The Champion of Diversity

When Avery has to go in for a diversity class, he didn’t think he’d be sharing it with an alpha male soccer jock. But Pierce Rippence doesn’t understand the difference between a Christmas party and a holiday party, meaning he’s in the same diversity class as Avery, leading to a hardcore conclusion bursting with man-on-man diversity-respecting action!

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Read the whole thing here!

Avery couldn’t decide if it was good or bad that he was the only person in the classroom. He had assumed there would be others. That was rather implied by the word “class”, after all. Otherwise, wasn’t it technically a “session”? That’s what he would have called it.
Regardless, Avery had to spend his whole Saturday learning about diversity in order to return to campus after Christmas break (or rather, “Winter Break”, as the school sternly insisted it was called). All this started because of a dumb joke he made about Puerto Rican men being argumentative.
At Goldendale Hills University, making a joke was a serious offense. Avery was hauled before a tribunal that cast judgement on him with all the fury of an angry cat lady, and he was sentenced to an entire Saturday of diversity training. An argumentative Puerto Rican might have felt stigmatized, the Vice-Dean of Student Inclusion and Indigenous Ways of Knowing had said, speaking so seriously that Avery had to hold back a laugh. Even now he giggled thinking about it.
In the classroom was just Avery and the instructor, a perky young chowder-white woman with a big smile and empty eyes. She kept staring at Avery as though he was a flower of infinite beauty unfolding with the wisdom of the ancients. Avery pretended not to notice. He wasn’t sure what facial expression he was supposed to use: chagrined, annoyed, bored, racist, ashamed, unrepentant? Nothing seemed quite right.
Finally she cleared her throat. “Okay, well, I guess you’re the only one this week. Welcome to Diversity Awareness, Acknowledgement of Harms in as to and regarding Inclusion, Surveying Inappopriate Attitudes and Combatting Social Ills, -Phobias and Intersectional Bigotries. Hot dog, that’s a mouthful!” she said that with the cadence of a joke and waited for laughter, seemingly unaware that her audience was only one or that that wasn’t a joke. Or was it? Then she laughed out loud, very loud, like she was competing with other laughers and needed to win. Avery looked around the classroom. No one was here. Had she made a joke? “My name is Margaret Sole, and today we’re going to explore what it means to be aware, diverse and inclusive. Just the two of us. That’s wonderful. That’ll really give us a chance to get into the nitty-gritty of it all.”
Avery nodded. Margaret looked at him like she was expecting a response, so he supported his head in his hands and said, “Hmm…”
“That’s right, thanks so much for that,” Margaret said. Again, her plastic cheer came across like it was aimed at some invisible supporter in the room. Avery looked around to see who she could be responding to. She didn’t have an earpiece in, and there was nobody Zooming in on a laptop or anything like that.
She cocked her head to the side. “And what’s your name?”
“Avery Flowers.”
“Avery, that’s fantastic, really it is, I love that name,” she said. She ticked a box on her clipboard with a flourish, like she really wanted someone to be impressed with the skill she used to tick off Avery’s attendance. “I love names, I really do.”
Who loves names?! Avery tried not to look disgusted at that. What does it even mean to love names?! How boring does someone have to be before that seems like a viable way to seem more interesting?
The door opened, and a frat boy walked in. He was short and athletic, and with a high-energy sort of machismo like he was making up for being short, and he must play some kind of running-based sport — maybe track and field — because his legs were like the legs of a racehorse stallion ten times his size, he could support a barge on those things. Despite that, he had the casual vibe of a hackeysack-enthused stoner, along with deep dimples and a smarmy grin. Avery instantly thought he was handsome, but he could tell that Margaret was turned off — he had that trying-too-hard charm that came from having always been the most popular, outgoing guy around. Avery wanted to taste his dick right away, while Margaret, he assumed, wanted to nothing more than to avoid getting hit on.
He was on the GHU soccer team, as it turned out. Avery didn’t follow soccer or he would have recognized him. He was well-known on campus and even off it.
That explained the calves too. The young man had legs like cannons.
“Yo, hey, ma’am, how you doin’?” He smacked his lips as though he might hit on Margaret. “I’m Pierce Rippence.” He flashed her a dimpled grin. “Hmmm… You’re a good teacher, miss, I can already tell.” He nodded hello at Avery and sat right next to him. He sat perfectly still, miming as an ‘attentive student’ for her benefit. He looked up at her with the rapturous eyes of a toddler watching his favorite teacher.
“Okay, well, thank you, Pierce,” the teacher said. “You missed my beginning spiel, it’s so important, so I’m going to go over it again.”
Avery didn’t understand that, because she hadn’t yet said any spiel or anything really. All she’d said was the name of the course and that she likes names.
But he didn’t want to say anything that might result in this class being any longer than it was, so he let Margaret repeat her “spiel”, which turned out to be the name of the class. She again said, “Hot dog, that’s a mouthful!” afterwards and again seemed to think that was a joke. She again waited for someone to respond as though it was a joke, then laughed like someone had done so. This time, Pierce looked around the room in search of someone who could explain what was amusing about all of this.
At least she didn’t re-explain that she liked names. Pierce remained forever ignorant of that fact about Margaret Sole.
Her “spiel” thankfully complete, Margaret began a whole new spiel. “Today we’re going to really come to understand what diversity and tolerance are. First off, can we talk a bit about what brought you both here to us today?”
Avery kind of zoned out then. He listened to Pierce’s explain his faux pas that led to this punishment — he had disobeyed the student government by promoting a campus party as a “Christmas party” instead of a “Winter Party”. Avery explained his dumb Puerto Rican joke, which didn’t even make sense out of context. Pierce didn’t respond, but about two minutes later he busted out laughing, turned around and said, “hey, I just got that, bro. Hilarious shit!”
The teacher frowned, her first unenthusiastic expression. “No, no, no, that was not ‘hilarious shit’. It was highly offensive to Puerto Ricans, especially those who are not argumentative. Personality traits are a highly racialized issue-“
“Uh, Miss? The Vice-Dean said it was offensive to argumentative Puerto Ricans. You say it’s offensive to non-argumentative Puerto Ricans,” Avery said.
“Yes, well…! Twice as bad then,” Margaret said.
Once the class got underway, Avery sat as quietly as possible, and he answered every question he could with whatever Margaret was looking for. While it was obvious Avery wasn’t taking this seriously, Pierce was luckily even more silly, so Avery seemed less problematic by comparison. He even filled out the “test” at the end with all of the blatantly correct answers. Pierce made a game of getting several wrong and making her explain obvious answers, like he insisted that Sri Lanka was a fictional place, like Xanadu or El Dorado, until she got out a map and showed him.
“It doesn’t sound like a real country,” Pierce said. “It sounds ridiculous. Sri Lanka.”
Avery tried very hard not to laugh. “I think I heard that too, Margaret. Like people used to think it was real-“
“It’s definitely real. It’s on the map.”
“I saw a map of Middle-Earth. Is that real?” Avery asked.
“Yep!” Pierce said. “Middle Earth is the equator. The equator is in the middle of Earth.”
“No. No, that’s made up, that’s-“
“The middle of Earth is a core of molten hot magma,” Avery said.
“Sri Lanka is definitely real,” she said. “So many people with racialized identities struggle with the validity of their homelands. It’s so important to treat these issues with respect-“
“That’s why I support the Republican Party,” Avery said. “Only the Republicans promise to fight against validity.”
“No, validity is a good thing — that’s — that’s not how-“
“My mom had validity once,” Pierce said. A smile flickered over his face. “It got real bad.”
Avery reached over to Pierce’s desk and gave his hand a supportive squeeze. “I’m so sorry, that’s awful.”
“I think you two are being silly now,” Margaret said. “There are students in this very school from Sri Lanka.”
“Name three.”
She paused and cocked her head to the side. Then she said, “No, that’s, that’s… that’s tokenism.” She shook her head, making her blue-dyed asymmetrical haircut tremble. “And that’s bad.” She sighed deeply, then took some forms off the stack of papers attached to her clipboard. “Since you both completed the course, I’m going to give you a certificate declaring you a Champion of Diversity-“
“Yes! A certificate?!” Pierce pounded on his desk with a big grin on his face. “My niggas are gonna be so jealous-“
“No, Pierce-!”
Avery laughed harder than he had ever laughed at anything. It was a double-edged sword, because when Avery and Pierce had stopped laughing at Margaret’s relentless sputtering, they then had to sit through a supplemental course in “n-word” use. Avery very nearly refused. He’d completed the course he’d been ordered to, but he figured she would just take away his next Saturday if he raised a fuss over it. Pierce seemed to reach a similar conclusion, and he too sat through it.
This time, neither of them made jokes. Pierce must have regretted prolonging this. Still, that laugh was worth it. Avery had to hold back snickers when he thought about it.
Finally, at the end of the afternoon, after six and a half hours of training, Margaret signed both Champion of Diversity certificates and told Pierce and Avery they needed to turn it into the Student Life Center in order to lift their suspensions. Avery wanted to point out that he wasn’t allowed in the Student Life Center while suspended, meaning he couldn’t turn in the certificate without violating his suspension.
But pointing that out would only drag this out even longer, so Avery kept his objections quiet.
At last it was all over, and Avery walked out of there with his certificate of completion. Pierce did too, though Avery could tell that more jokes thrummed beneath the surface. If he didn’t have a frat party to get to tonight, he would have continued teasing Margaret.
“Hey, can I show you something?” Avery asked when they left the classroom. Margaret stayed in there as though she had clean-up to do, though nothing had happened that would require a clean-up. Avery and Pierce headed towards the front of the building. “Come on, you’ll like it.”
Pierce shrugged. He followed Avery down the stairs and into the building’s basement, where Avery knew very well there was a storage area that the janitors rarely visited. This building was entirely unused on weekends (aside from the diversity classes, apparently), so the basement was a dingy empty maze of corridors beset by the constant hum of a weary old air conditioner.
“Man, that lady was crazy, bro. Did you hear her talking about Abijorins? What the fuck was that?”
“Yeah, she was reading a thing about Australian Aborigines I think, they’re real people,” Avery said.
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of Aborigines! There’s no such thing as Abijorins?”
“I don’t think so,” Avery said. “I don’t think she was very smart.”
“Of course not, bro. If she was smart, she’d have a better job,” Pierce said.
“I’m pretty sure she’s a diversity volunteer.”
Pierce stopped short. He screwed up his eyebrows. “Damn, bro. A volunteer?!”
“I know, shit’s fucked up,” Avery said. He opened the door to a supply closet. It was big and mostly empty — the only thing stored here was folding chairs, hundreds of them in long rows. Pierce looked around as though he might see something exciting, and he frowned.
“Why’d you bring me here?”
“I wanted to see if you were horny,” Avery said. He sunk to his knees. “Because you should know I can jerk you off better than any female. You looked horny in there.”
Pierce chuckled and turned bright red. “Better than a girl? Yeah, right, man.”
“Let me prove it,” Avery said. “I’ll take you out to dinner.”
“Like a date? No way,” Pierce said.
“I’ll give you cash, I just want to-“
Pierce blurted out, “Will you pay for the keg rental this weekend for my frat?”
“A keg? That’s a lot more expensive than one dinner,” Avery said. He pretended to think hard for a long time as he slowly undid Pierce’s belt and lowered his pants. “Fine,” he said. “One keg this weekend. Not Miller Lite though, because I’m coming to the party and I hate Miller Lite.”
“We don’t drink that shit,” Pierce said. “Make it Natty Bo.”
“Seriously? That’s what you drink?” Avery chuckled.
“It’s a Maryland tradition, man!”
“So’s catching crabs from a plus-size stripper. But fine, whatever, Natty Boh it is,” Avery said. He unzipped the fly of Pierce’s pants and reached in to get his dick. It was hot and moist with sweat, and Pierce sucked in his breath like he thought Avery would say no. Avery very nearly did. But he wasn’t gonna let this Saturday be that dull.
Pierce’s cock popped out the fly of his sagging pants, and Avery kissed it on the tip. Pierce closed his eyes and turned his baseball cap around backwards. He wrinkled his nose and spread his legs like he was preparing for a fight. He grumbled to himself as the flavor of his musty cock assaulted Avery’s senses, and Avery ran his tongue up and down the shaft.
“Hmmm… That does feel pretty good, bro,” he said. “But girls are still better-“
“I’m just gettin’ started. You gotta gimme a chance to show you what I can do,” Avery said.
Pierce shrugged and nodded, and he shifted his weight between his feet. As Avery deep-throated the shaft, Pierce let out a nervous little shimmy, and his dick twitched in Avery’s maw. Pierce said, “Hey, do you think that teacher would fuck me?”
Avery rolled his eyes. “No, Pierce. That’s very unlikely,” he said. He began slurping on the shaft, and Pierce gasped. Avery slathered spit up and down Pierce’s cock, his hand gently but firmly squeezing the root. It was long and thick, meaty even before it firmed up, which it did slowly.
“Oh. Shit… I, uh… Oh!” Pierce was about to say something else, but he sucked in his breath and held back a nervous laugh. “Oh, I, uh… You’re like… really… into that…” His dick twitched in Avery’s mouth. “Damn, man… I swear though, that Margaret chick was totally into me. She was groovin’ on me. Did you see how she touched my shoulder when we was doing that role-play, bro?”
Avery took the dick out of his throat long enough to make eye contact with him. “She was roleplaying a gropey boss. She was not into you.” He thwacked Pierce’s cock all over his face.
“Yeah, but like, she was really groping. She was all up on my shoulder,” he said. He pointed ot the part of his shoulder she touched. “I think I should ask her out. Maybe she likes to suck dick, you don’t know. She said sexual expression was one of the whatevers.”
“She also thinks Australia is full of Abijorins, Pierce. If she knew literally anything, she’d have a better way to occupy her time, and if you ask her to suck your dick, you are going to be taking diversity classes until the end of the time,” Avery said. He kept chasing Pierce’s dick with his tongue. “Do not do that.”
“Can I invite her to the party? There’s nothing wrong with going to a party.”
“But she’ll see something offensive at the party, Pierce!”
“Like what?”
“Like any of an infinite number of things! Drunk people kissing. Non-organic food. Ethnic decor. Disrespectful treatment of kitchen magnets. I’m guessing a dog that gets shotguns of kind bud. And what are the chances someone in your frat will call someone else a retard?”
He sighed and nodded reluctantly.
“So don’t do it,” Avery said. He had both hands on Pierce’s fully erect cock now, and it pulsated in his grip. “If you want to get your nut off, call me. But I only pay the first time, so don’t try to make more money off me.”
“Ah, man… I really wanted her to suck my dick,” Pierce said. He let out a long chest-rattling sigh.
“Well I’d feel bad if you end up having to learn about diversity again, Pierce, so I have to advise you against that,,” Avery said. He thwacked Pierce’s erection over his face. It was veiny and firm but not yet precummy. “If you’re done talking, can I get back to your dick?”
“Yeah…” He paused. “Can you get some girl drinks too? Like Smirnoff Ice?”
Avery didn’t answer, he just resumed licked Pierce’s shaft from root to tip. He had a feeling that the more he let Pierce talk, the more Pierce would ask for. Pierce’s dick was hard and throbbing, and once Avery got back to tasting it, salty precum began leaking out. Avery loved playing with that, smearing it over his own face as well as Pierce’s cockshaft. Every time he thwacked Pierce’s dick against his face, Pierce’s whole body jerked like he hadn’t expected it.
Deep-throating it to the root, Avery nuzzled his nose in Pierce’s pubic bush. That made Pierce stand on his toes as his knees weakened, and he sucked in his breath. “Daaamn, man!” he chuckled. “You should give lessons.”
Avery giggled around the cock in his throat, but he didn’t stop. He choked up mouthfuls of spit that ran down Pierce’s shaft and soaked his crotch and his long-hanging balls.
“Man… There’s a Jew in my frat who celebrates Christmas,” Pierce blurted out like he was tattling on a wrongdoer. He looked away, biting his lip.
Avery looked up at him without stopping swallowing Pierce’s dick to the root. He rolled his eyes. Pierce didn’t even look at him. He grabbed Avery’s ears and held on as he drilled his cock in deeper. He seemed to be talking on autopilot now, like he either didn’t notice he was talking or didn’t notice he was sort of fucking Avery’s throat like it was a diversity counselor’s pussy.
“I think he does. I mean he doesn’t complain when we put up a Christmas tree and shit,” Pierce said. His dick pulsated in Avery’s throat. “You know, there’s nothing literally Christian about a Christmas tree, it’s not a Jesus tree. They should make a Hannukah tree. That would solve everything! Why don’t the Jews do that?”
Avery tried to shake his head without stopping, but he didn’t think Pierce realized Avery was saying no. Pierce was totally ignoring Avery now — talking to him, but paying no attention as Avery gulped down his cock by the throatful.
With a gurgling murmur of desire, Pierce’s eyes bugged out as he lightbulbed up an idea, still seemingly unaware of his cock in Avery’s throat or the intense pleasure coursing through his body as a result. “I should do that. I could sell Hannukah trees, man, I’ll make millions. Jews aren’t anti-tree, are they? Are trees kosher?” Pierce said. “And what’s that black people thing? Kwanzaa? Do they have trees? They should have trees too, bro. I’ll tell Margaret that.” He paused. “Hey, wait, bro, I’m gonna nut, you wanna swallow it?”
Avery nodded, a few tears beading up at the corner of his eyes as he struggled to deep-throat him without choking too hard. His hands roamed up and down Pierce’s soccer-toned frame.
“Sweet, cool, brah, girls never wanna swallow,” Pierce said. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the storage area, holding on tightly to Avery’s head. He drilled his dick in and out and finally seemed fully engrossed, not thinking of ways to hit on the diversity woman. He almost looked surprised at his own orgasm, like he had forgotten it was a man and not Margaret on his dick.
Avery’s hands reached up to Pierce’s chest as he came, and Avery could feel his orgasm in the roiling tension in his muscles. Pierce wasn’t bulky, but he was athletic, and his ropy muscles all flexed at once beneath his shirt as his balls crawled up in his sac.
“Damn, brah…”
Pierce threw his head back and moaned. Creamy hot cum shot out and hit the back of Avery’s mouth. It seeped down his gullet and into his belly, and Avery guzzled down every drop. He didn’t want to spill any. Young men always had such a bright and sunshiney flavor to their cum. He swallowed every bit he could, only a few drops spilling out and trickling down to his chin.
A loud throaty moan escaped from Pierce’s throat. His cheeks turned red, and he held onto Avery’s head until his dick was fully limp. Then at last he let go, and his cock popped out. Avery chased it with his tongue as he gasped, because whenever he touched it, Pierce’s whole body shook and he let out another moan.
“Awright, brah, you’re done, okay?” Pierce said. He took a deep breath and put his dick back. “Hey, let’s go reserve that keg now, brah, okay?” He paused. “If my frat brothers ask, will you tell them I did some work for you? Like I cleaned your house or something? Not that, something cool. Like I beat up a dude for you, like some dude tried to rob you and I beat him up.”
“Yeah, fine,” Avery said. “But you gotta let me frot with you. I gotta bust my nut too.”
“Frot?”
“You never heard of that?” Avery blushed and laughed. He pulled down his pants and took his dick out, then he thwacked his hardon against Pierce’s soft, spongy cock. Pierce jumped when he did, like Avery’s cock hurt, which given how firm it was and how sensitive Pierce’s was, it might well have done.
But Avery always enjoyed a good frotting, and Pierce’s blushing anxiety made it even more arousing for him. Pierce kept shifting his weight between his feet, as Avery stroked both cocks together. Pierce’s was so sensitive that it throbbed and his knees kept going weak when Avery touched the tip.
“Oh god, man, shit, shit, you really are into that, bro, huh?” Pierce looked down at his dick like it was betraying him, and he grabbed a row of paper towls he found on a shelf in the supply closet, but he couldn’t clean himself off yet because Avery was spewing precum into his crotch.
His cock pulsating in his grasp, Avery stroked both dicks in both of his hands, then let go with his right hand so he could go back to groping every inch of Pierce’s lithe soccer-toned chest. His torso was much less muscular than his magnificent legs, but Avery still liked the way his pecs rippled when Avery touched them.
Pierce was so embarrassed he looked like he might explode as Avery finally reached his own orgasm, and pleasure exploded up and down Avery’s taut little both. Avery shot his wad into Pierce’s pubes, a vast flow of it that soaked his entire crotch in cream.
Pierce chuckled and laughed, as he raced to dot the jizz up with a wadded up bit of paper towel.
“You should let me swing on your dick again at the party.”
“Man, there’ll be girls there… Maybe that Margaret-“
“No! Do not invite her, Pierce! You will be back in that diversity class next weekend, and I am not gonna jack you off afterwards again,” Avery said. They both headed for the door.
“Fine… I won’t invite her to the stupid Christmas party,” he said.
“Pierce… You have to call it a Winter Party,” Avery said. “We just spent hours learning that.” He patted Pierce on the ass. “It’s a good thing you’re handsome, sweetie, because you are dumb.”
“That’s what my mom says…”
Avery laughed as they walked out of the building. He had a car and enough money he could put a deposit down on a keg without checking an ATM first, which, as far as Pierce was concerned, made Avery wealthy. He was impressed. Avery didn’t disabuse him of that notion, he just headed home to get ready to go to this frat party.

