He knew every World Series victory, the points and the plays — he could give you the play by play of every World Series game, and he could name every player and their vital stats too.
So he did get very frustrated watching the children play, dropping the ball over and over, failing repeatedly to swing the bat and generally just making more errors than Gordon had ever thought possible. But on those rare occasions when a kid did do it well, when it all worked — when his boy had caught the ball and dived for second-base to successfully tag a runner out — it seemed like a magical sport. Gordon thought less of anyone who considered baseball boring. It was the most elegant sport in the world.
When it worked, it was like ballet, he thought, not that he’d ever say that out loud.
It was hard to remember its elegance when the children were literally tripping over each other in their haste to run away from the ball. Gordon also found it distracting right now because this sissy was visibly checking him out.
But he soon realized no one was looking at him — the parents mostly just watched their own kids. People generally assumed Avery was Gordon’s weird little brother. They didn’t notice Avery staring at Gordon’s deliciously unkempt ass, thigh muscles fairly bursting from those tight baseball pants.
Eventually the inning was over, and Gordon went back out to be first-base coach. Avery had to sit by himself and wait. He was bored and didn’t have a very good eyeline of Gordon’s ass anymore. He did have a bulge in his crotch too, Avery could see that, but it stopped being exciting after a minute or two (a minute or two of absolutely, totally nothing happening whatsoever — Avery didn’t see why sports needed to have times when nothing happened. That was so boring it made the technically exciting parts of the game more boring by contagion).
But before Avery found a place to sit where he could see the game — and Gordon’s ass — easily, it was called. The two-hour mark was reached. In the end, no one could remember if the score was 9-2 Lions or 7-4 Pirates. So the Lions told their kids they won, and the Pirates told their kids they won, and everyone was happy.
When the dust had settled and the kids were all gone, it was just Avery sitting there in the dugout, while Gordon collected the bats and balls scattered around the field. Gordon had sent his boy home with a friend.
Avery picked up some of the empty soda bottles left behind in the bleachers. He tossed them in the recycling bin. Then he came up behind Gordon and whistled at his bent-over ass. “Damn… If your ass was a Chinese restaurant, I’d have the pu-pu platter.”
Gordon stood and blushed. “I ain’t into that.”
“I know. But I bet you could use a nut,” Avery said. “Come on… I’ll pay for all your team’s pizza parties.”
“What?”
“You guys have a pizza party after every game, right? Why not let me pay for it?” Avery said.
Gordon’s eyes opened wide. “You serious?” He came into the dugout. “Man…” He hesitated, then came closer, to where Avery sat on a bench. He didn’t say anything, but he got close enough for Avery to touch his dick through his baseball pants. Gordon closed his eyes.
“You ever done this before?”
Gordon scoffed like that was ridiculous. His dick twitched in his pants. Avery pulled them down, revealing an overstuffed jockstrap with pubic hair bristling out of it. Gordon closed his eyes. “Not sober.”
“Hmmm… What’s that mean? You do it drunk?”
“Don’t talk so much, man,” Gordon said. “If you’re gonna do it, do it.”
“You get drunk and do it a lot, huh?” Avery grinned. He lowered Gordon’s jockstrap, revealing a thick, meaty dick. It was already beginning to get hard, making Avery think Gordon must be exceptionally horny.
“No!” Gordon rolled his eyes. He flopped his cock over Avery’s face. When he had first hooked up with the woman he later married — that bitch who made a big drunken mess of herself in front of everyone — she used to suck his dick all the time. Gordon loved it. He acted it out now out of habit — he gripped Avery’s head and drilled his dick in until Avery gagged. Gordon blushed. He didn’t know why he loved it so much when she used to gag on his dick. That sound just made him so horny.
So when it was clear that Avery wasn’t going to complain about that, Gordon smirked and slipped his cock in deeper and deeper. Sure enough, Avery’s moist sputtering and choking was clearly enthusiastic in a way his wife had never been. She did it because she wanted to land a man, and she thought that was what Gordon required.
But Avery wanted to do it. He did it because he loved the feel of a man’s cock sliding down his throat, despite Avery’s instinctual urge to choke on it. Avery actually loved the feeling of his throat constricting around a man’s cock, and he loved the wave of pleasure he could see run up Gordon’s barrel-shaped chest.
Slobbering all over it, Avery murmured and cooed. He made a big mess with all the sticky precum coming out of the tip of Gordon’s cock. “Hmmm… You taste so good… Your wife is a dumbass for leaving you…”
“Yeah she is.” Gordon’s scruffy beard hairs quivered.
“Is the divorce final yet?”
“Nah. She’s just livin’ with her sister,” Gordon said. “Quit talkin’ so much, man. Or if you gotta talk, sound like a girl.”
Avery used his high-pitched feminine voice, acting as flamboyant as possible. “Hmmm… How’s this? I wish I had titties so you could lick ’em clean… or whatever boys do with boobs, I don’t know. Can I suck on a finger, Ralphie-poo? I wanna taste every part of you.”
Gordon grunted and groaned. No one had talked to him like that in a long time. His wife used to some, but even more than her, an old girlfriend did it; she used to talk dirty, beg him to let her suck his cock, request that he not shower so she could taste his unadulterated flavor. It felt like no one would ever talk to Gordon like that anymore.
Somehow being a blue-collar redneck had gone from stud to ugly tubby lardass even though his appearance hadn’t changed that much — women just interpreted it differently now that he was older and still had a blue-collar career and his thick body didn’t have that almost-six-pack he’d always had. He’d gained about fifteen pounds on his high school body, but it seemed like so much more.
He let Avery suck on his middle-finger, which was dusty and warm, while his dick jabbed Avery in the face. Every time it touched his skin, Gordon gasped and turned a little redder. He couldn’t believe how horny he was.
And Avery just teased him. Avery chased his dick with his tongue, giggling when he got a good taste and it twitched, and just that tiny moment of tongue-to-cock contact made Gordon’s whole hefty body shake.
“Hmmm… Will you let me lick your balls? Please….” Avery asked as though that was a debate — no one ever said no. He smiled as Gordon plopped his hairy sac onto Avery’s tongue.
“Goddamn…” Gordon moaned. He was already on the verge of orgasm, so it was nice to get his balls licked for a moment. That felt good but it also delayed his cock, so he wouldn’t cum too quickly. He figured if he looked like he enjoyed this too much, Avery would keep following him around and begging for more.
“Lemme hit that ass,” Gordon said. He blushed. He hadn’t meant to request that, he just thought it and his mind was too horny to censor himself. His cock throbbed though, and all he could think about was pounding it into some tight hole. He wished he had let Avery beg — he might have been able to get some more money out of it. Gordon grunted. He leaned forward and slapped Avery’s smooth ass.
“Hmmm… Will your dick hurt? Will you be gentle with me?”
“No.” Gordon grunted, his country-boy accent getting more intense as he lost his inhibitions. He was actually from Boston, but the longer he worked as a small-town plumber, the more of a country accent he acquired. He touched Avery’s ass again. It was so plump and round, like a woman’s but not like his wife’s, like a different, better woman, not even like his wife had been when she was younger.
Gordon slammed his dick in. He hadn’t intended to take his shirt off. But once he felt that tight ass clenching around his cock, Gordon saw that his shirt was just going to get in the way. Gordon didn’t want to do anything that made this less intense.
“Ah, shit, man…”
So he dropped his shirt on the dusty ground and plowed in deeper. His wife had given up the ass a couple times before they got married, but never once afterwards.
His belly jiggled and he sighed. For the last couple years — for most of their marriage — she had never fucked him without complaining. She complained when he didn’t initiate it. She complained when he did. She complained when he hadn’t showered. She made him shower and brush his teeth and shave before fucking (shave both his chin, his chest and his crotch). She made him lick her pussy, which she never once shaved after their marriage. She made him do extra chores. He used to do them and then initiate sex, but she’d just add additional chores at the last minute, no matter what, so he stopped doing any work until she put it on a list before sex. He didn’t put forth a lick of effort unless he got some sex out of it.
But jacking off was so easy now; it didn’t take any effort. He didn’t need to do anything but focus on ramming his dick all the way into Avery’s ass. He didn’t make Gordon stop to brush his teeth again; he didn’t answer emails on his phone, he didn’t complain to his sister that Gordon’s balls were “too wrinkly”. He just bent over and took it.
Gordon sighed grandly. “Damn, man, you feel good, shit…” He bit his lip as an orgasm exploded within him, not even noticing that Avery was already shooting his own wad onto the ground. “Sorry, almost done,” Gordon said, his voice breaking and strained as he came. He didn’t even get why Avery squirmed, orgasming beneath him. He was shocked because his wife had never responded like that. Avery felt so good he screamed into the night air.
Hot cum flowed into Avery’s ass. The feeling was melty and warm, and it was sticky, coating his flesh with creamy goodness. Avery let out a long, low howl that echoed in the stone dugout.
It had been a long time since Gordon blew a nut. He jacked off often enough, but that didn’t keep his balls from exploding now with years of pent-up cum. Even when he and his wife had had awkward, tense sex before she moved out, it had been so difficult it never really felt right, like he got blueballs even though he did fuck her.
But now, this time, it made Gordon’s whole body tense and shake. Sweat trickled down his broad back and into the crack of his hairy ass.
“Shit…” Gordon let his cock slowly flop out. He sighed and leaned back against the cold stone wall of the dugout. “That was awesome.”
Avery smiled. “I know. You do that real good.” He stood up, hands still exploring Gordon’s bare chest. “Lemme know when you’re ready for me to pay for a pizza party.”
“Okay. You ain’t gonna give me the money now?”
Avery giggled as he put his clothes back on. “If I gave you the money now, how would I incentivize you to come see me again?” He walked away. “Just gimme a call. I’ll come over and make you forget about her any time you want.” He paused. “Anytime I don’t have class.” He paused again. “No, anytime. I don’t care about class.”
Gordon looked down at his dick, gleaming with remnants of Avery’s ass. “Cool,” he said. “I’ll definitely call you.” He paused. “Wait, I mean… We got an afternoon game next Sunday. I’ll, uh…” He realized he probably sounded desperate and nasty, but he didn’t care. He needed to do this again. Avery’s ass was mesmerizing until he got his pants up and Gordon could finally look away. “I’ll call you then.”

The Porn Star

When a porno shoot goes wrong, it’s up to one janitor to make it right! His name is Rob, and he’s eager to service the handsome porn star Bryan Plumper. Can Rob live up to Bryan’s expectations? Can Bryan satisfy Rob?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob hung out in the hall. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he couldn’t wait for it to begin. Inside the studio, he heard muffled words. It was all boring and banal for now though. None of the talent was on set yet.
That was why Rob waited. He had a mop and bucket, though he was not a janitor. He had sought out a role in the interracial-porn industry because he loved the men who filled it. He didn’t care what he did, he just wanted a chance to see — and touch — the gangbang studs he had seen on screen so many times.
A door opened. A tired-looking woman stepped out — Kelly was her name. She glanced in Rob’s direction but didn’t look at him. She headed onto the set. She was a porn star, or so Rob assumed. She certainly looked like it, rather hot, but trashy and made-up.
A few seconds later, Bryan Plumper came out of a different room. Rob recognized him and felt a thrill of desire running up his spine. He’d spent hours fast-forwarding through porno movies looking for shots where you could see Bryan’s handsome face.
He was flanked by two other men. All three were black. Bryan was ungodly handsome, with a square jaw and broad shoulders, deep dimples, deep eyes and a flat belly. He put out charm and easygoing swagger, and he carried himself like a gangbanger. His retinue were less attractive; one was tall and skinny, with a gaunt, grayish look (Lil Bee), and the other was tubby and dreadlocked (T-Boy). They carried themselves like security, but Rob got the impression they were just Bryan’s old friends, not actual bodyguards.
“Yo, nigga, hey,” Bryan said. He slapped hands with Rob. To an objective observer, it might have come across as polite — the well-known porn star saying hello to a nobody janitor. But Bryan Plumper had a certain smarmy, sarcastic way about him. It wasn’t clear how much was deliberate and how much was a default-douchebag face. So when he said hello to a stranger, it came across like an insult.
