But Vinnie just grabbed Nathan by the back of the head and slammed him face-first into his armpit — he’d been doing push-ups in front of the stove to be sure it was real sweaty; his undershirt was sopping wet by now, and sweat dripped in rivulets down the small of his back. Greg and two other employees stood and watched, smirking with vicarious disgust at first, then gradually laughing.
It took Nathan a moment to even realize what had happened. His nose was squashed into the coarse black hairs, as dense as a jungle and just as moist, and bracingly salty sweat slipped into his mouth. It was so astringent Nathan squealed and squirmed, but Vinnie kept a tight grip on the back of his head.
“C’mon, baby, suck it clean!” Vinnie said with a whoop and a holler. He beamed like he really enjoyed this — which he kind of did; after years of people — even other greasy guidos like himself — making fun of his hairy, sweaty body, he had decided to lean into it. Especially working in front of a hot stove all day, he had no choice but to be “the gross, hairy, sweaty guy”.From The Redneck Ex-Con
Category: Armpit play
Benji and Dwight
Benji and Dwight both groaned and sighed. Dwight’s turn was next, so after taking a deep steam-filled breath, he said, “Dare.”
Marshall smiled. “Put your face in Benji’s armpit for a full minute.” He was gonna add ‘without puking’, but Benji cackled in his big-ass baritone way, and Dwight groaned. Benji was big and hairy for a twenty-year-old, which was cuz he was part-Egyptian, supposedly, that was what Marshall heard. His chest was coated in black fur, and his ass and the small of his back and his arms and thighs and even his shoulders were hairy too. His armpits made him look like he was smuggling skunks.
To his credit, Dwight did it, and Marshall ain’t even gotta make him — as a team captain, he had the right to do that. A man’s gotta do what he’s committed to, even if it’s just a game of truth or dare. Dwight rammed his face into Benji’s sweat-silkened armpit hair, and a ferocious retch came outta him.
“Ooh-“
“Don’t pull away, don’t pull away. One. Two. Three.” Marshall stopped counting cuz he laughed at the frenzied wriggling of Dwight.
“Ewww — ihh — ell — ell — eye — -iiiiiht!” That last word was ‘shit’, for sure, but neither them caught the resta what Dwight said. Salty sweat trickled into Dwight’s mouth, and he gagged again.
There was no clock in there — and this was decades before cell phones, mind you — clocks was still expensive then — so Marshall had no way of measuring a full minute. He laughed too hard to count off. In any case, it wasn’t manly to niggle, so he didn’t complain when Dwight pulled off and spat up like a cat with a hairball, even though it was probably less than a full minute.
In any case, before Dwight had even stopped gagging, Benji grinned and tousled Dwight’s hair. He said, “Dare.”
“Ewhck, man, ewhck,” Dwight said. He picked an armpit hair outta his mouth. “You are so nasty, Benji.”
Benji’s big round cheeks blushed. He shrugged. “It was Marshall’s dare.” Then Benji repeated himself. “I said dare, c’mon, Dwight.”
Dwight had to regain his composure still. He wiped sweat off with both hands, not that it had much effect — Dwight’s hands were sweaty too. Everything in here was sweaty. Dwight looked at Marshall, who sat there with his cock sticking to his thighs. Dwight grinned.
From Marshall the Coach