The Couchsurfer

Rob lets a studly young alpha sleep on his couch, as long as Rob gets to swing on his big black meat. Can Rob handle his tenant’s huge throbbing rent payment?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob Winthrop wanted to let Lamar sleep in, but it was tough to resist touching him. Lamar’s eighteen-year-old body gleamed, sprawled out on the couch he barely fit on. It was a big couch, but Lamar was tall, with limbs like catapaults. He was sound asleep. He hadn’t even been home that long, Lamar only returned from his friend’s party a few hours before sunrise.
He wore only boxers, and the sheet he had covered himself with had fallen onto the floor. Rob could catch a few tantalizing glimpses of his dick through the fly, through which a couple stray pubic hairs were visible.
Rob gently tweaked Lamar’s nipple to see if he would wake up. But he didn’t. He was passed-out cold. He pulled Lamar’s soft dick out from within the boxers he had passed out in. Even limp as cooked spaghetti, it was almost a foot long and meaty, even heavier than it looked. Rob thwacked it against his palm.
Still, Lamar didn’t wake up.
Lamar was just eighteen years old. He had come to Rob last month to say that he heard Rob paid money to jack off black guys with big dicks, in hopes of it making Rob’s dick bigger. Rob had explained that that wasn’t exactly true. Rob did appreciate men with superb physiques, but he was not especially into black men and did not believe doing it would make his own dick bigger. But Lamar didn’t believe him. He kept referring to Rob as a lover of big black cock.
Regardless, Rob had given him money then so he could get a tattoo.
That was the words THUG LIFE tattooed on Lamar’s bicep, in short block letters that ran all the way around his arm. While Lamar remained unconscious, Rob slurped some of his drunk-night-sweat off that tattooed bicep. Fully erect, his dick was more than a foot long and so thick Rob couldn’t circle his fingers around the whole shaft. As Lamar stayed unconscious, Rob grew bolder about groping his muscular body.
Then Lamar finally stirred and smiled like a cocky bastard after Rob rammed his fingers into Lamar’s pants and started stroking. His cock was sweaty and soft — spongy-soft, like he had fucked until he couldn’t anymore. That was probably exactly what happened at that party Lamar went to.
“Pretty big, huh?” Lamar asked with a groggy groan and chuckle. Now that he was awoke, his dick twitched in Rob’s grasp.
“Yeah.”
“You like this nigga dick, huh? Well you don’t get to swallow it, not for a li’l tat,” Lamar said. He kept telling Rob that over and over as Rob jacked him off — even though Rob hadn’t tried to put it in his mouth. “You want it so bad, I can tell. You got nigga-lover written on yo’ forehead, honky. You feel me? Huh? You feel my meat throbbin’ in yo’ fingers. That’s happenin’ fo’ you. That’s my present to you, man. Ain’t no way you get to swallow it though, nuh-uh.”
Then he gasped and shot his load in his pants. It coated Rob’s hand and trickled down his wrist. He wanted to lick it off, but Lamar stopped him.
“Nah. Go wipe yo’ hand, whiteman,” he said. He licked his lips and moaned. “I ain’t lettin’ you taste my nut. That’s nasty. Girls only.” He stood there and watched, thick trunk-like cockshaft swaying between his legs, as Rob looked forlornly at the tasty cum all over his hand but wiped it off with a paper towel. Lamar left then, climbing into some white girl’s car just seconds after tucking his dick back into his pants.
Rob had watched his ass through the shorts that were visible above his sagging jeans. Rob wanted more than anything to taste his dick and feel it inside him, but Lamar had said no. That was before he showed up on Rob’s doorstep a few days ago. He said he was running from the po-po, though he later also mentioned a fight with his stepdad. “You can swing on my dick,” Lamar said with a crude sneer. “But I ain’t touchin’ you. No way.”
“Okay,” Rob said with a shrug. He knew he could get something more when Lamar was drunk enough.
Now he wondered if it was time to get a taste of Lamar’s cock. He had let Lamar move in and sleep here for two days, and all Rob had gotten out of it was the sight of Lamar’s tight body and a few handjobs.
Anyway, Lamar went out clubbing with that white girl or maybe different white girls, then came home at dawn once more. Rob had already given Lamar money, enough that he could easily buy himself beer and pay the cover charge to get into some bar. Lamar had used up all the money though, paying for not just his beer but also his friends’s and of course fruity cocktails for girls with juicy asses.
When Lamar had returned to the house early yet again, with the sun peeking over the horizon, he had staggered in drunkenly. He’d plopped onto the couch and slept awhile before getting up to vomit. Then he managed to brush his teeth and drink a glass of water before returning to the couch.
And now here was Rob yet again, trying to stimulate his unconscious couchsurfing roommate to erection. He’d said it was fine if Lamar went out partying every night, but he didn’t think Lamar would actually find a party “fulla mad bitches” every single night.
At least tonight, Lamar’s cock had slipped out from the fly of his boxers, which made it easy for Rob to stroke it. It was like a dead snake in his hand, a long tube of dark muscle that was firm even in its soft state. Rob licked his lips as he flopped it between his fingers.
Lamar was still passed out cold. When it was clear he wouldn’t wake up, Rob bent over and licked Lamar’s cock from the root to the tip, which he then put in his mouth. He again looked up. Lamar didn’t awake, but he did move his head to the side.
That gave Rob an idea. He got his own dick out. His heart pounding, Rob put it on Lamar’s lips. Rob’s cocktip throbbed on Lamar’s mouth.
His handsome brown face was still calm and asleep, and the coarse hairs of his unshaved cheeks and chin rubbed against Rob’s shaft. Lamar wrinkled his nose in his sleep. Rob flopped his rapidly firming dick around on Lamar’s face, and he attempted at Lamar’s mouth but didn’t force it in, lest the sensation wake him up.
Lamar stirred. He moaned and wiggled his ass, but he didn’t wake up the rest of the way. He murmured and grumbled. Rob sensed him waking and took his dick away, just before Lamar let out a little gag.
Holding his breath, Rob waited to see if Lamar realized why he had gagged. He was definitely waking up now. But Lamar must have figured it was lingering drunkenness.
Rob leaned in and inhaled deeply of Lamar’s musk. He inserted his nose the best he could between Lamar’s tricep and his chest, and he sniffed the musk of his armpit. It was an intoxicating, heady aroma that made Rob moan.
He licked the tight muscle of Lamar’s pecs. They were not huge — he was no bodybuilder — but they were like taut balls of rock-hard flesh beneath soft skin, brimming with power and body heat. Rob lapped at the soft flesh, which rippled beneath his touch.
“Aw, damn, baby…” Lamar murmured. His eyes gradually blinked open. He kept wiggling, and his breathing hurried up as Rob caressed his shaft.
His dick twitched beneath Rob’s fingers. Rob gave it a stroke, and it started to get hard.
“Oh. Oh, damn,” Lamar murmured. He had obviously forgotten where he was and thought it was a woman on his dick until he opened his eyes fully. Now he was full of nervous gasps and sucking in his breath. He swayed as though the couch under him moved, too dizzy from drunken surprise to react. “Ew, nasty, man, shit…”
Rob’s tongue traveled down Lamar’s taut stomach. Now that he was awake, Lamar giggled like he was ticklish but trying to hide it the entire time Rob licked at his flesh. His muscles writhed beneath Rob’s tongue. Letting out a moist gurgling sound, Lamar wrapped his fingers around Rob’s head and pushed him towards Lamar’s crotch, but then Lamar let go — feeling Rob’s short haircut reminded Lamar he wasn’t with a girl. He covered his face with one forearm, while his other hand gently guided Rob to his crotch.
After a night of drinking, Lamar’s body was covered with a sheen of dried sweat. That was perfect for Rob, who loved the taste of his flesh. It was clean, slightly soapy, yet salty from sweat and tasting just a bit of cocoa butter.
“Yo, you gunna ssshwalluh my nut?” Lamar’s voice was weak, though he tried to sound tough. He was too nervous to stop laughing though, and he could only cover that up by flexing his muscles and growling intermittently. He couldn’t stop writhing to the sensation of Rob’s tongue traveling over his body.
“Yes,” Rob said. “I am.” He kissed the tip of Lamar’s dick, which throbbed and twitched like it was begging him to swallow it. “Tell me about last night. Did you have fun?”
“Yeah,” Lamar said. His forearm was still over his eyes so he didn’t accidentally see who was on his cock. A drunken burp escaped from his mouth, and he scrunched his eyes shut even though his gaze was blocked by his forearm. Now that he was fully awake and had taken a deep breath, his throbbing erection helped bring him down from the drunken dizzies, and he could speak clearly if he concentrated on his words and not the throbbing of his cock in Rob’s mouth. “It was cool. My nigga got this bitch to give up the booty, man. We ran a train on her in the bathroom of the club. Nasty-ass bitch.”
“Oh? You fucked her there in the bathroom?” Rob pulled off Lamar’s dick just long enough to ask his question, and then he thwacked Lamar’s erection all over his face like a billyclub.
Lamar nodded like a cocky bastard and ran his tongue between his lips and his teeth. “Yeah. She was on her knees on that piss-stained floor, like a fuckin’ slut. I had sloppy seconds — or like sloppy fifths, I think, fifths in her pussy anyway — and it was all drippin’ out. Made me gag and shit.”
“Why’d you do it?” Rob asked as his tongue slathered spit over Lamar’s ribs while his hand flopped Lamar’s cock around. He part lost his erction every time Rob let it go for a few seconds, which Rob enjoyed because he liked playing with a half-hard cock. Lamar was desperately horny, that much was obvious from the way he gasped every few seconds as he talked, and his hips kept bucking like he was fucking the air. Rob stroked his dick, which was just meaty enough to feel solid as Rob thwacked it against Lamar’s flesh and his own face.
“What?”
“Why’d you do it if you had to take sloppy-fifths?”
There was a long silence. “That a trick question? It was pussy, man. She gave it up,” he said.
“Oh, I thought it sounded gross.”
“It was gross.”
“I guess I just don’t get it,” Rob asked. He spat loudly, covering Lamar’s dick with his saliva, which made Lamar groan. Rob licked all that spit up. “Did you joust with your buddies?”
“Joust? Oh, you mean, like touch dicks in her mouth and shit? Yeah, me and my nigga Killer always do that shit. He was the fourth, you know, he was the one who shot his load right before me-” He paused. “Wait, I gotta do somethin’.” He reached down for the pants he had thrown down onto the ground. He pulled out his cell phone.
“Is something wrong?”
“I gotta tell Killer somethin’, you can keep strokin’ my dick. You gonna swallow my nut or what?” He said as he dialed.
“I just like to play with it first. It’s so big,” Rob said smiling at how Lamar proudly bristled and arched his back. Rob stuck out his tongue and licked Lamar’s dick from root to tip, very slowly, slathering spit the entire way.
That made Lamar moan uncontrollably, and his cock rocketed to full erection. Killer, on the other side of the line, laughed — he must have heard the moan as soon as he answered the phone. Rob couldn’t hear Killer’s words though, just his laughter.
“Thought you should know my dick is like three shades lighter,” Lamar said. He chuckled at Killer. “Yeah, yo’ nut stained my shit, Killer! I know it was yo’s — nah, you know that nigga ain’t got — oh — Fuck dat shit, nigga!” Lamar went on, laughing and carrying on, but he and Killer talked over each other so much that Rob couldn’t follow the conversation. He gathered that Lamar and Killer had made an inside joke last night, something to do with all the cum sticking to Lamar’s cock after he had sloppy fifths and staining it until it was a lighter shade.
Rob kept on stroking it though. He wanted Lamar desperate to blow his nut.
“Yeah, nigga. Okay. Peace, one love,” Lamar said and hung up the phone. He glared at Rob and tried to sit up, but Rob chose that moment to put the tip of his cock in Rob’s mouth. He suckled on the piss-slit and slathered a huge wad of saliva that dripped down the shaft. A wave of pleasure hit Lamar, who moaned and leaned back, laying down again on the couch, the same position he had been asleep in just a few minutes ago. “Yo, honky, you just playin’ wit’ it. I’m lettin’ you swing on that shit, you best handle it proper. Don’t you blueball me.”
“I’d never do that,” Rob said. “You want me to swallow it now?”
Every fiber of Lamar’s being told him to say yes. He writhed on the couch, cock throbbing in Rob’s hand. But still, Lamar didn’t. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“If you want, I ain’t into that nasty-nasty, and I got females all over,” Lamar said, even as he gasped and writhed beneath Rob’s touch. “I, uh… I mean… I’m just doin’ this for a couch to crash on. If’n you okay wit’ just swallowin’ a nut, I ain’t tryin’-a, y’know, do nothin’ wit’ you, I ain’t swallowin’ nothin’.”
“I would never make you swallow anything,” Rob said. He kept stroking Lamar’s shaft, but he kept his rhythm slow and inconsistent so Lamar’s body cried out for a warm, wet mouth.
Lamar murmured. “You best pay me,” he said. He laughed at himself, and at Rob, as he covered his face with a pillow to avoid seeing Rob’s masculine features.
“You want money?” Rob said. “How about I let you borrow my car? Is that okay?” Rob could afford plenty of money, but he had a feeling admitting that to Lamar would end up poorly for him. So he was pretending to be poorer than he was.
“Borrow your car, like anytime?”
“As long as you live here,” Rob said. “And let me keep playing with your dick.”
“Fine, fine,” Lamar said. “Okay. Just get me off…” His voice was muffled because of the pillow over his face.
Rob put the tip back in his mouth again, and he suckled on it loudly. Lamar moaned and his back arched. He nearly leapt off the couch. Then Rob removed his mouth and giggled. “You want me to swallow or spit?”
“Swallow, swallow, man, come on, just do it,” Lamar said, his attempt to show reluctance now forgotten. He roared in frustration and bit the pillow in front of his face. His youthful muscles cringed, and his dick reached up into the air, searching instinctively for a hole to penetrate. “C’mon, man, I gotta blow my load-“
Rob mounted Lamar the best he could as he laid on the couch, so that Rob’s dick and Lamar’s met. Lamar looked away and groaned, while Rob began frotting both cocks together.
“Let’s cum together,” Rob said.
A loud sucking sound came from Lamar’s mouth. He’d jousted with his niggas before in a bitch’s mouth, but he’d never frotted before. He looked at his massive cock rubbing against Rob’s, which was smaller but not small enough that Lamar could really make fun of him for it. Lamar looked away. “C’mon, man, nah, nah-” He grunted.
“Your dick is so big…” Rob said with a smile.
“I know but — I know but — I-” Lamar didn’t want to ruin a good thing by refusing or hitting Rob, though his hand formed a fist like he might do it out of instinct. Really Lamar wouldn’t have minded frotting — it was gross, but for a place to sleep, he could live with it — as long as he could guarantee Rob wouldn’t cum on his face or go any farther than this. And Lamar wished he could sober up and eat something first.
“Sorry, sorry, can’t help it…” Rob said, his voice warbling and breaking, as he shot his load. Pleasure wracked Rob’s body, and a jet of jizz spurted out. It plopped onto Lamar’s dick and into his crotch hair, but then Rob aimed it up to his six-pack and beyond.
Lamar groaned in disgust, and cum sprayed over his powerful brown chest. It made his tattoos gleam as his muscles flexed. Pleasure shuddered through Rob’s body, making him shimmy and shake, and his cock pulsated where it rubbed on Lamar’s own dick.
“I won’t cum on your face,” Rob said, but even as he said that Rob leaned back and moaned again, and his last spray of cum got as far as Lamar’s chin.
“Ew, man, shit…” Lamar let out a nervous chuckle as he wiped his chin off. He faced away from Rob, so he didn’t get more cum on his face and didn’t have to watch his cock frot with Rob’s. “You gonna swallow my load, right?”
Rob did so without another word. He jammed his own head into Lamar’s crotch, swallowing as much of that massive shaft as he could get in his throat. Rob gagged and choked, but kept going until he had nearly every inch. He tasted Lamar’s machismo in the precum trickling down his throat, its salty flavor and creamy thickness overwhelming his senses.
“Aaaaaaaaah….” Lamar moaned like he was finally scratching an itch he had been trying to reach for a long time.
Then Lamar grabbed Rob’s head to plow down on his throat. Rob loved that, and Lamar normally did too, but as soon as he did, Lamar knew it was a bad idea. That’s because Rob had very short hair, and when Lamar touched it, he was reminded of the man on his dick.
Lamar groaned with disappointment. His dick didn’t get any softer, but it did slow down. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, since Rob thought he could still take this farther. But for now, Rob thought, Lamar was disappointed that Rob wasn’t a girl.
“Damn, man, I can’t forget you ain’t a bitch,” Lamar said. “Hang on, lemme call this fat chick.” He dialed another number on his phone. “Yo. Hey, baby. Nah, I can’t tonight. I got, uh, y’know, a meetin’ to go to.” The plump girl on the other end was Miranda, and Lamar made sure to emphasize meeting in a way that suggested it was some sort of gang activity. Miranda was a rotund white girl who loved bad boys, so she giggled at the thought of Lamar at a gang meeting. Her voice made Lamar grunt, and another few drops of precum coated Rob’s tongue. Lamar removed the pillow from his face.
Rob moved down to slurp on Lamar’s balls. He put them both in his mouth and gargled loudly, making Lamar laugh into the phone even as he talked to his booty call.
“I know it’s early, baby. I just wanted to hear yo’ voice. I been, y’know, I been in trouble and shit,” Lamar said. His voice kept trailing off, distracted by the feelings of pleasure arising from his sensitive balls in Rob’s mouth. Lamar’s voice cracked. “Yeah, baby. I’m in jail. Uh-huh. I be out soon. My lawyer is comin’ to bail me out. Uh-huh. Can you talk me off? I’m jackin’ it right now.” He paused and laughed. “Yeah, there’s some whiteboy here cryin’. I think he okay, he just glad I ain’t gonna beat his ass.” He paused and affected a charming smile. “Yeah, I’s talkin’ ’bout you, whiteboy. If there wasn’t a phone in here, I’d be beatin’ you to shreds just to pass the time.”
As Lamar talked, showing off to his female friend, Rob continued slurping on his balls. Then he moved back up to the shaft. His tongue traced the pulsating veins all the way from root to tip.
“Yeah, you gonna give up the booty, right? Maybe I skip that meeting tonight, after I get bailed out. Maybe I come over. Uh-huh. You gonna let me tap that ass, right? No condom. Uh-huh. I wanna taste yo’ titties, girl,” he said. He groaned. “Maybe I titty-fuck you for a bit. You know I love thick-ass bitches and I am — no, wait! Baby! Baby!” He screamed into the phone, which he then threw onto the ground. “Fuck you! Fuckin’ hell!” He roared and slapped his own thighs. His dick throbbed in Rob’s mouth. “Fuck!”
Rob pulled off his dick. “What happened?”
“I called her a thick-ass bitch,” Lamar said. “I sorta forgot she was white and she gonna take that as an insult. Ain’t no insult!”
“Oh, that’s too bad, baby…” Rob thwacked Lamar’s erection against his face.
“She ain’t even listen to me explain. I was in jail, y’know, I prolly heard all kind of bad words. I just forgot to moderate myself, y’know,” he said. He groaned as he started to grind his hips, shoving his dick back into Rob’s mouth.
Rob pulled away, gently stroking Lamar’s dick even as Lamar flexed his hips, trying to get his knob wet again. Rob said, “You’re not in jail.”
“Yeah, but she thought I was!” Lamar said. He squirmed, his body overly energetic from both horniness and anger. “Ain’t fair. You can’t hang up on a nigga who call you from jail, just cuz he use some bad words. It’s fuckin’ jail!”
“Sure, sure,” Rob said. He licked Lamar’s dick from root to tip. Once again, Lamar grabbed his head and tried to force it back into position to swallow his whole shaft. Rob resisted. Lamar didn’t even seem to be aware of the fact that he was trying to force his dick into Rob’s mouth, he just kept talking about how angry he was at the girl and his cock and his hands worked on autopilot.
Rob enjoyed teasing him. Every few seconds, he’d let Lamar ram his dick down his throat. Lamar would moan and let go of Rob’s head. Then Rob would pull off and Lamar would swear some more before doing it again.
“That fuckin’ bitch, she don’t know jack shit! She think she my girlfriend, she think I just fuck other females cuz my niggas expect it. That’s what I tell her. She dumb as shit. She dumb as her own fat ass.”
“Are you gonna go back to her and apologize?”
Lamar thought for a moment. “Yeah. I prolly will. Not fo’ awhile. Give it a month or two, and I’ll go over there in the night, tell her I been in lockup and I need a woman’s touch. I be back in her asshole right quick, I tell you that!” His anger was gone now. He laid back and let Rob lick his cockshaft.
“Speaking of assholes…” Rob said.
“You want me to stick you?”
Rob nodded.
He sighed dramatically, and recovered his face with his forearm. “You gotta buy me somethin’. There’s a gold chain wit’ a platinum crucifix on it. Got rubies and some shit. Fair-trade mined in Kenya,” he said. “You gotta buy me that.” He paused. “And Netflix, man. Why ain’t you got Netflix?”
Rob laughed. “I just don’t watch a lot of TV. I’ll get Netflix, I’ll buy you that chain, no problem.”
“You ain’t fuckin’ wit’ me, is you?”
“I swear,” Rob said. “You gotta do something else for me too though.”
“What’s that? I ain’t touchin’ yo’ dick, whiteman. Don’t even try and ask me fo’ a reacharound.” He groaned and slapped his dick over Rob’s face.
“No, not that. Call my dad.”
“What?”
“Call my dad and tell him what’s going on,” Rob said. He explained about how much he hated his father and how he loved humiliating him.
Lamar looked dubious at first, but then he smiled. He and his friends often made fun of this crackhead named Greenbelly, and Lamar did a spot-on impression of him. He was so excited to use that impression that he wasn’t even nervous as Rob’s ass slid onto his cock.
It was only as he dialed that Lamar realized he could feel Rob’s short ass-hairs on his dick. With wide eyes, Lamar watched Rob slide up and down. The feeling was disgusting — faint, but still, Lamar could feel it too strongly to pretend he was with a woman. He turned his head away so he wouldn’t have to see it.
“Hello?”
“Yo, you got a son who a real bitch? I got my dick in his ass, and he keep squirmin’. What’s up wit’ dat, honky? Huh? I’m tryin’-a smoke some crack while I dip my dick in ‘im, and he don’t sit still.”
Rob was distracted by the pain and pleasure in his ass, but he still laughed. Lamar’s crackhead-impression was great, with a frantic, clipped tone like he was really angry Rob was interfering with his crack-smoking. Rob’s father didn’t say anything on the other line, but his scoffing and his annoyed breathing were audible.
“Huh? You gonna make him sit still? Gonna burn yo’ boy wit’ dis crack pipe. He pay me eight dollar, honky, and I tells him dat, fo’ eight dollar, you get my dick and you get my hepatitises and you get my Lucy on yo’ back — I calls my crack pipe Lucy — she say I gotta smoke her e’ry day. What? What do you call yo’ crack pipe? Oh, you don’t name it? It ain’t gonna know it’s special if you don’t-” Lamar paused. “Oh, he hung up.”
“You’re really good at that,” Rob said as his prostate exploded with pressure and intense pleasure. Lamar’s cock throbbed in his ass.
“Yeah, that’s my Greenbelly impression. He this crackhead I know back in the projects, always sellin’ wifebeaters and shit,” he said. He snorted and sat up. Rob was sitting on Lamar’s crotch, so Lamar had to struggle to rearrange himself. “Gonna blow a nut in ya. Then I gotta take yo’ car and go visit my parole officer. You buy Netflix and make sure you got a credit card you can charge two grand on. When I get back, we goin’ to the mall so you can buy me that chain.”
“Okay,” Rob said, wincing as he moved with Lamar’s thirteen-inch cock inside him.
Lamar swayed as he got up on his feet — he hadn’t stood since last night — but he regained his balance quickly. He took a deep breath and slammed his dick in and out hard.
It was an intensely awkward position. Lamar alternated between trying to pretend he was a hardcore thug who knew how to treat a man like a prison bitch, and pretending he was so utterly macho he was disgusted by what he was doing. In reality, the truth was in between — he wasn’t disgusted, really, just awkward and glad his friends weren’t here to see.
Lamar forcefully pushed Rob’s face to the floor, while he lifted Rob’s hips. It was an awkward position for Rob, who took Lamar’s dick with such force he had trouble keeping his feet on the ground, meaning a large portion of his weight was supported by his own head.
Now that he was in position, Lamar drilled his cock in deep. He bellowed and pounded on his chest while he used all his weight to slam his dick in deeply. He chuckled and looked around as though waiting for his niggas to laugh with him, but of course they weren’t here.
Then he grabbed Rob’s hips and gyrated his crotch. He slammed his dick in a few times before he realized he was touching Rob’s mannish body. He let go and pounded freestyle for a couple seconds.
“Damn…” He grabbed Rob’s hips again to steady him, but then dropped him again. Every time Lamar felt Rob’s male body-hair, it reminded him he wasn’t with a woman, so he let go.
He felt like that slowed him down, like every time it happened he got farther from his orgasm. But that wasn’t really true. Lamar was too young for much of anything to slow him down — it just slowed down his mind.
So he was still thinking that he had to struggle to cum when an orgasm hit him suddenly. He grunted and yelped, embarrassed at his own animated reaction — he had thought he’d barely be able to do it at all, but he actually shot one of the biggest loads of his life.
His tight young muscles all flexed at once, and he groaned. Rob moaned in harmony with him, which made Lamar nervous because he could hear the masculine twinge to Rob’s voice. Pleasure ran up Lamar’s spine, so intense it made Lamar shudder and shake.
A torrent of cum flooded Rob’s ass. It came in thick waves, great gobs of cum flowing into him. Lamar groaned as he spewed more and more, laughing at himself and at Rob — was this a normal amount? He thought he might just be surprised because he was with a man, and it wasn’t really a normal sensation for him.
The cum just kept on coming, and it filled up Rob’s hole. It dripped out the sides of his ass, coating Lamar’s cock and dripping in gobs onto the floor.
Just when Lamar thought he was done, Rob shuddered. That caused a couple things to happen all at once. First, an intense orgasmic aftershock hit Lamar. Second, the motion made a great clump of cum plop out and into Lamar’s hairy crotch. Third, the sight of that happening made Lamar gag. So all at once, Lamar both experienced a second mini-climax and was overcome with such physical disgust that he retched.
And all that combined to make him laugh. Lamar always laughed at things that made him uncomfortable. He gingerly removed his rapidly limpening cock, and the sight of it covered in pearly white cum made him gag again.
“Yo, I gotta get a picture fo’ Killer,” Lamar said, his discomfort totally gone now. He grabbed his phone and snapped a photo of his cock, which was white with the semen that still soaked into it. He sent the photo to Killer with the caption, ‘this is what I looked like after sloppy-fifths. That’s yo’ nasty all over my dick, nigga’.
He stood up and ignored Rob, who laid there with his ass in the air, exulting in his own post-orgasmic pleasure. Lamar wandered off towards the bathroom, watching his gigantic dick throb and shake as it limpened.
“Gonna take a shower, honky,” Lamar said. “Don’t forget to buy Netflix.”
“Okay,” Rob said, his voice weak and breathless.
Lamar sauntered into the shower, already dialing his parole officer to make excuses for being late. He wasn’t late yet, but Lamar assumed he probably would be.
Besides, he thought as he stepped into the shower, there was a black slut who lived near the parole office. He could stop by and see her beforehand, get his dick wet in a real pussy and probably smoke a blunt. She usually had weed.
‘Oh, that reminds me! I should’ve asked for that!’ Lamar poked his head out the bathroom door, just before he stepped in the shower. “Yo, honky, leave some money on the counter for me. Like eighty bucks. I wanna buy some weed too.”
“Okay!” Rob said. He smiled as he put the cash out for Lamar and fired up his long-canceled Netflix account.

