Ass-to-mouth – Mansploitation

The Raunchy Hobo

Lance has to go into the ghetto to buy coke, which makes him nervous. But when his dealer is hassled by a muscle-bound hobo, Lance gets the chance for a raunchy and filthy threesome that he’ll never forget!

Can he handle the utter depravity he craves?!

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

Lance normally preferred to meet Tyrell in a public place, somewhere near Lance’s home but not at home. That’s because Tyrell was a thug who often bragged to Lance of how good he was at robbing idiot white boys who wanted to buy crack off him. Lance bought cocaine but he was white, so he felt vulnerable. Whenever he said that, Tyrell always said, oh, but you safe, Lance. I ain’t gonna hurtchoo. You my best customer. You never ask me for a short like a fucking crackhead.
And every time Lance heard that, and every time he had another tense buy with Tyrell, when he felt certain Tyrell was going to rob him or maybe just kill him for fun, Lance swore he’d find a new coke dealer. But coke dealers were so damn unreliable. Every single time Lance met someone, he’d do one test buy, get a short bag that was badly cut, and he’d go back to Tyrell again.
Tyrell was, at least, reliable. And it would be rational not to rob Lance, who made good money and bought coke regularly. Tyrell didn’t want to kill his cash cow. Hopefully.
So that was who Lance relied on when he needed cocaine for his friend’s housewarming party. Lance was known as “the guy who brought coke”, and he didn’t want to live down his reputation. This time, however, Tyrell said he couldn’t leave the city, so Lance needed to come to his place.
It wasn’t his home though — Tyrell met him in a ramshackle rundown house, with caution tape over the door (Tyrell told him to ignore that and just come in). When he walked in, the house smelled of cobwebs and piss. Tyrell stood there in the living room with a gun in his hand as though considering whether or not to shoot Lance.
Lance’s heart raced. He threw his hands in the air. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted Tyrell.
Should never have come to a crackhouse. Never go with a drug dealer to a second location, that’s basically what this was. Lance knew better.
“Ah, don’t worry about this, honky,” Tyrell said with a loud laugh. He put the gun in his waistband. “I was just cleanin’ it. Ain’t even loaded. Might just shoot the addict in the other room though. Motherfucker was beggin’ to jerk me off the other day for some fent.”
“That’s nasty,” Lance said, too nervous to think of anything else to say. Not wanting to sound like a nerd, he repeated it more casually, “That’s so nasty, man.”
Tyrell nodded, then led him into the other room. He opened up a lockbox, pulled out an eight-ball of coke and handed it over. Lance gave him the money and slipped the bag into his pocket.
Went pretty easy. Still wasn’t a good idea to come here. Better be a good party, Lance thought.
That was when he noticed the semiconscious man lounging around on the floor. He was tall and very dark-skinned but still clearly white — perhaps of Greek or Italian extraction — with wiry, ropy muscles, like his body was too small for his strength. His hair and beard were unkempt and wild. Lance must have passed him when they first came in the traphouse, but he hadn’t noticed him then. He was too nervous about the deal going bad.
“Hey Tyrell,” Lance asked when they had finished up. He whispered so the addict wouldn’t hear. “Is that the man who wanted to jerk you off for fent?” he asked, blushing. Tyrell nodded, and Lance smiled. “How much do you think I’d have to offer to get him to lemme cornhole him?”
“You wanna plow him?”
Lance nodded. He blushed again. Tyrell had a horrified expression, like he didn’t know why Lance would want to plow a trashy addict, despite his filth. Lance had a flair for nasty, disgusting stuff though, and this would not be the first time he cornholed a hobo. But he was concerned the guy would become cognizant partway through and would turn violent. Fent addicts were like that.
“Shit… gimme forty bucks. I’ll make him do whatever you want,” Tyrell said.
Lance nodded and handed the money over. His heart skipped a beat. This was all happening so fast. He felt tiny in comparison to Tyrell, and, though the addict was hardly big, he was a lot stronger and tougher than Lance. Would Tyrell really make the addict stop if he got violent?
“What’s his name?” Lance asked as he kneeled next to the man on the floor. He caressed those broad shoulders, and the man stirred. He was powerfully muscled, more than Lance was expecting for a hobo.
“Uh… Greg, I think,” Tyrell said. “I mostly call him Shitweasel. He’s racist as shit, y’know. He called me a nigger one time when I told him I was all outta fent.”
“Oh, that’s not nice, Greg,” Lance said. He rubbed the man’s well-muscled shoulders. “He’s strong.”
“He works on a oil rig, most of the time,” Tyrell said. “Whenever he on land, he spends all his money on fent. Ends up beggin’ me for a short before he gets called away. Then he comes back when he gets paid again.”
Greg lifted his head. His groggy eyes looked at Lance in confusion. Lance pushed his head back down. Greg was tall and muscular, so he could have easily outmuscled Lance, but it seemed he wasn’t quite aware of that. He just submitted. His muscles flexed, but they had no power in them at the moment, it seemed.
“Open your mouth, Shitweasel,” Tyrell said. “This pervert here is gonna plow you. You gonna submit, okay?”
“Tyrell…” Greg croaked. “You fuckin’ shit.”
Tyrell looked disappointed that wasn’t a racist insult.
“You ever swallow a dick before?” Lance asked. His fingers continued stroking Greg’s hairy chest and shoulders. His muscles felt too big for his body — that was that addict gauntness, Lance thought, but since Greg worked hard on the oil rig, he didn’t get skinny and threadbare like most addicts, he remained thick and bulging. Greg shook his bleary-eyed head, then looked at Tyrell, who laughed.
“Hell yeah, he swallows himself some nuts. Don’t you lie, Greg. Tell him about it,” Tyrell said. He crossed his arms over his chest.
Greg closed his eyes and sighed. “I… Man, fuck you, Tyrell!” He looked at Lance’s dick, which he took out of his pants and stroked right in front of Greg’s face. Greg wrinkled his nose. “I jerked this guy off once.”
“What kinda nigga was he?” Tyrell asked.
“He was… homeless.”
“He was a addict, an old, fat gross-ass addict,” Tyrell said. He cackled. “Shitweasel here was actin’ like a fuckin’ piece of shit, trying-a buy fent when he was short. So I told him I ain’t gonna sell him none unless he go and find the nastiest addict on the streets, bring him back here, jerk him off and show me a mouth full of nigga-addict cum.” Tyrell laughed so hard he slapped his own thigh. “This stupid honky forget what he was s’sposed to do while he jerkin’ that nasty-ass dick. He spit the cum out, an’ I told him not to do that. I wanted to see his mouth full of slimy nut. So I made him go find me a different addict. That one was even nastier. But he remembered to follow instructions. And nowadays he only calls me when he got money. That’s a better system.”
Greg’s face was a bright red, but from the expression in his eyes, Lance guessed that the story was entirely accurate. As Tyrell told it, Lance flopped his dick in front of Greg’s face.
“Jerk me off, Greg,” Lance said softly. “Use your mouth.”
Greg sighed and opened his mouth. His scruffy chin trembled as Lance shoved his dick in. Greg gagged and his throat resisted, but he didn’t try to stop. It was hot and moist, and instantly it sent a wave of pleasure through Lance’s body. Lance laughed though, because he was kinda ticklish and cuz the indignant look on Greg’s face was funny.
“You nasty,” Tyrell said. He looked at Lance. “You both nasty. Nasty-ass whiteboys…”
“I know,” Lance said. He let Greg spit his cock out. “How good are you at deep-throating, Greg?”
