authority – Mansploitation

The Parole Officer

Rob is on parole, which means obeying the legendary Mr. Gerald. He’s a stern, no-nonsense man who doesn’t mind cracking skulls and kicking ass… and he goes even further than that. But when Rob asks to receive one of Mr. Gerald’s harshest of punishments, they’re both in for a wild ride they didn’t expect!

Can Rob handle what Mr. Gerald is ready to dish out?

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Read the whole thing here

Rob had six months of parole, and he was looking forward to it. He had been assigned to “Mr. Gerald”, an ex-drill sergeant. Rob had had to pull a few strings to make sure he was assigned to Mr. Gerald’s caseload. He sought that out because, according to street rumors, Mr. Gerald was known to force his parolees to jerk him off.
That was something Rob was down for indeed. Mr. Gerald was buff like a soldier but just craggy enough, like a stately butte. His nose was splatted like it had been broken many times or maybe just once but really badly. His skin was dark like new cast-iron, and his eyes were old like a wise turtle. He had a simmering grandness to him, like he thought he was more muscular than he was, he was actually kind of lanky.
He had a great mustache too. Rob was a sucker for a black guy with a mustache. He wanted to suck the hairs right off his upper lip. And he had big broad shoulders that shook as he filled out a form with Rob’s personal information on it.
“So you work as a writer? A freelance writer?”
“Yep.”
“That don’t sound like a real job. I want you to get a real job,” Mr. Gerald said.
“Yes, sir,” Rob said. He wasn’t going to do that, but he wanted to be agreeable. Rob’s family was very wealthy. He didn’t have to report that on his intake documents, so he didn’t mention that he was in no need of a job.
If he was going to get punished by Mr. Gerald, after all, he was going to need to fail at something.
“Do you have any skills?”
“Just-“
“Don’t say writin’, man.”
“Then no. Sir.”
“Alright, I can hook you up with a job at Taco Dell. I know the manager there. I like the way you called me sir without me…” He looked Rob up and down and sucked on his lower lip. The mustache on his upper lip quivered. “Without me makin’ a big deal out of it.”
Damn it. That was it, Rob thought. If Rob hadn’t called him sir, Mr. Gerald would have throated him down, he was sure of it. That was what the look on his face said. Damn it! He was looking for a reason to do it.
Black guys don’t call him sir, probably. That was why they said on the street that Mr. Gerald only or especially goes after black guys. He’ll nut on a nigga face, nine times outta ten. He don’t even wanchu to swallow. He wanna see you walk outta there with nut on yo’ face, telling him thank you the whole time. He like that. That’s what one of the hobos Rob jerked off last week told him. His name was Greenbelly, and Mr. Gerald was looking for him.
Rob wasn’t gonna snitch though, and anyway, he didn’t know where Greenbelly was. Or his real name for that matter.
“Oh, uh…” Rob blushed. He quaked. Had he gone through all this for nothing? He was entranced by Mr. Gerald’s big muscles, his biceps bulging from the rolled-up sleeve of his stained and faded button-down shirt. He wasn’t married, that was obvious. He didn’t wear cologne. His mustche was neat but his scruffy beard hairs were not thoroughly shaved, like he had done it without a mirror. His shirt had an old mustard stain on it. No wife would let him outta the house in that shirt.
Mr. Gerald wordlessly filled out his paperwork. “You do drugs?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re gonna do a piss test next time,” he said. He glanced up and made eye contact with Rob. “What? You look mad. What?”
“It’s just…” Rob took a deep breath. He decided to be blunt with him. “I heard a rumor about you, Mr. Gerald.”
“What? I don’t like rumormongering. I don’t condone it. A man should stand behind the shit he says,” Mr. Gerald said.
“I heard… you sometimes make guys jerk you off.”
Mr. Gerald glowered at him. His dark eyes were expressionless. “What? You insinuatin’ I force my parolees into somethin’?” He watched Rob pop one of his fingers into his mouth and sucked on it. “Mothahfuckah, you think I can’t get a woman? That is fucked up. That ain’t no kinda thing I would ever do,” Mr. Gerald said with a raspy frown and a wag of one callused finger. “And I resent you for bringin’ up that kinda scurrilous accusation.”
“Oh, I’m sorry-“
“That kind of b’avior would violate the Department of Corrections’s Pillars of Respect, and any nigga who know me knows that I am all about the Pillars of Respect. I know you haven’t yet watched the video about the Pillars of Respect, but when you do, you will unduhstand that they is at the heart of… you know, all the bullshit.” He sniffled as he lost his train of thought. “If you act propuh, I will let you skip the video.”
“I will do literally anything to skip that video,” Rob said.
“Shut yo’ lie-hole, Mistuh Winthrop. Ain’t not a soul make no kinda accusation of that sort. Sometimes motherfuckahs be beggin’ for a way to prove how much respect they got for me. Y’know… sometimes, motherfuckahs be thinkin’ callin’ me sir is the worst thing I could force ‘em to do… only the trick is, I can’t force ‘em to do that. I can’t pull no words outta someone’s mouth. So I gotta focus on gettin’ respect out of ‘em through some other means. Ya feel me?” He stood up and came closer to Rob. He grabbed him by the chin and played with his lower lip. “You wanna jerk me off?”
“Yes!” Rob immediately moved to grab for his crotch, but Mr. Gerald slapped his hand away.
“I ain’t say you could. I was just doin’ a survey, like for gauging general interest among the populace,” Mr. Gerald said. He pointed to a spot on the floor. “Get on yo’ knees.”
Rob did as he was told. His heart thumped. He was going to get to do this after all.
