MN Manmacker's mansploitation
At the brothel Lipsweet, Vivienne rules as queen, and the many roughnecks who come through are her subjects… But when her position is threatened, Vivienne finds herself on the outs, while the men around her must see to their own needs. Whether at the local jail, in a dusty backroom or in a dirty motel, these macho alphas will have to take matters into their own hands!
Avery’s Australian vacation gives him an opportunity to taste the trashiest bogan in Oz! His name is Razza Malley, and he loves getting oral service, doing donuts and being awesome as! Can Avery get Razza off?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Avery Flowers was sitting on a bench near the CentreLink on Bulumbaga Road. It was a bright and sunny arvo, but the gray squat building in front of Avery gave the moment a dismal and bleak air. The architecture of it exuded an aura of dull-edged banality. Craggy bogans bustled in and out of CentreLink, interspersed with a few elderly schmucks and a disabled man accompanied by a nurse. There must have been a separate employee entrance and exit, Avery thought, because he didn’t see anyone who worked here.
He was just waiting for the bus anyway. He had ended up missing it by two minutes, so now he had most of an hour to wait for the next one. The bus station was as empty as the wide open Outback, and the seat Avery had chosen was uncomfortable on his ass. He moved to a different one, but that was somehow worse.
That’s when he heard a fight break out. It was down in the car park. First, he heard a bunch of gruff macho shouting, vowels extending broadly like sunbeams, consonants clipped — he couldn’t make out the words, but he could make out the accent.
They were bogans, fighting.
“You bloody tosser, get off me!”
“Razza, you prick-“
“Where’d you go last night, huh, mate?”
“Why’d you hit me-?”
He made out the names Shane and Razza before he snuck down there to take a peek, and he definitely got the strong impression from the way they argued that they were brothers. You could always tell when it was brothers.
Razza was the shirtless one, wearing a bushranger hat. He was shorter than his brother, Shane, but thicker-built and heavily tattooed all over like a bikie — he wasn’t a bikie, though he used to own a motorcycle, he just had bikie-like tattoos because his bikie dad was also his tattoo artist. He had a heavy-footed way of carrying himself, like everything he did was a challenge aimed at an invisible sparring partner. His brother Shane was lankier, long-limbed and scruffy, sorta built like a muscular kultarr, and he only had one tattoo, of Uluru, on his shoulderblade — he didn’t get along with dad — and he had terrible teeth and a greasy mullet.
But they were both bogan as, and they were tanned to the color of sandstone.
They shouted and heaved as their sweat-glistening bodies tore into each other. The fight seemed half-real and half-playful, with punches interspersed with more casual smacks and winking slaps. They both wore short black shorts that showed off their powerful thighs, and Avery lost himself trying to see up those shorts to see if the brothers wore grundies or not. He couldn’t decide if the shorts were underpants or outerwear. They looked like rugby shorts but so thin and flimsy they couldn’t be used in actual rugby, they’d get ripped to bits in seconds.
“Don’t pull my hair, mate, that makes you a bitch-“
“Get off me, you little ratbag, Razza! I’ll smash your teeth in!”
Razza’s superior thickness and powerful arms gave him an advantage though, and his shortness wasn’t much of a hindrance. He finally landed a powerful blow to Shane’s belly, knocking him to the ground. Shane groaned and clutched his belly. It did not look like he was surprised to get knocked over — Razza was taller and stronger for sure, and he looked older, so it had probably always been true that Razza could and did beat up Shane.
“Who’s the petrol-sniffing ratbag now?!” Razza took off one of his thongs and slapped his brother in the face. He laughed like this was all a big prank — he had looked serious moments ago, but now that he was the winner, he joked and smacked his brother with his thong.
Wrinkling his nose, Shane slapped the thong out of his face. “Get your fuckin’ thong off me, you abo bastard-“
“You better pay me for that fuckin’ petrol!” Razza said, having to pause for a moment to remember what this fight was even about.
He had loaned Shane his car, a vintage Holden he’d been restoring for years, to drive to his job last night. That should have been a five-kilometer trip in total. But an entire tank of petrol had gone missing, a fact that Razza only realized when he came here to CentreLink to see his case manager. His Holden had barely puttered into the car park.
Shane came later in the day to see his own case manager as well, and Razza was here waiting for him. Shane backed away, ripping his shirt off, ready to have a go at Razza, because it had been obvious from the beginning that Razza was looking for a fight.
That happened a lot. The Malley brothers were known throughout their suburb for fighting each other, and anyone else available. Razza pumped his fists after beating his brother down and didn’t even notice Avery there watching. Razza was glad to win because his brother had called him a racial slur — an Abo. Though Shane and Razza were brothers, Razza claimed to be Aboriginal (1/32 Gadigal clan) and Shane claimed to be descended from convict stock. Both found each other’s claims spurious and worth brawling over. Avery strongly suspected neither were correct. In their defense, Shane and Razza likely had different, unknown fathers, so it was hard to have any confidence in their heritage.
“Come hit me then, fight me like a man-“
“I just beat your ass!” Razza shouted, feinting forward, his broad chest greasy with old sweat. It made his tattoos glisten. “Remember? Like two seconds ago?”
“You hit me with your thong, that’s not a beating-“
“Bullshit, you little drongo, I’ll do it again-“
“You are such a moron!” Shane gestured towards the CentreLink building, where a crowd of people had stopped to watch. One person — Avery — came close enough to hear. Shane and Razza were both momentarily self-conscious, then smiled broadly and stamped their feet. Shane wiped the trickle of blood off his nose.
“You wasted a whole tank of petrol!”
“She wanted to root, man! I drove to her place in Gagamazoo!”
Razza threw another punch. “Why didn’t you pick me up? I’d bone that root-rat, mate! We were gonna do donuts today! We were talking about it — right before you went to work, we decided we were gonna kill a case of goddamn stubbies and do-“
“Hey, guys, you know they’re calling the police?” Avery said. He cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Shane and Razza exchanged glances and rolled their eyes. Razza looked to the white van Shane had come here in — a work van. Shane was a tradie — so was Razza, technically, but he had been suspended for punching his supervisor. Shane went right to the driver’s seat, and Razza to the passenger’s side as though he was going to get in.
“No, rack off, mate,” Shane said. “I’m not supposed to have anyone else in the van. It’s a rule-“
“Go fuck yourself, mate-” Razza said. He opened the passenger-side door, only for Shane to reach across and pull the door shut. He locked it.
“You galah! Open the door!”
“No way! Rack off, I said!” Shane shouted, the sound muffled by the shut door of the van. He started the engine. He flicked off his brother through the window.
“Oh, fuck you!” Razza shouted from the other side of the van. He had one of his thongs in hand, smacking the van on the side of it when Shane drove away. “You stupid asshole, Shane!” Razza stood there, glowering at Avery. He waved his thong in Avery’s direction. “What do you want?”
Avery shrugged. “I’ll jack you off.”
“What?”
“You need a ride out of here, right? Let me jack you off. I’ll use my mouth, I’m real good. I can swallow anything,” Avery said, and he sucked on one finger to demonstrate. “I’ll swallow your cum-“
“You’re American?”
Avery nodded.
“And you, what, walk around Australia jerking off men?”
“Kinda.” Avery shrugged. “I also visited the National Wool Museum.”
Razza scoffed.
“Once I jack you off, I’ll give you a ride, let you do some donuts in my car and buy you a slab of beer,” Avery said.
Razza heard sirens off in the distance. He laughed but covered up the anxiety in his laughter with a macho chuckle as though he got propositioned like this all the time. He shrugged. “Yeah. Where’s your car?”
He scoffed when he saw the tiny Kia. “I can barely fit my dick in this thing, mate,” he said as he got in. “Doin’ donuts’ll wreck this car’s suspension to fuck and back. Could blow out the tyres too.” He had to adjust the driver’s seat so he could fit, hurrying when the sirens got closer. Avery sat in the passenger seat.
“I don’t care, it’s a rental,” Avery said. He blushed. He knew he sounded like a wealthy jerk — he was going to have to pay to fix the transmission one way or another — but he couldn’t help it. He could afford it.
“Well, shit… Let’s do some circlework! I chucked a sicky to blodge off for the day, so me and my brother were gonna hoon all day. I know a great spot, a dirt road you’d never know it’s there unless you knew it was there. We can stop for stubbies on the way,” Razza said. He was hesitant to really go at it in his own Holden — he’d replaced the suspension several times because of hooning it. He could do it again, but it was an expensive and time-consuming hassle, so he tried to avoid it. If this weird American stranger was willing to wreck a rental, he could do that.
Even if it was a Kia.
He headed away from CentreLink at top speed before the police could arrive. He sped to the bottle-o a few kilometers away.
Avery went in and bought stubbies of Carlton Draught. He was already hot and horny because Razza’s shirtless body had filled the Kia up with his musk. It occurred to Avery only then that he shouldn’t have left Razza out there with the keys and the car. He could drive away anytime. Razza would lose the beer Avery was buying, but he’d gain a rental car he could do donuts in and then sell for parts. Avery’s heart quickened. He peered into the car park. Razza was still there, showing no signs of leaving. Avery paid for the beer.
When he got out there, Razza popped the boot, and Avery plopped the stubbies of beer in there.
“Later, mate!” That was when Razza stole the car.
After Avery put the beer in the boot.
He guffawed and slapped his hand on the roof of the Kia. Then Razza sped out of the bottle-o’s car park, and Avery watched the Kia disappear down the road. Razza whooped and hollered like a cowboy, loud enough for Avery to hear from back at the Dan Murphy’s.
So Razza did steal the beer after all. Avery had been right to be nervous, he was just off on his timing.
Not sure what else to do, Avery simply walked away. He could have called the police. He’d have to eventually, or the car-rental place would accuse him of stealing it. But he didn’t feel like dealing with an Australian cop right now — they were all knobs and dumber than dirt, as useless as a kangaroo’s crib. So he decided to tell them that his cell phone’s battery was dead, which it very nearly was, so that was why he didn’t call them right away. He opened up a game app that drained battery quickly.
He just walked down the road. He wasn’t even sure where he was going. He didn’t know how to get back to his hotel, or the CentreLink, from here.
He saw a dirt road that came right off the main road. It was unmarked. It was indeed, as Razza had said, tucked in amongst some trees such that, if you didn’t know it was there, you’d never see it. It was around the bend of a curve.
It sure looked like that was the road Razza had described, and just beyond the copse of trees on the hill where the dirt road met the paved road, there was a big dry dusty spot, like someone had clear-cut the area to build houses and then never built them. A chorus of birds sang in the trees that lined the edge of the property, beyond which was a dense forest.
That looked right. You could do donuts down there, Avery thought. Razza had said something about “circlework”, which meant doing donuts on dirt in order to create circles on the ground and kick up a circular cloud of dust in the air.
Sure enough, when Avery got beyond the trees, he could see down the hill. There was his Kia, doing donuts, dust kicking up in a grand tornado that filled the air, reaching almost all the way to where Avery stood.
He wrinkled his nose and walked down the hill.
He got almost all the way down when the car stopped. He heard Razza cursing inside the car, swerving all over because he was trying to squash a spider that had just bit him. When he either killed it or lost track of it, he focused more on the donuts, building up a huge whirlwind of ocher-laden dirt.
Avery shouted, “Hey! You mongrel! Get out of there! That’s my damn car! You stole my car!”
Razza opened the door and smiled broadly at him. A smile on his face really accentuated how dirty he was — plus he stood on the threshold to the car before the dust had settled, so a layer of it clung to his sweaty skin, giving him a tan coat. He had tied an Australian flag to his shoulder at some point since stealing the car, and it fluttered in the breeze his circlework had kicked up.
“You followed me? Good on ya, mate!”
“Okay, fuck you, Razza, for the following reasons,” Avery said. He wagged his finger at the dust-tan Australian, a burntwire for sure, though a powerfully built one. “First, fuck you just because. Second, fuck you for stealing my car. Third, fuck you for stealing my beer. Fourth, fuck you for not letting me jack you off. Fifth, fuck you for being a goddamn cunt-“
“What? You ratbag-?”
“Shut the hell up — the only part of our deal you welshed on was the part where your dick has to work. What’s up with that? What’s wrong with your pecker?”
“Awwwwww.…” Razza groaned. He knew perfectly well that this weird American was trying to goad him into it. With a sneer, he ate macadamia nuts from a baggie of scroggin. “Americans are a bunch of pansies, mate.”
“If you had asked if you could steal the car, I’d have said you could take it. I’d give you a couple hours before I called the police,” Avery said. “You were scared to get jacked off, weren’t you? You don’t know how to root-“
“I am not scared of shit, mate!” Razza was annoyed with himself for giving in. It was obvious that Avery just wanted his dick. But he couldn’t resist pulling it out to prove it worked. He lowered his trousers enough to heft out his massive cock in both hands, and he flopped it between his fingers. He was glad it was a warm day because his cock hadn’t shrunk at all.
Avery smiled inwardly but got back in the passenger-seat of the car in a huff. He glared at Razza, who sat back behind the wheel.
“I’ve always wanted to jack someone off while they did donuts,” Avery said. “That’s all. So I was pissed you tried to cheat me-“
“Aw, don’t be a shit, mate,” Razza said. “You’re still whinging about that?” He whacked his dick against his palm as he started the engine again. “You’re not gonna bite down if I go spinning or a tyre blows out, will you?”
Avery bent over and put the tip of Razza’s dick in his mouth. “No promises. Don’t blow out.” With a moan of desire that he bit back Avery swallowed his root to the root, slurping down the dust that had settled on his cock. It tasted filthy, but warm, inviting, sunny, and a little coppery. Avery could even taste the gritty bitterness of brick, which presumably came from Razza’s career as a brickie. Avery wondered if he still tasted like that because he hadn’t washed since then, or if the flavor had seeped into his flesh.
“Crikey!” Razza said with a whoop and a holler.
He put his foot on the accelerator and turned the wheel, struggling to turn it hard enough with Avery’s head in his crotch. It was disconcerting enough that he barely even noticed what his dick felt like at first. He was too focused on the driving and making sure he didn’t jostle Avery so much he bit down. Avery’s mouth was warm and moist, and it felt right but somehow not right, so Razza just let it sit there, getting battered by Avery’s tongue.
But then, at last, a shiver of pleasure ran up Razza’s spine, and his dick twitched. His hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel.
“Aaaaaah, shit!” Razza whooped. He wished his brother was here to see this, but it was too late now. He’d have to tell him about it later. He’d say it had been a female on his cock, of course. Shane wouldn’t believe that, but he wouldn’t be able to disprove it either, since Razza was going to be coming home with stubbies and a shitty old Kia. Shane wouldn’t be able to explain where he got that.
It was stiffening up fast now. Razza cried out as the car whipped around in circles, the wind picking up and flopping his hair in front of his eyes. Razza gripped the steering wheel hard. Surges of sensations flowed up his body, but it felt very distant, like he was watching somebody else get jerked off. When he did focus on it, he had to admit the creepy American was damn good at it — he went all the way down, deeper than any woman ever had.
His dick was rock-hard now. It was happening very fast. Razza moaned and groaned, slamming his fists on the dashboard. It ended up not being very good circlework because he was distracted, but still, it was exciting enough, and it left him dizzy in a giant cloud of dust all around him.
“Oh shit, mate…” Razza’s voice broke, making him laugh with embarrassment. He felt his orgasm coming on and was sure he would run into the ditch he had been avoiding — he was dizzy and distracted and no longer sure where the Kia was in relation to the ditch. It would be too easy for Avery to be startled and bite down if the car slid into the ditch.
So he stopped the car, realizing only as he did, placing one hand on Avery’s head to push him deeper, that it had happened — one of the tyres blew out. He was no longer going that fast, so the car just drifted in a wild, careening circle until at last, it came a stop.
A full quivering stop, with Razza’s foot slammed onto the brake-pedal. “Aw, mate, goddamn — shit-” He jacked in his breath, now aware that he had been close to orgasm for a few seconds, only delaying it because the situation had been so exciting.
He held onto Avery by the back of the head and pistoned his hips up, throating Avery’s face in a way not many girls let him do. It was awkward to do so crammed between the driver’s seat and the steering wheel, especially in this tiny Korean car. His heart still raced like the car was still careening, and Razza was too intensely focused on the ecstasy arising from his crotch to even process that the car was no longer in motion.
“Aah, shit, good on ya, hell! Ooooh, ah, shit, mate!” Razza cried out. He closed his eyes, both hands on Avery’s head so he could stop deep-throating every inch of Razza’s sensitive meat.
But Razza was too close to cumming to let himself be interrupted by stepping out of the car, or even rolling the window down or putting it in park so he could take his foot off the brake.
All of his concentration went to jamming his dick all the way down Avery’s choking throat. Avery loved being throat-abused more than anything, and he was good at it, so he swallowed every bit of Razza’s uncut shaft.
“Shit, mate, get deep on it, goddamn!” Razza moaned again, slamming his hand on the dashboard. A few drops of cum spurted into Avery’s mouth and ran down his gullet. “Aw, there I go mate-” He was tense, veins pulsating on the side of his ruddy head and his neck. His orgasm looked almost painful.
Finally it came, great gobs of creamy hot cum spurting into Avery’s throat and down to his belly. Razza kept on spewing more and more, and even he looked surprised by the amount. He kept a tight grip on Avery’s head, the scent of his bogan sweat filling the air once more now that the dust was beginning to dissipate.
“Aww…”
It was salty and warm, intensely flavorful, thick and creamy, coating his throat like a melted milk bar. A vast jet of it flooded Avery’s mouth, followed by another. Razza seemed to shoot huge loads, more than Avery was expecting,a nd it overflowed, soaking into Razza’s crotch. Avery couldn’t swallow it all because his mouth was filled with raunchy bogan foreskin, and the dust that had settled there made him cloggy and coughy anyway.
But he didn’t mind — Avery liked to make a mess. He swallowed what he could, but the rest spilled out and soaked into Razza’s pubic hair.
Razza groaned at the mess, but even he had to admit he liked it better that way. A sloppy blowjob was better than a clean one. And anyway, having a wet spot in his crotch was going to make this story seem more believable when he told his brother that it was a woman who gave him a car to suck his dick.
“Well, damn, mate, you made a big mess,” Razza said with a chuckle. He patted Avery on the head, and Avery lifted off. “You-“
The Kia jolted forward and slid into a ditch.
They were both so startled they yelped and nearly jumped out of the car. But all that had happened was Razza took his foot off the brake, forgetting that it was on a slight incline, leading into that ditch, and that he had never put it in park. So it rolled right in, nose first.
“Fuck!” Avery shouted as he bumped into the dashboard. He rolled out into the muddy ditch, covered in cum and dust and now, mud. He was still savoring the flavor of Razza’s jizz, and now remnants of it mixed with the dirt on his face.
Razza laughed as he climbed out. He was already dirty, so it was hard to even tell. He looked at the Kia — one tyre blown out, end in the ditch, who-knew-what-else wrong with it.
“You were right. I would have totally bit your dick if that happened when it was in my mouth,” Avery said. He blushed. “Car’s totaled.”
“Wanna walk with me back to that Dan Murphy? There’s a grocery store there too,” Razza said. “I’m hungry. Buy me some snags and lammingtons.”
“Yeah, okay,” Avery said. He shrugged. “I don’t know what those are, but fine.” He wondered if he’d be able to get Razza’s brother before leaving. “Hmmm… I’ll call the car-rental place in awhile.” Avery was not going to enjoy paying whatever they ended up charging him for this.
But, he thought, it had all been worth it. Razza’s delicious manhood almost made up for the boring-ass National Wool Museum.
Rob’s trip to Italy is interrupted by a handsome stud, Giuseppe, who’s got a bevy of married ladies on the side but also a need for someone to service his throbbing Italian manhood. Can Rob rise to the task?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
His name was Giuseppe Colombo. He leaned against his Vespa, his shaggy black hair, slicked back but still a tangled mess, running almost to his shoulder. He sipped from an espresso, then tossed it into a nearby trash can. Rob Winthrop watched from across the street, waiting for the perfect opportunity to talk to the hunky man with the Roman nose and the handsome mug. Rob appreciated the male form, and he was in Italy right now, looking for the perfect specimen of Italian manhood.
And he just might have found it. His name was Giuseppe Colombo, and Rob geared up to approach him.
But it was obvious that Giuseppe waited for someone, and that someone was almost certainly a female. Rob gathered that from the anticipative yet flirtatious look on his face. He would not be receptive to any advances now.
Sure enough, she showed up moments later. Her name was Sterpeta Buticularo. She was stunningly gorgeous, dark-skinned, dark-haired, tough-eyed and thick-lipped. She came striding down the street in heels and a slinky dress that was entirely too fancy for an ordinary day out. She looked like a mafioso’s wife, Rob thought, and she attracted the eye of the other men on the street. It looked like some would have hooted at her if not for Giuseppe, whose come-hither eyes simmered darkly.
And some did hoot at the way she shimmied her ass as she walked.
“Ehi, bellissima, vieni a parlare con me!”
“Tuo padre è un ladro, ha rubato le stelle e te le ha messe negli occh!”
Giuseppe nodded and puffed on a cigarette. The woman straightened her back as though to dare onlookers to catcall at her. But Giuseppe just nodded at her, and he glowered.
The silenzio between them was gravida and crescente.
Then she kissed him, and he swooned, bending her over in his arms. Sterpeta clutched at his powerful shoulders and pulled on his shirt, revealing some of his coarse black chest hair. Giuseppe showed her something in the satchel he had slung around his scooter — Rob saw a bottle of wine and a block of cheese: makings of a picnic.
They spoke then, passionately, words of love or ire or both, Rob suspected, words dripping with intensity — arguing their love or loving their discord, he could not tell. He did not hear their parola, however, because of the Italian folk band coming down the avenue. They were lean men in white shirts with the sleeves rolled up and navy blue trousers, dancing in sync to an upbeat tarantella they played on tambourines. Three older men, more distinguished, with flecks of gray in their dense heads of hair, accompanied them on mandolin, guitar and accordion.
The music was loud, and, to Rob, pleasing. He was distracted by Giuseppe and his woman, however, who scowled at first as they were interrupted by the musicians. Then Giuseppe took her hand in his. He placed his things on the back of the motorcycle, and she coquettishly took his hand.
Her shyness vanished as soon as the dance began. It was rhythmic and fluid and more than a bit sexy — Rob had eyes only for Giuseppe, but the girl attracted a crowd of her own. They kissed and stroked, reaching between each other’s legs, clutching each other’s asses and even, Rob was fairly certain, some light fingering when Giuseppe slipped a hand underneath her dress and she audibly moaned.
A couple of the buttons of Giuseppe’s shirt ripped off too, and that fur-dappled caramel chest made Rob moan along with Giuseppe’s girlfriend. Giuseppe sang then, in florid Italian, his booming voice echoing among the ancient, crumbling plaster of the Roman cityscape.
All of the cittadini who watched burst into laughter, clapping along with the band. They danced too, in singles and pairs, even trios. Men danced with women, women danced with women, men danced with men. Rob blushed because he stood out, the only one in the square not dancing.