The Foreman

When Rob meets factory foreman Ezra McCormick, he didn’t know he was in for a ride on his massive, muscular meat! Can Rob accept Ezra’s hot, throbbing authority?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob’s eyes opened wide when he saw Ezra McClintock. He wasn’t expecting someone like that. He knew it was silly when he walked into the factory — he had the assumption in his head that a factory that made specialty graphing calculators was probably full of bespectacled nerds with pens leaking over their pocket protectors, their whiny singsong voices drowned out by the whirr of the machinery.
But that wasn’t the case. Just because it was used by nerds didn’t mean it was manufactured by them.
Mr. McClintock was statuesque and powerfully built, that was why Rob was shocked — also he had arranged this meeting through email with a woman named “Kendra”, so he was predisposed to picture a bunch of nerds and women. But that wasn’t Ezra McClintock. Kendra was just an office manager. Mr. McClintock was a rough-edged black man in his mid to late forties, with big burly shoulders and a broad barrel chest. His hair was jet-black and trimmed neatly — it was so black that Rob suspected it was dyed, since Ezra seemed old enough he ought to have a few gray hairs.
His most attractive feature, however, was not the way he barely fit in his workshirt and dickeys, it was his mustache.
Nobody wore mustaches like that these days. It was a glorious mustache, 1970s-style, making Mr. McClintock a man out of time, Rob thought, phenomenally huge and bristly, like he had a push-broom on his upper lip. It trembled as he shook Rob’s hand.
“What can I do for you? We got some older types around, but I dunno how they can help ya,” Mr. McClintock said. He led Rob into his office but then he sat on the edge of his desk. “We don’t advertise in magazines.”
Rob was momentarily flummoxed. Mr. McClintock sat on the edge of the desk, with one foot resting on the chair at the other side of the desk — meaning there was nowhere for Rob to sit. If Rob weren’t distracted by the massive bulge in Mr. McClintock’s workpants, he would have realized that he chose this position to block the chair and get Rob to leave more quickly.
That bulge was huge. His cock was at least a foot long and it looked as thick as a beer can. Maybe that isn’t his dick, maybe he had something in his pocket, Rob thought.
“Oh, uh… I’m not selling advertising,” Rob said. He blushed, his voice wavering because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the cock-bulge in Mr. McClintock’s workpants. They were thick, canvas-like pants, stained with bleach near the ankle and a big grass stain on the left ass and thigh, like he had been wearing them when he slid into home during a baseball game.
He kind of looks like a baseball player, Rob thought. He was too thickly built for basketball, and probably not swift enough for football, even back when he was younger. He had a heavy, plodding way of moving and talking; he was solid, all heft and mass, shifting his weight as though he found his own muscles tiresome. He chewed on his lower lip.
Rob cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry, I, uh… I didn’t say I was selling ad space. Our magazine is aimed at older readers, and uh…” He blinked his eyes a few times, his purpose here today vanishing from his mind. He blushed. “Uh… An article on factories! We’re doing an article on older people who work in factories, and we wanted to find some workers to interview.”
Mr. McClintock grunted. “How old is older?”
“Sixty-five.”
“We got one, he ain’t gonna be yo’ type though, mistuh,” Mr. McClintock said. When he spoke his mustache worked up and down like an excited bat, even as his face and his voice remained flat. “He a good worker, but… He don’t even work on the factory floor, he’s in the mailroom.”
“Oh, well, still…”
“He got Down’s Syndrome.”
“What?”
“He got Down’s Syndrome. He disabled as shit, man,” Mr. McClintock said. “He livin’ in a care home and e’rything. You wanna interview him? You go ahead. I dunno if he got anything to say that might be relevant to yo’ readers. He do talk though, he ain’t one them non-verbals, he talks, he do.”
“Oh… I mean…” Rob tried to be diplomatic. “I’m sure, uh… his experiences are… Uh… full of useful-“
“You don’t gotta be politically correct.”
Rob smiled awkwardly. “I don’t want to interview him. That won’t be… maybe sometime in the future, we are planning a disabilities issue.”
“Well, sorry, man, he the only over-65 we got workin’ here,” Mr. McClintock said. He sniffled like that was the end of the conversation, and he expected Rob to leave. He picked up a stack of papers off his desk. He rifled through them before looking up at Rob once more.
Rob’s mind whirred. That mustache was amazing, he thought, and he would give anything to see that fat cock sliding into his own mouth. He wanted him so bad he could already taste it.
But how to tantalize him? Rob often offered guys money for a chance to swing on their meat, but Mr. McClintock was already a foreman at a large factory — he probably wasn’t in need of cash, and he might be offended at the suggestion that he was.
“You need somethin’ else, man? I gotta get back to work. Can’t be hangin’ out wit’ some journalist all day,” he said with a throaty chuckle and a sigh.
“Oh, I’m not a journalist,” Rob said. “I own the magazine. We only have three employees so far, and I’m doing a lot of the research and-“
“You own the magazine?” He lowered his eyes. “You rich?”
“Well… I have a lot of money tied up in assets,” Rob said. He laughed a little nervously. “Most of those lose money though. Like the magazine is notionally worth a half-million, but if I tried to sell it today I’d be lucky to get fifty grand. It’s technically cash-flow positive, but, uh… It’s complicated. Anyway, I-“
“Uh-huh. So you lookin’ for new business opportunities?”
“Always,” Rob said. “But I have a business manager I have to justify things to. Don’t expect me to, you know-“
He waved Rob away. “I gots an opportunity for you. You gonna have to seize it real quick. You wanna sell some graphing calculators?”
“What? That’s not a market I’m in…”
“Well, man, I gots an idea. I was tellin’ my boss ’bout this, but he weren’t… he wasn’t open to new ideas at the time,” he said with a knowing frown. “When we get supplies, like the computer chips and the plastic cases and all that, we always get a couple extra in case some got damaged. We can make them into actual calculators. The only thing we don’t got is the batteries — we buys ’em from Duracell in bulk and put ’em in the package with the calculator, but Duracell don’t give extras. Mr. Bossman don’t wanna make a separate product line that’s the same thing ‘cept without the batteries pre-installed, ya dig?”
“Right…”
“But we already gots ’em, and the supplies don’t cost nothin’. We could churn out another five-hundred calculators a month at no extra cost beyond a few bucks in overtime pay,” he said. “You feel me? You gettin’ where I’m goin’?”
“Not exactly…”
“Well, man, we can make them calculators and sell ’em to you. No batteries, no logo. You buy ’em for us at twenty bucks each, you can sell ’em to college brats like my idiot stepson for two hundred bucks each.”
“Is that… legal?”
“Ain’t breakin’ no criminal law, nosir,” Mr. McClintock said. “This is our property, and we’s allowed to sell it. My contract with the company don’t really allow for that, but it ain’t a crime. Worse they can do is find a new factory, but we the only factory in North America that makes graphing calculators. They ain’t gonna wanna build a new one, cuz this is a dyin’ industry anyway. So they gonna look the other way, if they ever find out — they prolly won’t cuz no one gonna know. You could put ‘Made in Vietnam’ on the package, ain’t no one ever gonna think to check.” He paused. “That part is illegal, that’s on you, if you wanna mark the packagin’ incorrectly, I ain’t gonna make my boys do that.”
“Hmmm…” Rob tried to think. The math certainly worked out. This would be a good profit-making opportunity, if only he could get away with it. But there was also a chance he was being scammed, he thought. Maybe Mr. McClintock was trying to offload a couple hundred calculators that didn’t work.
“Maybe I could sweeten the pot,” Mr. McClintock said when Rob hesitated. He pointed to the chair, on which his foot still rested — Mr. McClintock sat on the edge of the desk, so when Rob sat there, he faced Mr. McClintock’s crotch.
Mr. McClintock rolled his eyes. He was annoyed with how much some men appreciated his physique. It was kind of funny, he thought, when he was young, he didn’t mind getting jerked off because he was horny and they were easy and he could do it without going out on dates or sweet-talking a female. But some men swished in his direction all the time — they liked older men. The older Mr. McClintock got, the more he noticed men checking him out, blatantly staring at him, fat slobby perverts blushing as they begged for his dick — he always said no — while the kind of pretty girl who used to go crazy for his muscles became more and more turned off by him. Nowadays most young women thought he was creepy, not sexy. Girls are prudes these days.
Though it was annoying, Mr. McClintock didn’t mind letting men jerk him off. He always made a big deal out of it because most of them would pay if they thought he was reluctant, and because if he seemed too eager, they’d want to do more than just handle his dick. Mr. McClintock had given handjobs before, and he didn’t like to think about that. If he wasn’t desperate for cash, he wan’t going to do it again.
But to offload these useless calculator parts? And to make a profit off it that he could keep for himself? He’d gladly let Rob jerk him off every month when he picked up the calculators, and hell, he thought, he’d kiss Rob for that.
“I’d like to make this happen, man,” Mr. McClintock said. He looked up and unzipped his workpants. He let his dick flop out. He sensed Rob’s eyes opening wide. He crossed his arms over his chest, which made a few hairs visible over the upper edge of his shirt — there, Rob noticed, were the gray hairs he suspected Mr. McClintock dyed off his head and his beard.
Rob’s heart fluttered. That dick was just as big as he had thought, the bulge wasn’t an optical illusion at all. It was like a massive brown cucumber, he thought, no, bigger than any cucumber, but firm like one even though it wasn’t hard. Rob touched it gingerly to see how Mr. McClintock reacted, but he just grunted and ignored Rob.
One of his fingers ran up and down the shaft, tracing a bluish vein barely visible against the deep brown of his skin. He had a lot of dickskin too, Rob thought with a suppressed laugh as he wrapped his hand around it, it was still limp and that skin moved along with his strokes. It put out a palpable wave of heat, and it pulsated in Rob’s grip. He leaned in and smelled it.
The scent was musky, zesty, spicy, glorious. Rob took a huge deep sniff of it, then blushed because Mr. McClintock looked at him like a loathsome slug. Rob kept both of his hands on the shaft though, and he kept stroking it slowly, not trying to get it hard, just sort of petting it.
This dick might be more than a foot long, Rob thought, it might well be the biggest dick I’ve ever touched. He blushed and said, “it’s so big…”
Mr. McClintock sniffled. “Won’t get hard if you just play wit’ it. You gotta swallow it.” He stood up straighter. “And you gotta get deep on it too, get it real nice and wet. Go deep on it.”
Rob nodded. He didn’t want to go too fast though. He slapped himself with Mr. McClintock’s dick, which was so thick and heavy it really almost hurt to be hit with it, like it was a warclub. He stuck his tongue out and chased it, getting a few tastes of his funky, cocoa butter-scented dick but not actually tasting it yet.
“Hmm-hmm, see you just playin’ wit it,” Mr. McClintock said. “I got no time for you to play around, man. Just do it it if you gonna do it.” His mustache twitched.
“It’s gigantic, I wanna play with it some, okay?” Rob said. He put the tip in his mouth, playing with the loose skin there, while Mr. McClintock rolled his eyes. “You’re all business, Mr. McClintock. Relax-“
“No.” He grunted. He leaned back and took his dick away from Rob. “I got work to do. If you ain’t serious-“
“Fine, fine, I’ll do it,” Rob said. He tried to grab Mr. McClintock’s dick from him, but he slapped Rob’s hand away.
“Fo’ real?” He shook his head and stroked his chin. “Goddamn, wussy-ass sissies always play fuckin’ games… can’t just do what they want, y’know.” He forced Rob’s jaw apart and slid the tip of his dick in there. “Unless you can really deep-throat the shit outta me, there ain’t much point. Lemme just jack off on ya tongue.”
“That’s not as hot-” Rob said, his voice muffled and cut off by Mr. McClintock’s dick slipping into his mouth. He struggled to take it because it was so thick. He had to stretch his mouth. He tried to say, “will you ram me in the ass?” But his mouth was full, so all that came out was a confused jumble of sounds.
“Hmmm-hmm… If you do this, I’ll let you get a nut outta me off e’ry time you come pick up the calculators, okay? It’s gotta be you, I don’t wanna deal wit’ delivery guys or whatevuh,” Mr. McClintock said. He kept one callused hand on Rob’s head, trying to ram Rob’s throat though his dick remained only partially hard. It coiled like a big black rope all over Rob’s face. “You can jerk me off then e’ry time, okay? No anal. I’ll let you play wit’ it a bit, and you can touch my muscles. But just for a few minutes, okay? I ain’t yo’ boyfriend.”
“No anal…? Come on…” Rob said with a winsome smile. “Can I tell you a secret? I’m a great deep-throater. I can swallow your entire dick and beg for more, and I’ll choke down every drop of your cum like no woman ever has-“
“Yeah, right.” He chuckled, ropy dick twitching where it rubbed over Rob’s face. “You can’t even swallow half of it. I shoot big loads, man.”
“If I get the whole thing in there, or enough anyway that my nose hits your pubic hair,” Rob said. “Will you kiss me when we’re done?”
“You want me to kiss you?”
Rob nodded and blushed. “I’ll swallow first, it won’t taste like cum.”
“Ya lips’ll still taste like cum,” Mr. McClintock said. He sighed and flared his nostrils. “Fine, whatever, you won’t be able to do it anyway. If you can’t, if you fail, you gotta lemme just jack off in your mouth real quick, cuz you ain’t gonna get me hard any other way.”
Rob nodded. “Deal.” He opened his mouth as wide as he could and let Mr. McClintock flex his hips, forcing his dick down Rob’s throat. Rob relaxed himself as much as he could, even as he felt suffocated and his lungs cried out for oxygen.
He really was a very good deep-throater. He had been playing around — Mr. McClintock was right about that — but when he loosened up his jaw, he was able to slide inch after inch of rapidly hardening black meat down his throat. Mr. McClintock looked at him directly for the first time since this began, watching his dick fill Rob’s throat.
“Goddamn, whiteboy,” he said. He let out a whistle. He was about to add more, but then a wave of pleasure hit him and his dick finally got hard. It was quick once it got started. Before Rob knew it, he had to lift his head because Mr. McClintock’s dick was as straight and immovable as a crowbar. His heart sped up, and Mr. McClintock groaned at the realization he had lost that bet. He wished if he was going to kiss Rob that it would be before the dome, not after.
He couldn’t deny it that he had done it before though — not with a man, but when he was growing up in Chicago, kissing a girl after she sucked you off was a sort of a rite of passage. It was disgusting but it was dirty and sexy and raunchy and a lot of guys bragged that they did it — they bragged both that they did it and that they thought it was gross, so it was a fine line to hew. You had to do it willingly while being unwilling to do it.
A grunt escaped from his clenched lips. He frowned and tried to pretend he wasn’t as impressed as he was — he didn’t want to give Rob the wrong impression. His dick throbbed in Rob’s throat, which clenched around it. Rob gripped Mr. McClintock’s asscheeks through those thick workpants, clutching them to hold on as his lungs cried out for air.
Mr. McClintock pulled his balls out through the fly of his workpants — which he realized now he had been wearing the last few times he let a man get a nut outta him as well. They must reek of his cum, he thought.
His balls slapped against Rob’s chin. Rob was dizzy from lack of oxygen, but he refused to pull off until he absolutely couldn’t take it. Then he gasped for air and held his mouth open so Mr. McClintock could see how good he did it, how open his throat was and how his mouth was coated in Mr. McClintock’s precum.
Then he went back to stroking, to deep-throating that massive shaft, while stroking his balls with one hand to bring him to orgasm. Rob throated that shaft until his nose pressed against Mr. McClintock’s fleshy crotch, nuzzling his pubic hair and rubbing his chin against his ballsac.
At last he felt those balls rising up in the sac, and Rob gagged uncontrollably. Mr. McClintock’s dick throbbed as though it was coming alive. Mr. McClintock had been rather absent for most of this dome, letting Rob do the whole thing, but now as an orgasm shuddered through him, he grabbed Rob’s head and held on tight.
“Oh fuck yeah, boy…”
Cum flew down Rob’s throat, right into his belly. Mr. McClintock’s shaft was so deep in him that Rob didn’t even taste it right away. He felt it flowing hotly into him, but it didn’t touch his tongue. He sensed it in the pulsations fo Mr. McClintock’s cock on his tongue and the rising up of his balls as he prepared to bust one of his fat wads.
It was hot and creamy, and it seeped into Rob’s flesh like nothing else could. He moaned and choked and begged for more all at the same time, and Rob’s hands clasped Mr. McClintock’s trunk-like thighs. A baritone grunt came from Mr. McClintock, who thrust his hips one more time, making his balls slap Rob in the chin.
“Goddamn, boy, swallow that shit…”
He shot a huge load, especially for an older, mature man, Rob thought, his mind reeling as his lungs cried out for oxygen and his throat spasmed painfully. He thought he might lose consciousness before Mr. McClintock withdrew his dick slowly.
He moved very slow. Mr. McClintock loved this part of dome, but women never let it happen like this — he pulled out slowly, using both hands to force Rob’s head to remain in place — and to cover his face so Mr. McClintock didn’t have to see it. Rob squirmed, his throat squeezing as he tried to take a breath, but Mr. McClintock’s dick didn’t allow it, and he removed it arduously slowly. Every inch to get squeezed on was a new source of pleasure that wracked Mr. McClintock’s body.
Finally Rob tasted it, salty cum coating his tongue when Mr. McClintock’s cocktip finally reached his mouth. Rob took a deep, hoarse breath and spat up a mouth full of cum that spilled out over his mouth and lips. He gurgled and smeared it over himself before sucking most of it off his fingers.
That thirteen-inch dick throbbed limply over Rob’s face. Rob nudged it with his nose, giggling at the exhausted look on Mr. McClintock’s face. Rob smacked his lips and opened his mouth again to demonstrate that he had swallowed.
Then he stood. “Kiss me…”
Mr. McClintock looked like he might back out. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing, his lips grim and tight. Rob had swallowed his cum, but Rob’s face and lips still glimmered. He was definitely going to taste like it.
He had kissed men, and he had kissed women who tasted of his own cum, but he had never kissed a man who tasted of his own cum. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, thinking he should just get it over with. Then he let out a loud croaking gag when he got close and smelled Rob’s breath — he smelled like a brothel and a well-used jockstrap, Mr. McClintock thought — was that what his dick smelled like? No wonder his wife refused to suck him off anymore.
But he wasn’t going to shirk his duty. He had agreed to kiss Rob, so he did so, even as he let out another baritone gag. It was just disgust, after all, he frequently had to deal with nasty and even painful stuff here at work. He could deal with it.
Rob’s mouth tasted snotty and sticky, his lips sour and cottony. He could tell right away that he was going to taste this for a long time, he wouldn’t be able to wash it away. Their tongues interlocked in Mr. McClintock’s mouth. Rob’s tongue moved around, but Mr. McClintock didn’t move anymore than he thought he absolutely had to.
He only pulled away when Rob began sucking on his upper lip and the mustache there. Mr. McClintock gagged again, but then resumed his stiff, dour look, his soft dick still dangling out of the fly of his workpants.
“You okay?” Rob asked.
Mr. McClintock nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak because he thought he might gag again, and he didn’t want to look weak.
“Well, then, I guess we have an agreement,” Rob said. He kept playing with that huge dick until Mr. McClintock scowled and tucked it back in his pants. Then he stood, kissed Mr. McClintock on the neck, and walked out of his office. “I’ll see you on the first of the month to pick up the calculators.”
Rob was exhilarated as he left. There were a lot of hot older guys in this factory, he noticed. The average worker was about forty or forty-five here. Rob had a lot of opportunities, he thought with a squeal of glee.
Coming back here every month was going to be fun. He could mess with Mr. McClintock for calculators, then jerk off the rednecks and blue-collars for beer money. They’d probably even gangbang him for a big enough payday, he thought with a shiver of anticipation.

The Gloryhole

Patrick is working as a roughneck at an oil drill site in North Dakota and enduring the hazing and horseplay that comes with the job… But that all changes when a gloryhole appears, and the workers and rednecks he labors alongside all have a filthy chance to get their motors revving.
Can Patrick perform in front of the others?

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Read the whole thing here!