“Hey, hi,” Rob said.
Bryan scoffed a little and withdrew his hand. His bodyguards both scowled at Rob. Bryan just turned around and walked away. He muttered something, and his buddies burst into laughter. It sounded forced, like they only laughed at his poorly-delivered jokes because he was the boss.
When they burst into the studio, Bryan said something deep and booming. His two buddies laughed, but no one else did. Once again, it sounded to Rob like Bryan thought he said something very funny but no one else did. It also sounded like Bryan was oblivious enough that he didn’t notice that no one laughed except for the two people he paid a salary.
Rob waited outside the studio, pondering whether he could sneak in. He heard the filming begin.
“Oh yeah, bitch, I know that! I know that real good!” That was Bryan’s leering voice resonating out of the studio. There was some more laughter. This time it wasn’t just his two buddies, it was the crew too.
There was a clatter and a clang. It sounded like something fell. Rob hurried into Bryan’s dressing room and sprayed the mirror with cleanser. He wiped it off very slowly so he would still be half-done when Bryan came back.
“You like black dick, slut?!”
Only Bryan’s voice was that loud. Rob wasn’t even near the studio now, but Bryan’s deep barrel voice reached all the way here, or at least it was loud enough when he said certain lines.
“No, wait-!” That was not Bryan. It was a man, a white man, it sounded like.
“Ew!”
“What?!”
“That is so nasty! I quit! No way!” That was her. That was the woman, Kelly.
Rob poked his head out of the dressing room, just in time to see her naked body stride through the hall. She once again failed to notice him. She went into her dressing room and slammed the door shut.
Bryan popped out of the studio a moment later. He was naked, his massive cock swaying between his legs. It was rock-hard and throbbing, veiny, looking delicious like a gourmet meal. Rob wanted to ram it down his own throat right now.
Bryan’s muscles were tense like he had to hold himself back from losing his temper. He carried his arms away from his side too. He had an angry, harsh smile on his face as he pounded on the door.
“Fuck you, man!” She yelled out the door of her dressing room.
“Man, baby, don’t freak out, it don’t mean a thing. You was gonna put yo’ tongue in there,” Bryan said, holding back laughter. His tall buddy had his hand on Bryan’s bare muscled back as though he needed to hold Bryan up.
She came out of her dressing room, clothes half on. “Fuck you! That was never the deal! That wasn’t part of the script!”
“I ain’t mean to!”
“Bullshit! Not farting is a major part of getting a rimjob, asshole!”
Bryan laughed. “Nah, assholes is a major part of getting a rimjob. Farting comes with eatin’ asshole, baby.” His niggas laughed, pretending it was so funny they needed to grip Bryan’s sweat-dripping chest to support themselves. “I ain’t even do it, I just asked if I could-“
“Fuck you!” She strode towards the exit, one of her titties still hanging out of her dress. She carried her shoes. “You don’t know jackshit, asshole!”
“Oh come on? Don’t say no one ever talked to you like that, bitch! You got titties like deflated wine bottles, slut! You got flappy butt, bitch, you got sloppy ass!” He held onto his flat belly and laughed.
She slammed the door shut. The hallway was silent except for Bryan and his buddies standing there laughing. He was still naked, his dick still hard.
“Thanks, Bryan!”
He poked his head back into the studio. “Sorry, man, you should-a told me she was sensitive-“
“No one ever wants you to fart on their face, Bryan. I don’t need to tell you that.”
He chuckled. “It seems that you do,” Bryan said. He let the door shut, then hurried into his dressing room.
He was taken aback at the sight of Rob standing there. “Hey, man, sorry you had to see that,” Bryan said, snickering.
“No problem,” Rob said. He licked his lips. He could see Bryan’s eyes whirring as he thought — Bryan was not especially bright, and when he was trying to think about something, it was obvious. Rob waited patiently. He glanced down at Bryan’s throbbing hard cock. “Looks like you’re disappointed that scene isn’t happening.”
“Whatever. She was nasty. She smelled like garbage. I mean literally, like she slept in a fucking dumpster,” Bryan said. He shrugged. “It don’t matter. I don’t need the money.”
His two buddies bristled, and for the first time, Rob sensed a little conflict between them. He wondered if Bryan was telling the truth, did he really not need the money? Why would he have even tried to fuck a girl who smelled like a dumpster if he didn’t need the money?
“How much were you going to get paid?”
“Ain’t some janitor’s business, reckon,” Bryan said. “I get paid more than you, man.”
Rob smiled. “Fifteen hundred dollars.”
“What?”
“I’ll pay you fifteen hundred dollars,” Rob said. He grabbed Bryan’s cock, which throbbed in his hand. “In exchange for… Well, services to be determined later.” Bryan looked down at his dick in Rob’s hand and took a step away, but he didn’t make Rob let go.
His two homies chuckled nervously, but Bryan laughed a deep, resonant laugh that sounded like he was covering up his own anxiety. His pecs rippled. He couldn’t stop smiling, showing off those deep dimples.
“Yo, nigga, I ain’t, y’know… I ain’t into that downlow shit,” Bryan said.
“Then tell everyone.”
“No, I mean…” Bryan chuckled. “I just don’t do that.”
“You don’t want the money?” Rob kept squeezing Bryan’s dick, which was still hard.
Bryan was silent. His two buddies stared daggers at him, but Bryan pretended not to notice. Bryan had that cocky look on his face, beaming at Rob as though he wasn’t nervous. His dick was hard and pulsating beneath Rob’s grasp.
“I, uh… Course I don’t need the money, nigga. I don’t do this shit, sorry,” Bryan said. “You can play with it a little, but… uh… I don’t do sissy shit.” It sounded like he really wanted to say yes but couldn’t think of a way to do it while maintaining his reputation.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Rob said. He stuck one of his fingers in his mouth, all the way down his throat to show off his minimal gag reflex.
“That’s hot, I’ll admit it, that’s hot,” Bryan said. “Can you get two fingers down there?” He whistled when Rob did so. “I bet you swallow dick pretty good.” He swiped his cock away from Rob. “But I got a rep, homie. I got street cred-“
His tall buddy cleared his throat. “Damn, Bryan… You know, a lotta niggas do shit on the downlow. A lotta street niggas.”
“Real thugs,” said the fat one. They both glared at Bryan, who either didn’t notice or pretended not to.
“Whatchoo want, broh?” Bryan asked, lowering his eyes and staring intensely at Rob. His tone of voice had changed too, like he now thought he was charming enough to get money out of Rob without doing anything too sissy. “Huh? I can get you weed. Heroin. Coke. You want coke? I can bring you fifteen hundred bucks of coke tonight.”
“No. I want you.”
Bryan snorted. He shook his head. He pushed Rob against the wall of his dressing room. He still had that charming, deep-dimpled smile on his face. He grabbed Rob’s wallet out of his pocket. There was no cash in it.
“Fuckin’ liar,” Bryan said.
“Not a lie.” Rob pulled the cash where he had hidden it in his sock. Bryan tried to grab for it, but Rob pulled it away.
“Nah, nah,” Bryan said. He flared his nostrils. “Boy, I can smack the fuck outta you, you know that? I could just take it.” His smile was gone now.
But it was his two friends who pushed him away from Rob. They got in front of Bryan’s face and scowled at him.
“Nigga, come on, don’t get yo’self arrested. Just do it.”
“Yeah, man. We all know it won’t be the first time-“
“Ssh! Shush yo’self, nigga,” Bryan scowled. He looked at Rob. “He lyin’. I don’t do this shit.”
The fat guy pushed Bryan again, against the wall. “Yo, nigga, we ain’t got paid in weeks. I think you need to make that right.”
“We can always walk away, Bryan.”
Bryan gulped and smiled. He chuckled. He patted the tall nigga on the side. “Damn, calm down.” He took a deep breath. “I ain’t nevuh done nothin’ like this, I don’t do-“
“Shut up, nigga.” The fat one turned around and faced Rob. “He did this befo’. When we was comin’ up, there was this sissy dude-“
“Nigga, shut yo’ mouth.”
“Bryan ain’t nevuh make no money sellin’ crack. Even when he was doin’ it-“
“Shut up!”
“He wasn’t nevuh good at it. He just looked good. He just made it look sexy and got all the girls-“
“Nigga, shut yo’ mouth-“
“But they was all nasty girls and they made him pay for all kinds of shit to give up the booty, buyin’ em cars and shit. He ain’t make no money from crack, so he borrowed cash from us and from his grandmoms-“
“Nigga, I will bust you-“
“And he had this sissy cracker paying his rent all the damn time. Remember, nigga?”
The fat one laughed so hard his belly jiggled like Santa. “Remember that time Limey slapped you.” Then he imitated an older black man. “You sold one crack rock e’ry week, nigga. One rock a week. This ain’t some handmade crack where you sell it to connoisseurs fo’ an extra thousand bucks each, Mikey!” He guffawed. “That’s Bryan’s real name, you know. Mikey.”
“You fired, nigga! You fired for, spreading info’mation — false info’mation! — I ain’t payin’ you jack-shit!” Bryan’s face had turned reddish and he stamped his feet like an immature toddler having a breakdown.
They both laughed so hard they rocked back and forth. The tall one imitated someone else, a fae white man’s voice. “See you tonight, right, Michael? Right?” Then he imitated Bryan’s deep, smooth voice. “Yes, sir, Mr. Greenburg. I won’t go out to the clubs tonight so you can suck my armpit-“
“Nigga…” Bryan’s eyes were flat, his lips pursed. “That ain’t how it happened.” He paused. “Man, nigga, it weren’t even Greenburg who — Nevermind. Fuck you both. You’re both fired.” He glowered. Neither of his niggas responded like they thought they were really fired.
The tall one looked at Rob. “He’ll do it,” he said.
Bryan sighed and shook his head. “I… I ain’t say that.”
“Bryan, you have to pay us. That’s gotta happen. If you keep messin’ up yo’ scenes, you gonna have to make money some other way. You could still go apologize to that girl and make the scene. But you owe us money, man. You gots to pay it.”
Rob spoke up. “Two grand, okay? There’s actually two grand in that wad of bills.”
A long awkward silence filled the room. Bryan looked down at his cock — which was still hard — like it had betrayed him. He sighed and flared his nostrils again.
“C’mon, nigga. That’s more than you was gonna get paid for the scene,” the fat one said.
“Shut the fuck up, nigga,” Bryan muttered. He sighed. Without looking up, he whispered, “Fine. But if any of you evuh say anything, I will kill you, I swear to God. You two know I ain’t playin’.”
Judging from the look Bryan’s two niggas shared, they did think he was playing. Rob thought he was playing too. Bryan played like he was hard, but he was a lot softer than he let on.
Luckily his body was plenty hard. Rob planted his face right on Bryan’s left pec, which made him groan and throw his head back. His muscles tensed beneath Rob’s lips, as Rob slid down to his knees.
He was sweaty. He had gotten sweaty under the studio lights while starting the scene, but he had only gotten sweatier since then, especially now that he was nervous at being manhandled. His sweat tasted salty and musky, like an entire gym locker room distilled into one mind-blowing flavor.
“You promised you’d deep-throat it,” Bryan said. He snorted. He kept his head held high. It seemed that, since he wasn’t coming across as too tough right now, he was going to make up for that with dickishness. “So I’m gonna throat you down. If you want me to stop, you gotta tap my ass three times. Okay?”
“Wait-” Rob said. He patted Bryan’s ass more than three times, giggling at the sight of his meaty cheeks rippling. “I just wanted to practice-“
“That’s enough,” Bryan said. He didn’t wait any longer than that. He wrapped his hands around the back of Rob’s head and rammed his dick all the way in. He groaned animatedly — thought it seemed a little forced and practiced — and swayed his dick from side to side. He cackled as the movement caused Rob to gag. “See? No one can deep-throat my dick without gagging, on ‘ccount of it’s so big. You like it, huh?”