The only words of Giuseppe’s song that Rob was able to discern was the repeated line: la ragazza con gli occhi come l’alba. He didn’t know what it meant (ragazza was girl, he knew that much), but he suspected it was a popular song, or adapted from it — the others sang along.
Then a man offered his hand to Rob, blushing, as some other men laughed and cheered him on. The man, Ettore, said, “Vuoi ballare con me, mio caro ragazzo?” It was apparent his friends had got him to ask Rob to dance as a dare or a bet.
But Rob batted his eyes and nodded as girlishly as he could. This particular uomo wasn’t alluring like Giuseppe — he wasn’t ugly, he was a chef, with bits of uncooked pasta stuck in his beard hairs, in a sleeveless apron with a sleeveless shirt underneath, his big meaty arms tufted in fur.
He twirled Rob, swooned him in his arms and then even kissed him on the lips as the other dancers stopped to watch. When he was done, both the pasta chef and Rob blushed as red as a pomodoro imbarazzato. Rob hugged his thick, firm back as the music died down.
The tarantella band continued on. Rob was still excited. He had thought this was going to continue. He hoped to dance with Giuseppe and run his fingers through his hair.
But no, it was finito, and Giuseppe had his girl over his Vespa, locking lips, like they wanted to drive away but couldn’t stop kissing. Finally he pulled off her lips.
They looked into her eyes, and he spoke, his smooth voice like cigar smoke. Rob was close enough to hear now. He said, “Ho bisogno di te” and her whole back undulated as though she was about to orgasm right there on the sidewalk.
She hopped onto the scooter behind him, holding onto his denim jacket. Rob didn’t think they made denim jackets like that anymore. The shirt he wore underneath it was incongruously fashionable, he thought, and looked expensive — made out of silk, it was a rich violet that seeped into the dark blue of his jacket. A gold chain glimmered around his neck, the crucifix on his chest ensconced in the kinky black hairs that escaped from under the shirt.
But he sighed too. As long as a female was on the scene, Rob had no chance of securing a taste of Giuseppe’s manhood. Rob had been watching because Giuseppe seemed to be sleeping around with multiple women, many of them married — including, Rob was fairly certain, this one — so he figured sooner or later, Giuseppe would get dumped by all of them when his lies caught up to him.
The scooter had barely moved an inch when it stopped short. A different, older Italian man stood in front of it.
“Sei con mia moglie, stronzo!”
All of a sudden, bedlam erupted. Rob eventually deduced that that second man — who was kind of a warm daddy-type, with a mustache and a bit of a belly — was Sterpeta’s husband. Giuseppe and the woman argued with each other as well as the man, and Rob wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the woman had said she had separated from the man, so Giuseppe felt this was not his fault?
Rob spoke a little Italian, but they talked all together and way too fast for Rob to understand very much of it. It was booming and loud, hands flying to make florid gestures. It didn’t seem they could possibly be understanding each other because they spoke over each other, bellowing, and even the woman’s voice somehow outshone the mens’s.
The men started shoving each other. The woman slapped her husband, then Giuseppe. The husband seemed about to smack her back, but Giuseppe stopped him. The men came to blows. They nearly knocked over an espresso machine attached to a nearby street vendor’s cart, but the vendor pulled his cart away at the last moment.
And then, somehow, it was all over. Giuseppe’s jacket was in the street, his hair a mess, a trickle of blood down his chin, a tear in his silk shirt revealing a toned, hairy chest. Giuseppe shouted something in Italian as the man left, screaming his own list of obscenities that Rob couldn’t hope to follow. The woman was in tow. She and Giuseppe exchanged florid words, which Rob gathered were just a string of insults on either end.
Giuseppe was left alone, his jacket in ruins and his shirt not much better. He scowled and took it off. His bronzed body made Rob’s dick stir.
It had all taken only a few moments, and the folks who had just minutes ago spontaneously danced the tarantella together now all ignored the exchange, as though non era successo niente. Rob was the only one who seemed shocked.
This, he thought, was the perfect opportunity. He walked right up to Giuseppe and spoke in English. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Rob.”
Giuseppe nodded and furrowed his brow. “What do you-uh want-uh?” His hands gestured in the direction he was about to go in. His English was not very good, but it was better than Rob’s rudimentary Italian.
“I wanted to offer you money. I’m sorry your woman left you-“
“It is, uh, none-uh of your business-uh,” he said. “She is a… A… how do you say?… Hor-ay? La prostituta?”
“Whore.”
“Whore-uh, si. She is a whore-uh.” Giuseppe spat on the ground and motioned away from himself. “It is good-uh to be away with her, yes? For her is now-uh gone?”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess so,” Rob said.
Giuseppe grabbed his dick through his jeans, which Rob guessed was — like the now-ruined shirt — worth a lot of money. A few beads of sweat shimmered on Giuseppe’s chest. “You-uh will offer-uh money-uh?”
Rob blushed. He had forgotten to actually ask because he was imagining the taste of Giuseppe’s chest hair.
“Do you want to cornhole me? I’ll give you five hundred euros and all you have to do is lie there, I’ll do-“
“You will have me-uh become-uh a prostituta like her? A whore-uh? I will not do this for any five-uh hundred-uh of euros, I want not your filthy whore-uh money-uh!” He shouted and waved his hands about above Rob’s head. Since he was shirtless, Rob was too entranced by his broad chest and thick black hair to be scared he would be violent. He licked his lips. He knew Giuseppe would do this for the right price, it was just a matter of finding it.
Rob giggled. “A thousand euros.”
Giuseppe was silent for a moment. “Si.” His anger was gone. He clasped Rob on the shoulder, then let go when he realized Rob was aroused, then put his arm back more gingerly. Rob smiled and kissed his bare shoulder. Giuseppe blushed. “Come on then-uh. I know a place, it is good for the making-uh of love, yes-uh. We can do also the dick-uh, si.”
Rob got on the back of his scooter, smiling because he got to ride up behind Giuseppe, gripping his chest and belly and even laying his face against the sweat-dappled muscle of his bare shoulder blades. Giuseppe drove off, weaving in and out of traffic as he headed out of Rome.
At first Rob was so engrossed in the firm meat of Giuseppe’s back and the hair on his chest where Rob’s hands snaked around that he didn’t notice how Giuseppe careened blindly through the streets of Rome. He went through parking lots and on sidewalks, weaving across lanes and even ignored a uniformed police officer who attempted to wave him down.
Relief flooded Rob when they finally left Rome, and the urban streets gave way to suburbs and then dense wooded glens and ponds among the septet of rolling hills around the city. He slowed down finally then, even though the roads were empty and he could have sped up.
When Rob pulled his face away from Giuseppe’s back, there was a layer of his sweat there, and it tasted bitterly of olive oil. He ran his fingers through Giuseppe’s hair too, until Giuseppe swatted his hand away.
The place he went was a vineyard a few miles outside of the city. He drove his scooter to a dirt road and down to an abandoned wooden shack. There was a big vat in it and a sour smell that was not exactly pleasant, but somehow smelled good to Rob.
“It is… how do you say… Aceto… it is wine, but it has spoiled?” Giuseppe said when he got off the Vespa.
“Vinegar?”
“Si, si, vinegar-uh, yes,” Giuseppe said. Rob had to smile — he would have never guessed what Giuseppe meant if he had said vinegar as he pronounced it: vweeneggerruh.
Rob placed the smell now. It was the scent of fine vinegar, wafting from that vat. The aroma was rich and heady, filling his nostrils with warmth. Through the slats in the side of the building, Rob could see rows upon rows of grape vines that stretched off over the sunny hills surrounding this barn.
The scent disappeared suddenly, replaced by acrid cigarette smoke. Giuseppe took a deep drag. He offered one to Rob, who declined at first, then thought when in Rome… and took it. He smoked for years but had quit eleven years ago. So when he lit it, he coughed a few times, earning a harsh scornful stare from Giuseppe, and then was momentarily struck dizzy by the rush of nicotine.
Ah, he loved smoking. Il fumo di sigaretta è il più alto risultato di aria!
For a moment, Rob basked in the warmth of the cigarette smoke. Giuseppe uncorked the wine he had brought for the picnic. He took a long drink from it and passed it wordlessly to Rob, who drank as well. It was fine wine, thick and unctuous on his tongue. It was red, very dark, mysterious and full-bodied, possessing il sapore di mille fasci di oscurità.
“Come-uh here,” Giuseppe said. His voice firm but kind. He led Rob to a grassy spot, where they sat together. The smell of grape-blossoms filled the air, mixing with the heady profumo del vino. Giuseppe smiled nervously. “Do you think I am handsome-uh?” His voice was smooth like a buttery pasta sauce, and it hung low in the air, resonating in Rob’s ear.
Rob blushed. He took a deep drag from the cigarette. He nodded. “You’re real handsome.”
Giuseppe leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Then in one smooth motion, he wrapped Rob up in one arm and laid him on the ground. The wooden floor of the barn scratched at his back.
Rob wasn’t used to being seduced like this. It happened so fast there was a certain instinctual need to protect himself, and he squealed, clutching at Giuseppe’s powerful arms.
Once he was on the ground and didn’t feel like he was falling anymore, Rob kissed Giuseppe on the lips. Giuseppe was slightly hesitant. Rob only really got cornholed by alpha males, who did not normally kiss him, certainly not as part of a passionate make-out session.
But Giuseppe had never been with a woman he didn’t “seduce”. Even when it was obvious early on that she was going to let him have sex with her, Giuseppe always went through the motions of rubbing her shoulders or feet or taking her out on a picnic or doing whatever it took to seduce her. It just felt right to him. Making love to a woman he barely knew, or making love to a woman he did know but doing it in a quick and dirty way just made Giuseppe feel like a filthy manwhore.
He didn’t want to feel like that, and he didn’t want his women to feel like that either. Giuseppe had no experience making love in any other way.
So he let Rob kiss him on the lips. Then he let Rob kiss a trail down his chest. That was weird for Giuseppe — he usually took the lead with his women, and he was the one who showered the other with kisses. It was strange and even a bit ticklish, he thought, to let a man do it.
But soon Giuseppe was laying on the ground, feeling the barn floor beneath his back, as Rob took his handsome uncut cock out and put the tip in his mouth. He looked up at Giuseppe, who made eye contact with him and moaned. Rob cooed in desire at those deep, dark soulful eyes il colore dell’ombra del carbone.
“Succhi il cazzo, per favore, ho bisogno della tua bocca su di me!” Giuseppe let out a moan. Rob couldn’t decide if Giuseppe was still being seductive or not. He had a feeling Giuseppe told girls he loved them all the time when he seduced them, and he was fighting back the urge to say that now out of pure habit.
And he popped the rest of his dick into his mouth, deep-throating him the best he could. Giuseppe was uncut, which Rob thought was hot. He rammed his head all the way down, ingoiare ogni parte della sua virilità virile, figuring that Giuseppe had never been deep-throated like that.
That was true, Giuseppe spent most of his love-making sessions licking his partners’ womanhoods — assaporando il sapore della femminilità and using his tongue to bring them the beatitudine assoluta. That was how a woman could be truly seduced, not just physically, but emotionally e spiritualmente too. He could make her his if he sucked on her pussy in just the right way.
Giuseppe found himself experiencing an orgasm more intense than he thought possible. Without even realizing he was doing it, he had grabbed Rob’s head and held on. He slammed his dick into Rob’s mouth, all the way in, deep into his spasming throat.
“Si, you are-uh… You have-uh…” Giuseppe rolled his eyes as a spasm of pleasure ran up his spine. “You have a mouth-uh, it is made of silk-uh, yes, si? I am, uh, how do you say… in love with your mouth.” He smiled down at Rob and wiped away the moisture that ran down Rob’s cheeks.
The taste of his cock got Rob as hard as a conchiglia too. Giuseppe’s cock tasted, like his sweat, of olive oil and sunlight. It was the tastiest cock Rob had ever mouthed. He relaxed his throat and trusted Giuseppe to make sweet love to his throat until that hairy ballsac slapped against Rob’s chin.
Eventually even Rob needed to take a break, and he pulled away from Giuseppe’s cock. It twitched and leaked precum down the shaft, while Giuseppe’s hairy chest muscles all flexed at once.
“Baciami. Voglio assaporare il mio amore sulle tue labbra,” Giuseppe said. He gently but firmly grabbed Rob and brought his face up to meet Giuseppe’s. Again, Rob never thought Giuseppe would kiss him so much, but he didn’t even seem to mind sucking his own precum off Rob’s face. He planted his lips right on Rob’s, and Rob swooned.
“Will you stick it in me now? Please? I need your cock!” Rob yelled out, begging as he bent over on all fours.
Giuseppe’s dick throbbed above his face, while Rob still hoarsely tried to recover his breath. He kissed every inch of Giuseppe’s thighs and sucked on his body hair, and even his balls while Giuseppe recovered from his orgasm, ignoring his question.
“Yes, I am ready0uh now,” Giuseppe said, when he had regained his composure. Those deep brown eyes were so big Rob lost himself in them, wordlessly craving another kiss, which Giuseppe provided. “I will make-uh sweet and sugared-uh love upon you, my darling-uh.”
Giuseppe enjoyed the lovestruck look on Rob’s face — it felt just as victorious and triumphant as when he made a woman look like that. He had conquered Rob just as he had conquered so many females e li sedusse completamente. Giuseppe stared at his own spit-dripping cock, waiting for himself to calm down enough that he could stick it in without blowing his load right away. He gave it one stroke with his own hand and groaned. He had never felt so horny. He just wanted to get his cock back in a tight, moist hole, and he didn’t care whose.
“I will make-uh you feel like-uh… how do you say?… A hundred-uh dollars-uh!” Giuseppe tried to say that with a cowboy accent, like John Wayne, but it wasn’t very good and Rob didn’t even notice that he was affecting an accent.
Giuseppe decided he was ready as Rob displayed his bare ass and spread his cheeks — which Giuseppe assumed Rob did only because he was so turned on by Giuseppe’s John Wayne impression.
Keeping a firm, flat smile on his face, Giuseppe gulped but pretended not to be nervous. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t pervy if he was on top — if Giuseppe weren’t so successful with married women, he’d have probably done this multiple times by now, so really, he thought, his lack of practice signified that he was more manly than those mafiosi and thugs who did it on a regular basis. Giuseppe tried to convince himself of that, unsuccessfully, as he blushed and awkwardly wedged his cock between Rob’s cheeks.
He took a deep breath. Before he could start plowing, Rob turned his head and kissed Giuseppe on the lips once more.
“Stick it in me!” Rob said, desperate for it to begin.
“I will-uh enter-uh you now. You will feel-uh much of the pleasure-uh…”
By now, Giuseppe was so aroused to begin with that he kissed back without a second thought — on the mouth this time, with tongue, and with his hands caressing Rob’s body where his tits would be if he had any. He plunged his tongue between Rob’s lips. His arms caressed Rob’s body and spread his asscheeks.
A jolt of pain shot up Rob’s spine, but it lasted only a moment, just long enough to bring the pleasure it came with to the forefront of Rob’s spine. It had been a long time since any man made him feel like this. He wanted to both cry and beg for more allo stesso tempo. He clutched Giuseppe’s well-muscled forearm for support.
Rob quivered just like a girl did when she wanted to get fucked so bad she could taste it. Giuseppe grinned. He loved bringing girls to this state, and, it seemed, he was so sexy he could do it to a man too. Giuseppe thought he should be famous on account of being so prestante.
“Vedi, io sono l’ultimo amante del mondo.”
He slid his dick in. When Rob let out a long, loud moan, Giuseppe again assumed his dick was exceptional and that that was why it felt so good to Rob. He smiled with pride as Rob’s whole body writhed beneath him, and Giuseppe could see the pressure and agony turn to bliss as his dick teased Rob’s prostate.
“Ah, si… Open your bottom-uh…” Giuseppe crooned into Rob’s ear, making Rob cringe and moan. “I will fill you up with love-uh…”
Rob was on all fours, so he couldn’t jack himself off because he used both hands for support. But he could lift his head and lean back, so he could kiss Giuseppe as he got rear-ended. Giuseppe supported his chest with one arm, giving Giuseppe perfect access while making Rob unable to do more than writhe in sync with his penetration.
Actually there was one other thing Rob could do, as his desire to cum built up to explosive levels: He grabbed Giuseppe’s hand and brought it to his cock.
Giuseppe didn’t hesitate. He didn’t know if a reacharound was a normal macho thing to do or not. Probably not, he thought as his hands wrapped around Rob’s shaft. Almost certainly not.
But in the heat of the moment, it seemed decente. Giuseppe was bragging to himself about how much pleasure he was bringing Rob, so it made sense. He had heard men in prison talk of pleasing their “prison wives” with a reacharound, and in the Italian military, officers were allowed to ram at recruits so long as they gave a reacharound (or so the rumors suggested). Giuseppe thought it might be normal in America too. It might even, he decided, be something John Wayne would do.
So he did it. He gripped Rob’s cockshaft and stroked it, somewhat awkwardly because he had never done that, never even touched a limp dick besides his own, much less a stranger’s.
He might have lost his nerve to keep stroking if they hadn’t reached a climax moments later. As soon as he touched Rob’s dick, Rob’s prostate exploded within him, sending pangs of pleasure up Rob’s spine. Rob cried out and went back to all fours, but this time Giuseppe went with him, pounding away and stroking him off.
Rob shot his wad into the dirt, ending up on his side as Giuseppe plowed in with all his potenza. “Oh god!” Rob cried out. He dug his fingers into the soil, bringing up clods of dirt as the most intense orgasm of his life wracked his body.
Cum flowed within Rob, who sighed. He loved that feeling, a man’s heavy balls filling him up, the sensation of creamy cum seeping into his flesh. He became Giuseppe in that moment, as he felt his dick turn all moist and cummy, still rock-hard where it throbbed within Rob.
And then it was all over. Rob gasped for air. His own dick was done, and he felt his climax draining away. Giuseppe’s dick still shot the last few drops of cum before it too limpened inside him. Giuseppe didn’t pull out until then.
“Damn…” Rob said. He leaned back, spread-eagled, on the dirt.
Giuseppe kissed him on the lips once more, then stood. “That was good-uh, si? You will pay?”
Rob nodded. “Yeah. Hand me my pants.” Giuseppe did so, and Rob counted out the money: un migliaio di euro.
Giuseppe took the cash. “You are… You will be in Rome-uh for some time-uh?”
“No,” Rob said. He yawned and stood, stretching his legs before putting his clothes back on. “I’m leaving soon. I’m going back home, to America” He ignored Giuseppe’s annoyed expression — Giuseppe was not used to people breaking up with him. Giuseppe might lose interest, or a husband might come into the picture, or a woman might be forbidden by her father to see him, but Giuseppe was not dumped. That had literally never happened, and Giuseppe’s mind raced to comprehend it.
But Rob was ready to move on. He’d had his fill of Italy, and he was ready to return home.
Miles’s neighbor is a studly ladysman… and a foot fetishist! Maybe Miles’s feet will be dainty enough that Patrick can get off on them, resulting in a hardcore explosion of man-on-man action!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Patrick Tirian got in a lot of arguments with his many girlfriends. Miles heard all of it through the thin layer of plaster separating their apartments. It was like a soap opera that Miles couldn’t turn off. Part of his attraction to the story came from Patrick himself — he was ungodly arousing.
He was a tall man of Irish descent, with a trace of a Boston accent from his youth on the streets, though he had been living here in Providence for many years. He was square-jawed, broad-shouldered, thick-chested, trunk-thighed, covered in dense dark body hairs. He carried himself with a confident swagger.
It was obvious at a glance that he was unabashedly alpha, and he wasn’t monogamous, that was for sure. He had a retinue of slutty women who followed him around, not to mention several girlfriends that he juggled between. He was gone most nights, and he occasionally brought home girls who were good enough at sex to be worth cleaning up his bachelor pad for. But none of those serious relationships ever lasted very long.
That was the source of the constant fighting. Every few weeks some girl found out that Patrick was not monogamous, and never intended to be. Miles heard them all through the walls of the apartment building.
‘You think you’re some kinda playa, don’t you! You fuckin’ bastard!’
‘I ain’t nevuh tell you I was gonna be loyal, girl, I ain’t nevuh one time say that!’
‘You’re a real jerk! You’re a pervert too! You foot-loving asshole!’
Then he angrily shushed her. He called her a “stupid bitch”, but he said it as part of a low, rumbling hiss so those vitriolic words were the only parts Miles caught. Had he heard the term foot-loving correctly?
The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that the girl had said that Patrick was into feet. Miles had to smirk at the thought. He could picture Patrick’s big body licking some slut’s feet, and it made him laugh so hard he wondered if Patrick heard.
That was the end of that girl. She stormed out of there a few minutes later. She was stunningly gorgeous, in that ultra-slut way that made it clear she was going to be hideous by the time she was thirty. Miles watched her go, Patrick standing on the porch they shared wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.
When Patrick turned around to go back inside, he saw Miles looking at him. Patrick scowled and grabbed his crotch to conceal it, though he had the effect of outlining his cock, so he actually brought attention to it. He went back into his apartment, which was next door to Miles.
Over the next week, Patrick was not around that much. He spent time with his friends and fucked a black stripper named Rainbow, but he didn’t go on a date for the rest of the month. When he ran into Miles once and they talked, he implied that he wasn’t dating because he didn’t feel like it — he had a “lotta shit goin’ on right now”, he said.
But that wasn’t true. Miles could see it in his eyes. Patrick did not have a lot of shit going on. The only thing he had in his life was anonymous, tawdry sex, and he was in the midst of a dry spell.
On a Friday evening, Miles was startled by a knock at the door. Through the window, he saw Patrick there, looking chagrined, wearing the bright orange vest and dusty jeans of his job on a road crew.
“Hey,” Patrick said when Miles let him in.
“Hi, how you doin’?” Miles closed the door behind him, took a deep breath and tried not to look like a teenager with a crush.
Patrick grumbled like the answer was “bad” but he didn’t say anything. He just plopped down on the couch and sprawled out, legs spread so wide he took up the entire couch. A bulge was visible in his crotch through the cruddy jeans he had worn for days without washing, Miles was pretty sure, and the shirt he wore under his hi-vis vest was sweat-stained and unwashed as well. His face was reddish and dusty, dried sweat on his grizzled face. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and his eyes were deep-set, bloodshot and tired.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Miles had the feeling, for the first time, that he might be able to get a taste of Patrick’s meat. He clutched Patrick’s forearm and rubbed it supportively. His corded muscles tensed beneath Miles’s touch.
“I, uh… I ain’t been feelin’ good lately.” His deep voice rumbled. He avoided eye contact, and looked down at his workboot-clad feet
“Oh? You want some chicken soup? You poor baby…” Miles said. He moved his hand from Patrick’s forearm to his bicep, which he squeezed. It was so thick and hard it made Miles’s dick twitch in his pants. Patrick still avoided looking at him; he just stared at the ground, at his own feet. Miles’s feet were bare, but Patrick avoided looking at them as well.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want chicken soup.”
