The Sailor’s Armpits

Rob loves raunchy men, so when he goes to the docks, it’s time to worship the sweat-soaked filth of a Greek sailor’s unwashed armpits! Can Rob handle the raunch?

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“Swallow your cum. Swallow your cum.” Rob stood dockside as men streamed off the S.S. Admiral Smikovsk. They were a diverse group of men: Jamaicans, Brazilians, Greeks, Filipinos, Nigerians, Nicaraguans, probably more, but Rob most expected those nationalities based on his inspection of the ship’s manifest. They were deliciously filthy, with blackish smudges of soot and coal on their skin, unwashed beards from weeks at sea, most of them with half-hardons from the moment they walked off the ship.
The reason most of them had hardons was the same reason Rob found it difficult to get the men he wanted — they were macho, and there were women galore.
“Swallow your cum. Swallow your cum. Swallow your cum. Eat your ass.” Rob made eye contact with as many of them as he could. They mostly winced and looked away.
“Hey. Hey, whatcha doin’?” said a stout man with a colorful hat and a dour disposition. Rob didn’t need to be an expert to identify him as a pimp. The pimp scowled at him. “You bein’ a distraction, boy.” He sucked on his teeth. His New Jersey stawk was thick and cloying, like he spoke through a layer of engine oil. “My girls is busy, y’know, ya feel me, boy? They lookin’ for a man. That’s all. They need a date for tonight, and maybe tomorrow night too. Ya feel me, boy? I bet you do.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob said. “Nobody’s taken me up on it, so I don’t think I’ve stolen any of your clients-“
“What’d I just fuckin’ say? Huh? Did I say you was distracting they clients? That ain’t even… They don’t see clients, okay, they are serious ladies, doing serious things… with their boyfriends, understand me? They’s out here looking for boyfriends, and sometimes, they just might find one. Ain’t nothin’ improper goin’ on here. What I accused you of, however, that’s improper — I said you was bein’ distracting. Girls is distracted real easy. It’s them tits, it keeps ’em from gettin’ focused. That’s why men with big chests is dumbasses too, and that’s a fact. I know you ain’t gonna steal none of my girls’s boyfriend. That’s on account of these men don’t cotton to perverts, and my girls know how to satisfy a man. Ya understand me?”
“Uh-huh. I see your point,” Rob said.
“You wanna work for me? I can help you find dick,” the pimp said with a frown like he really hoped Rob would say no.
“No, thank you. I’m very good at that already.”
“Thank god,” the pimp said. “Look, you had best get the fuck off my dock. My girls work here-“
“But I’m not stealing your business-“
“You is stealin’ my girls’s hearts! They ain’t gonna be so eager to find new boyfriends when they see you offerin’ to get on ya knees for nothin’. It’s discouraging to my girls’s capitalistic spirit, ya feel me?”
“I guess…” Rob gulped. This pimp scared him. Rob mumbled an apology and walked away. He entered the crowd of men walking away from the dock. The lanky Latino walking past him had a visible hardon bulging against the fabric of his sailor’s bellbottoms. He popped the low collar of his shirt. The Latino was already touching his dick through his pants as he approached the rather trashy women calling for him on land.
“Swallow your cum?” Rob said, but the Latino completely ignored him. He took his dick out, said something in Spanish and disappeared among the prostitutes. His cock hung free as he raced to take out the wad of cash in his pocket. Rob watched it dangle and twitch, getting hard, the foreskin slowly retracting as the Latino stroked it.
The docks were amazing. Rob didn’t want to leave without seeing the docks, and to bathe in the glorious hunks who filled it with their muscles and swagger and massive cocks. Men had poured out of the ship, hardons already evident — they knew there were girls waiting for them. The girls smiled and cooed, and blushed bashfully when the men kissed them and took out their cocks.
“Go’n, hoss!”
“Do it, Lyle!”
“Lyle, Lyle, Lyle!”
Lyle turned out to be a rather skinny young farmlad in an ill-fitting sailor’s uniform — obviously new to the merchant marine — who approached Rob with a nervous tremble. He gulped and went pale, fingers trembling as he let his massive dick flop out. He lowered his bellbottoms just enough to bare his crotch as he looked away, watching his friends instead of Rob.
His friends laughed so hard Rob couldn’t tell what was going on. Obviously this was some sort of joke or prank, or a hazing episode. Rob touched Lyle’s cock, which twitched beneath his fingers, and then Lyle went running back to his buddies with his eyes opened wide.
“He did it!”
“You squeamish pansy! It’s just a goddamn finger!”
One of the older sailors with Lyle looked at Rob. “Go to prison, pervert! You’ll find plenty of men there.” Then they all walked away. Lyle’s cheeks were bright red. His friends clasped him on the back, and one of them even grabbed Lyle’s cock as a joke, making them all laugh.
Rob was left alone. The S.S. Admiral Smikovsk was empty of people now, presumably. Rob watched the prostitutes pair off (in some cases in larger ratios than pairs). It seemed so far that this dock was more difficult than he had thought.
It had seemed easy. Sailors loved to get a load off and needed money and weren’t usually too squeamish about man-on-man contact. That was perfect.
