Bouncers

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

Bouncers

The Ladysman

Teddy winds up hiring the handsome Turkish gigolo Emre… Emre needs cash and is willing to pleasure anyone who’s willing

The Bouncer

Rob is eager to service the bouncer at the biker bar, and he just might have his chance! He hangs

The Bouncer

Rob is eager to service the bouncer at the biker bar, and he just might have his chance! He hangs out in the alley by the dumpster where the legendary bouncer Banner drops off the scumbags he kicks out of the Clever Pipe, and when Rob makes him an offer too good to pass out, Banner is all too happy to treat Rob exactly the way he wants it!

Can Rob handle the punishment he’s begging for?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob Winthrop headed down the alley behind the club. He smoked a cigarette to make it look like he was waiting for someone to leave out the back. Every few minutes some drunkard did leave out the back, but Rob ignored everyone. He wasn’t here for any of them.
He was here for the bouncer out front.
He had a plan to get him too, but he needed to wait for him to come into the alley. The bouncer was named Banner. He was square-jawed and rugged, with a dense network of scars on his fingers. He said that was from getting angry and punching his fist through glass windows on several occasions. He was a bouncer at the Clever Pipe, a tough bar on the outskirts of town.
Finally the back door flew open, and a drunk man was shoved out of it. Banner followed him, pushing him every few feet and barking out challenges and questions. “Get out. Come at me, brah. Come at me then. You wanna fight? You wanna show off fo’ ya girl? Here’s ya chance, come at me. Lemme see it.” Banner had a handsome face with a noble jaw and a crooked nose, with a flatness to his voice like he had a phonograph in his throat. Even when he spat invective at the drunk man he was kicking out, he didn’t really sound like he meant it. He sounded like a bad actor reading his lines for the first time. He had thick boots like a factory worker. Already tonight a few drops of blood blotted the black leather of his boots. Rob didn’t know if it was Banner’s, the drunk man’s or someone else’s.
Banner pushed the drunk man until he tottered in a garbagey puddle near the dumpster. Then he cackled and kicked the man in the side. The man yelped and squirmed. He tried to crawl away.
A drunk girl came out the back, sloshing through the doorway like a spilled cosmo. She tried to push Banner into the wall — which was ridiculous, because Banner was like a mountain compared to her drunk, wavering twig of a body — but he just moved out of the way. She smacked into the brick wall then stumbled to her boyfriend.
“You fucking pussy!” she said. She sounded so drunk she was about to pass out.
“You’re a slut!” the drunk man bellowed from the ground.
Banner watched with a sneer. The two drunkards argued there in the garbage. Banner lit a cigarette. He flexed his biceps, which were visible beneath the white wifebeater he wore — it looked like it had been brand new at the start of his shift, but now had sweat stains around the shoulders, spilled beer soaked into it and a few drops of dried blood over his heart..
He saw Rob there and nodded. Banner licked his teeth. “I’s the bouncer.” He paused like he was waiting for an order.
Rob came forward. “It’s a dirty job but somebody’s gotta do it.”
The drunk couple headed out of the alley, staggering forward as they shouted at each other. Banner took a deep drag on his cigarette. “You waitin’ for somebody?”
Rob nodded. “But I don’t think they’re coming. They might have gone home with somebody else.”
Banner nodded. Rob made sure to accentuate his feminine side to put Banner at ease. Banner bristled and wrinkled his nose. “Uh-huh.”
“You’re Banner, right? I’m Rob.” They had actually “met”, or at least interacted briefly, last weekend; but Banner didn’t remember that.
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 the Clever Pipe, that was a frequently useful skill, and it was more important than the comfort of the waitresses.
“I’ll give you fifty bucks to take your shirt off and put me in a headlock,” Rob said. As soon as he said it, he squealed and blushed. He handed Banner the money before Banner even responded.
He took the fifty dollar bill. He stared at it, then sighed and chuckled. He took off his wifebeater. He grimaced at the sight of Rob’s leering eyes. His pecs flexed — not in a deliberate, seductive way, but like he was imagining punching Rob and his muscles were dreaming about it.
But then he put Rob in a headlock. He wrapped his right arm around Rob’s neck, holding him tightly. Rob was squashed between his arm and his chest. His other arm pulled Rob’s body close to Banner’s, whose bare muscles writhed like a barrel of snakes against Rob’s skin.
Sweat dripped onto Rob’s lips and coated his face. The scent of Banner’s unwashed machismo was alluring, and Rob groaned. He smelled cheap deodorant too, but it had already been overpowered by Banner’s sweaty night in the overcrowded nightclub.
“Do you ever make guys jack you off?”
“What?”
“I’ve heard some bouncers sometimes take drunk guys they kick out, and y’know… make ‘em jack them off,” Rob said.
“No.”
“Would you? I mean, if I paid you?” Rob struggled to speak through the headlock. He planted his lips on Banner’s rock-hard bicep and kissed loudly.
Banner groaned and looked away. He gamely kept Rob in the headlock, though he could have dropped him. He blushed. “What, man? You wanna pay me to make some dude jack me off?”
“No, me. I want to pay you to make me jerk you off.”
“No way. I don’t-“
“A thousand dollars.”
A long, empty silence filled the alley. Banner held his cigarette in his hand. He narrowed his eyebrows to slits.
“You gonna pay me a grand to jack me off?”
“No. I’m gonna pay you a grand for you to make me jack you off,” Rob said. He writhed in the headlock, and rubbed his ass against Banner’s crotch. “I’ll pay you another grand to cornhole me in the ass.”
“Nope. No way. I don’t do that.” Banner said. He sighed. He pushed Rob away from him. His serious face screwed up like he was sucking on a lemon. “I won’t do that. No way.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “Three grand. Three grand, man. No. Nevermind. I can’t.”
“Oh-“
“Okay, yeah. Three grand. I can do it. Thirty five hundred. I’ll do it for thirty five hundred,” he said. He sighed and leaned over the railing. His big plump ass stood up. It was cradled by tight basketball shorts beneath his scruffy jeans. The top of his asscrack was just barely visible. Sweat collected there. “No, I mean… Yeah. I can do it. Four grand. I want four grand.”
“I better get started before the price keeps going up,” Rob said. He dropped to his knees and in one smooth motion planted his tongue in that spot of asscrack visible above Banner’s sagging jeans.
“Ah shit, man,” Banner squirmed. He looked behind himself at Rob licking his asscrack. “You ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout licking my ass. You ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout that.”
“If I’m paying four grand, I’m lickin’ your ass. Don’t get cheap now,” Rob said. “I promise I won’t put anything in there, not even a finger. Okay, my tongue. I’ll put my tongue in there.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. He turned back around and grabbed Rob by the chin. “Boy… if you even think about putting a finger in my ass, I will kill you. You understand me? I will not try to hide the evidence. I will go to prison with my head held high, bitch. You dig me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir.”
“Okay, uh, Banner.”
He snorted and laughed nervously. He paused and smoked his cigarette. He blew smoke into Rob’s face. Rob coughed.
“You imaginin’ ya finger in my ass?”
“No, Banner. I promise. I swear. I don’t do that,” Rob said.
“Ya dick?”
“No. I only ever bottom,” Rob said. His heart skipped a beat. Like most bouncers, Banner was very good at intimidating people. He stared Rob down, then spat on his face. “I just want to suck your asshole, that’s all.”
“Fuckin’ freak.”
Banner undid the belt of his jeans and pulled down his shorts to reveal a pale, trembling pair of beautifully plump asscheeks. There was a big nasty twisted scar on one cheek. He only pulled down his pants on his backside, taking care to make sure he didn’t bare his cock and balls.
Rob separated those cheeks and inhaled deeply of the scent. The sound of him sniffing made Banner chuckle, his whole body shaking. Rob leaned his head in and slipped his tongue into Banner’s tight hole.
“What’s this scar?” Rob asked as he kissed all up and down the crack of Banner’s ass.
“I got shot,” Banner said. His voice was pinched, as though it hurt to have his asshole licked. He squirmed and groaned. His hole clenched around Rob’s tongue.
Rob tickled the gunshot-wound scar on his ass. One of his hands roamed between Banner’s legs, massaging the taint there. He suckled loudly and moistly on Banner’s asshole. He slurped out all the stank, salty sweat he could get to.
“Who shot you?”
“This guy. There was a disagreement,” Banner said. ‘Bout who owned this girl.”
Rob giggled into Banner’s ass. “I hope you were on the side of ‘nobody owned her’.”
Banner bristled and bit his lip. He didn’t answer at first. Then he murmured, “I ain’t a rapist or a pimp or nothin’.”
“Uh-huh-“
“Ah, damn!” Banner laughed. “I gots an idea.” He clapped his hands and fished his phone out of his pants pocket. That turned out to be difficult to do in this position, so he wordlessly pushed Rob onto the cold, moist ground on his back. Banner lowered his ass, squatting over Rob’s face. That was perfect for Rob, because it forcibly separated Banner’s cheeks, giving him perfect access to his hole. It was easier for Banner to get into his own pants pocket this way.
Rob flickered his tongue all the way in to Banner’s hole, far enough in that Banner shuddered and groaned. He nearly dropped his cell phone as he dialed. Finally he got it to ring and held it to his ear.
“Yo, nigga. Guess what? Remember that thing you said only niggas can ever talk someone into? I got this bitch lickin’ at my hole right now-” Banner paused and groaned. “Nigga nigga nigga, I say it when I want, man. I ain’t even have to talk this bitch into it. Uh-huh. Got that tongue all up in my guts right now, cleanin’ me out, uh-huh. Gonna rub it like a dog now.” He moved his ass back and forth, squeezing over Rob’s tongue. “Yeah, it’s real nasty.” He paused. “Alright, yeah. I meet you tomorrow at noon. Get up early then, and don’t try and pass off schwag, I will kick yo’ ass again. Bullshit. I beat yo’ ass like a cop behind bars, nigga. I destroyed you. I’m just sayin’ it to piss you off now. That’s my right. That’s my First Amendment right as an American.” He paused and grunted. “Hell yeah. But I am takin’ her ass, man — no! No! You can’t call it like that, that ain’t fair. I fuck her in the ass. Yeah, you take the pussy. If our balls touch, I will punch you. If our balls touch, it will be yo’ fault, I guarantee that.” He squirmed atop Rob’s tongue. “God damn, man, you ain’t say ya tongue gonna feel like that. Okay, nigga. Nigga please. Nigga you don’t even- Uh-huh, my nigga. You my nigga, dawg. I swear-” He put the phone down. He snorted. “Hung up. Fuckin’ asshole.” He stood up and grabbed Rob by the neck. “You ready to swallow some dick, deadbeat?”
“Yeah,” Rob said. The only sound he could make right now was a weak squeak.
Banner spat on his face. He laughed and clapped his hands. “Alright, goddamn. This is kinda fun.” He pushed Rob onto his knees. He had a massive cock, already half-hard and throbbing in his hands. He pried Rob’s mouth apart and fed it in. He shuddered, then smiled. “My dad was a bouncer — I only met him a few times in person, he been in jail since I was little — and he always say this is what it used to be like. Police used to be on ya side, you know? If some deadbeat raised a fuckin’ stink, you could raise a fuckin’ stink on his face, dig?” He sighed as he slammed his dick all the way into Rob’s throat.
Rob struggled to accept it all. He gagged violently. His hands tightened into claws that grabbed at Banner’s plump asscheeks, which were still wet from Rob’s licking.
“Man… My dad used to come home late, and he’d drink with my uncle Tony — he lived wit’ us then — and he’d tell Tony about the shit he did to the boys who raised too much hell in his bar. I ain’t understand half of what he said,” Banner said. “Like usin’ a bum as an ashtray.” He made sure Rob’s eyes were open wide, then ground his cigarette out on Rob’s forehead.
The scorching pain on his flesh made Rob squirm. His mouth struggled to avoid biting down, but he didn’t have any leverage anyway, so he probably couldn’t have bit if he wanted to. All he could do was hock up a ball of saliva that dripped down Banner’s shaft.
“Alright, deadbeat,” Banner said. He sounded absent-minded, like he was acting out something he recalled his father saying. “Now here comes the big finale. I’m gonna turn your ass into my woman, a woman I don’t think much of. It’s gonna hurt, and you gonna cry, but eventually it’ll be over. Then you be a flappy-butted loser.” He bent Rob over the railing near the landing by the back door to the club.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Banner had his cock in Rob’s ass — he just jammed it in as though the more he thought about it, the more he might be unable to perform. He sighed once the first inch or so was in. Rob squealed and gasped.
“That hurt? It should. You want something to bite on?” Banner said. He put his corded-muscle forearm in front of Rob’s mouth. “You can bite my arm, bitch. I won’t be mad.”
Rob didn’t want to bite, though the pressure in his ass was intense. He kissed. He sucked on the firm muscle of Banner’s forearm, nibbling a bit only when the sensations in his ass became too incredible to avoid.
“Say ‘I’m a bitch’.”
“I’m a bitch!”
“Say it louder. Be proud of ya bitchitude. Bitch.”
“I’m a bitch! I’m such a bitch! I’m Banner’s bitch! I’ll do anything he wants!” Rob screamed into the darkened alley.
“Ha, now I get it, I know why my dad was-” Banner chuckled dryly, interrupted when his cell phone rang. “That’s prolly that nigga again, tellin’ me he run out of weed or some shit. I swear to God- Oh, nevermind, it’s my boss. Shush.” He stopped moving with his cock all the way in Rob’s ass.
There was a long silence. It took all of Rob’s concentration to avoid crying out. Banner stopped moving, but he stopped with his entire cock throbbing in Rob’s ass.
“Yes, sir. Uh-huh. Uh, yeah, Math, I’m just, uh, takin’ care of- Right. Yes, sir. I’ll be there in a moment.” He hung up the phone and barked. He punched Rob in the back, then roared and backed away. Blessed relief flooded Rob as his ass was emptied. “I swear to Christ, I will rip this bitch’s throat out.” He pulled his pants up. “You hear me? I will kill- Sorry ‘bout punching you, man. I ain’t mean to hurtcha.”
“No worries, I’m not hurt-“
“I will lay down some law like a lawyer, boy. You best believe it,” he said. He went back into the club, still shirtless, his cock and his ass moist. His dick was still as hard as iron, and if the club weren’t so dark, the bulge in his jeans would have been obvious.
Rob pulled his pants up, just in case more people came out the back. He kept the door open too, watching. But the club was crowded and dark and smoky and loud, and Rob got only a vague impression of what was happening in there.
A glass-shattering crash. Gasps. What the fuck?! A crack. More gasping. Some laughter. Angry words spat out too quietly to hear. A moist sound that Rob couldn’t identify. You still feelin’ grabby, my man? A shriek of terror. Shut the fuck up! You gonna walk out like a man or you gonna get yaself thrown out like a bitch?
Then Rob saw a blurry mix of limbs and muscle come his way. He stepped away from the door just in time to see Banner dragging a thrashing man out into the alley. The man was drunk, crying, red-faced, blood streaming from his nostrils.
The man staggered to his feet in the puddle of dumpster water he landed in. “Fuck you!” he screamed. He drunkenly, slowly put his fists up. “Come at me, bro. Come at me. Try me, huh?”
Banner laughed. “Don’t make me. I would come over there and kick ya ass, bro. I would do it. But you happened to interrupt me when I was punishin’ the last deadbeat who raised up a fuss and I don’t wanna stop.”
“Come at me!” The drunk man kept repeating that, staggering around the alley. He didn’t seem to notice at first when Banner dropped his jeans again.
Banner’s cock was not totally hard anymore, but he had only lost a bit of his erection. He rammed it into Rob’s ass and sighed as though he was scratching an itch he had been unable to reach for a long time. He slipped his entire cock in, and Rob squealed — he had to make it very loud to get the drunk’s attention.
The drunk stepped closer like he didn’t understand what he was seeing. He screwed up his eyes and wrinkled his nose. “You’re cornholin’ that man’.”
“You earnin’ yo’ identifyin’-nasty-shit merit badge, man?” Banner said. “Cuz you got it. You earned that.”
There was a long pause. “That’s nasty.”
“Go home, fuckwit! Ain’t you figure this out yet? When I’m done cornholin’ this deadbeat, I’m gonna come over there and cornhole you, ya dig? I’m gonna cornhole you till yo’ eyes bleed. I’m gonna cornhole you even though my dick gonna be limp cuz I just cornhole him, I’ll just shove it in ya ass anyway and watch porn on my phone till I get hard again. So you had better run the fuck away befo’ I finish.”
The drunk man covered his mouth like he had to suppress a shout. Then he turned tail and fled. He ran down the alley, swaying from side to side so badly he bumped into the wall and knocked over a trash can.
One of Banner’s hands grabbed Rob’s hair, holding his head in place. He groaned and moaned. Rob stroked himself off.
But first, before he reached orgasm, Rob pulled out his own cell phone. He handed it to Banner and said, “Here. Will you call my dad?”
“Call yo’ daddy?”
“Yeah. Tell him you’re cornholin’ me. I want to humiliate him. He doesn’t like the idea of me being dirty at all, and he would hate it if he knew I let a bouncer in me. No offense,” Rob said. “I’ll give you an extra hundred bucks. His name is Eugene.”
Banner grabbed the phone and muttered. “Fine.” He snorted and cleared his throat as it rang. “Yo. Hey. You, uh, Eugene? That’s right, I got ya boy’s cell phone. He can’t talk right now, on ‘ccount of he’s bein’ bitched out. Uh-huh. I’s a bouncer at the Clever Pipe, that’s that discount burlesque club, ya boy is here right now jackin’ dudes off for a quarter — yeah, he just drainin’ they balls so they ain’t gotta spend as much on lapdances. If you ever been to the Clever Pipe, you know they got some nasty-ass females. But only scumbags ever come here, so it works out for them. Anyway, I was callin’ you to give you an update on ya boy and see if you wanna buy this car I got — it ain’t stolen, I swear, but I do gotta get rid of it tonight and it’s got Massachusetts tags you should prolly take off right away. You can pay in money or in meth. Uh-huh. Sorry, I’s havin’ trouble hearin’ ya over the sound of ya boy swallowin’ nutsacks. You teach him to do that? You teach him good.” He stopped and shrugged. “He hung up. Ya daddy sound like a judge. He a judge?”
“No.”
“Good. Cuz I might have kick ya ass for real if yo’ daddy was a judge. He sound like the fuckhead who put my brother away,” Banner said. “Now hush up, I’m gonna cum.” He put his cell phone on Rob’s back, and the tinny sound of hetero porn filled the air.
Once he got it started, however, Banner didn’t seem to spend much focus looking at the screen. He closed his eyes and moaned, tweaking his own nipples. He groaned in disgust when Rob orgasmed and sprayed his wad over the alley ground, but he didn’t say anything.
“Aw, fuck, aw fuck, aw fuck…” Banner grunted. He pushed on Rob’s head and gripped his ass tightly in position.
A wash of hot cum spurted into Rob, followed by a long torrent of semen. It was thick and creamy, and it seeped into his flesh. Banner stopped moving while he came. He closed his eyes tightly as though watching a horror movie. His cock spasmed and the cum flowed until it was dripping out of Rob’s ass and onto the trashy ground beneath him.
“God damn, bitch. God damn,” Banner said. He smacked Rob’s ass without removing his cock, chuckling when that made Rob yelp and squirm. Banner swayed his hips and twitched his dick, causing a bubbly frothy load of cum to slip out. It coated Rob’s ass and dripped in clumps onto the ground.
“Wow, thanks-“
“Pay me, bitch,” Banner said with a growl like a jaguar. It sent a chill up Rob’s spine. “You best not cheat me. And clean my cock off wit’ yo’ clothes.”
“Yes, Banner,” Rob said. He used his shirt to wipe off Banner’s cock, then brought out his own smartphone. They used the app that Rob’s father had invented — PayUp — to transfer four thousand, one hundred and fifty dollars into Banner’s account. Rob didn’t tell Banner that it was his father’s app. Rob knew better than to spread that kind of personal info around.
Banner put his sweaty wifebeater back on. “Alright, you done.”
Rob didn’t respond right away. He was all cleaned up and dressed, ready to go, but he wanted to watch Banner’s muscle-bound body for as long as possible. Banner stayed there at the door, scowling at him.
“Okay, man, you get away,” Banner said. He spat on the ground. “Or I will kick yo’ ass for real.”
When Banner formed a fist with one hand and reared back ready to strike, Rob turned tail and fled into the night.

