The Hockey Player Bottoms

Rob goes to a hockey game with some female friends, and he winds up in the locker room with all the players! That’s when he gets the incredible opportunity to experience Seven Minutes in Heaven with the studliest hockey player around, resulting in Rob’s most intense experience in Twink on Top yet!

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Read the whole thing here!

Rob Winthrop came to the hockey game with a bunch of his female friends, but he didn’t come because he liked hockey. Hockey was boring, as he saw it. He came because he wanted to see the GHU Titans change out of their hockey gear. The women said they were going into the locker room after the game. One of his friends had an in with the team.
But the whole thing had turned into a boring, time-consuming mess. Rob left last night and spent the night in a hotel room because the traffic promised to be nightmarish both before and after the game. They had to get to the game two hours early to make it through security in time, and then the game started a half-hour late.
It frankly wasn’t worth it. While Rob greatly appreciated the male physique and he had no doubt the Titans comprised some excellent specimens of it, it seemed unlikely he’d get to do much more than catch a few peeks. The girls were already divvying up the hockey players. The players were not gonna give Rob the time of day if they were women to paw over.
He didn’t leave though, because of the aforementioned traffic. It would take him like an hour just to get to the street through the mobbish crowd, and out on the street, hooligans were lighting shit on fire, or so the rumor mill went. It happened that way — Titans fans rioted in celebration if they won and in frustration if they lost, and somehow they were justified either way. If Rob left now, he’d have to venture out mid-riot to get somewhere placid enough he could catch an uber, and then if he did so, he’d be paying surge pricing. Surge pricing. Boo!
So he stuck with it. He hung back nervously as the girls flirted with the men, who stood around in their hockey gear, uncertain whether they should strip while the girls were there. The players had just come in and were excitedly talking to each other and the girls. The topic of conversation was a party back on campus or possibly at a house, nobody was sure where or which one.
“You ladies wanna mess around?” asked a player, Derek. He was the goalie, a broad-shouldered stud with a grizzled chin and a tough look on his face. He had a crooked nose and cauliflower ears, blood trickling down his cheek from a fight that happened near the end of the game.
“Yeah, we do! You got a party to go to?”
“He probably wants a blowjob, Paula, go on and suck him off. We all know you want to!”
“You’re such a slut! “
“I bet Megan wants to lick your asshole, Derek!”
The girls hadn’t been drinking, but they giggled like they had been — they were just covering up their nervousness about being around sweaty men. They squealed and fell over each other, pretending they didn’t like the body odor of the masculine men filling up the locker room with their armpits and feet. Rob smiled and tried to play along, but the smell of these players in their sweat-stained gear got him excited. His dick painfully stiffened in his pants. He laughed with his girlfriends and tried not to look too creepy.
As predicted, the men ignored him. Rob had a feeling that, if you asked, the hockey players would have denied there being a male among the women who came in here after the game. They had situational blindness to him.
“Let’s split up,” Derek said. “There’s one girl for each guy here, right?” He paused to count. “Oh wait, we’re one short…”
Everybody looked at Rob, and all of a sudden, Rob was not invisible anymore. Well, not sudden, as the hockey players had to count, and you know how they are with math. It took a minute or two. Derek even looked around the locker room and peered under the bench most of the players sat on, as though there might be a heretofore undiscovered component of his hockey team.
His face burning, Rob extended one limp wrist for Derek to kiss it. He smirked and said, “Are you proposing something, Derek?”
It was Derek’s turn to cough nervously and turn bright red. The girls screamed peals of laughter. They all spoke at once, but the consensus was that they should totally pair up, even if that meant one of the hockey players had to be with Rob.
“Well, I don’t care, I’ll let anyone jerk me off-“
“I just need to bust a nut, man!”
“Megan wants to lick your asshole!”
“Shit, I don’t care, I just wanna talk to girls,” Derek said like that was a brag. “I’ll get off, yeah, cool, I mean-“
“Ewww, Megan loves to give rimjobs-!” Megan and Paula were falling all over each other laughing over accusations of rimjobs. The reason why is long and complicated and full of girls, so Rob was uninterested, but the gist of it was that Megan would never give anyone a rimjob, much less one of these hairy unwashed hockey players.
Despite his words, Rob got the impression that Derek, and most of the other players remaining — a few had already gone off with women — did care very much about who jerked them off. They didn’t want to be paired up with Rob. But each player had only a one in eight chance of being chosen, so each one was individually confident he wouldn’t get Rob, and no one wanted to be the one who brought the girls’ excitement down. As soon as Derek boasted and made himself look tough and macho, anyone who declined would seem weak and beta in comparison.
When Rob passed Chazz, a defenseman with a stocky body and visible jockstrap above his pants, Rob let his finger curl under that elastic strap. It was sweaty, and he felt kinky hairs there. He giggled as Chazz tensed but grinned.
“Let’s see, who do I want…?” he said, dramatizing his indecision as he walked around the locker room. Of course, he already knew who he wanted — Derek. He was the biggest, toughest and hairiest macho on the team. Luckily for Rob, he was also confident that Derek was the one the girls liked least, he had such alpha machismo that it was a turnoff for most girls, plus he was hairy, dripping with sweat and had a face that hadn’t been classically handsome even before years of fighting had bashed it into a crude, cauliflowery menace.
Then Rob stopped in front of Reybaud, the Quebecois player with broad shoulders and an intense grin. He smiled as Rob slipped his hand into the back of his pants, cradled his bare ass and even ran a finger in his asscrack. The girls all squealed on the conga line extending behind Rob.
“Wait, we should do this fairly! Spin the Bottle! Seven Minutes in Heaven!”
“Ooh, yeah, Seven Minutes in Heaven! Let’s play that!”
The girls didn’t even wait for the guys to agree. They just assumed everyone would be into it. Rob was annoyed he wasn’t going to be able to engineer a situation in which he got Derek. Shoulda chosen him right off the bat. He liked being the center of attention for awhile, that was it, he shoulda realized that wasn’t going to last. Women would never tolerate not being the center of attention.
“The men have gotta do whatever their partner says, no matter what! Even if Megan wants to lick your asshole!”
“Oh my god, you are so gross! I told you I’d never do it!”
“Once you go brown, you’re always down, that’s what they always say!”
“No one ever says that!”
The guys nervously assembled in a circle, while the girls did the same. Someone said they should alternate male and female, but the girls were too excited and the players were too nervous to really do that. In the end, it was a mixed hodgepodge, but they were in a circle. They used an empty water bottle to spin.
Reybaud spun first. He smiled when he came up Megan. Then came Nestor, who got Paula, and Chazz, who was matched up with Rachel.
And then was Derek. As he spun the water bottle, Rob prayed it would point at him.
That was exactly what happened.
Derek groaned and clutched his sides. The girls squealed and cheered. The girls who had already gotten a man — and had gone off to the individual shower stalls to do whatever they were going to do — poked their heads out to see who had been assigned with Rob.
A part of Rob was insulted that this was seen as such a spectacle, but a bigger part of Rob was excited. Despite Derek’s words, he had a feeling Derek wasn’t going to let Rob do anything more than feel up his chest, maybe — maybe — give him a handjob, but it was still exhilarating. Just standing with Derek in the tiny shower stall would be arousing enough.
A lot of college boys these days were all talk, no action. That rapper Commodore had a song about getting dome with a clear implication that he got it from a man, cuz a real tough alpha don’t care whose mouth he nuts in. Every alpha male at GHU was echoing that sentiment, but a much smaller proportion acted on it.