“Not good!” Greg said like he was proud of that.
Lance grabbed a couch cushion that was laying on the floor — it looked like Greg had originally been using that as a pillow, but in his fent-induced stupor, he had rolled off it. Lance placed it on the floor and instructed Greg to lay on his back.
“Put your head hanging off the back, like this,” Lance said, demonstrating the position he wanted. Greg stumbled and slowly moved. He paused to wipe his face off, but Tyrell smacked him hard in the chin.
“Get to it, honky-ass bitch!”
Greg stepped to Lance as though going to fight him, but he was too wobbly and uncertain on his feet. He nearly fell even before Tyrell reached back and punched him hard. Greg collapsed to the floor, and Tyrell dragged him into position for Lance.
Greg groaned. His neck and upper back rested on the cushion, while his head hung over the edge. That gave Lance the perfect position to slam his dick right down Greg’s throat. Greg couldn’t resist deep-throating it even if he wanted to, which it wasn’t clear he did.
As soon as his dick pushed past Greg’s lips, Greg let out a loud gag. He sputtered but Lance was relentless. He pushed his cock in even further despite his throat’s resistance.
The smell of cigarette smoke filled the air as Tyrell lit one up. He looked on in disgust, but with a faintly amused expression on his face. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, then kneeled behind Lance. He watched Lance’s balls thwack on Greg’s chin, as he began plowing back and forth in his throat.
He looked closely at Greg’s face, which turned red from both humiliation and lack of oxygen. He sneered and blew smoke at him, filling his nostrils with it and making tears well up in his eyes from the acrid smoke.
“You one nasty-ass addict, Shitweasel.”
As pleasure emanated up his dick, Lance humped wildly. He couldn’t see Greg’s face, so he couldn’t see the utter shame and pain in his eyes, but he could hear it in Greg’s sputtering. Lance leaned forward as he humped Greg’s mouth, his hands extending across Greg’s broad chest. Despite Greg’s apparent disgust, he was obviously experienced at swallowing a cock. Lance was big enough most men (and all women) couldn’t do it, not in any position.
But Lance got every inch down Greg’s throat, which squeezed and massaged his shaft as it sent waves of bliss up Lance’s body. He loved a revolting hobo. The scent of Greg’s unwashed body filled the air, mixed with the cloying aroma of saliva and Lance’s precum.
Lance had always thought of addicts as being skinny, but Greg was actually well-muscled. He wasn’t thick like a bodybuilder though; he was thick like a naturally thick man, one who bulked up regularly aboard the oil rig. There was a scrappy tightness to him too, which Lance attributed to his lack of nutrition and hard living. All of those muscles tensed up every time Greg gagged on Lance’s dick, and Lance pounded hard enough to make Greg’s pecs jiggle with each thrust.
Tyrell’s deep voice was gravely. “I’m gonna put this cigarette out on ya forehead now, Shitweasel. Gonna make you my ashtray.”
Lance gripped Greg’s ropy, spongy muscles with both hands. He clearly couldn’t hold Greg down, but Greg was overwhelmed by the fent, so his muscles were loose and slack. Greg could do little more than buck as his skin sizzled.
Lance turned around in time to see Tyrell put the cigarette out, right in the center of his forehead. Greg’s throat spasmed, squeezing around Lance’s dick.
With a loud sigh, Lance withdrew his dick. Greg gasped for air, the first time in what felt like forever to Lance, though he knew that couldn’t be right; he had probably been sneaking little breaths in between Lance’s thrusts.
“Will you plow him, Tyrell?”
Tyrell shook his head. “That’s nasty. I’ll help you do it, Lance, but I ain’t stickin’ my dick inside that addict.”
Lance nodded. He smacked his dick against Greg’s face. He smiled. “Will you… sit on his face? Make him lick your asshole.”
“A rimjob?” Tyrell was about to shake his head, then considered it. He shrugged. “Whatever, fine. That ain’t nuthin’. Gimme another twenty bucks.”
“Uh… I don’t have it on me, but I can go to an ATM after,” Lance said.
“Fine-“
“You’re… paying me?” Greg asked, still heaving for air as Lance smeared his spit-covered cock over Greg’s face. Greg had flushed a bright red now, as blood pooled in his low-hanging head .
“He’s payin’ me, addict-bitch!” Tyrell said with a laugh. “I ain’t givin’ you jack-shit. I own yo’ ass, bitch.”
Lance slid down Greg’s body. His balls left a trail of sweat through the center of his chest. Then he pulled down Greg’s filthy jeans and threw them on the floor. Greg had a huge cock, uncut, limp as could be. Lance gave it a few strokes.
“You ain’t gonna get much outta that, man,” Tyrell said. “Addicts can’t get hard.”
“I can get hard!” Greg said. His voice moist cuz his mouth was still clogged with spit and precum.
Tyrell laughed. “No, you can’t.”
“Lift your legs up,” Lance said. Greg’s thick, trunk-like thicks elevated, separating his asscheeks and baring his hairy hole. Lance rammed a finger in and smiled as Greg gasped in pain. “You ever been cornholed before?”
“No!” Greg said.
“You sure? I know you was in prison,” Tyrell said.
“I never was. I joined an Aryan gang in prison,” Greg said. “I was protected. I kept my ass pure, intact, like it should be.”
“Well, I’m gonna enjoy this, you Aryan fuck. Get ready to lick Tyrell’s ass,” Lance said.
Greg moaned and gagged just at the sight of Tyrell’s bare brown ass. Lance waited with his dick right at the entrance to Greg’s hole, while Tyrell slowly lowered his unwashed ass onto Greg’s face.
Greg’s whole body bucked when he actually felt Tyrell’s ass on his face. Lance took that moment to slam his dick in, chortling in laughter at Greg’s body’s resistance. He was so distracted by the ass on his face that his own ass was wide open.
But Lance still felt substantial resistance. He shoved as hard as he could, laughing when Greg’s big roughneck body shook and flexed hard. He still didn’t seem to realize that he could overpower Lance, or maybe he just didn’t care; maybe he was willing to do anything Tyrell said on the assumption that disobedience would mean less fent down the line.
“Get your tongue in there, bitch!” Tyrell shouted. He had never taken his pants off, just pulled them down. His balls rested right above Greg’s frantic eyes. Then Tyrell yelped and moaned, a low, blood-curdling sound, as Greg did precisely that. The moan was exaggerated, Lance was pretty sure, Tyrell was funning, maybe to tease Greg or maybe he thought Lance would be more willing to pay for this again if Tyrell seemed to enjoy it.
That was a thought Lance hadn’t considered — maybe Tyrell was gonna bring a hobo every time Lance bought coke. That would be fun.
Lance sighed. He could feel it when Greg stopped resisting and stuck his tongue into Tyrell’s ass; he could feel it in the sudden relaxation of Greg’s sphincter. Greg choked and sobbed into Tyrell’s big black ass.
“Is he making that feel good, Tyrell?” Lance asked.
Tyrell shrugged and clicked his tongue against his teeth. He angled his body away from Lance, so Lance couldn’t actually see the expression on his face, but from his tone and body language, Lance guessed it actually felt very good, and Tyrell just didn’t want to admit he enjoyed a rimjob from an addict. Tyrell didn’t seem to plan on getting hard, but it happened anyway, and he made Greg stroke his dick off.
Soon Greg had trouble keeping his legs in the air, and he kept trying to lower them. Lance barked at him to keep them up, which made Greg try again until his fent-exhausted muscles gave up again. It felt incredible to Lance, whose cock was massaged by Greg’s powerful thighs coming together in an attempt to keep him out. He didn’t have any tightness in his asshole though, so his clenching did nothing to keep Lance’s shaft out. Every thrust of Lance’s crotch sent sparks of bliss through Lance’s body, while Greg’s muscles twitched in pain each time.