Miles shivered with desire as he felt Patrick’s forehead with the back of his hand. It felt cool, and he said as much. Patrick quaked and covered his face with his hands.
“Yo, uh…” He spoke through his fingers. “I ain’t got laid in a month.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. Your balls must be so swollen,” Miles said. He made a kissy face, hoping that Patrick would see it even through his covered eyes. Miles even pantomimed swallowing a fat dick, but he wasn’t sure if Patrick saw it.
He nodded. “That fuckin’ bitch!” He roared. His face was red, his jaw jutting forward. “She promised she wouldn’t tell no one, but she did. E’ryone in the state now knows I like feet.” He paused. He glared at Miles with a hostile glint in his eye. “You ain’t gonna laugh at me, right? I like feet. Fuck you, and I will fuck up any motherfucker who fuck wit’ me ‘bout it! I can beat any ass down and-” He stood up, his voice gradually getting more and more angry until he was red-faced and sputtering.
Miles shrank back in fear. He had heard Patrick get into screaming matches with his girlfriends, but he didn’t know that Patrick also had a more general temper problem. For a moment it seemed that Patrick was going to hit him, but then he didn’t.
“Relax, baby, I don’t judge people for what they’re into,” Miles said. “There’s nothing wrong with feet. That bitch shouldn’t have told people about it.”
“I know, right? Fuck that bitch. She wasn’t even that hot, and her pussy was weird-looking. Had labia like fuckin’ blackout curtains,” he said. He sniffled. It almost sounded like he was near tears and trying to hide it. His hands were fists, which he pounded on his meaty thighs. Since he hadn’t pushed back against Miles’s touch, Miles squeezed next to Patrick on the couch. There wasn’t much space, so Miles could stroke his bicep with one hand and his lower thigh with the other. Patrick either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“Did she have pretty feet?”
“Yeah,” he said. His anger was gone, replaced by loneliness and regret. He sniffled again. His eyes wandered over to Miles’s feet.
“I know this fat Asian chick you can fuck in the ass,” Miles said. His friend Suzie was a huge slut, and Miles was sure she would let a big tough blue-collar stud like Patrick fuck her. Miles laughed at Patrick’s hopeful reaction. “This weekend. She’s visiting her mother this week.”
“How fat is she?”
“Not real fat. Just big enough,” Miles said.
He nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I really need to blow a nut right now though.”
“Well, I only know one fat Asian slut,” Miles said. He hesitated. “Okay, technically I know two, but one of them only fucks with black guys.”
Patrick grumbled. “I, uh… I know you always checkin’ me out and shit.”
Miles blushed. He moved his hand from Patrick’s lower thigh to his upper. Miles felt the lower edge of his boxer shorts through his jeans. He rubbed the firm muscle of his thigh. “Well, you’re really hot, baby. I can’t avoid looking at that ass. It calls to me. It beckons me.”
Now it was Patrick’s turn to blush. He looked away and leaned back, aiming his face at the wall. He laughed awkwardly.
Is this working? Miles thought it maybe was. Patrick was behaving as though he thought Miles was going to jack him off. Miles grinned. Dry spells always get ’em.
“And uh… I mean… You like… You, like, like.. you jack men off? Right? With their dick, right?”
“I do. Have been known to..”
“Oh, well, uh…” Patrick’s voice trailed off.
“You want me to jack you off?”
“Kinda…” Patrick blushed. “You got feet like a girl.”
“I’m sorry, baby?”
“You got feet like a girl. Yo’ feet. They look like a girl’s,” Patrick said. “You know, like, small, and delicate and shit.”
“Oh. Oh! Oh…” Miles’s eyes opened wide. It was his turn to blush and laugh at himself awkwardly. “You want to, uh…?”
Patrick nodded.
Miles lifted himself onto Patrick’s lap, sitting on one of those massive thighs and leaning against the side of the couch. That put Miles’s feet on the couch next to Patrick.
“Oh god… I ain’t a pervert,” Patrick said. He smiled sickly as he pulled Miles’s socks off.
“I know, baby. You just like feet,” Miles said. One of his hands gently caressed Patrick’s cock through his clothes, while his other crept under the filthy orange safety vest he still wore. He fingered Patrick’s flat belly with a treasure trail of hair on it and slid his hand upward until he could massage Patrick’s powerful pecs.
Then Patrick grabbed Miles’s foot. He just held on with his giant sausage-like fingers, and Miles could feel Patrick’s dick jump to attention in his jeans.
“Aw, fuck, you got nice feet, boy,” Patrick said. He brought Miles’s left foot up closer to his head — and forced Miles to awkwardly curl up in a ball on Patrick’s lap with his feet in the air and his head wedged into the arm of the couch.
Then Patrick kissed the top of Miles’s foot. It was a long, slow kiss, and it was almost romantic, like he was about to propose to Miles’s foot. He had a very serious look on his face too. His big square jaw worked up and down his lips explored the width and breadth of Miles’s foot.
He kissed it again, more furiously this time. His tongue flickered out and touched the skin of Miles’s foot, making Patrick’s dick jump in his pants again. Patrick moaned, and Miles giggled ticklishly.
“Let me take this off, sweetheart,” Miles said as he took off that orange vest. He clucked his tongue. “You’re so dirty.”
“Yeah, it was a hot day. We’re buildin’ that new onramp on the highway, out by the Pickspring Mall, it’s gonna be good, got four lines, and the asphalt’s been laid, lookin’ nice, lookin’ nice. I been sweatin’ all day. You want me to take a shower?”
“No!” Miles blurted out. “I mean, no, sorry. No. That’s okay. You don’t have to. I mean… I think you’re great as-is.”
“You like me all sweaty?”
“I wouldn’t have you any other way,” Miles said.
Patrick beamed. “Most girls make me shower all the time. They say I’m too big and hairy to fuck unless I shower first, and they mostly make me shower after too. That last bitch made me shower like four times a day.”
“Quit talking about your exes, Patrick,” Miles said. He lifted Patrick’s tattered t-shirt over his head, and he inhaled deeply of the aroma.
“Okay, sorry,” Patrick said. He wrinkled his nose and sniffed at his own armpit. “You into that? Armpits? I ain’t know you was into that.”
“I didn’t know you were into feet either,” Miles said.
Patrick smiled and shrugged. “I guess we both learnin’ today,” he said. He flexed his pecs, which bounced beneath Miles’s fingertips. Miles rarely got to be with such a big, muscular man, so that made him moan and feel flush with desire.
Then Patrick lifted his ass up so Miles could pull down his pants, and his hard dick poked out of his boxer shorts. Miles got undressed as well. Patrick blanched a little at the sight of Miles’s cock and balls, but he focused on those delicate little feet.
Miles stepped onto the couch next to Patrick, who blushed and stared straight down at his feet, ignoring Miles’s erect dick. Miles raised his leg until his foot was right in front of Patrick’s face — Patrick was so much taller than Miles that it was an awkward position, even with Miles standing on the couch that Patrick sat on. Miles had to balance himself on one foot, while Patrick’s grizzled chin scratched at his smooth foot.
Then Patrick groaned and swallowed one of Miles’s toes. It disappeared into his mouth and past his lips, and Miles giggled again as ticklish feelings erupted in him and nearly made him fall down.
“If you lay down, baby,” Miles said. “I’ll jack you off if you suck on my toes.” That seemed like the most sensible position to Miles, but Patrick ignored his offer.
Patrick looked up at him without taking Miles’s toes out of his mouth. He sucked as though he was trying to suck the toenails right off him. Aiming his eyes at Miles, who was still awkwardly standing on one foot, Patrick couldn’t help but see Miles’s dick as well, and this time, he didn’t look away.
He did move off Miles’s toes though. He started to lick the surface of Miles’s foot, first the upper side and then the ultra-sensitive lower side, which made Miles giggle again.
Miles tried to hide his giggles at first, because he thought Patrick might think he was teasing him or being dismissive. But Miles couldn’t help how ticklish he was, and it soon became apparent that Patrick loved hearing Miles’s girlish laughter.
His kisses and his tongue explored up the back side of Miles’s foot to his ankle. Miles was glad he had shaved his legs recently, because if he hadn’t Patrick would have probably found that a major turnoff. Instead Patrick’s grizzled chin moved up Miles’s ankle as he licked.
Miles assumed that that would be it and that Patrick would lay down on his back. He seemed to be getting ready to stretch out like that, and then they could sixty-nine with Patrick sucking his toes instead of his cock. That would be ideal, as far as Miles was concerned.
But that wasn’t what Patrick did. He kept sucking and licking his way up Miles’s thigh.
“You smell like girl lotion,” Patrick murmured. He inhaled deeply, a loud, moist sniffing sound. He kissed Miles’s thighs.
Then without a word of warning, Patrick swallowed Miles’s dick to the root. He let it pop right into his mouth, while his massive fingers massaged Miles’s delicate feet. Patrick was a big man with a big mouth and a big throat, and he got all the way down in one msooth motion. Miles’s dick slapped on his chin.
Miles gasped. “Oh, god, Patrick…” He thought he should say something else, something about how he wouldn’t judge Patrick for jerking him off, wouldn’t call him a pervert or tell anyone about this. But the pleasure that rocketed through his body was too intense for that.
His dick throbbed and leaked precum. The salty, sour flavor coated Patrick’s tongue, and he gulped it down. It tasted just like pussyjuice, so it was easy for him to do.
In truth, all Patrick thought about — sexually speaking — was feet. He didn’t care what girls looked like; all he cared about were those delicate little girl feet. So when he massaged Miles’s feet, he didn’t even think about whether or not he was going to handle some cock. If he had been with a girl, he would have alternated between licking her pussy and licking her feet, and this didn’t really seem much different to him.
He nuzzled his nose deep in Miles’s crotch, that fleshy manhood filling up his throat and pulsating inside him. It tasted like girlflesh and a little of the musty flavor of feet. It almost felt like an especially massive toe in his mouth, and, when that sensation was combined with the feminine groans escaping from Miles’s mouth, Patrick could almost pretend he was with a woman.
“You taste so good…” Patrick said. His voice was weak and wavery as though he was on the verge of tears. He pulled away from Miles’s dick and lowered his head. He dropped to the floor and kissed Miles’s feet.
Miles stood there on the couch, dick dripping and spasming as Patrick licked every inch of his feet. Patrick’s plump, hairy ass beckoned
If Miles had given it any thought, he wouldn’t have done anything else — getting jacked off was one thing, but a macho man like Patrick wasn’t going to take it in the ass. That much was clear.
But Miles wasn’t thinking about that. He just got down on the couch, laying on his back. Patrick didn’t tear his face away from Miles’s feet the entire time. He slathered spit all over their smooth flesh, and it dripped down onto the couch cushion beneath him.
Patrick didn’t need to ask what to do next. It was obvious what Miles wanted, and all Patrick focused on was the earthy yet clean, petrichorian flavor of Miles’s feet. He returned to sucking on those toes as he climbed up onto the couch himself. He was so huge the couch springs wheezed.
But the couch managed to support them both. Miles took a deep breath while Patrick’s gigantic body lowered, all two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of him landing on Miles’s dick. Six and a half feet of hairy muscle quivered when the tip of Miles’s cock poked into his ass.
Patrick threw his head back and moaned so loud it made Miles shudder. Patrick sat in a reverse-cowgirl position, so he lowered his ass onto Miles’s dick while facing Miles’s feet. That gave him the perfect position to massage Miles’s toes, and once he could concentrate with a cock in his ass, he’d be able to lean forward and suck on them as well.
But he couldn’t do that yet. His tight ass ached. Miles managed to reach a tube of lube he kept in the nightstand near the couch, and he squeezed some out onto his cock. That helped a lot, and several inches of his rod slipped into Patrick’s ass.
“Aw, fuck…” Patrick’s deep voice boomed and resonated in Miles’s living room. Patrick almost sounded surprised, like he only realized as the last little bit of Miles’s dick entered him that he was being penetrated at all.
For a minute or so, neither of them moved. Miles didn’t move because he was essentially pinned — Patrick mainly supported himself, but enough of his weight was on Miles’s crotch that all Miles could do was lay there. He could barely sway his hips. Patrick didn’t move because the pain and bliss combined in his ass to make such a powerful sensation that he couldn’t bear it. He just closed his eyes and groaned, callused fingers massaging Miles’s smooth feet.
Another hair-raising, muscle-cringing moan escaped from Patrick’s lips, the sound so crooning and awe-inspiring that it seemed like it actually escaped from his mouth as though it had had to break free. It was a deep, rumbling sound that Miles could both hear and feel in the vibrations of Patrick’s guts, squeezing around Miles’s cock.
That triggered Patrick to move into action. He bent forward so he could curl his head down and suck on Miles’s feet. Patrick was so tall it was still a difficult position for him, he had to really curl up tightly, and even then he could do little more than tantalizingly tease himself with Miles’s toes.
It seemed to be enough for Patrick though, and he used one hand to jack himself off while the other massaged Miles’s foot. His new position meant he wasn’t pressing down with quite so much weight on Miles’s crotch, so Miles could start moving his hips and plowing him.
That lasted for what felt like forever at the time, but in retrospect seemed to only be a few seconds. Miles worked his dick in and out, slowly at first, then more passionately. When Patrick didn’t show any signs of pain, Miles slammed his crotch upwards, ramming it into Patrick’s tight ass while Miles massaged his meaty ass and his muscular back. Waves of pleasure wracked the bodies of both men.
Patrick’s orgasm was palpable through his asshole, which clenched around Miles’s dick. Patrick gasped, snorted and roared. Miles’s whole body twitched as Patrick’s muscles turned to stone beneath his grasp.
The smell of cum filled the air before Miles felt it land on his foot. Patrick lifted his head up and shot his wad all over Miles’s right foot, and he smiled as he watched it drip into the crevices between his toes. Patrick moaned loudly, his chest and face turning bright red from pain, pleasure, humiliation and pride all at once.
Miles reached orgasm as well. He lifted his head up, doing an awkward, difficult sit-up, and smashed his face into the sweaty meat of Patrick’s lower back. He licked at the salty flesh while his body erupted in uncontrolled bliss. He groaned as well, and cum poured forth into Patrick’s ass.
As Miles spasmed and orgasmed inside him, Patrick barely noticed. He was focused on the sight of Miles’s beautiful pinkish feet glistening with cum. He had never been brave enough to tell a girl he wanted to do cum on their feet and then lick it up, but he felt so comfortable right now he did it without a second thought..
He just did it, and the taste was everything he hoped it’d be. He lifted up Miles’s cummy foot and licked it clean. He sucked off every drop of his own salty, creamy cum, letting it coat his tongue and drip down his throat. The hot, slightly sour flavor flooded his tongue.
He sighed as Miles finished spraying his own load inside him. Patrick moaned and felt that warm glow suffuse to every corner of his body. His tension and his anxiety disappeared. For a moment that could have lasted forever, Patrick was perfectly content. He forgot about his need for a girl. He forgot about everything but the salty foot whose flavor filled his mouth and the intense sensations roiling deep within his ass.
All at once, it was done. Patrick slid right off and curled up on the couch. He was so big he took up the entire space. He quaked and trembled. Miles sat up and gave him as much room as he needed.
“There, there, baby,” Miles said. “I hope you feel better. Let me take care of you.” He grabbed some wetnaps from the nightstand and cleaned off Patrick’s ass, as well as both cocks and Miles’s feet.
“Thanks,” Patrick said.
“You’re welcome,” Miles said. “Anytime you have another dry spell, Patrick, you just come see me. I’ll take care of you. Me and these feet you love so much.”
Patrick sniffed them, wrapped his face into Miles’s thin ankles and closed his eyes. He fell asleep there, nose pressed into Miles’s foot, while Miles drifted off to sleep as well, leaning against Patrick’s mountainous body and savoring the feel of his muscle.
This evening, Miles thought, had turned out better than he ever hoped.
Teddy is getting his car repaired at the legendary Screw Tight auto garage, and that means he gets a ride on the studly mechanic of his choice. He chooses the outrageously muscled redneck Duncan Walsh, who had no idea what kind of man-on-man experience he was in for. Can Teddy satisfy his man and get his muffler fixed?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Teddy moseyed down the street. He was just killing time until class started again. This was such a college town that when school was out, the streets were deserted. Teddy stayed on campus through Thanksgiving by himself. It had been nice to be alone for awhile. Campus was ordinarily so crowded.
When his car had broken down, Teddy finally felt trapped. He hadn’t wanted to leave town, but now that he couldn’t, he felt a need to go somewhere, anywhere.
He knew very well that Mr. Jackson was an old, fat, greasy man, and he was a serious, non-nonsense Christian church-goer, so he would probably not allow Teddy to service his mechanics instead of paying the bill in cash. Mr. Jackson owned the Screw Tight Auto Repair Garage mechanic shop, which was where Teddy’s car sat waiting for him. He was always nervous picking his car up after repairs. He didn’t know enough about cars to know if the mechanics were screwing him over (in a bad way).
But it all went perfectly. Teddy paid for his car — it needed a couple new spark plugs — and then signed documents in front of the pretty blonde girl who worked there. The name on her ample bosom said her name was ‘Sally’. His eyes were drawn to the macho mechanics in the repair shop, which he could see through a window separating the office from the garage.
“Howdy,” said Mr. Jackson, who walked into the front office with a clipboard in hand. He handed it to the pretty blonde. Then he smiled at Teddy. “You got a nice ride out there. Could use a little work on the muffler, you know. It’s probably lowerin’ yer gas mileage, a good ten percent. Whatchoo think?”
Teddy smiled. “Maybe in a few weeks. Money is pretty tight right now. I can’t afford anything that isn’t absolutely required,” he said with a sigh. It wouldn’t be a visit to the auto mechanic without a bunch of vague claims of nonspecific faults that need to be fixed.
“If’n you agree to it right now,” he said, “We can do it for just four hundred dollars. That’s a right nice deal. Normally like eight hundred, but we gonna need a re-carburetor to get it done and we ain’t gotta order one at this moment, it’s sittin’ right there in the garage-” he pointed through the window, at his mechanics, “-next to Duncan there. So I ain’t gotta charge you fo’ that.”
“Uh… Still though, four hundred dollars is a lot of money.” Teddy was distracted by Duncan, the redneck mechanic with a body like a Marine and tattoos like a biker. He was grizzled and broad-shoulder, with a handsome face and a powerful body. Teddy was a keen admirer of the male form, so Mr. Duncan Walsh attracted his attention and wouldn’t let it go. It was possible Mr. Jackson said more about his proposal. He nattered on about something.
But Teddy remained noncommital.
“I understand. We can get it done while you wait,” Mr. Jackson said. He followed Teddy’s gaze into the repair shop. It looked like an argument had developed, and Duncan’s face screwed up tight as he screamed something at the black mechanic with the face like a bar of melted chocolate and a voice like his throat was coated in bark and splinters. The black mechanic Bunker screamed right back at the white mechanic Duncan. Mr. Jackson scowled at them both through the window, then said, “‘Scuze me for a second, suh.” Mr. Jackson opened the door into the garage. The sound of the two men arguing filled the air.
“Fuck you then! You think I can’t kick yo’ ass again!?”
“You redneck shit! I’ll pop yo’ goddamn face off! Don’t think I won’t!” Bunker Fiddle put his fists up. “I’ll beat a whiteboy down any day of the week!”
“Hey!” Mr. Jackson bellowed. His big belly shook, and his face turned red. “You two shit-fucks shut yer fuck-shittin’ mouths or I will fuck your shit up so bad yer mama don’t recognize yer shit… Fuck!”
There was a long silence. Then the two mechanics rolled their eyes and nodded.
“Yessuh.”
“Sorry, Mistuh Jackson.”
Mr. Jackson glanced at Teddy and shrugged. He looked back at the mechanics. “Hug it out, boys!”
“What?”
“No fightin’! Hug it out! Nice long hug, boys, pretend you like each other,” Mr. Jackson said. Their flesh was taut, shiny with engine oil and dried sweat. One was white and the other was black, but both had very similar skin color — the white one, Duncan, was so tan and dusky-skinned, not to mention smudged with black grease, that he was barely lighter than the black one, who was fairly light-skinned to begin with. Teddy hadn’t intended to leer at the hugging men, but he realized he had done so when Mr. Jackson chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.
Duncan shook his head. “Sorry, uh, Mistah Jackson. I-“
“Shush.” Mr. Jackson turned to Teddy. “I think I know what you need to get that muffler fixed,” Mr. Jackson said. “How ’bout you pay four hundred dollars, and one of ’em there fixes it while you… wait.” It sounded like he didn’t mean wait exactly, but Teddy wasn’t sure what he did mean.
It was hard to think about much when Teddy could see that Duncan Walsh’s powerful arms bare in his sleeveless shirt. He had a very admirable physique, and Teddy was eager to admire it in person. That made it hard to pay attention to what an old fuddy-duddy like Mr. Jackson had to say.
“Uh… Well…”
“Which one you like better?” Mr. Jackson asked. His mustache moved up and down when he spoke, and his greasy belly jiggled under his shirt. “Either one of ’em can fix the muffler. You take the one you like best. The othuh one can fix it fer you, wit’ a quickness.”
Teddy smiled. “Take ’em… and do what?”
“Whatevuh you want,” he said with a shrug. “So long as you don’t make ’em-” He paused and looked to the pretty blonde girl behind the desk. “Sally, why don’t you take yer lunch break? This is man-talk.”
She giggled and blushed. She nodded knowingly as though she was aware of exactly what was going on, but she didn’t want to admit that because a nice Southern gal shouldn’t know about this stuff. She grabbed her purse and hurried out the door. You could just tell her lunch was gonna be a twelve-dollar “coffee” that was mostly whipped cream, that she’d buy because a liquid felt lighter than a solid meal, even if the liquid had copious added sugar.
Or maybe Teddy was just being judgemental today.
Once the door slammed shut, Mr. Jackson frowned. “I don’t ‘pprove of this nonsense, by the way. A man should subdue his lusts, not exercise ’em,” he said. “But you can take a swing on whichever piece of meat strikes yer fancy. They ain’t gonna let you in they backdoor, mind you, I ain’t gonna order ’em to do nothin’. Don’t you try and stick ’em.”
“No, sir,” Teddy said. He blushed. “That’s not what I’m into.”
“I ain’t think so,” he said. He sniffled. “Which one you like?”
“Duncan. The white one,” Teddy said.
“Really? I thought you was leanin’ towards that dark meat. Mosta the swishy sorts do prefer a colored feller,” Mr. Jackson said. Then he said, cautiously, “African American.” He waited to see if Teddy was going to lecture him, and when he didn’t, Mr. Jackson nodded dourly. “Wait here.” He went into the garage. He talked to the two mechanics for a few minutes, then they both burst into laughter.
Mr. Jackson turned around and motioned for Teddy, who came into the garage. It smelled like grease and gasoline, and below that was a fainter melange of human scents: sweat, piss, spit, cum. Teddy was already starting to get hard. He always thought these sorts of handyman blue-collar repair-type places were arousing. So much better than a strip club, he thought.