The Cricketer

Rob is in England when he spies an amateur cricketer who needs some quid. He is Ranuga, and he’s desperate for dosh. That just happens to be a situation Rob can help with!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob had one day to kill in Britain before he returned to Asia. He had a first-class plane ticket to Indonesia, and he eagerly awaited the departure. He’d had enough of the dreary monotony of England. Everything here was gray and bland: the food, the weather, the flowers somehow, it was all a vast wash of nothing.
The fields in the park near his hotel had been empty since Rob got here. It looked like a place they’d hold sporting events sometimes, but he saw no signs of that on previous days aside from lots of garbage. He hadn’t spent much time at the hotel, so it was possible something was going on there earlier. He was in Britain just to see a concert by his favorite band, the Monkeysmashers, so he hadn’t paid much attention to anything else.
When he left his hotel to find something to do on his last day in Britain, however, he saw people in the field. The little parking lot attached to it was full of cars.
Is that a park? Rob walked over there. He was trying to walk more, so this was a good plan, he thought. He’d go to the park. You never knew, he thought, he might meet someone.
It turned out to be an amateur cricket game. Or maybe just semi-amateur, maybe league play? Or was it a practice? Rob did not understand cricket enough to know. There was only a small audience, so maybe practice. Or a very unsuccessful league.
That strip of dirt down the middle was the cricket pitch. Rob was fascinated by it — he had never watched cricket, and as he approached, he overheard people express shock that a batsman had hit the ball to “cow’s corner”, which Rob thought was hilarious. It turned out to be a portion of the field that rarely received hits (so cows were free to graze there unmolested).
Rob had only stood there for a moment before he heard a loud engine roaring behind him. He — and the other fans, who appeared to be one small group of loud men shouting “oi!” at everything, and a bunch of women who were presumably the players’ girlfriends — turned to look at the car park.
It was a tow-truck, or a “recovery vehicle” as they called it here. It was a rusty brutalist conglomeration of winches and wheels, and a burly scally in a reflective vest hopped out to get it moving right away. In seconds, he had hooked up a ramshackle old Skoda, which was green like a depressed lime.
“Ranuga! Ranuga! They’re towing your car, mate!”
This was a repo man, Rob thought, or whatever the British word for that was. The tow-truck driver was in a hurry because he wanted to repossess the car before he was seen. Rob stepped aside. This seemed like a potential fight in the making. Or a scrap in the offing, however, they say that here.
A player from the team on the far side of the field sprinted through the game, which stopped as everyone turned to gawk. He shouted in what Rob first thought was a South Asian language — because the coach was either Indian or, Rob suspected as he got closer, Sri Lankan. But it was English, it turned out, just garbled and containing so many jumbled up obscenities and insults — even some rhyming slang — that Rob couldn’t decipher it.
He was Ranuga, and he had a rugged face with a dashing black beard peppered with salt. Rob stopped listening or paying much attention to anything except Ranuga. He was short but broad-shouldered and powerfully built, muscles rippling through the cricket whites he wore. His beard was a scruffy, curly explosion of pure jet hair, matted to his head with sweat. His skin was almost as dark, so the gray dapples in his beard stood out like a sun in the night.
“Hmmm…” Rob moaned to himself. He didn’t mean to do it out loud, but the women near him gave him an odd look. He smiled at them and headed out to the car park.
“You bloody wankeh! I told someone — Marianne, I think, her name was Marianne, in you’h bloody office! She said I could send a payment by the end of the week!”
“You still can, mate,” said the recovery-vehicle driver with a bored look on his face.
“No, no, you can’t take my car. I need that. I have to go to work, I have to drive — I need to drive, I have to, I have to-“
“You can take it up with your financing company,” the recovery-vehicle driver said. He was one of those jaw-heavy Brits who constantly chews on his lower lip. His jaw was working mad as he talked and then even moreso when he was quiet. “But I’m taking the vehicle.”
“I will fight you, I will-” the cricketer Ranuga said. His handsome face flashed and twinkled, and you could see in the solid sterling of his mug that he would have dropped to his knees to beg if he thought that would work. But he wasn’t gonna debase himself in front of the other cricketers unless he was sure he’d get something out of it.
And the recovery-vehicle driver was stone-facing. No mercy forthcame, and the two faced off. Ranuga had nothing more to say, and the driver couldn’t leave without turning his back on Ranuga. So they squared off with hostile mugs neither could come down from.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” Rob said. He came between them and faced Ranuga. He was suddenly stricken with desire. He paused, mouth agape.
“Uh… Yes? Mate?” Ranuga scowled. Then he shoved Rob out of the way.
His firm hands gripped Rob’s arm and pushed. Rob blushed. Ranuga took off his sweatshirt, making the assembled team laugh — Ranuga wore a sleeveless tee (or “vest”, as they would call it here) and flexed his biceps. His team laughed because he was “old” — at forty-two, he was hardly ancient, but he had a prematurely graying beard and the players were about nineteen on average, so he might as well have been Methuselah from their perspective.
Ranuga didn’t care. He was pissed. He had delicately arranged his finances so he could pay all his bills this month. But that wasn’t going to be possible until Friday. Marianne had told him that he could wait until then.
This, he thought, was ridiculous.
So a part of him thought taking off his kit and intimidating the tow-truck driver might have worked. Ranuga was in great shape, with a thick chest and arms like a stevedore. Rob licked his lips at the sight. His chest was covered in a mat of black hair except for a silver streak running down the center, over his sternum. Ranuga’s biceps bulged and ran with sweat despite the bleak chill of the London afternoon.
But the tow-truck driver was not so easily intimidated. He ignored Ranuga’s flexing and sputtering.
Ranuga’s hair was marvelously dense. Rob loved a hairy man. He blushed even though no one was looking at him. The teams were even going home. Ranuga’s red-faced rage concealed his embarrassment. He didn’t want his team to know he had money trouble.
“Uh, sorry, excuse me-“
“You yankee bell-end, wo the fuck do you want?” Ranuga said as he watched his car roll up the back of the tow-truck. He had his hands on the sides of his head, scratching his temple. His voice had a dense London accent, and he spoke like his mouth was full of sandpaper.
Rob came closer. “I can help.”
Ranuga blinked a few times. “Wot?”
“I can help you. With money. I don’t want you to be without a car. I’m sure-“
“Wot?”
“Can you come with me to my hotel room? I want to ask you something,” Rob said. He got closer, so Ranuga could hear him without the others listening in. The onlookers and players had mostly dispersed, but some still milled about, holding bats and balls — Ranuga was supposed to take all that kit home with him to store for the next game.
He was supposed to take that kit home in his car.
So no one knew what to do with it now. They watched Ranuga talk with the young American man — Rob — with a flamboyant lilt to his step. The recovery-vehicle driver glared as though Rob was doing something wrong by helping Ranuga with his bills.
“How much will you need?”
“For what? The car? To get current with payments…? Like six hundred pounds,” Ranuga said. He groaned and closed his eyes. He hadn’t said that out loud before. He was madly in debt. He slapped his hands over his cheeks and stroked that dense beard.
“I can do that. I’ll give you the cash,” Rob said. “If you take me back to my hotel and ram me senseless.”
There was a long pause. Rob blushed, and Ranuga did too, though his was hidden by his beard, which he scratched. He shifted his weight between his feet. It took a few seconds before he raised his eyebrows like he was just now processing what Rob said.
“Aaaaah… Aaah. Oh.”
“I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t wanna do. I wanna jerk you off and-“
“Fine. Deal. Fine.” Ranuga crossed his arms over his chest. Now he felt self-conscious in his vest. He wished he hadn’t taken off the shirt. He glowered, but inside he was exulting — getting current on his car payments would be amazing. That would put him ahead of the game. Ranuga looked to another player, Zaran, and yelled for him. “Oi! Put that stuff in your car and take it to your garage-“
“You do it-!” Zaran yelled back.
They both instantly erupted in shouting. Zaran was handsome too. He was lankier than Ranuga, and he had a charming set of dimples. He was like a zippy little hedgehog, running around the parking lot and playing some kind of prank — taking the piss out of — the other cricketers. It seemed they had all forgotten about Ranuga going off with the stranger. Ranuga obviously liked it that, and he didn’t mention it to anyone as he got work picking up after the match.
Zaran was cute, but he wasn’t as handsome as Ranuga. Ranuga had handsomeness in spades. He’d probably do better with women if he tempered his handsomeness with some cuteness, Rob thought, he was a little too handsome, like his only possible role in a movie would be ‘arrogant prince’. He was stressed due to the debt situation, as he hustled and bustled with Zaran, his muscular shoulders worked hard and stretched the fabric of his shirt. Eventually Zaran agreed, and he loaded up the gear in his car.
By then the other cricketers had all gone too. Ranuga swaggered away from the field and the car park. He didn’t wait to see if Rob followed. He was sure he would face lots of questions next week when he had a car and no American weirdo following him around.
Maybe, he thought, I should tell everyone he’s my bookie. It’s just embarrassing enough to be believable. I could say I won a couple quid on a bet and got my car back on Friday. Nobody can prove that didn’t happen.
“Is you into Sri Lankan blokes, mate?” Ranuga asked as they got near the seedy hotel. He had only just realized how odd this situation was — he had been so focused on getting paid that he didn’t think about this: Why had an American stranger come after him?
Rob opened the door to his room and let Ranuga in. He smiled. “I just admire the male physique.”
“Not Sri Lankans?”
Rob shook his head. “I didn’t know you were Sri Lankan. I would have guessed like Malaysian or something.”
“Malaysian?! Wot!” He scowled and wagged his finger at Rob. “Don’tyoo even say that.” He glared at Rob, who nodded and looked down. Ranuga stroked the beard. “You’re weird as.”
“I know…” Rob blushed. He shut the door, and Ranuga flopped onto the bed.
He wore a pair of track pants which he was about to rip off unceremoniously. Ranuga had never done anything like this before, so he felt a need to hide that fact — he wanted to look like an old hat at it. But he also didn’t want to look like some kinda trashy rentboy.
“Wait,” Rob said. “Let me take your pants off.” He crawled up on the bed, mounting Ranuga’s legs. He had on filthy old dark-blue track pants with a white stripe up the side. They smelled strongly of manhood and grass, and a bit of leather. Rob inhaled the intense scent as he massaged Ranuga’s legs.
Ranuga bristled. He had never been treated like this — most women wanted him to shower and wear nice clothes only to take them off. Rob seemed to want to worship his sweaty track pants, and he even nuzzled his nose within the salt-stained crotch. He inhaled loudly and passionately, full-throatedly savoring the scent and the moisture he flicked up with his tongue.
His forehead bumped against the pouch within Ranuga’s tight boxers, which cradled his heavy cock and balls. He was about to take off that sleeveless vest too, to bare his chest, but Rob stopped him.
He wanted to do it. Rob dove beneath the sleeveless shirt — an A-shirt, rather like what Americans called a “wifebeater” — and inhaled the stale sweat that had collected there. That tee shirt was utterly disgusting, Rob thought with a desirous giggle. It smelled like it hadn’t been washed in weeks.
More like months. Ranuga never washed the shirt because it was good luck. It had seemed like good luck ever since he wore it a couple times in a row when he won a game.
When he came to Britain, his teammates thought it was funny; they intimated it was a Buddhist tradition, that he had had the shirt blessed in a temple and now didn’t wash it in order to keep the blessing. That wasn’t true, but Ranuga had stopped disputing it.
He just didn’t wash it because he had worried it would interrupt his win streak back some twenty years ago, he thought as Rob squirmed and licked all of his unwashed flesh beneath the shirt. He eventually lost a game, so the win streak was interrupted anyway, but he couldn’t help but feel the shirt was good luck anyway. He washed it once then, again a bit later, and a girlfriend had washed it unknowingly once, and then he had washed it again somewhat more recently.
But still, it reeked of his manhood because it became utterly soaked, sopping wet with his spicy sweat every weekend, and he hadn’t washed it in two years. He felt right putting it on.
Now he was embarrassed. Was his stink what had attracted Rob to him?
While Rob appreciated a natural man’s musk, what he really loved — besides the adorable beard — was that chest. Ranuga had a dense mat of black hair over his powerful muscles, which were as black as night. He had darker skin than Rob even thought possible.
Rob’s tongue flickered through the hair that covered Ranuga’s broad chest, and his hands slowly worked the shirt up. His pecs were firm, his abs rippling when he sneered at Rob. His shirt raised slowly, and Ranuga’s frustration drained away while Rob slurped up the filth clinging to his chest hair, then his armpit hair. When the shirt was close enough to Ranuga’s nose to make it impossible for him to ignore the scent, Ranuga snarled in frustration and took the shirt off completely. He tossed it on the floor.
“You take forever, mate,” Ranuga said with a grunt. He was starting to get hard and wanted to finish this off quickly. Plus he didn’t want it to be obvious he had gotten hard before Rob touched his cock directly — it would look too freaky to get hard now. But Ranuga loved nippleplay.
So he lifted his ass and again removed his own trackpants. Rob took them from him and did it instead. He pulled them and his boxers down in one smooth motion, revealing a big brown uncut cock, already throbbing and stiffly floppy, just beginning to get hard. It was uncut, thick as a bottle of cider.
“Hmmmm…” Rob smiled and got down to business. He put the entire thing in his mouth at once, since it was obvious Ranuga didn’t want to dilly-dally. He tasted spicy with a peppery, grassy taste, like licking a lawnmower covered in salt, Rob thought. It made his lips pucker and his throat clench around Ranuga’s shaft.
A jolt of pleasure visibly wracked Ranuga’s cock, which twitched. Ranuga sucked in his breath. “Damn! Blood ‘ell, mate…” he murmured. He lifted his ass as though to stand, but he only leaned forward, pushing his meat deeper into Rob’s throat. That triggered a potent gag that exploded from deep within Rob, who choked out a wad of saliva that ran down Ranuga’s shaft and wetted his silky bush.
But he kept on it. That cock quickly firmed up until it was as hard as his thighs, which were like tree-trunks. Rob gripped them and produced as much spit on Ranuga’s cock as he could. He slurped his spit right back up and spat it out to run down Ranuga’s shaft to his balls.
“Ah, bloody ‘ell, oh fuck…” Ranuga’s voice became deeper as Rob’s mouth moved down his shaft, and then to his sac.
Just like the rest of his body, Ranuga’s crotch was very hairy, and his balls initially looked disappointingly small. But that was only because they were buried in his unkempt nest of pubic hair, and when Rob started slurping and slathering spit all over them, his hair became matted and those full, luscious balls filled Rob’s mouth.
“You wanna ram me?” Rob asked with a sultry giggle when Ranuga’s eyes opened wide.
Ranuga nodded and blushed again, his face now a blackish-red beneath his beard. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
So Rob mounted his body, using his hairy chest for support — which made his muscles ripple beneath Rob’s fingers — as he sat his ass down on Ranuga’s cock. There was a brief burst of pain before Rob’s ass loosened up enough to accommodate every inch of Ranuga’s throbbing member. The pain was replaced with a wave of pleasure when Ranuga’s knob hit his prostate. Rob threw his head back and begged for more.
His eyes opened when his dick slid in. Ranuga had never done it up behind, not even with a woman, so he was astonished at how easily it happened. This was all going down so quickly, he thought. He kept his hands behind his head because he didn’t want to accidentally touch Rob’s cock — and he felt sure if he didn’t move his hands out of the way, he would instinctively reach for Rob’s breasts, which of course he didn’t have.
Ranuga did piston his hips up and down once he got started, and he groaned loudly. He tried to muffle the sound out of concern someone would hear what was going on in here, but he couldn’t help himself. Shivers of pleasure ran up his spine and made it hard to think about anything else.
“Oh holy shit, mate,” Ranuga said, his voice soft but so loud and baritone for the moment that it resonated in Rob’s ears. Ranuga found his hands moving of their own accord, away from his head and to Rob’s ass.
He gripped Rob’s bare cheeks with a sense of wonder — he couldn’t believe he was doing it, touching a man’s bare ass as his cock slid into it.
And he was enjoying it! He had thought, before this began, that he would just lay here and let Rob service him. He pictured himself thinking about other things, maybe even getting drunk first. But that hadn’t happened, and he couldn’t think about other things because this felt too good. A wave of pleasure fell over him, making Ranuga gurgle and murmur, hands turning into fists that clawed at the air in front of him.
It felt better than any woman. He held onto Rob’s ass and lifted himself up. His angle was awkward, and he only used his elbows, not his hands, so it took every muscle in his great hairy body.
But soon he was crouched on the bed, Rob bent way over in front of him with his ass high. That was the perfect angle to ram in and out with all his might, sending waves of pleasure through him and also stimulating Rob’s prostate — not that Ranuga knew that.
So Rob reached his orgasm even before Ranuga. “Oh bloody ‘ell, stick it in me, Ranuga! Stick it in me!” He cried out into the blanket on top of the bed, and his hands gripped the cloth tightly. When he finally touched his cock, a jolt of unspeakable bliss wracked his body so hard it hurt, and his ass clenched.
Cum sprayed over his hand and onto the blanket, covering the bed with his spooge. It was good that Ranuga was about to cum, because within a few seconds it smelled so strongly of semen in here that Ranuga would have had trouble staying hard — he very strongly disliked that smell.
His white beard hairs quivered as Ranuga moaned and pressed down on Rob’s back. He grunted. His hot breath condensed on the back of Rob’s neck.
Then, at last, cum flowed into him. There was a great river of it, more and more continuing to flow, while Ranuga threw his head back and howled. He no longer cared about getting caught or about his teammates thinking he was poor.
There was nothing he could do about that stuff. This asshole, he thought, was something he could handle.
He grimaced, veins throbbing against the skin of his neck. He couldn’t believe how good that had been or how long it had taken — and he even got paid for it! He licked his lips.
Then Ranuga withdrew, his limpening dick sliding out and making Rob shudder with remnants of his climax.
Ranuga took a deep breath. “You better pay me. Six hundred pounds.”
“I will,” Rob said. He reached for the trousers he had dropped on the floor. But he was too tired, his legs and ass sore, to get down and pick up the wallet in the pocket. “You can get all the cash out of there. It’s like six hundred and ten pounds.”
Ranuga didn’t want to look desperate, so he nonchalantly picked up the trousers and found the wallet. His sticky cock was stuck to his thigh. Rob watched the moisture sparkle and evaporate on it.
He was glad to see the money was there. It was actually six hundred and thirteen pounds. A bonus, Ranuga thought as he pocketed it. “If anyone asks, you’re my bookie.”
Rob shrugged. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone anything though. I practice discretion, and I’m going to Indonesia tomorrow.”
Ranuga was relieved. He felt Rob’s eyes peering over him as he put his clothes back on. He was sweaty — and of course that tee shirt was even sweatier — which made him self-conscious. But he couldn’t hardly deny doing the same thing when his girlfriends dressed in front of him. He wondered if they felt the same way about it.
He did turn and wave his dick at Rob’s face before tucking it away. He smirked and took a deep breath. “Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”
“Me too,” Rob said as Ranuga walked out the door, trying to be unobtrusive in case any of his players were around. Rob just leaned back and sprawled out on the bed, which still had the spicy Sri Lankan flavor of Ranuga’s mansweat.
He was beginning to appreciate the sport of cricket.

