MN Manmacker's mansploitation
A factory that made specialty graphing calculators was probably full of bespectacled nerds with pens leaking over their pocket protectors, their whiny singsong voices drowned out by the whirr of the machinery.
But that wasn’t the case. Just because it was used by nerds didn’t mean it was manufactured by them.
From The Foreman
Banner grunted and threw his eyebrows back. He wasn’t used to being polite to bargoers. Being a bouncer at a club like this was one of the few professions where being mean to the customers was expected. Banner was not graded on customer service, which was good because most everyone found him chilling. He put a damper on the club every time he worked. He had that grim-eyed stare that made the waitresses trade shifts to get away from him.
But the owner, Math, liked that he kicked ass. Banner never lost a fight. At a bar like Lipsweet, that was a frequently useful skill, and it was more important than the comfort of the waitresses.
From The Bouncer
Giovanni batted his dark eyes at Teddy. “Hello, uh, sir-uh,” he said, his Italian accent more pronounced than when he had talked to Teddy earlier — that was a bit because Giovanni was more tired now so his English skills had deteriorated, but even more than that it was because he had not been trying to get anything from Teddy before. Americans found his accent sexy, so Giovanni always made it more prominent when trying to get something from somebody. “My name-uh, it is Giovanni, eh?” He leaned over the bar and kissed Teddy on each cheek.
From The Vintner
A pounding rhythm filled the air, emanating from Avery’s niece’s little boombox back in the main house. That helped Jeff a lot, and he danced around the room for a few seconds to get into the rhythm of it. Avery watched his back muscles writhe.
“You ready?” Jeff asked, flashing his dimples. He backed up to Avery, who was still seated so Jeff’s ass was around his face level. Avery’s cock rocketed to attention. The fact that Jeff hadn’t prepared to strip today actually made this more arousing — dirty basketball shorts were more alluring, Avery thought, than contrived stripper clothes. The faint layer of chest hair that hadn’t been shaved yet even extended over his shoulder. His natural musk was only barely covered up by deodorant — he no doubt wore cologne when he stripped, but he assumed no one would notice through the fatsuit. All those things turned Avery on more than any polished Hollywoodized stripper.
His asscheeks flexed, one after the other, in front of Avery’s face. Avery inhaled deeply of the sweaty scent and moaned loudly, and the awkwardness of the situation made him chuckle. That made Jeff laugh too — it was clearly forced, he was in agreeable-stripper-mode — and Avery even tried to tease those shorts down before Jeff batted his hands away.
“No touching the stripper,” Jeff said.
From The Stud
It was hard as iron now, he was in no danger of losing his erection. Avery could tell Byron was concerned about that though. Young men usually were. You’d think they’d only be concerned about when they got old enough it might happen, but that wasn’t the case. Young men were always terrified of getting or not getting hardons.
Wink wore this suit to impress her. Avery had been going back and forth whether he wore it for her or because he just thought he looked good or maybe he was going to go club-hopping later, maybe he just wanted to get his rocks off before hitting on pretty girls so he wouldn’t be too horny. Or maybe he just always wore a suit, or he was hoping to become a pimp one day. There were a million reasons he might be wearing the cheap, ill-fitting burgundy suit.
But the more he swallowed, the more Avery knew the answer — Wink wanted to look his best for Bethlyn, or whichever prostitute looked prettiest to him when he got here. He felt like a trashy loser when he dressed in his ordinary t-shirt and jeans to get a blowjob from a whore, so he wore his only suit instead. He talked like he was seducing her, like she was his girlfriend, like he really loved her, because he wished he was the kind of man who felt that way about a girl.
From The John
Manchester was not a nice city. Sullen women glared at Rob, white men in track suits and undershirts chugging lager on every corner. One of the men scratched his nuts in a way that made his bulge very apparent, and Rob could see the outline of his cock through his Adidas tracksuit bottoms. Rob’s heart skipped a beat. He liked the alpha males of Manchester and their brusque accents. Most of them were unemployed, of course, who would hire such a lout? Throughout the city, scallies hung around on stoops and in alleys, shouting come-ons at girls of low repute.