Tyrell moaned and shuddered. He muttered something Lance didn’t catch, then lifted himself up. He turned around and rammed his dick right into Greg’s mouth — violating his own ‘no-penetrating-the-addict’ rule.
He sighed as cum flowed, and Tyrell’s cock pulsated. Creamy cum burst into Greg’s open mouth. Greg gagged loudly, and much of the cum spilled past his lips and down his chin or running in rivulets into Tyrell’s unkempt pubic bush. Tyrell flexed his hips to slam his throbbing dick down Greg’s throat.
Greg bucked and gagged over and over, but Tyrell kept his cock in place. Greg’s pecs were hard as rocks as he heaved, his nipples like razorblades beneath Lance’s grasp. The cum was plentiful and thick, and it stuck his skin. Some of it even sputtered out of his nostrils as he tried everything to avoid swallowing it.
At last Tyrell pulled out. He lightly smacked Greg’s face as Greg gasped for air. Then Lance leaned forward, leaving his dick planted deep in Greg’s ass, and he reached forward to smear Tyrell’s cum into Greg’s mouth.
He continued to gag — it seemed he was unable to get used to the taste of cum, or maybe it was the residual taste of ass that did it. Every time he did gag, his asshole clenched hard around Lance’s dick, sending another pleasurable thrill up Lance’s spine.
“You licked ass pretty good, honky,” Tyrell said with a surprised laugh, like he had thought the rimjob would be a crushing bore. “You eat farts too?”
“No-!”
“Let’s find out,” Tyrell said. He turned around and plopped his ass right on Greg’s face yet again. He closed his eyes, and then a loud rumbling fart filled the air. Greg bucked and fought again, his fent-addled arms failing to push Tyrell away as Tyrell cackled.
When Tyrell finally pulled away, Greg’s face was bright red, smeared with tears and various fluids. Tyrell looked at him like he was a dirty diaper, and he spat over and over onto his face. He hocked up big loogies, making certain they covered his eyes and nose.
That put Lance in utter heaven. Greg’s entire muscular body rejected the mask of filth on his face, but Tyrell kept smacking his hands down so he couldn’t wipe his mouth off. The ruddiness of his face extended down to his chest and shoulders now.
Greg’s dick remained limp, even as Lance lazily stroked it. He had a nice big cock that felt perfect in Lance’s hand, and he didn’t even mind that it remained soft.
“Hey, Greg,” Lance said softly. He had to repeat himself a few times until Greg responded by lowering his eyes to look at Lance. Lance continued pounding away, gripping those massive upright thighs as though he was holding them aloft. Lance grinned at his pained expression. “I’m gonna cum in a minute or two. I’m gonna cum in your mouth. You understand me? Repeat what I just said but put it in your own words.”
As the last remnants of Greg’s pride deflated, he stumbled and staggered over his words. “Uh… You’re gonna cum… soon. In a minute or two. You’re gonna nut in my mouth.”
“That’s right. Good boy. Now when I say I’m gonna nut in your mouth, you might think I mean like they do in porn — where I’d jack myself off and shoot my cum on your tongue. That way the camera sees it. But there isn’t any camera here, Greg, so I’m going to shove my dick all the way in your throat. You understand.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to deep-throat it because it’s nicely lubed with your own assjuices. You ever taste assjuice before today?”
“No…” Greg said. His voice sounded weak, like he was already about to vomit.
“His throat is lubed up wit’ my cum too, plus that fart I blew down his gullet,” Tyrell said. He stood up now and pulled his pants up. He looked on as though utterly disgusted with what he saw.
“That’s a good point, Tyrell,” Lance said. “Are you ready, Greg?”
“Yes, damnit! Just do it! You fuckin’ pervert!” Greg screamed, his face was red. He tried again to wipe it off, but Gun easily kicked his hands away. His face gleamed with the mask of body fluids stuck to his skin.
As frustration roiled his body, his asshole clenched once again. This time it was so tight that Lance paused, unable to keep grinding. He groaned as his dick spasmed, and he shoved it in anyway. Greg gasped, bit his lip and gripped the cushion beneath himself with his fists.
Lance was a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to cum in Greg’s ass, but he so-very-rarely got the chance to do some ass-to-mouth. So he pulled out and scooted to Greg’s face.
Greg took a deep breath and dry heaved in the few seconds Lance’s throbbing dick hesitated in front of his face. The anal remnants clung to his shaft, glistening in the dim light of the crackhouse. Then Lance shoved it in.
A loud retching sound emanated from Greg’s throat, which spasmed and pulled. Lance felt such intense pleasure as he had never known before roll through his body. He jerked and his knees went weak. He leaned forward to support himself on Greg’s strong, sweat-covered body.
Cum flowed down his throat, a huge, plentiful load that coated the sides of his gullet. Tyrell kneeled down to watch again, and he traced Lance’s dick through Greg’s neck, where he could see spasming cockshaft and the flow of cum into his stomach.
“You nasty-ass deadbeat…”
The gagging was so loud it resonated in the ramshackle crackhouse. Lance was certain that anyone walking by outside could hear, but he supposed they probably heard that sort of thing a lot. Lance shook, lifting one leg like a dog as he humped his limpening dick down Greg’s throat. His grizzled chin and cheek hair scratched at Lance’s smooth skin.
At last it was over and Lance pulled out. He sighed as Greg retched, once again trying to sit up and clean himself off. But Tyrell used his feet to force Greg to stay on the ground — Tyrell no longer wanted to use his hands because Greg was entirely covered in assjuice and cum.
Lance laughed as he watched Greg struggle. His big body writhed, covered in so much sweat he was slick and slippery. Lance massaged his muscles and smeared around the body fluids that covered him.
“You don’t get to clean yourself off yet, addict-bitch,” Tyrell said. “Wait till the men who plowed you is done. That’s proper, bitch. You lay there and let the cum dry on yo’ stupid bitch-face, thinkin’ ‘bout how to show proper respect to me. Don’t come beggin’ for shorts no mo’.”
Lance stood up and wiped his dick off with the wetnaps he always kept in his pocket. He tucked it away as he pulled his pants up. Tyrell kneeled next to Greg’s red face. Lance made sure the eight-ball of coke was still in his pocket, plus his wallet — Tyrell hadn’t lifted it — and watched Greg retch violently, using every muscle in his body to do so.
“Hey, Shitweasel,” Tyrell said. He had to repeat it a few times to get his attention. “You my bitch now. I ain’t nevuh been a pimp for men, but I’m thinkin’ I might start. You my first bitch.”
“Tyrell, please-“
Tyrell kicked him in the side. “Nah. You call me sir from now on,” he said. “You gonna get out there tonight and work?”
“Fuck you! I will kill-“
“No you won’t,” Tyrell said. “Don’t you get mouthy wit’ me, honky. I will pimp you out for however much money I can get. If you beg me nice, I’ll let you have some fent now and then.”
Greg settled back, grumbling and spitting invective, but it seemed the promise of fent pacified him somewhat. He closed his eyes as though trying to forget what was drying on his face.
“You know more perverts that’d pay to plow him?” Tyrell asked.
Lance sighed. He fingered the eight-ball in his pocket to be sure it was still there. “Yeah,” he said. “I could bring some friends by.”
“Well, charge ‘em a hundred bucks a person. I’ll let ‘em do whatever they want to his bitch ass, and I’ll give you a little commission,” Tyrell said with a laugh. “Gonna turn this bitch from a fent addict to a cock addict!”