“Carry me, big boy!” Rob called out. That made Derek blush, but he did. He took off his hockey sweater and swooped Rob up in his arms. The other players and the remaining girls whooped, then got involved in spinning the bottle for the last couple of remaining pairs.
He carried Rob to the showers, while Rob squirmed in his arms and nuzzled his thick biceps. He smelled of sweat and a bit of blood, mixed with the clean linoleum scent of the locker room. By the time they reached the shower, Rob’s hands had explored every inch of Derek’s biceps, and Rob’s dick was rapidly firming up in his pants.
Derek was much taller than Rob, and the individual shower stall they were in was so narrow that they had to squeeze into it. Rob felt like a midget in comparison with Derek. He licked his lips, unsure how to proceed, and just stroked his hands up Derek’s chest, beneath his t-shirt. Derek took the t-shirt off and flexed his pecs, whether to make Rob swoon or out of pure anxiety, Rob didn’t know. He kissed each nipple in turn.
“You don’t have to do anything…” Rob whispered as his hands cradled Derek’s ass. He pulled down Derek’s pants and played with both plump cheeks. “I’ll tell them it’s a secret what we do in here. It’s no big deal-“
“Have you put it in his ass yet?”
“Hope you have the common courtesy to give him a reacharound, Derek!”
“Yeah, you don’t look like the kind of man who’d refuse to give a reacharound! He deserves it!”
It sounded like the girls were barely even doing anything to their men (except maybe Megan, who hadn’t spoken since going in her shower stall, and was probably sucking dick — she was just as big of a slut as her friends said). They enjoyed catcalling out to Derek, who blushed but remained quiet.
Derek sighed and shrugged. “I’ll do it… I promised,” he said. He looked hopefully towards the other shower stalls. “Just tell them I’m cool.”
Rob felt a pang of pity for him. It was hard for Rob to understand how girls didn’t eat Derek up with a spoon, but he knew they didn’t. Derek was entirely too buff and big and crude, and not at all suave. He stood there awkwardly fumbling with his own underwear, which he dropped, revealing a thick, hoggish prick.
“You’ll do what…?” Rob asked.
Derek sighed and blushed. “Whatever…”
Rob decided to take this as far as he could. It seemed Derek really wanted to impress the girls. Rob pulled out his dick and stroked it alongside Derek’s. Derek reacted like Rob’s dick was made of poison ivy. He spasmed and looked away, holding his breath and closing his eyes.
“Will you tell Megan I’m hot?”
“She can see you, sweetie. She doesn’t need me to fill her in on that,” Rob said. As Rob listened Derek whisper about how desperate he was for pussy, he snuck his hand past Derek’s jockstrap. A surge of desire ran up Rob’s spine as Derek’s dick spasmed in his hand. Poor boy must be awfully horny, Rob thought, you could feel it in the veiny throbbing of his cock.
“I just… I know she’ll fuck me, I just can’t figure out why she hasn’t done it yet. She likes hockey players, right? Everyone said she’ll fuck any hockey player.”
Rob didn’t know how to tell him that Megan liked handsome, charming dudes. She liked it when guys had smooth lines to give her, she hated chest hair, and she didn’t like guys who were so much taller than her. Derek looked like a bully even if he was nicer than he seemed to be, and his faded acne scars made him look older than he really was. He reminded Megan of her grandfather, who had a craggy face like a windswept sailor, and for Megan, that was not a turnoff.
“Ah, god, yes, f-” That was Megan, Rob guessed from the voice. She cut herself off and giggled nervously as her friends called her a slut all over again. She was probably the only one having actual sex, Rob suspected.
She was like that.
Rob put a hand on Derek’s shoulder, the sweat clinging there melting into his soul and making Rob dizzy with desire. Some of the girls were either showering with their hockey player or making their player shower before getting started. Rob wanted to feel up Derek’s muscles, which quivered nervously at his touch, and when he got to Derek’s shoulders, Derek finally stopped complaining about women.
Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. He sunk to his knees as though Rob was telling him to jerk him off — which Rob would have done if he thought Derek would agree. Rob had to suppress a gasp when he realized Derek was going to do it.
He had a thick shock of black hair that was matted to his head with post-game sweat. Rob gripped that magnificent mane as Derek, stooping to reach Rob’s crotch in the tiny shower, opened his mouth and hesitated.
Then he took Rob’s dick in his mouth, all in one smooth motion, like he’d done it before. Rob was shocked at how forward he was. He had never thought he’d get this hockey player to even touch his dick much less taste it.
In no time, Rob was rock-hard, dick rampaging in Derek’s mouth. Derek gagged when Rob’s cock hit his throat, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even seem to mind the taste all that much, he was simply unpracticed at deep-throating, so he gagged each time Rob’s dick hit his gullet. Each time it sent a wave of pleasure coursing through Rob’s veins, and Rob held his sweat-soaked head tight;y in place.
“Ram his throat, Derek. He loves that!”
“Throat him down, like a pu-uuuuuusssy!” That was Megan. She was saying pussy as an impression of some stupid movie about how women are right about everything, including how to say ‘pussy’. Or maybe someone she knew, Rob had no idea.
Rob smiled. It seemed the girls assumed that Derek would refuse to bottom. Rob whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll tell them you just let me give you a handjob, okay?”
Derek nodded, those big dumb player eyes twinkling as he deep-throated Rob. Rob’s dick pulsated in his throat as he forced his dick in as deep as he could. Rob daggered his hips into Derek, moaning as he felt that awkward tongue licking up and down his shaft.
Intense sensations rocked Rob’s spine. He gasped as he gripped Derek’s messy black mane tighter, using the big player’s body for support as his own knees weakened. Rob licked his lips. Derek was wedged against the wall of the shower by Rob’s petite body.
Then Derek stood. He gagged again after removing Rob’s dick from his mouth, and he had a sour look on his face. He frowned and choked before pulling a pubic hair out of his mouth. Rob’s dick pulsated angrily, demanding more attention, Rob wished he would have kept going but he wasn’t too surprised — he certainly couldn’t expect Derek to swallow his nut.
He was about to offer to jerk Derek off next, but much to his surprise, Derek turned around. He was so tall that his ass lined up with Rob’s belly. Rob spread those cheeks, wondering if Derek wanted a rimjob or if he was really asking to be rammed — he had to assume it was the former. Mouthing a man off was one thing, but Derek wouldn’t allow himself to be penetrated, would he?
Either way though, Rob figured he should start with a quick rimjob. He bet Derek had never had one before, and if he did want to get rammed, that would be the only lube they had available. He dived face-first into that funky asscrack.
Judging from the way Derek’s body stiffened and he jumped, startled, Rob realized with a shock that in fact Derek had been expecting to get rammed. Rob’s heart pounded as he realized he was going to get to top this gigantic hockey stud.
But first he needed to open that tight asshole up. Rob lapped at the man’s crack, sucking up all the post-hockey game grime, and he slurped, noisily and moistly, his whole way up and down Derek’s asscrack.. The few pads he had not taken off in the locker room were on the floor now, and Rob had to step on the soaked cotton to get his face into those juicy cheeks.
His tongue pressed into Derek’s ass, which was thick and hairy and choked with clean, fresh sweat. It was so salty and sour it rather tasted like cum already, just without the creamy texture. Derek grunted and shook as though he was shocked that the rimjob felt good, and he let out a pained grunt that turned into a moan of desire. When Rob reached around Derek’s body to handle his cock, it was already rock-hard.
The smell of ice from the rink filled Rob’s senses, and he smelled the coppery blood that stained Derek’s sweater, the funk of his skates, the bitter, salty sweat that splattered on his lips every time he collided with another player on the ice. All of the flavors from the match remained on his skin, dripping into Rob’s waiting mouth.