But those prostitutes… it was hard to get a man to swing downlow with a gaggle of beautiful women beckoning. Or at least somewhat attractive women, Rob thought, whose lack of attractiveness was equivalent to their willingness to fuck. He sighed and decided to go back to his hotel. It was run-down and nasty, crawling with trashy man who, Rob suspected, would be willing to let him swing on their meat for a little consideration. However, Rob didn’t want that. He was here to get a taste of a raunchy sailor. What was the point of visiting a port city if not to jerk off some sailors?
Maybe, he thought, he should find a bar frequented by sailors. Whoever was unable or unwilling to find/pay a female would still be there late at night, and Rob might be able to get a taste of sailor meat then. Of course they’d be drunk, which was disappointing — Rob preferred his men fully conscious.
He turned around, but then stopped because he heard shouting from onboard the ship. The only word he could hear clearly was fuck, but there were definitely other insults, some of which were not in English.
Then two men were visible, and Rob’s knees went weak. One of them — presumably the captain — was a stout older man with an unappealing beard. Rob ignored him and zeroed in on the second man.
He was Nikos — Rob got that from the shouting — and he was the strongest sailor Rob had seen yet. He was tall and broad-shouldered, Greek with swarthy skin the color of toasted grain and an intensely hooked nose, a square jaw like a warrior, and so much body hair his sailor’s uniform barely fit. The fur poked out the wide collar. He was muscular but not big, and he walked with a heavy gait, like his boots were cast-iron.
He was utterly filthy. Rob had no idea why, but would soon learn that Nikos had snuck a rather large amount of alcohol onboard at the last port, and had been selling it at rather exorbitant prices to the other sailors. He had been punished by being sent to shovel coal for the last few days, and at such a feverish work-schedule that he didn’t bathe during that time.
So his clothes were plastered to his skin with sweat, and smudges of black coal dust and soot splattered over and stained much of his face. His clothes appeared to be more clean of coal — presumably he had dug coal naked, or at least in different clothes than these, but wearing them over his foul body had soaked them in sweat and dirt.
“You no-good pissant! When you come back, I’ll search you so good I will tickle your tonsils from behind! If you ever try to sneak that shit on my ship again, I swear to Christ, Nikos-!”
That was all Rob heard because Nikos turned around and exploded in anger as well. He shouted in Greek, fingers running through his dense, tangled mat of black curls. He made some sort of rude gesture that Rob didn’t understand. It wasn’t clear who he shouted at, as the port crawled with sailors, laughing, pointing, shouting at each other. Nikos must have been talking to one of them.
Eventually Nikos made it to the dock, away from the ship and his captain amd whoever he was arguing with a moment ago. He scowled, but he didn’t seem to notice Rob at all. He turned around and made that gesture again, which raised his arms and bared his armpits just inches from Rob’s face — Nikos still hadn’t noticed Rob because he was focused on his argument — sending a wave of intensely acrid sweat over Rob’s nostrils. It was funky and wild, and it made Rob’s heart skip a beat.
That gave Rob an idea. He hadn’t given much thought to what he wanted to do with his sailors — usually he had to let his men choose what they were comfortable with, since many wouldn’t go as far as Rob wanted.
But those armpits were incredible. He was so hairy Rob drooled to look at him. That bushy beard, and the dense growth of armpit hair that looked like a whole nother crotch. Rob giggled, eyes mesmerized by the sight of Nikos’s arm-bush, nose wrinkling at the waves of stale, fetish man-scent that assaulted his nostrils.
“Suck your armpits. Suck your armpits.” Rob’s dick stiffened as Nikos’s greasy body wafted his stink over Rob’s face. “Suck your armpits. I’ll suck your armpits, lick all that sweat up. I’ll worship your armpits.”
But Nikos just muttered to himself in Greek, paying no mind to the small, lithe man talking about armpits next to him. He took a wallet out of his pocket, then a coin-purse. He counted his change. He had very little weekend. He wasn’t getting paid today — he had leave for the weekend, but the captain had refused to pay him due to his continued disobedience. That’s what he was shouting about when he caught Rob’s attention.
He gulped. He barely had enough to buy a meal tonight. He certainly wouldn’t be able to get drunk or hire a prostitute. He could rob someone, he thought, he sometimes did that — he wasn’t a bad man, and he’d never hurt anyone, but he did sometimes rob rich people to fund his lifestyle.
“Lick your armpits. Hey, uh, man? I’ll lick your armpits for twenty bucks. I’ll give you twenty bucks to let me go at your armpits-“
Finally Nikos turned around and realized Rob was speaking to him. It took him a moment to process what Rob had said. Then he furrowed his brow.
“I’ll give you two hundred dollars,” Rob said. He pulled out a stack of twenty-dollar bills — that was enough by far to get drunk, eat a fine meal, fuck a woman — possibly not even a prostitute — and pay for a hotel room by himself. He dangled it in front of Nikos’s face.
Nikos’s eyes opened wide. “What?” He had a noticeable Greek accent, but it wasn’t real heavy. He had been speaking English since he was a boy. He had learned it from a Brit though, so some of his words were tinged with an upper-class British accent.
“I want to lick your armpits, suck them all over, drink all your sweat,” Rob said. He came closer. “Please? Let me lick your pits.”