Finn Chamberton

Avery expected Santas to be fat, which is why it caught his eyes when he realized that this Santa had a well-sculpted frame barely hidden by the fat suit and billowy robe. He had a square, grizzled jaw beneath the white fuzzy beard. His eyes were bright blue, his cheekbones high and strong, his jaw square and jutting.
Once his Santa-ness went away, as he shrugged off his fat suit, Finn gained a certain thuggy swagger. He didn’t come across as a thug, but he did sound like he would be at home in a backwards baseball cap and a pair of sagging jeans. Underneath the fat suit, he had on boxers that he slowly tugged down. He flexed his biceps and kissed each one.

From The Mall Santa

Pickspring Mall

The Pickspring mall had not been doing well for years, just like most malls. Avery was surprised, though, by how bad it was. KT Toys was a bustling anchor store, but the rest of the mall was a ghost-town of empty storefronts. All of the remaining businesses were crammed into one corner of the mall. There was a hats-and-sneakers store with no English anywhere on the signs, a witchcraft store with one bored goth behind the counter, a jewelry store that appeared to have no stock at the moment, a kiosk where an elderly Asian woman looked fearfully at an array of cell phone cases and one more attraction: a North Pole crowded with children and parents here to see a mall Santa.
The KT Toys opened right up into the part of the mall that had the North Pole, and those were the only two attractions with visitors right now. So almost the entire mall was a sepulchral mausoleum whiffy of abandoned capitalism, but the ten percent or so that was occupied by the KT Toys and the North Pole, that was crowded with visitors. The unused part was so drafty and chilled, billowingly shadowy, that Avery wouldn’t have been surprised to see a horde of zombies come out of the darkness. Children hid from the inky blackness of it, hiding behind their mothers and older siblings who waited impatiently for the line to move.

From The Mall Santa

The Mall Santa

Avery is at a dying mall to buy a Christmas present when he spies a mall Santa with a physique he could admire for days… His name is Finn, and when the Santa suit comes off, he’s willing to give Avery a swing on his meat with a little monetary persuasion!