He handed the key to his car over to the black mechanic Bunker Fiddle, who ran out to get it and start work on the muffler. He opened the garage door on his way out.
Duncan’s swarthy face was bright red beneath the layer of dirt that darkened his skin, and his pecs kept rippling whenever he snorted or licked his teeth, as his eyes roamed up and down Teddy’s body. Duncan flared his nostrils. He blanched and looked away when Teddy walked to him. His bulky chest didn’t fit in his filthy overalls, and his massive pecs spilled out — he didn’t wear a shirt underneath, so his chest was bare beneath his overall-straps, aside from the smudges of dirt, faded tattoos, dense hairs and twisted scars.
“You ready to go, Duncan?” Mr. Jackson said with a laugh. His big meaty hand grabbed Duncan’s crotch through his overalls.
“Yessuh,” he said, bristling at Mr. Jackson’s touch. He stood on his toes, his massive cock plainly visible in his overalls and framed by Mr. Jackson’s hand. Though his eyes flittered around, Duncan avoided looking at Teddy.
Teddy sunk to his knees, his dick rock-hard already in his pants, in front of Duncan and behind a counter that was all that blocked Teddy from view of anybody happening past. Teddy’s heart sped up. He wasn’t expecting to get to taste a throbbing slab of alpha-male mechanic meat when he brought his car in today.
With Teddy’s hands sliding up Duncan’s body and groping his powerful chest, Duncan licked his lower lip. He looked like he was eager to get his dick wet but didn’t want to look too eager. He sneered in Teddy’s direction without looking at him.
“You want me to do this here?” Duncan asked, aiming the question at Mr. Jackson.
Mr. Jackson shrugged. “I don’t care. Just don’t make a mess,” he said. Then he looked down to Teddy and said it again. “Don’t make a mess. You swallow e’rything he give you.” He walked back into the office. “Be done before Sally gets back. If she sees you, I’ll beat both yer asses.”
“Yessuh.”
“Yes, sir,” Teddy chimed in. He grabbed Duncan’s cock through his filthy workjeans and rubbed the shaft, making Duncan bristle and shift his weight between his feat.
The garage door opened and Teddy’s car slowly drove in. A loud house music beat pounded from the speakers, the entire car shaking. The music resonated in the garage, and the black mechanic driving it danced behind the steering wheel, laughing. The beat was pulsating, eminently danceable and not at all something a black redneck would listen to, so the sight of Bunker Fiddle dancing to it in the driver’s seat made Teddy laugh.
“Yee-haw, Duncan! You gonna blow a nut prison-style, toot-sweet!” The black mechanic shouted. He turned off the car once it was in place, and the music stopped. He got out of the car and activated the lift so he could get under it.
At last, Teddy unzipped the fly of Duncan’s overalls. He smiled up at him, but Duncan kept his eyes straight ahead. His fat, uncut cock popped out. It was long, greasy with dried-on sweat, and it smelled like the most potent scents in the garage, all distilled into a delicious juicy sheen from which Teddy inhaled deeply.
He stuck his tongue out, licking the shaft from tip to root. That made Duncan chuckle and shift his weight on his feet once more. He snorted. He covered his eyes with his meaty forearm. His cheeks were red, though he kept up a nonchalant face for Bunker Fiddle’s benefit.
His dick stiffened up in Teddy’s mouth. He was slow to get hard, but once his dick twitched one time, it quickly turned form as stone. Duncan’s pecs flexed, and Teddy could see the moment when Duncan realized how good this felt, when his anxieties over the situation diminished enough that he could really enjoy it.
For the first time since this had begun, Duncan looked down at Teddy. Then he frowned and turned his face away again. He sniffled. “Dang…”
“You ‘njoyin’ that, Duncan?” The black mechanic Bunker called out as he banged and rattled on Teddy’s car. He hooted and whistled in between examining the bad muffler, getting it ready for the repair.
“Hell yeah,” Duncan said with a grunt. His dick was fully hard now, throbbing in Teddy’s mouth, as Teddy slurped on the entire length of it.
“I bet. You look like you ‘njoyin’ yo’self pretty much,” said the black mechanic Bunker Fiddle. He was quiet a bit older than Duncan, and he dripped with swagger and had a delicious ropy-muscled body. Bunker clapped his hands. “You lookin’ like a piggie. Skin all pink and greasy like a hog. I wanna smoke and cure yo’ bacon, whiteboy!” He cackled up Duncan.
“You ain’t gotta keep talkin’ to me,” Duncan muttered.
“Oh, that make you uncomfortable, big boy?” The black mechanic Bunker Fiddle whistled again, like he was watching a stripper dance. “Shake yo’ ass, big boy! Lemme see it move!”
Teddy interrupted Duncan before he could respond by ramming his head all the way down onto Duncan’s cockshaft. Duncan reacted as though he had never been deep-throated, which was very possible true — his dick was so big few women would even try to swallow the whole thing. Not Teddy. Teddy prided himself on the accommodating nature of his throat, and he didn’t care how much his lungs cried out for oxygen. It felt so good for Duncan that he let out a little moan. His knees buckled and his hefty body shook, his barrel chest flexing. He groaned and grumbled.
As the smell of engine grease was replaced with man-sweat in Teddy’s nostrils, his hands patted Duncan’s ass though his overalls, and those massive plump asscheeks trembled. That made the black mechanic laugh and yell.
“Shake it some mo’, big boy! Lemme see ya move!” Bunker Fiddle walked by with a dirty rag in hand. He peered behind Duncan’s strapping body, whistled at his asscheeks shaking beneath Teddy’s fingertips. He laughed and slapped those cheeks again.
“Okay, man, it’s just an ass, shut up ’bout it…” Duncan muttered.
“Why you teasin’, huh? Take them overalls off.” The black mechanic Bunker made a kissy face, then ripped the clasps on the back of Duncan’s overalls. They would have fallen to the ground but were held aloft by Duncan’s cock sticking out through the fly. Teddy pulled the overalls down the rest of the way over his erection, and Duncan’s tattered white boxers beneath that. The black mechanic cackled at the sight of his bare ass. He slapped those cheeks again, making a porno-strip club soundtrack, whock-whock-whock as he watched Duncan’s hairy orbs bounce beneath his hand.
“Hey! One of you gotta work. I don’t care which is which, but get to it!”
“Sorry, Mistuh Jackson,” said the black man as he resumed working on the muffler. He activated the lift to raise Teddy’s car. The machinery was overwhelmingly loud for a moment, drowning out the sound of Teddy’s moist suckling on Duncan’s cock.
When it stopped whirring and making the entire garage shake, Teddy lowered his head and plopped both of Duncan’s balls in his mouth. Duncan bristled and shook like he was shocked, and a torrent of salty, funky sweat poured down Teddy’s throat. He loved the musk of a man’s underball; it made Teddy’s cock stiffen up in his own hand.
“Will you stick me in the ass?” Teddy asked. It looked like Duncan was about to say no, so before he could, Teddy dropped his pants all the way down and displayed his plump, smooth ass. “I just shaved it, so it looks just like a girl’s ass.” He shook his cheeks in front of Duncan. Teddy did not mention that he was just going to ask Mr. Jackson if Duncan said no. Mr. Jackson would probably tell him to do it.
He let out a low grunt and glanced towards the black mechanic, who had gotten deeply involved in the actual repairwork. “You is one nasty sissy,” Duncan said with a sigh as he spat on his cockshaft for lube. “My dick is dirty as hell.”
“Good. I love the dirt,” Teddy said. “That’s the best part.” He lifted his ass and winked his hole. He pushed back, trying to penetrate himself with Duncan’s cock.
But Duncan was having none of that. He smacked Teddy’s cheeks and dragged him into the perfect position, ass high in the air, head low to the ground, so Duncan could ram him without looking at anything but the ladylike curves of his pale, smooth ass.
He pushed his dick in with all his might, like he wanted to get this over with, which he very much did. Teddy moaned. Pain exploded in his ass, followed within moments by a surge of pleasure as his prostate came alive. A howl came out of Teddy, while Duncan’s grunts turned into a surprised groan.
Just like with his dick in Teddy’s mouth, Duncan was nervous and thought it would be gross, that he’d lose his hardon, right up until it happened and it felt so good Duncan wanted to beg for more. He might have done so if Bunker weren’t right over there.
Pleasure arising from deep within Teddy, it sent tendrils of sensations through every corner of his body, pleasure that mounted with each thrust of Duncan’s hips at Teddy’s ass. Teddy tried to jack himself off as he got it up the booty, but Duncan pistoned his waist more and more relentlessly, and Teddy found it difficult to keep stroking his own self off. His cock strained and begged for release.
But all he could do was submit to Duncan’s powerful rutting. His hefty body trembled as he slammed into and out of Teddy’s ass, grunting whenever it made Teddy wince and clench his ass. He grumbled.
“Fuck, Duncan! Whatchoo doin’ over there?! Mistuh Jackson ain’t say to do that!”
“He ain’t say not to,” Duncan said. He wiped sweat off his face and smacked Teddy’s ass.
The black mechanic bunker Fiddle returned to watching Duncan ram. He had a disgusted sneer on his face like he didn’t want to be here, but he watched with grave interest. After a few moments, he even got down on his knees and peered at Duncan’s cock sliding into Teddy’s ass.
“Squeal like a piggie, Duncan! Oink! Oink!” He pushed his nose back like a hog and squealed. He laughed like that was the funniest joke in the world. “You would do well in prison,” he said. It wasn’t clear if he was talking to Teddy or Duncan, but neither of them asked.
Duncan roared — more like a bear than a hog — and he pushed the other mechanic Bunker away. He grabbed Teddy’s hair with one hand and lifted his head up.
The change in position sent a wave of arousal through Teddy’s body, as well as a twinge of pain. He grunted too, almost as loud as Duncan but with a much more lilting, feminine sound to it. That made the black mechanic laugh.
“You likin’ this, boi?” he asked, peering into Teddy’s intent face.
“Yessuh,” Teddy said.
He smiled. “Oh, I like it when whiteboys call me sir,” he said, “‘ceptin’ cops and prison guards. Don’t like that one bit. You wanna taste my dick too? Don’t tell the missus.”
“Yessuh,” Teddy said. He wanted to make it sound seductive, but he was getting it up the ass so hard he couldn’t concentrate. He barely got the words out at all.
“Course you do. E’ry whiteboy love black meat, that’s just a fac’,” he said. He snorted and pulled a long black cock out from the fly of his jeans. It was not as thick as Duncan’s, but it was longer, which Teddy was fine with because he could deep-throat it even at almost a foot long.
So that was precisely what he did. He lowered his head on that salty cock, already half-hard — he must have been trying to find a way to join in for some time. He had a firm-muscled body, less meaty than Duncan’s but just as admirable, from Teddy’s perspective. Within seconds the sour-salty flavor of precum hit Teddy’s senses as his dick leaked juices all over Teddy’s tongue.
“Hey! What the fuck did I tell you idiots?!” Mr. Jackson came right into the garage. His face was redm and his nostrils flared.
“I’s done, suh!” the black mechanic Bunker Fiddle turned his head to look at Mr. Jackson, but he didn’t stop plowing into Teddy’s throat even as he did it. He scoffed. “I’s finished! It’s just up on the lift, suh!” He hesitated like he hadn’t meant to be so rude to his boss. “And this limp-wrist done ask me for a taste of my meat, suh. I ain’t wanna say no, on ‘ccount of that customer service shit, y’know. Goin’ the extra mile.” He snorted and spat on the ground. He sighed, his cock throbbing as it spewed precum down Teddy’s gullet. “Sorry, suh, I can tells him no if’n ya want-“
“Shut up,” Mr. Jackson said. “Just… Just shut up, okay? In the future, take the car off the lift when you’re done.”
“Yessuh, sorry, suh.”
“And hurry the fuck up, both of you,” Mr. Jackson bristled and straightened his tie. He lit a cigarette.
It looked like was about to say something else, but all three men started to make more noise at the same time. They each neared orgasm simultaneously. Teddy was the first to cum. He shot a thick load right onto the floor and in his hand.
The pleasure of his climax made Teddy’s mouth open wider and his ass clench tighter, which was what sent both men into the throes of their own orgasm. Teddy was overwhelmed at first by the spray of hot cum inside his ass, great gobs of it seeping into his flesh. He could feel its sticky, creamy texture soaking into him, and it made him moan.
That was followed within seconds by the black mechanic Bunker’s cock shooting his own smoky, thick load right down his throat. The creamy texture tasted strong and brought tears to Teddy’s eyes, but he suckled deeply, making sure to swallow every drop — Mr. Jackson had forbade him from making a mess, after all, and Teddy did not want to disappoint.
At last, it was all over. Teddy kept going for as long as he could, but once their dicks fell limp, both men were eager to get away from him. Bunker Fiddle just tucked his dick away and went right back to work, but Duncan looked at his cum-dripping cock with disgust. He wiped it off with some paper towels on a worktable nearby.
“The muffler is fixed?” Mr. Jackson asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Muffler is fixed,” said Bunker Fiddle.
“Thanks,” Teddy said, watching his car descend on the lift. He took out his phone and quickly paid the bill. He was too tired now to do anything more than take the car and go.
“Here’s a comment card,” Mr. Jackson said as he took the check and handed back Teddy’s keys. “If’n you got any comments ’bout the customer service you received here today, I’d appreciate it if you write ’em in here.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“And Sally gonna read this card, boy. She a nice girl. Don’t give her no education she don’t need,” he said. He winked at Teddy and walked away.
Teddy took the keys and smiled. He walked to his car, watching Duncan shuffle, naked, into the bathroom to give his dick a more thorough wipe. He waved at Duncan, who blushed, flexed his biceps and then shot him a middle finger. Teddy sighed and backed out.
This, he thought, was the best mechanic shop ever.
Avery is at the music store at the mall when he spies a studly hard rock guy in need of some cash. That’s exactly the kind of situation Avery loves helping out with! Can he meet his alpha’s musical needs?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
The Tune & String music store at the mall was one of the bigger stores remaining. Nearby was Randall’s Candles, a sad little giftshop, and several vacant storefronts. A KT Toys provided a little vibrancy for about six weeks out of the year, but it was a mausoleum most of the time. The Cinnamon Bun Hut was the most popular attraction at the Pickspring Mall for Avery Flowers, but he was trying not to go there.
The smell was damn alluring though. Last time he came here, he was so desperate for cinnamon buns he ended up making them himself. That was his compromise — no buying thirty thousand calories worth of cinnamon buns. If you want to eat that, you can make it yourself.
But his didn’t smell like the ones at the Cinnamon Bun Hut. They were good, but not that good. Avery was not a baker.
He was not a drummer either, yet Avery was here to buy drumsticks, but there was no one at the counter to check him out. His niece was getting a drum-set for Christmas, and Avery was going to give her the sticks, wrapped, under the tree, so she would open them before she saw the actual drums. Since he didn’t have any kids of his own, he looked forward to seeing that on Christmas Day.
But now there was no one in the music store. It was like a museum of music, full of display cases featuring pianos, saxophones and flutes, alongside rows of shelves of sheet music. There were DVDs too, instructional stuff, and a few odds and ends — even rolling papers and small glass pipes behind the counter.
“Hello? I need to buy drumsticks!”
He heard laughter upstairs, on the little balcony where the pianos sat. Avery craned his head up and could just barely see the clerk. It sounded like an argument up there, a rigorous piano dispute, presumably. The thought made Avery chuckle, imagining who would get into a rigorous piano dispute. He waited politely, but no clerk was forthcoming.
He didn’t want to make a scene, but Avery was ready to get out of there. He wasn’t gonna spend all day waiting to buy drumsticks.
So he went up the stairs. Avery had something else he planned on doing today — going to the other side of town, to this trashy nightclub in the ghetto, where a DJ had promised to let Avery jerk him off for money to buy recording gear. But first, he needed to buy these goddamn drumsticks.
And nobody was here! Avery had been daydreaming and didn’t notice he’d been standing at the counter for what felt like an hour. It was maybe ten minutes. Did nobody work here? He looked around the store. There was no bell to ding to get an employee’s attention.
“Hello? I need to buy drumsticks. Hello?” Avery ascended to the second floor of the music shop.
The clerk was a hipster with a goattee, a mustache and a five o’clock shadow. He was handsome though, and he caught Avery’s eye. He was probably a hit with women. His nametag read “Twig Smitten”, which just had to be a performing name.
There was another man there talking to him. He was a hard-edged hard-rock heavy-metal kind of guy, that much was obvious, with a fat mop of greasy black hair and sunken eyes. He was young, or young-ish anyway, but he had the face of a work-hard life on the road, like a handsome hobo in the Old West. He was strong, but his muscles were haphazard, not toned, you could tell he never lifted weights. He simply worked and lived hard and probably drank more beer than ate solid food. He had a powerful, tattooed chest that nearly bulged out of his sleeveless tee shirt (a black shirt with the demonic skull logo of the band Clusterfuck, which Avery suspected was this man’s band).
He was like something out of the 80s too, with that thrash-metal look, but his dirt-colored mustache — and a scruffy beard behind that — was straight out of the 70s. He was well-muscled, with a blue-collar look to his dusky skin and wind-beaten face.
His name was Logan, and he was trying to browbeat the clerk into giving him the employee discount on the guitar. Logan had a deep rumbly voice with a menacing edge to it. “Come on, man, I know you gave Roger the discount. He said it-“
“Man, Logan, it’s not like that. He used to work here. I need to make my commission-“
“Don’t gimme that shit,” Logan said. He took a step back and pointed a finger at the clerk. His face was ruddy, meaty arms flexing, eyes darting back and forth. “I know you’re allowed to do it. Roger said it’s a rule, you gotta make the sale-“
“It’s not a rule! The employee discount is for employees!”
“I know the manager!”
“Mr. Demetrius said to tell you to go fuck yourself if you ever come in here, Logan!” the clerk Twig Smitten said. He pointed to the exit to the mall itself. “So… you know, go fuck yourself. Somewhere that isn’t here.”
“Don’t be a dick, man! I can kick your fucking ass, y’know, you little punk. Come at me then-” Logan took a step towards the clerk. “I need that guitar, I got a damn show tonight! UPS ruint mine! I can’t — it’s not even here, man, come on!”
“I’ll buy it for you,” Avery said. He stepped in front of Logan, who was taken aback. Avery was so close he could smell Logan’s sweat beneath the scent of bleach, which looked to have been speckled on his black boots earlier. Pale spots now spread over the top of Logan’s feet, and some dotted the lower cuffs of his pants too. Logan’s jaw dropped as he tried to gather his wits and shift focus from kicking ass to talking to a stranger.
“What?” he snapped like he was offended by his own confusion.
Avery smiled despite the tension of the situation. He felt much smaller than either of the other two men, though in fact there was little difference between them. Neverthless Logan loomed large over the trio like a moai, and Avery felt tiny before him. Avery patted him on the side, feeling the meaty thickness of his body above his ribcage. That sleeveless shirt he wore reeked of his armpit sweat and his body hair and again of bleach. Avery said, “I’ll buy you the guitar. The whole thing. No employee discount.”
“What?”
Avery smiled. The clerk had backed way off, so Avery lowered his voice, that way only Logan could hear. “I’ll jerk you off. We’ll go in the mall bathroom, and I’ll jerk you off. Okay? I’ll swallow your dick you so good you forget how to play guitar-“
He scoffed. “I…” Logan wiped some of the sweat off his brow. “Shit… uh…”
“I’ll deep-throat you so good…” Avery sucked on his finger. Logan’s eyes opened wide. Avery could sense Logan’s dick twitching, but Logan covered it up by shifting his weight between his feet. He cleared his throat.
“Don’t you want me to like… take a shower or some shit? I just got off work, I got band practice in a bit-
“Don’t you dare shower, I like my men unfiltered,” Avery said. He took Logan by the hand and led him back down the stairs. The gawky clerk was there watching. “We’ll be back to buy that guitar. And drumsticks.”
“Drumsticks? I don’t want drumsticks-“
“Unless you came out of my sister’s vagina, they’re not for you. Let’s go.”
“I ain’t say I’d do it,” Logan said.
“Then you’re on your way out of the store, right?” Avery said. “Either way, this is the route.” He pointed towards the door out of the mall. The bathrooms were by there too.
“Uh…” Logan stopped. “You’ll really buy the whole guitar? You ain’t playin’?”
“I never play about that,” Avery said with a serious look on his face. Then he laughed. “That’s not true, I do play about jacking men off. But I’m not kidding about doing it. I’ll jerk your dick til the cows come home. Or is there a heavy metal equivalent of that? I’ll jerk you off til the heavy metal singer smiles?”
“I ain’t a metal singer. I sing rock. Hard rock. Not metal.” Logan furrowed his brow at Avery. “I don’t cotton to the metal scene. They’s all about the goths. You know about the goths? I don’t do the goths.”
“Hmm… Yeah, I get’cha,” Avery said. “I like rock too, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that — I’m not really a music aficionado.”
“You not scammin’ me, right? You got the cash?”
“I got it. And I’ll even buy you some extra strings, okay?”
Logan sighed. “Okay, but you can’t tell no one, man. I ain’t… He chuckled. “I never got a man to jerk me off when I was sober before. Usually it’s only when I struck out for the night.”
“No shit, really?”
“Uh-huh. I got this buddy, he does it when I’m drunk,” Logan said. Avery sunk to the floor as Logan closed the door. “He thinks I’s too drunk to know he done it, but I know.”
Avery undid Logan’s fly and belt. His mud-splattered jeans fell to the floor, which was good because that muffled the smell of bleach from his boots. He had had to work his community service first thing in the morning — he had mopped the floors at a ranger station in a state park, hence the bleach on his boots — before going to his regular job as a janitor.
“So what’s your band like?”
Logan’s anxiety disappeared — he was at his most confident when he was performing, so thinking about his band made him relax. “Aw, man, we rock hard as shit, man. You goin’ to the Tough One Fun Run? We gonna play at that. Cluster-F. We Clusterfuck, but they only sayin’ Cluster-F on the radio. We got a followin’, man. I got groupies and shit.” He checked that the door to the bathroom was locked, then reached into his pants around his ankles and fished out a pack of smokes. He seemed completely disinterested in Avery pulling his boxers down. His sleeveless black tee was short, so it wasn’t in the way of his cock, which bounced free and jabbed Avery in the face. Logan said, “We’s like, uh, hard rock, y’know, boogie-rock and shit, man. We all used to play AC/DC songs before we was writin’ our own-“
“Awesome, AC/DC’s great,” Avery said. He really had no special love for AC/DC, but he wanted to get on Logan’s good side.
“Yeah. We rock hard, man, swear to God. You know Black Crowes? I met them once, swear to God,” he said. He saw his dick dangling and bit his lip. This got suddenly more real, just before his cock disappeared into Avery’s mouth. His eyes opened wide. “They was arrogant shits, man, fuck them, fuck!” He groaned. “They owe me money too, like a hundred eighty bucks, man, swear to God. Buncha shitheads, and they talk a bunch of shit, they can’t back it up.” Even as he talked like he hadn’t noticed what his dick was doing, he was already pumping his hips back and forth, treating Avery’s mouth like a pussy. His dick wasn’t hard yet. That was good. Logan thought a man shouldn’t get hard too easy if there’s no woman around. Not even any porno.