Rob nodded and said yes the best he could with Bryan’s cock jammed down his throat. He loved the flavor of it, the sweat-soaked musk of it, and the burst of salty precum on his tongue. He reached up to caress Bryan’s pecs with one hand, while his other roamed over Bryan’s asscheeks.
He let his hand slip between Bryan’s cheeks. He was perfectly smooth — he must have shaved his ass, Rob thought, no men were completely hairless in their asscrack. He was disappointed because he liked ass-hair.
He left his finger there at the entrance to Bryan’s hole, teasing the rim. “I ain’t let no queer in my ass, nigga, so you best get yo’ finger away. Don’t let my niggas confuse you. They was makin’ up stories ’bout that Greenburg shit. I don’t know no Greenburg, and I ain’t nevuh let ‘im in my ass, no way.” Bryan glared down at Rob, watching him swallow cock like it was a boring TV show.
The fat one snickered. “What about his tongue, nigga?”
Bryan shrugged. “Oh, that don’t count. Ain’t happen though, no. I let all kind of girls put they tongue in my asshole. You know I love that. But no men, never.” He paused and pulled his cock out. Gobs of spit dripped off it. Rob gasped for air. “You lick asshole? You wanna lick my asshole?” He smiled eagerly. “I ain’t nevuh done that, never let no sissy lick my ass.” He glared at his friends as though daring them to contradict him. “This’ll be my first time.”
“Yeah! I’ll do that! Hell yeah!” Rob said. He didn’t mean to sound so eager, and he winced as the men laughed at him.
Bryan laid on the ground on his back, then lifted his ass up, like a female porn star getting drilled. He supported himself on his shoulders and neck, his huge thighs trembling as he suspended them in the air and spread his asscheeks. His niggas even held onto his ankles to help him keep his legs aloft.
That was a perfect angle for Rob. He dove his face between those thick cheeks. It tasted perfectly clean, polished, like a life-like statue of a porn star. He even tasted lotion — did Bryan use lotion inside his ass?
But the funk of his ass shone through more and more the more Rob licked. He sucked down every drop of assjuice, and flickered his tongue deep into it. He made his rimjob loud and moist, suckling on Bryan’s asshole and generating so much spit that it spilled down his back and his crotch.
“Damn, nigga…” said the tall one. “That is one nasty sound.” They both laughed softly, a little nervously. They held Bryan’s legs up, facing away so they didn’t have to watch. The sound alone was enough to make them buckle like they had to suppress a gag.
“Goddamn, boy, fuck!” Bryan moaned. “You got a hell of a tongue. You should teach these white bitches how to lick ass. They don’t even get all up in there cuz the camera can’t really see it anyway, most of the time. They just lick the crack a bit.”
Rob’s fingers explored Bryan’s body. He stroked Bryan’s cock, but just once because that was enough to make it spasm, veins throbbing, Bryan gasping and biting his lip — he must really love rimjobs, he was on the verge of cumming, Rob thought.
He pulled his tongue out.
Bryan yelped, which he turned into a deep, more masculine-sounding bark partway through. His eyes were closed, ass still in the air, legs supported by his niggas. Rob licked both of those fleshy asscheeks, then blew on his asshole. He didn’t lick it, he just blew air over it.
“Aw, fuck, goddamn!” Bryan screamed like it hurt. His whole body rippled. He hyperventilated a little, until it made his niggas laugh at him, and Bryan stopped. Rob blew some more, and Bryan writhed. Finally Bryan pulled away and dropped his ass to the ground. He growled. “No blowin’ on my ass. I don’t like that.”
“Sure looked like you liked it.”
“You loved it, nigga. Don’t gimme that,” said the tall one with a suppressed chuckle.
“Shut the fuck up.” Bryan rolled his eyes. He lay on his back, limbs sprawled out. His dick stood straight up, begging for attention.
Without another word of warning, Rob mounted Bryan and lowered himself onto his cock. Bryan grunted and closed his eyes. Rob grunted too as a bolt of pain hit him. That didn’t last long, however, and the pain soon melted away into a deep, abiding pleasure.
It was uncomfortable though, until Rob’s ass loosened up enough to accept it. He moaned and bit his lip. He stroked his own cock.
“Oh wow, you ram me so good, daddy,” Rob said, again as feminine as possible. He sensed that Bryan was feeling down on himself, and he wanted to puff him up. “Can I kiss you?”
“Fuck no!” Bryan shouted, his voice suddenly full of so much confidence and bravado that his dick twitched in Rob’s ass. He screwed up his face, the serenity and bliss he displayed while getting a rimjob having vanished, replaced by tension and annoyance. “As a matter of fact, bitch, turn around and get off me. You don’t get to be on top. No way.”
Bryan stood up. He didn’t wait for Rob to agree or to do anything, he just used his powerful muscles to lift Rob up without taking him off his cock. A spasm of agony hit Rob’s ass, followed by a bolt of pleasure as his prostate came alive.
But it was awkward and painful, since Bryan pushed Rob into position. He forced Rob to rotate on Bryan’s dick — that was an extremely painful motion to do with a cock in his ass — until he was on all fours. Bryan was on top of him, and he leaned forward, resting both forearms on Rob’s back like it was a table.
“Alright, bitch, we doin’ this my way,” Bryan muttered. He slammed his hips all the way in like he was trying to make this difficult for Rob, who loved it as hard and rough as possible. Rob moaned. Bryan grunted and wrinkled his nose — he wanted to show off by cornholing Rob harder than he could handle. But Rob was determined to accept every ounce of pounding Bryan dished out.
He writhed on Bryan’s cock. Bryan used every muscle in his body to plow, slamming his barrel chest down on Rob’s back. Rob struggled to remain on all fours. He wanted to jack himself off, but he needed both hands to remain balanced on the ground.
“Take it, bitch,” Bryan muttered. “Beg me for it. You like big dick? Lemme hear it.”
“I want your big dick, Bryan-“
“Not so loud, ain’t nobody allowed to know,” Bryan said. “Say it, just say it quiet.” He wrapped one of his arms around Rob’s neck and pulled his head up. Rob was stretched, leaning forward so far that he would have fallen to the ground since his hands were not on the floor anymore, but Bryan held him up with one powerful arm. Since Rob was not supporting himself, he could do little more than focus on relaxing his ass so Bryan could pound away at it.
“I love your big cock, Bryan, it’s so huge. It’s the biggest I’ve ever taken, and you get so deep,” Rob said, trying to sound as feminine as he could muster.
“I know. Keep sayin’ it though,” Bryan said with a cocky laugh. When he laughed, his chest shifted against Rob’s back and his cock twitched in his ass.
The other two men stood in front of Rob, facing away with their arms across their chests. They whispered to each other, avoiding making eye contact with Rob the entire time.
Finally the tall one said, “Hey, uh, man… You gonna keep payin’ Mr. Plumper for’-?”
“Nope!” Bryan shouted. “This is a one-time thing.”
“A one-time thing like our paychecks, you mean? Or like a long-term thing, like the paychecks we gonna be gettin’ in the future?”
Bryan’s smile disappeared. “Nigga, you had better shut up ’bout that shit-“
“You had better pay up, Michael.”
“Quit callin’ me Michael. My name’s Bryan.”
They both sighed at each other. The tall one leaned down and lightly slapped Rob’s cheek to get his attention. He winced at the sight of Rob’s orgasm-addled eyes. “Ew, alright, nigga, I’s askin’ you a question. Mr. Plumper here would be glad to cornhole you e’ery week for two grand. You in?”
“I don’t know…” Rob said.
“I bet we can convince you,” said the fat one. He leaned into Bryan’s ear and whispered. Rob’s head was still pinned in front of Bryan’s neck and chest, gasping and heaving for air as he sucked on Bryan’s corded forearm. In that position, he could hear the tenor and tone of the fat one’s words, but he couldn’t make out the exact verbiage. It sounded like a firm suggestion.
Bryan blanched and pushed him away. “Man, fuck you, nigga. Get yo’ tongue outta my ear. Or pay two grand like this sissy.” He sighed. Despite Bryan’s words, it sounded like was going to do whatever the fat one had said. Bryan sighed again, sounding angry this time. He kept his one arm holding Rob against his chest.
Then his other hand stretched to Rob’s chest. “If any of you evuh tell anyone ’bout this, I swear to Christ I’ll slit yo’ goddamn throats.” Bryan’s deep voice rumbled, his chest muscles flexing against Rob’s back. His free hand roamed all the way down to Rob’s cock.
“Relax, Bryan. We won’t tell no one, you can trust us.”
“You told this bitch ’bout Mr. Greenburg.” Bryan paused and shuddered when his hand wrapped around Rob’s dick. “Which you made up, course. Ain’t no Mr. Greenburg.”
“Right.”
“Yeah, we shouldn’t’ve made that up, Bryan. Sorry.” The fat one looked Rob in the eye. “We was just teasin’ him. He ain’t nevuh do that. He never been no rentboy. He got lots of offers, but he always say no. He shoot e’ry white man who ask. He real gangsta like that.”
Rob didn’t believe it, but he didn’t say that. He just submitted as all of his muscles went limp — his orgasm began from the moment Bryan touched his dick. Bryan stroked his cock with one hand, slowly at first, then speeding up as both men reached orgasm at once.
Cum sprayed over Rob’s belly and onto the floor, coating Bryan’s hand with goblets of milky white. Bryan groaned in disgust, but he didn’t stop, he just kept on stroking as he finished his nut off in Rob’s ass.
The power of his own orgasm was heightened by the feel of jets of hot cum coating his prostate. Rob moaned so loud it was nearly a scream, and Bryan’s two niggas checked the door to make sure no one was outside. Bryan groaned right into Rob’s ear, which he even licked a little — seemingly out of habit — as he writhed and filled Rob up with his cum.
When they were both done, Bryan dropped Rob unceremoniously to the ground. His cock plopped right out of Rob’s ass. Bryan growled. He wiped his cum-dripping hand off on Rob’s face. “Get yo’ nut off my hand, bitch.” He muttered and shook his head. “I nevuh do reacharounds, just so you know. Don’t evuh ask me fo’ that.”
“Okay.” Rob was too breathless and overwhelmed to point out that that wasn’t true. He sighed and stretched his legs.
“You best wipe my dick off. That’s yo’ ass all over it.” Bryan stood. His muscles were flexed, like he was showing off or trying to intimidate Rob. He cackled arrogantly. “Prison rules, bitch. You got yo’ ass all over my dick, so you best get it nice and clean, I don’t care how much yo’ ass is bleeding.”
Rob got some tissues and wiped Bryan’s dick off. Bryan put his hands on his hips. His buddies exchanged knowing glances like they thought Bryan had no idea what prison rules were. He’d never been to prison.
“His ass ain’t bleedin’, nigga,” the fat one said with a laugh. “He ain’t intact-“
“Shut up.” Bryan took a deep breath. “His ass is bleedin’. You seen it. I seen it. He was beggin’ me to stop. I made him finish me off. Not that we evuh gonna tell no one ’bout this.” He snorted and sniffled. “Stupid weakling couldn’t handle it.”
Rob had all his clothes on. He handed over the wad of cash.
“That money best be in there, nigga. Don’t think I won’t track you down if it ain’t,” Bryan said. He straightened the pants he had just pulled back on. “I ain’t some kinda prettyboy. I am a straight-up thug, nigga. I got connections, ya dig? I will find you, and I will fuck you up.” His friends had to suppress a smile, but Rob saw it. Bryan faced away from them, so he didn’t see it. “You best believe me.”
Rob grinned. He opened his mouth as though he was going to respond, but instead he just let his fist fly. He punched Bryan right in the jaw. Though Rob was perhaps a third of Bryan’s size, he threw a mighty punch, which collided with Bryan’s dimpled chin.
Bryan groaned and collapsed to the ground. He just crumpled up like he was a toy person, landing in a heap on the ground. His two niggas burst into laughter. They clapped. Bryan wiggled, and his toes twitched.
Then Rob turned around and flounced away, leaving Bryan to stagger back to his feet while his two friends laughed. “See you next week, Bryan!”