Roid-Rage

When petite twink Avery is beat up by a road-raging weightlifter, he thought he was done for. But then the cops give him the chance to take his revenge in a way he never expected. It’s a Twink on Top extravaganza that steroid-freak never saw coming!

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

Avery trembled for what seemed like days, sitting there in the hospital waiting room. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t really that big of a deal.
But it sure could have been. Avery had never been so near death, and it all happened so fast. He could have died and not known it until he woke up in the afterlife.
A man attacked him with a crowbar in a parking lot. Apparently, Avery had cut him off in traffic, but Avery hadn’t noticed because he was dancing in the driver’s seat to Israeli trance music. The attacker was a short, squat bodybuilder in a sleeveless shirt, fleshy arms like a gymnast’s thighs, that was all Avery remembered of what he looked like. Avery had suffered one good whack in the head before a policeman on a bicycle happened past and saw the encounter.
So Avery remained at the hospital for a few hours to treat his head wound, then went back to the police station to make his formal complaint. The neurologist said he should be fine but to call emergency services if he felt symptoms of a concussion again, and he couldn’t sleep for a couple hours. That wouldn’t be a problem, Avery was wired. By then it felt like the attack had happened weeks ago, not this morning. So much had happened since then.
The cop who brought Avery from the hospital to the station opened the door to the interrogation room. He was Officer Cherton, a gruff, no-nonsense ex-marine type, chewing on an unlit cigar. “Mr. Flowers, I wanna make you an offer. That fellah who attacked ya — his name is Levi Hechinger — he regrets what happened something fierce. If you want, I’s gonna recommend that the DA press charges. But you got a second option too. You can save me some paperwork, you can help the state budget crisis by keeping that meathead out of lockup and… you can cornhole him.”
“What?” Avery’s foot was tapping furiously, and he both couldn’t stop doing it and couldn’t focus on anything else.
“He said it’s okay, but we’ll tie him down,” Officer Cherton said. He spat out fragments of the unlit cigar he’d been chewing on. “He’s having a bit of a roidrage sit’ation right now.”
“You want me to cornhole him?” Avery said, furrowing his brow. That was not an offer he was expecting.
Cherton shrugged. “It’s bettuh than me doin’ papuhwork.”
“Oh… uh… Yeah.” Avery agreed more because he couldn’t think of a reason to say no than because he had thought about it and decided he wanted it. He did want it, that just wasn’t a fact he was in the right headspace to figure out right away.
“Good, alright,” Cherton said. He led Avery to the back of the police station, where the local jailhouse was set up. Then he handed Avery a small box with a taser inside, along with a tube of lube and a few other objects Avery didn’t immediately recognize. The cop blushed. “This is our Joybox. That’s what we call it.”
“You cornhole a lot of men?”
“Me? No, I got a girlfriend,” he said. “I don’t need to cornhole perps. But there’s a lotta married or single men at this station, they don’t get laid much, so they get desperate.” He opened a cell door and nodded. “There ya go. Just come on out when you’re done.”
The roidraging man was there, tied to a plain wooden chair, on which he sat backwards, so the back of the chair extended from his crotch up to his chin. He wore only a pair of off-white tattered boxers, the edges of which were mouse-nibbled. He was barrel-chested, so thick it look hard to breathe, and he had a steroid-freak belly, like his abs were as thick as his pecs. His face was aged — young, but aged — and leathery, his hair balding but shaved smooth.
The chair had a short seat, so the man’s meaty ass overhung the back. That left his asshole clear and ready to access, Avery thought with a shiver. The chair was designed to make sure he was in a rammable position, even by someone much smaller than him, like Avery was.
Levi Hechinger was his name. It felt weird to give a name to the man whose blind rage had nearly killed Avery a few hours ago; he had been thinking of him as simply That Steroid Man. Now he had an identity. He wondered if Levi was going to tell anybody about this.
When Avery got closer, he smelled stale sweat and the clinky iron of free weights, like an abandoned factory. He was broad-shouldered, with veiny arms and tight skin. He breathed heavily, both cocky and terrified of what would come next or maybe he was still in the midst of a steroid rage. He was squat and thickly built, massive lats, bulging body with a thick torso despite very low body fat.
Had he agreed to this? Avery wasn’t sure. The cop Cherton implied he had requested it instead of arrest and conviction, but now Avery wasn’t sure. Levi trembled like he didn’t know what was coming. It was possible the cops were tricking Levi, Avery or both.
But Avery had no intention of backing down. He had felt like such a weak, pitiful creature this morning. He had to do something to regain his masculinity.
“What’re you gonna do to me?” barked Levi. Despite his apparent fear, he remained angry — that must be the roidrage, Avery thought. Levi’s voice was guttural and rough like an old broom.
“I’m gonna ram you, Levi,” Avery said. “I thought you knew.” That answers that question, the cops were tricking them both into doing this. Cherton simply didn’t want to do any paperwork, that’s all that was.
Levi laughed, a deep booming sound. “You sound like a fuckin’ pansy.” He wrinkled his nose. “You fuckin’ wuss! C’mon, fight me like a man!”
“I can’t fight you, I’m like a third your weight,” Avery said. He came around to Levi’s front so he could see him. “I know my limits. You tried to kill me earlier.”
“I wasn’t tryin’ to kill ya.”
“You tried to hit me in the head with a crowbar,” Avery said.
“I wasn’t hopin’ you’d die,” Levi said. He had a sharp, stawky accent with that rough-edged cadence like he sucked on tailpipes. He sounded like he was from Manhattan, Avery thought. He didn’t want to ask because he didn’t want to know more about Levi as a person.
“You were sure willing to risk it. What was the point of the crowbar if-? No… Wait, nevermind,” Avery said. “I don’t need to hear your excuses. I’m not your probation officer.” He grabbed Levi’s ass where it hung over the edge of the seat. He massaged the plump, hard muscles there. Levi threw his head back and gritted his teeth. Avery smiled at the huge man’s tension, the rolling flex of his muscles. “Have you ever been cornholed before, Levi?”
“No! I ain’t no wuss!”
“Oh good, I can’t wait to wreck it-“
“Fuck you, asshole!”
“What do you want me to stick up your ass first? A finger? A dildo? The Joybox here has a couple dildos. Let’s see, there’s a very small one, see?” He showed Levi the tiny green dildo, the size of a large thumb. “And see then you got this big black one. That’s insane.” He showed Levi that one as well, a big coal-black dildo the size of Levi’s bodybuilder forearm.
“Man, don’t you stick anything up there! That is a one-way hole, fuckhead!”
“If you don’t choose, I’m gonna assume you love big black things sliding up your ass,” Avery said. “You look like the type. I bet that ass can take some punishment.” He giggled as he rubbed that black dildo against the surface of Levi’s asshole. Levi trembled and bit his lip, his length of his spine shuddering at the sensation.