His hands roamed up Derek’s broad back, caressing his muscles as they rippled. He had even had a few hairs there, which Rob adored — it was just the perfect amount of hair.
Feeling like he had to do something nice for Derek, Rob pulled out of his moist ass. “You know… you need to shave your back.”
“What? My back’s not hairy.”
“No, it’s not hairy, but there’s some hair here. It creeps around from your chest.”
“So? It’s barely noticeable.”
“Girls hate it, trust me. Megan won’t fuck you if you have even the slightest bit of hair on your back,” Rob said. “Get a friend to shave it. Or… I’ll give you my phone number. I’ll jerk you off and shave your back anytime you want.”
“Okay-“
“I mean that, Derek. Any time you want,” Rob said with a giggle. Derek was looking behind his back at Rob, who reached around to casually stroke Derek’s dick. It pulsated like an alien beast in his grasp.
“Okay, thanks,” Derek said. He sighed. “Girls are picky.”
“Uh-huh” Rob said with a sloppy-faced grin. “You have to lower yourself now. Get lower so I can get to your ass.”
Derek crouched on his knees so his ass was low enough for Rob to reach with his dick. He took up almost the entire shower stall, so Rob had to squeeze into position behind him. He got the tip of his dick lined up with Derek’s asshole, and he lightly fingered the rim to make sure it was good and open.
“Two minutes, sluts! Rob, you better finish up!”
Rob had forgotten this game was called “Seven Minutes in Heaven”. He hurried up and rammed the tip of his dick into Derek’s ass as soon as he heard that, and Derek raised his head, his whole body tensing up at the same time.
Derek squealed and moaned, but bit his lip to avoid making too much noise. His entire body quaked as he struggled to accept Rob’s dick. Rob rather suspected that he had assumed Rob’s dick would be small because Rob was not large, but nothing could be further from the truth. Rob was significantly bigger than average, so his dick spent pangs of pain up Derek’s spine. Derek had had a surprised look on his face when he first saw it, but when he felt it inside him, he looked so shocked his face might fall off.
He assumed that Derek wouldn’t be able to get hard with a dick in his ass, but when Rob reached around him, he discovered that wasn’t true. He had to stretch to get there and stroke off Derek’s throbbing dick through the messy tangle of the man’s (curly) pubic hairs. Ecstasy erupted in both men simultaneously, arising first in Rob’s body as he thrust then seemingly transferred to Derek’s by Rob’s cock colliding with his sensitive prostate.
By the time he had just barely begun jacking him off, Rob felt his own orgasm approach. The sensation was so intense he had to bite his lip to avoid crying out loudly. It was like an echo reverberating in his body, beginning in his ass and moving in waves up and down Rob’s tiny frame.
Incredible pleasure shot through his muscles. Rob gripped Derek’s strapping back with his free hand, while his other stroked hard, sending Derek into throes of his own orgasm. They both rocked and shook there, Derek barely fitting into Rob’s thin, weak arms.
Hot cum dripped from Derek’s ass, but he didn’t pull away — or maybe just couldn’t in the tiny shower stall — so Rob stayed there. He enjoyed the feel of Derek’s dick spasming in sync with the clenching of his ass, and Rob’s dick sent a new shockwaves of pleasure running through both his own and Derek’s body with each tiny motion. Every time either one of them moved even a bit, Derek’s body vibrated in agonized bliss all over again.
It wasn’t much later that Derek shot his load into Rob’s hand. He gasped and furtively moaned. He sprayed a big wad, much of which ended up on the floor, but the rest dripped from Rob’s hands. The texture was creamy and vibrant, milky white in color, and the smell of cum filled the air.
Finally, that was it, they were done. Rob pulled out as Derek shot the last of his cumwad onto the shower floor. D erek breathed a deep sigh of relief. The other couples squealed and giggled in the other stalls.
“Why are Rob and Derek so quiet? Think they fell in love?!”
And then Paula, always the organized one, called out that the seven minutes were up. Megan — who had ruffled, just-fucked hair and smeared makeup — hurried to the shower stall that Rob and Derek were in, and she flung open the curtain as though hoping to walk in on something compromising. Her gleeful smile turned to a frown at the sight of both men casually getting dressed.
“What?” Derek asked.
“I just gave him a handie,” Rob said. “Not a big deal. He’s got the perfect-sized dick, by the way. Absolutely perfect.” He smiled and slapped Derek’s rumbling ass. “He’ll make you feel so good your pussy will fall off.”

The Shotputter

At a championship in Riyadh, the massive Norwegian shotputter Arnold Thikkerson has trouble meeting women. He’s too big, too rough and just perfect for the photographer Bart, who is eager to service all of his hard to please parts!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Arnold Thikkersen looked around the Olympic Village. It looked so utterly normal, he thought — the buildings weren’t exactly like the stacks of squat bricks that covered his Massachusetts home, but they were similar — they were pale pastel, with balconies and yellow plaster. They looked more like the apartment buildings in New Mexico, where Arnold’s ex-wife now lived. He supposed that made sense. New Mexico was a desert just like Saudi Arabia, so they have similar buildings.
He took a deep breath and looked beyond the gated boundary that he hadn’t seen the other side of since arriving here. Could he leave the Olympic Village? He was allowed to. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
What if he broke a law out there? He’d rot in a Saudi prison while the American press ran articles about how foolish he was for it. What would he even do out there? There were no bars, no drinking, no dancing, no marijuana, no popular music, no interacting with women, no churches, no strip clubs, no beaches — there was nothing that Arnold wanted.
He just felt like a loser hanging around in the Olympic Village. He thought he shouldn’t feel like that. He wasn’t a loser — literally — he had just won a gold medal in the shot-put. He could throw a heavy ball farther than anyone else on Earth.
For whatever the fuck that was worth.
He passed underneath a balcony whence came a torrent of charismatic laughter. He didn’t have to look up there to see who it was. He recognized one of the voices as Charlie McDarnell, a champion volleyball player and six-packed stud who had lost for his team. It was Charlie’s error that meant the Americans were shut out of the volleyball medals this year. Charlie should have been humiliated. If it were Arnold, he’d be kicking himself, cursing his own name, refusing to leave his hotel room. But Charlie McDarnell just ran his fingers through that goddamn mane of blond hair like a Barbie — Arnold, who had started balding when he was nineteen, hated Charlie very much — and laughed with his buddies, all of whom were volleyball jocks with perfect hair and an unblemished record of never eating a carb. The media loved them. After they lost, they all got to go on NBC and meet Ann Currie and they even got to make a statement on the Goughman issue — that was a country singer, Albert Goughman, who had made intolerant statements about Samoan people. It had no relevance to the Olympics, to volleyball, to shot-put, to Saudi Arabia or to athletics in general, but the volleyball players, as a reward for losing, got to go on TV and talk about how terrible Goughman was.
Arnold had won, and no one wanted him on TV. No one cared about shot-put. The volleyball players even had some girls up there — Japanese girls, by the sound of their twinkling laughter. No Japanese girls had come to see Arnold. At the World Track and Field Championship in Osaka last year, Arnold had been mobbed by Japanese girls and thought he was finally becoming a real celebrity, only to discover that they had no idea he was a champion shot-putter — they had probably never heard of the shot-put. They had only mobbed him because he looked like an ogre. They thought it was funny and wanted to take pictures with the massive white man with the physique of an ogre.
Arnold had never been so humiliated. And that was after winning the shot-put there too. He was almost undefeated in shot-put. Literally not a single journalist had come to him since he won the gold medal. No one cared about shot-put.
