Carlos goes to a legendary homeless encampment in order to swing in the dirt with a filthy hobo named Tommy. He’s filthy, he’s drunk and he’s willing to let Carlos service his nasty homeless body.
Can Carlos get the raunchy manmeat he craves?
Read the whole thing here!
Father Carlos brought food to the hobo encampment called Ditchway, out by the interstate in Jackson, Mississippi, but he didn’t wear his collar. The hardscrabble men who swamped the area from the hardware store parking lot to the highway tolerated him because he brought food, but it didn’t stop them from demanding other things. Mainly malt liquor, sometimes just plain cash. They lived in tents and cardboard boxes, strewn with radios and clothes hung up to dry like in a prison cell. Interspersed here and there were overturned shopping carts, municipal trash cans and legions of scavenged buckets, barrels and crates of all kinds.
But since he didn’t bring any alcohol or give them any cash, most of them left pretty soon after the meal. They headed off to panhandle during the evening rush hour. That left Carlos with Tommy Weathers, one of those poor benighted souls who live here. He was sober for now, but Tommy fully intended for that to be a temporary condition
Tommy was a broad shouldered white man with skin tanned brown as a Mexican, or a Texan at least. He was dirty, like all the rest, with greasy hair and smudges of filth all over his skin. He wasn’t exactly skinny, but he was lean, ropy-muscled and long-limbed, with a square jaw and deep-set, dark green eyes. He spoke with the accent of his native South Carolina, with a Low Country drawl that Carlos found alluring.
“I’s homeless on ‘ccount of my lying bitch of an ex-wife. Glenda Shay, that’s what she go by now. Got remarried, to an ‘ccountant who talks like a fuckin’ college professor. Glenda Shay. You know that bitch?”
“Uh… no.”
“If’n you evuh meet her, suh, you run far away,” he said. He ate the last of his hot dog and licked the ketchup off his fingertips. That’s what Carlos had brought him. He paid for it with his own money, not church funds. “I love ketchup. I put it on e’rything at the soup kitchen. I even put some in dat minestrone-” he pronounced it minnuhstrahn, as he licked ketchup out of his unkempt gray-tinged beard — “did that in lockup, yessuh. Pissed off this one off’cer so bad he swipe my head off. Said ya can’t put ketchup in soup. I lodge a complaint, suh, cuz I gots mah pride, even in lockup, yessuh, and I gots rights. I ain’t no Commie, ‘fter all. Ronald Reagan won, y’know. Dat guard gots an offishul reprimand, sho’ nuff, yessuh. I gots a right to put ketchup in dat minestrone.”
“Uh-huh. Ketchup in your minestrone, huh? I’ve never tried that. I think they put tomato paste in the broth anyway-“
“Mah mama always done say I eat so much ketchup mah head gonna turn into a tomatah, yessuh, she was a real saint, y’know. She always stand by me even when I get in trouble, yessuh.”
“Uh-huh-“
“But she pass on couple years back. I reckon it was for the best, she had dat livuh cancer, on ‘ccount of her drinkin’ like a Texan, y’know,” he said.
“Right.”
“Lordy, if she knew I was livin’ in the hobo camp with dem colored boys and a Chinaman, she would be rollin’ ovuh in dat grave,” he said.
“Sure, sure.” Carlos would have reprimanded him about his language if he was here in an official capacity. That’s why Carlos had come all the way to the far side of Jackson, Mississippi. He didn’t want to meet anyone he knew as a priest. Carlos was not here in a priestly capacity, and he didn’t have to correct the man. “So, uh, you don’t have a girlfriend or anythin’?”
“Girlfriend? What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout? Hobos don’t got girlfriends. There’s a female I know, she suck my dick sometime. She a whore though. She suck me off for free. She say I’m cute,” he said, beaming, showing off his gap-toothed grin. “But she ain’t been ‘round much no mo’. She got a pimp, say she can’t be givin’ out no freebies. He a black man, ya see. They don’t like dat. I ain’t prejudice. Just speakin’ the God’s honest truth.”
“Uh-huh.” Carlos cleared his throat. “You wanna bust a nut?”
“‘Course. You got a female?”
“I’ll give you five hundred bucks if you treat me like one. Treat me like a filthy whore,” Carlos said. His heart skipped a beat as Tommy looked him up and down.
He burped and frowned. “Five hun’red bucks is a lotta money,” he said. “You got beer?”
“No. You gotta do it before you start drinking,” Carlos said.