“You know our meetin’ is done, right? I ain’t keepin’ you here no more? I’d rather you leave, to be honest,” Mr. Gerald said. He unzipped his slacks and pulled out a massive cock with a big veiny shaft. When Rob went for it, Mr. Gerald slapped him. “I ain’t consent to you touchin’ it. I’m still makin’ sure you know I don’t like you, and I don’t want you touchin’ my dick. This ain’t how I get off. I ain’t like that. Strikes me as unbiblical,” he said. “That ain’t the parole department’s opinion, mind you, that’s a personal thought, and I gots a right to it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think this is a tool,” he said. He flopped his limp dick onto Rob’s face. Rob opened his mouth to lick, but Mr. Gerald slapped him again. “Get that tongue back in yo’ mouth, boy. This here is my tool, not yo’ lollipop. It’s a tool I use to insert respect back into mouthy motherfuckahs who lost they respect in some tragic accident. Ya feel me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, I am gonna ram you in the throat cuz you asked me nice and I like the way yo’ lips is all soft and shit,” he said. He rubbed Rob’s lips with one callused finger. “Don’t you dare be spreadin’ none of them falsities ‘bout how I make men jerk me off. I don’t do that. That’s contrary to Pillars Two, Four and arguably Five of the Pillars of Respect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You seducin’ me right now. You turnin’ this office into a hostile work environment ‘gainst me, boy. I oughta cite you for that,” he said. He chuckled throatily as he spread Rob’s lips with his fingers and rubbed his limp dick over Rob’s gums and teeth.
He still wasn’t trying to get hard. His dick was just slightly firm, one stage up from jiggly. It flopped like a lively snake over Rob’s face, He chuckled. “Hmm-hmm…” He licked his teeth. He left his dick on Rob’s nose. “Lotta my men would be buckin’ right now. You submittin’ just right.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You ramrod men?” He battered Rob’s face with his spongy dick. “You ever do it, you know, stick ya dick in a nigga? Or a Arab or whatever?”
Rob nodded. He straightened his posture. “Yeah, I-“
He slapped Rob across the face. “Not me, if that’s what you thinkin’. I was — how much is you into it? I was not asking ’bout me. You wanna ramrod a morbidly obese Arab man? He hairy as shit. Too fat to shower. Five hundred pounds. He bathes with a rag on a stick, sometimes, when I tell him to. I woulda done ramrod the ever-mighty fuck outta him cuz he bin breaking the rules, but I don’t wanna put my dick in him.”
“No, I don’t… I don’t wanna do that,” Rob said.
“Hmm-hmm.” He wrinkled his nose. “Can’t say I blame ya.”
“He sounds like he has a mental health problem-“
He slapped Rob again. “Don’chu think I know that? Mothahfuckah, you got a solution for it-?”
“No, I just-“
“Then shut the fuck up, don’t point out problems you don’t got a solution for,” Mr. Gerald said. He mollywopped Rob with his dick, which had grown even limper now, it was jiggly all the way. He snarled at Rob. “Pissy shithead.”
“Sorry, sir,” Rob said. He shrugged. “What’d he do?”
“Raped his aunt. She got that Down syndrome.”
“Oh. That’s bad. Shouldn’t do that.”
He slapped Rob again. “What’d I say ’bout pointin’ out problems you don’t got a solution for?”
“Sorry, sir,” Rob said again. He stuck his tongue out, and it got the underside of Mr. Gerald’s dick.
“Anyway, Mistuh Winthrop, you doin’ good. When one my men is actin’ insolent, suckin’ on his teeth like a nigga do, I make him sit here wit’ my dick on his face during my spiel. You wanna keep it there durin’ my spiel?”
“Yes, please.”
“A’ight.” He cleared his throat, which made his dick jiggle atop Rob’s face. “Well, first of all, you got any street names? I gotsta ask.”
“No, sir.”
“You gotsta report to me any nickname you evuh used.”
“Ever?” Rob chuckled, making the dickfat resting atop his fce jiggle. “Well, some friends used to call me Winclap, cuz… well, it’s a long story-“
“Do not tell me a long story, mothahfuckah.”
“Okay, uh… Some other friends used to call me Jaxwing, which was my D&D character, uh, R-Queen, Throat Queen, Neck, Other Rob — that was when I was in rehab, we weren’t allowed to use last names, for confidentiality. I think that’s it,” he said. “Oh! My brothers call me Babywrist.”
“Any those got gang connotations?” He looked down at Rob, then slapped him again with his dickmeat.
“No, sir.”
“Okay, well if I catch you usin’ any unapproved nicknames, I’m sendin’ you to the big house! For…” He looked at Rob’s file. “Six weeks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I catch you watchin’ any video pornography, I’m sendin’ you to the big house. That’s pervert shit, I don’t like that, that’s disrespectin’ women, I-“
“Yes, sir.”
“Shut up,” he said. He slapped Rob. “Don’t interrupt me.” He cleared his throat. “Stick out ya tongue.”
Rob did so. Mr. Gerald grunted, grabbed his tongue with two fingers and pulled it out so far it hurt. He rested his piss-slit on it. He waited to see if Rob would object or pull away or gag. He did not.
“Next. No catcallin’ at females, no gettin’ fresh wit’ a woman, and it’s up to the woman or me to decide what’s fresh. I don’t need yo’ input on freshness,” Mr. Gerald said. He wagged his finger at Rob, which made his dick jiggle clear off Rob’s face. Mr. Gerald put it back. “Next. You can’t be homeless. If you homeless, you stayin’ wit’ me, and I am ramroddin’ you e’ery chance I get.” He bristled. “Scratch that, you’d prolly enjoy it.”