Humiliated by a Scammer

Zion has no idea his family was targeted by a scammer who took everything they owned, and now it’s Zion’s turn to experience the ultimate in alpha male dominance! Can he submit to the superior man?

Read the it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“Look here, Zion, boy, I’m gonna be real upfront wit’cha,” said Uncle Nelson. Zion had trouble concentrating on his words because Uncle Nelson was so intimidating. He was tall, broad shouldered and thick-bodied. He had a dense bristly mustache. He had come over without Zion’s grandmother — who had married Uncle Nelson just a few months ago. He had never come to Zion’s apartment above the family restaurant without her. “I came into ya grandmama’s life wit’ an ulterior motive.”
“Where is she-?”
Nelson slapped him. “Don’t you interrupt me. I put her in a home.”
“What?” Zion’s heart sank. “Where? What?”
He slapped Zion hard. “Make me say it again, nigga! Make me say it again! Shut yo’ mouth!”
Despite his huge size, Uncle Nelson had always been incredibly kind until today. Zion was much smaller and weaker, so he had been scared from the moment his grandmom brought Nelson home from church one day. He was new to the area then, and he had fallen in love with her right away. Nelson was broad and muscular, so strong it looked painful, like he must struggle to carry around all those muscles.
“Now yo’ grandmama signed this whole building over to me,” Nelson said. He paused to see if Zion would interrupt him again, but he didn’t. Zion trembled in front of him. Nelson lightly slapped his cheek again. “Listen Zion boy, you know what liquidate means? Course you don’t, you a dummy. It means when you take somethin’ that ain’t worth much and you take it apart and you use all the parts some other way. Like when a store goin’ outta business, they liquidate it. You feel me, Zion boy?”
“Yeah, man, but where’s my dad-?”
“Yo’ daddy’s in jail, but I’m comin’ to that.” He smiled. “I ain’t a nice nigga, Zion boy. I know I been actin’ nice, but I ain’t nice at all. Yo’ family was not wise to trust me.” He undid his belt and let his pants plop heavily to the floor, then he took his dick out. Zion yelped in surprise — and fear, because it was more than a foot long, veiny and dark, and it smelled vaguely of sweat and pussyjuice — and he tried to stand up, but Nelson pushed him back down. “Lemme just be real frank wit’cha. Yo grandmama married me and signed e’rything over to me. So I own yo’ family’s house and yo’ family’s store and I even own yo’ car, nigga, which by the way, you may not use.”
“You can’t do that-!”
“Already done, nigga. Yo’ daddy’s in jail cuz I tol’ him I put yo’ sister out on the street as a ho if he ain’t sign this murder confession — there was a killin’ I had weighin’ me down, nigga. Not no more,” he said. He carefully folded his pants and put them on the table next to him. Then he picked up his dick as though to display it for Zion’s benefit. He held it in one hand, and Zion was unable to look away from it. It jiggled when Nelson spoke. “Now yo’ sister was a little old to start hoin’, but I’m gonna make it work. She can make me a pretty penny.”
“Wait, what?!”
“I am liquidatin’ yo’ family, nigga. Y’all is a bunch of rank-ass pussies, and I am takin’ ya out,” he said. He thwacked his limp dick over Zion’s face. “You might wanna start lickin”, befo’ I get real mad, Zion boy.”
“My dad is in jail? He-“
But Nelson’s cock pushed into Zion’s mouth, and Nelson chuckled as Zion gagged. His dick was limp and rubbery at first, tasting of salty sweat. Tears welled up in Zion’s eyes. That fat cock rested on his tongue, and when he tried to push it off, Nelson slapped his hands away. He didn’t do anything with his dick, it just rested there, like Zion’s mouth was its new natural home.
Then Nelson swayed, making his limp dick jiggle and jump around, roping over Zion’s face. It was so thick, much thicker than Zion’s, and it smelled like a locker room in a low-cost gym. Zion’s stomach churned.
His mind kept replaying the things Nelson had said. None of that made sense, what did he mean? Zion’s sister was not a prostitute. His father was not a murderer, none of this made sense. Why was Nelson acting like this? But Zion couldn’t formulate any words because he was entranced by the rod of throbbing hot dickfat smearing Nelson’s body odor over every inch of Zion’s face.
“Ah, yeah, this is the part I love,” Nelson said. “No teeth. No hands. No regrets.” He moaned without breaking eye contact with Zion, who felt a flush of embarrassment and looked away. Nelson dug his nails into Zion’s cheeks and forced his eyes back to Nelson’s. “Lookit me when I’s plowin’ you, boy. You mine now, nigga. You should thinka yo’self as a slave, even if the law ain’t allow slaves no more.”
“But, Uncle Nelson, I-“
He laughed, forcing his cock back into Zion’s throat. It was so huge that it didn’t feel real to Zion, who had never seen a cock so big. A few drops of precum hit his tongue, and the electrifyingly salty flavor made Zion gag.
“You still callin’ me uncle, boy? I ain’t yo’ family.” He wrapped his hands around the back of Zion’s head, and began to slowly grind his dick lower and lower in Zion’s throat. “I let you be a busboy in the restaurant. I ain’t gonna pay you a damn dime, but I let ya eat scraps and shit. You may not find any of the waitresses sexy.”
Having been in shock since this began, Zion hadn’t really fought back. But as his throat heaved and his lungs cried out for oxygen, he realized he could fight. He clawed at Nelson’s muscle-bound body and squirmed. His whole body tensed up, but Zion was skinny and lanky, not solid like Nelson.
“Ah, there it is, there you go,” Nelson said. He held tightly onto Zion’s head. “You fightin’ now, huh? That’s normal, that’ll pass. I’m gonna break you, boy. See it used to be that the rule of law weren’t so strong, and weak-kneed motherfuckers like you and yo’ whole family just get took up by some strong motherfucker like me, someone who can make sure you reach yo’ maximum potential. For you…” Nelson laughed, smearing tendrils of spit over Zion’s face as he watched him choke on his massive cock. “Yo’ maximum potential is a busboy who occasionally gets to eat my asshole. Yo’ whole family was garbage, Zion boy. Yo’ granddaddy was worth a damn, but he dead now. You’d have just run this company into the ground. I’m takin’ it.”
Zion squealed and tried to crawl away, but Nelson = punched him again. Pain erupted in Zion’s side, and he collapsed onto the floor. Zion rolled onto his back. Nelson slowly lowered his hefty, broad ass right on Zion’s face. His crack was choked with dark kinky black hairs, which scratched Zion’s skin.
“Lick it up, Zion boy, get ya tongue in there.” When Zion didn’t comply right away, Nelson punched him in the belly. Zion groaned. “Get yo’ tongue inside my asshole now, bitch.”
Zion still wanted to fight, but he was so weak and skinny. His body submitted even as his mind wanted to fight back. His tongue slipped into Nelson’s asshole. The taste of man-funk flooded his senses.
It was so rank, so foul, the flavor overwhelming all of Zion’s other senses. Utter humiliation wracked his body. Only an absolute fool would let another man do this, he thought.
Nelson loudly moaned. His ass-sweat trickled into Zion’s mouth, and Zion gagged so violently his stomach hurt. Nelson sat on his face, all of his weight pressing down on Zion’s head. He was big man, and it felt like Zion’s head was going to cave in. He couldn’t focus on anything but squirming beneath Nelson’s giant body.
“Move ya tongue around some more. How’s my ass taste, boy?”
“Please… stop-” Zion had to shout to be heard through the meat of Nelson’s ass. That made Nelson laugh and pound on Zion’s belly some more.
“Nah, this is yo’ life now, Zion boy, it’s already done. Get used to it.” Nelson rubbed his asshole over Zion’s face, leaving a layer of funk. Zion’s nose dug into his asscrack from top to bottom. “From now on, e’ry time I come into my restaurant, or up here — anytime you see me, basically — I want you to lick my asshole, okay?”
“No!”
Nelson stood up and punched Zion in the belly. Zion screamed and gagged as the rush of fresh air made the assy taste on his tongue even more rancid. He writhed, but Nelson made him stay on his back. “What’d I say? You my slave, bitch. You can leave any time, but I own ya ass. I own this building and I own ya car and I own ya job and I own e’rything here in this apartment. I got ya daddy in jail and ya grandmom in care and ya sister out hoin’. I can decide to drop any one of ’em loose anytime,” he said.
Through his tears, Zion grunted. “I can… do…-“
“You can leave, wit’ nothin’. I will take the shoes off ya feet. I just might break all the bones in yo’ feet too, just to make sure you nevuh work again. You will work for me, Zion, for the rest of your life. Or I will make your whole family’s life hell. Ya feel me?”
“Y…. Yes.”
“Good. Now say ‘I will lick yo’ asshole, Nelson’.”
A sob escaped from Zion’s lips. “I… I will lick ya asshole, Nelson.” Zion’s tears were squashed by Nelson plopping down on his face again.
This time, Zion had no choice but to lap at that funky hole as tears streamed down his cheeks. The filthy, gritty feeling was almost, but not quite, enough to make him forget his sobbing. Nelson guided Zion’s hands around his body to his cock. Zion’s tongue ran up his guys and tasted his sweat, while his hands stroked from the root to the tip of Nelson’s fat throbbing dick.
“Stroke me off, boy. That’s how you do a rimjob. Tongue in deeper. Tongue deeper, boy!” He punched Zion in the belly again, and when Zion cried out, he grabbed his tongue. He pulled it out until Zion squealed. “See this? You got a good five inches of tongue here, boy. I wanna feel all five inches in my ass, or I swear to Christ I will shove my foot up your ass, and I am not playin’, I can show you the evidence I did it before.”
He nearly lifted Zion from his knees by his tongue but instead lowered his ass to meet his face, so he reached underneath himself to shove Zion’s tongue into his asshole. He did it so forcefully his own finger penetrated his own ass at the same time, while Zion sobbed into the filthy asscrack of the superior man above him.
Zion tried to look away, but each time Nelson slapped him and forced him to look him in the eye. He was so intimidating that Zion couldn’t think of any plan besides squirming and begging whenever he could catch a breath. Nelson’s burly mustache shook as he sneered.
“You are one pitiful li’l bitch. You a sissy?” He raised his eyebrows and looked down at them.
“No! No, come on!”
“You should be
The fact that Nelson was not a thug made him scarier to Zion. He looked like a church deacon — he was, in fact, a church deacon — and he spoke like a Hollywood hero (or villain). He had a slightly stawk-heavy East Coast accent, sounding like he was from maybe Philadelphia or someplace like that. New Jersey, maybe. His words rang out like a prophecy in Zion’s ears.
Zion felt filthy and worthless. Zion sobbed in Nelson’s plump ass, while Nelson rubbed his hole over Zion’s tongue like a dog with infected anal glands. Every time Zion’s tongue stopped moving for even a second, Nelson hit him or pinched him hard until Zion resumed lapping at his grimy prostate.
Nelson let out a long, low whistle. His cock throbbed in Zion’s hands. “Hell yeah, there ya go. Fuck yeah. You got it. This is how you do a rimjob, Zion. All of ya tongue in there, hands on my dick… You gonna make me nut, boy, I swear… I was gonna wreck ya asshole today, but maybe I wait.”
A fluid hit Zion’s tongue. It was rancid and sour, and it tasted like farts, but Zion was pretty sure it was spit, cuz Nelson was spitting on his face, it seemed. Through his sobs and retches, Zion heard him calmly hocking up loogey after loogey. Zion squirmed, sobbing in pain and disgust. Nelson punched him in the belly over and over again.
“Keep ya tongue up in there, boy, and move it around some,” Nelson said. He groaned. “Yeah, nigga… Hell yeah…” His muscles all flexed at once, and a hot spray of cum shot over his flat belly. He shot a huge flow that seemed to go on for minutes, real honest-to-god minutes of continuous flow, coating his muscular chest in a sheen of jizz, which immediately ran down to his balls and his taint and then at last onto Zion’s tongue in his ass.