“Lick my armpits? Why? What does that mean?”
“It means…. Exactly what it sounds like. I want to lick your armpits. I’m into pit worship,” Rob said. He blushed a little at Nikos’s harsh glare. Of course pit worship was not a known thing to most men, so Nikos had to deduce what it meant. He still assumed he had missed something, but he didn’t want to look like a fool by asking again.
Nikos nodded. He looked around to make sure no one was nearby who knew him. Nobody seemed to be paying much attention anyway — sailors went straight for the girls and ignored pretty much everything else. Virtually no one had even yet clocked Rob’s existence. Nikos tried to grab the money from Rob, but Rob tucked it back away in his pocket.
“I will need the money to rent a hotel room,” Nikos said. “So I can shower. Then I will… I will let you do what you wish.”
Rob shook his head. “You have completely misjudged the point of pit worship. Let’s go, I know a spot.”
“What do you mean? Misjudged how? What is pit worship?”
“I already said,” Rob said with a laugh. “It’s licking your armpits. Like, a lot. You misjudged because you thought I wanted you to shower first. That ruins the whole thing. There’s no point in you showering first. I might as well lick a bar of soap. I want to suck your armpits.”
Nikos frowned like he was confused. His English was good, but he assumed he was missing something. “I will not… You may not put your… manhood, uh… in my armpit.”
Rob rolled his eyes, having difficulty controlling not laughing at Nikos. “That’s not my intent. Neat idea, but not my plan. Maybe somebody else, some other time.” He led Nikos into an alley near the beach, where there was a little concealed area behind a mound of trash in the back of the alley.
Nikos wrinkled his nose. “I feel dirty already, I am very sweaty and you will not enjoy my body odor-“
“Oh my god, Nikos, you still don’t get it. How did your people invent democracy? Okay, stop talking, you’re making me even hornier,” Rob said. “I’m gonna blow my wad early.” As soon as they were both behind the mound of trash, Rob dove his face into Nikos’s chest. He had that sailor’s shirt with the very open collar, so Rob could get right into the greasy valley between Nikos’s pecs, which were especially firm right now because he had been using them for days to shovel coal. Nikos’s eyes opened wide.
To Nikos, doing anything like this when he was sober was a new experience. He had been raised to believe it was only an ex-con would ramrod a man knowingly, but in the merchant marine that qualifier — knowingly — had evolved to the point that it barely seemed to matter. As long as the sailor could pretend he thought it was a woman, it wasn’t “knowingly sinful” and therefore didn’t count.
A lot of times, ships had one or two sailors who would put on fishnet stockings and spray on some perfume, and everybody would pretend to think they were a real woman. Nikos did that too. Pretending made it feel more real, and he could ramrod those men for hours fooling himself that he was making love to a woman.
But he was sober now and couldn’t pretend to be confused, and there was a chance he could fuck a real woman. Rob wasn’t even bothering to dress like a lady or wear a wig, or even any perfume. Nikos stood there like a statue because he didn’t want to give the impression that he was becoming aroused and because he still wasn’t sure what Rob was doing or what he expecte from Nikos.
“I will need a woman to get hard. Or at least you will need to act like a woman,” Nikos said with an embarrassed grunt as Rob pulled his bellbottoms down. His trunk-like thighs were covered in dense, coarse black hairs, matted to his skin with sweat. Rob licked a trail from his thighs up his chest — lifting his shirt up over his body — and sucking down all the sweat he could get to. He was surprised and elated to see Nikos didn’t wear any underwear, his dick just flopped freely out, uncut and gleaming.
The scent of his unwashed crotch was acrid and intense, and it brought tears to Rob’s eyes. He gave Nikos’s dick a stroke, just to get him started. It throbbed in his hand. It was hot and clammy, unwashed for days, maybe more than a week. Nikos furrowed his brow like he only just now understood what was happening.
“How long will this take? I can’t spend all evening-“
“Relax, just gimme… an hour. Less than an hour, probably,” Rob said. “Lift your arms.” He nuzzled Nikos’s armpit with his arms tightly at his side, then he lifted them and the fragrantly fruity scent of his rancid armpits hit Rob’s nostrils.
“Ah…. That is nasty. You’re just licking my armpit. What… is that?” Nikos said, furrowing his brow as he watched. He was surprised to learn that Rob had been entirely literal about licking his pits.
It was somewhat ticklish, but Nikos at first didn’t think much of it. It was an awkward situation, standing with another man in a disgusting alley, worrying that someone might come around the corner anytime. He kept looking up to be sure no windows aimed down here on this side of the trash.
But it wasn’t unpleasant. Nikos’s dick wouldn’t get hard like this — which was fine with Rob, since he would rather drag this out — yet it did throb a bit beneath Rob’s touch. Rob even dropped his own pants and let his dick joust with Nikos’s as he slathered spit all over Nikos’s armpit. He slurped down every drop of sweat, and he sucked on every one of the fine hairs of Nikos’s armpits.
Saliva dripped down his powerful chest, matting his body hair to his skin. Nikos still tried not to think about it. Looking at it was gross because Nikos didn’t want to think about what that would taste like. It was probably so moist with sweat, he thought, and gritty with salt, and bitter from the coal dust. Watching Rob’s tongue made Nikos’s tongue taste it too, so he looked away.