Rob nodded without remove his tongue from Mr. Gerald’s dicktip.
“If you homeless, I’ll make you spend the night somewhere you don’t like. Where there’s no musical theater and no club music,” he said. He chuckled. “You is required to go to the religious institution of yo’ choosin’, and yes I is allowed to do that, if you atheist, you go to the humanist group at the university, okay, and just like hell it’s full of atheists and feminists, so it’ll be a preview of yo’ future,” he said. “This town gots churches, mosques, synagogues and some Hindu things and things that ain’t quite Hindu but I don’t get the difference. And a Buddhist thing. You pagan?”
Rob shook his head.
“Good. Which church you go to?”
“I don’t have a regular one, I, uh…”
“You go to First Grace from now on,” he said. “I know the pastor. I’ll be checkin’.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm-hmmm…” He paused. “You Communist?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. You one them Satanists?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.” He slapped Rob. “I won’t be respectin’ no Satanism as a religion, and the Supreme Court can say that to my face!”
Rob chuckled cuz his words didn’t quite make sense, but he got the gist, and he settled down when Mr. Gerald glared at him like he better not point that out. Rob stuck his tongue back out onto Mr. Gerald’s piss-slit. His tongue was getting dry though. He chased the tip of Mr. Gerald’s dick til he saw that glare again, then he settled still.
“You may open yo’ mouth.”
Rob did so, as wide as he could, and he waited for Mr. Gerald to signal he could proceed. Rob then swallowed his dick down to the root. It was starting to get hard, that must be why he decided to move on, and in Rob’s mouth, it rapidly firmed up. He looked up at Mr. Gerald’s surprised face — he probably didn’t normally get dome from guys who could deep-throat like Rob.
Mr. Gerald held onto the back of Rob’s head and plowed into him, treating his mouth like it was a pussy. His balls slapped against Rob’s chin. He held onto Rob’s ears.
“You doin’ it good, boy, no gaggin’ at all. They comin’ out wit’ good white boys these days. It’s been awhile since I had a white boy who could take my dick this good. Try to swallow the whole thing, you feel me?”
He nodded, and Rob relaxed his throat. Mr. Gerald pinched his nose shut, which helped his throat open even wider, and he got more, more than half of his shaft, to squeeze down Rob’s throat. Rob choked. Mr. Gerald clucked his tongue.
“Nah. Stay like that.” He lightly slapped Rob’s cheek. Rob again bucked as his throat rebelled, and his eyes bugged out. Then at last Mr. Gerald pulled his dick out and let him take a breath.
“Thank you for lettin’ me breathe, sir,” Rob said, panting between words.
“Hmm-hmm…” Mr. Gerald said. “You wanna swallow my nut, or you want me to paint you white?”
“Swallow.”
“Good. I don’t like nuttin’ on a white man, cuz you can’t see it. If you was darkskin, I’d paint you white as pigeon shit,” he said, and he let out a bellowing cackle. He clapped his hands. His balls jiggled on Rob’s chin. “I’mma fuck yo’ mouf a little, like a pussy.”
Rob nodded.
“T’weren’t a question, and I don’t need feedback on it,” he said. He held onto Rob’s ears and rammed at his mouth, firm but not hard, more humping his tongue than “fucking” his throat. Rob grabbed his muscular thighs, but Mr. Gerald slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch me, freak.” He chuckled. “Oh, yeah, no beard. Don’t grow a beard. I won’t wanna use yo’ mouf if you got a beard.”
He reached behind himself on the desk, and he picked up his phone. He unlocked it, then scrutinized something he seemed to find annoying. He wrinkled his nose at it. Then he swiped to something else, and he showed Rob the screen.
“See? This is a website about female rugby,” he asid. “It’s not pornography.”
Rob nodded.
“Good. I ain’t bein’ hippocritical. Some niggas is makin’ ‘ccusations ’bout that,” he said. He seemed about to say something else, but he saw a rugby player he liked and his words melted into a low hum. His dick pulsated against Rob’s tongue. “Hmm-hmm… Lookit them thighs, nigga…”
Finally a burst of salty precum exploded in Rob’s sense. That must be one sexy female rugby player, Rob thought, because Mr. Gerald’s meat raced from mostly hard to spewing precum and throbbing mightily in about two seconds. He wondered what race the rugby player was. He wished he could ask without taking his mouth off Mr. Gerald’s cock.
“How nasty you get, boy?” he asked.
“Very.” Rob’s voice was muffled by a mouthful of prenut, which he neither swallowed nor spat out.
“Good. That was the right answer,” he said. He pulled his dick away, then he stood up off. He motioned to the desk. “You. Bend ovuh that.”
Rob raced to comply. He was about to drop his pants, then he realized Mr. Gerald didn’t tell him to do so, he so he stopped. Then he realized he’d enjoy the punishment for doing it anyway, so he did it anyway. His jeans plopped to the floor around his ankles, and he shimmied down his underwear. That bared his pale ass, which Mr. Gerald grumbled at.
“Hmm-hmmmm, I don’t appreciate too much eagerness, boy,” he said. “I ain’t say to take yo’ ass out.”
“Sorry, sir. You wanna spank me-?”
“What? No, I ain’t toleratin’ no kinda BDSM nonsense, boy, and that’s another thing that ain’t allowed, don’t go aftuh me with none that free association shit neither, I will wallop you, straight up wallop! No kinky shit. No leather, no whips, no chains, I don’t care how consentin’ it is, no way,” he said. “No feet!”