He knew it was because of the way he looked. Not just him, but all the shot-put “stars”, in as much as there was such a thing. They were all big, squat bulls like him.
Arnold was bald, scalp shaved smooth, and frumpy, unfashionable no matter what he did. He once hired an agent who put him in “hot” clothes, only to laugh at how ridiculous he looked when he was dressed. He was tall and stout, barrel-chested, muscular like a moose — not fat by any means, he was a bodybuilder, he just didn’t have a six-pack. Shot-put didn’t require a six-pack. It didn’t require him to shave his shoulders either, nor to cover up the blemishes on his skin with concealer — that was what Henri Delameur (the French volleyball star and sex symbol) did, Arnold saw him do it. He didn’t understand what made volleyball players handsome but shot-putters grim ogres. He thought he was reasonably attractive. He was balding, sure, but he shaved his head so that wasn’t obvious. He was muscular and thick all over. He worked on his body, he was in good health. But still, girls ignored him and the media treated him like crap.
Arnold stood by the gate out from the Olympic Village. There was a press conference going on outside. Some handsome Canadian runner was giving a speech or something, Arnold didn’t know. He didn’t want to see the man’s dimples or his trim, neat body.
Arnold wished he had become a runner. He didn’t have the physique for it, of course, but maybe if he had been training for that since middle-school, he would have the physique for it by now.
“Okay, sweetie, you gotta relax. Smile. Smile like you enjoy smiling-“
“I am smiling.”
“Smile better. You’re smiling like a witch who’s seen a child has fallen into her trap,” said a lilting male voice.
Arnold turned around to see a woman having her picture taken. She was a wrestler, wearing a red, white and blue singlet that accentuated her curvy body. Actually, Arnold thought as he watched her awkwardly smile, she was well-beyond curvy. She was thick like he was.
She wasn’t exactly sexy. She was certainly no Hollywood starlet. But she was pretty in her way; she was thick, buxom, rubenesque and heavy. She was brimming with a peculiar sort of beauty, a very solid, firm beauty. Her beauty had gravity — that’s not a fat joke, it’s like a serious voice has ‘gravity’ — her beauty had the gravity of a warrior, and any sane man would give it all to worship at her massive body.
Arnold sure would. But he couldn’t approach her in a place like this. Or any place. He scuffed his feet and looked down at the ground. He felt too big, like a moose among mice.
She scoffed. “I can’t do this, Bart-“
“You can! You’re so beautiful!” Bart, the flamboyant photographer — who was tiny but had a large presence — kept snapping photos as he called out instructions to her. “Pretend you’ve just seen someone you know, someone you haven’t seen in a long time. Wave to them. They’re far away. They’re farther away than that. Is that how you wave?”
“I don’t know! The more you talk about waving, the less I’m able to wave! I’m not doing this, Bart! You got your stupid fucking picture,” said the woman — Paundy Sappelslim, American silver medalist. She adjusted the straps of her singlet and scowled. She scurried away with barely a glance in Arnold’s direction.
Arnold watched her go. She was hot enough for him. He didn’t mind a thick girl — which was good because he was thick too, and small girls wouldn’t give him the time of day. He wondered if he should go after her.
Bart glanced up at Arnold. “Don’t bother.”
“What?”
“You’re trying to decide whether to go hit on her, right? Don’t bother. She won’t be into you. She just got married.” Bart sniffed. “He’s tiny. Korean. Banker. It’s weird.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Oh. Well, shit.”
“She doesn’t wear a wedding ring to competitions.”
“Ah. I see.” Arnold looked down at his feet.
“Sorry.” Bart put his camera away. He carefully packed it in its own case, then put that in his satchel. To it he added his laptop, the external hard drive for it, the four thumb drives he used to find the one thumb drive he wanted, his other phone, his charger and the ipad he always thought of as “the downstairs ipad”, even though he hadn’t kept it downstairs in years.
All the while, he sensed the heavyset powerhouse shot putter Arnold Thikkerson looking at him. Bart made sure to aim his ass in Arnold’s direction. Bart had a love for men’s physiques, and Arnold’s was an especially remarkable example of one. His heft was magnificent, powerful as a stallion and tall as a gorilla. But he had an adorable sheepishness that Bart liked as well.
“So you’re like a media guy?”
“I’m a photographer,” Bart said. “Her media consultant hired me to take pics during the Olympics.”
“Oh, so you can’t help, uh… someone else?”
“I can’t give you media advice, no. I could take your picture,” Bart said. He smiled.
Arnold blushed. He thought he should just walk away right now, but an idea occurred to him, and he wanted to try it even if it was awkward. What was the worst that could happen? Bart could say no. “Do you…? Like, I know, uh… a lotta dudes, like… know a lotta girls. Like… here. So, like, I was hoping… uh… do you know… any girls in the Olympic Village… who might like me?” Arnold’s big square face was bright red. His cheeks jiggled. “Uh… I mean… Like, for… me, I, uh…” He didn’t want to stammer, but it always happened when he was nervous.
If people knew, they’d be shocked — everyone had told him he’d get laid all the time in the Olympic Village. They thought the Olympics being in Riyadh would mean everyone stayed in, so all those Olympic athletes would be hanging around waiting to bang. They thought any athlete, especially a gold-medal winner, would be swimming in women.
Whereas Arnold had barely even talked to a female in the entire time he’d been in Saudi Arabia.
“You want me to hook you up with a girl? Paundy there is the only woman I know here, sorry,” Bart said. “I can’t, uh…” He noticed Arnold grabbing his dick through his baggy gym shorts. Arnold’s eyes were low and dim, and Bart felt bad for him. “I might be able to help in a different way though.”
Arnold was ideal, as far as Bart was concerned, skin blemishes and all. Bart blushed as he looked him up and down. Arnold wore a sleeveless muscle shirt — was that what he wore to pick up chicks? No wonder he couldn’t get laid. Girls didn’t want to see his bulging, fleshy arms and hairy pits. He smelled like a locker room and athlete’s foot powder, and he exuded heat like a furnace.
Bart, however, was glad to be with him. He smiled at Arnold. “You wanna come with me? I’ll do you!”
Arnold’s eyes opened wide. “Really?!”
Bart was surprised that he was so eager. A lot of men were willing to get their dick wet without a woman, but Arnold was jumping to agree. Bart would have offered him money if he was reluctant. It was nice to save a few dollars. “Yeah. Really.”
“Oh shit, that’s awesome, man. Do you think I could get a cover on Men’s Fitness? They have it at my gym and I want the guys I lift weights with to see it. I really wanna be in a action movie too, and I know I got the physique for it-“
“I’m sorry, Arnold, I think I misspoke. I didn’t mean ‘I’d do you’ like I’ll be your media consultant. I won’t do that. Sorry. You have a bull face. You’re not television material,” Bart said. He felt bad saying that, but it was true, and it didn’t do Arnold any good to pretend there was some chance he’d wake up tomorrow a heartthrob. “You’re not going to be the hero of any action movie. Maybe a villain’s henchman. Maybe.”
Arnold was crestfallen. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry, I know that’s harsh, but… That’s the way it is,” Bart said. He touched Arnold’s bicep and shivered with desire. “What I was saying was that I’d be glad to make you feel better.”
Arnold scuffed his feet and wrinkled his nose. He only half-paid attention to Bart at all, and didn’t pick up on his hints. “Oh. Cool.”
“I can act like a girl in the ways that matter…” Bart’s voice trailed off because it was obvious Arnold wasn’t listening.
“Sweet.” Arnold furrowed his brow. “Do you think, if I’d been running since I was eleven, would I have a six-pack?”