It was Patrick’s first time working as a roughneck, but he hoped that wasn’t obvious. Some people knew, of course, but Patrick kept to himself. He didn’t want to stand out like a rookie because he knew places like this often hazing their newbies.
He wasn’t opposed to hazing, mind you, he’d do what he had to do to fit in. The best way to get the worst of it was to stand out from the crowd, so he intended to go with the flow.
Normally, Patrick always stood out in any crowd because he was six and a half feet tall, and he was built like a linebacker. He was, in fact, a semi-pro linebacker, three hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle. Not that he had a six-pack, he wasn’t that cut, but compared to most of the men on Site G9, he was built like a gym. The others were mostly older, scruffier and either much fatter or skinnier, and definitely hairier.
Patrick felt young. He had never been nervous about being naked in a group until he got to the oil drill site. He realized only as he stripped off his clothes in a ridiculously crowded rig locker room that he reason he had never been nervous as a football player was that the men he changed alongside were his teammates he knew well and that they were around his own age.
But some of these roughnecks had fought in wars. There were bikers, meth-dealers, convicted murderers released after decades in prison, disgraced cops, a gaggle of men were from some indigenous tribe in the Amazon. They were craggy and stronger than Patrick even when their muscles were smaller. They had bulletwound scars and missing toes and silver-tinged chest hair that extended over their shoulders and onto their back. Nobody on Patrick’s football team had back hair.
It was one of those, a biker named Cooter who first touched Patrick’s dick.
It felt silly to make a big deal out of it, so Patrick didn’t. In the showers, it didn’t count. That’s what everyone said working on the drill site. That was like a motto.
Cooter with the broad shoulders and mat of silver chest fur over a barrel-shaped body wrapped one hairy arm around Patrick’s smooth back. “You’re a big hoss, huh? Saw you out there hauling lineboxes like a madman, good on ya,” he said. He gripped Patrick’s dick for just a half-second. He didn’t stroke it, and he made a point of not touching his balls — he lifted up Patrick’s cock and hefted it as though to make sure it was real.
Patrick sucked in his breath. In his semi-pro football league, if you accidentally touched someone’s dick, you had to shout “no pansy!” They did it even if they just brushed near it, or you accidentally touched someone’s pubic hair. Patrick gulped. He would have asked Cooter not to touch his cock again, but it was over before it began, and Cooter moved on. Patrick felt someone else’s chest hair rub on his back, and he closed his eyes rather than try to figure out who it was.
Cooter was very hairy. Patrick had always thought of himself as hairy too — some of his college teammates called him an ape because of all his chest hair. But Cooter and some of the others here, relatively old men, middle-aged guys, a lot of them had really hairy chests and bellies, and sometimes even backs. Old guys with muscular bodies were scary, Patrick thought.
There was a tattoo of a disemboweled man on Cooter’s belly. Patrick couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Was the disemboweled man a cop? Patrick closed his eyes. Something about the scene looked oddly specific, as though it illustrated a real event.
“Come on, man, let’s wash this shit off!” Cooter again wrapped a hand around Patrick’s body and led him into the shower. Cooter was drenched in engine grease because he worked on the internal combustion coils. Somebody else slapped Patrick’s ass too, a lanky black Jamaican who leered at him as they all filed into the shower.
Patrick gulped. This was the nerve-wracking part. The shower. It was well-lit and cleaner than Patrick had expected — he was picturing something mildewy and dank like a prison shower. This wasn’t that bad, aside from the astoundingly cramped quarters.
It was obvious why that “no pansy” rule that applied on the team didn’t apply here. The locker rooms for semi-pro football teams (usually college stadiums and the attached athletic departments) were roomy and spacious. But here, the shower fit twenty or so but would have been cramped with ten.
As soon as Patrick entered, he felt limps dicks rubbing over his thighs and his ass, along wiry pubic hair, copious chest hair and frizzy beard hairs, and the smell of unwashed male armpits and ballsacs filled his nostrils. The only thing more disconcerting was that his own cock caressed Cooter’s ass — and Cooter’s ass-hair — as they filed into the shower. Patrick was terrified that he would get hard.
Despite all that, they were more or less nice — Patrick was surprised. He kind of thought there’d be fights, and maybe more, in the shower. But there was a lot of horseplay, whipping towels at each other, pretending to jack off on each other, that kind of thing, but no real fighting in the shower.
It was during that night, however, when things got real.
Men jacked off openly here. They just lay back in their bunk, which were stacked five high, with barely room to roll around in, and stroked it. Not under the covers or anything, they straight-up stroked it.
The lights were off, but there was emergency lighting out in the hall. The barrack was a long thin room with rows of bunks. The emergency lighting filtered in through the doors and kept the entire room illuminated enough that Patrick could see men pounding their meat.
Patrick resolved to pretend he hadn’t noticed. There was no way he would ever get hard enough to jack off in full view of a bunch of strangers like that. He rolled over and went to sleep, ignoring the smell of sour cum blooming in the air.
That continued for a few days. No one ever remarked on it, not even when it smelled rank of cum when they all woke up. He saw one middle-aged black man with creamy white cum dried on his belly when they all got dressed. Patrick tried to just stay quiet and fit in. He wasn’t going to be here for long.
But he got so horny. Soon he was getting random erections, for seemingly no reason. He’d never gone this long without fucking a woman.
That was when the hole appeared. He heard vague chatter about it, and when his shift was over, he and the others all went to check it out.
It was a gloryhole.
They said it was a woman who loved cock. Yes, a woman, name unknown, who sucked any dick a roughneck shoved through the gloryhole. Patrick thought that sounded like a cover – no one had ever seen “her”.
But supposedly, she came to the rig every once in awhile, drilled a hole in the middle of the night and stayed in some hidden chamber, ready to jerk off any cock that came through the hole. She was a pretty blonde woman who loved cock but didn’t want anyone to know, she was a fine Egyptian lady with a tongue for jizz, she was a Japanese lass or an Irish redhead, an Aussie with an insatiable appetite for cock. The rumors were hot and fast, and Patrick wasn’t sure if anyone believed any of it. They claimed they believed it, but they claimed it with a wink and a nod, not like something they really believed in.
The man on the side of the hole was named Rob. He had never spread a rumor that he was a woman. He would have gladly spoken to any of the roughnecks who he jerked off and would have told them he was a man. But he’d learned long ago that the best way to get men like these to let him handle their meat was to just make a gloryhole, hang out and wait.
Sure enough, one fat cock had popped through almost right away. He had recognized that as Barry Bagley, who was the convicted murderer Patrick had heard worked on the rig. Barry was a middle-aged man with gray hair and a powerful body like a painting of Zeus. He had been a prison boxer until he had been paroled this year, and the rig was the only place that would hire him — he wasn’t allowed to leave the state, which greatly reduced the options that were open to him.
Luckily, he had gotten used to being serviced by men behind bars. Doing it through a gloryhole was nicer than in person, and the man on the other end — Barry was not one who liked to pretend it was a woman — had nice, softer lips and a moister mouth than any of the men who had jerked him off in prison. The gloryhole mouth went down deep too, noze nuzzling into his crotch, eagerly, smooching it, slurping on it, hocking up massive loogies and choking up saliva by the mouthful to let it run down his sensitive shaft.
It was toe-curlingly good dome.
There was something alluring about not being able to hold onto the man’s head too. It seemed worse. Barry wished, while it was going on and while he got hard, that he could grab Rob’s head and plow in, ramming as hard as he could. But he wasn’t able to do that with the solid steel wall of the supply closet in the way. He could only try to grip the smooth surface while bucking his hips to ram the hole the best he could.
“Goddamn, Rob, you got mouth like liquid silk, boy, goddamn…” Barry sighed. He belched loudly as he finally orgasmed, and the moist sound of his cumwad overflowing filled the air. He knew he was first to use this particular hole, so he liked to make a big frothy mess that spilled out and dried on the stainless steel — which wasn’t stainless when it came to cum.
He pulled out, peered through the hole and suppressed a gag at the sight of Rob’s open mouth, full of creamy, snotty cum. Barry walked away with his dick still dangling between his legs, workjeans unbuttoned and unzipped.
“Hole’s open, boys,” Barry said to each of the groups of men as he passed them.
They all snickered, exchanging knowing glances at the sight of Barry’s foot-long cock. The more time they spent on the rig without any leave, the more often all of them found excuses to walk around naked. What started out as a bunch of awkward men who mostly didn’t know each other became a group of not-quite friends who had seen, and probably rubbed against, every part of each other’s bodies. So it seemed silly to rush to put their cocks away or to pretend to hide masturbating.
Not that anyone wanted to jack off now that there was a hole available. Rob handled dick better than any of the women at Madame Rosa Sumillo’s house — she was the brothel owner whose girls mainly catered to the rig’s workers on leave, in the tiny town of Onagnok. They were beautiful and willing and they had parts that jiggled in all the right ways. Patrick’s ears burned hearing the other roughnecks’s wau-wau about the dirty things they did.
No leave for three weeks though. It felt like forever in the future.
So when Patrick finally realized what they meant about a hole appearing, he was eager to do it. That eagerness vanished when he realized there was a line. The closet was barely big enough for two people, but there were five or six in there, and five or six more stroking their cocks outside the closet getting ready.
“You wanna take a spot in line?” Cooter asked, motioning for Patrick to stand beside him.
Patrick did so. He wanted to leave and come back later, when there was no line — and hopefully when Rob had wiped down the hole, because Patrick didn’t really want to touch another man’s cum. But he was too horny to stop, and he could already feel his dick getting hard. Despite the smell of male armpits and bodyhair and both fresh and stale cum, Patrick was getting hard just at the thought of getting his nut off.
He had no sooner stood there beside Cooter that Patrick heard a man’s deep-throated moan of orgasm. It sent a chill up Patrick’s spine. That was Lem Staggerman, who cackled like it was a big joke as cum sprayed into the hole. He felt his balls slap against the steel and was disgusted — he knew there was oozing cumloads right there, now no doubt sticking to his ballsac. Lem had a thick body and a thicker cock, thick enough that some of the whores at Madame Sumillo’s house of sin refused to see him. They said he stretched them out for other men.
That was the kind of thing Lem liked to hear. Rob had had to widen the gloryhole for him too. Lem was getting splinters on his dingadingdoo, but it fit just right now, and Rob went to town all over it. Lem’s whole body tensed up, his work-carved muscles undulating and flexing as he pounded at the gloryhole with all his might.
Rob opened his mouth to show the cumwad filling it up, but the men were in too much of a hurry to even check. Lem was followed by his another of the drill site’s black men, Kale, whose fat cock barely fit in the hole.
“Ah, nasty, I heard that shit splash in her mouth,” Kale said. “She’s so foul…” He chuckled, pounding on the steel, eyes opening wide as his cock rocketed to full erection. Kale was one of those who was well aware that Rob was a man. But he had been unsure the first time he did it. A part of him knew it felt like a man, but he had been told it was a woman and Kale had been just horny enough not to question that.
If he had known it was a man, he’d have refused to do it back then, and he’d have probably never worked up the nerve. His buddies in his old hood would never let him live it down if they found out. As long as he could pretend he had no idea it was a man, however, he could do it without compunctions, without worrying about Lem’s creamy load sticking to his pubic hair, without thinking about Albert Spackle’s cock, half-hard already, rubbing against Kale’s ass.
Cooter was in the closet by then, as Kale shot his wad, and the line kept moving. Then Albert went, and he had been dry-humping Kale’s ass — no one talked about any accidental contact in the closet, that was a major faux pas — so he shot his wad quickly. Albert always did that. He liked to be efficient.
A shiver of anticipation ran up Patrick’s spine. One of those indigenous Brazilian men was behind him now, erect cock so close Patrick could feel his body heat. When he stepped into the closet, the Brazilian behind him did too, cramming in so that his dick touched Patrick’s thigh. It was hot and throbbing, and it rubbed against Patrick’s well-muscled leg.
“Sorry, I’m too horny to wait…” the Brazilian murmured. Patrick rotated his body, panicking that he was about to be ramrodded — no one had suggested that was a possibility here, it just felt too much like a prison to dismiss it as a concern — so that his ass no longer faced the Brazilian.
But that meant their cocks touched. It looked deliberate. Patrick sucked in his breath. “Oh, sorry, man-“
“Ssssssh, it is okay, yes? We are in the darkness,” the Brazilian chuckled. “Ees okay, does not count, man…” But he thwacked his dick on Patrick’s hot shaft. Then he grabbed both dicks in one hand and stroked them both together — frotting, the other roughnecks called it —his chuckle turned into a laugh at the shocked, turned-off expression on Patrick’s face.
The Brazilian’s cock wasn’t especially big, even rock-hard, as he rubbed it aggressively. Patrick was certain the feel of it touching him made him lose his hardon. He was wrong, but he was certain of it, and he couldn’t see and wouldn’t touch it, so he had no way of knowing. Precum jetted out into Patrick’s pubes, and the Brazilian roughneck’s breathing grew labored.
‘Is he gonna cum on me?’ Patrick wasn’t sure if he would be expected to fight the indigenous Brazilian if that happened or not.
That continued until the next man shot his wad, then turned around and walked out. He walked right between Patrick and the Brazilian — whose name he had never learned — so their erect dicks touched his hairy redneck thighs. Patrick gulped. In the closet, it seemed, anything really did go.
Cooter was in the hole now. He growled and rumbled, pounding his fists on the steel. “Hey, Patrick, new man, you wanna lick my asshole? Huh? Go ahead, I’ll let ya-“
They all laughed hard, and Patrick blushed. “No!” he raced to say, even though he knew that made him look defensive.
“You sure?” Cooter wasn’t even looking at the hole now, his head craned around to look at Patrick.
The other guys in the closet saw how nervous the question made Patrick and kept asking. “You sure? Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ givin’ a little rimjob-“
“Yeah, or a big rimjob. Filthy, for sure. Cooter got greasy ass, you know that!”
“Go’n and give us a lick, man, we love you forevuh for it-“
“Ain’t nothin’ dirty ’bout it.”
“No! No way,” Patrick laughed, hoping he sounded nonchalant. It was hard to think with his erect dick still touching the Brazilian man’s dick. It was uncut, and it seemed to have way too much skin, Patrick thought. He gulped and closed his eyes.
He considered leaving. It would be embarrassing, but staying was embarrassing as well. If he left, they’d tease him the same they teased him now — the only difference would be that Patrick didn’t get dome. Patrick realized only now that his own hardon had not deflated the least bit, despite the Brazilian’s hardon rubbing on it. Or maybe because of it. It did feel kinda good, in a massage-y kinda way. It was hot and stiff and it pulsated lightly like a massage wand.
Patrick didn’t want to share that observation with anyone.
So when Cooter shot his wad into the hole, Patrick decided to fit in the best he could. He got up behind Cooter, dick rubbing against Cooter’s hairy ass, and murmured, “You done yet, redneck?”
“Get the fuck off me!” Cooter said, angry and laughing at the same time, his orgasm still finishing. As he leaned back, he grabbed Patrick’s cock — making Patrick suck in his breath — and guided it to the hole. Their dicks touched, and Patrick felt the gooey, sticky ooze of cum and spit and precum and who-knew-what-else.
It only lasted a moment. But Patrick felt like he was dripping with Cooter’s cum and his filthy redneck sweat. That Brazilian man was right up behind him, stroking himself furiously for a few seconds, his fist hitting Patrick’s ass with each stroke, then let go when he realized he was going to cum too quickly if he kept jacking off. He was just keeping hard while he waited for his turn.
There was another cock on his hand — was someone trying to get him to touch another man’s dick? Patrick closed his eyes and touched the wall, as his cock finally slipped in by itself. He realized then that this was why all of them thus far had stayed against the wall as they got serviced — it was the best way to stop touching the handful of men who crowded into the closet. They all pushed in close behind him, and Patrick felt their mnahoods and their body hair and their precum leaving a layer of sweaty filth on his smooth back.
“Oh god…” Patrick was shocked that it felt this good. He had been so nervous about doing it that he didn’t give much consideration to how it would feel. He just thought he’d blow his nut and finally stop thinking about sex all the damn time.
But this was amazing!
Rob swallowed him down to the root, all in one smooth motion, with no struggle at all. Patrick had never had anyone deep-throat him like that.
“Oooooh, oh — aaaaah, shit, goddamn — ah-” Patrick laughed, which again he realized happened for the same reason the others had laughed before him — it made this seem more like a joke than the rather dirty sex act it really was. Plus nobody wanted to sound like some naif busting a nut for the first time and not knowing what it was supposed to be like.
His dick throbbed in Rob’s throat. Rob had sensed that this was a new man. He was very good at distinguishing between cocks. He remembered Cooter’s dick, for example, from a different rig owned by a different company. He didn’t know Cooter’s name, but he knew his cock.
Patrick was fresh, unserviced, and Rob tried to give him an experience to remember. He gurgled and guzzled, his nose even extending into the gloryhole, ensconced in Patrick’s unkempt pubic bush. His tongue battered his erection, which throbbed in Rob’s mouth.
Someone was touching Patrick’s back now, and he didn’t mind it. He was as surprised as anyone could be. He kind of liked the broad hairy muscles of that unnamed Brazilian man behind him, his hot cock throbbing between Patrick’s legs.
Patrick got it now. He could have gotten himself hard rubbing his dick between Cooter’s hot asscheeks — they were hairy though weren’t they? Patrick laughed quietly at the thought that he was going to have to check that during the next shower. He’d have to find someone with a nice smooth ass whose cheeks were very humpable — maybe that indigenous Brazilian, who had no body hair at all — and Patrick would try to slip in behind him next time.
“Ah, shit…” Patrick let out a long, deep moan that echoed and made the other guys in the closet burst into uproarious applause. They had all gathered that Patrick had never done this before, so they liked to embarrass him, pinching his ass when he twitched and shook.
Creamy cum flowed down Rob’s throat, and he swallowed every drop. It was salty and warm, and a little grassy as though Patrick had absorbed the flavor of the turf he played football on. Rob didn’t let go even when Patrick was done shooting and Rob’s lungs cried out for oxygen.
He waited for Patrick to pull out, his muscles all flexing at once, letting out the roar of a champion, as he did when his team had just scored a touchdown. It was a similar, victorious thrill. He knew that wasn’t entirely logical — it wasn’t like he had done anything that required any tremendous skill.
But he had gotten it. He was no longer some young pup hoping no one figured out he was new around here. He had a confident lilt to his step, and when you knew you were tough, like he did, there was no reason to be squeamish about the Brazilian man’s precum and dickcheese sitting on his ass.
‘I’m about to go take a shower anyway’, he thought as he headed into the shower. He wasn’t nervous about crowding in there either. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He was just one real man among many. He laughed and groped his coworkers as a joke, even circlejerking with them before his next leave.
He was no longer a rookie, he was a roughneck.