“No feet?”
“In sex. You can keep yo’ feet for walkin’ on,” he said.
“Okay then,” Rob said. He looked behind himself, but he couldn’t see Mr. Gerald.
“Don’t worry ’bout me, you keep lookin’ that way,” he said. “You see that clipboard on the desk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Grab it. Fill it out. That’s yo’ form 10G, you best respect it.”
“Oh, I do.”
“The state mandates you fill that you e’ery week. Actually it mandates I fill it out, but I am not fillin’ it out, you bitch-ass punk, you is doin’ it,” he said. He punched Rob in the meat of his asscheek. It hurt much worse than Rob was expecting, and he yelped. Mr. Gerald barked. “I said fill it out!”
Rob raced to do so. At the bottom was where Mr. Gerald was supposed to fill in the answers to the standard parole questions. There were two additional pages of follow-ups. It included everything from “how many lawfully registered firearms are in the place where you live?” to “do you know of the whereabouts of any of the Missing or Endangered Indigenous Women of the Dangerously Ignored Serial Killer Murder Epidemic of the Western States?”.
“What’s with this murdered indigenous women thing?”
“You murder any indigenous women?”
“No.”
“Then just write down no.”
“You have to ask me that every week?”
“Yep. So, y’know, keep track.”
“Also, I haven’t asked any of my acquaintances if they’ve violated the Somali Warlords Act of 2003,” Rob said. “It’s entirely possible I know lots of Somali warlords.”
“You know any Somalis?”
“I don’t judge people by the color of their skin. Anybody can be a Somali warlord.”
“Just put no!” Mr. Gerald said with a snarl. He was deeply engrossed in the rugby women on his phone, and it sounded to Rob like he had gotten distracted watching video clips from an actual women’s rugby game. “Them Polynesian girls is hefty. You know ’bout them?”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “I’ve been to Samoa. It’s nice, the women are huge.”
“Really? You know any Samoan women in the US?” Mr. Gerald asked. He stabbed his hardon between Rob’s asscheeks, and he leaned in, pushing it at his butthole. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I do not, sorry,” Rob said.
“Lookit them thighs, damn…” Mr. Gerald showed Rob the phone but the glare made it impossible to see. “She could squeeze the nigga outta me. Make me white as you, shit!” Rob didn’t care. He opened his asshole the best he could, practically sucking Mr. Gerald’s dick in.
A surge of both pain and pleasure hit Rob, and Mr. Gerald grunted. He dropped his phone, which landed on the small of Rob’s back. Mr. Gerald grunted again. Rob put down the clipboard.
“You finished that form 10G?”
“No.”
“Boy, if you don’t finish it, I will slap the senseless outta you,” Mr. Gerald said. He thrust his hips, forcing more of his dick into Rob. He began gently sliding his cock out but firmly ramming it back in, each time upping the pleasure like a ratchet where it boiled within Rob. Rob clutched the desk underneath him, and he knocked the pen he had been using onto the floor.
He grabbed another pen. He groaned. The sensations emanating from his ass were enormous, and Mr. Gerald’s pounding was relentless. He looked at the last question. “What are my aspirations for the week?”
“That’s right.” Mr. Gerald said. His voice wavered with each thrust of his hips. “Hmmm… hmm…” He tried to play it cool, but his voice broke and he let out a little moan, which he stifled. “Aspiration means goal.”
“Yes, I get it, I just… My aspiration is to take your nut in whatever hole you want it,” Rob said, panting, writhing, wanting to be for more.
“Hmm-hmmm… That’s a very good answer. It’s a wrong answer, but it’s the best wrong answer,” Mr. Gerald said. “The right answer is to stay outta trouble, worship Christ and obey yo’ boss, landlord, pastor and officers of the law. Spelling does not count.”
Rob struggled to write all that while Mr. Gerald pounded at his sensitive ass. Bliss exploded with each pump of his hips, and the entire hugeness of his shaft went in each time. Rob suspected few of Mr. Gerald’s parolees took the whole dick up their ass. It was actually quite difficult to force a man to take a big dick in a hole that both doesn’t want it and is too small for it, and probably it was more effective as a deterrent than a punishment. Rob, however, was eager to be punished, not deterred.
All at once, Mr. Gerald stopped. “Oh, you goin’ to First Grace from now on. In the basement of that church, boy, there’s a man, his name is Cassius, he’s an old retired boxer. He kinda retarded. If you tell him you’s me, he’ll believe you and bend ovuh, you can ram him all night long if you want. I did. Trained him good too,” he said. “He’s kinda old, but his ass is still tight. You’ll like him. He’s bettuh than that fatass Arab fellah.” He clucked his tongue. “I dunno what to do about him.”
“I’ll check out Cassius,” Rob said through his gasps of pleasure.
“You gonna do ass-to-mouth?”
“Yes, sir, please!”
“That wasn’t a question.” He grunted.
It sure sounded like a question, but Rob didn’t say so, as a burst of relief made him moan out loud. Mr. Gerald pulled his dick out. It felt so good Rob’s knees went weak. Then Mr. Gerald shoved him to the ground.
He rammed his cocktip back into Rob’s mouth, and the grimy flavor of Rob’s own ass filled his senses. Rob cried out around the dick in his mouth. He couldn’t help but grab his own cock and stroked it, instantly triggering his own orgasm.
Jizz spurted onto Rob’s chest and some onto Mr. Gerald’s legs. He didn’t notice because he closed his eyes as he humped his giant ass-coated cock on every inch of Rob’s tongue, then plowed down his throat like before. He again pinched Rob’s nostrils shut so he could go all the way down.