Rob moaned. His own cock leaked precum over Nikos’s shaft. Nikos ignored it — he and his fellow Greek sailors thought little of touching dicks when they shared a prostitute, so letting Rob joust with him didn’t feel so strange. He was not squeamish, after all. He sighed.
Was this really going to take an hour? An hour of his armpit being licked? Nikos sighed again, even louder, and rolled his eyes as Rob switched to his other freshly-funky armpit.
Still, for two hundred dollars, Nikos could spend an hour.
The taste was potent and pure stank all over again. Rob moaned, his voice breaking, his whole body cringing. Precum flowed freely over Nikos’s shaft now, which gleamed, sticky and creamy. Nikos was almost hard now.
And then, like a switch being flicked, it felt good.
Nikos’s grunted and moaned. His knees went weak, and for a moment, Rob supported him with his hands on Nikos’s dick. His heavy, sweat-slickened body rubbed against Rob, who could never have held him up for more than a few seconds. Nikos leaned against the brick wall.
He threw his head back and moaned. He couldn’t believe that his armpits felt good. It was his dick that really sent waves of pleasure through his body, but it was Rob’s tongue snaking back and forth between both armpits that made that pleasure grow, giving him an erection that throbbed against Rob’s own hardon.
Both men’s precum flowed over their shafts, lubricating Rob’s hands, which both rubbed up and down in sync with Rob’s tongue flickering over the moist valley of Nikos’s armpits. His biceps were huge and firm, flexed hard as brick now.
“Ah, goddamn, I’m going to-” Nikos bit his lip, and his whole muscled body shook as he orgasmed. It looked so intense it hurt. His knees buckled again, but he leaned against the wall for support instead of relying on Rob.
Rob dropped to his knees, kneeling among the spilled trash bags. He hurried to lower his head and let both of Nikos’s heavy, sour balls plop into his open mouth.
He kept both hands on Nikos’s shaft, which was already throbbing and beginning to spray his first wad of cum when his sac slipped into Rob’s mouth. Having not showered in days, his balls stank powerfully, the sweat dripping in rivers down Rob’s throat. Even though Rob loved mansweat of any kind and in any quantity, this was enough to make him gag and choke.
It certainly didn’t stop him though. His tongue snaked out to Nikos’s nasty taint as cum sprayed up. Rob jacked his cock off with both hands, giggling at the feel of his balls rising up in his sac. Rob could sense the cum coursing up his sac as wad after wad shot straight up.
“Ah, damn…” Nikos grunted. “Nai, afto efnai kalo…” He repeated that a few times — Rob didn’t know Greek, and he was too involved in suckling Nikos’s sweaty ballsac to ask.
Some of it coated Nikos’s chest, matting his fur to his skin, but much of it just dripped right back down on Nikos’s shaft or on Rob’s face. Nikos shuddered and shook. He was surprised at how good it felt, since after all, it was “technically speaking”, just a handjob. His dick hadn’t even gotten wet.
But Rob gave surprisingly expert handjobs, and Nikos he shot a massive load that coated Rob’s face and Nikos’s dick, where it dripped down onto Rob’s body. Then Rob licked a trail up from Nikos’s nasty balls — which now just smelled of saliva — back to his shaft. Rob sucked down every drop of sour-sweet cum there, the saltiness bringing tears to his eyes. He loudly slurped on the mess of fluids on Nikos’s cockshaft, and the sensation of Rob’s mouth on his sensitive knob made Nikos gasp, muscles rippling, as he stood up on his toes.
At last, he was done, Rob’s own load congealing warmly on the trashy pavement. Rob sat back and plopped his ass on the garbage. He lazily reached up to stroke Nikos’s limp dick, making Nikos’s hairy body tremble with post-orgasmic bliss. His brown skin had already gleamed with sweat, but now much of it was covered in either semen or spit or both, so he was positively shimmery.
Nikos suddenly felt cold and dirty. He really wanted to take a shower, and he was annoyed that he hadn’t been able to before leaving the ship. He let out a menacing growl when he realized Rob hadn’t paid him yet. Rob hurried to hand over the money, the full two hundred dollars, which he counted out in twenty-dollar bills in Nikos’s hand.
“Have fun this weekend,” Rob said. “When you find a prostitute, you should pay extra to fuck her in the ass.”
“Why?”
Rob shrugged like the answer should have been obvious. “Because it’s awesome.” He laughed. “Or so I’ve been told, I don’t know much about women.”
Nikos grunted and put his clothes on. Now that he had his money, all he could really think about was getting away from Rob before he blew his reputation. That and he still desperately needed a shower. He walked away, ignoring Rob’s eyes aimed at his ass.
Rob smiled and sighed. He leaned back in the garbage. Had he had his fill of sailor meat? He thought so. But it was just armpits, there were more sailors and more body parts, and Rob was ready to track down every single one.

The Roughneck Bottoms

Lance is on a remote oil rig interviewing roughnecks, when he finds himself cornered in a closet with one. But this grizzled alpha male wants something Lance never expected…

That means Lance is in for an exciting adventure in Twink on Top!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The roughnecks on the oil rig were intimidating. Lance didn’t want to admit that because it made him feel like a pitiful weakling who was scared of any blue-collar guy with dirt under his nails.