Zion was only barely aware of his own hands on Nelson’s dick. He didn’t really move them, he just held on, while Nelson ground his ass over Zion’s face, the movement making Zion give him a handjob as he licked his asshole. It must have felt good, the handjob or maybe the tongue, because Nelson let out a long simmering murmur that rattled the walls of Zion’s apartment.
A loud gag escaped from Zion’s throat, the sound swallowed by Nelson’s hefty body. Zion cringed as sticky fluids ran down his throat, coating his tongue. He thought for sure he’d never make that taste go away.
“Yeah, nigga… Ah shit, I am gonna like keepin’ you ’round as a rimjob-bitch. Get used to this,” he said with another whistle. He rubbed his butt over Zion’s face, sending fresh new waves of disgusting flavor onto Zion’s tongue. “Keep ya tongue out, boy.”
He grabbed Zion’s tongue as he lifted himself up. Zion yelped because Nelson really squeezed on his tongue with his fingers. Then Nelson kneeled next to Zion, put his nose right in front of Zion’s tongue and inhaled deeply.
“You smell like pure submission, bitch.” He hocked up another big loogie and spat it onto Zion’s tongue. It was grimy and sour, and Zion squirmed all over again. Drool spilled out of his mouth as he gagged over and over. Nelson had a disgusted sneer on his face, holding Zion by the tongue. He spat again and again.
Then he pointed to the cum he had sprayed over his own chest and flat stomach. It looked like a huge load, great puddles of it that ran in rivulets down his chest. It was so thick, like sour cream, it made Zion’s own jizz seem watery and pitiful. He had spurted a huge load, and a few drops continued plopping out one by one into Nelson’s crotch hair. “Lick my cum off me. I’m gonna make ya tongue so nasty you wanna cut it off.” He licked his lips, as he pulled Zion’s face over the puddles of jizz that coated his pectoral muscles.
Keeping a grip on Zion’s tongue while he rubbed it over his chest was difficult and awkward for Nelson because he was so much bigger than Zion. He had to scrunch in to make it work. But he didn’t let Zion control his own tongue — despite telling him to lick, Nelson didn’t allow it, he instead used Zion’s tongue like a rag to clean the cum off his chest.
The salty bitterness of cum cut through Zion’s pain and humiliation, making him sob all over again. Licking his chest reminded Zion how much stronger Nelson was than him. He felt like a warm marble statue. Zion didn’t want to caress his shoulder muscles like a girl being seduced, but his hands flailed and that’s what they did, embarrassing him even further.
“Now sit there. Look me in the eye.” Nelson pointed to a spot on the floor. “Don’t get up, don’t wipe your face off. You may swallow the nastiness on your tongue. If you spit, I will beat you. I wanna watch you swallow that. I wanna see it go down yo’ throat, cuz that’ll be you agreein’ to be my rimjob-bitch-slave. That’s yo’ willing agreement.” He held onto Zion’s throat with one of his massive hands.
Zion didn’t want to swallow. Every part of him rebelled against the concept.
But he knew Nelson wasn’t kidding about beating him if he spit, so he tried to hold the soup of filth in his mouth. Its creamy thickness sloshed around, viscous, and he imagined he could feel Nelson’s sperms swimming around on his gums and his tongue. That was ridiculous, right? You can’t feel sperm.
But it sure seemed like he could. He sobbed, and he felt the tears running down his cheeks. He felt that for sure. Just like he felt the sperm swimming, looking for something to impregnate on his tongue.
A moist sniffle came outta his nose, and Nelson looked down him like a pititful pile of dogshit. Zion wanted to come up with a plan, to gin up the courage to attack Nelson, or at least to call the police when he left. None of those options sounded optionable though. Nelson was a gangster, that was clear now, and looking back on it, maybe Zion should have always known that was true. It did seem weird that a man like that would marry his grandmother.
But old people were weird, Zion couldn’t understand why they did what they did.
And now it was too late anyway. He couldn’t go to the police, Nelson would punish him. All he could do was submit. He couldn’t avoid his instinct to swallow though, and he gagged violently as it went down his throat. He imagined he could feel Nelson’s sperm swimming in his belly.
Nelson spat on him again. “Don’t move from that spot. Don’t wipe ya face off, not until I walk out the door.”
He began to very slowly get dressed. His slacks were wrinkleless, perfectly flat — ironed, obviously — because he had folded them when he took them off. His shoes were fine leather too. Halfway through, as he pulled up his pants, he stopped, turned around and farted right in front of Zion’s face. The stench of spit-flavored fart hit Zion’s nostrils and he gagged. He wept continuously.
“If you do what I say, Zion boy, everything’ll be fine.” He went into Zion’s kitchen. “You got enough food in here to last a couple weeks. You tell me when you run out, I’ll give you more.”
Zion cried, sitting there. Nelson didn’t let him move yet, so he had to sit there with a mask of cum, spit and assjuice on his face. Nelson took some stuff out of his kitchen and placed it by the door. It was all the nice things, the meat from the freezer, a fancy bottle of olive oil, that kind of thing, plus a stack of fine china. He carefully arranged it all in a pile he could carry in one hand.
“I’m takin’ some of ya shit. You ain’t worth none of this, boy. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna let ya starve to death. You know how to cook beans, right?”
“Yeah.” Zion croaked. He gurgled and gagged all over again. Nelson chuckled.
“Good. Beans is cheap, I gonna give you mostly beans and rice.” Nelson walked past where Zion sat. He undid his belt, plopped his plump asscheeks in front of Zion again and farted on his face. He wrinkled his nose. “You is one worthless piece of shit, man, you know that?”
“Yes.” Zion’s voice had never felt so weak and wavery. He felt nothing but submission towards this man, who’d ruined his life and even despite that, Zion was going to do everything he said. He was like a God to Zion.
“Did you like eatin’ my ass?” He paused, then, just as Zion was about to answer, he snapped, “Say yes, bitch, or I’ll throw you out the window.”
Zion hesitated. “Yes.” When Nelson motioned for him to stretch that out, he winced and moaned. Nelson slapped him. Zion cringed. “I… I enjoyed eating your ass.”
Nelson’s phone rang. He looked at it, and his mustache wriggled. “It’s one of my bitches.” He answered it. “Hey, baby. Yeah. I be ovuh later. Uh-huh. Yeah cook me up somethin’. That sounds good. I’s just doin’ a little work.” He chuckled. He glanced at Zion. “Ain’t that kinda work. You ain’t gotta lick my doodoo-hole tonight though, baby, on ‘ccount of what I’s doin’ at work.” He laughed. “Nah, it ain’t a girl. This nigga displeased me. Nah, don’t worry, my princess, you ain’t gotta be jealous. Oh yeah? Oh shit… Alright, alright.” He looked at Zion. “Go sit in the bathtub, nigga.”
Zion retched as he got up, but Nelson kicked him in the belly.
“Crawl! When you in fronta me, bitch, you crawl!” Nelson chuckled into the phone. “Yeah, he my slave. Yeah, sure. He come clean ya house e’ry weekend.” He licked his lips. “Damn, baby, you got a evil side. I like that.” He knocked Zion over with his foot, then kicked him in the belly until Zion gasped and cried out. He heard a cruel female voice laughing through the phone. “Get in there, bitch!”
Nelson allowed him to crawl on his hands and knees into the bathroom. Zion was too exhausted and scared to fight back, or even to think about what was going on.
“Yeah, baby. You can do whatever you want to him. I’m-a do it now, I gotta put the video on.” He started recording. He took his dick out through the fly of his pants. “Open up ya mouth, boy, and start singing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’.”
The girl laughed hysterically as Zion tried to sing through his tears, and the sound of her guffaws carried tinnily from the phone in Nelson’s hand. The melody of the song was interrupted by hot, bitter piss flowing over his face, so it ended up just being the sound of him choking to the tune of the woman’s laughter. Zion sobbed and gagged, his stomach twisting in knots when urine streamed down his throat.
He pissed so much there was a little puddle around Zion’s bare ass on the floor of the bathtub. He cried and cried as Nelson put his dick away.
“Uncle Nelson… Please-“
“You still callin’ me uncle?” Nelson gathered up everything else in the apartment that he wanted — or that he judged to be too nice for a slave to have. He got it all up in a couple boxes, which he carted out to his Mercedes one by one. Before he left, Nelson stood over Zion and glared down at him. That mask of filth was still on his face, and Zion trembled, unable to think about anything but his desperate desire to be free of it.
Without another word, Nelson pursed his lips, hocked up a massive loogey and spat it out onto Zion’s face. It splatted and covered him in stinking saliva from his forehead to his nose, and it coated his eyes too, so it was in everything he saw.
Then, at last, Nelson turned around and walked out the door. Zion was relieved to be able to clean his face off and cry, alone.

The Boss

Lamar is glad to have work, even if it’s difficult, dirty and remote. He’s gotta shower with other men, including his boss Nelson. When it turns out Nelson has some ideas on how two men can meet their needs far from women, Lamar just might have to swing on the downlow whether he wants to or not!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Lamar stumbled through the worksite towards the temporary showers. Moonlight shone upon the upturned dirt and scattered heavy equipment. Lamar’s hardhat almost fell off, but he righted it. He wasn’t drunk, but in the dark and on the uneven surface of the construction site, it looked like he was. He nearly fell several times.
Behind him, the rest of the work crew hooted and clapped. They were drunk. The crickets were impossibly loud here too — Lamar had thought coming here to the middle of nowhere would be a nice, quiet place to relax, but during the day his fellow workers catcalled each other (since there were no women here) amid the rumbling of heavy machinery, and at night, the crickets crippeted, the sound joining with the men to create a lively chorus louder than any city street Lamar had lived on.
He couldn’t complain. He hadn’t come here for peace and quiet, that was just something he had hoped to find anyway. He had come here to escape a debt.
A lot of what he had expected turned out not to be true. Lamar was a strong young man, a high school basketball star and all-around ladysman. His life was made — he was a good student, a good player, a law-abiding kid who wanted to go to college and was good enough to get a scholarship.
Only he wasn’t quite that good. His senior year had been a disaster. It wasn’t really his fault, the team just fell apart. His grades were awful. In the end, he had been offered a five hundred dollar scholarship to a podunk school that cost thirty-eight times that amount per semester. It was a joke.
And so that had been the end of all his dreams. There was no other way to do it, and he had fucked up.
Now here he was, working for his uncle’s friend, Nelson, who helped Lamar pay off his debt and gave him this job out in the middle of nowhere.
The rural construction site was in south Louisiana, near but not quite on the Gulf Coast. Nelson’s crew was building worker housing for an oil rig that would be built nearby afterwards. They were some thirty miles from the nearest road, living in tents, using endless generators to power makeshift equipment with limited supplies. The pay was not bad, especially since it was impossible to spend any of it most of the time.
But conditions were tough. Nature was loud, the work was long, the heat was stultifying, and the lack of electricity made everything boring.
At least the shower — which was just a tent with a hose contraption attached — seemed likely to feel good. It had its own generator to make its own hot water. That had seemed useless when he started and the day’s heat was like a woolen blanket he couldn’t throw off. But he was getting used to it, and it was chilly at night. A warm shower was going to feel good.
It was funny how something you took for granted could become a luxury in a matter of hours. Hot running water is too basic to be thankful for until the moment you don’t have it anymore, and then it’s the only thing that matters.
He stepped into the shower tent and sighed. He was glad to get away from the other workers. Nelson was the only black man on the crew, and he was the crew leader. That meant Lamar was the only black man among the rank and file. Lamar’s arrival had doubled the black population here, and he wasn’t sure that wase a good thing. The others seemed to see him as an extension of Nelson.
The rest were rednecks and roughnecks and other kinds of necks, Lamar didn’t know. He didn’t understand most of what they said, the drawl, holler and stawk in their voices mixing like currents in an eddy, and what came out was an incomprehensible wash of syllables. Nelson was in charge, and it was plainly obvious that none of them liked taking orders from a black man.