The Fullback

Malachi is a football fullback… and a Jew on Christmas! So when Avery runs into him at a Chinese restaurant, he’s eager to swing on Malachi’s massive alpha male meat. Can Malachi perform on Hanukkah?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery enjoyed traveling during the holidays. He found it exciting, and he always met strange people and got into strange situations. He had gone to a Christmas Eve party for his extended family out in Florida and was heading back home to Sacramento. He decided to drive so that he could spend some time without his sister and her daughters — Avery lived with his sister’s family, whom he loved very much but occasionally needed a break from. They took a plane back to California. Avery rented a car and had one glorious week without the Frozen soundtrack dominating his life.
Let it go! Let it go! Let it goooooooo!
Avery was ready to let Frozen go. He was utterly sick of it. He drove west from Florida through Texas just so he wouldn’t have to see a lick of snow because he thought it would remind him of that movie, which he had positively adored when he first saw it. He dressed up as Elsa for Halloween. His nieces thought it was hilarious.
But his nieces performed the music from that movie (or really just that one song) so many times he would have gladly strangled every single character if he could. He would have supported a Constitutional amendment banning the song. He had even considered stealing his nieces’s copy of the movie (but they’d just buy it again). He was completely and utterly sick of it.
He awoke on Christmas Day in a cheap motel. Avery had hoped he might get a little excitement on this trip, and this motel seemed like a perfect opportunity. These sorts of cheesy motels in nowheresville — Hampton, Mississippi, in this case — were often crawling with muscular men who would gladly let someone like Avery service them.
But it seemed all the good ones were at home with mom, no doubt overeating cheesy gratins and dry turkey. Avery was disappointed. There was a tubby black guy in the room next door and an elderly white man down the hall. The motel clerk was fat and slovenly. Two tired-looking women shared another room. There was a nerdy fellow who looked almost cute, but he disappeared anyway, and Avery didn’t see him again.
So he just went out to dinner by himself. The only restaurant open on Christmas Day was the Chinese dive across the street from the motel. Avery intended to get some takeout fried rice and eat it while watching something arousing on TV — he wasn’t sure if there would be anything arousing on TV right now, but he wasn’t about to watch some Christmas special.
However, when he went into the restaurant, there was another patron there who sent all of Avery’s plans out the window.
The young man was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, white but very swarthy. He had a curly mess of black hair, tangled and akimbo atop his head. He snorted as he shoveled rice into his mouth. He wore one of those little half-shirts that football players wore at practice, along with loose-fitting track pants. He didn’t seem to notice Avery. Nothing made him look up from that bowl of rice, except the pretty Chinese waitress who brought him a refill of ice-cold Coke.
Avery got his fried rice and sat down across from the young man, who furrowed his brow at him. “Sorry,” Avery said. “Is it okay if I sit here? No one else is really out today, but I hate eating alone.”
He shrugged. He looked uncomfortable, but he nodded, so Avery sat down. Avery introduced himself, and the man said he was Malachi.
“You a Jew?” Malachi asked.
Avery shook his head. “Nope. My family’s just doing a… well, it’s kinda complicated. My sister did a Christmas dinner at our parent’s house on Christmas Eve, and we’re doing… Nevermind, it’s not that interesting. I’m just celebrating Christmas like three different times this year, none of them on Christmas Day.”
“Oh.”
“You’re Jewish?”
He nodded. He spoke with a mouth full of rice. “You know what Samoans is?”
“Samoans? The people? They’re… people. From Samoa.”
“Are they Christian?”
“Uh… Yeah, I think so. Maybe. Mainly. I guess some are probably not,” Avery said.
Malachi nodded. He shrugged. “Don’t matter. There’s this Samoan guy… He gets all the chicks. He’s on my football team. I thought he wouldn’t celebrate Christmas. I thought he could get some Jewish chicks and give me one. Girls love him so much, they think his accent is sexy. Then he said he did celebrate Christmas, so he couldn’t be with me. He doesn’t even have a family out here, they’re back in Samoa. Fuckin’ asshole. He just didn’t want to hang out with me. He’s probably got Jewish chicks all over him. Girls fucking love him because of that accent and cuz he’s exotic.” He said that last word with a sneer. “He’s not even, really, I mean, Samoa’s way out there but he’s totally a normal dude. He’s into the fucking Kardashians and shit. When this cheerleader asked him how to cook some traditional Samoan thing, he had to look it up on Wikipedia.” He paused. “He’s got great hair, they like his hair. I’ll give him that one, he does have great hair.”
“Oh, you poor baby.” Avery smiled. “So you’re all alone? You’re the only nonchristian on your team?”
He nodded. “Coach says we have to do everything together, so now that they’re all gone for Christmas, I’ve got jack shit to do.”
“What are you doing for Hanukkah?”
He shrugged. “Nothing really. I’ve got a menorah set up back at my place. My mom’s sending me presents, but I’m not going back home for Hanukkah. Too expensive. I’m from California.”
“Really? Where?”
“Sacramento.”
“That’s where I’m from too,” Avery said.
“Oh. Cool.” Malachi bit his lip. Avery could see the thoughts running through his mind. He wanted to ask for a ride home, but he didn’t want to sound desperate, and he didn’t want to admit he couldn’t afford to pay for gas. Today was the first day of Hanukkah, so they’d get to Sacramento before it was over. Until it was an option, Malachi hadn’t realized how much he missed his family and wanted to see them for the holiday. “That’s cool.”
Avery cleared his throat. Malachi had finished his food, and he eyed Avery’s fried rice hungrily. Avery hadn’t finished it. He offered it to Malachi, whose massive fullback body bristled. He shoveled the last of it into his mouth in about three bites.
“So, uh… Malachi, I could drive you home. I wouldn’t ask you to pay anything in money,” Avery said. “But maybe… we’ll be sharing a motel room, so maybe you could let me have a taste of your cock?”
He furrowed his brow. “What?”
“Nevermind. You’re not into it-“
“Wait, what?” His muscles all shook and flexed, rippling up and down his body. “Wait, what? What? What?”
Avery chuckled. He hadn’t meant to make Malachi so nervous. Malachi blushed and stammered. He looked to the Chinese family behind the counter as though they would jump in. They didn’t seem to pay any attention though.
“I just… I think you’re really handsome, and I bet you have a big dick. It’s no big deal. Whatever. Here, let me just give you enough money for a bus ticket,” Avery said.
“No. I’ll do it.” He gulped like he regretted it as soon as he said it. “I’ll do it. We gotta… I gotta call this guy.”
“What?”
“Nevermind. Let’s go,” he said. “Will you buy me some shoes?”
“Wait, what?” Now it was Avery’s turn to repeat that a few times.
“You’ll buy me some new shoes, right? I need sneakers.”
“Oh. Well… Yeah, sure. Okay. No shoe stores are open though. Tomorrow,” Avery said.
“Yeah. Tomorrow.” He seemed ambivalent and nervous about doing this, even though he spoke confidently. His hand trembled when Avery brushed up against it, like he was terrified of accidentally holding hands with Avery. He cleared his throat but didn’t say anything else. His eyes were downcast.
It took Avery an embarrassing amount of time to realize that Malachi wanted him to pay the bill. Avery smiled and did so. He loved paying for men because it always made them nervous and there was nothing alluring than a nervous handsome alpha.
“Did you want me to pay the bill?” Avery asked. “I can treat you.”
Malachi nodded. “Sorry. I’m not a very good Jew.”
The waiter took a long time to finally bring the bill, and Malachi told Avery some long rambling stories about Hanukkahs past. Avery had shockingly little interest in Hanukkah or Jewish holidays in general, but he liked the way Malachi’s big jaw and huge square cheeks worked up and down when he talked. He had a big goofy face like his chest was hollow, and he guzzled from a glass of water like a dying man in a desert.
He had been at his college weight room, Malachi said, that was why he wore his half-shirt and trackpants. He wanted to work out there alone today. He hadn’t even showered afterwards — he said the hot water had been turned off — so he smelled musky and funky, which Avery loved. He had to resist the urge to bury his nose in Malachi’s armpit and sniff.
“I’ll take a shower,” he said when they got back to Avery’s motel room. Malachi gulped and blushed. “Then we can… I dunno, whatever.”
“No. No shower, not yet,” Avery said. “Let’s do the whatever first.”
“Oh god… You’ll definitely buy me shoes, right? Any kind I want?”
Avery furrowed his brow. “What’s your deal with shoes? Is this a trick? I’m not buying like twenty thousand dollar sneakers or something, if that’s what you want.”
“No. They’re like two hundred bucks.”
“That’s fine.”
He took a deep breath. “It’s just… there’s this guy on my team. His name is Raython. It’s a stupid fucking name, and he’s an idiot. I hate him.”
“You hate a lot of your teammates.”
“They’re fucking assholes, every single one of ’em,” he said with a snarl. “Raython is always braggin’ cuz he’s got a sugar daddy. When he started bragging about it in September, I thought everyone would call him call him names.”
“A sugar daddy?”
“But no one called him any names about it! He brags about it! Got some old guy who swallows his loads and buys him shoes and clothes and jewelry! This guy bought him a car! A car! And he sold it, like an asshole, so he could buy some designer handbag for this girl. Fuckin’ purse that costs three grand. Everyone on my team thinks he’s like a fucking genius.”
“So you wanna get in on that? You want a sugar daddy of your own?”
“Hell yeah! I’ll show him up. You gotta buy me something else though too. Besides the shoes,” he said. “Maybe something Jewish. Do they sell blinged-out menorahs? No, that’ll look stupid.” He brought out his smartphone. “I’ll find something on Amazon. The WiFi doesn’t work here, does it?”
“It’s been hit or miss all day.”
“Well, I don’t have much data left on my data package. I’ll probably run out soon. I’ll find something quick. You can order it and have it sent to the college athletic department, that way I’ll open it in front of everyone,” he said. He was intently focused on his phone.
Avery at first thought he should let Malachi take a little time to find something he wanted. But then Avery realized that was silly — he had the entire drive to Sacramento to figure it out. It might take that long too. Avery was beginning to think Malachi wasn’t that smart — he hurried to search Amazon because it hadn’t occurred to him that Avery had a phone as well, and Avery could afford a much larger data plan.
Avery didn’t want to distract him with that though, so he didn’t mention it. He just got down on his knees and planted his face between Malachi’s legs. His track pants smelled very sweaty, which made Avery’s dick hard. He must have worn these whenever he worked out, and he either didn’t wash them very often or he had just sweated into them so much that no amount of washing would clean them.
The taste was salty and bitter and astringent, and it tasted so good Avery drooled onto Malachi’s trackpants. Above his head Malachi grunted and grumbled. He looked down with wide-eyed amazement as though he hadn’t thought Avery was serious.
“Damn… Raython said it was easy,” Malachi said. “But it’s weird. It’s not like a girl. Girls don’t… sniff my crotch. Like a dog.” He laughed nervously.
“That’s cuz girls don’t know what’s good,” Avery said. He smiled and stroked Malachi’s dick through his pants. It was hard almost right away — Malachi had that youthful vigor still, and he got hard at the drop of a hat. Circumcised, of course, but Avery didn’t mind that one bit. It was hefty enough to be meaty in Avery’s hand.
“Shit, my battery’s almost dead too. I don’t know where my charger is,” he said. “Damn it, I’m not gonna have a cell phone all the way back to Sacramento.” Again, it hadn’t occurred to him to ask Avery to buy a new charger for him. Malachi, Avery thought, was a real dumbass. It’s a good thing he’s handsome.
Malachi gasped and his knees buckled when Avery pulled his trackpants down and took his cock out. Once again, Malachi looked shocked that this was happening. He held his cell phone in his hand and tried to keep clicking on it, but he kept getting distracted. “Estimated time remaining: seven minutes,” he said with a chuckle. “I better find something nice in seven minutes. Do you know about black guys? What impresses black guys?”
Slathering spit up and down Malachi’s shaft, Avery didn’t really want to talk. But he felt an obligation to help. “He’ll be more impressed if you aren’t trying to impress him. I thought you wanted girls, not him. What does it matter what he thinks anyway?”
“Cuz he thinks he’s hot shit! He’s some old man’s toy, and he thinks that makes him special! He gets chicks but only because his sugar daddy pays for stuff. He takes ’em out to the theatre, man. Not like a movie, I mean like… musicals and shit.”
“Girls like that-“
“It’s fucked up!” Malachi threw his hands in the air.
“Okay, Malachi-“
“He thinks he’s a fucking gigolo, but he’s not. He’s a manwhore. If his sugar daddy wore a colorful suit, Raython would be a street-walkin’ rentboy,” Malachi said. He looked down and watched his half-hard dick slip into Avery’s mouth, but he watched with disinterest as though he was so intent on fuming about Raython that he didn’t even notice where his dick was.
Avery decided to just ignore it. Malachi would calm down and focus on his dick when he was ready. Soon enough, his cock did get hard. Malachi moaned and bit his lip. He brought his cell phone back up and looked through it some more. “He thinks he’s hot shit because he’s so popular. I’m popular too. I’ve got six minutes left to find something. What about a couch? No, no matter how expensive that is, Raython won’t care. Jewelry, Raython wears jewelry. But I’m white, I’ll just look weird if I wear jewelry.”
Avery flopped Malachi’s massive dick over his face. He slipped his tongue up Malachi’s body, licking sweat off his belly. His muscles twitched and flexed beneath Avery’s tongue.
“What about a butt-dial? What if I accidentally called Raython while you were here? He could hear you giving me money,” Malachi said. “Nah, he’ll just hang up, he won’t listen. He’s at Christmas with his family.”
Avery sucked on each of his nipples. Malachi still didn’t seem to notice, not even when Avery’s tongue traveled up to his neck. Finally when Avery suckled on his neck hard enough to leave a hickey, Malachi winced and pushed Avery back down.
He chuckled dryly, and a bit nervously. “No, no. Anything above the neck is a kiss, man, and I don’t kiss dudes.”
“Okay,” Avery said. He went back to his knees and sucked the sweat off Malachi’s heavy balls, which tasted clean and salty, like a well-used but just-washed jockstrap. Avery sucked every drop of moisture off, making Malachi groan and shake so hard he put his cell phone down.
Precum flowed down Avery’s throat. He gurgled merrily on it, deep-throating Malachi, who seemed to have at last forgotten about his cell phone. He watched with baited breath as Avery swallowed his entire massive rod. Avery’s throat squeezed around it, and Malachi’s muscles all flexed, then relaxed, then rippled as his whole body undulated. His hands fluttered behind Avery’s head.
“Jesus Christ!” Malachi said with a moan. “Hell, I ain’t know dudes could swallow so deep like that. Fuck…”
Avery giggled at the thought of a Jew exclaiming about Jesus on Christmas, but he didn’t want to stop licking Malachi’s cock, so he didn’t point that out. He nuzzled his nose in Malachi’s dense, kinky pubic hairs, his tongue slithering out to tease his entire shaft.
Ready to move on, Avery pulled off his cock. Malachi gasped. Avery smiled up at him. He pulled out a bottle of lube and worked some onto his ass.
“Ah, shit, down to less than four minutes,” Malachi said, picking his phone back up. “Are black guys impressed by dirtbikes? I know the Texans on my team are always bragging-“
“Malachi, stop asking me questions about black guys,” Avery said. “I’m paying you for your dick. You have to focus on that, at least a little bit.”
“Sorry, okay.” He looked genuinely chagrined. “I just only have three minutes left to find something.”
“You have a whole fucking drive to look it up, Malachi, and you can charge your phone in my car. If you do it good enough, I’ll buy you a Ferrari. I can afford it. You need to focus. No matter what you do, the other guys on your team will think you are a pussy if you do it to impress them,” Avery said.
He paused. “A Ferrari? Really?” He sighed. “I don’t think I can do it that good. Sorry.”
“Black guys are not impressed by humility, Malachi,” Avery said, still gathering his breath from that cock in his throat.. He lifted his well-lubed ass up and twinkled his hole in Malachi’s direction.
Malachi sighed. “I guess you’re right. Raython has to find out about this though. I’m only doing it to show him up,” he said. “But I’ll focus on you now. Okay, okay, I can do this,” Malachi said like he was trying to convince himself. He stroked his cock a few times, aiming a very serious face at Avery’s ass, as though it had displeased him by being attached to a male body. He sighed. He winced as he slipped his dick between Avery’s cheeks. Then he smiled. “It really feels like a woman’s ass. Raython always said, that but I didn’t believe him. I’m glad you’re not hairy.”
Avery was about to tell him again to stop talking about Raython, but then Malachi’s cock slid into his well-lubed ass. Avery grunted. A jolt of pain and intense pressure ran up his spine. They both moaned in sync with each other.
The pain slowly melted away, bit by bit with every thrust of Malachi’s cock inside him. It was replaced by an ever-mounting wave of pleasure, growing stronger each time Malachi got another inch of his massive meat inside him. Each thrust amplified the thrumming pleasure in Avery’s body too, which made him growl and paw and the air in front of his face.
After a few moments of awkward dysrhythmic gyrating, Malachi seemed to get his groove. He grunted and moaned as he moved, his rod ramming all the way in then pulling almost all the way out. Avery’s sensitive rim quivered and stretched to accommodate him.
The feelings ricocheting around in Avery’s body were so intense he couldn’t quite handle them. He tried to make feminine orgasmic sounds, since men always preferred that, but the sensations overwhelming him were too potent to control. He couldn’t do anything more than moan and squirm as he struggled to accept Malachi’s dick. Spasms of bliss wracked Avery’s body.
“God damn, boy, hell, you got a nice ass,” Malachi said.
“Oy vey,” Avery said with a giggle. “You got a nice cock, boy.” He leaned his head back and licked Malachi’s meaty pecs.
Malachi chuckled. “This is really easy. I don’t know why I was nervous. I should have been looking for a sugar daddy a long time ago.”
“Yeah. You should. Tell your teammates. All football jocks should have a sugar daddy,” Avery said. His face was red, his own cock throbbing in his hands as he furiously stroked himself off.
Tendrils of orgasmic pleasure shot through Avery’s body. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, but still moaned so loud he was sure that the tubby guy in the room next door heard. Avery squirmed in Malachi’s powerful arms.
“Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…” Malachi gasped like he was surprised to orgasm at all. His muscles flexed and stayed tense, which Avery loved — he licked Malachi’s chest while Malachi’s cock throbbed in his ass.
Avery felt the cum flowing through his shaft even before the first few drops of it sprayed into him. Then there was a torrent of hot, sticky fluids flowing through Avery’s body. He let out a long, low groan that made Malachi shudder, the motion of which kept Avery’s orgasm going and sent Avery over the edge. He shot his own load onto the carpeted floor of the hotel room.
But even though Malachi had begun cumming before Avery, Avery still finished first — Malachi had heavy athlete balls and a hefty, testosterone-filled body, so he shot a massive load that matched his manhood. It just kept on coming, flowing into Avery’s body and trickling throughout his innards. His creamy cum coated Avery’s flesh.
Finally Malachi was done. He sighed and pulled out, making Avery twitch as he collapsed onto the bedspread. Malachi chuckled.
“Well, shit…” Malachi said with a deep breath rattling his cavernous chest.
“You have a nice cock…” Avery said dreamily. He wiped that moist shaft clean with a tissue. Malachi watched him do so with a satisfied grin. His chest had re-broken out with fresh sweat, which Avery licked off his taut flesh.
Malachi flopped down on the bed. He picked up his cell phone again, eyeing Avery dourly as he allowed Avery to lick his muscles. He endured it like a man allowing a pet cat to lick him: with a certain amount of bemusement even though he was annoyed by it.
“Huh, the cell phone’s still working. I’ve still got data, a couple bars left,” he said. He shrugged. “It’s a miracle, I guess. What about…?”
“The Ferrari?”
Malachi nodded.
“If you can do me like that at least twice a day till we get to Sacramento, I’ll buy the Ferrari. Do you have a job?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll also pay for your insurance and gas, but only till the end of the school year. Then I’m taking the Ferrari back,” Avery said. “You won’t be able to afford to keep it going anyway.”
Malachi nodded. “Fine. As long as Raython sees it so I can tell him where I got it.”
“Good. And if you need a note from me to prove it to him, I’ll write you a note, sweetie,” he said. He kissed Malachi on the neck. Malachi bristled but allowed it. Avery smiled as he played with Malachi’s limp dick. “Happy Hanukkah. This is going to be a fun road trip.”
“Yeah,” Malachi said. “Happy Hanukkah.”

The Driller

Lance enjoys the company of men, so this all-male oil rig is the ideal environment for him… especially when he gets to spend the night with the horny driller Edgar Hack! Edgar is desperate to get a load off, a problem Lance is eager to help with… Can they both satisfy their drilling-related needs?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read it the whole thing here!

Lance had a bedroom to himself near the entrance to the oil rig Typhoon-2. Of course no one used the entrance for weeks at a time, but he was nominally the secretary. If someone did pull up and walk in, Lance was supposed to greet them and verify they had the authority to be there.
Of course at an oil rig located two hundred miles from the nearest land, the walk-in traffic was minimal. Lance rarely had less than six hours of advance notice before someone came for a visit. Even the “surprise” inspections by the government were announced twelve hours beforehand.
He had a bedroom there at the corner by the entrance because there were sensors that would wake him up if someone did pull a boat up near the rig. At one point in this oil rig’s history, that was vital — not because people actually came by often, it was just a national security thing — if there were no security measures in place, it would be easy for anyone to sneak up in a motorboat and come in.
But things had changed. Nowadays the sensors could ding Lance’s cell phone. They could alert anyone on the rig, or back on land, just as easily as they could ring the bell in Lance’s bedroom. But state law still required a “secretary” to be near the entrance on the off-chance someone did come in.
At night though, Lance just locked the door and set the alarm to ring his cell phone — powered by a local network — if he wasn’t there. It had only happened about once a month, and each time was a false alarm (probably a strong wave or a dolphin bumping into the rig near the sensors).
“Ah, fuck! You got a hairy back like sasquatch, man!”
“What a nasty-ass motherfucker-“
“Get off me, man!”
“Don’t be fuckin’ squeamish, man!”
The workers roughhoused in their barracks as Lance watched. He didn’t make it obvious he was there, but they all knew it. They all saw him, even in the darkness.
Lance could do whatever he wanted. He was both the highest and lowest man on the oil rig totem pole. He was not a driller, he was a secretary, and he had few actual duties, so he was sometimes treated like the least important employee. But his duties did include paychecks — he doled out leave, he handled sick call and he distributed paychecks every week. So the men treated him variously like a weak wuss of no particular importance as well as like a beneficent god who gave them money out of the kindness of his heart.
Since there were no females on the rig, Lance was the closest thing to a woman around.
“You best step off!”
“Lookit Edgar! Ha ha ha-!”
“Holy shit-!”
Lance walked into the barrack where most of the men slept. It was a long, narrow room with lockers on one side and bunk beds, stacked three high, on the other. The lighting was dim, just the emergency lights because it was after midnight — the lights here were automatic, and the fluorescents out in the hall stayed on all night though the barrack itself was dark.
The men were wide awake though. They never went to bed at midnight like they were supposed to.
They all fell quiet at first, like they always did when Lance came in the barrack at night. One man, Edgar Hack, was stark naked, standing there and shaking his asscheeks — apparently as part of some sort of joke. He shook his ass like a stripper, though he was thick and chunky and hairy, with a rough mustache and dirty blonde mullet. His dick hung free.
“Hi boys,” Lance said, his quiet lilting voice filling up the darkened barrack. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”
The men were all awkwardly silent. They loved attention from Lance, every single one of them. So they all acted as though Lance was a schoolmarm who made them horny despite themselves, like Lance invented stiffies to stifle them.
“Goodnight, Lance.”
“Yeah, goodnight.”
“Goodnight, man-!”
A chorus of goodnights rang out, some nervous and wavering, others proud and boastful. Lance came forward to Edgar, whose eyes opened wide as Lance’s hands roamed over his meaty belly. Edgar was barrel-shaped like most drillers — meaning he operated the cavern drillshaft — with that delightfully raunchy mustache like a 70s porn star, which Lance wished he could suck right off his upper lip.
“Good night, Edgar,” Lance said.
“It’s cold tonight,” someone said hopefully.
“Yeah, real cold. I got plenty of blankets though.”
“Hmm-hmm, me too. I brought this blanket from home, Lance, it’s all nice and thick, huh? My grandmoms made it.”
Lance blushed. “That’s a very nice quilt, Kale,” he said. He caressed the soft fabric. Kale Mashley had gotten the quilt last time he was on leave, not because he wanted it, but because he thought Lance would like it. Lance leaned in to Kale’s bunkspace and kissed him on the neck. Kale shuddered and grunted, and he grabbed Lance’s hand to drag it to his crotch.
“C’mon, man-“
Lance clucked his tongue. “Nuh-uh, Kale, you have to be nice.”
“Ha, Kale-“
“Man-!”
“He don’t want ya stinky cock, Kale.”
Lance bade them goodnight. They still argued even as they settled into their bunks. Kale growled with frustration, but he didn’t complain.
Lance waited outside the barrack. It was cold, that was true, and Lance’s bedroom was especially cold — it was low, near the water and the wind, and it was a corner room, exposed on two sides to the chilly ocean air. There was an area heater in the room, but Lance still preferred to warm himself via alternate means at night.
He waited though. He didn’t like to do it when everyone was awake. He liked to tease them and make them horny. He could have had them bukkake him every night — he still thought he might do that at one point. But with big rough-and-tumble bucks like these guys, if he let them all gangbang his mouth one time, they’d want to do that every night.
It was better to leave them wanting more.
So he waited. He watched Kale jack off openly. Some guys hid it out of embarrassment. There was a small room adjoining the showers that they used for private, or semi-private anyway, masturbation — it was filled with porn, pictures of women making ou with each other literally plastered to the wall like wallpaper.
But Kale and a few other guys did it openly in the barracks. They said it doesn’t count on the rig, and they teased anyone who objected.
Kale did it now because he could see Lance out in the corridor, bathed in emergency lighting. Lance’s trim silhouette attracted Kale’s attention like a moth to a flame. Lance liked watching Kale jack off even though Kale was in darkness, so all Lance could see was his shadowy hand moving and his face, which happened to catch the light from the corridor.
Kale moaned when he came, and the barrack filled with the cottony scent of his cumload. He shot a fat wad all over his flat belly. His muscles rippled, and he groaned. Creamy jizz coated his torso.
He let his dick drop with a cocky snort. He sucked on his tongue.
“Nasty! Clean yaself up, Kale!”
“Fuckin’ gross!”
“Go to the jack-off room, man!”
Kale chuckled and got up to clean himself off with some tissues in his locker. He was just a few feet from the doorway, where Lance stood surreptitiously watching. Kale came to the door and stood there. He stood in the light so his six-pack and his huge cock were plainly visible to Lance.
“Hey, man, I can go again. I can cum as many times as you want, boy, you can jerk me off for hours. I don’t run out…” Kale said with a smile, showing off his dimples. He clucked his tongue like he was trying to be seductive. He sidled up to Lance and thwacked his moist, post-cum cock against Lance’s thigh.
Lance blushed and giggled. “I’m sure you can…” He gave Kale’s dick one long stroke and then walked away. “But you should go to sleep, Kale. You have work to do tomorrow.”
Kale always flirted with him hard like that. Lance enjoyed it, he liked how the men treated him once there no women around. He turned Kale down most of the time because he got possessive when Lance indulged him, and sometimes he was mean. Lance needed to tell him no sometimes to keep him from acting hard.
“Put ya drawers on, Kale, no one wanna look at ya dick!”
“Then look away, man,” Kale said. He waggled his dick between his fingers as he stood there in the light of the doorway, then went back into the barrack.
Lance walked away so they would actually sleep. That was his routine. He watched whoever jack off, then they’d all go to sleep while Lance made sure his own duties were taken care of. If Lance stood there, they’d keep trying to get his attention, so he had to leave to make them sleep.
He came back to the barrack a couple hours later. It was three o’clock in the morning. The roughnecks here worked very hard every single day, so they were sound asleep when they finally got to it. The barrack, Lance noticed, smelled more strongly of sweat — and a tiny bit of blood — than when he had left. That suggested there was a fight, as there often was after he had left.
Lance hadn’t shared a bed with Edgar for a long time. He was older than a lot of the other roughnecks, and he didn’t have a six-pack like many of them did. That mustache like a 70s-porn-star was old-fashioned too, and he had a hairy, grimy body that seemed perpetually dirty, even when he had just walked out of the shower. They called him “Mullet Grandpa”.
Somebody snorted loudly as Lance walked into the barrack. No one was awake, he was pretty sure, or they’d be hissing for him to choose them. Instead the barrack was silent except for the snoring and the grunts of sleeping men. He loved the smell of unwashed men, and that was the scent here in spades. Their workclothes were here, that was why. Even the ones who just showered an hour ago had their unwashed workclothes there by their bunks, and that sent the smell of filthy men to seep into the air of the sleeping quarters.
He went to the column of bunks about halfway into the barrack. This was well into the barrack, away from the doorway, so the emergency lighting didn’t extend here. It was pitch-black.
But Lance knew the barrack very well. He knew where he was going. He silently climbed up to the top bunk. That’s where Edgar’s massive body lay sprawled out as much as he could in the narrow bunkspace. Edgar snored.
He twitched when Lance’s fingers caressed his hairy thighs. Lance reached under the shorts he slept in every night. Edgar had showered right before bed, but he rarely washed those shorts, so they had an intensely musky scent that Lance adored.
“Huh?” Edgar woke up, groggy. His whole body shook.
“Ssssssssh….” Lance murmured. “It’s just me, it’s Lance. It’s really cold in my room, Edgar. Can I sleep with you? Will you keep me warm?” Lance asked it winsomely, like he thought Edgar would probably say no. Lance shivered. He knew Edgar would say yes. The only person in the rig who would say no was Hakim Hafazz, and even he, Lance was pretty sure, would actually say yes if Lance came to him at night — Hakim had told Lance not to try anything, that he would say no, but Lance suspected Hakim only said that because he knew he would give in to temptation if Lance actually did come to him at night. Nevertheless, Lance left him alone out of respect. Besides, there were plenty of men begging to keep Lance warm.
“Huh? Oh…” Edgar grunted. He scooted up against the steel wall of the barrack, laying on his side to give Lance enough room to squeeze in there. His hairy body was thick and fleshy, and his sheets stank of him. Lance inhaled deeply as he buried his face in Edgar’s arms.
It was obvious what was going to happen. Lance wanted it and had done it before. Edgar always said yes. They all let Lance sleep with them when he asked, and they always ended up plowing him in the ass too. Lance didn’t even initiate anything anymore, because it felt better to lay in bed with a man and be seduced rather than do the seduction.
So Lance just laid on his side too, facing Edgar. He nuzzled Edgar’s hairy neck as though going to go to sleep like that. His feet touched Edgar’s and he caressed Edgar’s ankle with his toes.
The men here all swore that they never kissed Lance. They let Lance share their bunk, and they let Lance grope their muscles, and they let Lance jerk them off, and they let Lance lick their ass, and they rammed Lance in the ass when he begged them to — but they all bragged to each other that they didn’t kiss him.
But they were all lying.
“Ssssssssh…” Lance murmured as his kisses traveled up Edgar’s neck to that mustache that Lance adored. He had to muffle a moan. He kissed Edgar on the lips, and Edgar moaned too. His moan was thick and moist like his body, crude, gravelly, loud but so deep it wouldn’t wake anyone up, it just blended in with the whirr of the oil rig’s machinery.
“Baby…” Edgar whispered right in Lance’s ear. “You feel so nice and soft… I love you…” Edgar always said he loved Lance. Lance didn’t mind, even though he knew Edgar didn’t mean it — it was just the feelings that this situation aroused within Edgar, making him feel such intense affection that it seemed like love to him. He plunged his tongue into Lance’s throat.
Lance kissed him back and caressed Edgar’s back the best he could. Edgar’s whole body rubbed over Lance as they made out.
Despite their constant promises otherwise, they all kissed Lance at night — they just didn’t acknowledge it during the day. It was difficult to resist. In the dark, Lance sounded like a woman and he felt like a woman with very small tits, and of course he had no pussy, but he did have an ass he let them fill, which they thought of as better than a pussy anyway.
Edgar mounted Lance’s chest as though to tittyfuck the breasts Lance didn’t have. Edgar always did that, pretending, even kneaded Lance’s flesh to rub it against the sides of his dick, titty-plowing the best he could despite Lance having no breasts. It was a little painful but Lance didn’t mind his rough fingers molding his skin. It didn’t last long anyway. Edgar’s dick was already hard and throbbing as he scooted forward, humping Lance’s chest until he got to his mouth.
It was actually a major feat of balance to get jerked off on one of these bunks. Edgar was so wide and thick that he struggled to sit up on the narrow bunk. He had to clutch the edges with his knees and hands, and in order to get his dick to Lance’s mouth, Edgar had to lean so far forward his head was on the bunk of the man next to him (Osvaldo Ramirez).
His thick dick slipped past Lance’s lips, and the taste of Edgar’s potent manhood overwhelmed Lance’s senses. He opened wide, letting Edgar plow into his throat with all his might. Lance’s hands caressed Edgar’s asscheeks as he humped in the dark.
When he tasted precum, Lance patted Edgar on the ass. He had to do it a couple times, slapping one meaty cheek hard enough to make a loud sound, to get Edgar’s attention. Edgar pulled off his mouth, and Lance took a deep breath as quietly as he could manage.
“Can you ram me? Please… I need it… I need you…” Lance whispered right into Edgar’s ear. Edgar’s whole body shuddered. Lance giggled. “You’re so strong, I wanna feel your dick inside me… Please…” He begged even though he knew there was never any doubt about it. Edgar loved to ram, but he also loved to hear Lance beg for it.
He grunted affirmatively, too horny to actually say anything. He slid down Lance’s body. As he did, his balls dragged over Lance’s belly and even his own cock. Edgar either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He rolled Lance over onto his side again, with Edgar on his side next to him. Edgar was such a thick-bodied man that, even with both of them on their side, his big barrel chest took up most of the space. Lance was near the edge of the bunk. He would have been scared to fall but Edgar wrapped one of his massive arms around Lance’s neck, keeping him in a tight, but loving, chokehold. Lance moaned and licked his bicep, while Edgar scrunched his tall body up to fit in the bunkspace and get his dick lined up with Lance’s ass.
“Damn it, Edgar, get off me!” someone muttered in the bunk on the other side of Edgar’s feet — which had accidentally kicked him as he and Edgar got into position. It was Karl Manderson, who scowled. “Don’t fuckin’ kick me, man, and keep it quiet.” He rotated his body so his head was farther from Edgar’s bunk, that way he wouldn’t hear Edgar and Lance — which was gross — and if Edgar accidentally kicked him again, he would hit his feet, not his head.
Edgar barely noticed. He was uncontrollably horny. He held onto Lance tightly and drilled his dick into his ass. Lance grunted and bit his bicep until Edgar stopped.
“Wait, wait, I didn’t put lube on,” Lance murmured through his pained ass — it really didn’t hurt that bad but he knew if he didn’t react strongly, Edgar would ignore it. Lance made Edgar apply the lube because he liked to feel Edgar showing tenderness towards him.
“I’m sorry, baby, I don’t wanna hurtcha. I wanna make you feel good,” Edgar whispered in Lance’s ear. He slathered gobs of lube onto Lance’s ass, but even then, he only slowed down his penetration. He kept pushing his dick in as he smeared it with lube, and Lance twisted in his arms. Lance would have definitely fallen off the bunk if he weren’t held up by Edgar’s strong arm.
Finally he was fully lubed, and Edgar began plowing hard. He slammed his cock in and out, letting his entire foot-long dick penetrate him, each inch sending a new wave of pleasure through Lance’s body.
Some of the men rammed Lance like they were fucking a disgusting prostitute who was their last choice at the brothel. That style of filthy rutting had its appeal for Lance at times. But he usually preferred to get a man to make sweet love to him. These roughnecks could make love in such a delightfully harsh way that Lance was ready to burst from the moment they started, and Edgar was one of the best.
Edgar knew well how to ram a man fast, good and quietly. His cock plowed pleasure deep into Lance’s body. He used one arm to keep Lance from falling off the edge, while his other spread Lance’s asscheeks wide.
That position didn’t last long though. The more he rammed, the more Edgar pulled Lance in close to him. Lance’s smooth frame really did feel like a girl, Edgar thought, and even his moaning and grunting sounded feminine. Soon, as always happened, Lance lay on his belly on the bunk while Edgar rammed on top of him.
He got pretty loud near the end. He plowed hard, making his bunk wheeze and shake. Both of the men in the bunks beneath him — Waymond right below, and Gooey under him — woke up and sighed, a little disgusted though neither could complain since they had both done the same thing on different occasions. Waymond especially wished he hadn’t woken up because he could hear them plowing just above his head, so close it was almost like they rammed him.
But that loud plowing, rutting like a horse, grunting and groaning with every thrust of his hips into Lance’s body, didn’t last more than a minute or two, so almost no one woke up besides Waymond and Gooey. They were all used to it anyway — Lance got rammed nearly every night. The only question was who would keep him warm.
Cum drained into Lance’s ass, great thick gobs of it that coated his insides and spread within him. Lance let out a long, cringing moan that would have been very loud if he weren’t squashed beneath Edgar’s hairy body.
“Goddamn, boy, yeah, take it, take it, take e’ry drop, boy…” Edgar whispered right into his ear and sucked on Lance’s earlobe, making him shudder and cringe, begging for more.
Lance and Edgar had a particular routine that was special to them. They had never talked about it. But Edgar didn’t want to ram Lance without letting him have a chance to cum too, so when he nutted, he kept his dick in Lance’s ass and lifted him up. Edgar lay on his back then, his dick rapidly limpening and rubbing against Lance’s prostate.
An orgasm was already ripping through Lance’s body. Now that he wasn’t crushed by Edgar’s muscles, Lance wanted to shout but didn’t out of respect for the other roughnecks. It took all of his concentration to avoid being loud. He allowed Edgar to roll him over without even taking his dick out, until Lance was mounted on Edgar’s cock and stroking himself off as he groped Edgar’s chest and nipples.
Edgar was splayed out as Lance orgasmed. Edgar didn’t much care about this — he liked giving Lance an orgasm, of course, both because it made him feel good about himself and because it meant Lance was more likely to do this again, but he was just ready for Lance to be done. So he let Lance feel up his muscles while his sensitive, softening dick filled up Lance’s ass, which dripped cum onto his thighs.
Lance sprayed his wad all over Edgar’s chest. Edgar would have been grossed out, maybe terrified of it, if he could see that happening. He would have freaked out and made Lance stop. He would have never done it if he could see another man’s cock cumming all over him or watch a man’s load coat his belly. But in the dark, nobody could see that was what happened, and Edgar could just close his eyes and enjoy the feelings that arose from his own dick. He pretended that that wasn’t a pool of cum spreading over his hairy chest.
Finally it was over. “Hmmmmm…” Lance sighed. He pulled off Edgar’s dick, which was now limp and spongy, fully spent. Lance had a container of wetnaps he kept with him, which he used to wipe up the cum off Edgar’s dick, chest and thighs.
By then, Edgar was virtually asleep — the cold of the wetnap kept him from actually sleeping, but he was dozing. When Lance finally curled up next to him, wrapping his arms and legs around Edgar’s body to fit between him and the wall, Edgar was sound asleep and snoring again. Lance massaged his chest muscles because he loved the feel of a muscular man’s sleeping body — there was something intensely arousing about that.
Eventually though, Lance was asleep too, deep in the warm embrace of Edgar’s arms. He nuzzled Edgar’s neck and sighed as he drifted off to slumber.
He loved his job. Especially the nights.