“Man, jerkoff! Fuck you!” Levi took a deep breath and sighed, his pride deflating rapidly. “The… finger… Make it your pinkie finger, man.”
“You should be nicer to me, Levi. You could be charged with attempted murder. That’ll be like twenty years in prison. You’ll take bigger things than my finger in twenty years,” Avery said. He dropped the dildo and placed his fingers right there at the smooth rim of Levi’s asshole. Levi shuddered, his ass twitching and his muscles straining against the ropes binding him. “You’re not the Incredible Hulk, Levi. You can’t snap rope just by flexing your muscles.”
“Fuck y-you!” Levi’s voice broke because Avery inserted his pinkie finger. Levi’s asshole was tight and moist, and Avery let out a long, slow exhalation right onto Levi’s broad back as he felt his own dick get rock-hard in his pants. This was turning out to be even more fun than he ever thought possible.
He slowly inserted his pinkie, then drew it almost all the way out. Levi grunted as though trying to take a shit. Avery giggled. He reached around Levi’s torso to feel his dick, and his giggle turned into a laugh as he realized how small it was.
“Was your dick always tiny? Or did the steroids do that?” Avery asked. Levi didn’t answer. He just bit his lip and hung his head low as Avery felt his shriveled balls. “Oh, that’s natural, huh? I’m sure the steroids didn’t help though.”
“Man, fuck you-” Levi yelped and stopped speaking as Avery curled his finger up inside his ass. Levi’s entire body clenched, which just made the pain worse. Levi’s face had started out reddish, but it now turned outright crimson.
“Let’s try a second finger now,” Avery said. He pushed his ring finger in next to his pinkie, but he felt resistance. He barely got the tip in and was stuck. Levi’s muscles all heaved at once as he struggled to accept it all. “You prolly think that I got a little dick cuz I’m small and skinny and I don’t use steroids. But you are wrong, Levi. I got a big piece of meat. You’re gonna take every inch of it. If you want it to hurt real bad, you keep resistin’ my fingers. I’m using my fingers to warm you up so I don’t rip your sphincter apart when we actually start. My dick is a lot bigger than my fingers.”
“Fuck you!”
“You say that a lot, but when has it ever solved anything for you?” Avery asked. He shoved his ring finger all the way in, and Levi screamed in agony. His face was bright red, soaked in a swathe of sweat, his squashed features scrunched up. Blood dried beneath his nostrils, Avery hadn’t noticed that until now — the cops must have had to rough him up to get him in jail, or maybe he had smashed his face against the chair back in front of him.
“Fuck you, jerkoff! I fight my way outta problems all the time. I ain’t a pansy-ass pussy like you!”
“Really? Cuz I’m fingerin’ your butthole like a pussy. You sure you ain’t a pussy? I’m fucking you like one.”
Levi bit his lip then as Avery smiled, Levi’s broad muscles writhing and tensing between Avery’s grip, while Avery’s other hand slipped fingers in and outta that tight hole. Levi rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. His asshole loosened then, enough that Avery could wiggle his fingers back and forth some. Each motion made Levi spasm and pull against the ropes binding him.
“Okay, are you ready to try a dildo? Or do you want to swallow some dick first?”
“I’ll bite off anything you put in my mouth, jerkoff!”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Avery said. He withdrew both of his fingers and dropped his pants. He lined up behind Levi and put his dick right there at the entrance to his ass, which began to retighten now that it was empty. Avery took that big black dildo from the Joybox and placed it in front of Levi’s mouth. Levi kept his lips tightly sealed, so Avery just rubbed it in front of his face.
“Ugh, it smells like ass…” Levi said.
“Well, I doubt it gets cleaned that often,” Avery said.
Levi gagged, the sight of which was apparent in the rippling of his back muscles. He spat on the ground, though most of it clung to his chin or the back of the chair in front of his face. He retched and heaved. “That is fuckin’ nasty, I ain’t puttin’ that in my mouth, jerkoff.”
Then Avery rammed his dick in, all the way up Levi’s ass, without a word of warning. A howl came outta Levi, who clenched down right away. Just the tip got in before Avery was unable to go any further. Avery sighed and leaned his head against Levi’s smoothly-muscled back.
The tip was enough. Levi’s ass squeezed and massaged Avery’s cocktip.
“Oh, Levi…” Avery removed a clothesline clip from the Joybox. He placed it on Levi’s nose, and it squeezed tight. His gasps of pain were nasal now, but still booming on account of his deep voice. The surprise made him loosen his ass for a moment, and Avery shoved the rest of his dick in all at once, pushing past Levi’s resistance. Levi gasped and groaned. He spat again, still unable to spit forcefully, so he just let saliva drool past his lips.
With the clip forcing his nostrils shut, Levi was unable to prevent himself from opening his mouth. As soon as he did, Avery shoved the black dildo in until Levi gagged violently. His asshole clenched around Avery’s dick.
As Avery worked his dick in and out, he made sure to grind it in deep, hitting every corner of Levi’s insides. Levi screamed around the dildo in his throat, but all he could do was make muffled grunting noises.
“Oh, Levi… If you beg me to use lube, I’ll use lube,” Avery said. He withdrew the black dildo to give him a chance to speak.
“Fuck you, pansy! I’ll never submit,” he said, choking on his own words. Tears twinkled in his eyes, and he was overcome by a chorus of gags before he even finished speaking.
Avery smiled. Again, he was glad that Levi was being less than cooperative. He grabbed a strappy mouthguard from the Joybox. He hadn’t known what it was for at first, but now he had it figured out. It was like a horse’s bit, it dug into his gums whenever he tried to close his mouth. That forced his jaws apart and kept him from closing them in the slightest.
Levi tried to spit, but the mouthguard straps clipped together behind his head. There was nothing he could do. With his mouth pried so far apart it looked like it must be hurting his jaws, Levi was unable to resist as Avery deep-throated him with that dildo.
He rammed it in over and over, cackling as Levi gagged each time as though he was surprised. Levi again tried to flex his muscles like he could shatter the ropes binding him that way, but of course all that happened was his asshole clenched and massaged Avery’s dick, sending waves of pleasure up his body. Levi didn’t seem to realize that the more he struggled, the more intensely blissful it felt to Avery.
Then he pulled the dildo out, and removed his dick from Levi’s ass. A wordless cry came from Levi’s propped-open mouth.
“Oh this is gonna be fun,” Avery said. He switched the dildo and his dick, starting by pushing the huge black dildo past Levi’s sphincter. Levi screamed, eyes bugging out as he wordlessly heaved through his open mouth.
The dildo didn’t really go in, not past the first centimeter or so. It was just too wide. Avery was disappointed, but he decided to keep working at it.
Meanwhile, he placed the dildo beneath Levi’s ass so he still felt it, and then used his muscular back and shoulders to awkwardly climb the back of the chair. He wedged himself between Levi’s face and the chair-back, which put Avery’s dick right at mouth height.