He nodded. “Fine. If you stiff me, I’s gonna rip yo’ goddamn head off.”
“Yes, sir,” Carlos said. His heart skipped a beat. He got on his knees in front of Tommy, who sat on the dirt in the woody copse of trees by the highway. Just twenty yards to the east was the onramp, and maybe fifty yards to the north was the highway itself. Cars whizzed by. The foliage was dense along the road though, with forsythia bushes in full bloom providing dense cover and rendering this piece of wilderness cut off from the outside world. A couple dozen tents and sleeping bags were scattered around, and the remains of two campfires. Empty bottles of liquor and abandoned crackpipes lay scattered like headstones after a tornado.
Tommy burped up a rancid smell, then apologized. Carlos ignored it. He undid Tommy’s belt and made him lift his ass up so Tommy could lower his pants. His fat cock flopped out of his tattered prison-issue boxer shorts.
“Hang on just a moment, suh, I gotta beg fo’ forgiveness fo’ mah everbegottened lusts,” Tommy said. He moved his dick out of the way at the last moment as Carlos tried to take it in his mouth. Tommy closed his eyes and looked up at the sky. He clasped his hands together and murmured a prayer. Carlos didn’t hear the words, he just sat quietly watching Tommy’s greasy dick sway between his legs. His mouth watered like a hungry dog.
It felt good that nobody knew he was a priest. He didn’t have be in charge, didn’t have to report anything to the archbishop, didn’t have to be the voice of moral clarity. He could just be. He didn’t pray. Carlo kneeled before Tommy’s cock, which dangled and sway as he prayed in a rumbling murmur that Carlos didn’t hear.
Then at last Tommy finished praying. He smiled down at Carlos and flopped his dick between his fingers. Then he thwacked it over Carlos’s face.
“God say it’s alright, cuz I gots a need, man,” Tommy said. “I got real pain, and I gotta do what I gotta do. He do want me to get a promise from you though.”
“Oh, what?”
“Go to church,” he said.
“Oh…”
“Just go one time,” he said. “God will forgive you your trespasses, suh. He always do.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Carlos said. His heart quickened, because he felt like he was getting away with something not mentioning that he was a priest. Normally it was all anybody could see him as. They only ever spoke to him as a priest, even in a casual setting. This was the first time in a long time he’d spoke to someone who didn’t know.
“Alright. If He can forgive me, suh, He can forgive you, fo’ sho’,” he said. “You get a man off good? Wit’cha mouth? Huh?”
“Real good,” Carlos said. He licked his lips and opened his mouth as wide as possible. He wiggled his tongue right in front of Tommy’s cock.
Tommy smiled. He pushed his dick in, its limp, long shaft filling Carlos’s mouth with raunchy, sweaty flesh. It tasted like soil: dry, dusty, infertile dirt, but with a thick, greasy texture that Carlos loved. He felt a shiver of desire run through him. His heart raced as fast as the cars flying by just past the trees and forsythias that lined the hobo camp.
He opened his throat and let that deliciously nasty cock slide down it. Sometimes jerking off hobos was a double-edged sword — all that nastiness and filthy Carlos craved made them unhealthy, cocks unable to get hard (especially if they smoked crack). But Tommy was not a crackhead, and his dick popped right into full erection in Carlos’s mouth. It tasted stale but warm and savory, yeasty like good bread or bad beer. He sniffed deeply of it like a sacraent.
“Ooh, boy, you handle my dick nice, damn, that feels good,” Tommy said with a hoot. He pulled out a ziploc baggie filled with cigarette butts he had scavenged from a public ashtray. He lit one that still had a good half-inch of unsmoked cigarette. He took a deep breath and exhaled it right into Carlos’s face.
The acrid smoke brought tears to his eyes, as did lack of oxygen as he kept guzzling down cockmeat. Carlos pushed his head down until his nose nuzzled Tommy’s unkempt pubic bush. Tommy gasped like he was surprised, and a shiver of pleasure visibly shook his spine. Tommy licked his teeth.
“Damn, boy, you swallow like a sissy in prison, hell yeah,” Tommy said. He groaned as he took a deep breath. Then he grabbed Carlos’s ears and pulled his head off his cock. “Hey. Can I throat down ya face, boy? You okay wit’ dat?”
“Yes, please do,” Carlos said through his gasps for air.
“You nasty,” he said. He dropped the cigarette butt, smoked down to the filter, on the muddy ground. Then he stood up. He gave his dick one stroke and then grabbed Carlos by the ear again. “Open up.”