The Seducer

Abelino is a Brazilian gigolo… or is he?! When his latest conquest wants to see him with another man, Abelino is bound to satisfy her needs, even if that means swinging on the downlow with a twink bartender who can’t believe his luck! Can Abelino please his woman… and his man?!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Abelino was Brazilian, but he had moved away when he was very young, and his only memories of Brazil came from infrequent visits to see his grandparents. He only spoke Portuguese because he had taken classes, and his accent was atrocious. But he was of Brazilian descent, and few Americans had any idea that his Portuguese was poor.
“You are, eh, uh… the gostosa,” Abelino said to the woman at the bar. Her name was Lucinda, and she frowned at him at first. She didn’t like it when random men approached her in bars.
But Abelino was different. He was Brazilian, with a thick accent — she didn’t know the accent was not real — and he had dark skin, dark hair that fell in waves and tresses around his handsome face. He looked kind, his sparkling green eyes betraying his lover’s soul, and his broad muscles radiated the coziness of a comforting campfire. He had smooth hands with a firm grip that made Lucinda lick her lips and giggle when he touched her wrist.
And with that, Abelino knew she was seduced.
That was what Abelino did. He worked for the Rockhard Country Club. Officially speaking, he was a “Recreation Manager”. But he had been hired to seduce women. Rockhard had many women as members, and they required services that only a handsome stud like Abelino could provide.
His boss had made him the offer when he noticed Abelino stalking around the club — working as a dishwasher in the kitchen at the time — and going through women like the world was running out of them. Abelino did well then, on his own, even though a lot of the country club’s female members, who had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to join, refused to have anything to do with “the help”.
Abelino seduced the women who were willing, and those women never cancelled their memberships. So Abelino was given a promotion to Recreation Manager. That made him seem less like “the help” and more like a genuine prospect for the wealthy women who filled up the club. Since then, Abelino had been bouncing around among women, going to bed with a different one nearly every night. He kept them more than satisfied, and they re-upped their membership every year.
So when his latest female companion, Lucinda, asked about his friendship with the bartender at the club, Teddy, Abelino responded like a Brazilian (or like he thought a Brazilian would answer). He said he retained his machismo so long as he was on top. That was true. It wasn’t the whole story, but it was true.
Really, Abelino let Teddy jerk him off because Teddy liked it and gave him free drinks. After making love to seemingly all the older women of Springfield, Abelino found his head and his dick to be completely separate from each other. He had no need to be attracted to Teddy to get hard for him, and Teddy even swallowed his cum.
Anyway, he didn’t tell Lucinda that part. Or any of it, she had deduced it because she got to chatting with Teddy, and he told her only that his machismo demanded he act the man. It had become clear that she liked the machismo — her husband was a weak-kneed wastling, in her words — so he made up a story about his childhood in a favela, and she ate it up with a spoon.
She smiled at him and batted her eyes. She blushed a little, just like she had when she told Abelino she really wanted to sit on his face — not just a little bit, she wanted to ram her pussy on his face, like men in pornos did to women, throatfucking them, she had wanted to do that to Abelino. He had been happy to oblige and his tongue had explored every inch of her tender womanhood.
Now she blushed again. “So you would do that? You’d jack off with a man?”
“Of course,” he said like it was no big deal. “A real man can do it anytime.” Most women liked him as smooth and clean-cut as possible, but he knew how to switch gears and come across as a rough-edged macho when he needed to.
He leaned in to kiss her, and she allowed it though he sensed resistance — not because she disliked the kiss, but because it was not the thing she was looking for right now. He made it a quick kiss. Then he looked into her eyes trying to get what she wanted — was it something kinky? She looked like she might be into BDSM, but Abelino couldn’t decide if she was a dom or a sub. After some women had refused to listen to his safewords, Abelino did not agree to be a sub anymore. While Lucinda was confident and powerful, Abelino sometimes knew it was precisely that sort of women who most wanted to be submissive during sex. But he didn’t get that impression either. She had always been dominant in their past lovemaking.
“So… is that something you do a lot?” Lucinda asked. She blushed again, harder, but when she made eye contact with Abedino again, an involuntary giggle shimmied up her spine. She swallowed it up though, licking her lips. Then she raised her eyebrows in Teddy’s direction, as he filled drink orders at the bar.
Abelino cleared his throat as though nervous about answering. “That is… in my culture, it’s okay for a man to be on top, but a man must not brag about it with women. It is too crude-” It was only just now occurring to him that she brought this up not out of some fascination with foreign cultures and their mores, but because she was going to ask him to do it so she could watch.
Had Abelino gone too far? She was into this. He now wished he had said right off the bat he would never do that. Now she was going to want to push his boundaries. He didn’t want to disappoint Lucinda, not to mention his boss. He would be humiliated to admit there was a woman he couldn’t satisfy.
And he wasn’t lying. He knew from his father and, especially, his ex-con uncle that Brazilian men had no compunctions about jacking off with each other. His father and uncle saw that as a shameful part of Brazilian culture. They would say that Abelino should act like an American, not a Brazilian. They left Brazil to get away from the people acted Brazilian.
But that wasn’t Abelino’s view.
“So you have done it? I’m not some delicate flower that might wilt if you handle me roughly,” she said. She licked her teeth, avoid smuding her lipstick. Then she lowered her voice and leaned in close to Abelino. “Come on, it’s hot. Have you ever sutkc it to a man? Lemme hear it.” She owned a private security company, so she was used to operating in a male-dominated world. She enjoyed getting them to talk about subjects they wouldn’t normally discuss in front of women.
Abelino cleared his throat. “I have, y’know… I have been around the block, as they say. If a man wants a swing…-.”
She nodded. An elderly couple stood at the bar nearby to get drinks, and for a moment, conversation stopped. The old people would be able to hear, so neither Lucinda nor Abelino said anything. Abelino sipped at his own drink, while Lucinda re-fixed her lipstick. When the old people finally received their drinks and went back to the lounge, Lucinda looked at Abelino with big wide eyes.
“So is it like, seriously common in Brazil or what? Like if I just hooked up with some random Brazilian guy and told him I thought it was hot if he ‘cornholed’ a dude, what would be my chances of him agreeing to do it?” She put ‘cornholed’ in quotes and snickered about it. It seemed like such a silly word when she said it.
Abelino hoped he looked confident. He was about to say “yes”, that a random Brazilian man was likely to agree to cornhole another man if she wanted him to — but then Abelino got worried that she’d actually try it and end up getting killed if Abelino was mistaken. So Abelino shook his head.
“He would probably say no. Most men would do so only when they are very young, or in prison or in the Army,” he said in the thickest faux-Brazilian accent he could muster. “And they would not admit it to a foreigner.” That sounded realistic, he thought, and hopefully it would make her drop the idea clearly forming in her brain of getting Abelino to cornhole Teddy.
Lucinda sighed and nodded. “I guess that makes sense. Still, I think it’s hot. There’s, like, virtually no American men who would do that.” She paused. She glanced up at Teddy. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
“No. I don’t think so,” Abelino said. He was already getting the gist of where this conversation was going to go next. Did he want to stop it? Abelino was not supposed to take money from the women he seduced. He worked for Rockhard Country Club, and management didn’t want him getting paid from both ends. Abelino did get meals, clothes and other gifts though. He decided he could get paid by Lucinda because she would be too ashamed to ever tell anyone.
He was sure she was going to offer a substantial amount of money, Abelino was sure of that; she had that “rich bitch who can pay for whatever she wants” look on her face. It was just a matter of time. When she asked what time the bar closed, it was clear she was waiting for Teddy to be available. That gave Abelino an hour or so to gather up the nerve. He needed to look confident, he thought.
Finally, just a few minutes before the bar closed, Lucinda motioned for Teddy, who approached, jealous that the casanova Abelino had been with her all night. Teddy sometimes got to touch Abelino’s chest when there were no women around.
“So, Teddy,” she said with a forced, fake smile. “I wanted to make an offer. Do you think he’s handsome?” She pointed to Abelino.
“Well, of course, yes, ma’am,” Teddy said.
“I want to watch him… and you.”
“I see… You’re watching us both now.”
“No, I mean, I want to watch you.” She raised her eyebrows. She glanced over at Abelino. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars to cornhole him so I can watch.” She glanced back at Teddy. “That’s for both of you, you split that.”
“Abelino?” Teddy asked as casually as he could muster, but he was already locking up the cash register. Abelino’s eyes opened wide and he stammered.
“Aaaaah…” Abelino sucked on his lip. Teddy leered at him, blushing. Teddy knew that Abelino was not from Brazil — he was from Yonkers — but Teddy wasn’t going to admit that. Abelino grunted and nodded. He smiled as though this was no big deal.
‘It’s not a big deal’, he reminded himself.
The bar was almost empty and the waitresses could finish up with the last few customers, Teddy thought, hurrying to lock up the register. He quickly got through the last of his duties, then followed Lucinda and Abelino out of the country club main building and to the cabanas by the pool.
There was one cabana labeled “The Nap Room”. Its apparent intended purpose, of course, was for people to take a nap during the day. It did get some activity of that sort. Old men playing golf sometimes wanted to lay down before doing anything else.
But everyone knew that the Nap Room’s main purpose was sex. That was where Abelino made love to most of the women he seduced, and there were some female staff that brought men here as well.
It was a plain room, warm and humid like all cabanas, with reed mats lining the walls and clean towels everywhere. It smelled vaguely of flowers from the air fresheners that crowded each outlet — the staff were always concerned about the smell in here. They didn’t want it to smell like a brothel. Neither did Abelino, but he also didn’t like the cabana being overstuffed with air fresheners. That wasn’t classy either.
But it was comfortable regardless. The bed was nicer than in the other cabanas, and the sheets were luxurious. It was always warm in here. Abelino liked it that way.
“Do Brazilian men kiss?” Lucinda asked as she sat down on a chair that faced the bed. She had a strict, stentorian tone to her voice. “Each other, I mean.”
Abelino gulped and nodded. He could tell that Lucinda loved his hesitance — she seemed to get off on it, and she seemed ready to start fingering herself when she motioned for Abelino and Teddy to kiss. That was not something Abelino had a habit of doing, so he hesitated. Then he closed his eyes and winced as he planted his lips on Teddy’s.
Teddy kissed him right back, plunging his tongue into Abelino’s mouth. Teddy was so much shorter than him that they struggled to kiss standing there in front of her. After a few seconds, however, they ended up on the bed. Lucinda made them rotate to do it at a different angle so she could see as they made out.
Teddy ran his fingers through Abelino’s thick mane of black hair. It was luxurious and perfect. Teddy had never been with someone with such perfect hair. After his first few seconds of awkwardness, Abelino’s inhibitions melted away — he found that kissing Teddy was a lot like kissing a woman. Some of the women he was with weren’t even very feminine, so Teddy didn’t seem like such a stretch. At least he was young and taut, and none of his body parts sagged.
Teddy’s hands roamed over Abelino’s body, and Abelino found himself getting more and more excited. This might not be that bad, he thought, and he’d both make money and no doubt have Lucinda put in a good word about him with the country club’s management. She would never admit why she appreciated him, of course, but she would surely tell them he satisfied her.
Wanting to put on a good show for Lucinda, Abelino tongue-kissed Teddy back. At first it was awkward just like before — but worse since there was an audience — but once he got into it, Abelino found he didn’t notice so much that Teddy was not a woman. He’d been pretending to be a macho Brazilian for so long it felt good to pass as one yet again, in a whole new way.
“You are so beautiful-” He tried to aim his seductive patter at Lucinda, but she motioned to Teddy.
“Talk to him,” she said. She fingered herself as Abelino murmured sweetly into Teddy’s ear.
“I will make sweet love to you, my darling,” Abelino said, having to suppress a laugh when he saw Teddy smile. “I will make your body feel so sweetly.” His accent was thick and luxuriant, and more than a little difficult to understand. He kissed Teddy again. “You will taste my tropical fire, darling…” Abelino spoke like that when seducing women, but Teddy found it impossible to take seriously, and he struggled not to laugh at Abelino’s serious mien.
In the steamy heat of the Nap Room cabana, both Teddy and Abelino were overcome by passion strong enough to forget about the woman in the room. To Teddy, that was normal and desirable. Abelino could only keep going when he lost himself in his feelings and sensation, so he didn’t think about what he was doing. All that mattered was the pleasure sparking up from deep within him and wracking his powerful frame.
When Teddy felt the throbbing firmness of Abelino’s erection through both men’s clothes, he knew it was time to move on. Lucinda was watching intently, her face flush — she might have been closer to orgasming than either of the men, as she was fingering herself beneath her light dress.
Teddy couldn’t help but laugh at the looks on both Abelino’s and Lucinda’s faces. She was serious as a tornado, and her whole body writhed as she fingered herself hard. Abelino varied between his “seductive gigolo” look and an involuntary “desperate rough trade” mien. Teddy found both of them very arousing, and he bit back his laugh to avoid turning either Abelino or Lucinda off, but it soon became apparent neither paid any attenion to him. Lucinda had eyes only for Abelino, and Abelino was concerned only with Teddy’s ass. He was trying to avoid listening to Teddy’s voice.
Lucinda let out a little moan from watching the two of them get in position, her pussy growing wetter and wetter as Abelino’s tongue explored Teddy’s ear. Abelino sucked on his earlobe, which he knew drove women crazy. Teddy giggled like a girl, in a way he kind of always wanted to be. He wished he could be seduced by men like Abelino every day.
But once Teddy felt Abelino’s cock slip into the crack of his ass, his giggles went away. “Oh, Abelino!” He spread his cheeks and backed himself up onto Abelino’s dick. There was an intense pressure at first as he accepted every inch of his hot uncut meat, and then Teddy’s ass opened, and he slid down and a shudder of bliss wracked up and down his body.
“Ah, yes… Let me inside you, my darling, my sweet…” Abelino didn’t want to look foolish in front of Lucinda, so he exuded confidence as much as he could. He was so focused on his demeanor that he was surprised when his cock fit in easily and sent a jolt of pleasure through him.
Teddy had a tight, smooth hole and Abelino moaned, faking it at first for Lucinda’s benefit. Then it turned real and the tenor shifted. Abelino’s cock pushed in a little deeper, then deeper still until at last he was entirely in Teddy’s ass. It squeezed and pulsated around his manhood.
He was not expecting it to feel this good. Teddy’s ass was tighter than Lucinda’s pussy had ever been, and something about the way Teddy wriggled beneath him made pleasure course intensely through Abelino’s veins.
The sound of Lucinda fingering herself faded from Abelino’s mind, though her breathing grew more rapid and more jagged as she went on. He was focused singularly on making love to Teddy’s behind, overwhelmed by the tsunami of sensations that poured through his veins. He rammed his dick in, not forcefully or aggressively, but firmly, grinding it every inch of the way so as to stimulate all of Teddy’s nerves.
“Oh god…” Teddy moaned as he stroked himself off. After his initial awkwardness, Teddy thought, Abelino learned quickly and now rammed into him like he knew what he was doing.
Abelino first tried to modulate his plowing so as to best appeal to Lucinda, but he soon lost control of his passion — and deduced that that was what Lucinda most got off on anyway — that seemed to be what she wanted, to see Abelino’s Brazilian machismo take over — and went at it as hard as he could. None of his women ever really wanted that until now, so it was nice to pound away at Teddy’s ass as hard as he could, Teddy begging for more every step of the way.
It felt better than it had any right to. Perhaps the awkwardness of it accentuated the pleasure, Abelino thought, because once he got into the swing of ramming back and forth, hitting Teddy’s prostate hard, it felt so good he let out a spine-tingling howl of desire. It started off as genuine, then turned into a softly romantic moan to appeal to Lucinda, then became genuine again, as sensations the likes of which Abelino hadn’t felt in a long time moved him. He felt like a young man again, losing his virginity to an older woman and feeling the victorious pump of power that came with it.
And Teddy was so easy! No need to seduce a woman! Teddy wanted to be seduced! Abelino’s voice broke as he moaned, writhing, his whole body undulating and ramming his cock back and forth in Teddy’s ass. Teddy cried out for more, and his hands turned into claws that dug at the soft bedspread of the Nap Room.
“Ah, shit, yeah, man…” Abelino’s voice turned tight as he orgasmed deep in Teddy’s ass. He coughed, mid-climax, when he realized his words were unaccented — Lucinda hadn’t noticed, so he just bit his lip to avoid talking as he came. It was hard to get rid of that Yonkers accent mid-orgasm.
His seed flowed into Teddy, coating his insides and seeping into him. He shot a huge load, matched by Teddy himself, who shot his wad all over the mattress of the Nap-Room cabana. A hot and creamy spurt of jizz coated Teddy’s inside, as he writhed in the throes of exquisite ecstasy. Teddy cried out, and he would have done so again, louder and louder, but Abelino kissed him once more.
Was that kiss motivated by passion? By lust? By the need to quiet Teddy down lest anybody walking past the cabana realize what was going on in here. Even Abelino himself was unsure. All three of those motivations roiled within, as he pumped his powerful thighs to jet jizz after jizz up Teddy’s ass.
It kept going, all three of them orgasming now — Lucinda barely showed hers because she was too prim and proper, but Teddy cried out in a muffled voice while Abelino’s smooth baritone echoed in the tiny cabana. Lucinda’s careful neckline was beaded with sweat, and her coiffed hair had gone limp and moist.
“Oh god, yes!” Teddy’s voice warbled and brokeonce more. He had rarely gotten it this good, and he was breathless as the last pangs of his orgasm wracked his body. He was definitely going to recommend that Abelino be kept on staff and even given a raise. Management gave Teddy’s opinion considerable weight, because he knew the staff, the clients and the secrets of both. Abelino’s muscles tensed and rippled where they pressed against Teddy’s back, as both men let the last of their cum dribble out. Teddy gasped. Abelino sighed.
At last, Abelino was done. His dick throbbed in Teddy’s ass. Both of them were motionless for a moment, as Abelino tried to wipe the sweat off his face only to smear it around. The Nap Room was going to need a good cleaning, he thought, those air fresheners were gonna need to go heavy-duty. He chuckled as he pulled out and took a deep breath. He was glad he had gotten through that without embarrassing himself. His chest was sweaty, his hair tangled and ruffled. He tried to affect a macho face, though he wasn’t sure Lucinda paid much attention. She had had a loud orgasm, hadn’t she? Abelino hadn’t really been paying attention, he lost track of Lucinda. He still needed to get the money out of her though. It was hard to think until his cock finally slid limply out of Teddy’s both, and both men erupted in a synchronous sigh.
“Well, how was that?” Abelino said, chest muscles rippling when he felt Teddy’s tongue exploring his body. He sighed and allowed it, letting Teddy lick all the sweat off his shoulders and his biceps. Teddy had been trying to lick his chest since they met, and he finally got to do it now, his hands roaming over Abelino’s powerful muscles, his throbbing cock and his thick thighs.
Lucinda was sweaty and sprawled out, a faint smile remaining on her face. She stood on uneven legs. “That,” she said, “was worth every penny.” She handed over the thousand dollars. “You two should work together. You’d make bank.”
“I’m in!” Teddy blurted, clutching Abelino’s naked torso close. “I am so definitely in.”