Nelson didn’t take any shit from them, but Lamar commanded no such respect. He was a rookie. He tried to let their words roll off him, but it was tough — if they had been outright racist, that would have been easier, he thought. He could fight them or at least dismiss them as ignorant hillbillies in his mind.
But they weren’t racist, at least not openly, not in a way Lamar could be sure he wasn’t imagining. They just gave Lamar all the worst tasks to do. They delighted in making fun of his skinny arms and relative lack of experience. In the showers, they had taken to pretending his dick was small even though it wasn’t.
That was the other reason he was glad to shower by himself at night. He hadn’t realized the only light in the shower tent came from the sun. It seemed obvious now, but he hadn’t even thought about it before stepping into the tent and realizing he was going to be showering in the dark. That must be why they all showered as soon as work stopped, when the sun was just setting.
Still, the shower tent was just a big wide open area, so there was nothing to bump into, and there was enough moonlight that it wasn’t pitch-black. He sighed when he got in, glad to be able to shower without a bunch of white rednecks crowding in around him.
They were entirely too comfortable with man-on-man contact for Lamar’s taste. They had a game they called the Crack Game, which basically meant they tried to thwack each other with their dicks in the asscrack. It wasn’t even a real game, there was no way to win or lose, no points, no beginning, no end. Lamar panicked the first time one of those hairy hillbillies attempted at Lamar, ramming his cock between Lamar’s plump brown cheeks — half the reason he had never joined a gang was that people had been telling him since he was a boy that his ass was too perfect for prison.
These workers were not too perfect for prison. Most of them had records, and a handful were open about being booty bandits. Lamar tried to stay away from them.
He turned the water on, and let it warm up before stepping under the stream. He sighed. He felt the day’s sweat wash over him, and the pounding stream of water pushed anxiety and aches from his labored muscles. He really liked being in here alone in the dark, he thought, deciding right then and there that he was going to continue showering at night as long as he worked here.
“Who dat?” came Nelson’s deeply accented rural voice.
“Lamar, man. I’m just showerin’-“
“I see that. What’d I tell you ’bout callin’ me man, nigga?”
Lamar rolled his eyes. Luckily Nelson couldn’t see that. Lamar said, “Sorry, sir.” Nelson had told him to call him sir so it didn’t look like he was showing favoritism to his friend’s nephew. Lamar had never called anyone ‘sir’ consistently like that.
He took off his hardhat and placed it next to Lamar’s. Since this entire area was technically a worksite, the hardhat was legally required everywhere except the sleeping quarters and the showers. He’d had it on so long Lamar’s scalp was super-sensitive when he first took it off tonight.
Lamar sighed, annoyed that he wasn’t getting his shower alone. That was another luxury that seemed basic until he didn’t have it anymore.
Even though he couldn’t see the man’s crotch, Lamar kept his eyes scrupulously above Nelson’s waist. That was just polite, that was how he and his fellow teammates had done it in the showers in the projects he grew up in — the juvenile shower had individual stalls, but when they moved up to the adult showering area, they did it in small groups of awkward, gaze-avoiding young men. They pretended not to have ever seen each other’s cocks no matter how often they showered together.
But the rednecks here didn’t do that at all. They compared sizes and pretended to masturbate on each other. They grabbed each other’s nuts and held on just to get the other person’s attention.
A part of Lamar wondered if he would feel better if he could be that relaxed and uninhibited. It wasn’t good to be uptight. They were right, it was just nudity. It was just a dick. We all have them, why not let them out? None of the men here had anything to hide. They all had imperfect bodies, with bellies and hairy backs and some of them have little dinky dicks that they weren’t even ashamed of it.
“Woo-hoo! I’m the undisputed champion of the Crack Game! Ain’t nobody can compete with me!” A hillbilly drawl echoed from the campsite. Sound traveled so clearly at night that Lamar could hear it easily even here in the shower. “Got a cock like a baseball bat!”
Lamar shuddered. That was a hillbilly named Cooter, who had a Confederate flag on his belly and a hoggish cock, ugly as a dead baby in a puddle, shit! He had hair on his back, he was one of those kinds of white men. Lamar did not like that kind of white man. Not in a racist way, he felt the same way about an Arab or a Jew or a Mexican whose chest hair had grown up over his shoulders and onto his back. Nah. Lamar don’t play that way. Cooter loved the Crack Game, the other workers must have been playing it outside.
“Cooter is shameful white trash,” Nelson said. He shook his head, wrinkling his nose as he got in the shower next to Lamar. “He dirty.”
Lamar wanted to complain and ask him to use a different shower, further away, but he didn’t dare. He just nodded and trembled.
“You seen that Confederate flag tattoo, right?” he asked and Lamar nodded. Nelson spat on the wooden floor of the shower tent. “He racist as shit.”
“He told me he wasn’t, he said he lost his virginity to a black girl,” Lamar said.
“Yeah, that’s just what he say. It’s true — I think — but he ain’t tellin’ the whole story cuz he don’t know you yet. That black girl was a prostitute his papa bought him. He told me that last year,” Nelson said.
“Oh. Okay.”
“They’s all racist. They don’t like me givin’ ’em orders,” Nelson said.
“They seem to respect you.”
“They do, but they don’t like it,” Nelson said. He cleared his throat and leaned back so the water ran over his powerful chest and big cock — Lamar couldn’t tell how big it really was because he refused to look directly at it, but even out the corner of his eye, he could tell it was big. “You like it here?”
Lamar shrugged. “The pay’s good.”
“That ain’t what I asked, boy. I’m gonna talk to yo’ uncle when I go back to the office tomorrow,” he said. “What should I tell him?”
“Tell him it’s fine, tell him I’m doin’ good,” Lamar said.
Nelson nodded. “Okay.” He paused, then whistled and placed one hand on Lamar’s flat belly. “You got a nice six-pack, boy. You probably get all kinds of girls with that, huh?”
Lamar burned with embarrassment as he mumbled his agreement. The other workers had been making fun of his ladysman smile and taut belly as well. Really Nelson had pretty close to a six-pack too — not quite, there was a hint of pudge there, but it was close enough that Lamar didn’t see much of a difference between their bellies.
His entire body tensed at the touch of Nelson’s hand. Lamar was a star basketball player, so he was used to his coach slapping his ass and rubbing his back. But something about the darkened, humid environment made this more nerve-wracking.
“You doin’ okay wit’out a girl here?”
Lamar nodded, then realized Nelson couldn’t see that. “Yeah,” he said, as casually as he could muster. Nelson’s hand slipped around his belly and clutched the small of his back. It rested there, gripping him loosely. Nelson’s hand was callused and firm, his fingers thick.
“You ever mess around on the downlow?”
His words hung there in the humid shower air. Lamar gulped. “No,” he said. He trembled, cursing himself for looking weak in front of Nelson.
Nelson chuckled dryly. “Really? That don’t sound like the truth, nigga.”
“Well… I mean…”
“You ain’t gotta go on,” he said. “I know what that means, you don’t wanna mess wit’ those rednecks. I don’t mess around with white men neither. Reminds me too much of prison life.”
“Okay.”
“You ain’t no kinda white man,” he said.
“Yeah…”
“You wanna jack me off?”
“No…”
“You wanna take it in the ass?”
“No way!” Lamar yelped and bit his lip as Nelson took his hand and placed it on Nelson’s thick rod. It spasmed as soon as Lamar touched it. Lamar felt a shudder of disgust, as well as horniness, run up his body. He’d been on the DL with some buddies in the past but never an older man like Nelson. Nelson sighed loudly, right in Lamar’s ear. Lamar’s heart raced and he shuddered. He tried to take his hand away, but Nelson held it in place, and Lamar had no choice but to hold onto its hot, throbbing thickness. Lamar gulped. “I, uh… If we on the downlow, that means I get to stick you too, right, nigga?”
“What was that?”
“I mean… sir.”
“Thank you. No, that ain’t right, Lamar. I’m yo’ boss. How would it look if I let you put it in me?” He said, softly, moving his mouth right next to Lamar’s ear.
“Nobody is here-“
“They could walk in,” he said. He kissed Lamar on the ear. “How about this, nigga? I’ll give you a reacharound.”
“What’s that?” Lamar asked before he had even given it any thought — of course it was obvious if you paused to consider it. He blushed, thinking he probably sounded naive. He knew what a reacharound was. His mind simply wasn’t working fast enough to keep up with the reality unfolding around him.
Nelson laughed. “Your uncle ain’t nevuh tell you what a reacharound is? He ain’t tell you ’bout prison?”
“Uh… My mom won’t let him tell me that stuff. She says it’s impolite to talk about prison.”
“Oh, you one of dem sheltered chilluns, huh?”
“No!”
In one smooth motion, Nelson slid behind Lamar. He wedged his dick between Lamar’s cheeks. Nelson was rock-hard, already leaking precum into Lamar’s ass.
“Well, when yo’ uncle and me was in prison together, we had sum rules. The guards took it serious, nigga,” Nelson said. He leaned in close so he could whisper in Lamar’s ear. “They ain’t wanna get involved when inmates get in fights with stiffies. So they make up a rule. You can do whatevuh it takes to blow a nut if the nigga on top give a reacharound. Then you ain’t a bitch, not a punk, you just lettin’ another man use yo’ butthole for awhile.”
Lamar shuddered. He bit his lip and looked down.
“Don’t be like that, nigga. We messin’ around on the downlow,” Nelson said. “Don’t go telling yo’ uncle I hurt you. I ain’t. You can tell me to fuck off if you want.”
A part of Lamar did want to tell him that, but a bigger part of him didn’t want to. Not only would it be easier to just go along with it, Lamar was very horny. He hadn’t realized how much he was going to miss girls. Back when he messed around on the DL in his old neighborhood, Lamar had always sworn he wouldn’t do it again, but when the opportunity presented itself and he was horny… the prospect of getting it in the butt seemed like a good trade for getting to blow a nut himself. He let his stiffies guide him then. It was only after it was all over that Lamar again promised himself that next time he would say no.
He was older now, more mature, better able to handle the sometimes intense horniness arising from his crotch.
“Will you jerk me off too? On the downlow?” Lamar asked. “I mean… since you don’t wanna take it in the ass-“
“Nah, I don’t do that,” Nelson said, taking Lamar’s words as acquiescence. “Thank you, baby. I’ll tell yo’ uncle you doin’ real good. I won’t tell ‘im about this.”
“Okay.”
“It don’t count in the dark, nigga. By the time morning comes around, you gonna be walkin’ normal again,” he said. “And if not, I’ll take you with me back to the office, so you get a whole day to recover. It’ll be like this nevuh happened.”
Then Nelson pumped his hips, slamming his dick into Lamar’s ass. Lamar bucked and squealed. A sharp burst of pain hit him, and he arched his back. Lamar held his breath and gripped the hose supplying his showerhead for support.
“Sssh, sssh,” Nelson said. “When you and yo’ buddies mess around on the downlow, you ever do it in the butt?”
“Uh… no…” That wasn’t true, but Lamar didn’t want to admit it to Nelson.
Nelson smiled. “I ain’t realize that, nigga. Hmm-hmm, I’s takin’ yo’ intactness,” he said. “Sorry ’bout that.” He paused to grab a bar of soap and work up a lather. He used that as lube as he slowly worked more of his dick into Lamar. He handed Lamar the bar of soap so he could use both hands to guide his cock.
As soon as he grabbed the soap, Lamar knew he was going to drop it. It slipped right out of his hand and plopped onto the wet wooden floor. Lamar gasped, and Nelson laughed.
“Go on then, bend over,” Nelson said. “That’s a better position anyway.”
Sharp, shooting pains ran up his side as Lamar bent over. He had no sooner touched the soap when another ray of agony shot through him. Lamar gasped as a deep ball of pleasure boiled up too — it felt distant for now, like it occurred behind all the pain, but it was undeniably there.
“Grab yo’ ankles, boi,” Nelson said.
Lamar did so. He couldn’t decide if this was a more or less painful position than any others. He gritted his teeth as Nelson pushed another inch or two of his dick in, and that pit of pleasure grew stronger.