Avery’s mouth was soft and warm, and it felt good. Logan sighed. He was usually so relaxed when this happened because he was drunk, and it didn’t feel real. This had felt entirely too real right up until it began. It wasn’t a big deal.
Now that it had begun, Logan felt silly being reluctant and slow to get started.
While Logan had been very drunk the first few times he let his friend jerk him off, he’d lately done it whenever he could. It just got easier the older he became, and nowadays, he’d usually whip it out even if he only had a few beers.
It actually felt even better than his buddy’s mouthjobs. His dick firmed up right away, and it throbbed hotly in Avery’s mouth. Avery was surprised that it happened so quick once it got started — Logan had been a bit slow to get into it, because he was talking about his band. But now that his mouth was shut, his dick rocketed to full erection immediately.
“Goddamn…” Logan’s throaty voice grunted.
He probably sounded good as a singer, Avery thought, nice and bluesy, like a non-hipster Tom Waits. He wanted to ask if Logan sang or just played guitar, but his mouth was full, and Logan’s hands gripped his head, making it hard to speak. Avery didn’t want to stop long enough to ask.
He opened his throat as wide as he could, letting Logan’s filthy cock slide in, even as Avery’s throat clenched and fought back. He sputtered, choking around the blue-collar filth that coated his tongue. It was a bit sour and loamy like soil, with a fresh, sunny flavor that made Avery wonder if he took his dick out on the job — it sure tasted like the outside. You could tell he worked outdoors all day.
“Shit… You do it better than my buddy,” Logan said, his voice a little wavery, almost giddy. He didn’t add — though he thought it — that Avery did it better than any woman either. He didn’t want to admit that.
Avery looked up to make eye contact with him, but Logan wasn’t looking down at him. Logan kept an eye on the door to be sure no one came in and interrupted them. Someone did try the doorknob, but the lock stopped them, and they walked away.
His arms stretched up, his hands creeping under Logan’s raggedy black tee shirt. Logan didn’t seem to notice. Avery’s hands made it to his nipples, and then his whole body twitched. Logan groaned. He lifted his shirt off and tossed it on the toilet. Moments later, it slipped into the toilet bowl. Logan’s eyes were closed, so he hadn’t noticed that yet, and Avery faced the other way, so he didn’t see it either.
Logan had nice pecs that flexed beneath Avery’s touch. He wasn’t muscular like a bodybuilder, you could tell he didn’t work out at all — his glamour muscles were underdeveloped, it was the real, actual muscles that were built up — and his arms, since he spent hours every night practicing guitar.
His right arm in particular bulged. It was as thick as Avery’s head, and as hard as rock when Avery managed to massage it without pulling off Logan’s dick. When he started to taste precum, however, Avery did pull off, just to give him a rest. He didn’t want Logan to cum too quickly.
“C’mon, man…” Logan’s throaty voice was hot and breathless, almost begging. He tried to whisper out of a general desire for discretion, even though nobody could possibly hear, and his voice was too deep anyway to really be quiet. He kept humping his hips even when his cock popped out of Avery’s mouth. He fucked the air while Avery’s mouth and lips traveled up his body.
He had never shaved his chest, so his belly had a fine trail of brownish blond hair. Avery sucked on his skin, traveling up to the much furrier valley in between his meaty pecs. Avery attacked each nipple, sucking on them both while he gripped Logan’s dick with both hands.
“Shit, man…” Logan couldn’t believe how good it felt.
His dick stayed hard, pulsating, leaking precum into Avery’s fingers. Avery’s tongue snaked over his armpit, to that massive guitar-playing right bicep. Avery wasn’t ordinarily a muscle-queen, but Logan’s arm was delightful. Avery sucked all the sweat and dust off it — since Logan had worn a sleeveless shirt today, his skin was dirty and tasted of asphalt. Avery sucked all the grime off, while Logan furrowed his brow in confusion — he wouldn’t have guessed anybody wanted to lick literal dirt off his arm.
“You wanna ram me?” Avery asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. He dropped his pants, turned around and displayed his ass for Logan — he guessed that Logan was the kind of man who might say no right up until he saw Avery’s tight pale hole.
“Shit…” Logan grunted. A part of his mind said he should refuse, or pretend to refuse in order to get more money. But he was too horny to stop.
So he didn’t refuse. He wanted to get deep in that tight asshole. Even as his mind started coming up with a plan to get more money out of Avery, his cock was ramming itself into his ass.
Before Logan knew it, he was already inside Avery, to the root, and Avery had let out a long low howl. No girl ever let Logan plow her like this. Avery kept his ass high and his head low, nearly on the cold linoleum floor of the bathroom.
“Goddamn, man,” Logan said with a loud roar. He pounded on his chest. He roared like Tarzan and flexed his pecs, and he slapped Avery’s asscheeks until the sound rang out and Avery groaned. You could see the pleasure flowing through his body in his muscles rippling, his body hair becoming matted to his skin with a fresh layer of sweat.
“Holy shit…” Avery said with a panting gasp, the sensations flowing through him so intense he had to wrench the words out of his throat. “If you play guitar as good as you plow, your band is goin’ places…”
“I wish, man…” Logan said. He heard a knock on the door to the bathroom, but it seemed distant and unimportant. He heard the security guard Gerald say something. Logan hated Gerald, who had called the cops on him last month because he thought Logan was homeless — Logan was merely sleeping on a bench near the mall doors. “Fuck off, Gerald!” he shouted towards the door. Then he lowered his head and voice, and spoke to Avery. “We better hurry up. Gerald’s a fucking moron, but he’ll get the key and come in here eventually.”
“Okay,” Avery said, his voice weak and wavery because he was already on the verge of his orgasm. He didn’t much care about getting caught either.
“Gonna put you in a headlock, don’t worry, I won’t hurtcha,” Logan said. He grimaced as he wrapped that massive guitar-playing arm around Avery’s neck. He didn’t know why he wanted to do that so bad, except that he had tried once when fucking a girl and she reacted like he did something terrible. She said his hairy body was kind of gross, she didn’t want to be wrapped up in his sweaty arms like that.
So it was nice for Logan that Avery didn’t seem upset about his hairy body or the musk of his armpits. He wrapped both arms around his face, and Logan even let Avery bite down as they both orgasmed. Avery gnawed on Logan’s rock-hard arm-flesh, while Avery sprayed a massive wad onto the floor of the bathroom.
Logan’s creamy cum flowed into Avery in great thick wads. Logan didn’t shoot a stream like most men, he sprayed in short but massive spurts that kept coming and coming. Each time he did, his whole body twitched again, muscles all tensing and rubbing against Avery’s smooth back.
“Hey! Open the door, sir! You have to let me in! This is mall security! My name is Gerald!”
Logan snorted mid-orgasm — Gerald was so self-important it hurt to hear him. Logan sighed, breath condensing on Avery’s cheek as the last few drops of his cum drained into Avery’s tight asshole.
Another loud knock on the door, which rattled in its frame. Then Gerald swore as he walked away. “Hello?! I’m getting the key!”
Logan scoffed and chuckled. He pulled his dick out, letting his entire load drip out too. He pulled Avery back and aimed his ass down so that entire cumwad would flow out onto the floor. Logan’s moist, crackling voice filled the air. “C’mon, let’s get dressed. Leave a big mess for that tubby security motherfucker.”
The bathroom was hot and humid now, or at least it seemed that way to Avery. It stank too, ina good way from Avery’s perspective. Logan was less enthused. It was the smell of fucking fat chicks at a show, he thought. That ain’t a good smell. It signifies something good, but it is not good. Logan wrinkled his nose.
“Stinks in here, man, fuckin’-A,” Logan said. His dick swayed and jiggled between his legs. Logan looked down at it, in no hurry to tuck it away. He shrugged. “You want some tickets to our next show. Gimme ya phone number, I’ll send you tickets.”
Avery was too tired to think. He just nodded and smiled, his ass aching. He stretched his legs and hurried to pull his pants on, then texted Logan so he could get those tickets. Avery was probably not going to go, he was just being polite. Logan was the singer in a rock band — at a show, he was going to have women to fuck. Avery might as well be invisible. He didn’t really want to listen to Clusterfuck’s music.
But he liked the idea. They must have something on an app, Avery could listen to it to be polite. And it was obvious the real reason Logan wanted Avery’s phone number so he could arrange a meet-up some other time, when he had a hardon and no groupie around to fuck.
It was only then that they both noticed Logan’s shirt in the toilet.
Logan laughed. “Hell yeah, Gerald gonna have to do somethin’ ‘bout that.” He turned around to leave without the shirt. “He gonna get toilet water all over himself! Fuckin’ bitch!” He spat in the direction he imagined Gerald was in, but his spit simply splattered on the wall of the bathroom.
Avery usually cleaned himself off pretty good, but he was in a hurry. Logan didn’t care — Logan tucked his dick away without even wiping all the santorum off it, and he just walked out on bare feet and shirtless. Avery raced to follow him while Logan put his shoes and socks on out in the mall.
Everyone stared at Logan’s bare chest, which was hairy and gleaming with sweat. Avery’s hair was a mess, Logan was shirtless, both their clothes crooked. Logan hopped along as he slid into those bleach-stained boots.
Gerald the security guard was on his way back with the key when they saw him. He scowled at Logan and said, “You can’t be in the mall without a shirt on, man, I’ll call the cops again.”
Logan shrugged. “Fuck you, Gerald.” He went with Avery to the music store.
Avery was a law-abiding person, more or less. So telling a security guard to fuck off and hanging around shirtless in contravention of the rules while cops were on the way was nerve-wracking for him. Logan didn’t seem to care.
The clerk took Avery’s money. He cast a sideways glance at Logan but didn’t complain about the lack of a shirt — it was Avery who actually paid for the guitar, strings and drumsticks, after all, so there was no point in kicking Logan out and causing another argument with him.
“Shit, fuck yeah,” Logan said when Avery handed him the guitar. “Gonna sound good tonight.”
Avery smiled and blushed as he followed Logan out. “What was your band’s name again?”
“Clusterfuck. All one word. Look us up, we’s on YouTube and Google and Spotify,” he said. Then he added, more shamefacedly, “And join the Facebook group. That’s good for us, for real.”
“I definitely will.”
Simon and soccer player Octavio share a dorm room, but when Octavio gets dumped and has a stiffy that won’t go down, Simon is eager to help out! Can he accept this Uruguayan exchange student’s exotic machismo and his powerful manhood?
Read the whole thing here!
“Don’t worry, he won’t wake up,” Octavio’s voice filtered into Simon’s mind as he slept.
But that wasn’t quite enough to wake him up yet. Simon lingered in between sleep and wakefulness, as the conversation beneath him grew steadily louder and louder. Octavio’s deep voice echoed in the dorm room they shared.
Simon had come to GHU just three weeks ago, and he already disliked his dormmate. It was tough because, while Octavio was a prick, he was also a handsome soccer star. Simon loved his square jaw, broad shoulders and deep, dark eyes, his unbridled machismo, his bulging muscles that didn’t fit in the too-small soccer shorts he wore to bed. He was rough and brusque and seemed much older than his age. His jaw was broad, his hair short like a soldier, his chest perpetually shirtless.
His jersey and those musty shorts lay crumpled on the floor. Simon sat up as he heard the argument in the bed beneath him grow more heated. Octavio had brought his girlfriend over to the dorm. It was awkward, to have those two giggling and flirting, probably touching — maybe fucking — or at least, you know… touching each other — in the same room as Simon, while Simon wasn’t involved at all. Not a double date, not a friend of a friend, not a party. Simon had no connection to what was happening in his room.
Octavio’s frustrated voice muttered, muffled by the bed separating them. It sounded pleading. Was he asking her for something? Simon wondered if his breathing sounded like he was asleep. How do asleep people breathe? He exhaled slowly. Octavio and his girlfriend probably couldn’t hear though, they were talking, in increasingly animated voices. Octavio sounded frustrated.
“I don’t care, Octavio, don’t be a jerk! Why can’t we wait?!” That was Mandy, Octavio’s girlfriend. She was kind of a bitch, but she was beautiful — big tits, long legs, a round ass, a hefty head of mouse-brown hair. Mandy and Octavio had hooked up two weeks ago, but it already felt like forever. They argued constantly. She set up tasks for Octavio to do a lot, she seemed to think she was his social manager. She wanted Octavio to confront various people about wrongs done, to switch classes and majors, to say various things to various people in specific tones of voice, to buy her things even though she was the one from a wealthy family, while Octavio had to borrow money from her to buy the crap she insisted on. She’d barely looked at Simon. Women like her didn’t notice men like him existed.
“I been waiting!” he said with a groan. Octavio backed away from the dorm bed beneath Simon. She still lay there. Octavio must have been undressing, and maybe she did too? Simon heard a flurry of activity underneath him, which might have been her putting clothes on. Octavio’s face was ruddy and tense
He wore only a clean white jockstrap. The bulge of his dick would have been visible if it weren’t so dark in here, Simon had seen that on several occasions. When it was really hot, Octavio walked around in his jockstrap, either uncaring or unaware of how much his bare ass got Simon’s attention, especially when it was cradled by the straps of his jock.
Hoping to avoid any awkward situations, Simon pretended not to wake up. He couldn’t help but sneak peeks at Octavio’s nearly-naked soccer-toned body, however. Octavio was a soccer phenom back in his native Uruguay — he claimed to have been offered a position as a player for a professional club, but turned it down to go to school in America, here in the middle of nowhere. Simon wasn’t entirely sure he believed Octavio about the professional team offer, but it was plausible. He was the best soccer player on the GHU team, or so everybody said. Soccer fans seemed to think Simon should be overjoyed to be sharing a room with the Octavio Juárez.
“You’re being a real asshole right now. I said we could come up here and make out. I’m not…” her voice trailed off to a whisper, “having sex in front of your roommate.”
“He’s a wuss, and he’s uno nadie. He don’t matter, chica. Only you matter…” he said with a sigh. “I want you. I need you. Now shut up or he’s gonna wake-“
“Don’t you tell me to shut up! I told you about that, I hate that! You fucking asshole, Octavio! I knew this was going to happen. Didn’t I-?” She jumped to her feet.
“Oh, shut your stupid bitch mouth for a minute and let me talk!”
“What did you call me?!” Mandy put her hands on her hips, exchanged dark-eyed stares in the unlit dorm room with Octavio, whose jockstrapped body rippled and flexed like he was using all his muscles just to stand there. Her tits nearly overflowed from her bra, and she carried her blouse in hand. She put the blouse on and clumsily buttoned it as she strode to the door, then stood in the threshold and screamed at Octavio. “You are a real prick, Octavio, you know that? You’re a worthless piece of shit!” Then she slammed the door shut.
Simon sat up, as there was no point in pretending he slept through that. He looked at Octavio, who paced across the darkened dorm room. Light from the streetlamps outside and from the computers and charging cell phones kept the room illuminated enough to see his flat stomach and hairy chest, his nut-nose skin and his grizzled square jaw. Simon felt inadequate — he was small and skinny, and he seemed young in comparison even though he was actually three weeks older than Octavio. How did someone just barely eighteen look like he was pushing thirty? How did he have such muscle and body hair? Simon cursed his luck. Most of the guys in the drama department had a sixth floor dorm. Simon wished he was with them. He wasn’t a drama major — Dad would never allow that — but he hung out with theater people, and it sounded like they had such fun.
They didn’t have handsome machos like Octavio though. Simon licked his lips. He got to shower with Octavio sometimes, and he always did enjoy the camaraderie and the horseplay and the fat jiggling cock. He didn’t think Octavio felt reciprocally though — Simon enjoyed those things when Octavio did them, but Octavio wouldn’t enjoy them if Simon did them, which he didn’t. So to Octavio, those showers were probably boring and dumb, and he probably preferred to shower with his fellow soccer stars.
“Sorry ’bout that!” he muttered, his tone still angry as though this was Simon’s fault. He kept pacing.
“Oh, no worries,” Simon said. “It’s okay. I, uh… I’m sorry-“
But he wasn’t listening. He interrupted Simon with an expressive flourish of his hands. “That fucking bitch promised me she’d put out tonight!”
“Well, she might have-“
“I ain’t bein’ a prick, she was teasing me about it all night! All night, she was sayin’, you just wait till we get back to your dorm!”
“Yeah, Octavio-“
“And now she fuckin’ blueballs me! That goddamn perra! ¡Es la perra más grande del mundo!” he said. He put his hands on his hips and glared at Simon. “Why are you always lookin’ at me in my jockstrap, huh?” His pubic hair peeked out from the edge of the overstuffed jockstrap. It looked like his balls were about to fall out of the pouch.
Simon blushed. He didn’t answer. He just bit his lip. He hadn’t realized how obvious he’d been. But even now, he had trouble looking away from the overstuffed bulge of Octavio’s crotch.
Octavio came closer to the bunk beds. Simon was on the upper bunk, and Octavio was a little too short to look him right in the eye. He sneered at Simon.
“You can swallow my nut, Simon, but if you ever tell anyone, I will kick your ass!” he said. “¡Te voy a arrancar la polla!”
“She was right, you are a jerk!”
But Octavio didn’t register the words right away. He dropped his jockstrap, revealing a half-hard dick angrily throbbing, the veins in its shaft visibly pulsating even in the dim light of the dorm room. He was obviously very horny, Simon thought, which made Simon horny as well. He would greatly enjoy stroking, tasting and rubbing every inch of that awe-striking rod of man-meat.
“You are to say no? You do not want to do chack me off?”
“No! Well… I don’t have to. You shouldn’t take people for granted-“
“But you want to?”
Simon clamped his mouth shut. Saying no wouldn’t sound believable, he thought, so he simply said nothing.
Octavio sighed and flared his nostrils. He paced again, gave his dick a touch, then let go and glared at Simon. Then through gritted teeth, he said, “Will you please get me off? I know you want to…” His voice trailed off like he had wanted to add another insult but didn’t. He clucked his tongue against his teeth.
Simon slid off the edge of the bed, dropping to the floor, and Octavio scoffed like he was annoyed it had taken this long. Heart pounding, Simon moved one hand to grab Octavio’s dick, but Octavio gently pushed him down to his knees.
“C’mon… man… Put your mouf on it…” he said, again struggling to avoid insulting Simon. Simon was on his knees now, so close to Octavio he could smell the funk of his crotch and the floral bouquet of his girlfriend’s perfume, which clung to his skin. In the darkness, Simon could barely make out the silhouette of his cock, but the small portion he saw through the dimness was half-hard, throbbing and veiny, and the sight of it made Simon’s mouth water. Overhead, Octavio’s baritone boomed. “You’re my little pasivo now. You want it, I know it. You are having been looked at it many times. In the shower. You want it. You want me.”
He pushed his dick into Simon’s mouth. It tasted spicy and fresh, and a little like clean cotton from his jockstrap. The flavor reminded Simon of Latin food, the grass of the soccer pitch and the musty sweat scent that Simon caught a whiff of each time Octavio came back from practice exhausted. There was a certain sunniness to his flesh, like Simon could taste all the hours he had spent shirtlessly practicing in the Uruguayan sun.
His throat loosened as Octavio pushed his cock inexorably, but not violently, down. He grunted and moaned in half-articulated Spanish as he went, and his balls slapped against Simon’s chin. Simon’s hands fluttered at first, unsure if Octavio would allow him to touch his body.
He groaned as he fed his dick down Simon’s throat. He held onto Simon by the ear, grinding his dick as he pushed it ever deeper. Simon gripped his plump, muscular asscheeks and held on tight. Octavio’s ass was shockingly hairy for such a young man, the hairs were fine and soft, and his cheeks were firm yet juicy, jiggling beneath Simon’s fingertips.
There was a knock at the door. Simon gasped as Octavio pulled out. Octavio roared in frustration, then he seemed to consider it could be Mandy back again. He ran to the door and looked through the peephole.
“Octavio? Simon? Are you guys alright in there?”
It was Auden, the RA. He was an annoying Young-Republican taste of paste, a thick-thighed bespectacled business major who claimed to tolerate no tomfoolery but actually had such little authority he had no ability to prevent it. Nobody in the dorm liked him. He was mainly concerned with demonstrating his respect for diversity, enforcing rules was a second-order priority.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Octavio said through the shut door.
“Everything’s cool, Auden,” Simon said, his voice weak because he was desperate to get back on Octavio’s cock.
“It’s just… There was a lot of shouting just now. Are you sure everything’s okay? I can set up a conflict circle for tomorrow.” His voice was wavery like a weak string. “We should talk through-“
“Yes, it is okay now! We just have had a little disagreement,” Octavio said through flared nostrils. His dick pulsated in the darkness as it demanded more attention. Octavio opened the door all the way, boldly showing off his huge Hispanic prick, which was hard and dripping with precum and spit.
That made Simon suck in his breath. American men didn’t just flash their dicks in well-lit public areas like, apparently, Uruguayan men did.
The hallway outside the dorm room was quiet and dark aside from the emergency lighting that illuminated Auden. His portly body blocked the door way. “Uh… Oh…” Auden blushed. His fat cheeks jiggled, even when he wasn’t stumbling over any words. He stood there in the doorway, staring at Octavio’s cock. He was as mesmerized by it as Simon was, it seemed. Auden stumbled over his words. “Is… uh… your girlfriend still here?”
“I ain’t gotta tell you shit, esé,” Octavio said.
Auden backed up a few steps. “Okay, okay. I have great respect for the, uh… Uruguayan, uh… traditions, and uh… So, that’s — I’ll get that conflict circle set up-“
“No!” Simon cried out from the dorm room. He hadn’t wanted to get involved in this conversation. But Octavio seemed like he wasn’t going to argue about the conflict circle — Octavio had a coach and practice to use as an excuse, Simon had nothing and would have to talk to Auden about the conflict circle if he didn’t nip that it in the bud right now. “There’s no conflict, Auden. It’s fine. We don’t need a conflict circle!”
“Okay, it’s just, uh, reconciliation, and we need to solve-“
“I am closing the door now. It is a Uruguayan tradition,” said Octavio. He slammed the door in Auden’s face.
Outside the doorway, Auden’s voice could still be heard. “Uh, yeah, okay then… Just keep it down, Octavio.” He paused. “And Simon.”
Octavio’s hardon had almost diminished. But he muttered to himself, stroking it back to erection as he returned to Simon and slapped him over the face with his cock. Simon opened his mouth, and Octavio pushed his dick back down Simon’s throat, still muttering in Spanish about Auden. His dick was now as hard as it had been before the interruption, and he slammed it right down Simon’s throat.
“Swallow it, pasivo, yeah…” Octavio said, and he seemed to be going out of his way to be even louder just to prove he could, to prove that Auden meant nothing to him. He even situated himself towards the doorway as though Auden would be aware that Octavio’s anger was aimed at him.