“Alright boy, no spillin’ my nut, that ain’t respectful,” he said. “Violates Pillar Two.” Then he chuckled. “What am I sayin’? I ain’t gotta tell you not to spill. I bet you love swallowin’ nut.” His chuckling broke as he orgasmed. “Hnnnn-hmmmmm….” His whole body undulated, and he closed his eyes.
He slammed his dick all the way in. Rob could feel him orgasm in the throbbing of the vein on his dick, which pulsated against Rob’s tongue. But Mr. Gerald’s dick was so deep in his throat that Rob didn’t taste the actual cum at first, just the precum that already coated his shaft.
“Hmmm… boy, you drainin’ me, that’s good…” His voice was low and rumbly like velvet sandpaper, and he bucked his hips, making sweet love to Rob’s throat. He gripped his hair tightly, rubbing his crotch and balls all over Rob’s face.
Finally, he pulled out, and the taste of salty-sweet cum assaulted Rob’s senses. He moaned and swallowed every drop, even as his belly contorted and his lungs cried out for oxygen. He slathered Mr. Gerald’s dick with spit and cum as he let it slowly plop out.
“Goddamn, boy.” Mr. Gerald said with a chuckle.
Rob gasped for air. “Hmmm… You taste so good… I love your dick, Mr. Gerald, I-“
“Hush. I don’t need you to talk,” Mr. Gerald said. The mustache on his upper lip quivered. He sighed and leaned back. “Shit…”
“Hmmm…” Rob smacked his lips and wiped his face off. the smell of jizz and ass coated his mug. “I didn’t spill any, I promise.” He quickly put his own clothes back on. It was always best, he thought, to leave them wanting more, so he intended to leave right away.
Mr. Gerald nodded. “Hey, boy.”
“Yes, sir?” Rob headed for the door.
“I take back what I said about my dick not bein’ your personal lollipop. You can come back and mouth me off whenever you want,” he said. He handed his business card over, with his home address written on it. “Okay?”
“Yes, sir!”

Jail Intake

Greg got drunk last night, so when he wakes up, he’s under arrest and being processed by the legendary cruel alpha-male bully Officer Awful! He’s in for a hardcore tale of domination, submission and utter humiliation!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Greg was still drunk, but he felt serious now. It had all seemed like a big joke when he was being arrested. He laughed the whole time. But he had been left in the little waiting area for what felt like hours, and the silence and the solitude made him realize he was in big trouble. It was just some drunk-in-public stuff, but he had gotten into it with the cop — into it hard — and they were going to hit him with resisting arrest, assaulting an officer, destruction of property and who even knew what else! Greg was fucked.
Now at last a bulky cop with a shit-eating grin came to get him. That wasn’t the simpering little nerd-looking cop who arrested Greg for public drunkenness. This man had an air of authority.
“Good evening, Mister Hardesty, my name is Officer Auffernan. Some people call me Officer Awful. I don’t condone that,” he said. He held up one hand as though he was testifying in court. “But I don’t forbid it. I’m gonna process you into jail tonight. Now unfortunately our only judge for the weekend has gone home, so you’re going to have wait to be arraigned on Monday.”
“For public drunk’ness?” Greg hiccuped, still slightly drunk.
“I’ll tell you when the time for questions has come,” Officer Auffernan said. “And you should address me as sir.”
“Uh… yes, sir.”
“Hmm, thank you, Mister Hardesty. I’m going to start calling you ‘fuckweasel’. Will that trigger anything in you? Was ya mama raped by a weasel or something like that? Good.” He didn’t give Greg a chance to say anything. Officer Auffernan frowned down at Greg like a disgusting species of frog. “Now what I’m going to do next is punch you right in the belly, as hard as I can.” He lowered his head to look Greg in the eye. Greg blanched, but Officer Auffernan held his head in place. “But don’t you worry, there is a valid penological reason for it.”
Then there was an explosion of pain, so fast that Greg didn’t even realize it had happened until he was already on the floor, clutching his belly. He cried out and twitched so hard his head banged into the wall.
“Now get up and take ya clothes off. I need to search you for contraband. If you is bringin’ contraband into my jail, I will rock ya fuckin’ world, fuckweasel.”
But Greg could do nothing more than groan and squirm. He tried to stagger to his feet, but he was at a loss for breath. He hoarsely squeaked out a gasp, and he managed only to kneel on one foot.
“I said get up and take ya clothes off, fuckweasel!”
Every move he made was arduous. Greg let out a sob and a cry of pain as Officer Auffernan got down real close. He shouted like a drill instructor, his spit splashing onto Gary’s face.
“Take your clothes off, fuckweasel, right now, or I swear to God I will shove this entire jail up your asshole!”
Even as Greg started to unbutton his shirt, fumbling from both pain and terror, Officer Awful kept his face so near his breath condensed on Gary’s cheeks. “Hurry up, fuckweasel. I’ve got a nice hard cot with your name on it. You are gonna regret every day you ever breathed air on this planet, you are gonna feel like a mule rented by a red-headed stepchild if you don’t hurry your stupid ass up, boy. Do you think I am playing with you? Huh? Do you?”
“No! No!” Greg gasped. One of the buttons flew off his shirt, which ripped as he tore it off himself. He threw it on the floor.
Officer Awful pushed Greg over as he tried to drop his pants, and he fell to the ground. “Hurry up, fuckweasel!”