He fed his dick down Carlos’s throat inch by inch. When he got almost the whole thing down there, Carlos instinctively choked and sputtered. Tommy gripped his ears tighter and shook his head, causing a torrent of more choking.
“Nah, open up, you payin’ fo’ it, now take it,” Tommy said through his thin lips. He closed his eyes and groaned, his hips gyrating as he slammed his dick in.
At last that entire shaft throbbed in Tommy’s throat. Precum flowed like water from a hose, coating his entire gullet. It had a thick texture and a savory flavor that made Tommy crave more.
Tommy grumbled. “Don’t get the wrong impression ‘bout me, suh. I ain’t ram no sissy in prison, no sir. That’s just an ‘xpression I learned, and I ain’t nevuh ramrod no one in prison neither. God don’t like ugly. So that’s what I, uh… My time behind bars was a time of spirit’al reflection, suh, and I used that time to get closuh to God hisself. God is, uh, there… in, uh… God is in a’rrything, you know. In the soul of the…” He blinked and twitched as another surge of pleasure visibly wafted through the taut musculature. He must have forgot the point he had been failing to make. “Prison food was real bad, suh, you don’t even know.”
He kept talking about God and his time in prison, but he continued to lose track of his thoughts as well. He seemed to almost forget that his dick was in Carlos’s throat until there was a tiny bit of give, and Carlos almost backed off. Then he growled, grabbed Carlos’s ears again and held on tight as he moved his hips in circles, hitting every corner of Carlos’s throat.
“Reckon there was a lot of sissies in lockup, yessuh, you prolly know some of ‘em. Like a Julius. You know Julius…? I dunno his last name. Got big soft lips. I rammed him one time cuz he ast me to,” Tommy said.
He didn’t give Carlos time to actually answer whether or not he knew Julius. Carlos was more focused on working that greasy dickshaft to full tumescence. It was now moist with clumps of spit and precum. The dusty hobo camp ground beneath Tommy’s feet was turning wet with all the fluids that dripped from Carlos’s mouth.
“Keep yer mouth open, boy,” Tommy said. He pulled away and used his fingers to keep Carlos’s mouth open even as Carlos heaved and writhed, grabbing for air. “Gonna give you a prison-kiss. This is how the Mexicans show they love in lockup, man,” he said. He pursed his lips like he was going to kiss, but then just filled his own mouth with saliva and spat into Carlos’s open gullet. His spit tasted like dirt and made Carlos moan with desire. Tommy spat again, then again, this time making sure it landed right on Carlos’s nose, a hot stinking puddle of alpha male redneck nastiness stinking up his nostrils.
Carlos inhaled deeply of it, his mind swimming from lack of oxygen and intense arousal. Tommy didn’t wait long before pushing his dick back in again.
“We call dat throat lube, suh, yes we do,” Tommy said. He cackled and resumed drilling Carlos’s throat. “Get yo’ head down on the ground then, suh, if’n ya please. Get real low in the dirt.”
Carlos laid on his back on the ground. Tommy mounted his head, aiming his dick down so he could just lower himself as well. He was virtually laying down now, with his cock aimed down Carlos’s throat.
And then he began humping. He gyrated his hips like he was fucking an actual pussy, while Carlos’s spit-slickened throat allowed him to get his entire dick down there once more. Tommy’s nasty, sweat-dripping balls landed on Carlos’s nose, so Carlos was overwhelmed by a torrent of raunch covering every part of his face. All he could see was the filth and the hair of Tommy’s balls, taint and asscheeks.
Eventually Tommy pulled off. He looked disappointed in himself. “You want me to get you up the ass too, right?”
“Yeah…” Carlos was too starved for oxygen to say anything else. He gasped. “Can I… Can I lick your ass first?”
Tommy stopped moving and his smile turned into a frown. He furrowed his brow like he was trying to understand Carlos. “You wanna lick hobo ass?”
“God yes, please…” Carlos felt like crying. He was on his knees, so his head lined up with Tommy’s ass anyway. He stuck his nose in the air and sniffed the raunchy ass scent. It was almost enough to make him cum.
“Fine. But just for a minute or two, that’s nasty,” Tommy said with pursed lips, like he was seriously annoyed with Carlos for asking.
Carlos tried to separate Tommy’s cheeks, but Tommy just unceremoniously sat. He didn’t even lower himself slowly, he let Carlos stick his face in Tommy’s hairy ass and then sat down. He squatted like he was about to do a high jump, and most of his weight was on Carlos’s face.