Ho ho ho! Can Avery ring in a merry holiday?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery squeezed through the crowds in the KT Toys. He had what he came for, but he kept it clutched tightly in front of him, and he kept it in a bag tightly closed so no one could see that was what it was. It was a rare and valuable object that nearly everyone in this store right now would have gladly stolen. So he tried to make a face as though he didn’t have one.
It was the pink Princess Teddy doll.
That was one of the characters on a TV show about unicorns and sharing and BFFs, and Avery absolutely despised it. But he watched it with his nieces, and he read the books in the characters’ voices. and they had begged for the pink doll for Christmas. Apparently, the pink one was rare, and it was the it-thing this year for girls.
And Avery had his.
Avery was flamboyant and outgoing, and he had friends everywhere, including on the KT Toys staff. So he had slipped an extra hundred bucks to his friend Terry, got the pink doll and finally made it out the door into the mall.
He felt like a conquering champion returning home with treasure, he thought, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on his niece’s face when she opened her presents on Christmas morning.
The Pickspring mall had not been doing well for years, just like most malls. Avery was surprised, though, by how bad it was. KT Toys was a bustling anchor store, but the rest of the mall was a ghost-town of empty storefronts. All of the remaining businesses were crammed into one corner of the mall. There was a hats-and-sneakers store with no English anywhere on the signs, a witchcraft store with one bored goth behind the counter, a jewelry store that appeared to have no stock at the moment, a kiosk where an elderly Asian woman looked fearfully at an array of cell phone cases and one more attraction: a North Pole crowded with children and parents here to see a mall Santa.
The KT Toys opened right up into the part of the mall that had the North Pole, and those were the only two attractions with visitors right now. So almost the entire mall was a sepulchral mausoleum whiffy of abandoned capitalism, but the ten percent or so that was occupied by the KT Toys and the North Pole, that was crowded with visitors. The unused part was so drafty and chilled, billowingly shadowy, that Avery wouldn’t have been surprised to see a horde of zombies come out of the darkness. Children hid from the inky blackness of it, hiding behind their mothers and older siblings who waited impatiently for the line to move.
Avery was going to walk by on his way out the door. He had come in through the external door over by the Latino hat-and-sneaker outlet. The mall Santa hadn’t been here yet when Avery arrived this morning — Avery had been smoking weed with Terry on the roof of the KT Toys for a couple hours as part of his scheme to acquire the pink Princess Teddy — so Avery didn’t notice until he was walking by that Santa was a beefcake.
Avery expected Santas to be fat, which is why it caught his eyes when he realized that this Santa had a well-sculpted frame barely hidden by the fat suit and billowy robe. He had a square, grizzled jaw beneath the white fuzzy beard. His eyes were bright blue, his cheekbones high and strong, his jaw square and jutting.
“Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas, little girl! Have you been nice or naughty this year?” He had a booming baritone. It sent a chill up Avery’s spine.
Avery couldn’t help but stop and stare. He wondered if he could get a better look at the man’s muscles once the kids were gone. Sometimes he managed to talk men into letting him do that, and sometimes he just paid them for it.
And sometimes, he got to do more than just appreciate them.
So Avery went to the witchcraft store to waste some time until the North Pole closed. The goth there was suitably awkward and morose, and she was completely devoid of salesmanship. He bought a new glass pipe when she seemed to get antsy, but then he stayed and regaled her with stories she didn’t want to hear.
Avery didn’t care, he just wanted to pass the time until the North Pole closed. The witchcraft store only made one additional sale in the time Avery was there, and that was only for three incense sticks. Counting Avery’s pipe, that had been barely more than thirty dollars for two hours. That couldn’t bode well for this store’s chances, Avery thought, no wonder the mall was going under.
Soon, Avery saw the crowd thinning out. He went to the pretzel stand and got one right before it closed, then ate it watching and waiting while Santa finished up with the last little girl.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas! And what would you like for Christmas, little girl?”
“I want a pink Princess Teddy and the MitSlip app and the Humbleberry backpack and a pony that can do homework and a coloring book and stickers — lots of stickers!” The little girl used hand gestures to show how many stickers she wanted: a huge stack of them.
“That’s a lot of things! I’ll have to make the elves work overtime tonight, ho ho ho!” Santa laughed. “The North Pole’s sticker factory can only make-“
“I want pony stickers and rainbow stickers and the same animal stickers that Ava has and big stickers and stickers with circles and polka dots-“
“Ho ho ho! I think you’ve given Santa a very good idea of what kind of stickers-“
“And I want good sticky stickers that don’t fall off,” the little girl said, throwing her hands in the air and glaring at her parents accusatorily. “And Barbie stickers. And stickers for my doll house. And stickers that are blue and green and orange and yellow and-“
“Okay, sweetie, that’s enough sticker talk,” the girl’s mother said. Her father tried to collect her but the girl cried and gripped Santa’s robes and fat-suit. There were more kinds of stickers to list. Santa tried to explain that he would bring a variety pack of every kind of sticker, but the girl was crying too hard to hear any of that.
Avery just ate his pretzel and waited for it to be over. The last thing the girl said as her father carried her away was, “Oh, and an X-Box with four controllers and all the games ever! And stickers for the X-Box!”
Finally she was gone. Santa waved jollily towards the girl and her family until they were out of the mall. Then he sighed and pulled his beard off. He said something to the elf that Avery couldn’t hear.
The elf left right away, leaving only Santa. The mall was almost closed, and all of the shops were closed or closing. Santa hadn’t noticed Avery there, still lingering by the pretzel stand.
Avery walked over to him. He was glad to see that this Santa was as well-shaped as he had thought. His muscles bulged beneath the fat-suit. “Hi,” Avery said.
He nodded. “Sup, man.” He sighed. “You got a kid with you? I’m off the clock, but I can-“
“No, I don’t have any kids,” Avery said. “I have a proposal. What would you think…?” Avery smiled flirtatiously. “About taking me into one of these abandoned stores and letting me see what you look like under that suit.”
“U, what…? That ain’t what Santa does.” The man’s eyes opened wide and he chuckled. He played with the fuzzy gray fake Santa-beard.
“That’s not what I asked,” Avery said. “I can sweeten the pot. One hundred bucks. I appreciate the male form, and I want to see yours. The whole thing.”
He opened his mouth to say yes — Avery could virtually see the words dancing on his lips — but then he hesitated. “Two hundred bucks, man.”
Avery could have talked him down. But he decided not to. He could afford it, and it was the Christmas season, after all. “Fine,” he said. He giggled. “Let’s do it in the closed Cinnamon Bun Hut over there. I bet it still smells good.”
He led Santa — who said his real name was Finn — to the closed Cinnamon Bun Hut, which indeed still had that mouth-watering odor. Finn walked stiffly, like he still wasn’t sure if he regretted this or not. Avery smiled at Finn, who deeply blushed but affected a forced confident, swaggerous walk. The few employees left in the mall hurried to lock their stores up. No one noticed Avery and Finn heading off to the abandoned part of the mall.
The stale cinnamon-bun smell made Avery’s mouth water even before he dropped to his knees. He was excited, this had all happened so fast. He giggled and looked up at Finn.
“Alright, c’mon, man, hell yeah,” Finn said with a grunt. Once his Santa-ness went away, as he shrugged off his fat suit, Finn gained a certain thuggy swagger. He didn’t come across as a thug, but he did sound like he would be at home in a backwards baseball cap and a pair of sagging jeans. Underneath the fat suit, he had on boxers that he slowly tugged down. He flexed his biceps and kissed each one. “Uh-huh, you really into muscles and shit, huh? You go around lookin’ for mall Santas to mess around with? That’s nasty.”
Avery giggled. He flopped Finn’s limp dick over his face, chasing it with his tongue. Every time he made contact with it, Finn grunted and shifted his weight on his feet. The yeasty, roasty and warming smell of cinnamon buns mixed with Finn’s natural musk — he had sweated all day in that Santa suit — to give a homey smell, like a crowded but cozy home on Christmas morning.
“I don’t have a thing for mall Santas,” Avery said. “I just appreciate the male form.”
Whatever Finn was going to say next, he stopped because Avery sucked hard on the tip of his dick, and Finn’s voice broke before he formed any words.
His dick got hard as Finn sighed. He moaned and bit his lip. He wished more girls sucked dick like they liked it, like they really loved the taste of cock. He had lots of girls — there were three females he was messing with right now — but it never felt this good. Most of them couldn’t deep-throat anything like this.
Finn’s knees went weak. He hadn’t expected it to feel this good. “Goddamn, man…”
Precum flowed down Avery’s throat. It was thick and creamy and warm and it made Avery crave more. The salty flavor made him hungry for it. He deep-throated Finn to the root, making his whole body shake beneath the red pants he still wore.
He still had a tee shirt on too, soaked in sweat because of the fat suit and the robe, and he had suspenders on to keep those cavernous pants up. Avery reached up to massage his nipples underneath his shirt. Finn threw his head back and moaned, grabbing Avery’s hands over his nipples. He held onto Avery’s hands with his much larger hands, his wifebeater shirt pulled up to his neck — then he finally lifted it over his head, baring that powerful, rippling chest which gleamed with the layer of sweat that still covered it.
“Hmmm… Santa… All I want for Christmas is for you to cornhole me in the ass… hard… Please? Plow into me as hard as you can,” Avery said, crooning and cringing as he stroked Finn’s dick. He could tell that Finn like that kind of begging-dirty-talk, because it made his spine shudder and his dick pulsate, making more precum pour over Avery’s tongue.
“Goddamn, you are nasty,” Finn said. His tone suggested that that was an insult but also a compliment. He had a smile flicker over his face. Then he sighed like this was a big imposition. “Fine. I’ll plow ya up the asshole, boy, swear to God.”
Avery pulled off his dick and played with it for a moment, stroking the moist shaft and licking Finn’s balls. Finn stood there like a statue, or like a soldier at attention. His hips gyrated as though he was so desperate to get in Avery’s ass that his body was already penetrating the hole that wasn’t even lined up with his crotch yet.
“Get on all fours, man, c’mon,” Finn said. He sucked on his teeth. The further he got from his job as a mall Santa, Avery had noticed, the more of a thug Finn became. He swaggered up behind Avery and roughly dragged his ass into position so he could stick him in it.
Avery gasped, his lungs heaving for air since he had been deep-throating until just a moment ago, and Finn didn’t give him a chance to recover his breath. His breathing was ragged and hoarse still as Finn put his ass in its place.
Then he gripped Avery’s cheeks, spreading them and sneering at his tight hole. “Wink at me, boi. Wink at me three times.”
Avery giggled but did so. He clenched and released his ass three times. Finn grunted his approval. Then he rammed his middle finger in, roughly enough to make Avery yelp. Pain exploded in his ass.
“Hmm…” Finn said as though he didn’t like what his middle finger found. But he only kept his finger in there for a second before he removed it and wedged his dick between his cheeks. “Beg me for it, boy.”
Avery tried to sound like an exaggerating porn star. “Please, I-“
“Not like that. No please. You want Finn Chamberton’s meat, you beg for it. Demand it like you need it.”
“I need it! I need you inside me-“