“I’m trying!” Greg ripped the fly of his jeans trying to get them off, as he sobbed into the linoleum floor. It was cold and felt wet, in a vaguely urinal-y way that churned Greg’s stomach. Humiliation rose up in him. He didn’t know how his life was turning out this way. He wasn’t this kind of guy — he wasn’t a criminal, a bad boy.
Was it the alcohol? Greg didn’t think of himself as an alcoholic. He didn’t drink every day. Well… not every day. There was a day a couple months ago… Greg somehow got his pants off over his shoes, which he kicked off as he squirmed on the moist linoleum.
“Alright, fuckweasel.” He grabbed Gary’s hair. His clothes were off, and he lay flat, panting, on the floor. Officer Awful grinned, revealing dimpled cheeks, like he woulda been handsome if he weren’t so craggy and worn. “I’m gonna tell you something in just a second. You should know that I’m telling you this as a friend — or a potential friend — this is not in my position as an officer and representative of the state government.” He took a deep breath as though confiding a great and vital secret. “Here it is: you should beg me to spit in ya mouth. It would make things go easier if you do that, as a gesture of submissive goodwill.”
“What?”
Greg doubled over again as Officer Awful punched him once more in the gut. He was already on the floor, but he now could not get up. Spasms of pain wracked his body.
“No questions!”
Greg gasped for air. He tried to apologize but couldn’t.
“Get up, now, fuckweasel!” Officer Awful mock-kicked him — kicking his foot but stopping it just centimeters from Gary’s body, so Greg flinched and wept each time. He buried his face in his arms. “Gonna turn ya head into my soccer ball, fuckweasel, if you don’t get up.”
When Greg could do little more than crawl, Officer Awful deemed that good enough and opened the door to the next little locked corridor in the jail. Crawling was the most humiliating experience in Greg’s life. His bare ass poked up high in the air, and his knees ached, his stomach ached, everything ached. He wanted to puke, run, cry and hide all at once.
“Please, uh… what, uh…you can do that, uh, spitting thing, just let me up-“
“Don’t you speak like that to me, fuckweasel. If you want something, you address me like a man, as sir, and you plan your words before you open ya mouth. None of this uh or ah business. That’s for girls and pansies, and I don’t see tits or petals on you.”
“Okay, please…” Greg found it difficult to be blunt and not say uh. “Please, you can spit in my mouth-“
‘I know I can. That ain’t what I told you as a friend,” he said. “Wasn’t you payin’ attention? I was tryin’ to be helpful.”
“Please spit in my mouth!”
He smiled again, and took off his sheriff’s hat. “Why, don’t mind if I do.” He hunkered down real close to Greg and hocked up a loogie into his mouth. It was clotty and thick, and it smelled like a doorknob. He spoke moistly as he gathered up spit in his mouth, making Gary’s stomach churn. “In my jail, we call this a ‘bitch-kiss’. It’s how a prison top makes his bottom know his place.” He let loose with another giant wad of saliva and phlegm that plopped in Gary’s mouth.
Greg choked and tried to spit it out, but Officer Awful grabbed him by the neck, squeezing tight enough that he nearly lifted Greg off the ground. Greg squealed and sputtered. Officer Awful spat again, directly into Gary’s mouth, then again. His lips were so close they nearly kissed.
“You feel it, fuckweasel? Ya feel how intimate this is?” He paused and hocked up a loogie in his mouth. He forced himself to couch to fill his mouth even more. He very moistly said, “You my bitch now, fuckweasel. I’m gonna make you open up and suck up the spit in my mouth now. It’s gonna taste real nasty, but you’re gonna choke it down while I watch. You ready?”
Greg shook his head.
“Tough…” He squeezed Gary’s cheeks until his mouth opened, and then a massive mouthful of spit and fluids landed in Gary’s mouth. He still hadn’t swallowed what was already there, so his mouth was overflowing now. Saliva flooded his face from his forehead to his chin, both Officer Awful’s and Gary’s own.
Officer Awful very slowly forced Gary’s mouth closed. “Swallow, fuckweasel. Swallow…” He massaged Gary’s neck like he was forcing a dog to swallow a pill.
Greg gagged and retched, but Officer Awful kept his mouth close and Greg could do nothing but choke back the gags emanating out of his raging stomach. He kept one arm curled over his belly as though to keep it all in. Finally he had quelled the nausea, though he could still taste snot in his mouth.
Before he could recover, Officer Awful dragged him into the next room. A handful of other officers were visible through the windows here, watching and laughing. Greg couldn’t hear them, but he could see their faces light up when they saw him. The nerdy-looking officer who had arrested Greg was there as well, leering at him. They all cheered when Greg let out a choked sob.
“Can… Can I say I’m sorry?” Greg asked. He nodded to the nerdy officer. “Can I apologize to him? I was rude to him before, last night. And… I might have hit him, I don’t remember-“
He doubled over in pain as Officer Awful punched him in the gut again. Through the soundproof glass, the watching officers laughed and cheered.
“You got freedom of speech, fuckweasel. You can always apologize. Jail rules say you can’t ask no questions, that’s why I had to punch you,” he said. “They can hear you through the loudspeaker.”
“Uh… I’m sorry, Officer… Uh… I don’t know your name-“
“Boy, what did I tell you about sayin’ uh?”
“I’m sorry!”
“Well, I appreciate your apology, fuckweasel, and yes, you were quite rude to my fellow officer last night. You said some very hurtful things. Words are weapons, doncha know. So, despite ya ‘pology, you still gotta spend a weekend with me. Don’t worry. I’m sure we gonna be real good friends,” Officer Awful said. “Do you enjoy gettin’ gutpunched?” He did so again, even harder this time, making Greg double over and gasp for air. His flat belly was crying out in pain. He could there was gonna be a huge colorful bruise there tomorrow.