The Stripper

Lemond is a stripper who needs a break… and a few extra dollars! Avery is glad to help out in return for a swing on Lemon’s huge throbbing slab of mahogany meat!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery had never been to a high-class bachelorette party. It was not at all what he expected. The bride-to-be was Daphne Jardine, a wealthy heiress to a chandelier fortune. Avery didn’t know her that well — she was just a friend of a friend whom he saw often at parties — but she had insisted he come. Avery only agreed because he hoped to see a stripper. Avery was a great admirer of the male form, and strippers often had incredible physiques.
When he arrived, however, at Daphne’s ancient mansion, Avery decided that wasn’t going to happen. This wasn’t that sort of party. People who owned mansions like this didn’t hire strippers. He didn’t realize Daphne was this rich.
A butler showed Avery to the party, which consisted of a half-dozen women drinking champagne. The decorations were present, everywhere, scattered expertly, chic and expensive, covering every part of the mansion, but they had a certain soulless quality — Avery could tell that some servant had put them up, not someone who actually wanted to attend the party. There were streamers and a golden goblet for the bride to drink out of, and the giftbag included a skin cream with actual diamond dust in it.
“Oh my god, Avery! I’m so glad you’re here!” Avery’s friend Mandy hugged him. She whispered in his ear, “Oh my god, Daphne has such a stick up her ass, it’s… like a whole tree.”
“Woo, we’re partying! Let’s bring out the cake!”
“Yeah! Oh my god, Daphne, do you know what your fiancé is doing tonight?”
Daphne sat, skeletal and grimly smiling — she was skinny and well-manicured, with brittle hair and a saccharine smile — and shaking her head. “I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me what men do on their bachelor parties.”
“You know what they’re doing…” Avery said with a laugh.
Daphne shot him an angry look. “I told him no stripper, if that’s what you’re implying, Avery. We are remaining loyal to each other. He wouldn’t do that to me.” She shuddered.
“Okay, sorry….” Avery murmured. He rolled his eyes. The putative stripper was the only reason Avery came.
But now, it seemed, she was opposed to strippers. As a servant of some sort — some sort of “games maid”? Avery didn’t know — brought them out a game to play, Avery considered leaving. This felt more like a child’s birthday party thrown by the servants than a real bachelorette party.
The music playing, Avery realized, was a nocturne by Chopin. What kind of bachelorette party played classical music?
The game was essentially Duck, Duck, Goose, but with little penis-shaped cookies — it might have been fun with a bunch of silly girls, a male stripper and enough alcohol that they were all drunk before beginning the game. With just Daphne and some other haughty bitches, none of whom would drink enough to get tipsy much less drunk, the game was a somber, annoying diversion.
There was a knock on the front door — the cavernous main hallway had an echo, so the knock was audible even in the party. Everyone turned to look at Daphne, but she just said to wait. “Velma will answer the door. I believe this is all the guests, right? Are we missing someone? No one else was invited.” Daphne furrowed her brow.
Avery sat in grim silence. No one wanted to start the next round of this utterly idiotic game knowing that whoever the new partygoer was would interrupt them momentarily. Avery looked among the women here — who was missing? Most of these women showed up to parties together, that was how Avery knew them. Mandy was an associated hanger-on who used to work with Daphne at her feminist bookstore, and she was how Avery came to know Daphne and the others. Now Mandy’s eyes twinkled in Avery’s direction.
The door opened, and in walked a tall, broad-shouldered black man in a fine suit. He had dimples like LL Cool J and light brown skin, with a broad chest that barely fit in the suit. It was a plain navy blue suit with an impeccable alabaster tie. He walked with swagger and a thick jaw, and the bulge in his pants attracted Avery’s eye.
“Daphne Jardine?” he said. He had a clipboard in hand.
“Yes.”
“You’ve been served,” he said. He handed over a stack of documents to her.
Daphne’s face turned into a bitter scowl. “I’m being served! You asshole! It’s my bachelorette party! How dare you?!” She called out of the room. “Velma! How could you let this man in? He’s not from the party! Velma! I swear to Christ, I’ll have your son deported-!”
“Daphne, wait! Wait!” Mandy got up and went to her.
But Daphne was in a rage, screaming at Velma in the hallway. Velma quaked and backed away from her. “Don’t tell me to wait, what is this? Is it that jerkoff from the City Council? I told him I read the code, his patriarchy won’t bring me down,” she said to the black man who had served her with papers. His eyes were opened wide like he was shocked she was upset. Daphne wagged her finger at him. “Are you a real process server? I’d like to formally dispute that I was properly served-“
“Daphne, what are you being sued over?” Mandy asked with a big grin on her face. She pointed to the papers in Daphne’s hand.
Daphne sighed and shook her head. “The city council has a bee in its bonnet about my store. They’re claiming that a bookstore is a Class D commercial establishment, but the definitions provided in the zoning code make it clear that Class C is the more appropriate fit. That’s for retail stores that aren’t everyday shops like gas stations. The examples given in the city code include a CD store — the zoning guide was written in the 90s — which is pretty much the same thing as a bookstore, right? Why would it-?”
“Daphne, look at the papers,” Mandy said, exasperated.
Daphne nodded and glanced at them, but it was obvious she was too worked up to really process what she was reading. She looked at the black man. “You! What are you still doing here? This is a private function, and you’ve done what you were hired to do, you jackal! You court-sponsored… hound!” Her face was ruddy, veins popping against the skin of her neck.
“Hey, lady, relax,” the black man said with a sigh. He straightened his tie.
“Daphne! Read the goddamn papers!” Mandy said.
“Now? I have lawyers for that, Mandy,” Daphne said. She finally looked at the papers and read the words. “I’m being sued for… improper use of party-related materials and utter craving for mahogany manmeat. What does that mean? I don’t use mahogany, that’s endangered, I would never do that! This inaccurate accusation will not stand! I’m being persecuted!” It was apparent she was still worked up because she said manmeat like she didn’t recognize it. She looked up. “I will be contacting the National Organization for Women and-“
The black man looked at her. “That’s right, but don’t worry, I’m here to work on both of those charges with you! I am… the Mahogany Miracle!” He shrugged his suit jacket off, and Mandy squealed, followed by the other girls, at the sight of his incredible shoulders straining against the tight fabric of his button-down shirt.
Mandy pressed play on an app on her phone, and the sound of pulse-pounding hip hop filled the air. Avery hurried to turn off the Chopin, though no one could hear it anymore.
“Wooooooh!”
“Oh my god, that’s so crazy!”
“He’s a stripper!!!!”
Finally it began to feel like a real party. The Mahogany Miracle — who later said his real name was Lemond — took his tie off and wrapped it around the back of Daphne’s neck like a lasso, and he pulled her closer to him as he danced. He puckered up as though to kiss her. He had good instincts though, and when Daphne frowned a little, he let go — obviously she didn’t want to kiss him. She was still fuming about the City Council’s zoning regulations.
So he kissed Mandy instead. She was coming up behind him, pretending for the benefit of the other girls that she was going to grab his ass. Then he turned around, took her in his arms and plowed his tongue into her throat and they swooned together like the hero of some romance novel.
Mandy squealed and grabbed at Lemond’s back. His shoulder muscles barely fit in that shirt, which looked like it could pop right off.
“Woo-hoo!” Avery danced with some of the more demure women, hoping to get the party going. Most of these women were too high-class to have ever seen a stripper before, and Avery thought they’d be more comfortable with it if they started off dancing with him.
“Dance with him!”
“Avery! Avery! Avery!”
Avery hadn’t even realized that some of the women were chanting for him to get the next dance — Lemond the Mahogany Miracle was surrounded by Mandy and a few other relatively bold women, while Avery and the other prudes danced in the other side of the room. Now they all began chanting for Lemond to come to him.
At first it seemed Lemond would refuse, that he would say he didn’t dance for men. But then he shrugged, took one step and ripped his button-down shirt off, buttons flying across the room. One button landed in Daphne’s glass of champagne, and she squealed in both shock and delight.
“Oh god…” Avery murmured to himself. Lemond had an impeccable chest, with big mountainous pectorals and a six-pack more perfect than Avery had ever seen. He looked good in his slacks, a big bulge plainly visible in his crotch. His chest was smooth, unblemished, gleaming with a few beads of sweat that had collected there as he danced.
Avery blushed and pantomimed a fishing rod, as though he had lured Lemond, who grinned and played along — neither could speak because the music was too loud. Lemond shimmied over to him, and leaned back to outstretch his chest.
“Body shots!” Avery shouted, and got on his knees right in front of Lemond. He put his tongue out, touching the firm flesh of Lemond’s waist just above his pants, while Mandy poured a bottle of champagne onto Lemond’s chest, so that it ran between his pecs and poured directly into Avery’s mouth.
“Hell yeah!”
“Body shots! Oh my god!”
That helped loosen things up. Avery was glad for that; it felt more like a party now, even if Daphne herself seemed glum. The girls took turns taking body shots off his chest, until those slacks were soaked with champagne.
Then he ripped the pants off, revealing his trunk-like thighs, toned calves and the sausage-hugging banana hammock he wore over his cock and balls. Avery’s jaw dropped — he had never seen such a huge package before. The banana hammock briefs were much too small for him, just like the suit, and if he hadn’t shaved it, most of his pubic hair would be visible. As it was, his heavy cock and balls weighed down the tiny spandex material so much that the root of his shaft was visible.
Mandy took her body shot with her tongue out, running over the round bulge of his cock through those briefs. The girls all squealed and clapped.
It was shocking, Avery thought, how the presence of a handsome stranger changed these women’s willingness to do stuff — he was quite sure that most of them had said they didn’t suck dick at a party last year — they had said oral sex was “oppressive to women in developing nations”; they certainly didn’t lick some stranger’s cock.
And now here they were, kneeling while a man whom none of them knew dragged his dick over their faces.
He was really very handsome, Avery thought, Mandy had chosen well. He was dimpled and charming when the music stopped, with a lilting, smooth voice. He came across like the streetwise older brother on a Nickelodeon kids’ show.
Finally, he let Daphne take that banana hammock off. She gingerly squealed, giggling, blushing, halting several times as she stuck one finger under the fabric and pulled it down. His thirteen-inch cock popped out, limp but meaty, and it slapped at her wrist.
“Oh my god! It felt like a leg of lamb!” Daphne screamed so loud that the “games maid” came to make sure everything was alright. Daphne held her hand up as though they were going to worship any body part that had touched Lemond’s body.
At last, the bachelorette party continued apace, and Avery felt right. Lemond flopped his dick all over Avery’s face — most of the girls hadn’t quite taken it that far, but Avery made it clear he’d love to. He even stuck his tongue out, chasing Lemond’s shaft as it heavily slapped him all across the face.
“Hmmmm… I’m not s’posed to let you lick it,” Lemond said with a wink. “My agency has a rule against that.”
“I just stuck my tongue out,” Avery said. “I wasn’t trying to lick it, it’s not my fault your dick keeps moving around all over my tongue.” He blushed, running his tongue from the root to the tip before Lemond moved on.
By then, some of the girls had passed out, or were nearly there. Even Daphne was half-asleep. Most of these girls didn’t really drink very often. A few glances of champagne was enough to make them sleepy.
Soon enough, the party was over. It happened quickly once it got closer — every time somebody passed out or called for a rideshare, there was one fewer person actually partying, which made the others more and more tired. Even Daphne “retired to her bedroom” with a guilty look on her face that suggested she was going to fuck herself with a dildo until she could forget about Lemond.
The only people left were Avery, Mandy and Lemond, and with the music off, all they ended up doing was sitting around and talking. Mandy was drunk, but neither Lemond nor Avery had had anything to drink. Lemond rolled them up a blunt with the weed Mandy had brought.
Before he lit it though, Mandy begged off. She said she had a headache and thought the weed would just make her throw up. She told them to go ahead and smoke it though.
Lemond talked about his career as a rapper as he lit it and passed it to Avery, who was entranced by that fat cock sticking to his thigh. Lemond, as it turned out, was more realistic than most of the aspiring rappers Avery had met — he wasn’t trying to be a gangsta, he didn’t care about street credibility at all — he was a kid’s entertainer. He had released an album of songs about counting, letters, body parts and colors. It had done well, he said — he didn’t make much money, but he was about to go into the studio for a follow-up, and this time, he had a much better contract.
“But for now, you know, I still gotta strip to make ends meet. This month is tough,” Lemond said. “There ain’t a lotta call for strippers in March. It’s been a dry spell.
“Oh that sucks,” Avery said. “I wish I knew of some more parties coming up you could strip at.”
Lemond shrugged. “I’ll figure something out. Lemme know if you get an idea,” he said. He handed over a business card. Then he sighed. “I guess I should go. Technically they hired me for another twenty minutes, but…”
“I… I have an idea,” Avery said. He licked his lips and looked at Lemond. “If you stick it in me, I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”
Lemond looked at him as though his knee-jerk reaction was to say no. Then he shrugged. “Make it eight hundred.”
“Fine.” Avery considered haggling, but he could afford it, and Lemond had been so charming, he didn’t want to nickel-and-dime him.
Lemond sighed and leaned his head back as though this was a huge imposition and he was exhausted. Avery wondered for the first time if he had been working up to this — was he a hustler? He had been hesitant, yet willing, to dance for Avery all night, and now he was hesitant yet willing? If shaking his ass for Avery had been uncomfortable, why would he agree to plow into him? Lemond grumbled a bit, but it was too realistic, like Lemond knew the best way to get more money was to pretend he needed to be convinced to do it.
Oh well, Avery shrugged. That was part of being into rough trade, he thought, sometimes you got hustled.
“Your cock is so big,” Avery said as he picked it up with one hand. He sunk to his knees between Lemond’s legs, while Lemond lit up his blunt and took a deep drag off it. The fragrant smell of weed filled the air. Lemond’s dick was so big Avery couldn’t wrap his fingers all the way around it. “It’ll be a challenge to swallow.”
Lemond snorted. “You can’t deep-throat it, no one can,” he said like he hated having a big cock. But a smile flickered over his lips too.
“Well, I can’t wait to try,” Avery said. He let the tip fill his mouth. There was still a good ten inches of dickmeat left to slurp on, but Avery just focused on the tip at first.
“Man… I can’t believe I’m lettin’ a man jack me off,” Lemond said as he smoked on the blunt. “I ain’t like that, you know? Don’t fall in love with me. I can’t look, I gotta cover my eyes.” He leaned his head back and put one of his forearms over his eyes. He left enough room for him to keep smoking on the blunt.
Avery had to roll his eyes. This had passed the point of believability — Lemond was too focused on smoking weed to lie effectively. If he was really this nervous about being with a man, he wouldn’t be ignoring Avery to smoke the blunt. Who got off from a man for the first time, made a big deal out of it and then ignored it to smoke some weed?
But Avery wasn’t going to accuse him of being a hustler. He was plenty handsome, after all, that wasn’t a trick.
His dick firmed up in Avery’s mouth, but it was too big to really get hard without some serious deep-throating. Avery took a deep breath and used his own fingers to pry his jaw open the best he could. He let that massive rod slide down him.
“Damn, I never had a man jack me off like that,” Lemond said with a sigh. “You really get deep.” Then his whole body startled and he blurted out, “I mean, I never had a man jack me off at all.” He laughed nervously. “See, uh… Cuz it’s my first time.” His eyes opened wide as a visible shiver of pleasure ran up his spine. “Goddamn… You can get awful deep on there…”
Avery was an expert at swallowing dick. He had been practicing on loosening up his throat for years — he did exercises daily — and was glad to see that was paying off. He pulled off and hocked up a big mouth full of spit. Lemond watched with a cocky grin on his face. Avery moaned through the moisture in his mouth, murmuring, “Hmmm… I wanna taste your whole dick in my throat…”
Lemond licked his tongue. The clue was in his mouth, Avery saw, which was grinning and pursed, excited, glad to get a nice mouth, while his eyes showed the shock he was trying to display — he was a good liar, it was just hard to lie with your mouth. Lemond’s eyes had never been jacked off by a man, but his mouth was a hustler.
Saliva slid down his shaft as Avery slammed his head down. He choked but kept going, hands roaming up to Lemond’s gorgeous pecs. Soon he gagged over and over, producing more spit that helped lube up Lemond’s throbbing manhood, and his nose pressed into the shaved skin of Lemond’s crotch.
“Goddamn, holy fuck, you’re — shit!” Lemond’s voice broke, and he writhed on the chair he still sat on. His muscles all flexed and he grunted loudly. He dropped the blunt on the floor. Thirteen inches of stripper manmeat flooded Avery’s throat, stretching it and making him sputter. His jaw was sore.
Though Avery’s mind cried out for oxygen, he didn’t want to stop just yet. He didn’t mind his lungs desperation or the heaving, retching his body went through. The fact that this was slightly painful just made it hotter, he thought, and all the tension in Avery’s body was in Lemond’s too as he approached his orgasm. The only difference was that Avery’s lithe body twisted, while Lemond’s thickness flexed and firmed up. Lemond gasped and shifted around on his chair. Soon he was literally on the edge of his seat, licking his lips, gripping Lemond’s ears to keep his face angled the right way.
At last, Avery pulled all the way off and gasped loudly, hoarsely, for air. He grinned at the shocked look on Lemond’s face. “Hmmm… Your dick tastes so good.”
“I know, baby.”
“You wanna stick it in me?” Avery said. He turned around, still heaving for air and dizzy from lack of oxygen. He showed off his bare ass, lowering his face to the floor. “C’mon, I wanna feel you inside me.”
“Hell yeah, lemme in there,” Lemond said. He wedged his dick between Avery’s cheeks. “You feel how big that is? Huh? You gonna take that whole thing in there? I bet you can.”
“I can… You won’t be gentle, will you?” Avery asked with a giggle.
Lemond chuckled. “Not if you don’t want, baby,” he said. He aimed his dick for the hole as he smeared lube over the shaft — he had apparently brought his own lube. He bit his lip and slid the tip in. Avery grunted and tightened his body instinctively, before taking a deep breath and relaxing it. He sighed. Lemond slapped one asscheek, then he grunted like he had forgotten he was supposed to be reluctant.
“Shit, you as smooth as any female, I like that in a man-” he winced and cut himself off again. “Not that I ever did it before. I like — That’s why I was, y’know, reluctant, I wasn’t sure I could handle a man’s ass. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh. Cuz… it’s your first time?” Avery said with a tense giggle. He had to suck in his breath to relax his ass more and more, as that entire thick shaft slipped in deeper and deeper. “That’s good lube,” Avery said between gasps.
“Yeah, it’s Shaft-Slipper, you ever heard of it? Good stuff, it’s what I always bring to shows.” He paused. “With women, I mean. Women pay for, you know…” He shuddered and his voice broke. His dick was all the way in now, all thirteen inches throbbing in Avery’s ass. Lemond backed his cock up, slowly at first as he began gyrating his hips.
“Women pay you for anal? You’re an… anal gigolo?” Avery giggled. It was getting easier to concentrate even with that forearm-sized cock stretching his asshole, and he felt thin slivers of pleasure flowing through his veins.
“Uh… Yeah. Yeah, some of ’em, uh… really love anal,” Lemond said.
“I… don’t believe you,” Avery said, his voice hoarse and breathless. He slid his ass back on Lemond’s cock. “You cornhole men for money all the time, right?”
Lemond smirked but shook his head. “I swear, you’re my first.”
Avery rolled his eyes. “No woman pays to get fucked in the ass by a thirteen-inch cock.” He grunted, reaching behind himself to guide Lemond’s dick in and out. “Only a man would ever do that.”
Lemond grumbled without answering. He wrapped one of his massive biceps around Avery’s head, so Avery’s face was ensconced in his stone-like muscles. His other arm held Avery’s ass firmly in place. “Women love me,” he said, ramming his dick in, the entire shaft in one motion that made Avery howl with pleasure. “They’ll pay anything for my meat…”
Avery’s cock throbbed, precum dripping onto the floor. Avery’s hands flailed, the sensations coursing through his body so intense he couldn’t even jack himself off. He was impaled on Lemond’s rock-hard shaft, and the best part was how Lemond seemed distant now, moaning, groaning, but still just heavy breathing into Avery’s ass — was Lemond really enjoying this that much or was he exaggerating for Avery’s benefit? It was impossible to be sure. Avery squirmed in his arms, gasping, licking, sucking all the sweat off his body.
“Hey… I really need the money, man,” Lemond said. He whispered directly into Avery’s ear. “I’m desperate. You wanna gimme another five hundred bucks? I’ll admit it, you were right, I’ve stuck men before. I’m not proud of it, I just… I need the money, and I need it now.”
“Oh god, stick it in me!” Avery slammed his own ass back and forth the best he could, but he was curled up in Lemond’s arms. Lemond was motionless right now, his cock standing up straight within Avery’s ass. Lemond breathed heavily, his hot air condensing on Lemond’s ear.
“I will. I want to. For five hundred dollars… I’ll do something nasty,” Lemond said. Then he whispered right into Avery’s ear as though it was a secret. “I’ll give you a reacharound and let you kiss me for five hundred dollars. That’ll be thirteen hundred total. No checks.”
“Okay, yes! Yes!”
“You got cash?”
“Not with me! Not all of it! I swear, I can get you the rest! I swear! Do it!”
“Don’t mess with me, man, I’ll mess you up, and not in a way you enjoy,” he said.
“I won’t! I’ll pay!” Avery felt tears in his eyes. He wiggled this way and that on Lemond’s crotch, but he couldn’t move forward or back because Lemond’s powerful arm held him in place.
Lemond thought for a moment, then sucked on Avery’s earlobe and said, “Fine.” He turned Avery’s head to the side, planted his lips on Avery’s and his tongue invaded Avery’s mouth. At the same time, his hand wrapped around Avery’s cock and gave it a stroke.
Avery had never felt anything like this. He had been swallowed up by Lemond’s massive body, and all he could do was take it. He’d never taken dick like this. Lemond’s tongue explored his mouth, while his hand expertly ran up and down his shaft. Avery’s fingers clawed at his stone-like body, which Lemond ignored.
The most intense orgasm of his life smacked into Avery like a train. He would have cried out loud but his mouth was clogged with Lemond’s tongue, so all he did was whimper. His ass loosened, then clenched tightly as Lemond plowed in.
Cum flew over Lemond’s fingers and onto the floor. Lemond had been holding off on his own orgasm, wanting to make Avery cum first — he’d been doing this often enough he had remarkable control over his cock. Once he felt that first spray of sticky cum on his hand, he rocked his hips back and forth a few more times and let his orgasm happen.
Avery shuddered and sobbed — he’d never cried during an orgasm before, but the pain in his ass was so intense he couldn’t help it, even if he didn’t feel the pain — he was aware it was there; he couldn’t help but be aware of the biggest dick of his life throbbing in his ass — it was like a distant pain that was happening to someone else, and Avery could sense it but not experience it.
Instead, he experienced an orgasm. Red-faced and panting, he accepted every drop of Lemond’s load as he begged for more. Avery felt cum trickling throughout him, Lemond’s sticky wad jetting into him deeply, seeping into his flesh until Avery could feel it all over.
His tongue slathered spit over Avery’s face, which was a little sour and salty because he had been slurping on Lemond’s dick earlier — Lemond didn’t like that, but he’d done this often enough it didn’t bother him as long as it was his own precum. He did gag at the taste, but he knew that just turned some men on even more. When he gagged, his broad chest muscles all flexed against Avery’s smooth back.
At last, Avery fell limp, and Lemond knew that meant he was done. He backed up slowly, grimacing at the sight of his shaft stretching out that tight hole. It was full of cum, which seeped out and coated Avery’s ass.
“Shit…” Lemond said with a dry chuckle. He slapped Avery’s cheek. “I’m glad I did that, even if it was… y’know, gross.”
“Right.” Avery was breathless. “And it was your first time.”
“Uh-huh.” Lemond stood. He wiped his dick off and put his pants back on. He didn’t bother to put his pants on too. “I’m all done, man, I’m off. So… I’m leaving.”
“Okay, cool,” Avery said. “Thanks for the dick… Your first time.”
“Right, yeah, first time. I jacked off a man,” Lemond said absent-mindedly. He wasn’t really trying to lie effectively now. “Gross. That was gross. Cuz I never did it before.” He sighed as he got dressed. “You gotta get your phone out.” He snapped when Avery didn’t immediately jump into action. “You got PayUp, right? Go get yo’ phone. You best pay me. Lemond always gets paid.”