But once he got started taking statements, he fell into the old routine. He was here to be on the roughneck-workers’ side anyway. He had come to the oil rig, staying overnight to get statements from each worker. He had to do it now because everyone who witnessed the incident was likely to scatter when they came to shore. A lot of them were probably illegal immigrants, had open warrants or just plain didn’t trust lawyers. Lance didn’t blame them.
The workers all blended in with each other in Lance’s eyes. They were one hairy pot-bellied drunkard after another.
Right up until Cooter. Lance was in such a rut he didn’t notice right away. There was nothing so blatantly different about Cooter that Lance stopped his lawyerly deposing to take notice. It was only as he finished up that Lance noticed Cooter’s small belly — not a six-pack by any means, but just a bit of meaty pudge beneath his massive chest, broad shoulders and grizzled chin. He smelled bad in a good way, like clean sweat and engine oil and stainless steel. He brimmed with swagger and square-jawed machismo.
As Lance got answers out of him — Cooter wasn’t privy to any of the important details of the accident Lance was investigating, so the deposition was quick — he could feel Cooter checking him out.
It was all over, and that was it. Cooter returned to his job monitoring the delta branches (whatever that was, Lance didn’t know), while Lance finished up the last few depositions. None of the workers here really knew much, or if they did, they weren’t revealing it. That wasn’t surprising, but Lance needed to do his due diligence. There was always a chance they had witnessed something relevant.
Later, Lance gathered up all his papers and headed up top (“above deck”? Lance didn’t know the proper terminology on an oil rig) to meet the boat that would take him back to shore. But what had seemed like a simple hallway when he was led to the meeting room had metamorphosed into a confusing array of twisting passages.
Soon enough Lance was lost. He saw a gaggle of African workers, but they didn’t seem to speak English and they looked at him with unabashed hostility in their eyes, so he didn’t ask them for help. He just continued wandering.
He stopped only when he saw Cooter standing there in the corridor as though waiting for him. This part of the rig was a stainless steel tube that was barely six and a half-feet tall, so Cooter had to stoop — he was a few inches taller than that. His broad shoulders barely fit between the walls as well, but he stood there like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.
“You that lawyer, right?” Cooter’s voice was thick and rumbly, and it echoed between the narrow walls of the corridor. Its gravelly tenor made Lance shiver with sexual desire.
“Uh, yeah…”
“Thought so,” Cooter said. He sighed. “There ain’t no girls here.”
“Uh-huh,” Lance said.
Cooter was alluring in a rough, dirty and dangerous kind of way, neck tattoos and all. He was never going to bed a delicate young socialite with a taste for refined men, but he surely got laid when in town, unless he thought himself too good for sluts. That thought made Lance chuckle to himself — Cooter was a lot of things, but he was ruddy, dirty and greasy-haired, and he doubtlessly did not think himself too good to fuck a loose woman.
“You… uh… You get down, sissy?” he asked with a sneer, like he hoped the answer was no even if he wanted it to be yes.
“Uh… yeah,” Lance said, so nervous his throat was parched.
He led Lance into a storage closet filled with what looked to Lance like lawnmower engines — he assumed that wasn’t what they were, but that was the closest analogue he could think of. In there their difference in size was even more noticeable. Lance felt like a child standing next to a giant. Lance was barely more than five feet tall, so his head only came up to below Cooter’s nipple line. If they stood in profile, three or four Lances could line up and occupy as much as width as Cooter’s broad body.
In the tiny closet, they barely fit. If the door had opened inward, it would have been impossible to shut it with them both inside. Lance shuddered with anticipation when he brushed into Cooter’s chest and belly, rubbing past his flesh. Cooter inhaled deeply.
Once the door was shut, the closet was dark. It wasn’t pitch-black, because there was an emergency overhead light that remained on. But that was very dim — it was a fluorescent bulb on the verge of running out. It flickered and cast a shadowy pall over the room. In the darkness, Cooter was a looming silhouette that smelled of lubricant, sweat and grease. Lance’s dick was already hard as steel in his pants.
“You really want-?”
“Stop talking,” Cooter said. He inhaled deeply of the air in the room. Lance shook his ass in an instinctual bid to seduce Cooter, though he knew that was pointless — it was too dark for Cooter to see. He seemed focused on the smell anyway, and he groaned as he inhaled Lance’s cologne (which was a very feminine smell, flowery and lemony; it was a brand aimed at sophisticated and upper-class men). “You smell good enough to eat, girl. I’m gonna pretend you’s a girl, ‘kay?”
“Uh… okay. You want me to jerk you off?” Lance asked. He accentuated his flamboyance as much as possible, and kept his voice quiet and high-pitched, as girlish as he could manage. He gently reached forward — and up — to stroke Cooter’s dick through his scuffed jeans. As soon as he touched that already-hard rod, Cooter jerked and straightened his back. He gulped as though the touch was both painful and arousing.