“That’s such a weird question.” Bart shrugged. “I don’t know, Arnold.” He hugged Arnold around the chest — since Bart was so short, his arms wrapped over Arnold’s ribs. Bart’s face pressed into his meaty belly, and he reached up to clasp Arnold’s biceps.
“Uh.” Arnold grunted. He felt like he should be annoyed, but he wasn’t — he sort of liked it. Not many people liked him like that. Most physically small people (and children) were scared of him. A drunk, petite man had literally run screaming away from him when they bumped into each other in a darkened alley in Chicago a couple years ago.
Arnold furrowed his brow as he stood there, wondering if anyone could see Bart’s hands caressing his muscles. Why didn’t girls ever want to touch him like this?
“Do you want to get your nut off, big boy?” Bart asked. He smirked as Arnold gasped and sputtered, muscles flexing beneath Bart’s tender grasp.
“Uh, oh, uh, uh… Oh! Shit, I mean… Damn… Oh, I ain’t, uh… I ain’t no perv or nothin’,” Arnold said.
“Well, good, but you didn’t answer the question though. Is that a yes? Come on, baby.” He took Arnold’s big meaty paw in his hand and walked him into a nearby building, an apartment inhabited by soccer players. They were all at the medal ceremony now (Spain won, with Belgium getting the silver and Cameroon the bronze), so the building was empty.
Bart led Arnold’s stiff, nervous body into the common area, where there was a mostly empty utility closet. He closed the door behind them, and Arnold grunted. His mind whirred. He hadn’t agreed to this, but on the other hand, thinking about an orgasm had made his cock stir in his jockstrap prison. He wanted to get a nut off so bad.
It wouldn’t really count, would it? Arnold didn’t think so. It was just jacking off with another guy.
Before he knew it, Bart’s hand was on his crotch, stroking his dick through his gym shorts. Arnold sucked in his breath. Pervy or not, he was doing this. He needed it.
He closed his eyes and bit his lip. Bart tried to remove Arnold’s shirt, but he was too short, and after a minute or two of awkward fumbling, Arnold just took it off himself. Bart kept stroking his dick through his shorts though, and he licked Arnold’s massive pectorals.
As a champion shot-putter, Arnold had long focused on his upper arms, shoulders and pecs. Those were the muscles that propelled the shot through the air. His pecs flexed beneath Bart’s lips, while Bart’s hand slid underneath those gym shorts and into the pouch of his jockstrap.
“You’re not gonna make me kiss you with tongue, are you?” Arnold said. He blushed, then worried he might have offended Bart said, “I mean… no tongue, and not after you taste my dick. No french-kissing, okay?”
Bart giggled. It was like making out with an overgrown high schooler. “Okay. No tongue.” Bart didn’t normally try to get men to kiss, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. He hopped up and hugged Arnold’s body with his arms and legs, mounting his big barrel chest and planting his lips right on Arnold’s.
Arnold’s last serious girlfriend had been furious when he tried to have sex with her without kissing — not because he was opposed to kissing, he just didn’t think about it. It didn’t seem important. She had said it was important, that was why he assumed Bart would want a kiss — as long there was no tongue and he didn’t taste like dick, Arnold figured it wasn’t even a big deal.
He felt Bart’s lips on his. It wasn’t bad. He could feel an erect firm bulge pressing against his belly, that was a little weird and offputting. But at least Bart’s dick was still in his pants.
Arnold stood there, letting Bart kiss his mouth — which was pursed shut tightly — and caress his broad shoulders. Arnold finally had enough and let him down gently. Bart kissed until he couldn’t reach anymore, and then he kissed a trail down Arnold’s neck and his broad chest until he got to his crotch.
“Hmmmm… You’re really handsome, Arnold. Girls should give you more of a chance,” Bart said. He pulled down Arnold’s shorts and jockstrap, and that massive foot-long dick flopped right out. Bart slapped his own face with it — it was just slightly soft, which was the perfect texture to just play with it a bit, Bart thought. He giggled at the shocked look on Arnold’s face. “What…? Hasn’t anyone ever slapped themselves with your cock before?”
“No.”
“Well, you should make guys get you off more,” Bart said with a shrug. He put the tip in his mouth and suckled, loudly and moistly, letting little drops of saliva drip onto the floor of the utility closet. He didn’t try to deep-throat him at first, waiting for that veiny shaft to get fully hard first.
“Ah, goddamn, shit…” Arnold hadn’t been serviced like this in a long time, maybe ever, he thought as he watched Bart slide all the way down on his dick. Not many women even tried to deep-throat him.
They certainly didn’t do it like this! Arnold sucked in his breath and threw his head back. He held onto Bart’s head, not plowing into his throat, just gripping it and rubbing his scalp. Without even his own conscious awareness, Arnold began humping Bart’s throat gently, making Bart gurgle and moan.
“Hmmm…” Bart pulled off and smacked his lips. His tongue ran down Arnold’s shaft and he suckled on those massive long-hanging balls. The sweat was intense and salty there, and it tasted like the precum that dripped down his shaft.
Bart kept teasing him with his tongue, making Arnold’s whole body shake. Arnold’s muscles tensed as he resisted his urge to hold Bart in place and ram down his throat. His belly smacked Bart in the forehead.
“You wanna stick me?”
Arnold’s eyes opened wide again. “In the ass?”
Bart giggled. He dropped his own pants and stroked his erect dick. “I still don’t have a vagina, so yeah, it’ll have to be the ass.”
“Oh…” Arnold had never fucked a woman in the ass. He was embarrassed of that gap in his sexual history, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He didn’t realize that Bart had already guessed it.
Bart leaned over the supply closet shelf and jutted his ass back. He usually had a tube of lube in his pocket, from which he smeared some on his ass with one hand, while his other hand kept a tight hold on Arnold’s dick. Bart thought it was cute — like a lot of big, horny guys, he wouldn’t do anything with his dick in someone’s hand. As long as Bart gently stroked his erect cock, Arnold did little more than grunt and gasp and stamp his feet, waiting for his dick to enter Bart’s tight hole.
“Okay, big boy, I’m ready-” Bart was surprised by how quickly Arnold moved.
He felt like his cock was about ready to burst. Arnold gurgled nervously, but his body moved of its own accord. In moments, his dick rubbed between Bart’s tight asscheeks. That hole looked too tight to be even remotely capable of taking his dick, Arnold thought.
But Bart was an expert. Of course he would know if he could take it. Arnold grimaced, closed his eyes and slid in. He couldn’t believe he was plowing into a man — and even more than that, he couldn’t believe how good it felt.
There was nary a moment of resistance. Pleasure wracked Arnold’s body from the second he entered him, and Bart’s ass clenched around his dick.
A burst of pain hit Bart first, but that quickly melted away as his body adjusted. Arnold’s heavy upper body rubbed against Bart’s sensitive, smooth back — he loved the imperfections of Arnold’s chest, the shaved-yet-scruffy hair that collected in the hard-to-trim places (Arnold was very curvy, so there were a lot of hard-to-shave spots), the few scars and little scratchy bumpy areas. Arnold didn’t use a moisturizer.
But those imperfections were one of the things Bart liked most about thick and chunky men. He jutted his ass back harder and harder, impaling himself on Arnold’s dick, until he was entirely inside him, and Bart lost himself in Arnold’s massive arms.
“Goddamn!” Arnold grunted and groaned. His ex-girlfriend had always hated how he made so much noise during sex — not arousing moans either, but little mewling grunts like a caveman, she had said. It was nice to be with someone who wasn’t so sensitive to that.
Arnold soon realized he could ramrod as hard as he wanted — that was another thing Bart did better than any female. Arnold could ram his dick in and out with all his might, and it just made Bart moan louder and louder, begging for more.