“C’mon…”
“This is not the time for begging. This jail has a begging period every day, please save it for then,” Awful said. Then he directed Greg to stand over the drain in one end of the room, with his legs and arms spread, leaning against the wall. Greg’s bare ass dimpled and jiggled. It was cold in this room.
“Are you gonna…?” Greg wanted to ask if Officer Awful was going to cornhole him. That’s what it felt like in this position. But he couldn’t ask questions. “This position is… it feels like you’re going to cornhole me.”
“Oh. Do you want me to ram you up the asshole til ya buttcheeks fall off? Keep your head still, fuckweasel.” Officer Awful was doing something, getting some piece of equipment ready, but all Greg could see was the wall in front of him. Or was Awful taking off his belt?
“No, don’t! Don’t do that!”
“What was that? Are you begging me to ram you? If you really want me to, I’ll consider it later, fuckweasel. It’s technically against the rules though. Close your eyes,” he said. Then there was a cloud of white powder in the air. Greg coughed and sputtered. Officer Awful made him turn around and covered him in more of the acrid white powder. “Turn back around.”
Greg hacked as he tried to get his breath. His stomach still hurt from being punched, and his drunken headache was getting worse. He could tell — even though he couldn’t hear or see them — that Officer Martin and the other cops in the next room were laughing at him.
Water sprayed onto his back. It was ice-cold, and it made Gary’s balls crawl up in his sac. He gasped and twitched.
“Stay still, fuckweasel!”
The water was so cold Greg couldn’t breathe. His skin tightened up, and his stomach dropped. Officer Awful made him bend backover, sticking his ass in the air. He sprayed water from the hose directly onto Gary’s asshole, which hurt so bad Greg screamed. He clawed at the wall of the tiny room.
Finally the water turned off, and Officer Awful dragged Greg away, into the next room once more. Greg tried to get on his feet, but Officer Awful didn’t give him a chance to. Greg was naked and wet, so he kept slipping and couldn’t even crawl for more than a few feet, he kept collapsing as Awful kicked him and dragged him over the floor.
“Please!” Greg cried out, then clamped his mouth shut lest he start begging again, outside of the designated begging time. He wondered if there was really a designated begging time.
He was dragged over the linoleum floor, naked and wet, dizzy, nauseous. He begged, but Officer Awful barked at him to be silent every time he said anything, so all he could do was pant.
As it turned out, the next room was a medical examination. There wasn’t much to it though — Officer Awful tossed him up onto the cushioned chair and rammed his finger into Gary’s ass so fast Greg hadn’t even finishing sitting down before he felt that finger wiggling inside him.
“Let’s take a walk,” Officer Awful said. “I wanna make sure I search all up in you, and that means you gotta move. Shift your contraband around.”
“I. Don’t. Have. Any,” Greg said, gritting his teeth through the pain. He forced himself to take a step, then another, but every move he made sent waves of agony through his body.
At least he reached the doorway, and Officer Awful gave him a shove. He stumbled forward, Officer Awful moving with him and that finger stayed in his asshole the entire time.
Those other cops were there in the next room, watching and cheering as Greg stammered. He couldn’t even think about a plan because of the pain in his ass.
“Wreck him! Wreck him! Wreck him!”
“Put him on his knees, Auffernan!”
Officer Awful moved his finger like a fishhook, pointing down, and in order to alleviate the pain, Greg lowered himself. Soon he was on his knees on the ground. Officer Awful at last removed his finger.
But the relief was short-lived because he shoved his finger in Gary’s mouth. Greg gagged at the assy taste, but his head was jammed against a wall.
Then before Greg could even get his bearings or stop gagging, his mouth was pried open. He knew what was coming, but it was still shocking to feel that fleshy, rubbery limp cock slide onto his tongue. He choked all over again. Officer Awful let his dick slide out of the fly of his uniform slacks, ramming as much of it as he could fit into Gary’s mouth.
“You got contraband in yer throat, fuckweasel? Huh? If you do, I’ll find it, swear to God, and I will ram you so hard yer mama gonna feel it,” Officer Awful said. “Now listen here.” He rammed his cock in as far as it would go, maybe halfway in, as it started to stiffen up. “My pops always said you ain’t ram a fuckweasel’s throat hard enough till there’s tears comin’ out of his fuckweasel eyes and there’s ballsweat dripping from his fuckweasel chin. Ya feel me, fuckweasel? You had better swallow enough of my dick to rub my balls on your chin.”
Greg was dizzy, and he choked so hard it hurt his stomach, but with Officer Awful’s cock in his throat, he couldn’t do anything but squirm. The wall was hard and stubbly, scratching against his skin as he moved up and down. It was iron-hard, pressing at his throat like a battering ram.
Finally Officer Awful backed off to let him have a breath. Greg collapsed to the ground, but he had no sooner taken a breath before he was on the floor on his back. Officer Awful pushed him into position, then kneeled over his face so that his balls plopped on Gary’s nose.
“You had best loosen up that throat boy, or there is gonna be some consequences. You won’t like ’em one bit,” he said. Then he bent over Gary’s body like he was doing a push-up. He pointed his dick into Gary’s mouth and slammed down with all his weight.
Greg choked once more. He had never regained his breath, and now his throat was sore even before that massive cock pushed in. But Officer Awful was relentless. He pivoted his hips, laughing as Gary’s throat gradually lost its resistance.
Soon Officer Awful’s balls rested on Gary’s nose and eyes. Gary’s whole world went white, and at first he thought it was cum, that Officer Awful had finally shot his wad. But no, he just lost consciousness for a few seconds.