Since he had been facing the jail cell wall, this was the first time Avery got a good close-up look at Levi’s face. He was really unattractive, Avery realized, not really “ugly” per se, but crude, like a caveman, with a squashed nose and boxed ears, like he had been in a lot of fights. He was missing one of his front teeth.
He flailed and gurgled as Avery swiped his ass-covered cockshaft over Levi’s face. He made sure to get all that assjuice sticking to his nose. Levi’s cheeks were bright red even before Avery slammed his dick into Levi’s throat. A violent retch reawakened the pleasure flowing through Avery’s body.
He gripped Levi’s shaved head and held on as he pounded his dick in and out, all the way down Levi’s gullet. Not many men could deep-throat Avery’s entire dick, and those who did needed to work up to it — they couldn’t really do it consistently. But Levi’s mouth was forced as wide as it could go, and his throat had no ability to keep Avery’s dick from forcing itself in. Even as his throat squeezed and spasmed, Avery rammed it in hard.
“Keep your eyes open, bitch,” Avery said. He used his fingers to pry Levi’s eyelids open. His eyes fluttered as his face turned red, demanding oxygen. Avery kept going though, holding on with his dick blocking Levi’s airway. He was shocked at how easy it was — with Levi’s muscles all tied to that chair, and his mouth stuck open, Avery could stay there, occupying his throat until he jizzed right into his stomach. He could watch Levi suffocate all day, but he didn’t. He pulled out and smiled at Levi’s hoarse gasping.
“That was some nice dome,” Avery said. “But I’m gonna cornhole you some more. I want my dick to be nice and assy when you taste it again.” He climbed down behind Levi once again. He pulled the mouthguard off.
“You sick… jerkoff… freak,” Levi said between gasps for air.
“You still tried to kill me, over a traffic dispute,” Avery said with a sorrowful shake of his head. “I think I still come on out on top in the morality scale. I bet that wasn’t the first time you beat someone up due to a case of road-rage, was it?”
“Fuck you,” Levi said, but the fight had gone out of him. He sounded less angry than resigned. He twitched a moment later as Avery rammed his dick back in, and he seethed through his clenched teeth. “I gots a temper, so what? What’s it to you? I’m a real man, pansy! I kick any bitch’s teeth in if he do me wrong.”
“How’s that plan workin’ out for ya?” Avery asked. He felt intense pleasure rolling through his body as he plowed Levi hard. Levi jerked and spasmed, the pain not getting any better, it seemed, presumably because Avery didn’t use any lube aside from Levi’s own spit.
“Fuck you…” Levi said, but he said it softly, like he knew he had been beaten.
Avery pulled out and pushed one of the little dildos in this time, because he wanted it to stay in. Levi harshly inhaled and held his breath — the dildo was very cold. His asshole clenched around it.
Once again he applied the mouth guard, even as Levi begged him not to. “I’ll do it, I swear, I won’t bite-” But that was all he got out before Avery put the mouthguard on. He didn’t believe Levi’s promise at all, though he appreciated that Levi was trying.
This time he had cornholed Levi’s ass even longer, so his dick was smeary with creamy assjuice, flecked with specks of juices and ass-sweat. Avery made sure to display his dick in front of Levi’s eyes and nose, so he knew exactly what he was about to taste.
Then he pushed it in. As he did, Levi’s throat squeezed yet again, and Levi’s eyes slammed shut. Avery had to pry them open yet again. That was okay with him — he rather liked it. He threw his head back and moaned.
A surge of disappointment hit him because Avery realized that he was about to cum. He might have been able to hold off even longer, but that didn’t seem sporting, Levi had submitted, and now that it was nearly over, he had lost all of his arrogance. He was begging for mercy, and he hadn’t called Avery a jerkoff in a few minutes.
He gripped Levi’s cauliflower ears and held on tight. His balls slapped against Levi’s chin as he thrust his hips back and forth. Each time he did, his dick slammed through Levi’s violent gag reflex, and then when he withdrew on the backthrust, a torrent of spit and bile spilled out. It flowed over the wooden chair, sticking to it and making Avery wonder how many men’s fluids were on this chair — he had a feeling the cops used it every time they brought the Joybox out, and they probably never cleaned it.
When he finally felt his orgasm approach, Avery pushed his dick all the way in, so Levi’s flattened, oft-broken nose smashed into the meat of Avery’s shaved crotch. His balls rose up in their sac where it lay pressed against Levi’s chin.
Levi’s eyes bugged, frantically darting to either side as though he might find some means of escape. But there was no way he could move, he just submitted and turned red as cum flowed down his throat.
The most intense orgasm of Avery’s life hit him. He groaned and grunted. He rutted and squealed, snorting while he rode Levi’s spasming face.
He shot a huge load that poured into Levi’s gullet. Levi coughed and sputtered, face now a bright red as his eyes begged for oxygen. But Avery kept ahold of his face with both hands, smiling. He spat right on Levi’s nose.
Finally he withdrew his limpening dick, and Levi sputtered. Cum flew all over the chair back and he spat up a gigantic ball of saliva, a fist-sized droplet that landed with a plop on the chair. Moisture was smeared all across Levi’s broad chest.
Levi went limp as he sobbed. Avery was relentless though. He forced Levi to lean his head back, then Avery dropped both of his hairy balls in Levi’s mouth. Levi hadn’t even gotten his breath back yet, so he hoarsely gasped around the scrotum in his mouth.
At last it was over; Avery’s dick was as limp and spent as it had ever been. Avery pulled his balls out, then used some wetwipes he found in the Joybox to clean himself off. He didn’t clean off Levi, who heaved for breath the entire time. It wasn’t until Avery was putting his clothes back on that Levi managed to speak.
“Please… take the dildo out of my ass,” Levi said.
“Oh… I forgot about that one,” Avery said. “I’ll take it out if you promise to clean it with your tongue.”
“Fine, whatever. Please… I’ll do anything you want,” Levi said. Tears streamed down his cheeks, from both lack of oxygen and relief that it was finally over.
Avery pulled the dildo out, and Levi’s entire body went limp. His muscles sagged as he stopped fighting against the ropes binding him. Avery didn’t wait for him to open his mouth, he just shoved the small green dildo in. Levi accepted it easily, even as his tongue tasted the slimy assjuice and his throat retched all over again.
Avery walked away with Levi there, fighting, but not against his ropes anymore. He tried to stop himself from gagging on the dildo instead, taking a deep breath then trembling as he submitted to the reaction. He gagged violently, then tried to pause and regain control over himself.
But Avery was done. He no longer felt like the weak, pitiful victim he had been earlier in the morning. He watch Levi’s contortions and walked out of the cell. He slammed the prison door shut behind himself as he whistled, heading for the front of the police station. “Have a nice day, Levi,” he called out behind himself. “Drive safely!”