“Stick me, big boy!” Bart shouted.
“Aaah…” Arnold felt his orgasm welling up deep within him, and he had to suppress an urge to shout — he didn’t want anyone to hear him; the building was empty, but there were still security and maintenance people around.
Bart’s prostate was alive with pleasure, sending overwhelming waves of bliss through him. His hands tightened into claws that tore at the shelves beneath him, and he accidentally knocked a roll of paper towels onto the floor. His face was covered in sweat, though Arnold’s hefty body was even sweatier. Bart could feel his thickbody sweat flowing down his chest and coating Bart’s back.
Cum flew into him, great creamy gobs of it that coated his insides and flowed throughout his body. Arnold shot a load as big as he was, his cum having been cooped up in those low-hanging balls for a long time. His cock and his sac twitched as he sprayed his wad deep into Bart’s ass.
He had never felt anything like it. Arnold wordlessly shouted, no longer needing to focus on being quiet because he was unable to make a noise if he wanted to, beyond his horse-like whinnying and nostril-flaring. He kept Bart in a tight chokehold — not actually choking him, just preventing him from moving while Arnold drained his balls deep into Bart’s ass.
“Shit…” Arnold said with a throaty chuckle. “Shit…..”
“Thanks for that,” Bart said. He slipped off Arnold and sighed as relief flooded his body. That had felt so good he was dizzy now, positively delirious with the post-orgasmic spams still wracking his body. Arnold’s muscles rippled where they pressed against Bart’s back.
“Yeah, uh… Cool. You too.”
“Congrats on the gold medal,” Bart said. He wiped up Arnold’s body with those paper towels he had knocked onto the ground. Then they both awkwardly got dressed in the tiny closet.
“So you can’t make me a star?”
“Not unless you grow a better head of hair, a six-pack and some dimples,” Bart said. “Later.” He slipped out, leaving Arnold there to sigh with a mixture of disappointment and satisfaction.
This trip to Saudi Arabia was turning out better than he had hoped, Bart thought, even if his photoshoot hadn’t gone well. He still needed to get a casual shot of her. Just one picture in which she looked comfortable and happy in her own skin.
But he was already distracted, wondering when the next shot-put championship would be. Bart planned on being there to get another taste of his favorite athlete so far.

The Fat Jock Bottoms

A lot of rugby jocks are six-packed hunks with perfect physiques… Orson Gammond is not one of them. He’s desperate for a woman to pay attention to him, so when some cheerleaders dare him to let their twinky buddy ride him like a pony, Orson is eager to agree!

But can Orson bend over and take it long enough to put on a good show for the ladies he craves?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The cheerleading squad consisted of fourteen girls and Bart Dazzle — he was the only man on the squad. They were best friends, and Bart spent all his time with them. Bart always felt more comfortable with women, but he did appreciate the male form. The cheerleaders attracted some pretty appealing exemplars of the male physique, and they got Bart invited to all the coolest parties and get-togethers at Goldendale Hills University.
At first Bart enjoyed watching the cheerleaders take turns sucking off Raython, the football player, but soon it became old hat. He watched them take turns “reverse-gangbanging” the captains of the football team, and then the captains of the basketball, rugby and soccer teams. Not every cheerleader participated, but most of them did. They thought it was hilarious, which Bart had to admit it kind of was. But it was hot too. Bart enjoyed watching sex more than joining in.
One of the few players they didn’t think was sexy was Orson Gammond. He was a prop on the GHU rugby team, and like most props, he was huge. He wasn’t fat, but he hardly had a perfect body either. He was one of those men who was too muscular to have a six-pack. His belly jutted out with the sheer power of his oversized frame. He was goofy, with a big round face, a perpetually uncombed shock of thick black hair, and an awkward sprinkling of tufts of hair over his strapping chest. He had an ass that just didn’t quit — too plump to be a “bubble-butt” but plenty round and thick and inviting. Bart just wanted to spend hours covering it in whipped cream and licking it clean.
At a giggley late-night drinking session on Saturday, Bart and the girls had rated the members of the rugby team. The discrepancy over Orson’s ranking was tremendous — Bart rated him highly, while the girls uniformly put him on the bottom of the list.
That was what had sparked the girls to come up with this plan, which Bart had raced to agree to.
“Hey, so we’re having a sauna, Orson, and you can come in if you want…” said Lisa Anne, poking her head out of the sauna and into the locker room. The other cheerleaders giggled behind her.
Orson’s eyes opened wide. Everyone else in the locker room fell silent. They usually did when one of the girls came in. Orson had never been invited into the sauna with the cheerleaders before.
He grinned like a goofy bastard, and he even did a little dance there in front of Lisa Anne before going into the sauna. That made his jockstrap bounce and his pecs shake. Lisa Anne squealed because of his big caveman-like face leering at her. She blushed.
“Hell yeah, are you gonna jerk Orson off? Hey!”
“Can I come too?”
The other players were both surprised and annoyed that they didn’t get to come. The cheerleaders usually only took one player into the sauna at a time — reverse-gangbanging jocks was a cheerleading tradition here at GHU. Bart had come in and watched a few times, and he got to very briefly taste Raython Lake’s cock once. He had thought Raython wanted some dome from him as he ate cheerleader pussy, but it turned out Raython wanted a blowjob and simply hadn’t noticed who was on his cock at the time.
The sex was exaggerated though. It was more of a prank than anything else. Usually the entire cheerleader squad would bring one player in, and they’d tease him, dancing, laughing, maybe give him a massage and a lapdance, and then either suck his dick or fuck him. Sometimes they’d all do it. They’d usually all pretend to join in — at least touching him — so they could say it was an orgy. But Bart had never seen any man have actual sex with more than two girls in the sauna. Usually they’d make a big deal out of it, but then only the sluttiest girls on the squad did anything, while the rest giggled and teased. The athletes at GHU were usually too testosterone-charged to fuck a dozen girls before cumming.
He had also never seen Orson in there.
Orson was so huge — nearly seven feet tall — that he seemed to fill up the sauna. As soon as he strode in, the girls all fell silent. Orson blushed. He had a big dick that barely fit in his dingy jockstrap. His body heat turned the sauna even warmer.
“Hi, uh, girls.” Orson chuckled, his deep voice resonating in the wooden-ceilinged sauna. He blushed deeper every time he caught a glimpse of a naked girl through the steam.
“Hi, Orson…” said Lisa Anne, who grinned at him. “So… don’t get too excited, we didn’t invite you here because we want to fuck you.”
They all laughed because Orson looked crestfallen. Bart felt bad for him and got up. He wrapped one hand around Orson’s waist, hugging him close. “Oh, you poor baby…”
“Man…” Orson lifted his nose. “Why’d you invite me in here then?” He completely ignored Bart, who nuzzled his belly and even touched his asscheeks. Bart’s delicate arms reached all the way around Orson’s wideness, and Bart nuzzled the sweat-dappled flesh of his torso.
“Oh, sorry, sweetheart… you’re so nice, baby…”
“We just love you so much, Orson!”
“You’re so cool! Really, so so cool!” The cheerleaders squealed and cooed. Their tits jiggled, which was what Orson’s eyes followed.
Only then did Bart tweak Orson’s nipples, which finally got his attention. Orson looked at Bart’s petite body wrapped around him, as Bart licked a trail down his belly.
Orson frowned. That frown turned into a scowl, though he didn’t seem annoyed by Bart touching him. It seemed like he scowled just because that was what he thought guys should do, or maybe he thought he needed to in order to communicate that he wanted to mess with the girls in here, not Bart. Or maybe he was just a scowler.