Soon precum dripped down Simon’s throat again. It was salty and sweet, and it made Simon moaned with desire around the cockmeat in his throat. Octavio’s thick fingers rubbed Simon’s face and neck as he worked his dick all the way down Simon’s spasming gullet.
Then, without warning, Octavio pulled out. He pushed Simon onto his belly on the bed, and rammed his pinkie finger into his ass. He screwed up his nose as though he didn’t want to do it, even as he continued fingering Simon right in the ass. Pressure, pain, bliss and discomfort all hit Simon at the same time.
“Oh, hell… Octavio…” Simon’s voice broke. He threw his head back and moaned. He was on Octavio’s bed now, and he smelled both Mandy’s perfume and Octavio’s manly funk, his sweat, his socks and feet, the pillow he slept on every night, his unwashed sheets. Mandy’s perfume faded to the back of Simon’s mind.
All that mattered right now was Octavio’s youthful aroma and that fat cock, which Simon reached for even as Octavio moved both him and Simon into position. Into position for what? Simon didn’t know, but he was eager to find out.
“I want to stick it in you, americano,” he said breathlessly as he mounted Simon from behind. He didn’t put his dick in yet, just slid it hotly between Simon’s cheeks, and it pulsated there on Simon’s asscrack, as though it was massaging his sensitive hole. It sent waves of sensation through Simon’s body. He spoke right into Simon’s ear. “C’mon, you be my pasivo?”
“What does that mean?” Simon asked, his voice wavering and soft like Mandy’s had been (before she got salty).
“It means I get to stick my dick in ya culo when my girl won’t put out. I’ll be real gentle, promise…” he whispered, like he was embarrassed about it. “You will want it.”
“Oh, well… I guess, I…” Simon said. His heart pounded.
He had no sooner closed his mouth when Octavio pushed his dick in. A tight pressure erupted in Simon’s ass, and he clenched. Octavio had a tube of lube though, and he squeezed some out. Was Octavio planning on talking his girl into accepting anal sex tonight? That seemed hard to believe, but he was just cocky enough to try it.
Or maybe his dick was so big he needed lube for vaginal sex. Simon was a virgin and had no idea if that was normal or not.
Pangs of pleasure erupted in Simon’s sensitive ass, and he gripped the bunk bed tightly. Simon bit his lip to suppress a moan, not wanting Auden to interfere again, even as exquisite feelings ricocheted around in Simon’s body. It felt so good Simon’s whole body tensed and wrenched, and he slammed his head on the pillow underneath.
As Octavio worked his dick in deeper and deeper he moaned into Simon’s ear. He even kissed him on the cheek, then pulled away as though he hadn’t realized what he was doing. As he kept going, however, drilling his hard cock in deeper and deeper, his awkward kissing moved from Simon’s cheek to his lips. He even plunged his tongue into Simon’s mouth.
“I am a machote, you know what that means?” Octavio said when he pulled away from Simon’s lips. He wrapped his arms around Simon’s body as though holding him in place. He growled. “You want me to slam you like I should? An hombre should make his pasivo hurt, y’know. Mi papi always say a pasivo should be crying, that way he knows he is no real man.”
“Yes, oh god yes, Octavio,” Simon said, gasping for air as he was squeezed by Octavio’s muscles. Octavio’s dick, perfectly still, throbbed in Simon’s ass. He didn’t understand and wasn’t listening to Octavio’s words.
“Now take it, puta,” he said. He drove his dick in and out so hard and so quick that Simon gasped, not even able to concentrate enough to scream.
Then Octavio rolled him and Simon over onto their sides. He kept Simon’s chest in a tight hold, and he wrapped his feet around Simon’s ankles to hold him in position. Simon was wedged between Octavio’s lithe soccer-toned chest and the dorm room wall. He wondered if their neighbors would be able to hear. It seemed hard to believe there were two people sleeping maybe five feet from this spot and they didn’t know what incredible things were happening here.
He rammed his dick in and out, pushing the entire length of it, then pulling it almost all the way out, so just the tip remained, just enough to keep Simon’s attention focused on the pressure and pleasure in his ass. He moaned and bit his lip to avoid being too loud.
“Mi papi also teach me another rule,” he said, his voice suddenly low and soft. He kissed Simon on the cheek. “He say it should hurt, but it should also feel good. An hombre should give a reacharound.” His accent was growing thicker now, the more passionate he had become. “If he did his submission like a good pasivo should…”
His hand crept gingerly around Simon’s body, then wrapped around his cockshaft. Octavio moaned as though it was disgusting to him, but he gave it a few strokes all the same. That made a potent tenderness erupt in Simon’s cock, which spewed precum like water from a hose.
Soon Octavio had a good rhythm going. He used one arm to hold Simon into position, while his other hand jacked Simon off and his dick pounded in and out of Simon’s ass. He snorted like a bull as he humped, and Simon was totally immobilized, melting into Octavio’s powerful muscles, which squeezed and rippled and rubbed against the smoothness of Simon’s back.
“I’m going to fill you up. Don’t spill, that’s disrespectful to an hombre,” Octavio said. He sniffled as he drenched kisses on Simon’s back. “Okay, gringo? You promise you will not spill?”
“I promise…” Simon said, groaning as his own orgasm approached.
Octavio hit his climax first. He paused with his dick balls-deep in Simon’s ass, then gasped. Hot cum spread within Simon, who moaned loudly as it spread to every corner of his insides.
As he nutted within Simon, Octavio stopped stroking him off. Pleasure pounded through Simon’s veins. Then he squirmed, desperate to get himself off. His movement made Octavio’s dick twitch, and Octavio’s whole body writhed atop Simon.
And then Octavio resumed stroking. His limpening dick remained in Simon’s ass, even as his muscles all tightened and he groaned loudly.
It was only a minute or two later that Simon’s own orgasm overwhelmed him. He bit the pillow to avoid screaming, then rolled his head back and buried his face in Octavio’s hairy armpits. He grunted and groaned into Octavio’s body as cum sprayed over his chest and belly.
He didn’t know how long he lay there in Octavio’s arms. He would have gladly slept in exactly that position, but after what felt like forever, Octavio moved. He sopped up all the cum that had coated Octavio’s hand and Simon’s chest. Octavio gathered all of it up in one hand, his snorting disgust making it sound like he was being forced to do so, even though Simon hadn’t even asked him to.
Then Octavio held up his cum-dripping hand. He showed it to Simon, then very slowly pushed each finger into Simon’s mouth.
“Yeah, eat that nut, slut… You gettin’ nasty…”
Simon had always loved the taste of cum, but he’d only ever tasted his own. He also enjoyed sucking on Octavio’s fingers, which tasted of leather and grass, like what he imagined sucking on a soccer ball was like. Octavio moaned too, as though Simon’s sucking on his fingers caused him intense pleasure.
Then he finally pulled his limp cock out. He kissed Simon on the lips again and wrinkled his nose at the salty taste of cum. That didn’t stop him from pushing his tongue into Simon’s mouth and licking up all the semen that stuck to the inside of his mouth.
“Are we gonna do this again?” Simon asked.
He grunted in a negative way but paused before answering. “Probably,” he said. “But only at night. Don’t try to touch me during the day, and don’t tell no one about this. I’ll kick your fucking ass to pieces, puta.”
“Okay,” Simon said. He crawled out of the bed but Octavio stopped him. He dragged him back to where he was, ensconced in Octavio’s muscular limbs.
“Don’t go,” he said. “I wanna sleep with someone.”
Simon blushed, shocked that Octavio would do this. His heart pounded, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep. He wanted to lay here and lick those caramel biceps all night, but he knew Octavio would kick him out if he squirmed. So he lay still as Octavio drifted off to sleep.
“You better get out when the sun comes up, pasivo,” was the last thing Octavio said. “I don’t wanna see you in my bed in the light.”
“Okay,” Simon said. “Mi hombre. I’ll get up early.” He cuddled up closer to Octavio’s muscular chest, which exuded solidity and warmth. When he was sure Octavio was asleep, Simon arranged their bodies so that Octavio’s hot dick throbbed in Simon’s sscrack and his powerful arms wrapped around Simon’s body. In that position, Simon drifted into the most comfortable sleep of his life.
Avery hires a hunky model for a photoshoot, but the stud’s girlfriend ruins everything, and he’s got an inconvenient bulge he can’t get rid of… That’s where Avery comes in! He’s willing to service this handsome alpha if that’s what it takes!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Apparently, this was the only weeping willow tree in front of a barn and a pond in this area. Avery didn’t think that could possibly be true. Weeping willow trees were everywhere. Ponds and barns were quite common. How could this be the only suitable location? It was probably just the only one they could find a picture of on the Internet.
But Avery wasn’t about to complain. He had a spot laid out he thought would look good, so long as the model showed up soon, before the sun moved.
He paced back and forth. This was the first time he had been hired as a photographer, after months of selling cut-rate services online. Thus far, it had been kind of a bust.
But then all of a sudden, a large Indian company hired him to take twelve pictures — of handsome shirtless American men. They were making a calendar, it seemed. Avery was excited. This seemed like a real possible entrance into the world of professional photography. On the one hand, taking shirtless-hunk pics was kind of cheap, but on the other hand, it was indisputably professional, not amateur — Avery would be able to put on his resume that he had produced the pictures for a best-selling calendar (obviously he didn’t know if it would be best-selling, but no one regulated that kind of claim, and for all he knew, it would be a best-seller in India).
He wondered if he should have looked up what Indian women thought was handsome. He hadn’t considered that. Should he assume they wanted what he would want? Would an American man think the same thing was sexy as some Indian women? The Indian company who hired him hadn’t even said that they were releasing it in India, so that all might not even matter.
He tried doing some googling with the Google India portal. As far as he could tell, aside from a preference for beards, there wasn’t much he could glean about handsome Indian men.
They wouldn’t want a picture in front of an American barn if they wanted him to look Indian, Avery thought. What if the model is Indian? He should have asked more questions when he accepted the gig. It had seemed so simple at the time: just snap some pics of a handsome bare-chested dude in front of a weeping willow, a pond and a barn. They even found the location for him and hired the model (and when the original model had had to cancel, they found a replacement).
Finally a little red Ferrari zoomed along the winding country roads that carved through the mountains. It was going way too fast, Avery thought. It came to a screeching halt on the asphalt — not on the little gravel road that led to the barn, which was where Avery had parked.
“Oh my god, Owen if you think you’re parking my dad’s Ferrari in the fucking gravel, you are very mistaken,” said a female voice. She was Veranda, and she was a pretty but harsh-looking woman with an angular face and blonde hair so perfectly cascading past her shoulders that it looked like she had scalped a Barbie. Avery instantly took a disliking to her and not just because she was Owen’s girlfriend.
Owen was the model, and he was dreamy, impossibly hunky, cringe-inducingly handsome. Avery wanted to gaze into his soulful eyes and hear him wax philosophically about sunsets. He wanted to slather him with kisses. Avery hadn’t expected him to be like that. He was kind of lean, but well-muscled, long-limbed, tall but not extraordinarily so. He had dark hair in an impeccable little foppish wave, every strand in place and plastered there with some sort of mousse that Avery guessed was very expensive. He had dour dimples and a disaffected grin on his face as he got out of the car, tossed his head back to get his hair out of his eyes and nodded at Avery.
Still on the road, they had to walk to meet Avery. Owen was mostly silent the whole way, but Veranda kept talking. “This is all so ridiculous. I can’t believe we drove all this way for this.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I mean, we drove for like an hour to get here, an hour back, that means you’re making like twenty bucks an hour. That’s bullshit. I’m sorry, I wouldn’t piss on a dead dog for that,” she said. She lit her cigarette. “And for that…” She glanced over at Avery as though she didn’t want to finish her sentence in front of him.
That’s because she and Owen had been about to have sex when he got the call asking him to come here for a photoshoot. Owen had been struggling to break into modeling for awhile. He was desperate for any gig he could get. So he went even if it disrupted them from having sex.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen until after Owen took a little blue boner pill.
It wasn’t until Avery had shaken Owen’s hand and gotten him to take his shirt off that he noticed the erection. Owen had aimed it up so it wasn’t that obvious at first. Once you saw it though, you couldn’t hardly miss it.
For one thing, he had worn tight skinny-jeans. There was nowhere to hide his ten inches of manmeat in those pants. Avery snuck glances at it as he explained the photoshoot and got a look at Owen next to the barn and weeping willow. He looked good in the right light, real good. This was going to be a nice photoshoot. But Avery’s eyes were drawn over and over to the Wiagro-fueled bulge in his designer jeans.
Owen blushed when he saw Avery checking it out. He again re-angled his cock upwards, so it wouldn’t tent his pants. It was still visible though.
“Ah, so… You have a, uh…” Avery blushed. “That’s going to be a problem.” He pointed to Owen’s crotch. “It’s very distracting.”
“Sorry, man… what kinda pants am I supposed to wear? I can hide it,” Owen said. He bit his lip nervously, showing off those outrageous dimples that made Avery swoon. His whole body sort of undulated when he got nervous, showing off those outrageous abs — he did one-hundred sit-ups twice a day. He demonstrated that, with his cock at the right angle, it wasn’t visible. But every time he moved, it was no longer at the right angle, and he winced each time because his erect dick was so sensitive. “Sorry. I, uh… I have a hardon. It’s hard to get rid of-“
“He’s not kidding, it won’t go away for hours.”
“Don’t worry, I, uh, I have spare pants. They’re corduroys,” Avery said. “Let’s go into the barn and change.” He glanced back at Veranda. “I’ll… I’ll work around, uh… your anatomical… issues-“
She scoffed and took a deep drag. “He took a pill, mister, that thing’s not going away for a couple hours. Cuz if he thinks I am letting him fuck me in a fucking barn in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere, he is sorely mistaken-“
Owen interrupted her, his face suddenly tense and red. “I didn’t fucking ask you to fuck me in a fucking barn in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere-!”
“Don’t you shout at me, you loser!” She shouted right back. “Go ahead and get him off, mister! He’s gonna stay hard until you do.” She crossed her arms over her chest and took out her phone to start texting. Avery got the feeling she had been waiting for a good opportunity to lose herself in her phone and that she was not going to pay any more attention to Owen. Owen seemed relieved by that.
Avery nodded as politely as he could muster at her, not that she was paying attention, she was focused on that phone. He walked away, arm in arm with Owen.
When they got in the barn, Avery handed the corduroys over to Owen, who dropped his pants. That was when Avery saw how huge his cock was, and how throbbing that erection. He had been blue-balled, it seemed, and Avery was tantalized by its meaty heft and how close it already appeared to orgasm
I bet I could just run my finger along the top of it and he’d bust out, Avery thought. He blushed.
“Corduroys, huh? Do people still wear corduroys?”
“Maybe in India,” Avery said with a shrug. “They told me these would be good pants to wear.” He watched as Owen tried to fit into the corduroys, but they were a little small for him, and his massive erection kept getting in the way. Owen blushed until he was as red as Avery.
“Uh… I’ve been working out, getting more muscle tone,” Owen said. “I prolly need bigger pants. I have big thighs now. I can do it though, I just… uh…”
“Was your girlfriend serious about me jacking you off?”
Owen nodded. “You’re like… into that? Is that… cool? I mean…?” He was one of those people who talked as if everything was a question, so it was hard to tell what he actually intended as a question and what was a statement.
Avery dropped to his knees. “I just need you to go soft enough for us to take a couple pics. No biggie. I’m a professional like that. I’ll do what it takes to make this photoshoot a success.”
Owen sucked in his breath and nodded again. He peered outside to see if his girlfriend was coming closer. She was focused on her phone and wouldn’t likely put it down until he said he was done. Owen rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’d let a man jack him off. Owen found a lot of modeling gigs came easier if he let a producer manhandle him. He didn’t mind. In this case, it wasn’t even that — he already had the gig. He could even have masturbated if he really wanted to.
But that would have definitely made Veranda make fun of him. She would have called him a pussy for jacking his own self off, like a loser-ass pansy. She was like that.
Avery sunk to his knees at Owen’s feet, and he pulled those corduroys down until his cock was bare. Avery chased it with his mouth, while Owen stood there like he was modeling already, putting out a smoldering handsome face aimed in no direction in particular. He looked contemplative, serious yet casual.
Finally, his dick plopped heavily on Avery’s waiting tongue. It tasted like sex, Avery decided, you could tell he had been thinking about sex, maybe even precummy, not that long ago. He might have fucked Veranda recently. Though she did seem like the kind of girlfriend who usually found an excuse not to have sex. She was like that, Avery could tell.
He could sense that Owen had been hard for a long time too. He was rock-hard but still springy and just a bit floppy in the best possible way. His veiny shaft was not pulsating like a normal hardon at first, but it did begin to throb once Avery got it excited — basically, it was still and dull when his erection was caused by pharmaceuticals, but once it was caused by arousal, it was a potent, throbbing stiffy like any other.
Avery played with it a bit first, while Owen made nervous mewling noises and kept checking his girlfriend. She had said he “could” do this, but he didn’t want her to know he actually did it. She’d probably insist he make friends with Avery so anytime she didn’t want to suck him off — pretty much always — she’d tell him to get his nut off from Avery.
That’d be a great plan from Avery’s perspective. Not so much for Owen.
He sighed and tried to relax to enjoy the mouth on his cock, which Avery worked on with enthusiasm. It did feel good, he thought, as Avery slathered his shaft with spit and slurped merrily on the tip. It was nice to get jacked off by someone eager to do it. Veranda treated it like a chore, like doing the dishes — a chore that Owen couldn’t even tell her not to worry about, because she insisted he would cheat on her if she didn’t do it. Somehow she did things neither of them wanted, yet it was Owen’s fault.
Not Avery. Owen could tell Avery did this because he wanted it, because he needed it, because Owen’s cock was that good. Avery guzzled it down.
“Hmmmm…. You taste sweet,” Avery said when he pulled off Owen’s shaft. A few drops of precum came out the tip, and Avery slurped them down. The bright, salty taste of Owen’s body hit his senses.
Avery slurped on the tip with a smirk as he played with the underside of Owen’s shaft. He let it dance overtop his face, with his mouth and lips planted right at the root, on the underside. He let his tongue snake out and tickle the veiny spot where his dick met his ballsac. The taste was salty and funk, accentuated by the vaporous chypre of the drugstore cologne Owen wore.
Owen groaned and closed his eyes. “Goddamn, man, you got a nice mouth. You’re better than Veranda. I swear, she’s like ninety-percent teeth. She’s like a shark.”
Avery chuckled. He spat on the shaft then licked it off, making Owen groan and shudder in excitement. Avery licked his way down the shaft until he got to those low-hanging balls, which were clean and ripe and juicy. Avery guzzled them down, letting his mouth fill with Owen’s fleshy sac.
“Can I lick your ass?” Avery asked. He didn’t often give out rimjobs, but if he were ever going to do it, Owen was perfect. He had a nice clean ass, fleshy and firm and strong. It smelled of sunshine and coconut soap.
His eyes opening wide, Owen blushed as he turned around. He once again checked his girlfriend — she was texting angrily now, presumably either bitching about him or sympathizing with one of her friends who was bitching about her boyfriend. She ignored him. She didn’t seem to have even noticed that this was taking a long time — technically, Owen had only come in here to change his pants. But it had already been a good five minutes, maybe more like ten.
For all she knows, this photographer turned out to be a serial killer and he’s already turning my dick into a lampshade, Owen thought to himself. The more time he spent with Veranda, the more he wanted to dump her.
But Owen was one of those guys who was literally never single. Since middle school, he always had a serious girlfriend. He hadn’t gone more than a week or two without a girlfriend in years. He didn’t know how to handle life without a woman telling him what to do.
And supporting him. Owen didn’t make enough from modeling to pay the bills.
Avery kneeled behind Owen, who leaned on a railing of some kind — this barn wasn’t used anymore, but it looked like at one point it had been for milking cows. Owen grimaced and spread his legs wide so Avery could get between his cheeks. His thighs were thickly muscled, and his buttcheeks were smooth like porcelain. Avery rammed his tongue in quickly, his hands kneadig the flesh of Owen’s backside.
“Oh god…” Owen wasn’t expecting it to feel so good, especially right away. He threw his eyebrows way back, and he let out a long moan.
From the moment Avery’s tongue hit his asshole, spasms of pleasure shot up Owen’s spine. Owen grunted and groaned. Avery’s tongue rammed into him. It seemed impossibly long, and Owen even looked behind himself to check if it was really his tongue or if it was a finger.
But he’d never gotten a rimjob before, so he didn’t know what it was supposed to be like. Was his ass that sensitive? Or was Avery’s tongue that big? Or maybe Avery was just really good at it. A wave of pleasure exploded in Owen’s body, like something he had never experienced, it was toe-curlingly intense.
Regardless, Owen’s eyes bulged out and he lifted one foot like a dog getting scratched. He wrenched his head back and held his breath.
Avery lapped at his perfectly clean and smooth ass. Owen had even gotten his anus bleached a few weeks ago, so it was pristine. His asscheeks were a lightly tanned brown, the same shade as the rest of his skin — obviously, Avery thought, he tanned in the nude. He had no tan lines at all.
Finally Owen had had enough. His cock strained to finally shoot his wad. He pulled away a little gingerly, his knees going weak when Avery’s face moved away from his ass. “Okay, man, I gotta nut. I swear it feels like I’ve been hard for years, man. I don’t even remember what it feels like to not… y’know… to be able to think about something else.” He gasped. “Oh god, I need to nut-“
“You wanna stick it in me?” Avery asked. He turned around, baring his own ass, which was paler and not as perfectly smooth as Owen’s, but still it was good enough for Owen’s horny body. He didn’t even care anymore, he just wanted to ram his dick in some tight hole and finally blow his wad.
So he didn’t even answer Avery’s question. He didn’t want to speak for fear of attracting attention from Veranda out there. She might have genuinely gotten angry if she knew what he was doing. She didn’t even know about cornholing, Owen was pretty sure. Or if she knew about it, she thought it was an urban legend, not something anybody would do.
And she’d never touch Owen again if she knew.
In any case, Avery was plenty loud for him from the moment Owen’s cock rammed up his backside. Avery grunted and groaned, pawing at the ground just from sheer excitement as that meaty shaft slid between his cheeks. It felt even girthier because Owen was skinny-muscled. It looked like he had stolen a thick man’s cock, Avery thought, making him giggle as he squeezed the lube he always kept in his pocket over his own ass and Owen’s shaft.
That helped the rest of Owen’s erection slide into Avery’s ass. Owen grimaced, humping his dick between Avery’s cheeks until he saw lube bubbling in and out of the hole. Then he aimed it in, closed his eyes and moaned.
It felt so good. Fucking Veranda hadn’t been this good in years, not since they first hooked up, if ever. None of his girlfriends ever made him feel like this.
He completely lost track of time. Owen didn’t even care how long it took or about the money from the photo shoot. None of that seemed important. All that mattered was ramming his entire rod into Avery’s ass, ramming into him over and over, exploring every inch of his tender body. Sensations exploded through both men’s bodies. Owen moved with more passion than he ever had.