The Cholo Bottoms

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

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

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

The Drunkard at the Saloon

When a cruel and rugged cowboy gets drunk at a saloon, the town pansy is called to give him a taste of something more savory than whiskey! The cowboy is Alfie, a muscle-bound bully, and the pansy is Simon, who’s ready to get his rocks off whether Alfie wants it or not!

Can Alfie take the twink-on-ranchhand pounding that Simon is fixin’-a dole out?!

Read it now as an ebook! Or continue below for the whole story!

Simon was a dandy, in the parlance of the time. Lotta fellers in these parts discottoned to dandies, so Simon thought it might be a trap when Bud Mitchum came to see him. Bud worked at the only saloon in the town of Cheyenne in Wyoming Territory.
“Reckon I needs a favor you might could enjoy givin’,” Bud said, his voice low and hesitant. He avoided making eye contact.
Simon batted his eyes and shook his ass for Bud’s benefit. Bud blushed, his mustache bristling.
“That sounds exciting,” Simon said. A lot of the men here in Cheyenne were willing to let Simon service them on account of there being no women around. Bud never had done so, however. That made Simon eager to see what he wanted. “But don’t just assume I’ll jerk you off just cuz you want it, I have standards and you hafta earn it-”
Bud wrinkled his nose and jumped to interrupt him. “No! It ain’t like that. I… I is too muchuva gentleman to say it out loud, Simon. Jest come wit’ me. You’ll enjoy it, fo’ sho’re.”
He turned on his heels and walked away with military precision, a legacy of his time in the Union Army during the Civil War. Simon had always thought Bud was appealing, in a short and lanky kind of way, but he had always been too strait-laced to let Simon service him. Wondering and hoping if maybe that was what Bud was offering, Simon hurried after him. He barely had time to put his hickory shirt on before following Bud into the center of town.
That was where Lipsweet was, near Mr. Corrente’s apothecary on the main street. It was after one o’clock in the morning, so the apothecary was closed, of course, and Lipsweet was quiet and dark as well. It was deserted, but the smell of drunken cowboys lingered. It seemed to have been a good night, Simon thought, and he was disappointed no one came to get him. Normally at least one desperate gold-prospector or cowboy would come see him at the end of the night, but lately things had changed.
A prostitute named Maryanne had shown up a few days ago. She was all the rage in Cheyenne, which meant Simon had been left behind. He was trying not to get jealous. Whores like Maryanne usually disappeared pretty soon, so Simon thought he’d be back to his old tricks quickly enough.
“There he is,” Bud said. He pointed to a young cowboy sitting on a chair in the corner. Bud curled up his lip. “Tarnations! Alfie! Alfie!”
Alfie startled and woke up then, bleary-eyed and sweaty. He said something, but his drunkenness was so advanced all that came out was an incomprehensible blur of syllables. It was something like mussu hulifu to Simon’s ears.
Alfie was a local cowboy, one who had a reputation for being a drunk and a bully. He had a huge cock that he let Simon jerk off once before, though he had been mean the entire time and he even punched Simon when it was all over. He robbed and stole, and he had been perpetually on the verge of being run out of town. The only reason Sheriff Torkelson hadn’t ever done so was that Alfie worked on the Goodman ranch, which was big — Mr. Goodman had a lot of pull in this town. Alfie helped him enforce order among the farmworkers, ranchhands and cowboys who worked for him.
Simon had heard legends of how Alfie kept order there. He had always dismissed it as mere rumor, but he liked imagining it on cold and sleepless nights — supposedly, Alfie made men who displeased him bend over and grab their ankles. Alfie rammed his massive meat inside them and tore them up from head to toe. When they recovered and could walk again, they always worked a hundred times harder to prevent another occurrence of the same punishment.
But Simon didn’t think that was true, or maybe it had happened one time and the rumor mill had turned it into a nearly daily event. But now Alfie was passed out, and Simon wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about that.
“You want me to take him back to the Goodman farm?”
“What? Can you? If you can-“
“No, obviously not. Am I supposed to carry him? He’s three times my size,” Simon said with a laugh. “I couldn’t lift his arm up.”
Bud furrowed his brow. “Yeah, that wasn’t my plan. I just want you to teach him a lesson he won’t soon forget.
“Uh… He doesn’t look like he’s in a receptive mood to learn a lesson,” Simon said. He chuckled, then his eyes went wide as he saw Bud’s expectant expression on his face. Simon realized then that Bud was asking him to plow Alfie, just like Alfie was rumored to plow farmhands and cowboys. “Oh,” Simon said. “Are you… serious?”
“I told him it would gonna happen. If’n he passed out in my bar again, I’s gonna shove somethin’ up his ass. That’s what I said. I told him that. I warned him, a buncha times, over and over,” he said. “Sheriff Torkelson said I can do whatever I want-“
“Mr. Goodman?”
“As long as he can still work tomorruh, Mr. Goodman don’t care either. I… I heard he hit you and called you names,” Bud said. “He’s always mean to me. I j’st don’t know what else to do. I can’t let him sit in here all night, he’ll just piss all over the place, then wake up and demand free booze again. I’ll have to get the Sheriff in here to kick him out. That’s been happening nearly every morning for weeks. You can humiliate him, Simon. Make him wake up with… y’know… gom on his face.”
Simon shrugged. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of plowing a man who was nearly unconscious, but he wanted to try it. If he was ever going to, this bulging-muscled farmboy with a square jaw and grizzled chin was his ideal target.
He approached Alfie, who was slumped over the wooden table now. His face was buried in his meaty arms, but he was clearly not asleep. He stirred every few seconds, and he seemed to be chewing on his own arm. He might have thought it was some body part of a woman.
“Mo’ ‘um…” he said, lifting his head up suddenly. His eyes were big and wet, and at first Simon thought he was crying, then realized it was laughter. It was silent, like he barely breathed, but he was still laughing at something that happened before or maybe just a thousand in his head. He said that a few more times, “Mo’ ‘um…” Simon eventually reckoned it was more rum, and he grabbed a nearly empty bottle of rum off the bar.
“I’ll be… in my room,” Bud said. “Please tell me when you’re done.” He looked sickly as he disappeared into the back of the bar. Then he poked his head out and said, “You can finish off that bottle, give him the rest if you want, Simon, but no more than that.”
“Sure, fine,” Simon said. He drank a bit straight from the bottle. It was fine, sweet Barbadian rum. He showed it to Simon, who uselessly grabbed for it, his meaty bare arm shaking. His biceps were as big as Simon’s face, but he couldn’t reach the bottle now. His hands flailed around far from the bottle., which Simon dangled above his head. “Take off your clothes, Alfie, and I’ll let you have a drink from the bottle.”
Alfie grumbled and mumbled. He unbuttoned his shirt but was too uncoordinated to be successful at it. He became frustrated and ripped the shirt. Buttons flew everywhere. Then he pulled his undershirt over his head, only to again be stymied by a lack of coordination. He ended up with the shirt covering his face but stuck, and he banged his head on the table as he roared in frustration. He almost fell to the floor. His frustration gave way to hysterical laughter.
Finally he managed to get the shirt off. His hairy barrel chest gleamed with sweat. He continued to speak, but Simon didn’t understand a word he was saying. He grabbed for the bottle and Simon pushed his hand away. Alfie fell back into his chair, as though he didn’t realize he could simply overpower Simon.
“Lemme see your dick. Drop your trousers,” Simon said, shaking one finger at him like a schoolmarm. Alfie was drunk enough to be suggestible, and he reacted as though Simon was an authority figure he had to obey. It wasn’t clear if he recognized Simon at all. Alfie blushed and stood on swaying legs. He dropped his leather britches and the smell of his crotch hit Simon’s senses. It was a musty and warm scent that made Simon excited to get going.
Then he saw Alfie’s big slab of meat. Simon had jerked him off in the alley behind this very bar, but he had never seen it in good light. He whistled his approval and licked his lips. It was nearly a foot long and as thick as a small man’s forearm.
Using a big brandy glass so it would be hard to gauge exactly how much was in there, Simon poured him a bit of rum. It wasn’t much. Alfie looked at it cross-eyed as though he had no idea what it was, then he drank it and gurgled appreciatively.
“There you go, good job, Alfie,” Simon said. He kept his voice kind and feminine, both because it was easier for him and because he didn’t want to accidentally provoke Alfie into drunken rage. Simon wanted to get Alfie to take off Simon’s trousers as well, but he was such a fumbling fool right now that might have taken a long time and he might have ripped the fabric like he ripped his own shirt. Simon pulled off his own shirt and pants himself, shivering in the chilly night air.
“Szhin?” Alfie asked. He sounded hopeful. After he repeated it a few times, Simon reckoned he was asking for gin.
“Maybe in a bit, Alfie. First you need to do what you promised. You don’t want to be a welcher, right?”
“Nevuh…” He burped, and the rancid smell hit Simon on the face. Even though it smelled bad, the masculine aroma turned Simon on. He sat on the wooden table right in front of Alfie.
“You promised me you’d open your mouth for me? Do you remember that?”
He shook his head and furrowed his brow. He frowned. “Misshuh ‘oouhhn shay i’?” Again, Simon struggled to understand, then heard Mister Goodman said it?
“Yes! Mister Goodman said you have to do this,” Simon said. He cocked his head to the side. “Does Mister Goodman make you jerk him off?”
Alfie nodded glumly. He rolled his eyes. “He ish mean…”
“Ah, well… Yeah, it’s sort of an epidemic over there, I guess. I should start working for the Goodmans,” Simon said to himself. “I-“
“Yoo err too leetle,” Alfie said. He made a bicep with his right arm, which sent a thrill up Simon’s spine. He told Alfie to do it again, and Simon caressed those big muscles. He kissed each side of the bicep and licked the trail-dust and drying sweat off. Alfie giggled like a ticklish boy.
“Oh, you’re right. I couldn’t be a farmhand,” Simon said. He laughed along with Alfie, who was too drunk to keep laughing out loud, so he just chuckled quietly. He reached for the bottle of rum again but Simon kept it out of arm’s length. Alfie looked disappointed.