Then Nelson’s hand crept around and grabbed Lamar’s dick. Lamar yelped again, even though it wasn’t a surprise. He lifted his head as intense pre-orgasmic energy roiled through him.
His ass loosened up enough that Nelson could plow him more easily, a fact that Lamar found humiliating. It was comforting to know that Nelson wouldn’t bring this up tomorrow. Nelson even kissed him on his grizzled neck, his own thick mustache bristling against Lamar’s skin.
Then Nelson’s free arm wrapped around Lamar’s body and held him close. His smooth chest rubbed against Lamar’s back, muscles rippling. Lamar’s dick pulsated beneath Nelson’s grip. Lamar wanted to let go but didn’t. The more he squeezed, the more Nelson’s whole body rippled and his muscles flexed where they pressed against Lamar’s limbs.
“You gonna nut now, nigga?”
“I dunno…” Lamar said, breathless. He wasn’t lying, but as soon as he said it, he knew the correct answer was yes.
Nelson seemed to realize that. He licked Lamar’s cheek. “I love feelin’ niggas orgasm when my dick’s inside ’em. So go on. I wanna feel it,” he said. He repeated himself over and over, his deep, gruff voice resonating in Lamar’s ear. Lamar really wanted to tell him to shut up, but before he could, his orgasm hit him. He moaned and bucked, hips flexing as he pushed his ass backwards onto Nelson’s manhood.
Hot cum sprayed within the shower, mixing with the warm water and slipping between the slats of wood that made up the floor. Lamar writhed in Nelson’s biceps as pleasure erupted deep within him.
Nelson held on tight as the orgasm burst in Lamar’s ass, spreading throughout his body. Then Nelson let out a long low sigh right in Lamar’s ear, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Both of Nelson’s arms wrapped around Lamar’s belly. “Sorry ’bout this, nigga. Might hurt a bit,” he said softly. Then he rammed his dick in and out in a series of long, smooth actions. Blinding pain erupted in Lamar’s ass, and he bit his lip to avoid screaming. The pain grew more and more intense before transforming into intense bliss.
He didn’t know how long Nelson plowed him hard like that. It felt like eons, but was probably only a few seconds. Soon enough, it was over and Nelson held on with his dick at maximum penetration.
Then hot semen spurted out, coating Lamar’s insides. Lamar moaned, embarrassed at how orgasmic the sound was — he didn’t mean to sound like he was enjoying this, even if a part of him did enjoy it. Intense sensations wracked his body, and he cried out as spasms of pleasure spread through his frame. He hoped it sounded like pain to Nelson, so he wouldn’t think Lamar wanted to do this again.
He did want to do it again. He just didn’t want to want to do it again.
He shuddered with humiliation as wad after wad of cum flowed into him. It dripped down his thighs and landed on the floor. The creamy semen seeped into every corner of Lamar’s body.
“Gimme yo’ hand, boy,” Nelson said with a growl. “I don’t like it when my dick just fall out of a nigga’s ass. Keep stroking it, okay?” He placed Lamar’s hand on the root of his limpening dick as he slowly withdrew it.
Lamar gulped nervously but did as he was told. Nelson’s dick was thick and slimy, dripping with shower water, soap suds, dried sweat and sticky semen. Lamar’s stomach churned and he gagged at the warm texture of it.
Finally it was all the way out. Nelson kissed him on the lips, and even shoved his tongue into Lamar’s mouth. Then he stepped away and washed his dick off in the stream of hot shower water.
“You okay, nigga?” he asked.
Lamar winced and straightened his legs. He still felt burning pain, and deep inside, remnants of his orgasm, but he tried to hide it. He mumbled, “Yeah, it’s okay, nigga.”
“What?”
“I mean… I’m okay, sir.”
“Good. I put a tub of aloe in yo’ bunk. It’s under yo’ pillow,” Nelson said as he walked back to his clothes. He didn’t put them on though, he just put that hardhat back on his head — that was legally required, after all — and picked his clothes up. “Put that aloe in your ass. It’ll help,” he said, then walked out of the tent, bare cock flapping in the breeze.
Lamar breathed a sigh of relief. That hadn’t been too painful, he thought, and at least he didn’t get caught. He shuddered at the silhouettes of his redneck coworkers, who were still hanging out by the campfire, hollering at each other and thwacking each other’s asses with their cocks.
The sound of their carrying on filled the night sky. Lamar just smiled, washed his ass off and walked to his tent. That had been humiliating, he thought, but fun as well, and it seemed like a worthwhile trade if it gave him a chance to work here and pay off his debt. Just like Nelson, he remained naked on the walk to his bunk except for the hardhat he kept on his head. The aloe was there at his bunk, just as Nelson had promised, and it did help the pain.
He managed to sink into restful sleep before the rednecks even got back to their bunks, and for the first time since he got there, Lamar felt like he was where he was supposed to be.

The Librarian

Everyone’s always surprised Traymon is a librarian, but for a man like Avery, that’s of secondary importance — what matters is that Traymon is a muscular alpha male willing to give Avery a swing on his massive throbbing meat!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery thought that Traymon was a generally polite and solicitous person, because that was the way he acted. It wasn’t until he happened to see Traymon in a grocery store one day that Avery realized it was all an act.
Perhaps that shouldn’t have been surprising. In the Sidetop Public Library, Traymon was a librarian. Since he was a shockingly tall black man in a kangol hat and a dense Muslim-looking beard, he didn’t exactly fit in. The other librarians were mostly either elderly white women who struggled to right-click a mouse or politically activist young women who struggled to put down their abortion signs long enough to come into work. Traymon was the only male librarian, possibly in the whole county-wide library system.
And he wasn’t just male, he was handsome and strong and stately, with a voice like a bottle of bourbon and a bulge in his cheap slacks that attracted Avery’s eye. Traymon had muscles pushing against the fabric of his button-down shirt — literally, his body didn’t seem to fit in his shirt. It looked as though flexing his biceps would make his clothes fall apart like a Hulk.
Did he do that deliberately? Or was he unable to afford clothes that fit? He probably needed to shop at the Big & Tall store, which was expensive and way out across the state line in Maryland.
Whenever Avery came into the library and saw Traymon, he was unable to tear his eyes away from that powerful frame. Avery was a great admirer of the male physique, and Traymon’s was an exemplar.
“That’s right, ma’am, I do work here. I’d be glad to help,” he said. Even when he spoke quietly, his baritone voice boomed like a cannon, echoing smoothly in the tiny library. He didn’t really have a quiet voice. His voice sounded like his chest was so massive his words resonated around in there before making their way out, so they came out echoey and cavernous. The little old white lady who had approached the information desk quaked.
She whispered something Avery couldn’t hear. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on that though. He was busy fantasizing about Traymon.
He spoke so properly at the library, but when Avery ran into him at the grocery store, he was hanging out with a couple of other young black men — younger than Traymon. They had been talking about something, but the only words Avery could make out were Traymon saying, “yeah, nigga, I made that ass shake, you don’t even know, she was vibratin’ all over my meat.”
He hadn’t been speaking properly at all. He had been passing himself off as a thug. Or had he simply stopped trying to pass himself off as a kindly librarian? Avery didn’t know which was the case.
He didn’t much care either. It was mildly interesting, but Avery wasn’t here for that. He was here to jack Traymon off. He’d been wanting to do it for weeks.
He waited until the end of the night. Avery knew from personal experience that Traymon closed up alone. He let the other employees go when it was still light out. He even escorted them to their cars like a gentleman before returning to close up.
Avery waited for that tonight. He pretended to read a book in the study room, which was out of the way enough that Traymon wouldn’t know Avery was here until he checked right before leaving for the night.
“You have a good night too, Missus Thickman, uh-huh,” Traymon said. “Lemme get the door.” She must have told him to call her by her first name, because Traymon then said, “Oh thank you, darlin’, Vera. Aren’t you a sweet young thing? If you weren’t too young to date, I’d ask you out.” She must have let out an old-lady laugh too quiet for Avery to hear, but Traymon responded with some friendly laughter of his own.
Avery straightened his back there in the study room, and he moved himself to a more visible seat. After a few minutes, Traymon came back in, sans Vera. Avery still sat there, waiting to be noticed. He heard Traymon moving around behind the counter, finishing up for the night.
Then, at last, Traymon came closer. “Hello, anybody there? We closin’ now, you best wake up if you out there.” It didn’t sound like he had any expectation that anyone would be left in the library. He looked in the bathrooms and down each of the rows purely out of habit. “Hello?!”
Avery stood up and put out a shocked look as Traymon came around the corner and saw him. Avery cleared his throat. “Oh, are you closed?”
“Yes, sir,” Traymon said.
Avery nodded and grabbed his things. He headed for the door. He took in Traymon’s intoxicating scent, which was almost enough to get him hard in itself. He brushed past Traymon’s thick chest on his way out of the study room.
Then he headed for the stairs to the main floor. The front lights were already off, but there was emergency lighting that never turned off. Avery stopped there at the base of the stairs.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
Traymon frowned. “Yes, I’m a real librarian. I know I ain’t typical.” He flexed his arm and kissed his bicep. “It’s just what I do, y’know. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ a brother gettin’ a degree in library science. In fact-“
“Yeah, yeah, sure, I get that, that’s not the question,” Avery said. “Though it’s kinda related. I was wondering…” He pulled out a wad of five hundred dollar bills. “What you’d be willing to do for five hundred dollars?”
“Man, I ain’t a thug, I ain’t beatin’ up no one for you, I swear to Christ-“
“No, not that-“
“You axin’ me for coke? Can’t get you coke, man,” he said. When he spoke to Vera moments ago, he said ‘ask’, but now he said ‘ax’. That wasn’t a racial thing either, as Vera Thickman was black. Maybe Traymon reverted to his natural accent when the library reached its closing time.
“No, no this is nothing like that,” Avery said. “What if you just stood there and closed your eyes and let me jerk you off? I’ll swallow your cum til you dehydrate. And I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”
Traymon frowned and chuckled. “Hmmm…” He grunted. “Uh. Uh-huh.” He shifted his weight between his feet. “Uh… yeah. Five hunnerd bucks? Okay.”
Avery dropped to his knees as soon as Traymon said it. He leaned against the check-out counter, near a stack of children’s books. Avery unzipped his slacks and took his cock out. It was thick and veiny, hefty enough to have some weight to it when Avery flopped it over his mouth, and the scent of his musky crotch assaulted Avery’s nostrils through the open fly.
“Man, you said you wanted to swallow it, honky. Whatchoo playin’ at? If you wanna do it, do it. Put it in ya mouth and get it wet, shit…” He leaned back as though bored already. He sucked on his teeth, then leaned forward so he could see the front door and make sure nobody was coming in.
Avery smirked and started licking the shaft, his tongue running up and down it, tracing the veins that ran the length of it. He planted his lips on the tip and made a loud moist suckling noise. He still hadn’t started throating it yet. He just sucked on the tip like a lollipop he was trying to melt in his mouth as quickly as possible.
A gurgle of desire came from Traymon, covered it up with a grunt like Avery’s efforts were minimally acceptable. Avery knew that wasn’t true. He gave dome like a champion.
Traymon had only unzipped his khakis and undone his belt. His pants were open but not down. His shirt was in the way. Avery didn’t mind — in his view, that just made this whole thing more aroousing. He could smell the musky fabric of his khaki pants, which he had probably worn more than once since he last washed them, mixing with the artificially “fresh” detergent scent of his cleaner underwear.
“C’mon, man, if you gonna deep-throat it, get to swallowin’. Open that mouth up and get it down.” Traymon chuckled dryly. He swiped his dick — just getting a bit hard now — over Avery’s face. “You like that, man?”
“Hmmm… I do…” Avery smiled up at him. He stuck his tongue out and chased Traymon’s dick with it, trying to lick it while Traymon tried to rub that limp shaft over his face. Traymon kept a tight frown on and he kept looking away with a sigh like he really wished Avery would get on with it. But a smile flickered over his face too.