“Oh god, stick it in me!” Avery called out. He had completely forgotten Veranda was out there. Owen didn’t think much about that either. She had excised herself from his life, Owen thought, so why should he care if she knew about this? What was the worst she could do? Bitch about it like she already bitched about every single thing that happened?
He wasn’t sure he had ever gotten his entire dick in a woman’s ass. He was big enough that that was a challenge, and he was too much of a doe-eyed prettyboy to really push for it anyway. So it felt nice to jam his dick in and out, clapping his hands and smacking Avery’s plump cheeks. Most women couldn’t even take his whole cock in their pussies, and Veranda would never lower herself to trying. She thought only ghetto-sluts did anal.
Finally he felt an orgasm approach, exquisite bliss spiderwebbing through Owen’s body, making his muscles all tighten up at once. Owen sighed and moaned out loud, blushing as he saw Veranda poke her head into the barn. Her eyes opened wide.
She was just in time to watch Owen’s six-pack undulate as he orgasmed. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and sucked in his breath. His balls slapped against Avery’s asscheeks, making a loud thwack-thwack sound with each thrust of his hips at Avery’s tight booty. Veranda’s face froze.
He stayed there all the way in, cock throbbing within Avery’s ass, as the most intense orgasm of his life burst within him. Owen shouted and pounded on his chest. He ran his fingers through his coiffed hair, finally messing up his hairdo and giving himself that ‘just-fucked-a-chick’ look. A similar surge of pleasure coursed through Avery’s veins, and Avery panted, crying out for more.
“Owen!” Veranda shouted, yelping at the sight of her boyfriend’s ruddy face and bulging eyes. She held her breath and tried to look away but found herself unable to do so.
Owen didn’t respond. He was too busy writhing with bliss as he climaxed into Avery’s tight ass. Avery had been stroking himself off the whole time, and he shot his own wad soon after, spraying it over the wooden floor of the barn. A vast flood of it spurted several feet in front of him, as Owen’s cock stimulated a prostate orgasm that wracked Avery from head to toe.
Her feet tapped on the barn floor. Veranda had said Owen should get jacked off by Avery, not stick him in the butt. She had trouble thinking of a reason she should be angry about this, but she wasn’t about to let an opportunity to win an argument pass her by.
“Owen! How dare you?!” Veranda scowled.
“What?” Owen said, his voice wavering because he was still in the throes of orgasm. “You said to jack off with him.” The last few drops of his load filled up Avery’s ass.
Only then did Avery realize Veranda was even here. She seemed so unimportant to him. Even now, as Owen and her yelled, Avery’s attention remained on the fat cock in his ass, stimulating his prostate and causing a symphony of sensations to continue sparking up and down Avery’s petite body.
“I said to put it in his mouth, you jackass!” She scowled. “That’s disgusting, what you’re doing… It’s… It’s…”
“Nuh-uh,” Owen said with a throaty laugh. He took a deep breath, watching his dick throb within Avery’s cheeks. Then he pulled slowly out. Both him and Avery sighed when his cock left Avery’s ass, and both men’s knees went weak. “Goddamn, man, I needed that. Shit, you-“
“Don’t you talk back to me!”
“-you got hella nice ass, man,” Owen said, speaking over Veranda. He blushed intensely. That was true and he meant to say it, but he said it mainly to prove to Veranda he didn’t need to hang on her every word. He was his own man, not simply her boyfriend.
“Thanks. You got a nice dick. It’s a pity this photoshoot isn’t naked,” Avery said. He cleaned himself off with a wetnap.
“You hear me, you jerk?! This photoshoot is over!”
“No! We’re over. Go home, Veranda,” Owen said. He looked to Avery. “You’ll give me a ride home, right? That’s her car. Or her dad’s, I mean. Nothing is hers. You can play with it some more on the way. I’m sure I’ll be hard again by then.”
“Sure,” Avery said as Veranda stomped away to her car. Avery cleared his throat. “Okay, well, get those corduroys on. We’ll have to hurry to get these pics taken before your boner comes back.” Avery smiled. His first photoshoot as a professional photographer had gone better than expected.
The football team at GHU did a panty raid, which means the gymnast team is allowed to turn the tables… The jocks get their jockstraps raided, resulting in a massive-athlete multiple-man locker room showdown both teams will never forget!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Last year, the football team had done a panty raid on the cheerleaders in the locker room. They stormed in there half-naked and shouted ‘Panty Raid!’ over and over as they grabbed used and clean panties from the girls. It was a big scandal at GHU afterwards. The cheerleaders themselves called it an enjoyable prank, but the feminist groups on campus were less enthused.
But now this year, Avery and the other gymnasts marched into the men’s locker room a few minutes after football practice ended. His heart pounded as he and the other gymnasts chanted, “Jockstrap Raid! Jockstrap Raid! Jockstrap Raid!”
That was because the gymnastics team had won the state championship this year, the first GHU team to win a championship in years. The football team had had a dismal season, so Coach Marshall told the gymnasts to come on in and go to town on the football jocks.
The players were sullen, sweaty beasts, angry with each other for having lost the season badly and having had a disappointing practice today. They stood and sat on benches in the locker room, dressed mainly in their jockstraps, though a few were naked, crotches covered by their hands as they watched the gymnasts file into the locker room.
“Jockstrap Raid! Jockstrap Raid! Jockstrap Raid!”
Avery blushed. He wasn’t used to being this forward. It was normal for athletes to be so horny they couldn’t resist stealing girls’s panties. But he and his fellow gymnasts just didn’t do that kind of thing.
“Give us your jockstraps, men!”
The gymnasts clapped and hooted as they spread out. Someone even turned the lights off, so the locker room was dimly illuminated only by the emergency lighting. That made it significantly easier for Avery, who didn’t feel like he was about to be beat up as he approached Jimmy.
Jimmy was the quarterback and team captain, and he had the most well-sculpted ass that Avery had ever seen. Once a few months ago, Avery walked past the men’s locker room and caught a glimpse into the door as it swung shut. Jimmy was there, wearing a jockstrap and nothing else, flicking a wet towel. His muscled back was covered in either sweat or shower water, Avery couldn’t tell which. There was a sink area near the door, so Jimmy’s presence near enough that Avery could see him from outside suggested that Jimmy and the team were engaging in horseplay there in the lockers. Avery had shuddered at the sight of Jimmy’s plump asscheeks cradled by a soaked jockstrap.
Now he went up to Jimmy’s shadowy body. He stood with one foot on the bench, mid-conversation with a linebacker when the gymnasts filed in. He remained right there, balls overflowing from his jock pouch where it dangled between his open legs. His broad muscles were bare, his crotch unblocked from view, cuz Jimmy was shameless like that. When he spoke, his balls jiggled in the pouch of his jockstrap.
“Give up the jockstraps, gentlemen!” shouted the gymnastics team captain, Fred. He was the most flamboyant and feminine of the gymnasts, and as he spoke, he shook his ass in his trackpants in front of the tight end Charlie Smitkowski, who giggled like he was watching his first stripper give him a lapdance.
“This is weird, Jimmy.”
“Don’t be fuckin’ squeamish, man. Ain’t a big deal. We told the cheerleaders it weren’t a big deal, so it can’t be a big deal now-” Whoever that was — Avery didn’t see in the darkness — squealed then, and there was an explosion of movement.
“Damn, whoever that was, that’s too much, you can’t stick your finger in my ass!”
Avery ignored the nervous laughter of the football players. He steeled his own nerves and reached out for Jimmy’s broad, strapping chest muscles. Jimmy must not have realized it was going to happen, because he yelped in surprise and his muscles all tensed at once.
That rolling undulation of his powerful muscles was enough for Avery to get dizzy and overheated. Jimmy dripped with sweat, and his pectoral muscles were like overinflated soccer balls, hard and unyielding yet soft and inviting at the same time. Avery leaned in and licked the sweat off his nipples as Jimmy joined the other teammates in laughter.
“Oh yeah, nasty!”
“Lick it up, boys! Lick it up!”
They laughed cockily as though they enjoyed being the object of attention from a bunch of flamboyant gymnasts, but they were all distinctly nervous. Their muscles remained tensed as the gymnasts explored their football jock bodies.
“Jockstrap Raid! Jockstrap Raid!”
Meanwhile Avery’s hands roamed down Jimmy’s body. Jimmy stood there, flat on both feet now like a soldier at attention. His muscles quaked like he was slightly ticklish or just plain nervous at Avery’s hands on the straps of his jock.
A part of Avery wanted to keep going and stroke Jimmy off, but he didn’t — nobody else was, and he didn’t think Jimmy would allow that. Coach Marshall hadn’t said they could do it (though he hadn’t say they couldn’t either). And the football players hadn’t had sex with the cheerleaders after the panty raid — or had they? Now Avery wasn’t sure. He knew he heard once that the football players had all eaten out a cheerleader’s pussy at the same, and they had switched girls as a competition to see who was best.
That seemed gross and unsanitary to Avery, but, he could hardly complain. Once he pulled down Jimmy’s jockstrap and had it in his hand, he shoved the entire thing in his mouth. He suckled on it, trying to get every drop of salty moisture.
“Oh damn, I ain’t think they was gonna lick on ’em!”
“That’s is fuckin’ nasty. We ain’t suck on the panties.”
“Raython did.”
“Fuck you, I did not! I licked one panty-“
“You brought it back to the dorm afterwards though-“
“I ain’t suck on it!”
A fight broke out. In the dark, Avery couldn’t see who was involved. There was a flurry of punches, shouts of ‘come at me, then!’ and ‘try me, bro!’ but soon enough it was done. Avery couldn’t even tell who fought — Raython exchanged punches with someone, but that only lasted a moment and was more friendly than a real fight. But the players bumped into each other, sparking a real fight. Avery was right there in the melee. His heart raced. In the dark, fists flew willy-nilly, and more than one gigantic hulking linebacker rammed into him accidentally.
Yet Avery didn’t want to find his way out of the crowd. Everywhere he looked and everyplace he flailed his hands, all he gripped was sweat-dripping muscles, hairy flesh and jockstraps that Avery was desperate to get his hands on.
“Come at me, then bro!” someone shouted, as a brief fight erupted.
“Fuck you, man, no fighting in the locker room!” Jimmy shouted as the other shadowy player got up and stalked off towards the showers. Jimmy wagged his fat cock in that player’s direction. He scoffed. As the team captain, it was up to him to make sure they didn’t fight in the locker room. He sighed and glared at his teammates.
The remaining players were crammed in so close together that Avery could barely breathe. He was short, especially for a gymnast, so on most of the football players, Avery’s face was even with their nipple lines or even lower than that. Since the players were crammed into a tiny part of the locker room, Avery was pinned between their slabs of sweaty meat. He stuck his tongue out and everywhere he turned, he lapped up a fresh batch of freshly sweat-dappled muscle.
“Fuck you, Jimmy! You thought we would win! You promised it-“
“Oh grow up, Tony! I’m the team captain, of course I said we would win if we worked hard and played our best,” Jimmy said. “What kinduva team captain would say anything else?” He put his hands on his hips. Avery managed to squeeze through the players until he was behind Jimmy, whose sweaty back pressed against Avery’s face. Without thinking about it, Avery’s hand began loosely caressing the light blond hairs of the small of Jimmy’s back. When Jimmy didn’t protest, his fingers moved lower, playing with the moist funk of Jimmy’s asscrack.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be our team captain anymore!”
“After the season is over?! There’s not even any point to having a team captain anymore. There’s no more games,” Jimmy said.
“The cheerleaders are going to the basketball team party. The basketball team barely did any better than we did, and they’re all gonna get blowjobs-“
“We were invited to the same party,” Jimmy said. “Come on, guys-” Jimmy bristled and tensed up as Avery’s finger brushed over his asshole, his tight, dark, funky hole. His voice cut off and broke.
“We can get you off!” Fred shouted, and the other gymnasts all cheered.
The football players exchanged odd glances in the dark. It looked like some of them had forgotten the gymnasts were here. Avery realized only just now that more than a few of his fellow gymnasts were stroking off the football players in the dimly-lit locker room. A few of the football players let out some nervous laughter. One of them walked away, shaking his head as he headed to the showers.
But most of the team remained. Avery couldn’t believe this was happening. His hand roamed from Jimmy’s ass to his crotch. Avery’s heart skipped a beat as he gripped that thick shaft.
“Uh… Is this… okay?” Jimmy asked, directing the question at his teammates. There was a chorus of sharp breaths as the football players gasped. They looked at each other, raising their eyebrows, questioning who was going to give in to this and who was going to go take a shower.
No one actually answered Jimmy, but since no one — including Jimmy himself — walked away, the answer was apparently yes, at least for those jocks who hadn’t already left (a few had). Someone let out a long, low groan that provoked laughter in the other players.
“Who was that? Huh? Someone really likes it!”
“That was Raython, I’m sure of it.”
“Guess again, motherfucker. It was Tuck.”
“No it wasn’t. The guy on my dick ain’t even do it very good, nothing personal.” That was Tuck, the left tackle, who gasped then as the gymnast on his dick fell to his knees and swallowed his dick all the way down to the root.
“Ah, shit they doin’ it now! They doin’ it!”
One by one, the football players each said it was no big deal. Even Jimmy said it, though his voice quavered and his body tensed like he didn’t entire believe that. Or maybe he was so horny that his body tensed beneath Avery’s grasp. His dick throbbed.
Either one drop of precum escaped from Jimmy’s cock, or maybe it was a droplet of sweat. Regardless, Avery felt it coat Jimmy’s shaft and Avery’s fingers, lubing his hand up.
Something had changed then. Avery sensed it, and he knew everyone else had sensed it too — this jockstrap raid had become a circlejerk. The jockstraps themselves tumbled to the floor, forgotten. Someone was already getting someone else off, Avery could hear the moist suckling sounds.
“Ah, goddamn, it’s true what they say about men throating better than females… fuck…”
Avery dropped to his knees to start throating as well He was so short that when he went all the way to the ground as he usually would, he was too short. He could have crawled like that between Jimmy’s legs and Jimmy’s balls wouldn’t have dragged on Avery’s back — Jimmy was just too tall.
So Avery had to stretch his head upright, on his knees in front of Jimmy. He still had to strain to reach Jimmy’s cock, which was just slightly hard. It twitched as though trying to run away from Avery’s mouth when he kissed it on the tip.
“Oh, damn, my guy is makin’ out with it,” Jimmy said, with one muscled arm covering his eyes even though he was in a darkened locker room so he couldn’t see anyway. He giggled nervously like a little boy. The other players were reacting similarly — all except Raython, who reacted like he did this all the time.
“C’mon,” Raython said, “Go deeper…” He groaned and moaned as he did so. Avery couldn’t tell who was licking Raython’s shaft, but whoever it was gurgled as Raython’s cock rammed down his throat.
But Jimmy was too ginger about this to do anything like that. He flailed his hands above Avery’s head as though he wanted to start guiding him but didn’t want to touch him, like Avery’s short hair would remind him that the person tasting his cock was not a girl.
By now Jimmy’s cock was hard as stone. It throbbed and pulsated in Avery’s mouth, and it twitched as though it had a mind of its own. It communicated its desire to Avery through its vibrations in Avery’s hungry throat.
“Holy hell…”
“I was not expectin’ practice to end like this…”
Even in the dark, Avery could tell that Jimmy was red-faced, his chest and neck ruddy as pleasure wafted through his body. He suspected that Jimmy would have never agreed if the lights weren’t off in the locker room.
One of Avery’s hands snaked out without him thinking about it and grabbed the muscular booty of one of the players standing nearby. Avery moaned as he felt another pair of sweaty asscheeks, which twitched nervously beneath his touch.
He moved down to Jimmy’s balls, which were heavy and low-hanging. They smelled rank with sweat right now, though that scent was mostly indistinguishable from the locker room itself. Avery made as much noise as he could because it made the football players laugh — a deep, boisterous chorus of laughter that echoed in the locker room — and the other gymnasts joined in.
“Ah fuck, he slurpin’ on my balls now,” Jimmy murmured. Some of the other jocks laughed at his shocked tone.
Soon the locker room was filled with the deafening roar of loud suckling, moist bubbling sounds and wet choking as the gymnasts sputtered on massive jock cockmeat sliding down their throat. More than a few of the football players made plenty of noise too, moaning softly, cutting themselves off because no one — save Raython, who was shameless — wanted to seem like they were really into this.
But the sharp gasps and hyperventilating made it clear how enjoyable this was for the players, including Jimmy, who felt up his own nipples now.
Avery guided Jimmy’s hand from his chest to Avery’s own head. Jimmy instinctively gripped him tight and slammed his dick all the way down. They both groaned, but then Jimmy pulled away like he hadn’t meant to do that.
“Damn, why couldn’t you have long hair like a girl?”
Avery wanted to explain why, but his mouth was full of ballsack. He had had long hair in high school, but it made him look like a girl from behind and the football jocks had teased him so much he cut his hair. It wasn’t conducive to serious gymnastics either.
He gargled on the balls in his mouth, making a loud, somewhat nasty sound that caused the football players to all laugh. Only Jimmy didn’t laugh, because he threw his head back and moaned.
He wasn’t paying attention, which was perfect for Avery’s new plan. He took ahold of Jimmy’s hand again. Before, he had guided it to his head so Jimmy could really get it down his throat, though Jimmy had been uncomfortable with that. This time, however, Jimmy was busy moaning as his sensitive balls bounced and dripped sweat into Avery’s mouth.
So Avery guided Jimmy’s hand to his buddy, who was the dark-haired wide receiver George. Jimmy didn’t seem to notice as he clutched his teammate’s muscled back, and his hand was guided down to George’s ass.
Both Jimmy and George realized what was happening at the same moment. They both yelped and jumped. Jimmy drew his hand away, and Avery giggled.
Avery kept his mouth in position beneath Jimmy’s juicy balls, but then he moved his tongue back as he slid between Jimmy’s legs. Avery’s tongue ran along Jimmy’s sensitive taint, causing a shudder to run up his spine.
“Ah, damn, that tickles…”
The sweat here was fresh. It was salty and grimy, and it made Avery’s own cock pulsate in his hands. He writhed and Jimmy must have felt similarly, because his knees buckled and he nearly fell over.
But Avery didn’t stop there. He continued licking Jimmy’s taint as though he wanted to lick right through the skin. Then he slipped through Jimmy’s legs and came up, tongue-first on the other side.
That meant his face dived between Jimmy’s asscheeks. Jimmy wasn’t a very hairy jock overall, but his ass had plenty of fine blond fur. As soon as his tongue ran over Jimmy’s sensitive asshole, Jimmy bent over and moaned. His teammates laughed at him, but no one could quite see what was happening so they didn’t know that Avery was giving a rimjob.
Jimmy had clearly never had anyone lick his ass before. He gasped in shock with every lap of Avery’s tongue on that sensitive hole, and he writhed as though it hurt when Avery finally entered his ass. He backed his hips up, penetrating himself with Avery’s tongue.
The sweaty ass-funk of Jimmy’s unwashed body coated Avery’s mouth. He loved licking a big macho straight man’s asshole because it always tasted so nasty in a perfect way — it tasted like pure manhood, like Avery had taken all of the things that make a man manly and put them in a blender, then chugged it by the mouthful.
“I don’t know ’bout y’all,” Raython said with a groan. He loudly smacked his gymnast’s ass. “But I’m gonna stick this guy in the ass. That okay wit’ you, queer?” He laughed.
“What?!”
“You serious, Raython?”
In the darkness, Avery couldn’t see, but it sounded like Raython wasn’t waiting for the approval of his teammates. A moist slapping sound filled the air, and Avery could tell that it was Raython’s uncut cock sliding into someone’s ass.
“Hell yeah, I’s serious,” Raython said. “Real men don’t care what they stick it in, y’know. When yo’ balls is full, you gotta drain ’em somewhere.”
“No way!”
“Uh-huh.”
Raython cackled. “What ’bout you, Jimmy? You a real man or what?” The laughter vanished. Avery stuck his tongue deep in Jimmy’s ass as he reached around to stroke Jimmy’s cock. Jimmy bristled and his spine arched. Avery got the impression that Raython was Jimmy’s chief rival for the team captaincy next year, so this was just the most recent of Raython’s attempts to degrade Jimmy’s manhood.
“Fuck you, Raython, I ain’t squeamish. You know that. I took sloppy ninths on that fat chick, remember-?”
“Yeah, that ain’t nothin’, Jimmy.”
“Nothin’?! There was cum oozing out of her, man! It was dripping off my balls in clumps!”
“You drew the short straw!”
“Yeah, I know, but if I was squeamish I would’ve backed out. And I am gonna stick my guy in the ass. He been beggin’ me for it,” Jimmy said. He roared and pulled his ass away from Avery’s face. Before Avery even realized what was happening, he was bent over the thin bench between the lockers, and Jimmy began to shove his dick in.
Avery was focused on two things — first, he needed to relax his ass so Jimmy could get really deep inside him in it. Second, he needed to balance himself on the narrow bench, at one end of which sat a player, the wide receiver George. He faced away from Avery as he allowed some gymnast to get him off.
Since Avery was behind George, every time Jimmy slammed his dick into Avery’s ass, that forced Avery’s face forward. The motion planted Avery’s entire head in the meaty asscrack of George’s body, which was hairier and thicker than Jimmy’s.
He stuck his tongue out. He would have tried to lick George’s ass, maybe even given him a rimjob while Jimmy rammed his cock into Avery’s ass, but Jimmy pounded so hard Avery couldn’t keep still. All he could do was leave his tongue poking out so as he moved he covered George’s asscheeks and his lower back in his spit. He wasn’t even sure if George noticed — the players and the gymnasts were still crammed into a small area, so hands and tongues and muscled bodies bumped into each other all over the place.
“Yeah, ram it in that ass!”
Then the sensations grew so intense Avery couldn’t even keep his tongue out anymore. Jimmy pounded into him, his gingerness diminishing with every thrust of his hips. He used one thick-fingered hand to keep Avery’s head low, and his other elevated Avery’s hips so they were at the perfect height.
Jimmy’s big throbbing cock slid in and out. The precum flowed like frothy champagne, rivulets of it dripping into and out of Avery’s ass. Jimmy slammed his cock over and over, grunting — his reluctance had switched to aggressive lust now that he needed to prove something to Raython, who pounded even harder.
“Ugh, I smell that…”
The smell of cum and santorum filled the air. Was that Raython? George? Someone else? Avery couldn’t tell. Someone shot a huge, ripe load that smelled so tasty Avery licked at the air, succeeding only in getting a tongue-load of George’s ass instead.
After that first person — whoever it was — came, the others followed suit quickly. It seemed no one had wanted to be first, but no one wanted to be last either. They sprayed their loads over their bottoms’s faces and down their throats, moaning and flexing their muscles as they did. More than a few of them even slapped hands with each other while orgasming and filling their bottoms up with cum.
“Yeah, take that shit! Swallow it!”
“Open up!’
“Gonna fill yo’ guts, boi. Gonna fill ’em up real good.”