“Sssh,” Cooter said. He stripped off his ripped t-shirt then, and he threw it on a shelf over those “lawnmower engines”. Lance planted his face right in Cooter’s beefy belly, licking the sweat-dappled flesh and coarse hairs there. It tasted like he hadn’t showered in a few days, not a real shower — they often had limited water, and no hot water, so many of the roughnecks just used a sponge without soap. Lance had a feeling that was Cooter’s most recent bathing experience, and the thought of tasting weeks worth of sweat and grime made him so horny he nearly busted in his pants.
Much to his surprise, Cooter then reached down to pull Lance’s own jacket off. Then he very nearly ripped the tie off his neck and pulled his shirt up, not bothering to unbutton it. It was physically awkward — Lance was pinned between Cooter’s hefty frame and the shelves behind him. He stretched and strained to let Cooter take his clothes off.
But Cooter didn’t stop there. He got on his knees next to Lance, unbuttoned his slacks and pulled his pants and underwear down. Lance had no idea where this was progressing.
“You make sounds like a girl,” Cooter said with a growl. Lance wasn’t making much in the way of sounds, but he was mewling and breathing heavy, with a decidedly feminine tilt to his voice. Cooter inhaled again and kissed Lance on the left asscheek.
“Oh, my…” Lance blushed, not that Cooter could see it.
Then Cooter leaned in and kissed the small of Lance’s back. “Yer skin is so smooth, girl…” He inhaled once again, this time right above Lance’s asscrack. “You smell good,” he said, his voice rollingly breathless. “You smell just like girlfarts. I like that.” Then he spread Lance’s asscheeks and licked in one solid line from the top of his ass all the way down. His tongue glided right over Lance’s asshole, sending a shiver of pleasure up Lance’s spine.
This seemed strange, but Lance’s mind forced it into the only scenario he understood — Cooter was going to lick his ass in preparation to ram him in it.
Then, without a word of warning, Cooter plunged that tongue right into Lance’s tight asshole. Lance yelped and gripped the shelf in front of him. Cooter struggled to lower his head enough to reach Lance’s ass, so Lance stood on his toes and arched his back as much as he could to elevate his hips.
Intense and mind-melting pleasure washed over Lance, whose body undulated as the sensation flowed through him. Cooter’s face was scratchy with unkempt grizzle, rubbing against the interior of Lance’s asscrack. Meanwhile his tongue — which was somehow rough and scratchy like his beard, like a cat’s tongue — plunged into Lance’s body. Cooter growled as he lapped at the interior of Lance’s ass.
Then he moaned as though the taste of Lance’s ass was enough to make him cum. “Hmmm… Yummy in mah tummy…. I’mma eat you alive, honky…” He said it again, his voice serious and grim, like he was diagnosing a medical problem.
That was just silly enough that Lance still couldn’t think of a response. He didn’t want to offend Cooter by laughing, or do anything to change how this was progressing. Cooter was presumably about to plow him in the ass, so Lance needed to let that develop.
Cooter pulled off his asshole, kissing his bare, smooth cheeks again, and he let loose another throaty growl. Lance felt a surge of disappointment — he could have let that scruffy face explore his ass for hours, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Cooter just wanted to prepare his ass for the plowing that he was preparing. Lance breathed deeply and relaxed his hole the best he could. It felt like Cooter’s cock was huge when Lance felt it through his pants. Lance didn’t often take huge dicks, so that might prove to be a challenge (a challenge Lance was going to enjoy living up to).
His callused fingers roamed up and down Lance’s thighs. Cooter’s hands didn’t stop there. He stood, and those callused fingers explored up Lance’s ass and his smooth back, then darted around to his chest as though Cooter expected to find breasts there. He didn’t seem to be disappointed though when all he found, of course, was the lithe and flat chest of Lance’s body. He had never felt as skinny as he did right now — Cooter’s forearms were almost as thick as the thickest part of Lance’s body.
Cooter licked all the way up Lance’s smooth back, to his neck, where he nuzzled romantically. His arms wrapped around Lance’s chest, making Lance gulp as he wondered if he would be able to take every inch of the massive slab of meat that pulsated behind his back. He was ensconced in Cooter’s overwhelming muscles, inhaling deeply of the man’s unkempt armpits. For a moment, it seemed Cooter was going to shove Lance’s face in those hairy armpits — that wasn’t something Lance had ever been into, but in the spirit of going with the flow, he wasn’t going to turn it down.
That wasn’t what happened. Once again, Cooter surprised him, in two ways. First he kissed Lance on the lips, coming from behind so Lance had to turn his head to face him. Second, Cooter’s hands crept around Lance’s body to his dick, which he stroked with his awkward, unpracticed grip.
He assumed Cooter wouldn’t want to use tongue, but that was incorrect. Cooter’s massive meat pushed into Lance’s mouth and interlocked with his own tongue. Cooter’s seductive grumbling resonated in Lance’s mouth as they sucked each other’s tongues in the dark. The only other sound was the omnipresent whirr and birr of the machinery of Rig Delta 69.
“You taste nice,” Cooter said when he was done. “You use girl’s shampoo.” He sniffed Lance’s hair as those big meaty paws rubbed down Lance’s body. He again gripped Lance’s dick and stroked it — his touch was not crude and rough, more like a coach patting a player on the ass than a lover seducing his partner. Cooter’s awkwardness, the cramped closet and the scent of his unbridled musk made the whole experience sexy even if the handjob was rather clumsy and inept.