In any case, his dick was hard. His belly was in the way, so the girls didn’t see, but Bart could tell. Orson might not have even realized he was hard. His eyes were hypnotized by the enchanting jiggle of their tits.
Lisa Anne touched Orson right on the navel, and she giggled — all the girls were giggling, that was their natural state — but Lisa Anne’s giggles intensified when she touched Orson’s belly. His bellyfat jiggled like her tits. Lisa Anne didn’t touch men with bellyfat. Her last boyfriend was Raython the football player, who had a six-pack like a movie star. She had never dated a man who didn’t have a six-pack, and Orson had never even seen his ribcage.
Bart could feel his ribcage though. Orson watched her finger explore up his body to his powerful chest. Orson’s muscles rippled under his torso fat when Lisa Anne traced her finger back down his belly, then scampered away like a Japanese photographer before Godzilla. Orson wasn’t touched by girls often, so that made him shudder and shake.
“So, we didn’t invite you in here so we could fuck you,” Lisa Anne said. The girls all laughed. Orson — who had a reputation as a dummy — just stared at her blankly. Lisa Anne patted him on the side. “I would like to propose a trade. You get to do whatever you want with someone on this squad, and then someone on this squad gets to do whatever they want with you.”
“Okay.” His baritone voice rumbled. He blurted out his answer without taking any time to think. It was obvious he hadn’t figured out where this was going.
Lisa Anne giggled. “I didn’t tell you who yet.”
He shrugged. “I don’t care, you’re all beautiful.” He blushed again as they all oohed and aahed at him. He wiggled his body and even covered up his jockstrap as he felt momentarily vulnerable. He seemed to have forgotten it was Bart stroking his asscheeks and his muscled thighs. Bart slurped up the sweat clinging to his flesh.
“Thank you so much, sweetie,” Lisa Anne said. She blushed too. She wasn’t usually this forward with men, but it was obvious Orson wouldn’t catch anything that wasn’t made very explicit. Lisa Anne cleared her throat. “Okay, you have to let Bart here ram you up the ass. And then we’ll-“
Orson looked down at Bart, who still clutched his torso. It took a moment to sink in, then Orson grunted and stepped away. It looked like he might leave the sauna. He covered his jockstrap with both hands, as though he just now noticed he was naked in front of a gaggle of girls plus Bart.
“What? He ain’t a girl.”
Lisa Anne and the other cheerleaders giggled. “Well, yeah, we know that. We just think it’d be so hot, baby. We wanna watch-“
Orson jumped between his feet a couple times. He was too nervous to stand still. He cleared his throat. “Yo, girls, come on… Come on…”
“You can say no, Orson.”
“Yeah, we’ll just mess with each other instead. We can have an all-girls day, y’know, if you don’t want to do anything…”
“Ooh, we should do that while Orson gets it up the ass! That way he’ll have something to watch!” Lisa Anne squealed, and the other cheerleaders all agreed that that was a good idea. They sometimes made out or even ate each other’s pussies for the benefit of the players, so that part wasn’t so strange for them.
They all reacted as though that settled it, and Orson had said yes. He hadn’t, but he hadn’t left either. A part of him knew he was going to do it even as he tried to bargain with the girls.
“How about I let him just jerk me off or whatever? That’s not too weird.” Orson’s big round cheeks were red as cherries.
“We’ve seen that, baby. We’ve seen Bart jerk off all kinds of guys,” Lisa Anne said. That made Bart giggle — it was true, they, or at least a couple of them, had done that before. Men would do anything Lisa Anne said. “Besides, he can’t bottom all the time-“
“He’s a bottom, I can tell by lookin’ at him!” Orson shouted.
“Oh, you don’t know, you can’t tell how much of a bottom someone is by looking at him,” Lisa Anne said. She crossed her arms over her chest. Orson sighed and nodded. Then, just to help make this easier for Orson, she kissed another cheerleader right on the lips.
Orson watched the girls making out like his life depended on catching every detail. Bart came back to hugging him close, just to see how comfortable he was so far. Bart’s hand moved down to his crotch and handled his fat erection. Orson twitched but he didn’t respond. Bart kissed him on the belly, then climbed onto the sauna bench to kiss up his chest. Orson was totally stiff, unmoving, staring straight at the girls as they made out.
His muscles were hard as rock. Since Orson didn’t have a perfect body and he was usually pretty low-key, his muscles were never really this firm. It was like touching a stone statue. He seemed to be going for pretending it wasn’t happening.
“Ooh, Orson, that’s so hot…”
“We love you, baby!”
Orson grunted at them. Bart knelt in front of him and put his mouth on Orson’s cock, just long enough to make it hard. Orson had a deliciously greasy flavor, full of machismo and unwashed manhood.
But instead he sat down and spread his legs. Bart couldn’t help but giggle — he couldn’t believe he was really doing this. The sight of girls fingering themselves and each other was strange too, something Bart never really had seen before, not like this.
Even when the girls told him to put his mouth on Bart’s dick, Orson didn’t stop watching them eat each other’s pussies. He knelt in front of Bart, blushing intensely. He opened his mouth and winced even before Bart’s dick passed his lips. He scrunched his eyes shut.
“Swallow it!”
“Oh my god, that’s so hot! You’ve never been sexier, Orson!”
Bart couldn’t tell if they were telling the truth, teasing Orson or exaggerating to make him feel more comfortable — Bart had won a bet with the girls, that was why they agreed to make Orson do this. Plus they probably wanted to see how much they could make a frustrated and horny fat guy do. So they hooted and flashed their tits at Orson as cringingly brought his mouth closer and closer to Bart’s manhood.
As soon as Bart’s dick touched his tongue, Orson gagged so violently Bart didn’t think this was going to happen. Orson retched and spat up a big wad of saliva onto the floor of the sauna. His now-open eyes looked dourly on towards the girls, who all giggled as they watched, having removed their tops now entirely. When Orson caught sight of their breasts, he again was hyponotized them. His cock twitched, and Bart stroked it with one hand the best he could — Orson was so tall that it was difficult for him to stoop low enough to put his mouth on Bart’s dick, and when he did, that placed his crotch nearly out of reach for Bart’s hand.
He opened his mouth and gagged again when he took Bart’s dick past his lips. His gags made his bellyfat and his thunderous thighs wobble and made the muscle under his meat flex and ripple. Bart explored those jiggling muscles as his dick jabbed and roped around on Orson’s face — Bart didn’t focus on getting it straight in Orson’s mouth, because that made Orson gag and spit it out, and Orson was more focused on the girls and their catalogue of tits. That meant Bart and his hands could roam over every inch of Orson’s face and chest and even his ass. Orson was a big man with a big mouth, and he tried to take Bart’s dick without actually touching it any more than he could help it — he tried to take his dick in his mouth without letting it touch his tongue or the sides of his mouth.
And he was big enough, he could sort of do it. His mouth was cavernous, and Bart got his entire dick in there before he felt Orson’s tongue finally batter his shaft.
“Oooh, baby, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen…” The girls moaned, their giggles turning to quiet titters so Orson wouldn’t feel they were laughing at him. They were, of course, or some of them were, holding back hysterical laughs so hard their cheeks were turning red like Orson’s. Orson did not notice.
When Bart’s dick got to be too much for Orson, he closed his eyes, only to open them when he realized that meant he couldn’t see the cheerleaders. With some effort, he managed to keep his tongue on Bart’s cock. He was surprised to find that the taste wasn’t so bad. He had gagged initially because he was humiliated and worried about how gross it would be.