“Don’t call me you, I ain’t ya boyfriend. Say my name.”
“I need it! I demand Finn Chamberton’s dick inside me-“
“Where?”
“In my ass! Please, stick it in me-“
“No please! We ain’t in church, boy, you don’t gotta say please.”
“Plow me now! Destroy me, Finn, put it in my ass!”
“Hmmm…” Finn smiled and drilled his dick in. He loved slamming his cock into a tight asshole and watching as pain turned to pleasure.
He was surprised at how much Avery’s ass felt like a girl’s. Avery had a nice smooth ass that clenched tightly around Finn’s dick, like it was trying to hold onto him, and Avery writhed most delightfully beneath him. Finn smiled. It was tough to find a girl who would let him go hard like this, they usually made him slow down and be gentle.
“Alright, gonna really get deep in you now, yeah…” Finn said with a grunt. He grabbed Avery by the back of the neck and held on tight. He squeezed on his neck like he was picking a cat up by its nape.
He threw his head back and slammed his dick in. Electric spasms of pleasure erupted in Avery’s ass. Avery gasped. It was one of the most intense moments of his life, his entire body shaking with the power of Finn’s macho body penetrating him over and over. Finn rammed into him, his foot-long cock hitting Avery hard with each thrust of his hips.
Avery hadn’t even noticed they were gone from the Cinnamon Bun Hut — that smell had been overpowered by the intense ass-funk that came from Avery’s precum-coated hole, so he didn’t notice himself crawling and Finn ramrodding his behind the whole way. They had made their way through the unused part of the mall. Avery realized it when they were back under the emergency night-time lighting, and Avery was momentarily blinded before his eyes adjusted. Finn had managed to move across the floor even with his red Santa pants around his ankles.
They had shuffled and gyrated their way back to the North Pole now, Avery clawing over the felt decorations and the elf costume carefully laid out on the steps that led up to Santa’s chair. Avery knocked over a reindeer (Prancer) as he cried out.
“Take it, man, keep that ass high! I ain’t say to stop it! I ain’t done wit’ that ass!”
He sure hoped there was no one left in the mall, because if there was, they would definitely hear what was happening. But Avery was beyond being able or willing to stop this. His prostate thrummed and throbbed, Finn slamming into him so hard he screamed, or would have if he could take a deep breath. Instead all that came out was a breathless, wordless growl.
“Hey.” Finn stopped moving with his cock all the way in Avery’s ass. It throbbed painfully, and Finn spread his legs, moving his hips until Avery twitched. Finn stayed right there, watching as Avery twitched. “Hey. Boy. You hear me? Say somethin’.”
Avery opened his mouth but the sensations coursing through his body made it impossible to think. He furiously stroked his own cock, the motion making his whole body shake on Finn’s dick.
Finn slapped Avery’s hand off his dick. “No jackin’ off for a second, man, not until you focus on my words and do what I say. You hear me?”
“Y-Yes.” Avery’s voice was tense and creaky. “Please… Keep going-“
“You can stop begging. I’m-a finish wit’ you when I’m ready, but not cuz you beggin’ for it.” He stayed right there, cock so far in it was entirely invisible, the shaft completely swallowed up by Avery’s ass. His coarse pubic hair scratched at Avery’s cheeks. Pleasure exploded over and over in Avery’s body, which tightened and writhed and undulated beneath Finn’s meaty thickness.
There was just silence. He hadn’t asked a question, and Avery was too close to orgasm, too desperate to jack himself off to say anything or think about what Finn wanted.
“I, uh-“
“Shut up! Say my name.”
“Finn! Finn Chamberton!”
“Good. Who got the biggest dick ever been in ya ass?”
“Finn Chamberton!”
He snickered, and the movement made his dick twitch in Avery’s ass. Avery gasped. Finn flicked his fingers against Avery’s asscheek. “Hey, can you sound like a girl-?”
“C’mon, please keep going, don’t play, c’mon…” Avery felt tears coming to his eyes. The pressure in his ass was intense, and he could feel the orgasm roiling beneath his senses. He was right on the verge, and Finn was just keeping him there. The best part was, Finn didn’t even seem to realize that.
“No. Shut ya face, boy. You want me to finish doin’ it to you so good, you do what I say. I’ll make you cum right,” Finn said. He grinned as he grabbed Avery by the hair. He pulled hard — girls never let him do that. “So moan like a girl. Make sounds like a girl.”
Avery managed to make a feminine moan. He was normally somewhat flamboyant and could sound girlish when he wanted to. It was difficult in this moment because the pressure in his ass was so intense, but still, he managed to sound like a girl.
“Good. That’s real good,” Finn said. Then he pulled out his cell phone. He took a picture of his cock wedged tightly in Avery’s asshole, which was so smooth, his hips so apple-shaped and his skin so pale that he looked like a woman if you didn’t see any other part of him. Finn took a couple pics. “Alright, now, beg and moan while I cum inside you. I’m-a wait till my friends see this then tell ‘em it was a man later.” He snickered.
“Oh, god, please… cum in my ass, Finn Chamberton…” Avery said the best he could. His voice was weak and it broke several times. It took him a moment to realize that Finn was making a phone call to leave a voice-mail.
It was only once he began gyrating again, in earnest, that Avery realized Finn was trying to fool someone into thinking he was fucking a woman in the ass right now. Avery played along the best he could, stroking his own cock as Finn began to plow into him once more.
“Yo! Lamont, just thought you might like that pic, man, I know you been beggin’ me to stick it in you like that!” He laughed, then paused for a moment because he was worried his voice would break. He switched to a lower, menacing rumble which he thought would make it less obvious if his voice did break. “That’s me plowin’ some bitch in the ass, she been beggin’ me for it. She been demandin’ I stick my meat all up in her! I’s explorin’ her ass, boy! I’s excavatin’ that booty! White girl ass ain’t just for homeboys no more!”
That was when Avery cried out as loud as he could, moaning as femininely as he could manage. A lot of women had unnaturally deep voices when having sex, Avery thought, which helped him sound normal — no one expected “her” to sound too feminine in the throes of an anal orgasm.
“Makin’ her cum just with my dick in her ass, boi, I know you can’t say that! You havin’ fun at work tonight? Huh? How’s that for a mall-Santa pussy?! Huh?” He pounded on his chest and placed the phone right above Avery’s asshole, so he could record the sight of his dick ramming in over and over.
He was just in time for the phone’s camera to pick up on his dickshaft throbbing in Avery’s hole. His veins pulsated as his balls crawled up in his sac. Finn grunted and slapped Avery’s cheeks hard enough to make a loud, sharp ringing sound.
At last cum sprayed into Avery’s ass, big creamy gobs of it that stuck to his insides and spread within him. Avery had been waiting for this for so long that he cried out and sighed, a few more tears beading at his eyes.
The pleasure was long and slow and luxuriant. Avery’s asshole was tender and sensitive, but all of Finn’s rough, harsh ass-pounding ended as he came. He gently slid his spasming dick in and out, since that made for a good video. It was very visual, with thick white cum sticking to his shaft and turning to a bigger mess as he kept going.
Avery’s moans were loud, but feminine enough, especially since the sound was very echoey in the high-ceilinged mall. Finn kept the camera-phone running until he couldn’t take it anymore, and his exquisitely sensitive dick demanded he remove it.
He sighed and leaned back as his cock plopped out. “Goddamn, boy,” Finn said. “You got one hell of an asshole. All I want for Christmas is a girl wit’ butt like that.”
Avery crawled over to him, his ass still too sore to let him stand up. His knees were weak and wobbly too. He hugged Finn’s trunk-like thighs and kissed the root of his ass-funked dick. It smelled strongly of cum, making Avery crave more. He licked a trail up Finn’s flat belly and his powerful pecs.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough touchin’ for two-hundred bucks,” Finn said. He gently but firmly shoved Avery’s head away. “You best pay up.”
Avery nodded. He took out his wallet and counted out two hundred dollars. He gave it to Finn, who smiled, showing off those charismatic dimples. Then Finn reached into the wallet and pulled out the remaining fifty-two dollars in cash.
“This is my Christmas bonus,” Finn said with a snort. “On account of I did it so good. Right? I deserve it.”
“Yeah,” Avery said. He giggled. He went right back to kissing Finn’s sweat-dappled chest and playing with his nipples. Finn snorted but allowed it since he had just taken a bonus anyway. He stood there with his red pants around his ankles, then finally just stepped out of them — he was going to change his clothes before he left for the night.
Eventually Finn was about to make Avery stop — Christmas “bonus” or not — when his phone rang. He shoved Avery away so he could get to it. He thought it was Lamont responding to the voice-mail he had left for him and/or the video and pics he had sent him.
Instead, it was Charlotte. She was one of Finn’s girls. Finn answered the phone with a nonchalant lean, like a pimp. “Yo, baby.” His voice had added a soft, sultry post-orgasmic sound to its rumbling-bass tone. “Uh-huh.”
Avery grinned. His clothes were back on, but Finn still stood there with his loose-fitting red Santa pants on the floor by him. The only thing he wore were his heavy workboots and the wifebeater he had put back on. Avery massaged his chest and gave Finn’s dick a stroke, making him buck and his voice break.
“Goddamn. Yeah, baby. I’ll eat you up good. Uh-huh. You gonna give up the booty? Hell yeah… I’ll treat you right,” he said. He hung up and looked at Avery. “You can quit now. I got a girl waitin’ for me.”
Avery nodded and watched Finn put his civilian clothes back on. He carried his Santa suit with him as they both walked back out to the parking lot. Finn grunted a goodbye.
“I-” Avery squealed. “Wait!” He ran for the door to the mall, grabbing it just a half-second before it shut and automatically locked. He swore because the door crushed his fingers. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot something!”
“What?” Finn furrowed his brow and watched.
Avery darted into the mall. He had to use his cell phone as a flashlight, his heart thumping as all of his post-sex exhaustion vanished. He had spent hours getting that pink Princess Teddy and then he left it in an abandoned Cinnamon Bun Hut — he wasn’t going to let that happen.
Finally he nearly stumbled over the bag from KT Toys. He breathed a sigh of relief and went back out into the parking lot. Finn still milled about there, looking confused. Avery thought it was cute: Finn didn’t want to leave yet because he treated Avery like a girl who would have been scared to be in the dark parking lot alone, but Finn glowered meanly at Avery because he didn’t want it to be obvious that he was being chivalrous.
“C’mon, dude, hurry up,” Finn said with a sneer. He got back to his car, one of only two left in the lot. Avery was parked right next to him.
“Sorry, I just forgot my bag,” Avery said. He still didn’t trust Finn not to steal it if he knew there was something valuable in there, so he just shrugged. “I got a Christmas card for my Mom, that’s all. And some chocolates.”
“Whatever. Later, bro.” He took a deep breath and grinned. “I’m-a get anal tonight!” He clapped his hands and opened his car door.
“You’ll be ready to go again?”
“Shit…. I can nut over and over again, man, I got dick for days. I don’t quit, swear to God,” he said. He kissed the air, which showed off his handsome face and dimples. “That’s why girls can’t get enough of me.”
“Oh. Cool. Good luck, Santa” Avery said. “Later. I promise I’ll be on the naughty list this year and I’ll wait by the chimney with my ass in the air and a bottle of lube ready to go. Maybe I’ll see you then?”
Finn grunted and sneered. “Maybe. Man, I got females beggin’ for me to come after ‘em. They love that Santa shit. Plus I get all kinda moms comin’ through the North Pole at the mall, they all want a ride.” He smiled, stopping at his ramshackle car. He grabbed his cock through his loose-fitting jeans. “I get laid plenty, dude. My dick don’t need none of ya pervert stuff.” He shrugged. Then he blushed and lowered his voice. “But, uh… yeah. Call me after Christmas.”