“I, uh… I don’t actually, I use a shampoo made with hibiscus and, uh… lavender. It’s for men, it’s Prince of Tahiti, that’s the brand. They have it at All-Mart, it’s not expensive,” Lance said, aware that he was rambling but unable to stop himself. It wasn’t a tony brand, that was the point.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Yes. I mean… Yes. Whatever you want. Whatever. It’s okay. Yes. Sure. I mean… just tell me wha- I’ll, uh… Yes. Probably. I mean… whatever, yes,” Lance said. He blushed, glad that Cooter couldn’t see it. Cooter thrust his fat cock at the meat of Lance’s ass.
“Sssh, just say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Pretend your dick is a dildo.”
“What?”
He spoke through gritted teeth, his soft tone suddenly menacing. “Pretend your dick is a dildo. A strap-on. And stick it in my ass. I wanna feel it inside me.” He let go of Lance then, and he gripped the shelf next to him. He jutted his ass out so its hairy thick globes were right in the center of the closet, pressing against Lance’s bare back.
Lance’s mind reeled. He couldn’t quite comprehend this. A part of his mind figured it out — Cooter was into pegging. He enjoyed having women sodomize him with a strap-on dildo. In the absence of women, he was willing to let Lance’s dick be that dildo. But Lance still thought for sure he had misheard that, even as he turned to face Cooter’s backside.
“You gotta bend over,” Lance said breathlessly, in a hurry to get started lest they get interrupted or Cooter change his mind or something. Cooter was standing straight up, so his ass lined up with Lance’s bellybutton, nowhere’s near close enough to plow him.
Cooter bent his knees and gripped the next lower shelf. When that still wasn’t enough, he went for the next shelf, and then the even lower one. That left him stooped over awkwardly, big hairy ass aimed high in the air.
It was still not quite enough for Lance, but there was a box of something heavy on the floor. Lance used his foot to push it into position so that he could use it as a stool. That enabled him to get his dick high enough to enter Cooter’s ass.
“Bend your knees-“
“You get taller!” Cooter barked.
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Lance said. “Come on, I’m on my toes on a stool here.” Though he grumbled, Cooter did bend his knees some. That let Lance lean forward enough to aim his dick for the center of Cooter’s hair-tangled asscrack.
When the tip of his dick actually entered Cooter, pushing through that dense swamp of sweat-choked hair, Cooter twitched and grunted. “Whuuuuuuhhhhhhhckkkk… You don’t play, did ya get that big’un at law school?” He let out a pained chuckle that morphed into a rig-shaking roar that reverberated in the tiny closet. Lance thought he had done something wrong, but Cooter’s labored breathing had a jagged, panty vibe to it that suggested he was in love.
Lance pushed his dick in more. There was ample resistance from Cooter’s tight ass, but not as much as Lance might have thought. He was tight but accepting, even though the only lube Lance had was his own spit. Cavernous groans escaped from Cooter, but they were groans of pleasure, and his back muscles arched and flexed with every thrust of Lance’s body.
“Hmmm, you feel so good…” Lance gripped the firm meat of Cooter’s body. In the light he had seen the numerous scars and tattoos of varying professionalism that belied his lifetime of hard work — and likely prison sentences — in the kind of trashy locales where you get both scars and cheap tattoos. But in the dark of the closet, Lance couldn’t see any of that, he could only feel the firmness of Cooter’s muscles and the powerful, burning passion within his barrel-shaped torso.
“Huuuhhhnnnk…” Cooter may have been trying to say something, but whatever it was, Lance couldn’t get it. Cooter gasped and clawed at the wall of the oil rig closet.
Cooter jacked himself off as Lance rammed back and forth, which was good because there was no way Lance could have reached all the way around Cooter’s massive frame to give him a reacharound. He enjoyed trying though, wrapping his arms over those strapping muscles. He could barely reach the man’s nipples, which he flicked and tweaked as he pushed his dick deep in Cooter’s burly ass.
The door to the closet opened suddenly. The sound of macho rednecks grumbling — complaining of something — filled the air for only a moment. Cooter was lightning fast: he winced before reaching behind himself to hold on to the doorknob. He re-shut the door before it could open..
“Get the fuck outta here,” Cooter said. He was trying to sound authoritarian, but his voice was weak and pinched, wavering, like it might shatter at any moment. Lance gasped too, holding himself still the best he could despite a powerful urge to thrust and ram and force his burgeoning manhood in and out of Cooter’s ass. His dick throbbed and spewed precum inside Cooter’s hairy ass.
“Who’s in there? Cooter?”
“Yeah, man, get away,” Cooter said.
“Whatchoo doin’ in there, man?”
“I’m lettin’ that lawyer jerk me off.” Cooter’s voice was clipped and pained, but he added a gruff confidence that made it work.
There was a long silence from outside the closet, then loud braying laughter filled the air. They pulled hard on the door and hooted. Cooter kept a tight grip on the doorknob so they couldn’t open it.
“You kiddin’, man?”
“I ain’t nevuh think you was serious about that.”