The Worker

Robby is desperate for a job, so when he shows up for an interview, he’ll do whatever it takes to get it… even if Mr. Taggart has some interesting ideas on how to meet his needs. Can Robby perform under pressure?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Robby went to the house on Morning Street dressed to work. It was not a business address, it was a private house. Robby tried not to feel nervous about that. He brought along his old toolbelt and a toolbox with almost nothing in it, because he didn’t own very many tools. He read somewhere that you should dress for the job you want, not the job you have. But Robby didn’t have a job — he was an out-of-work carpenter — and the job he wanted was to be a stuntman in Hollywood — he couldn’t exactly wear a burn-suit to meet a potential client.
He liked calling the people who hired him his clients. It sounded highfalutin’. Robby was a general laborer, doing whatever he could to make a few dollars. He was always on the lookout for something he could do to earn money. His mechanical skills made him useful in a lot of situations, it was just hard to find folks — or sorry, clients.
So he had no idea who his client was, but he sounded like a blue-collar kind of guy on the phone, probably middle-aged or older. That was why Robby went dressed to work as a carpenter. He figured someone like that would want a sign that Robby was a serious worker, not a newbie trying to learn on the job, not a hobo wanting to get paid upfront so he could drink all day, a serious worker who came on the first day ready to do whatever needed to be done. That was the kind of worker Robby was.
Or at least the kind of worker he wanted to seem to be.
The client was some guy who said on the phone that he needed a deck built. He had the plans, the permits, the wood, the nails, and everything else that was needed. He just needed someone to do the work. Robby could do that work. He was a carpenter by trade, stuntman by lifelong goal.
Robby knocked on the door.
“Howdy, you must be Robby,” said Mr. Taggarxt, a thickly built middle-aged man with deep, dark eyes and a bristly mustache. He was very tanned, with remnants of perpetual sunburn on his nape and shoulders, and his craggy face was weathered like a soldier, which Robby suspected he was. He had the vibe of an ex-military man.
“Yep. Yes, sir. Hello,” Robby said. “Howdy.”
“Come on into the back, I’ll show you what it is,” Mr. Taggart said. “I got all the wood out back ready for you-“
“Oh sorry, is this… did you…?” Robby wanted to ask if he was hired, but he wasn’t sure if that would seem weak. Had Mr. Taggart already decided to hire him? He had definitely suggested on the phone that he was going to see some other laborers too.
Mr. Taggart screwed up his eyebrows at him. “You okay?”
“I, uh…” Robby didn’t want to suggest someone else might be hired for the gig. “I just wasn’t sure you wanted me to start today. But that’s no problem, I’d rather do it today. I need to make a payment this week.”
“A payment?”
Robby nodded. “I got this debt… It’s child support, honestly, lemme be totally honest wit’ you. I’m a good worker, for real, I just… I got these daughters, man, I ain’t even sure they’s mine, I swear,” he said. “Mother’s a fuckin’… Well, we don’t get along, and she always tellin’ the judge I make a shit-ton of money. Buncha lies and shit.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I gotta make a payment this week.” Robby blushed. He realized only now that talking about this stuff was probably not a good way to get hired for the gig — it didn’t make him sound stable or reliable. But it was too late now.
“I can understand that, yessuh,” Mr. Taggart said. “Go’n then.” He chewed on his lip, like he wasn’t really interested in Robby’s problems but was willing to listen to him talk about them. He opened the sliding glass door to the backyard and pointed to the wood.
He spent the next twenty minutes explaining exactly how this deck was supposed to go. Mr. Taggart was knowledgeable on carpentry, but he didn’t have the time to do it himself. That was inconvenient for Robby — someone who knew how to do it himself was likely to both pay less and complain if it wasn’t quite perfect. Those who didn’t know would accept any price offered, generally speaking, and they wouldn’t even know what to look for to decide if it was well-done.
Not that Robby was going to do a poor job. He was a good worker.
Despite Mr. Taggart’s gruff nature, he came across as fair. He offered an okay price, and he listened gamely when Robby tried to negotiate. He didn’t accept Robby’s counteroffer though, forcing Robby to embarrassedly agree to what Mr. Taggart had offered to begin with.
“Thank you, suh, and I promise I’ll do the best work I can, I swear to God. I’m a good worker, no kidding,” Robby said.
Mr. Taggart nodded like he didn’t really care. He was the kind of foreman who had a way of getting the work he needed from the men who worked for him. He would get it one way or another.
He left Robby to get started on his own. Robby liked that part. He really wished he could work like this and not worry about anything else. He could do the actual building, any kind of mechanical labor would be fine with him. He’d gladly work twelve hours a day if it came with a promise he’d get paid enough to live. It was all the other stuff, the showing up on time, the interviewing, the “probationary periods”, the police, drunk driving laws, safety regulations, all of that stuff made it difficult.
It felt right to work with his hands, to use his muscles to survive and build a deck. He liked seeing the pieces come together.
Of course, not that much actually came together today. It took almost all day to cut the wood to size. He got the posts in the ground for the foundation, and by then, he was exhausted. He was drenched with sweat, his dirty blond hair plastered to his forehead. His shoulders ached, and his thumb throbbed because he dropped a bunch of slats of wood onto it. He kept sucking on it, until he realized he would look like a baby sucking his thumb in Mr. Taggart’s eyes.
Most clients would have come out to check on him at some point, but Mr. Taggart never had. Robby came tentatively to the house and stepped in. He wasn’t sure if Mr. Taggart was the kind of guy who didn’t want his workers in the house more than necessary.
“Hey, uh, Mister Taggart?” Robby called out.
He heard movement down the hall and went that way. Was that moaning? It almost sounded like a woman moaning. Robby was just wondering if he was about to walk in on something when a bedroom door opened.
Mr. Taggart walked out. He left the door open, and the sounds of porn filled the air. A woman’s moaning voice was plainly audible, but it was clearly a recording, not a real woman. Robby blushed, but Mr. Taggart seemed nonchalant.
“You done for today?”
Robby nodded. “Yeah. I think I got pretty far today, you wanna see?”
“Nah. I’m busy now. I’ll look at it tomorrow,” Mr. Taggart said. He glanced into the bedroom. “Sorry. I’s just watchin’ a movie. You wanna see it wit’ me?”
Robby shrugged. He had no idea why he said yes. He hadn’t watched porno with another man in more than a decade — that just wasn’t a thing anymore, now that Internet porn was so common, he thought. Who even watched porno videos on a TV screen? But it was an alluring option. For one thing, it would help cement a relationship with Mr. Taggart. He might be more willing to hire Robby agaian.
This was clearly a VHS tape. That was obvious when Mr. Taggart fast-forwarded it. Robby blushed. Mr. Taggart has a VCR. Who has a VCR? Robby sat back on the bed, on one edge, while Mr. Taggart sat on the other side, then scooted close to the middle.
“You ain’t got no pro’lem beatin’ ya meat wit’ a man, huh?” Mr. Taggart said. He aimed his dick in Robby’s direction and have it one stroke. He chuckled throatily
Robby’s eyes opened wide. “I, uh…” He hadn’t thought they were going to circlejerk, but he kind of did want to do it. The idea held a certain allure to it — it would be exciting and grimy, and the punk-rock girl at the convenience store he had a crush on would think it was sexy.
So maybe, he thought, he should do it. It wasn’t too weird. They probably wouldn’t even touch. Probably.
Would they?
The porno movie was some sort of amateur underground thing. Did the women even realize they were being filmed? Robby got an uncomfortable feeling like they didn’t know. The man definitely knew, the mustachioed freak with the huge dick, he was angling his body so the camera could clearly see his cock where it slid between this one woman’s huge tits. He titty-fucked her, groaning and moaning for the camera’s benefit.
But Robby found it hard to pay consistent attention to the movie. Mr. Taggart’s body heat seemed to fill the bedspace, and Robby couldn’t bring himself to look directly at his dick, yet he couldn’t stop sneaking peeks in his periphery either.
Mr. Taggart flopped his giant dick out as though it was nothing, as though he did this every day. He didn’t drop his pants, just lowered them enough to take his cock out. Robby gulped. There was something about it that demanded he look at it. He couldn’t look right at it because he thought he’d look weird. He couldn’t look away either. He stared at it intently out of the corner of his eyes. That didn’t satisfy either itch — it still felt uncomfortably weird, and he still wanted to look at it straight on.
Was Mr. Taggart expecting him to stroke it?
But Mr. Taggart didn’t say so. He just watched the screen. He hadn’t even noticed that Robby hadn’t taken his own dick out yet. Mr. Taggart was deeply engrossed in the porno. The “college girls” on screen had a pillow fight in their dorm, and Mr. Taggart licked his teeth as the bras popped off and the pillows went flying.
Finally, when Robby was sure Mr. Taggart wasn’t watching, Robby did take his dick out. He was glad he had a big cock. He was sometimes embarrassed by how big it was. Once guys knew, they kept demanding he take it out.
Robby considered leaving. He could just go — he doubted Mr. Taggart would hire someone else instead. By the time he called more people in and found a new guy, Robby could have already finished the deck.
Mr. Taggart took off his shirt. He had a thicker body than Robby, and he was probably stronger. His skin was a rich ruddy tanned-brown, suggesting Mr. Taggart must tan shirtless often. Robby felt small in comparison to Mr. Taggart, but he was younger and had a six-pack, which helped even it out.
“Man, ain’t that chick hot?” Mr. Taggart asked.
“Uh-huh.” Robby had barely paid a lick of attention to the porno. He hadn’t even noticed that he was still totally limp while Mr. Taggart’s dick was rock-hard. He was going to look like a fool if he didn’t get hard.
“You havin’ trouble gettin’ hard? Huh? You wanna play around? I can get you hard.”
“Uh… I’ve never done anything like that,” Robby said. He blushed.
“Oh yeah?” Mr. Taggart asked with a throaty chuckle. “Ain’t gonna hurt. Just men doin’ what they gotta do. It’s always better to have another hand, ain’t it? Feels better than ya own.”
“I, uh… I dunno…” Robby sucked in his breath as Mr. Taggart reached over and gripped his dick. Robby hadn’t taken his shirt off, nor even lowered his pants any more than he needed to. Mr. Taggart’s shirt was off and his pants had migrated to his ankles.
Without taking his eyes off the porno, Mr. Taggart grabbed Robby’s cock and stroked it. Robby gasped.
The most surprising thing, he thought, was that it really did feel good. Mr. Taggart had been right. This did feel better than masturbating alone would have.
His dick quickly firmed up in Mr. Taggart’s hand. Robby had his eyes closed, so he didn’t see it when Mr. Taggart came closer to him, not until he felt Mr. Taggart’s body heat. Then Mr. Taggart grabbed his hand and brought it to his own cock.
“Aaaaah…” Mr. Taggart moaned into his ear. “Ain’t that good, son?”
“Yeah…” Robby had to admit it was good. His own cock felt better than it had last time he had actual sex, and not much had even happened. His own cock felt so good he didn’t pay much attention to his own left hand on Mr. Taggart’s dick.
It was very thick, impossibly so, Robby was shocked by that. It felt fleshier too, like there was tons of loose skin and extra meat in the shaft. He rubbed his hand up and down but that reminded him of what he was doing.
So Robby stopped moving. Mr. Taggart, however, kept jacking him off and pumped his hips in sync with his hand. That way Robby could just grip his hand and Mr. Taggart humped his grip. It barely even felt like he was giving a handjob. His cock throbbed and pulsated.
“You ready, son?” Mr. Taggart murmured. “You gonna feel real good today.”
“Yeah…” Robby winced. What was he agreeing to? He didn’t know, but he wanted it to happen. He was desperate to get his rocks off. No girl had made him feel like this in a long time.
Mr. Taggart knelt down and popped Robby’s dick in his mouth. It wasn’t romantic or sweet, Robby thought, he did it like it was his job. Moist warmth suffused into Robby’s body through his shaft. He moaned too after a few seconds, like he was so nervous about this that there was a brief delay before he actually felt Mr. Taggart’s lips close around his shaft.
But then felt it better than it had any right to. Definitely no woman could ever swallow dick like this.
For one thing, Mr. Taggart was bigger than most women, with a deeper and more cavernous throat, meaning he could simply swallow way more cock. Robby’s eyes bugged out, and he gripped Mr. Taggart’s roughly-trimmed hair. His hands dug into Mr. Taggart’s scalp.
He didn’t plow into his throat though, despite Robby’s instinct to do precisely that. He wasn’t sure Mr. Taggart would be okay with it for one thing, and even more importantly, Mr. Taggart was already swallowing him to the root. There was no need to throat him down. Mr. Taggart’s nose rammed into Robby’s crotch.
“Ah, god — oh — oh shit, damn — I mean — Ooooooohhh…” Robby wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.
His hands flailed above Mr. Taggart’s head, then gripped his scalp again. Then he wasn’t sure Mr. Taggart liked that and stopped. This time, Mr. Taggart grabbed his hand, still without pulling off his dick. He led Robby’s hands back down to his crotch.
Robby gulped and gripped Mr. Taggart’s cock. Mr. Taggart was curled up, so he could swallow Robby’s dick with his upper half ensconced next to his Robby’s body. That meant Robby could easily reach over Mr. Taggart’s body to his rod.
It was rock-hard, precum glistening on the tip. It leaked goop onto Robby’s fingers.
“Shit…”?
He didn’t know why he had been so nervous about this. Mr. Taggart was weird — and his masculine body smelled like Robby’s father — but his mouth felt good on Robby’s cock. Robby couldn’t hold back his orgasm.
But Mr. Taggart didn’t let him cum just yet. Just when Robby was about to blow his wad, he got up and pulled his mouth from Robby’s dick. Robby gasped and for a moment tried to drag Mr. Taggart’s face back to his shaft.
“Gonna sit on ya dick, son, that okay? Jack me off, okay?”
“What? Uh… No way, I dunno…,” Robby said without giving it a second thought. He was nervous, but after having let Mr. Taggart jack him off, he didn’t see any reason to refuse to plow.
Not many girls let him do it in the butt on account of that huge cock — and his penchant for not showering sometimes — but Robby loved it when he did. He had never really thought about cornholing a man instead. It seemed like a reasonable idea now — ignoring all the societal ramifications, he thought, an ass was just an ass. Mr. Taggart had a thick, wide ass like Robby loved.
He sat on Robby’s dick. That was a position that Robby had never tried. His cock was too big for any girl to want that. Robby gulped when it started, his confidence wavering, because this position reminded him how big Mr. Taggart was.
He was thickly built, his muscles flexing as he squatted above Robby’s body. His smooth chest gleamed with sweat, the smell of which had filled the bedroom. Robby no longer noticed it like he had when he first came in and thought Mr. Taggart smelled like his dad. He sure didn’t smell like that now.
He smelled like funk now, and Robby liked it.
Mr. Taggart bit his lip and sunk down lower on Robby’s dick. Robby gasped and lifted his upper body up. He jacked on his breath. Again, just like when they had started jacking off together, Robby couldn’t bring himself to look away from Mr. Taggart’s dick.
It was half-hard now, his erection having diminished as he eased onto Robby’s dick. Now it flopped up and down. It looked huge and meaty. It twitched when Robby looked at it.
He gripped it and gave it a stroke. It was wet with precum, and it was slippery in Robby’s hand. He gulped. He had never thought he could be talked into doing this — the weird thing was: He hadn’t even needed to be talked into it. He had wanted to do it, in a way. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Robby couldn’t wait to see what it was like.
As Mr. Taggart began rising and falling on his dick, Robby again managed to almost forget he was jacking a man off. Even though he couldn’t look away, he still managed to think about the pleasure in his cock instead of that. But every time it twitched, or Mr. Taggart let out a moan, Robby was again aware of its veiny, iron-like shaft throbbing in his fingers. It was slick now with precum and sticky as hell. Some of it dripped onto Robby’s chest.
“Ah, yeah, stick it in me…”
He knew he was going to get cum on him. He couldn’t decide if he should be grossed out or not. He was glad he hadn’t swallowed Mr. Taggart’s dick or taken it up the ass — that was the rule he had set, and he had lived up to it. But getting cummed on was kind of a gray area, wasn’t it?
Robby hadn’t made a decision yet when it was rendered irrelevant by his own orgasm. It felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything else. Mr. Taggart’s ass clenched down on Robby’s cock, as he sunk all the way on it. It pulsated against Mr. Taggart’s prostate.
“Damn son, you hump nice….” Mr. Taggart let out a long, cringing moan.
For some reason the low vibrato of his voice was enough to send Robby over the edge. A few drops of cum sprayed into Mr. Taggart’s ass, then more and more. Robby felt it flow and wondered how it could be so much — he’d never shot a load like this. He writhed so intensely he wondered if he looked like a wuss — this felt rather like the first time he’d been with a woman, and had never felt anything so incredible.
He bit his lip and grunted. “Shit, man!” He gripped Mr. Taggart’s hips with both hands and drilled his dick in, grinding it deeply into Mr. Taggart’s body.
Mr. Taggart was expecting that — men who gave him a reacharound usually ended up stopping right as they both orgasmed, which was the worst time to stop from Mr. Taggart’s perspective.
But he was ready so he didn’t get blue-balled. He gripped his own dick and brought himself to orgasm in seconds. An explosion of pleasure erupted in both men. Robby let out a plaintive howl of desire, as his cock throbbed like a beast’s heart. Mr. Taggart groaned like a beast of burden caught in mud, and he threw his head back far. His powerful muscles all rippled and flexed.
A torrent of creamy cum shot out and over Robby’s chest and neck. Some of it splashed on his chin, but Robby’s eyes were closed and he was busy squirming with the intense pleasure shooting through him, so he didn’t notice. He just grunted and sucked on his teeth again.
Finally they were both done. Mr. Taggart remained deeply impaled on Robby’s dick until he had taken in every drop of cum, and squeezed out every drop of his own, each pearly drop dripping from Mr. Taggart’s callused fingers to Robby’s hair-dappled belly.
“Shit, son… Hell yeah,” Mr. Taggart said. He throatily chuckled. He massaged Robby’s chest muscles, smearing his own cum all over it.
Robby didn’t open his eyes until Mr. Taggart finally pulled off his dick, which fell limply against his thigh. Robby sucked in his breath as he watched Mr. Taggart lean down and lick his chest clean. He swallowed up all that cum he had spilled, slurping it noisily, making Robby gag just from the sound alone though he was glad to get the cum off his chest — he decided he wouldn’t tell anyone about that part and he definitely wouldn’t mention that he could taste salty cum on his lips too. Some of it must have splashed up there from his chin.
Finally Mr. Taggart pulled away from him, and Robby slipped off the bed, pleasure still coursing through his veins. He blushed and looked down. “I, uh… I… That was pretty good.” Robby heaved for breath. Now that that was over, he was much more tired than he thought he’d be. The adrenaline drained away, and all that was left as an intense need to lay his head.
Mr. Taggart snorted. “I know.” He reached over to open his nightstand drawer. “How much of a child support payment you got due?”
“Uh… Six hundred dollars.”
Mr. Taggart whistled. “Goddamn, son.” He handed over six crisp one-hundred dollar bills, then placed the stack of more money back in the drawer. He nodded at Robby. “Don’t think you can come back later and rob me just cuz you see my cash, son-“
“I wouldn’t! I swear!” Robby opened his wide. “Promise. No way. I’m not like that.”
“I got security you can only dream of,” he said. He smiled, flopping his limp dick between his fingers. He squeezed out a few drops of cum that he smeared over his shaft. “But if you gots more payments due next month, come see me again. I just might have more work for you.”
“Yessuh,” Robby said. He held back a smile because he didn’t want to seem too eager. That might come across as weird.
“Go’n now, get outta here. I’ll see you tomorrow mornin’, ready to work.”
“Yes, sir,” Robby said. “I’ll be here.”

Ranuga Bandaranayake

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.
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. His voice had a dense London accent, and he spoke like his mouth was full of sandpaper.
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’.

From The Cricketer