Lyle Harshfield

He was gloriously imperfect in his dad-bod, which brimmed with muscle and power even if he wasn’t carved out of alabaster like Bellamy. His body crammed more muscle into a smaller frame, giving him a dense and meaty look. Lyle was shorter, hairier, with fuzz sticking out from under his dingy old tee shirt, extending up to his shoulders. He was balding, and he was thick-bodied — so was Bellamy, but Lyle had more of a squarish shape, like he had gotten so big for so long his body no longer knew what to do with the muscle he had grown. His hair was dirty-blond too, just like Bellamy’s, but now grayish and thin unlike Bellamy’s dense shock of action-hero hair.
Rob watched Lyle’s plump granddad-ass sway in his overly baggy jeans — it looked like he had gotten frustrated trying to find jeans that fit according to the style of his youth and had ended up with these preposterously baggy jeans that made him look like he beat up a rapper to steal his clothes.
He didn’t trim his pubes, unlike most men these days. Rob appreciated that. Lyle didn’t even know he was old-fashioned for letting his pubic bush grow free. Rob reached up to tweak Lyle’s nipples, making his powerful pecs ripple. Lyle was smaller than his massive grandson, of course, his skin a little shriveled, like a muscular raisin. But those marks and imperfections were precisely what Rob thought was sexy.