The loudest was Raython, whose roaring and pounding on his chest could be heard over the satisfied gurgling of the others. He grunted as he sprayed his load inside his bottom’s hole, coating his guts in cum that dripped out and onto the floor.
The smell of cum seemed to trigger Jimmy, who moaned in disgust, then in pleasure as he ran headlong into his own orgasm. His dick tingled and quivered, sending waves of pleasure up from Avery’s prostate.
He and Jimmy both came then at once, Avery shooting his load onto the floor and into his own hand, while Jimmy filled him up. “Ah, damn…” For the first time, Jimmy stopped gingerly avoiding touching Jimmy’s body. His knees buckled, and he leaned forward until his massive chest rested on Avery’s bare back.
If Avery weren’t mid-orgasm, it would have been painful because Jimmy was so big. His quarterback muscles pressed down on Avery, which forced Jimmy’s dick in so deep Avery tried to howl at the intense waves of sensations wracking his body — he couldn’t howl, however, because he couldn’t take a deep breath.
“Yeah, take it… Take it all…”
The cum flowed into him like water from a hose. He and Jimmy both moaned. Jimmy’s chest rattled where it dragged against Avery’s back, and Avery could hear Jimmy’s orgasmic grunt through his fleshy chest in addition to through his ears.
Jimmy lowered his head as he came, and he either didn’t notice or didn’t care that his face was planted in George’s muscled back. Finally Jimmy’s cock twitched one last time, sending a final wave of bliss through Avery’s body.
Then Jimmy pulled off. His cock plopped out with an audible moist sound that made Avery shake with desire.
“Well, uh-” Jimmy’s voice was cut off by the lights flickering back on.
For a moment, both teams were visible. The football jocks were standing and seating, while the gymnasts were on the floor, hunched over, bent down, kneeling, groaning, writhing as they swallowed the cum that had just been sprayed over them.
“Hey!” Coach Marshall stood there, his face red. He blew his whistle. “Hey! Gymnasts, get outta here! I told you could come in and steal their jockstraps! I ain’t say you could steal their virtue! Get the fuck out!”
Avery felt a surge of fear, like he was going to get in trouble — he had always been a good student. He wasn’t used to being in trouble. But he saw that his teammates weren’t getting worked up. They slowly cleaned themselves and headed towards the door behind Coach Marshall.
“Football players! Get in the shower! Now! On the double!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, so loud spittle dripped from his lips. “We’re having a team meeting in the shower, and I’m turning the hot water off!”
The players grumbled, but they jumped into action. They were all naked already, so they hurried towards the shower, where a few of their teammates were already cleaning themselves off. The shower area was still steamy for now, because Marshall hadn’t yet turned the hot water off.
Avery and the other gymnasts just giggled and headed towards the door. As Avery passed Coach Marshall, he tickled his crotch and felt his middle-aged cock twitch underneath his own jockstrap. Avery had thought Marshall was intensely arousing since the first moment he laid eyes on him.
“Hey! I ain’t part of the jockstrap raid!” Coach Marshall said. Avery and his fellow gymnasts giggled. Coach Marshall’s authoritarian, drill-sergeant-vibe vanished like he didn’t know how to interact with non-jock men. “You had better not do this without permission, again, boys. I give permission for all jockstrap raids. Only me.”
“Well, when do we get to do it again?”
“Yeah, what about the wrestling team?”
Coach Marshall opened his mouth as though to bark out some orders. Then he nodded his head thoughtfully. “Yeah. Fine. If the wrestling team loses next weekend, you can do a jockstrap raid on them. And the baseball finals are the week after that…”
The gymnasts cheered over Coach Marshall’s recitation of the sports teams at GHU and their final matches, and Avery smiled. He thought he was going to enjoy his freshman year.
Rob’s got a hunky poolboy named Todd, and he’s got enough cash to get Todd’s pants off. Can he satisfy Todd’s throbbing young alpha needs?!
Read it here!
Rob Winthrop clicked through pages from an online Chinese dictionary, looking for the tattooed symbols that danced along the pool boy’s shoulderblade. It turned out to be more difficult than he thought to identify them by sight. The poolboy had a few tattoos, and Rob thought they were sexy. He had been trying to identify the Chinese symbols for a long time. He suspected they meant nothing at all. Rob had an app that was supposed to identify them, but he couldn’t get a good enough picture. Or maybe the app was crap.
“Yes, sell it when it hits twelve no matter what. That’s what I said, isn’t it?” That was Rob’s father, the multibillionaire Eugene Winthrop. His gruff voice filled the air, followed by some tinny suckuppery from whichever employee was on the line. He glanced at Rob and scowled. “Tell them to go fuck themselves.” He hung up his phone. “You’re going to this fundraiser tonight.”
“What kind of fundraiser?”
“It’s a dinner thing. Some kind of cancer. Or maybe teachers? I don’t know. Just bring the checkbook, they’ll have a vegetarian option-“
“I’m not going, and I haven’t been vegetarian for years.” Rob was vegetarian for about three weeks back in high school. He gave it up because his dad was oddly supportive of it. It was a pitiful rebellion, and Rob winced every time his dad reminded him of it.
“You have to go,” he said, and they both erupted in shouting, as Rob had known would happen. They almost never interacted without shouting.
“You don’t control me-!”
“I pay for so much-!”
“You fucking asshole!”
“Me?! How am I the asshole? You have to play a role in this business, Robert! You’re not just an inheritance hole!”
The servants scurried away. None of them wanted to be around Mr. Winthrop when he was angry, or he was wont to fire them. Rob didn’t think that was right — he was always nice to his servants. He didn’t even really want to have servants, beyond the security that was necessary for him to be safe — as an heir to a multibillion-dollar company, Rob was always a kidnapping risk. Rob deeply despised his father and used every opportunity at his disposal to humiliate him, so he liked seeing him blush and wince at the sight of his servants pretending not to listen to the argument.
“You ungrateful brat! I built this company so I’d have enough to provide for you.”
Rob scoffed and went to the sliding glass door, beyond which sat the pool. The poolboy was out there. He had brown hair that hung down in a casual, tangled mess around his head. His eyes were bleary and blue, his body lanky, ropy-muscled. He said he played basketball in high school until graduating last year, but he didn’t come across as a jock. Those Chinese characters — or probably-faux-Chinese characters — were visible on his back around the edges of his sleeveless shirt, one of those strappy kinds that barely covered his shoulders at all.
His name was Todd, and Rob had been trying to figure out how get a taste of his dick from the moment he saw him.
“I’m going to stay here and hang out with the poolboy,” Rob said. “You can’t make me go to some stupid fundraiser-“
“That’s disgusting, he’s a poolboy, for god’s sake, we don’t even let him in the house! Look at that hair!”
“His hair is glorious. It’s better unwashed and uncombed.”
“I forbid it!”
“Well, stick around, and you’ll be able to watch anyway,” Rob said. He stood up and headed for the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. He slid it open. Todd was by the pool, skimming the leaves off the top. His bare shoulders flexed as he dipped and dapped to the beats emanating from the headphones he always wore when working.
“You had better not do anything to embarrass me!” Rob’s father shouted through the door. He banged on the glass.
Rob smiled and waved at him. He went to Todd, who saw him and pulled the headphones down. Todd blushed — he was always nervous around upper-class people like Rob and his father. Todd ran his fingers through his confused mess of black hair.
“Hey,” Rob said.
“Hi. I’m just about done,” Todd said.
“Cool, cool…” Rob giggled. “So… Todd… do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.” Then a wry smile appeared on Todd’s face. “Well, there’s this girl. She’s… I mean, she’s not a girlfriend. But she’s like…” He blushed. He pantomimed a woman’s hourglass-shape in front of himself. “Tits like sirens on an ambulance, dude. She’s fucking awesome, man. And she smokes weed.”
“Yeah? There’s nothing better than hot chicks who smoke weed.”
“I know, right!”
“So… Todd… has my dad paid you yet today?”
Todd shook his head. “He direct-deposits it in my account, but not till the end of the day. Actually he never paid me last time, I just asked him about it and he said-“
“I don’t know anything about that,” Rob said. “But maybe I could help. Do you see that cabana over there?”
Todd nodded. He glanced over at the row of cabanas at the far end of the pool.
“Why don’t you go in there and take off your clothes? I’ll meet you inside in just a minute, and I’ll go to town all over your body,” Rob said, smirking at Todd’s blushing face. “In return for that, I’ll give you five hundred dollars. Plus I’ll make my father pay you for last time and this time, because he was probably going to stiff you again.”
“Oh…” Todd’s eyes opened wide. “Oh… wait… Oh…!”
Rob giggled. “Have you ever done anything like that before?”
“No!” Todd took a deep breath. “Wait… I mean… what?”
“Oh god, Todd… Smoke less weed, okay? This is a very simple transaction. You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you are dumb,” Rob said with his hands on his hips. “Just go in the cabana and get ready for me to come jack you off. I’ll give you money.”
Rob headed for the house, leaving Todd there to ponder what had just happened. Todd looked like he had more questions, but then he just shrugged and went to the cabana. Rob rolled his eyes — the handsome ones were always dumb.
He opened the door. His father had been waiting, watching by the door, but before Rob opened it, he scurried off. He pretended to be cleaning the kitchen — as though he ever cleaned anything himself — and nodded at Rob like he didn’t care that Rob was jerking off the help. Rob knew it bothered him though. He just stopped complaining because he was smart enough to realize complaining made Rob do it more.
“So he said no? The poolboy had enough class to turn you down?”
“Of course he’s not into it. I don’t want him to be into it.”
His father looked at him and furrowed his brow. Then he scowled at Rob. “You act like a fucking teenager sometimes, Robert. You’re a goddamn grown-up,” he snapped. Rob just smile insouciantly and went back outside.
The pool was deserted. Rob strode, shaking his ass for his father’s irate benefit and went to the row of cabanas.
He hadn’t actually intended to point at any specific cabana when he told Todd where to meet him. There were four here, but Rob had rather assumed Todd would go to the first one, the one closest to the pool. But something in his bleary-eyed stoner mind made him think Rob had pointed to the fourth one, the one furthest from the pool.
So at first Rob opened the door and was disappointed to see no one in it. Had he scared Todd off? He hadn’t seemed that uncomfortable with it, Rob thought.
But then he saw Todd poking his head out of the fourth cabana. “There you are,” Rob said. “Why’d you come to this one?”
“What?”
“No one ever uses this. We only ever use one cabana at a time,” Rob said. “It’s always the first one, just cuz it’s closer to the pool.” He came in and closed the door. It was always warm and humid in the cabanas. No matter the weather outside, it was always a bit warm and very humid in the cabanas, which had a certain smell too — bamboo, Rob assumed, since the inside was lined with it. This cabana had a few old tiki torches too. The servants must have put them here a long time ago (tiki was so gauche Rob would never have allowed a tiki party here while he lived in the house, so it must have been when he was away).
“So why have them?” Todd asked. He sucked in his breath nervously because Rob came closer.
Rob could smell Todd’s intoxicating aroma. It wasn’t a “good” smell in the sense that it was fruity and sweet. It smelled a bit chemical, like chlorine, a bit of bamboo, some cheap almost metallic-scented deodorant and the musk of an early twenties inconsistent-showering slacker. Todd wore a sleeveless shirt, so his biceps flexed as Rob came near and touched his arms. Todd still seemed confused and didn’t react to Rob groping his bicep.
“Huh? Why do you have cabanas if you don’t use them?”
Rob sighed. “What?” He hadn’t really wanted to discuss cabana theory.
“You said you only ever use one of them. So why have four?”
Rob thought for a moment. “I dunno. I guess the builder told my dad that was how many was normal for a pool of this size,” he said.
“It just seems stupid to build more cabanas than you need. Of course the builder is always gonna exaggerate, you shouldn’t just take his word for it-“
“Maybe he suggested ten and my dad talked him down to four,” Rob said. He rolled his eyes. “Why am I defending my father? I agree, it was stupid. We don’t really need any cabanas. They’re just a place for people to change. They could be replaced with one of those Asian folding wall things.”
“Yeah!”
“Are you gonna complain about the cabanas? Or are you gonna make five hundred dollars?”
Todd thought for a moment as though this was a serious debate. Then he shrugged. “I guess I’ll make five hundred dollars. If your dad ever wants to get rid of some of them, tell him he can hire me. I’ll do it for real cheap.”
Rob sunk to his knees. He knew he should just get right to jacking dick. Todd seemed very distractible — he was still talking about cabanas — so Rob thought this would never proceed unless he forced it along. But he also felt bad for Todd.
“You know, Todd, you shouldn’t advertise yourself as cheap.”
“What?”
“It makes you seem low-quality. You didn’t demand my father pay you last time you worked, and now you volunteer to work cheap before you even find out how much work the job is? That’s bad salesmanship,” Rob said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t mean to get involved in the economics of the pool-cleaning business, but he was on a roll now. He tugged down Todd’s board shorts. “You should try to convince people that this stuff is hard, that they need to hire you and pay you good money to do it. If my dad wants to hire someone cheap, he’ll find an immigrant willing to do it for half a Twinkie.”
“Really? A half a Twinkie-?!”
“That’s an exaggeration, but yeah, basically. Don’t compete for the bottom, Todd,” Rob said. “And my dad will never pay you once he knows he can get away with stiffing you.”
Todd sighed again, the sound turning into a growl. He blushed at the realization that his shorts were down, revealing threadbare boxers. He had been so involved in the conversation he had barely noticed Rob pulling his shorts down.
Then Rob got his boxers down too, and Todd’s hefty tan dick popped out. It was thick and juicy, and it twitched even before Rob planted his lips on it. He looked up at Todd, whose face turned bright red as his whole body shook. The smell of Todd’s musty crotch, liberally seasoned with chlorine, hit Rob’s nostrils.
“Ah, shit, man… you’re like… serious…” Todd’s eyes opened wide. He leaned back against the wall of the cabana, jutting his hips forward and forcing his still-soft dick deeper into Rob’s mouth.
Since Todd hadn’t even gotten a bit erect yet, Rob had to lick his limp dick. He always thought that was kind of arousing, Rob liked it when men needed a minute or two to get hard. A lot of them were nervous they’d be unable to get hard without a woman around, but Rob hadn’t yet met one who proved unable to do so. Rob could get any man hard.
Todd was no exception. Once he had taken a deep breath and Rob noisily suckled on his dick, Todd let out a moan. Then his dick twitched again, and again, and it slowly firmed up in Rob’s mouth. It was long and throbbing, and the more it firmed up the more Todd sucked in his breath like he couldn’t decide if it hurt or not. Or maybe he thought he wasn’t supposed to moan, so he kept suppressing them when Rob’s mouth sent shivers of pleasure up his spine.
Soon it was as hard as any cock Rob had ever tasted, and Todd jammed it down his throat. He didn’t pound into Rob like aggressive alphas usually did — Todd was more of a gentle slacker than that — but he did ram his dick in, he just did it more obliviously. Rob wondered how often he had been with a female — definitely some, Todd was too handsome to be a virgin, and he had fantastic hair. Surely some ladies had snapped him up.
But he certainly plowed at Rob’s throat like he had little experience. He was probably nervous because this was his first encounter like this, Rob decided. His dick awkwardly slipped in and out of Rob’s throat, making him choke and sputter on it. Todd kept stepping back when that happened, like he was used to women who never wanted to gag and would complain if he was impolite.
That wasn’t Rob. Rob never complained about an aggressive throating.
“C’mon, plow my face, force it down my throat, it’s okay…” Rob said when Todd pulled away. Long tendrils of spit still connected Rob’s lips to Todd’s cock.
Todd’s eyes opened wide and he stammered. “Oh… you’re into that? Oh… Oh…! I see… Oh!” He pushed his dick in again and laughed. “It really feels like a girl, but uh… you swallow dick better than them,” he whispered. He looked around as though people might have been hidden in this tiny cabana. “You go, like, way deeper. Waaaay deeper.”
“I know,” Rob said the best he could as he sucked on the tip of Rob’s dick. “Men always do it better than females, because we have the equipment ourselves. We know what it feels like.” He slammed his own face deep onto Todd’s cock, making himself choke loudly and his throat clench around Todd’s manhood. Todd’s tautly muscled chest rippled, and his eyes opened wider.
Now Todd began to get into it, his inhibitions gradually diminishing because he was hard. Precum flowed down Rob’s throat. It was salty and warm, and it made Rob’s own cock throb painfully in his pants until he took it out. Todd didn’t seem to notice.
“Shit…” Todd’s voice broke, and he chuckled quietly to himself.
Rob smacked his lips as he pulled off Todd’s cock. He thwacked it against his cheeks a few times, making Todd jump each time there was a satisfyingly meaty thwack-thwack sound.
“You ready to stick it in me?” Rob asked, gurgling on the mouth full of precum he hadn’t swallowed yet.
Todd smiled with a flash of excitement first — he didn’t get anal very often — and then nervousness. He had known this was coming, but he was nervous that he wouldn’t do it well. Of course, one of the nice things about being a “hustler” — aside from getting paid — was that he didn’t care how it made Rob feel. It seemed Rob preferred it that way. Todd didn’t need to sweet-talk him like he would a girl or find a way to be sure this wasn’t painful. He could just bend Rob over and plow into him as deep as he could manage. It didn’t even matter if he came too quick.
So that was what Todd did, or would have done if he were a more aggressive sort of muchacho. He grimaced at the sight of Rob’s ass — it was pale and smooth and perfect like a statue’s. He kind of wished there was something imperfect about it.
But he’d been with women who had hairier asses, and Rob even smelled like a woman (he wore female perfume on his ass precisely to make encounters of this sort go more smoothly). So Todd grunted and gritted his teeth as he lined his cock up with Rob’s backside. He used both hands to spread Rob’s asscheeks.
“Oh god!” Rob bit his lip when he felt Todd’s dick slip into him. The pain, as it usually was at first, was intense and mind-blowing. For just a moment Rob considered backing out — Todd’s dick was very girthy — but as usual, that lasted only a moment. He liked his dicks a little “too” thick. He enjoyed the challenge.
Sure enough, with just an inch or two of dickmeat sliding into him, Rob’s pain slowly transformed into pleasure. Todd’s awkwardity made the same transition, as his staccato breathing shifted from sounding like he was on the verge of running away in terror to sounding like he might blow his wad at any moment.
“Shit…” Todd moaned as he began to plow in earnest. He used all of his strength to pound away at Rob’s tight ass, his cock sliding in and out with each thrust of Todd’s hips.
Todd was surprised that this felt so good, it seemed maybe embarrassing to be that into it. Todd wasn’t an ex-con, after all. It felt so amazing because Rob knew how to use his ass. He was somehow both loose and tight at once: loose enough for Todd to plow away with all his might, tight enough for there to be a struggle and for Rob’s ass to clench around Todd’s cock.
It was incredible. Todd didn’t know anal could be like this. It was enough to, for a moment, make Todd wonder if he could be a hustler as a career — could he find numerous wealthy men like Rob? Probably not, he figured that was likely more difficult than it seemed. Plus they’re probably all into black guys.
He wondered if he could keep Rob as a consistent lay — this could be a nice little side-income stream, he thought. Plus when he was unable to get laid… It would be convenient to both blow a nut and get paid.
As an orgasm exploded deep within him, Todd finally smiled, the last of his reluctance melting away only now that he was done. This, he thought, was a lot less nervewracking than he had seemed. He ran his fingers through his scruffy hair and let out a loud moan that resonated in the cabana.
“Rob!” Rob’s father’s voice filtered through the air. He had been looking in the first cabana — the one everyone actually used — and when he heard Todd’s moan, he realized they were actually in the fourth cabana instead.
Rob orgasmed too. Waves of pleasure emanated from his prostate. The best thing about getting cornholed by young men was that they didn’t even understand the prostate — they just slammed, hard and passionate and intense, and their dick went wherever it ended up, which was somehow always right there on the prostate, Rob’s little pleasure-button, making him gasp and moan and writhe there on the floor of the cabana.
“Robert! Robert Winthrop!” His father was outside now, pounding on the door. It wasn’t locked, but he wouldn’t open it. “Are you trying to humiliate me?!”
“Aaaaaah….” Rob called out and sighed, attempting to say yes though all that came out was a wordless moan. He tried to giggle too, but the orgasm still flowing through his veins made it hard to concentrate.
A surge of fear hit Todd even before his orgasm was even done. He pulled out, heart pounding — was he in trouble with Mr. Winthrop? He hadn’t really considered what would happen if he got caught. At the very least, he thought, he probably lost this client for his pool-cleaning business.
“Don’t worry,” Rob said with a dry chuckle. He stood and stretched his legs. “My dad won’t do anything. He hates me for getting it in the ass, not you for doing it.”
“Oh…” Todd looked down at his limp dick like it had betrayed him. He wiped it off with a towel that was here in the cabana. His cheeks and chest were ruddy and dappled with sweat, both from exertion and from the humid air of the cabana.
“Robert Winthrop! You had better come out of there! I need you getting ready for the fundraiser!”
“I told you, I’m not going unless it’s Spiceman Catering!” Rob said. He crossed his arms over his chest, then realized his father couldn’t see that because the door was still shut. He just shrugged and pulled his pants up. Todd’s panicked expression continued, so Rob added, “and you have to pay Todd! You shouldn’t have stiffed him last time.”
After a long pause, Rob’s father said, “if I pay him now, will you go to the fundraiser? And behave yourself.” He gulped audibly. “Yes, it is Spiceman Catering. But you have to-“
Rob threw the cabana door open. “Why didn’t you say so?” Spiceman Catering was a Sri Lankan catering company whose employees were the entirety of a local semi-professional cricket team, trying to launch a league in the United States. They were all hunky jocks, and they had big dicks and marvelous mustaches, and Rob had jacked most of them off at previous black-tie events. They were his favorite catering company.
“I didn’t want you to embarrass me!”
“I won’t! I’ll be as discrete as possible,” Rob said with a grin. “Oh, almost forgot.” He looked at Todd. “You should have reminded me to pay you. Don’t let rich folk stiff you.” He counted out the five hundred dollars. “And dad, don’t count this as his payment for cleaning the pool. You still owe him.”
“Yeah, fine. Donate five grand to whatever the fundraiser is for, and make sure Adam Patelli sees you do it.”
“Sure, whatever,” Rob said with a shrug. He didn’t care about that part. He had his own goals for the evening.
Ignoring his father, Rob headed into the house to change into a tuxedo. He didn’t like dressing up, but for some studly Sri Lankan caterers, he’d wear whatever it took. He remembered only at the last moment to go back out there and meet Todd before he left, making sure he got paid for all of his pool-cleaning.
It was funny that that was probably what pissed his father off the most. Getting off the poolboy was embarrassing, and getting plowed by the caterer was too — but most of his wealthy buddies messed with the help too. That was expected. Rob’s mother was fucking her tennis pro, and everybody in the Western Hemisphere knew it.
Actually making sure the help was paid? That was beyond the pale for the Winthrop family, or at least the older generation of it.
Rob, on the other hand, was already figuring out how much cash he’d need to bring to nab an entire cricket team’s worth of Sri Lankan man-meat.