But it actually tasted just like pussy, he thought. A lot of girls refused to fuck him, they just let him lick their pussies — because he had a nice big tongue but his dick was too big for them, and they didn’t like having to cram beneath his massive body — so Orson was an experienced pussy-eater. He had tasted a lot of vaginas, and this cock tasted just like one.
He wasn’t sure if that was because all cocks rather tasted like pussies, which seemed logical if disconcerting, or if Bart specifically tasted like a girl. That option had a certain logic to it, since Bart was effeminate.
Regardless, once he got started, Orson thought it wasn’t so bad. He had to watch the girls out of the corner of his eyes, but that was enough to see them, and as long as he thought about that, he wasn’t too embarrassed at the cock drilling down his throat. He could almost ignore it.
Bart didn’t mind the awkwardness of it. He was a bottom by habit and by nature, so he rarely got jerked off like this, and he had certainly never been jerked off by a massive rugby jock who outweighed him by like two hundred pounds. He forced his dick down Orson’s throat, and the more Orson got into it, the less he gagged and the more he could keep an intent stare at the naked chicks in front of him.
It was almost too awkward and nerve-wracking to really be enjoyable. For a moment Bart wasn’t sure this would go anywhere. It was the worst dome of his life, objectively speaking, but when he felt that tongue slather spit on his shaft, and Bart touched the sweat-dappled muscles of Orson’s back, a shiver of pleasure ran up his spine.
Bart moaned. Precum flowed onto Orson’s tongue, enough to spark another torrent of gagging. That made the girls giggle, but they didn’t stop. Orson just arranged his body so he could get a better look. More and more precum spewed forth, as Bart was overcome by throes of passion and an intense desire to blow his wad. He tried to hold back though.
Finally, when Bart thought he was about to cum, he pulled out. He bent over and kissed Orson on the lips before Orson could say anything else.
The girls cheered him on. Orson wrinkled his nose and didn’t kiss back, but he didn’t stop Bart. Bart’s tongue plunged into his mouth. Orson sighed but endured it, while Bart’s hands roamed all over his body.
Bart very nearly sat on his lap as they kissed, out of pure instinct and habit — he loved taking it up the ass like that, sitting on his alpha’s lap. But instead he reversed it, sitting on that bench and motioning for Orson to sit on his cock.
“Oh.” Orson hung his head. He had hoped maybe Bart would cum just from the blowjob. But there were so many naked girls all around him that Orson couldn’t bear to say no. He wanted this more than anything. Orson would have found it difficult to say no to any number of naked girls for any reason.
The position was awkward, but Bart loved it — he feel of Orson’s fat body twisting into position made the whole thing sexier. Bart held onto Orson’s hefty ass and back as though he could help support him, while Orson lowered himself onto Bart’s crotch.
“Do it! Do it!” The girls squealed and squirmed in each other’s arms. They must really be enjoying the sight of Orson getting it up the ass, Bart thought. He was glad. He wondered if they could do this again.
Then Orson let out a deep-chested howl as Bart’s cock slipped in. For a moment, Orson thought something was wrong. This hurt too much; it wasn’t supposed to be like that; something, he thought, had gone wrong.
His muscles all tensed, and he stopped moving with just the tip of Bart’s dick in his ass. His hole clenched, making Bart gasp, already on the verge of orgasm.
It was lucky that the discrepancy in size made this position difficult, because Bart was so turned on he would have blown his load right away if it was easy. He gripped Orson’s massive asscheeks, each one of them seemingly bigger than Bart’s whole body, and he guided Orson down.
The girls slowly stopped making out to watch. Orson gasped and heaved, his face turning redder and redder with every bit of Bart’s cockmeat sliding into him. He fumed and stopped a few times, resuming only when he looked up and saw the tits and pussies surrounding him.
“Oh, shit, man,” Orson said, his voice breathless and weak.
“That is so hot! Oh my god!”
The girls all agreed. Hoping to buck up Orson, they took turns kissing him on the lips while he focused on letting Bart’s entire cock fill up his ass. Bart moaned, his voice breaking and wavering.
Finally, he was in. Bart was overwhelmed by both the pressure and the arousal. He reached up to massage Orson’s back, which stretched above Bart’s head, deliciously imperfect with a few scars and marks, along with a mat of body hair stretching over his shoulders from his chest.
Orson held himself on Bart’s cock. He couldn’t bring himself to move, so Bart pumped his hips upward, plowing Orson’s tight asshole.
“You have such a nice ass,” Bart said. “Goddamn…” That made the girls giggle. Bart reached around Orson’s body. He managed to grab his dick, which was limp. Bart intended to give him a reacharound, but Orson was totally soft, so, Bart thought, that wouldn’t happen.
Just as he was about to let go, however, Bart felt his dick twitch and Orson’s ass loosen. Bart could plow harder now, and Orson seemed to be in less pain. Soon his cock was rock-hard, throbbing in Bart’s grip.
Orson was barely aware of that happening. He could tell that the pain had diminished, and there was a strange, offputting sort of pleasure building up in his ass. He had never experienced anything like it. It wasn’t unambiguously blissful, there was a certain agonizing quality to it, like when you removed a cast and the skin felt good but was so sensitive it hurt at the same time.
That pleasure grew more intense with every passing moment. Orson’s deep moans resonated in the sauna, and his voice was so low and rumbling that it seemed impossibly loud to the girls. He sucked on his lip as he realized he was getting a reacharound and liking it.
He hoped it wasn’t obvious how much he was enjoying this. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t so important. It seemed irrelevant right now, like he couldn’t possibly worry about his sore asshole when his prostate sent wave after wave of inexhaustible pleasure through his veins.
“Oh god, stick him!” The girls squealed and clutched each other.
Bart struggled to reach Orson’s dick. His body was so big it was tough to do, especially with Bart taking the lead in plowing Orson’s ass too. His balls slapped into Orson’s hairy cheeks, while he stroked that massive uncut cock. He had to use both hands to keep spreading the voluminous flesh of Orson’s cheeks.
And then at last, they both finished. Bart orgasmed first, and while he moaned into the meat of Orson’s back and filled his ass up with cream, he was able to speed up his handjob. That sent Orson over the edge at the same time, so he sprayed jets of cum onto the sauna floor.
Bart’s spurting cumloads lasted for what felt like forever. Bart didn’t mind, as he was wracked by spasms of pleasure like golden chords striking throughout his slim body. Though he struggled to accommodate Orson’s hefty frame above himself, Bart didn’t mind at all. He had been hoping to mess around with Orson for awhile. He massaged every inch of those rugby-toned muscles, while pumping his last few drops of cum into Orson’s hairy ass.
Finally, Orson slid off him. He was too exhausted now to sit, so he laid down, glad to see that Lisa Anne sat next to his head. She patted him on the cheek.
“Oh my god, Orson, that was so hot…” Lisa Anne said with a giggle. The other girls all rushed to agree.
Bart took a deep breath. The girls were swarming Orson, who beamed — despite his embarrassment, he was glad to have done it because girls had never given him attention like this before. He had already cum but Orson was desperate to go again as long as it was with a girl this time.
So by the time Bart was on his feet again, Orson was smiling as one of the cheerleaders sat on his face. He snarled like a wolf, making her laugh, and then pounced on her pussy, ramming his tongue right in.
“Oh god, Orson!”
Bart was tired. He hung around for a few more minutes. Orson let him suck on his balls a bit, but eventually the girls were too involved for Bart to find a way in. He was done anyway. There was a linebacker Bart wanted to check out, and he just might have an in with one of GHU’s chunkier coaches too. The campus was full of thick-bodied alpha men, and Bart was on a mission to worship every one of their bodies.