From The Repairman

Bellamy Harshfield

The younger one was Bellamy Harshfield, and he was a gorgeous dreamboat: blond, dimpled, smooth-cheeked, no doubt apple-bottomed and with a cock to match. He was nineteen, just barely, and he had all the vim and vigor befitting a man of that age. He was sprightly, ropy muscled like an old sailor, like he retained all the power of a younger man but had it condensed into these compact limbs that still had room for a little padding.

From The Repairman

The Repairman

Rob is hiring another handyman, this time to fix his air conditioner. When he ends up with the hunky Bellamy Harshfield and his studly grandfather Lyle, Rob knew which one he liked best… Rob likes his meat finely aged, so before he knows it, he’s on his knees servicing every inch of Lyle’s body. Can Bellamy handle his handsomeness being rejected for his grandfather’s alpha-male manhood?!

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Read the whole thing here!

Rob took a nervous step back, his heart pounding. The two repairmen came into his house, and he felt a few tinges of sweat on his brow. His plan was working as intended. After accidentally getting the wrong repairmen a couple times, he had been worried it would happen again. But these two were Bellamy and Lyle Harshfield, exactly whom he had been hoping for.
They talked — and Rob responded a bit without paying much attention — about the air conditioner. It wasn’t working. It was sweltering in here, and Rob was glad to see them. But he was glad, not just because the air conditioner should start working soon, but also because they were both hot.
The younger one was Bellamy Harshfield, and he was a gorgeous dreamboat: blond, dimpled, smooth-cheeked, no doubt apple-bottomed and with a cock to match. He was nineteen, just barely, and he had all the vim and vigor befitting a man of that age. He was sprightly, ropy muscled like an old sailor, like he retained all the power of a younger man but had it condensed into these compact limbs that still had room for a little padding.
But Rob had no interest in young studs like Bellamy. Bellamy probably had a legion of pretty girls chasing him around with their tits flopping about. Rob wasn’t interested in men like him, women could have them.
He liked the older one, Lyle, who was not just a bit older — he was Bellamy’s step-grandfather. He was gloriously imperfect in his dad-bod, which brimmed with muscle and power even if he wasn’t carved out of alabaster like Bellamy. His body crammed more muscle into a smaller frame, giving him a dense and meaty look. Lyle was shorter, hairier, with fuzz sticking out from under his dingy old tee shirt, extending up to his shoulders. He was balding, and he was thick-bodied — so was Bellamy, but Lyle had more of a squarish shape, like he had gotten so big for so long his body no longer knew what to do with the muscle he had grown. His hair was dirty-blond too, just like Bellamy’s, but now grayish and thin unlike Bellamy’s dense shock of action-hero hair.
They went to the air conditioner just outside the house, and Rob hung around inside, positioning himself so he could see them. Lyle attracted all of his attention. He bent over to inspect the air conditioner, showing Bellamy what he saw and explaining how to fix it.
“Hold this!” Lyle said with a snarl — Bellamy had failed to pay close enough attention, and now Lyle was in a bad mood. “You damn fool boy, quit messin’ around.”
“Sorry, Gramps,” Bellamy said with a sigh. He took his cell phone out and peered at it, trying to look like he still paid attention to Lyle even while he texted a girl.
“This here is the intake valve. Most of the time when they go kaput like this, without a smoke or a smell — or a — hey, boy, you put that motherfuckin’ game boy down and pay attention-“
“It ain’t a Game Boy, Gramps. No one’s played Game Boys for like twenty years-“
“That was what ya Pa used to play-“
“Yeah, I know, Gramps. It’s cool. I know how to tighten a valve,” Bellamy said with a scoff. He ran his fingers through his hair.
“Oh?” He handed the wrench to Bellamy, who took it hesitantly. He hefted the wrench in one hand. Then Lyle ran his own fingers through his hair, just like his step-grandson had moments before. Lyle’s hair was thinner though, like his forehead was mugging his scalp very slowly, and he ran his fingers through the threadbare patch as though he was used to having more hair than he actually had.
Bellamy approached the air conditioner. He tried to attach the wrench, but Lyle rolled his eyes and sighed. Bellamy fumbled with it until Lyle bent over to help again.
“There,” Lyle said. “You best pay attention, son. I am teachin’ you a trade. You know when I was growin’ up, this was the only way to learn a skill. Men fought over the chance to learn this kinda shit.”
“That’s cuz no one had invented books yet, Gramps!” Bellamy said, chuckling. “You had to ask your local lord for permission to learn how to read-“
“Oh, hush your face,” Lyle said. He tightened the valve himself. “You know, if you would ever apply your goddamn fool self you could maybe learn a little something, make a life for yourself-“
“Gramps, come on, I’ve got a life for myself. I’ve got like two thousand instagram followers who are into my sick abs,” Bellamy said. He lifted up his shirt to show off his perfect six-pack. He ran his fingers up the ridges of muscle there. “See?”
“Used to be only girls worried about their bellies.”
“In the olden days! I don’t wanna be fat! It’s bad for you, Gramps!”
“You been hanging out with that foolish girl with green hair-“
“She’s my girlfriend, Gramps, her name is Meredith and I love her-“
“Then put a ring on it!”
“Give me a ring!” Bellamy said. He threw his hands in the air.
Lyle scoffed and waved his grandson away. He returned to fixing the air conditioner. His hairy arms flexed, gleaming with sweat, biceps bulging. Bellamy resumed playing with his phone, ignoring his grandfather who continued to fix the air conditioner. Still inside the house, Rob watched Lyle’s plump granddad-ass sway in his overly baggy jeans — it looked like he had gotten frustrated trying to find jeans that fit according to the style of his youth and had ended up with these preposterously baggy jeans that made him look like he beat up a rapper to steal his clothes.
“You don’t know jack-shit about girls nowadays, Gramps. That’s why you never get any pussy-“
“I get plenty of pussy!” Lyle shouted. He grunted. He glanced towards the house and saw Rob. “You’re gonna get a complaint, son. Shut that facehole.”
“You’re the one shouting about pussy.”
“You gonna offend the homeowner-!”
“That homeowner is a sensitive sort, Gramps, he’d scream in terror at the sight of a pussy,” Bellamy said with a laugh. “He’d prolly like you.”
“Nah. Nancy-boys like clean, long-haired guys with pretty faces and doe eyes. He’d probably cotton to you. Maybe you could dump that green-haired communist you been with and hook up wit’ him. At least he got a house,” Lyle said.
“She’s not a communist, she’s a socialist.”
“Ain’t that the same thing?”
“No,” Bellamy said. His voice was unsure though, and it sounded like he could not have explained the difference. “They’re… She has beliefs that are… Just shut up, Gramps.”
“You put a ring on that yet?”
“You know I can’t afford one, I will, I’m savin’ up for it,” Bellamy said. “I’ll have enough by the end of the year.”
“Hey,” Rob said. He came to the door, and they both turned to look at him. He smiled at them both in turn.
“Ya air conditioner should be fixed soon, suh,” Lyle said. He looked down and mumbled a little, like he had never really gotten used to speaking to men so respectfully. “Sorry ‘bout the salty language. My grandson here is a-” He paused, seemingly unable to think of a non-obscene word to use. Finally, he came up with “dumbass”.
Rob smiled. “Don’t worry. It takes a lot more than that to offend me,” he said. “I happened to hear that you needed an engagement ring for your girlfriend?”
Bellamy blushed. “I mean… I ain’t, y’know, sure we gonna get married, or whatever, I mean, you know, I was just sayin’, like, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout — I love her, for real, for sure, man, and she ain’t no communist. I just, I think, I ain’t sure, I wanna like, I mean, I know-“
“Okay, shut up, son, that communist pussy has turned your tongue into a retard,” Lyle said. “You shouldn’t eat so goddamn much —pussy ” He glanced back at Rob again. “Sorry… I mean, vagina…” It sounded like he had possibly never said the word vagina out loud before.
Rob waved that off and took out his phone. “How much do I owe you for the air conditioner?”
“Eighty bucks.”
He activated the PayUp to pay the bill. “Would you two like to earn an extra thousand dollars? You could buy a nice engagement ring for that.”
“Shit, yeah,” Bellamy said.
“Whatevuh you need, suh,” Lyle said.
“Well… I admire a man with a marvelous physique,” Rob said. “So I was wondering, for a thousand dollars-“
“Ha! He want a taste of ya meat, boy!” Lyle said. “You gonna do the prison-tango!” He grabbed for Bellamy’s crotch, but Bellamy blushed and smacked his hand away.
“Gramps, let go!” Bellamy’s mouth was agape.
“You gonna earn that engagement ring the hard way, boy!”
Rob cleared his throat. “I don’t think communists do engagement rings. It’s too bourgeoisie.”
“She’s not communist!”
Rob smiled and squeezed Bellamy’s biceps. “You’re adorable, and I bet your little Maoist girlfriend loves your body-“
“I don’t know what that means, but she’s not a Maoist either.”
“I’m not interested in you though,” Rob said. He turned to Lyle, whose balding head gleamed. His tee-shirt was soaked with sweat even though he hadn’t done much work yet and it wasn’t even too hot outside. Lyle looked at him like he was confused. Rob came closer. “I like my meat finely aged.”
Lyle furrowed his brow.
“You like me?”
Rob nodded. He placed a hand on the waist of Lyle’s jeans. “I like you a lot. So how about you let me take a taste, and I give you a thousand dollars, and if your would-be granddaughter-in-law deserves it, you buy her that engagement ring. Or if not, you can buy her a beet with which she can make borscht,” Rob said. He smacked his lips. “It’s a win-win.”
They were both shocked. Bellamy was so handsome girls threw themselves at him. He’d fucked his math teacher, he nearly banged his way into college, but he ended up going to business with his stupid dad instead. On several occasions, old men had offered him money on the street to give them his undershirt or jockstrap. Bellamy had done some modeling for a local hot tub store.
So Bellamy thought he should be the one Rob paid. It was ridiculous that Rob liked his grandfather. It didn’t quite compute in Bellamy’s mind, and he kept thinking it was a prank. He watched as Rob sunk to his knees in front of Lyle. Lyle was balding, with just a perimeter of faded hair around his head, scalp gleaming with sweat.
Though he tried to hide it, Lyle was just as surprised as Bellamy. If he had known he was the object of Rob’s desire, Lyle would have never responded like he did. He only wanted to embarrass his cocky grandson and make him earn that thousand dollars so he would hurry up and get married. Lyle didn’t know that it was him whom Rob preferred.
“Ah, damn…” Lyle tried to look confident. When he was growing up, things were different. Stuff happened in the YMCA shower. That’s where it all went down back then.
But only really tough guys went around ramrodding freaks in the YMCA shower. Lyle never did. He always thought he could if he got real horny, but he never got over his hangups about it. What if somebody tried to ramrod Lyle? What if he got another man’s cum on his hand? All those things seemed very important back in the 1970s, when Lyle and his fellow factory workers had crowded cock-in-crack into overstuffed showers, teasing each other about who got hard and who had a tiny dick.