Soon enough his cock was rock-hard, throbbing like an alien engine, and it had swollen to such a huge size Avery wasn’t sure he could swallow the whole thing. He’d love to try though. He slathered spit up and down the shaft, then slurped all that saliva up, then spat it out again. Each time Traymon let out a grunt that turned into a moan that he stifled back into a grunt, like he didn’t want Avery to think he was doing a good job.
But Avery was doing a good job. He always gave good dome, and he could tell Traymon loved it by the his rapidly hastening breath and pulse and the way he kept shifting his weight between his feet. Traymon’s hands hovered above Avery’s head. Every minute or two, he held Avery’s head in place so he could throat him down, making love to his mouth like a delicate pussy, then he let go again. Avery only swallowed him to the root when Traymon forced it, otherwise he let it jab around on his face and in his mouth while Avery chased it with his tongue.
Finally Traymon roared. “I know you just teasin’ me. You wanna swallow it fo’ real, right?”
“I do…” Avery said coyly. That was his cue to start really throating. He went as far down as he could in one smooth motion. He was practiced, so he was able to swallow Traymon like a champion. His nose buried itself in Traymon’s pubic hair, and his throat soon fought because Traymon finally rocketed to full erection.
A long low moan chambered its way outta Traymon’s throat, and his knees went weak. He grabbed Avery’s head, and this time, he didn’t let go. He pounded away at Avery’s throat while emitted a series of spine-tingling moans of ecstasy. His dick throbbed in Avery’s mouth, its veiny shaft pulsating against his tongue. Avery smiled up at Traymon, whose eyes were closed.
“Wait…” Traymon stopped moving, but he didn’t take his dick out. Avery made eye contact with him, and Traymon furrowed his brow. “When I said I’m a real librarian, you said that wasn’t the question you wanted to ask, but it was related. Why was it related?”
Avery had to laugh even though he still had Traymon’s dick in his throat. That made him choke, his whole body spasming. He didn’t stop though, not until Traymon dragged his cock out and frowned at him.
“I’s askin’ you a question, man, answer me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. His dick bobbed in front of Avery’s face. Avery, gasping for air, chased it with his mouth until Traymon swiped it away. “I swear,” he said, “white boys can’t even handle having a conversation in front of black dick.”
Avery giggled and blushed. He sighed. “I just meant that I thought you were handsome, and librarians usually aren’t muscular and well-formed, that’s all. That’s what people are always asking you, right? If you’re a real librarian? Cuz you’re too muscular to be a librarian. But you are muscular enough for me to admire your physique and… you know…” He motioned to Traymon’s cock, then planted his tongue on the knob.
Traymon eyed him suspiciously. “That’s weird.”
“Exactly.”
“So you ain’t one of them white cuckold dudes or somethin’? You got a thing for mandingo dick?”
“Not unless they’re attached to a man like you,” Avery said. “But no, I’m not turned on by library science and didn’t really need to know how or why you became a librarian.”
“Hmmm.” Traymon nodded. He ordinarily got annoyed when people acted like it was an oddity for a black man to become a librarian, especially a big tough guy with a beard and a criminal record like him. So he should have been happy that Avery didn’t care about that. But now that he had someone uninterested in whether he got his degree through a prison education program or not, Traymon kind of wanted Avery to know about it all.
Regardless, he wasn’t about to give up on an orgasm partway through. He drilled his dick back in Avery’s mouth. This time he kept his arms crossed over his chest.
“No hands,” he said when Avery tried to hold onto the root of his dick. Since Traymon’s arms were over his chest, neither of them could touch his dick as he slammed it in and out of Avery’s throat. It wasn’t quite an aggressive throating — which Avery would have been fine with — it was more of a warm, passionate humping in his mouth. Avery swallowed it the best he could, moving his head to match Traymon’s hips movements, so he could keep on swallowing that massive veiny shaft.
Soon the sour and sweet flavor of precum hit Avery’s senses. He moaned and swallowed it, choking down as much as he could. He loved precum. He always snarfed it down and smiled the whole time, every time. He thought precum was better than actual cum because it reflected a man’s inner nature. It smelled and tasted and felt like his entire body, while actual cum, Avery thought, was all more or less the same: too salty to have an individual flavor.
Precum flowed copiously down Avery’s chin. Traymon smeared some of it around with his thumb, smiling at the desirous look in Avery’s eyes. Traymon could land plenty of sexy chicks who wanted him, but it was rare for them to love sucking his dick.
That was why Traymon liked blowing his nut in men. He rarely admitted it, and he never told those men that he did it often. He preferred to make them think it was something he would never do, that they’d have to seduce him — or give him money — to do it.
But he adored getting dome from a man because he could really pound their throat like he was doing now with Avery. He could make his balls slap against Avery’s chin and even pinch his nostrils shut to make it easier for him to swallow the whole thing.
“Hmmm…”
“You wanna stick me in the ass?” Avery asked, pulling off his dick and letting it spew precum on his lips. That muddled his words, making them sound like he spoke into a glass of syrup, blowing bubbles with his lips as he talked.
Traymon grunted. “Hell yeah.” He chuckled as Avery stood and gripped the shelves behind him. “You holdin’ onto the African American history section. Sounds ‘ppropriate to me.”
Avery smiled and gripped the metal shelf tightly. He gritted his teeth as he felt that thick dick slide into his ass. It was girthy and long and so hard it made Avery wince. He gasped.
But Traymon petted his scalp and said, “Hmmm… it’s okay, man, it’ll feel good in just a second. You just gotta give ol’ Traymon a second to find the right angle. How ’bout that?” He drilled in from one angle, and Avery let out a pleasured moan. His ass stretched to accommodate Malcom’s meat.
That wasn’t good enough for Traymon, however, who kept stroking Avery on the head and neck. He massaged him gently as he penetrated him from a different angle. A few more inches made it in this time, and it sent a wave of pleasure through Avery’s body. Avery gripped the library checkout counter hard with both hands, and he lowered his head to lay his face down on the cool counter surface.
This time, Avery’s howl of desire was so loud it echoed in the library, and Traymon looked around again to be sure no one else was here. He laughed at Avery’s frenzied squirming and his intense panting, as Traymon slowly worked his dick inch by inch.
“Damn, my man, there it is, that’s the angle you been waitin’ for, I expect.” Traymon loved bringing his bottoms to pleasure, and on that score, it didn’t matter if they were male or female. He couldn’t stay hard if the person he was with wasn’t having the orgasm of their lifetime.
So no matter how much his body cried out for him to force it into Avery as hard as he could, from whatever angle helped his giant dick fit in better, Traymon didn’t. He found Avery’s prostate and rubbed his dick against it, smiling when he saw Avery’s legs shake and his hands turn into claws that grappled with the shelves.
“Shit… Aw, fuck, man…” Traymon moaned.
Then, he and Avery both stopped — the door opened. The main door had swung open on the ground floor. If the lights had been on, whoever had walked in would surely have seen Avery and Traymon. But instead they were bathed in darkness, silhouettes indistinguishable even with the dim emergency lighting that never turned off.
“Shit — shush….” Traymon pulled his cock out, and Avery flopped to the ground. It took all his concentration to avoid shouting and groaning out loud, so he ended up rolling around like a dying fish. Traymon hurried to pull his pants up. He still had a hardon, and his cock dripped with precum and anal juices. He grimaced as he put that in his khakis — that was going to feel filthy, he thought, and his dick was still awkwardly erect.
He went to the stairs. “Yo! Who’s there?”
“Oh, Traymon… is that you? I thought that was your car outside. You’re still here?”
“Vera? Yeah… I’m, uh… I was just about to leave,” Traymon said.
“Oh, well, I forgot my phone,” she said. Traymon came down the stairs. He had to walk slowly because his dick was hard in his pants, and he couldn’t let it show. It made it very awkward to use the stairs. He was so focused on that that, by the time he reached the main floor, Vera had found her phone.
“You got it?”
“Yes,” she said. She gestured for him to follow her to the door. Traymon gritted his teeth. She smiled. “Aren’t you leaving?”
“Uh… yeah. My keys is upstairs though. You surprised me,” Traymon said. His chest and neck were dappled with sweat, even though the library was cool. Vera was too far away to notice though. “You go’n ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.”
“Oh, uh, well… Okay,” she said with a shrug. She tottered towards the door.
She had never walked so slow. Traymon walked up the stairs as she left, moving casually, like he was just looking out for his keys. Vera must not have been paying much attention to what Traymon said, or she would have noticed that it made little sense for his keys to be upstairs. Why would he have put his keys in the nonfiction section? But she either didn’t think of that or was too polite to ask.
Traymon waited at the top of the stairs,listening intently for the heavy front door to slam shut. His erection was finally starting to subside, which made it uncomfortable every time he took a step and his sensitive shaft rubbed against the fabric of his underwear.
When he heard the front door click shut, Traymon raced into action. He practically sprinted the rest of the way, even though that made his cock jostle painfully in his khakis. He found Avery, still sprawled out on the floor, and Traymon pulled his pants back down to his ankles. He lifted his shirt up enough that it wouldn’t get in the way and plunged into Avery’s ass like he was putting out a fire.
“Aaaaaaah….” He moaned, his mind finally relaxing now that he was back in Avery’s tight, warm ass. His cock throbbed, and both men erupted in throes of ecstasy. His hands rested on Avery’s smooth back and caressed it as he worked his entire foot-long cock up Avery’s behind. “There you go, thanks for waitin’ while I dealt with that old broad.”
“Hmmmmm… Thanks for coming back,” Avery said. He tried to raise his ass, to get on all fours, but Traymon’s heavy body kept pinning him down.
Finally Traymon realized what Avery was trying to do and lifted his head up. He wrapped one arm around Avery’s neck, putting him in a light chokehold. He dragged Avery into a doggystyle position, all without missing a beat. Avery was too stiff and orgasmic, on the verge of his own climax, his dick throbbing in his hand, to move in a coordinated way.
It was the most intense orgasm of Avery’s life. He cried out, muffling the sound at first and then shouting as loud as he could when he realized it didn’t matter. His shouts echoed in the high-ceilinged library. He hadn’t accepted a dick this big in his ass in a long time, and Traymon was his new favorite librarian.
“Ah, god, I’m gonna cum in ya, I’m goin’, I’m goin’, you ready?” Traymon breathlessly grunted into Avery’s ear. His breath condensed into a layer of moisture on the side of his head. His pecs rippled where they pressed against Avery’s back.
Avery shot his load at the same time, beginning just before he felt the first drops of Traymon’s cum coat his insides. Avery wanted to cry out again, to scream his orgasm into the darkness of the library, but the sensations roiling within him were too intense. He could feel Traymon shooting into every inch of his body, coating his insides in creamy, sticky warmth.
It seeped throughout him and soaked into his body. Avery couldn’t believe how much cum there was, flowing into him like a flow from a massive hose. He felt the creamy heat of his cum spreading through his insides. Traymon’s heavy balls drained deep into Avery’s body, until it dripped down the sides of his hole and into a puddle on the carpeted floor of the library.
“Aaaah… goddamn…” Traymon said as though he was done, but he kept pistoning his hips. He grunted like an animal, like he couldn’t believe he was still going.
Avery couldn’t tell if Traymon was still cumming or not. He felt semen flowing in and out of him, but that was probably just because Traymon was still moving his dick around. It twitched within him, and he frothed his load into a big wet mess that flowed over his limpening mahogany cockshaft.
Finally, he pulled out, and Avery let out a chest-rattling moan. He twitched and fell limp on the ground, marinating in the puddle of cum and juices that lay there. Avery rolled over onto his back so he could see Traymon, who kneeled there.
He had never taken his shirt off, and his pants were still around his ankles. Avery’s toes rubbed over his dickshaft, while Traymon breathed heavy. Then he stood and sighed. Avery grabbed some tissues from the nearby circulation counter, and he wiped his own ass off. Traymon stood there like he expected Avery to clean his dick too, so Avery did so.
“Damn, boy,” Traymon said with a dry laugh. He stroked Avery’s smooth chin. “I like you a lot. You gonna be a regular patron?”
“I dunno, maybe…” Avery smiled. “I do like this library.”