Carlos had no idea how long the rimjob lasted. He was so overwhelmed by the suddenness of it and by the weight of Tommy’s body on his face that he was dizzy from the moment it began. Unfiltered masculine scents assaulted his nostrils. It smelled like dirty underwear or like a crowd of men, like an entire worksite’s worth of men all sitting on his face at once.
His tongue pushed past the layer of thick hair in Tommy’s asscrack. He groaned and moaned, and he even began rubbing his own dick through his jeans — a lot of men were annoyed by the sight of men masturbating, so Carlos kept it low-key. It didn’t look like Tommy really noticed anyway.
“You one nasty freak,” Tommy said with a laugh that shook his entire wiry frame. His ropy thigh muscles trembled, asscheeks flexing around Carlos’s tongue as though he was trying to hold onto it. His voice wavered as he spoke, when a surge of pleasure wracked his body from his prostate to his neck.
Carlos gurgled, letting a big mouthful of spit fill Tommy’s ass before it overflowed back onto Carlos’s face. Carlos groaned. His hands roamed over Tommy’s dick, the veiny shaft spasming beneath his fingers.
Tommy groaned like he was surprised at how good this felt. He murmured incomprehensibly to himself, and he rubbed his ass all over Carlos’s tongue. He moved it up and down, penetrating himself in his asshole with Carlos’s muscular tongue, which grew to be coated with Tommy’s masculine funk. His ass was taut and firm as iron, cuz he ate so little, but it was also strong, cords of firm muscles etched into his tight frame.
“Damn, you one nasty-ass boi,” Tommy said with a cackle. He stood up and pushed Carlos to roll over. “Lemme get in dat ass. Open up. I say open up. Get yer head down in the muck. That’s where God wants ya till you get forgiveness.”
He pushed Carlos’s face into the mud and aimed his dick right for Carlos’s ass. He groaned when it slid in and a bolt of pain erupted in Carlos’s body. As he always did it, he gritted his teeth as he struggled to bear it.
But at last the pain melted away into a tense, uncontrollable pleasure that spread through his body like a convulsion. Tommy was relentless, completely ignoring Carlos’s struggle and his body’s instinctive resistance.
“You want it, suh? Huh? You really like this?”
“Yes, please, god, stick it in me…” Carlos said with a moan, choking on a mouth full of mud and cigarette butts.
“Don’t you dare ask God fo’ dat, suh, I can still walk ‘way. Ain’t gonna tol’rate ya disrespectin’ God,” he said. He stopped moving with his dick deep in Carlos’s ass, hand holding onto Carlos’s hair. Tommy frowned down at Carlos. “Ain’t no man’s dick worth ya eternal soul, young man-“
“Okay, yes, I’m sorry. I won’t use the Lord’s name in… whatever. Please just get back to it me, Tommy, go at me as hard as you can,” Carlos said breathlessly.
“I will,” Tommy said. He sniffled. He laid his wiry chest on Carlos’s back and pounded away. He groaned and grunted right into Carlos’s ear, and he cackled with laughter again as he rubbed muddy dirt into Carlos’s face. “You like it dirty, right? Ain’t you say dat? Take some dirt then, suh. Open up.”
He shoved clumps of dirt into Carlos’s mouth, making him gag and sputter as he tried to jack himself off. Carlos couldn’t reach his own crotch though. All he could do was submit to Tommy’s frenzied pounding, his drilling away at Carlos’s asshole.
“Ew, what the fuck-?”
“Aw damn, that is some nasty shit right there.”
“I knew he weren’t just comin’ up in he’e to give up some food. I tol’ you dat.”
“You said he was gonna try ‘nd fuck Lisa wit’out payin’.”
A foursome of hobos had appeared in the woods, having returned from panhandling. They all groaned like they were disgusted by Carlos getting it up the ass from Tommy, but no one turned around or even faced a different direction. They seemed both disgusted and excited by it.
“Aw fuck, go ‘way, guys, I’m… busy, alright?” Tommy blushed, but he didn’t stop. “Hey where mah money at?” he asked Carlos. He didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed Carlos’s wallet out of his pants, then pulled out the five hundred dollars in it, as well as the spare fifty bucks that Carlos kept hidden. He swiped the three crackpipes sitting in the dirt. Then he gave one of the other hobos some money, all without missing a beat or slowing down his deep-dicking. “Go get us whiskey. I got all yo’ crackpipes so don’t you dare blow it all on crack. You can buy one rock wit’ dat, bring it back and share it. The whiskey is just for me, but we celebrate this filthy bitch wit’ some crack.” He smacked Carlos’s ass. “Ya got it?”