Simon scooted closer to the edge of the table. His feet rested on Alfie’s thighs, and his toes curled around those hairy trunk-like thigh muscles. His foot roamed forward to Alfie’s dick, which was limp and clammy but jumped into life as soon as he touched it. He stroked the shaft with his toes, and Simon closed his eyes as Alfie groaned.
Taking Alfie’s hand in his, Simon guided it to his own dick. Alfie looked on as though it was happening to someone else. He laughed nervously when his hand wrapped around Simon’s dick. He stroked it slowly and lowered his head.
“Good, I’ll tell Mister Goodman you did a good job,” Simon said. “Now lower your head.”
Alfie had definitely done this before, Simon realized — Mr. Goodman must have demanded his mouth before, no doubt as a condition of remaining in his employ. That was why Goodman refused to fire him no matter what. Alfie lowered his head and swallowed Simon’s dick to the root. He was so big his throat was cavernous, and it slid right in.
He gagged as soon as it touched his tongue, but that didn’t slow him down at all. His giant head had to stretch to get that low — he was so much taller than Simon that it was difficult to get his head down to Simon’s crotch even with Simon sitting on the table in front of him.
Intense pleasure rolled up Simon’s spine as his cock disappeared in Alfie’s maw and Simon’s nose rammed into his crotch hair. He gasped and guided Alfie’s head. It was not an expert job — it was sloppy and clumsy — but it was not that bad, and the awkwardness of it made it even more intense in Simon’s mind. His dick straightened and stiffened right away, and Alfie gagged with every motion of his head.
Despite his apparent dislike for the taste of Simon’s dick, Alfie didn’t resist at all, which Simon assumed was because he had been jerking off his boss for awhile. It seemed he was drunk enough that once he got started, he continued without giving it much thought, even as his body choked and rejected the cock in his mouth.
“Oh damn…” Simon’s voice broke.
Alfie’s scruffy chin scratched at Simon’s flesh as he jerked, his chiseled jaw stretching to get Simon’s thickness in his mouth. His tongue slathered spit up and down the shaft, though Simon could perceive the drunken awkwardness even in the motion of his tongue as it pleasured him — even the man’s tongue was drunk. Simon’s hips flexed, humping that magnificent square jaw.
Simon was shocked at how goood it felt, despite Alfie’s drunkenness and lack of desire.
“If you get the whole thing in your throat and hold it there for five seconds, I’ll pour you another drink,” Simon said. Alfie nodded, moisture twinkling in his eyes as he struggled for air. Then he did as Simon said, forcing his mouth all the way down on Simon’s dick. He gagged profusely as his nose nestled in Simon’s pubic hair. Simon held onto the thick mop of hair on his head as though he could force him to remain in place even though he was so much smaller than Alfie. Simon counted out five seconds but made it so slow it was closer to twenty seconds. “Good job, Alfie. Good boy.” Simon’s voice broke as his dick spasmed in Alfie’s throat.
Alfie retched up a big ball of saliva that landed on the table and dripped onto the floor. He took a deep breath when he finally pulled away again. Simon stepped forward, literally standing on the man’s thighs like a little boy hugging his father. He caressed those hairy chest muscles as he climbed up to Alfie’s shoulders.
With his fingers on Alfie’s forehead, Simon pushed his head back and then dropped his balls into Alfie’s mouth. Alfie again gagged when he jerked on those sweaty, hairy orbs. He coughed and sputtered, and Simon looked into those dark quivering eyes as he spread the saliva all over the man’s grizzled face.
Sensing that he was going to cum if he didn’t move on soon, Simon jumped down to the ground. He again poured Alfie a small drink of gin, which Alfie chugged before slamming the brandy glass back down on the table. In moments, Alfie seemed to have forgotten the disgust and shame he felt when jerking on Simon’s dick. He might have forgotten entirely what happened.
“Mo’ ‘um!” he said once again.
“You can have some more rum once you finish,” Simon said. “Get on your knees here on the floor, and bend over the chair.”
Alfie moved very slowly, on weak, hesitant knees. He dropped to the ground and bent over the chair he had just been sitting in. He didn’t seem to understand where this was going, so he just draped his arms and upper chest over the chair at first.
“No, you have to lean up,” Simon said, tugging on those massive arms. Alfie finally realized what he was supposed to do and crawled forward until his ass was in the air, again like a little boy, this time preparing to be spanked.
Simon hadn’t intended that, but his big hairy asscheeks beckoned, and Simon decided to give them a smack. He hit as hard as he could, making a loud slapping sound. But Alfie didn’t even seem to notice. He looked around the bar as though seeing it from this height was mesmerizing.
Simon slipped a finger between those hairy cheeks and found the man’s tight hole — though he noticed it wasn’t as tight as most normal men. He had been penetrated before, Simon thought, presumably by Mr. Goodman.
He pushed his finger in. Alfie yelped and squirmed, and his ass clenched around the finger. Simon sighed and used his free hand to caress Alfie’s strapping back muscles.
“Ah, ‘amm, a ooss,” Alfie said, insistently, as though it was very important. Simon made some supportive clucking sounds but didn’t both responding.
Alfie tried to sneak a hand up and grab the bottle of rum, which was virtually empty, but he moved so slow that Simon just grabbed it out of the way. He was going to put it on the floor, then took the neck and pushed it between those asscheeks.
“I’ll let you drink from the bottle, Alfie, but you gotta loosen up a bit,” he said. He swiped the neck of the bottle between those asscheeks and under the man’s sweaty ballsack. Alfie grunted and heaved, opening up his ass. Simon pushed the open neck into his asshole, and Alfie let out a pained snort. He banged his face into the wooden chair as he let out a howl of pain.
He ground his face into the wood while Simon pushed the bottle’s neck into his ass. When he pulled it out, the opening was sticky with assjuice and sweat. He passed the bottle to Alfie’s face, and Alfie wrinkled his nose as he tried to drink from it. The ass-slime smeared all over his face, and much of the rum missed his mouth, but Alfie didn’t seem to notice.
Simon slammed his own dick into Alfie’s ass while it was still loose. It immediately tightened around him, and Alfie grunted loudly. He squirmed beneath Simon’s grasp as Simon climbed atop his back. Alfie was so huge that it was awkward getting in position, but Simon enjoyed climbing up his muscular back.
Pounding his dick in and out as he stood on the edge of the chair, Simon gripped Alfie’s greasy black hair. Alfie squirmed and moaned, the motion making Simon’s dick feel even better as he plundered that broad farmhand ass.
The man’s ass tightened around Simon’s dick so much that his knees went weak from the intense pleasure. He grunted and groaned, losing all of his feminine grace; he rutted like an animal atop Alfie, whose pained contortions were slow, as though he was struggling through a pool of molasses.
His speed grew — Simon so rarely topped that he had been unsure how he could handle such a big man beneath him. But he soon got the hang of it, and Alfie’s heavy panting as he struggled turned Simon on even more.
His own orgasm came on quickly, and Simon made sure to pull out before it actually happened. He ran around the table and rammed his ass-covered dick into Alfie’s open mouth. Alfie gagged and retched but accepted it. He made a sour face as he tasted his own ass.
“How’s that taste, Alfie? You’re doing real good, boy…” Simon said. Incredible pleasure like nothing he had ever experienced washed over his body then, and he sprayed his cum right in Alfie’s mouth. Alfie sputtered, spitting most of it out as his body rejected the salty issue.
With sexual bliss rollicking his petite frame, Simon sighed. He smeared all the cum over Alfie’s sun-darkened face, its pearly whiteness contrasting with his swarthy skin.
Then Simon reinserted the bottle into his tired ass. Alfie yelped as tears welled up in his eyes. He tried to wipe his face off but Simon pushed his hand away. He looked Alfie in the eye as he worked that bottle back in and out of the man’s ass.
Meanwhile Simon let his other hand explore Alfie’s body. He grabbed his giant cock, which was half-hard and dangling next to the chair on which Alfie was still bent over. Simon gave it a stroke and giggled as Alfie moaned. He seemed to forget about the pain in his ass. He closed his eyes and submitted to Simon’s hand.
In no time, Alfie shot his load as well. Simon was waiting for it, as the man’s bulky muscles tensed and flexed. Cum sprayed into Simon’s waiting hand. Alfie gasped as though his orgasm was painful which Simon supposed it probably was since that bottle was still in Alfie’s ass.
“Alright, you just need to lick this up, boy,” Simon said, keeping his voice as stern as possible. The thick cum of Alfie’s nut sat hotly, steaming and dense, on Simon’s hand.
He held his palm in front of Alfie’s face. Alfie seemed to accept that he had to do what Simon said, and he grumbled but licked. He gagged and trembled as soon as he tasted his own thick creamy cum.
That was fine with Simon, who didn’t really want him to swallow it all. He laughed at Alfie’s gagging and smeared the cum over his face, which was now shiny with juices and fluids. He removed the bottle from Alfie’s ass and again allowed him to drink from it. Alfie breathed a sigh of relief and again didn’t seem to notice the taste of his own ass on the bottle.
When he had finally swallowed every drop of ass-sweat-and-rum, Simon replaced the bottle in his ass. Alfie accepted it easily this time.
Then he slipped off the edge of the chair, collaping into a pile of sleeping muscle on the floor. It was obvious that that was it. He was out for the night and wouldn’t be waking up no matter what.
Simon quickly replaced his own clothes. He wished he could stay here all night, but he didn’t want to be here when Alfie woke up. He was covered in semen and assjuice, and he had a bottle sticking out of his rear. He was going to be humiliated and furious when he woke up, Simon thought with a sense of satisfaction.
He knocked on Bud’s door and said he was done. Bud sighed as though he had been trying to forget about the lavender nastiness happening in his bar, but he said alright and thanked Simon.
“I could never have brought myself to do that,” Bud said when he opened the door to his room. He blushed a bright red. “I hope you taught him a lesson. I’ll make sure Sheriff Torkelson is there when he wakes up, so there’ll be a witness.”
“And you won’t tell him it was me?”
He shook his head. “I’ll just tell him he was drunk and I couldn’t stop him from begging a bunch of cowboys to use his body. I’ll say he did it for a few free drinks.”
“Oh, Bud… You have such wonderful ideas,” Simon said. Come get me if you have any trouble with anyone else.”