From The Scally
The cowboy-hatted man pumped his biceps and said, “Told you bitches, ain’t no way a man from Delaware is gonna outwrestle a gen-uine Texan! Yee-haw!” He grabbed his oversized belt buckle and cackled.
He don’t wanna risk a chance to fuck one the Delaware ladies. They not that purdy cuz nuttin’ in Delaware was purdy, whole damn state look like a broke-down toilet and do smell like a clean urinal. T’was a long drive from Baltimore to Rehobeth, and Buck was glad to get away from the city fer awhile.
The brothel was a fancy-looking house that got too many people in it to be fancy. There was a bar on the outfront chock-fulla fellahs — mostly young people on break from college, it seemed — and the second and upper floors got tons of bedrooms with ladies in ’em. Dang doodle them’all was buxom ladies too. Delaware ladies got ugly faces but fantastic tits. Lotta ’em wears comfortable shoes, they do, and they plays them some softball. But the brothel, at least, got proper ones.
T’was when one lady, a purdy redhead with tits like campfires, came strutty-footing down the hall. “Hey, guys,” she said, her tits like maaaad jumping. She smelled like keeewees and strawberry, and you just know her hair smelled sweet! She do get a hillbilly’s heart a-racing! She batted them eyelids at Buck like you wouldn’t believe. “You two lookin’ for somethin’?”
From Buck on Bottom
“Stop! Stop right where you are! Hands in the air!” One the gooks had stellar English, with drawl and a trace of twang. Sounded like he was from somewhere proper, maybe Tennessee.
The peal of a siren shattered Goose’s rainy shards into panes of togethertude, and he stupored into stillness.
Cops surrounded him. Guns aimed himward. The sun blared in his eyes. No endless canopy clouding overhead. No wetlands under his boots. No helicopter sounds.
He was in America. Tennessee? Maybe. Pennsylvania? Indiana? Were those real places? Goose never was convinced Delaware was real.
“Put your hands in the air!” shouted the insistent cop in the lead. His gun glinted in the sun. He had a groomed mustache liketa grow into a beard but never quite got there.
“Aaaah… shit,” Goose said. He ain’t know where he was or what done happen. For a moment, he couldn’t even remember leaving Vietnam. Had he rotated out? Gone AWOL? Fragged his commander? Or did he die there?
But for the first time in a long time, he got an intense and sudden fear of growing old and being alone. Everybody was getting married these days, it seemed, including Jessie and Edmund. Their marriage was in Rehobeth Beach, Delaware.
Imagine getting married in Delaware! She must really love him.
From Desmond Seeks Alphas
He sneered in disgust at the sight of Teddy’s asshole, but Buck wiped it down with the sponge. It was a little painful, the friction of the sponge rubbing against his sensitive rim. But Teddy didn’t mind. The pain sent another thrill up his spine, and Teddy found himself pushing his ass back as though trying to put his cheeks on Buck’s face.
Then, that was exactly what happened — without a word of warning, Buck dove tongue-first into Teddy’s asshole.
“Oooooh, god!” Teddy was shocked by the sensation and, then, when he had turned his head to see what was happening, by the sight of Buck’s mullet shaking as he lapped up Teddy’s asscrack from the taint to the gluteal crest. His tongue was firm and moist, strong like his body, raspy and textured. Teddy’s whole body shook.
From Aroused by Ex-Cons
“This is called a reacharound,” Buck said, his throaty voice loud because it was aimed directly into Teddy’s ears. “In prison, that’s how you make it okay — like, you ain’t bitchin’ a fella out if’n you givin’ him a reacharound. That makes ya equals. Well, maybe not quite equal, but y’know… He ain’t a punk, anyways. You just both jackin’ off but one of you is doin’ it inside the other’s butt.”
From Aroused by Ex-Cons