“Shut your dimwitted asses up!” Cooter screamed. He pounded on the door, which made them laugh all over again. “Get away, fuckheads!” The motion almost triggered an orgasm in Lance, because it made Cooter’s asshole squeeze around his cockshaft all over again, and Cooter’s whole body rippled. He grunted.
Their laughing slowly died down, and it sounded like they walked a few feet away, then stopped. They whispered among themselves.
Finally one of them meekly whispered, “We need a pump motor, Cooter. You ramroddin’ them too?”
He sighed. “Fine,” Cooter said. “Hang on.” He used his one free hand to grab a motor. Then he pulled the door open just wide enough to push the motor through. His friends tried to push it open, jubilantly laughing as they hoped to catch him in flagrante delicto, but Cooter kept a tight grip to hold the door from opening any farther. He awkwardly, painfully twisted his back with Lance’s dick still in his ass, and dragged the heavy motor with one hand to the door. They grabbed it and walked away, cackling with laughter.
When they were gone, he slammed the door shut again. He breathed a sigh of relief and held on to the doorframe for support. His knees quaked from the pressure in his ass.
But as Cooter reacted and calmed himself down after being very nearly caught, he lifted himself up. He straightened his back again. Lance had such a tight grip on Cooter’s thick back muscles that he held on even as Cooter lifted up.
The end result was that Lance clung desperately to Cooter’s body. His toes curled around Cooter’s trunk-like thighs, clinging to him there while his hands desperately gripped the flesh of Cooter’s body. Holding on like a child getting a piggyback ride, Lance slammed his hips the best he could.
Cooter grunted and roared. He yelped. He squealed in both pain and pleasure, and the array of snorts and groans coming from his mouth filled the air in the cramped closet. Lance couldn’t hold on much longer, but he tried to keep ramming his climactic cock for as long as he could.
He knew it was over when Cooter shot his own load. He rumbled as he moaned, filling his hand with cum. Lance’s ears pricked up just before his own orgasm began — were there more people outside the closet? Maybe those guys had gotten others and they were going to surprise Cooter by bursting in.
But it was happening too fast for Lance to slow himself down or say anything. He sprayed his wad deep within Cooter as intense pleasure rocketed up his spine. Lance tried to keep himself quiet so he didn’t accidentally make a masculine sound that would shatter Cooter’s illusion that he was being pegged by a girl. He just nibbled on the meat of Cooter’s hairy shoulder as he filled Cooter’s ass with his seed.
The pleasure was unlike anything Lance had ever experienced. He filled Cooter with this sticky seed and lolled his tongue over the rippling muscles of Cooter’s body. He threw his head back and moaned as waves of ecstasy wracked Lance’s body.
At last he was done. He pulled out and let himself slowly dangle off Cooter’s back until he slid down and onto his feet. His knees were weak from the power of his orgasm.
“You eat cum?” Cooter whispered — the first real whisper since they had come in here.
Lance nodded. Before he could say anything else, Cooter smeared cum all over his face — it was Cooter’s load from his own dick. It tasted thick and creamy, sweet and sour and savory all at once. Lance wanted to lick it all up, but Cooter told him not.
“Leave it there on yer face, sissy.”
They both quickly dressed. Lance wondered what he was supposed to do with a face full of cum. His question was answered moments later by Cooter flinging the door open.
There stood a dozen or so leering men. They were shushing each other as the door swung open. They clapped and hollered, making Cooter blushed. He tried to mean-mug them, but his face was bright red, making it clear he was more humiliated than angry.
“You like that, Cooter? Your next night off is gonna be a doozy!”
Lance blushed too as he realized what was happening — Cooter had known his friends were outside the closet, waiting to embarrass him. He had covered Lance’s face in cum so it would look like Lance had jerked Cooter off, just as Cooter had said was happening. It looked like everyone believed it.
Wiping his face off with the sleeve of his shirt, Lance looked away as Cooter sneered at him. He said something, but Lance couldn’t hear it over the sound of the other roughnecks. Cooter stalked away, ignoring them as well as Lance, who watched his swaying ass in his filthy workpants as he led his friends down the corridor. Cooter still had to walk awkwardly because he was so tall, which was good because Lance was sure he couldn’t walk straight right now anyway. His ass must ache something fierce, Lance thought.
Lance was about to walk the other direction, though he still had no idea how to get back to his boat. But there was one roughneck still there, standing in front of him. This one was tall and lanky, ropy-muscled, with a mustache on his upper lip. He looked like he probably dressed in leather pants and a cowboy hat when he wasn’t on the oil rig.
“Howdy,” he said. He looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was coming. “You smell like a girl.” He nodded into the closet. “You got another one in ya?”
“You want some dome? Sure…” Lance said.
“Not exactly that, no,” said the man. He blushed as he led Lance back into the closet. “But somethin’ along those lines.”

All five of those years clung to him still like a fragrant armpit

To Rocky, it still felt like he got outta prison last night, like everything since then was a dream. He was unsure he’d ever acclimate to the outside world. He’d spent five years in there, and all five of those years clung to him still like a fragrant armpit

To Rocky, it still felt like he got outta prison last night, like everything since then was a dream. He was unsure he’d ever acclimate to the outside world. He’d spent five years in there, and all five of those years clung to him still like a fragrant armpit.

From Rocky the Ex-Con