Yo, gimme some mo’ of dat money-
“Nah, I’s the one gettin’ paid,” Tommy said. “It’s my money. I’s puttin’ my eternal soul at risk by doin’ the nasty wit’ a male. Go on then, get some whiskey and crack and I gonna keep us in clover for a week wit’ this cash. Maybe longer if’n I wreck this man’s ass so good he keep comin’ back for more.”
The hobos grumbled, but took the money and walked away. Tommy scoffed and spat at them. “Fuckin’ pieces of shit, man, I swear. They ain’t God-fearin’ like me,” he said. He looked at Carlos then like this was the first time he had really seen him. He peered into his eyes. “You really enjoyin’ yerself, ain’t ya?”
“Yeah…” Carlos gasped. He managed to finish himself off then, blowing a massive load of cum into the dirt. His whole body tensed as waves of bliss spread through. His fingers and toes tighteneed, and Carlos gasped. He shot a bigger load than he had ever seen.
“Reckon I don’t ‘pprove. When I was growin’ up, a man’d only take it up behind as a punishment, like in boot camp. That’s how my pa raised me — he was a drill sergeant: strict but fair,” Tommy said. “Now this part is gonna hurt, suh. Here, you can bite on my arm.” He placed his smudged forearm in front of Carlos’s mouth.
Carlos knew he could take it, but he nibbled on the worn flesh there, feeling the toned muscles underneath the skin. Tommy sped up his rhythm, groaning and grunting with each flex of his hips.
The pain did grow worse, and Carlos bit down hard enough that he tasted a single drop of coppery blood. Tommy didn’t seem to notice; he just slammed his hips, ramming his dick all the way in as he nutted. His balls crawled up in his sac. A shudder of pain or desire or disgust ran up Tommy’s body.
A load of rancid hobo cum filled Carlos’s ass, a big arcing jet of juices that seeped into his flesh. It was hot and thick, sticky, clinging to every inch of Carlos’s body. Carlos groaned.
It was the most intense orgasm of Carlos’s life, while Tommy reacted as though it was a painful climax. He grunted and snorted, sniffling like an angry bull. He spat over and over onto the back of Carlos’s neck, while grinding his cock so deeply in Carlos’s ass that Carlos couldn’t help but bite down hard on Tommy’s forearm.
Carlos finally stopped squirming. He sighed, totally spent, his gaping ass now in utter submission to Tommy’s rapidly limpening manhood.
“Alright, suh, I’s done,” Tommy said. “Reckon I cornholed you good, right? You ain’t feel cheated, right? You got yer money’s worth?”
“Yeah…” Carlos was too overwhelmed by sensations in his asshole to really respond. He moaned.
“Good. I ain’t wanna cheat ya.” He pulled out and sighed. He stroked his slimy dick, using a hand to get all of those nasty fluids off. He wiped it onto Carlos’s bare ass. He wrinkled his nose. He sat back in the dirt, his spent dick and low-hanging balls dragging in the mud between his legs. He frowned. “I gotta take a piss. You into piss?”
“Uh, no thanks,” Carlos said. He was exhausted, and he was worried about those other hobos now that they knew he could afford to pay Tommy five hundred dollars. Who knew what they might do when they came back with alcohol and crack?
So Carlos just hurried up and got dressed. His body was covered in mud and redneck sweat, not to mention cum still dripping down his ass. Tommy ignored him as he pissed into the rancid dirt of the Ditchway homeless encampment. He looked like he was getting antsy waiting for his whiskey and crack.
“Wait, suh,” Tommy said before Carlos left. “Lemme do one more thing, so anyone who smell you know you’s my bitch.” He pried Carlos’s jaw open, then spat a stinking load of saliva into Carlos’s mouth. “Don’t you go payin’ some other hobo for dick. You come back to me, suh. Ya hear? You mine now.”
“Okay. Yes, sir, I promise,” Carlos said as he walked away, his mouth gurgling over the fetid wad of saliva on his tongue. Despite that, he had no plans on coming back. If he did, sooner or later someone would identify him, and Carlos didn’t want that.
Next time, he’d hafta find a different source of raunchy alpha male men who don’t know him. Luckily, there was a whole world of rough trade out there, and Carlos was eager to get started.