Rob popped Lyle’s dick in his mouth. It tasted like old-guy-cock, Rob thought, like old-fashioned unscented bar soap. There was a faintly bitter taste to it and a mark that ran along the shaft — a small scar. It was big and his balls were so heavy and low-hanging that Rob couldn’t help but pop them both in his mouth. His sac was hairy and wrinkled and tasted so good Rob let out a little moan.
“Ah, damn, Gramps, he’s slurpin’ on ya balls, that’s nasty,” Bellamy said. He laughed, and his laughter slowly grew due to his anxiety, until he was red-faced and giggling like a schoolgirl. “He’s eatin’ ya fromunda juice. Oh shit!”
His balls were sour and strongly flavored, with a potent enough flavor to bring tears to Bellamy’s eyes. Rob lazily stroked Lyle’s cock with his other hand, while he savored the flavor of his worksweat-soaked sac, his tongue snaking to tease out every drop of manly juices. Lyle’s shaft was still soft, just barely starting to perk up in rob’s grip. Neither Rob nor Lyle were in any particular hurry.
When Lyle took his shirt off, his dick now totally hard and throbbing in Rob’s mouth, his grandson did the same — a part of Bellamy still didn’t quite understand why Rob would pick Gramps instead of him. He thought maybe Rob just needed to see his perfect six-pack and tapered torso.
Why are you trying to talk him into it? Just be glad he picked Gramps. Bellamy would have felt compelled to agree if Rob had chosen him. There was nothing he couldn’t do with his dick. He brought girls to orgasm in no time. Black girls! Those black girls would never go for Gramps.
Well, the one who was a whore would. But, you know, Gramps wouldn’t make her cum like Bellamy did.
It would have been humiliating to say no to Rob, which was why Bellamy was glad, though indignant, that he wasn’t chosen.
Resuming deep-throating Lyle’s cock, Rob forced that entire rod down his gullet until his nose was nestled in Lyle’s pubic hair. He didn’t trim his pubes, unlike most men these days. Rob appreciated that. Lyle didn’t even know he was old-fashioned for letting his pubic bush grow free. Rob reached up to tweak Lyle’s nipples, making his powerful pecs ripple. Lyle was smaller than his massive grandson, of course, his skin a little shriveled, like a muscular raisin. But those marks and imperfections were precisely what Rob thought was sexy.
He had no interest in a smooth, perfect chest, he liked the meaty realness of Lyle’s body. He was brimming with power, body heat emanating off him, and his body was perfectly padded, giving him just enough flesh for Rob to play with as he handled Lyle’s meat.
When Rob pulled off his dick, he croaked, mouth full of precum, “You taste so good… Hit me with your cock, daddy.” He kept his mouth open and his tongue out. Lyle looked at him like he didn’t want to do it, but he gamely smacked Rob’s tongue and cheeks with his cock.
After doing it a few times, Lyle bristled and puffed up his chest. He couldn’t help but feel good — he had long ago been dumped by a girl because he asked her if he could mollywop her — that was what he called it when you smacked someone in the face with your dick — and she had said yes, then got offended that he did it (she thought it was just another word for a blowjob). Lyle thought it would be hot for her, so he had been offended that she was upset by his cock. It turned into a huge fight that ended the relationship. Seemed silly now.
So Lyle liked doing it now, smacking Rob and watching him chase his cock with his mouth. Then finally Rob got it back on his tongue, slathering spit all up and down the shaft. Lyle leaned his head back and moaned.
Bellamy had backed way up by then. He couldn’t believe he was watching this, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Am I really gonna watch my grandfather bust a nut? He was technically a step-grandfather, no blood relation. But Bellamy still couldn’t bring himself to look away.
Gramps has got a veiny cock. I bet my cock is smoother. Bellamy wanted to ask whether smoother was better, but he wasn’t going to admit he had looked at his grandfather’s dick.
“Hmm… Ram me, please! I need to feel your dick inside me!” Rob hadn’t planned on asking for Lyle to wreck his ass — he didn’t think Lyle would do it with his grandson right there. But he glanced up into Lyle’s sun- and wind-weathered face and saw desire there. He could tell Lyle wanted something more intense.
Sure enough, Lyle was glad to ram him. He snarled like it was a big imposition though. He realized only as Rob bent over with his ass in the air that he should have asked for more money. But now that he had wedged his dick into Rob’s tight ass, there was no way he could get paid for it, now that it was obvious he’d do it for free.
“Fine, boy, I’ll get inside ya-” He turned to Bellamy, who gasped and closed his eyes. “Come closer.” He slapped Bellamy’s cheek. “That’s for actin’ like a right prude, son. Just cuz you ain’t done time don’t mean you gotta act like a nun.”
“Man, Gramps… Was you a booty bandit in prison?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Lyle said. He had never rammed a man in prison, not if you define ‘ram’ in a certain way. He did give a reacharound or two, which ain’t a proper ramming by prison rules. At least prison rules as of back in the day, back when things was proper. He was glad to look tough in front of his grandson, who was so muscular and thick that Lyle sometimes felt inadequate. When he first saw Bellamy getting big and athletic, years ago, he thought he couldn’t wait for the day his grandson was stronger than he was. But now it just made him feel old, and feeling that way made him feel like a selfish, shitty grandfather.
A shock of pleasure shot up Lyle’s spine, reminding him that he was here to ram and make money, not show off to his grandson. He liked that Rob writhed beneath him, submitting to his power like he liked it. Rob grunted and moaned, orgasmic bliss flowing through his veins.
The best part of getting rammed by a huge cock, Rob thought, was how awkward and technically bad it was — Lyle tried to avoid touching Rob more than necessary, and he avoided looking at his own cock too much as it slid into Rob’s ass. That made it a difficult process, with awkward angles and moist grunts in Rob’s ear. It also made it last longer. Rob’s orgasm dragged on as Lyle rammed him hard, stimulating his prostate hard and shooting his wad deeply into Rob’s tight ass.
Bellamy winced and stepped away, still unable to close his eyes or turn his head as he watched both men orgasm. His grandfather bucked and slammed into Rob, both of them going to the floor, where Rob squirmed beneath Lyle’s body. Exquisite sensations wracked Lyle’s muscles and Rob’s more delicate frame.
It felt better than Rob was expecting. Lyle’s fat dick expertly slammed into his prostate, sending pangs of pleasure to erupt throughout his body. Rob cried out, and Lyle chuckled, the motion of which made his dick piston like a battering ram into Rob’s ass. Each thrust sent another wave of jizz to fill him up.
“Ah, goddamn, boy…” Lyle’s voice was gravelly and tense, resonant in Rob’s ear. Some drops of spit landed on Rob’s earlobe. “Shit…”
“Uh, I- I… uh…” Rob was unable to talk as cum flowed into him. Lyle buckled, grinding his dick in Rob. Warm, creamy cum coated Rob’s insides, a bigger load filling him up than he thought possible from such an old man.
“Shit!” Lyle said once more. He grabbed Rob’s hair, intending to pull off him but keep a grip on his hair until he paid up. Then an aftershock of his orgasm roiled him, and Lyle just found himself plowing Rob again, ramming his limpening dick in and out. That made a big frothy mess as cum dripped out and all over the floor.
Unable to breathe due to how good this felt, Lyle closed his eyes, keeping a tight grip on Rob’s hair. His dick softened in Rob’s ass, while Rob whimpered and gasped for air. The pressure in his body was intense.
“Oh god!” Rob screamed. A final few drops of jizz hit his prostate, and a tsunami of bliss wracked his body. That was when Rob at last reached his own orgasm. His hand furiously whacked at his own meat, and his moan turned into a low-melting groan as his knees went weak. He was supported entirely in Lyle’s powerful arms.
A jet of cum spurted onto the floor in front of Rob. It felt like Lyle had already been cumming for hours, and Rob experienced every moment of that as though it was his own. But now his own orgasm flooded his veins like melted butter, and his sensitive dick throbbed in his grip.
That lasted only until Lyle wrapped one arm around Rob and kissed him on the cheek. He stroked him off silently, right there in front of his grandson, who shielded his eyes and blushed and chuckled and groaned and complained and shrugged all at once. But Lyle got both hands on Rob’s dick to pull him through the last of his orgasm, and he didn’t need to say that this was a secret, that he didn’t want his grandson to know he was giving a reacharound, that the reason he said he didn’t ramrod a man in prison was that at the time it didn’t count if you gave a reacharound, so the reason he did it now was to show his respect and appreciation for the ecstasy Rob had given him.
At last, Lyle pulled out and sighed. He smacked one of Rob’s cheeks. He looked to his grandson. “See, boy? That’s how a real man does it.”
“Shut up, Gramps… That’s how an old man does it.”
Lyle glared at Rob. “You gonna pay up?” His dick glistened and shone with all the fluids dripping off it. Lyle hefted it in one hand and smirked at his grandson, who was back to holding his face in his hands and groaning like a sad mummy. Lyle winked at Rob, who blushed and nodded.
“Of course,” Rob said. He took his phone out and started tapping, as he got the payment details from Bellamy — Lyle didn’t have PayUp, of course, he considered all smartphones to be namby-pamby bullshit. He was right, but Rob still had one, and he paid it to Bellamy to pass on to his grandfather.. “I’ll put finely-aged meat in the memo field,” Rob said as he tapped his way through the signature screen. “Let me know if you’ve got poker buddies or whatever. I can set up a gloryhole for the night. They gotta be your age though.”
“Oh that’s nasty,” Bellamy said. His cheeks burned red as though it was him that was embarrassed about it. He sneered at Rob. “You’re nasty.”
“Shut up, boy, you’re just jealous,” Lyle said. His face was ruddy, beads of sweat collecting on the worry-wrinkles beneath his eyes. He finally wiped his dick off with Bellamy’s shirt, which lay on the floor still. Bellamy didn’t notice his grandfather cleaning santorum off his shaft with his shirt, which made Lyle chuckle and put out a mischievious smile.
Rob smiled. “No, he’s right. It is nasty, but that’s why I like it,” he said. “Thanks for fixing the air conditioner, and good luck with your communist marriage.”
“Socialist! She assured me there’s a difference.”

Uncle (Boniface) Garmon

There was one older one in the five-man Garmon crew, whom they just called Uncle. The Garmon brothers were young and virile and bull-headed, while Uncle was experienced, wizened and dripping with so much swagger it hurt to watch him.
He was tall, lankier than the others but still thick-bodied. He had ropy, well-used muscles, and just one tattoo, a Bible verse printed above his heart. He had a scruffy beard streaked with gray, though the hair on his head featured just one or two gray hairs. His muscles were taut and tight, like he had as much power as his nephews, just crammed into physically smaller muscles.

From The Mover