When he went limp, Officer Awful pulled up and out of his mouth. He patted Greg on the back of the head and chuckled as he hoarsely gasped. “There you go, you did it, hoss, good boy,” he said. “That means I am gonna ram you in the ass, but just one time. And then… well, if you be good, I just might let you go. Got it?”
He nodded.
“See, now you answered me without using words, fuckweasel. I don’t like that,” he said. “Not at all.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Greg squealed and sobbed. “I do understand. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I know… Get on your back, lift your feet in the air,” Officer Awful said. He got on his knees. Greg was terrified, and he especially didn’t want to take that massive dick up the ass in this position. But of course, he didn’t have any choice.
“I like rammin’ like this cuz it hurts my bitch,” Officer Awful said as though that was a good rationale. “Plus it lets me finish with a punch and a choke, so you’ll have that to look forward to.”
Greg tried to think of a way to ask what that meant without asking a question, but he had a feeling he knew the answer. Officer Awful smirked at him. He spat on Gary’s face again, and as Greg winced and gagged, he drilled his cock in.
He lightly smacked Greg on the cheek. “I’m in you now, bitch. Guess how many inches you got in ya.”
“Uh… I-“
He smacked Greg harder, and Greg groaned. “What did I tell you about saying uh?”
“You said not to. I apologize. It hurts…”
“Guess how many inches you got in you?”
“Three?” Greg had no idea, it was just a random guess.
“Wrong. Gimme yer hand,” he said. He didn’t wait. He grabbed Gary’s hand and brought it forward to his ass. The movement made the pain worse. He touched Officer Awful’s cock with one hand. There was still a whole lot of cockmeat to go. “Feel that? You only got like a half-inch in your ass.” Greg could hear deep male voices laughing from the other room — the officer who arrested him, maybe more cops too, they were over there laughing as he endured unimaginable agony.
“Yes, sir, Officer Awful.”
“Now start chanting, thank you big brother, can I have another? You got that? Keep sayin’ it ‘till I get all my dick in ya,” he said.
“Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another!” Greg shouted it at first with nothing happening, but then Officer Awful started to ram his dick in between each chant. “Thank you big brother, can I have another!” Over and over again, he pumped his hips in the silence between chants. And each time, that caused mind-blowing agony in Gary’s asshole. “Thank you big brother, can I have another!”
It continued for what felt like forever. Greg didn’t know how he managed to do it, but eventually he felt that heavy hand close over his mouth.
“Shut up, fuckweasel,” he said with a groan. “I’m all way in you now. You’re my property. Say that.”
“I’m Officer… Officer Awful’s property,” Greg said. He bit his lip and threw his head back. The pain was excruciating, and it quickly got worse as Officer Awful began to gyrate his hips back and forth.
His balls slapped against Gary’s asshole. He wrapped his arms around Gary’s ankles and pressed them close to his muscular chest. His cock throbbed deep in Gary’s ass, which squeezed and churned. He clawed at Officer Awful’s chest, but to no avail. Awful was built like a bear, and he rammed like a stallion.
“Beg me to cum. Come on, be like a porno chick, man. Improvise a little,” Officer Awful said. He spat in Gary’s mouth as soon as he opened up to speak.
“Please… Cum in me… I want your cum inside me…” Greg said through his tears of pain and humiliation. That massive cock drilled into him, back and forth, demolishing his ass, regardless of how Greg squirmed or his hole clenched. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I was rude and drunk… Please fill me up with your cum… Please-“
He was cut off because all of a sudden Officer Awful’s hands slapped Greg’s cheeks. He then squeezed Gary’s throat, hard enough to choke him, and his other hand formed a fist. It hovered above Gary’s face.
Greg tried to scream, but he choked, so all he could do was tighten and spasm. His whole body shook. His asshole clenched around Officer Awful’s cock.
Just when he thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, Officer Awful finally punched him right in the nose. Gary screamed in pain, as Officer Awful let go of his neck and Greg let out a series of hoarse sobs. That cascade of sensations inside Gary’s body was what sent Officer Awful over the edge.
“Cummin’ up in you now, boy, you in the home stretch…”
He gasped. Greg screamed. That spectacled officer, still watching outside the room, clapped and cheered. Cum sprayed into Gary’s ass, deep, hot and creamy. It stuck to his flesh and seeped into him like mud. He choked and gagged even though nothing was in his mouth.
“Hell yeah, fuckweasel, you got a nice ass,” Officer Awful said with a sigh. “Had a nice ass.” His cock spasmed inside Greg, sending more thick wads of cum inside him. It was a massive wad, it felt like, gobs of it spreading to every corner of Greg’s insides. He felt the heat seeping into him.
Then at last, Officer Awful withdrew his dick. The most incredible relief of his life flooded Greg, who closed his eyes. He shuddered, a frisson running up his spine. He didn’t want to ever open his eyes again.
That meant he didn’t see when Officer Awful scooted forward, reached for his mouth to open it and ram his dick inside. The taste of ass and cum intermixed in Gary’s mouth, making him retch and gag so hard his stomach hurt. The shame of tasting his own ass on another man’s dick flooded Gary, and the only consolation was that he was crying too hard to see what he was doing or how many cops were laughing at him.
“Clean up your mess, fuckweasel,” Officer Awful said. He swiped his dick over Gary’s face, making him lick every inch of the shaft, tracing every vein, as Officer Awful moaned and curdled above him. The taste was foul and sickening, and Greg couldn’t stop gagging, both from disgust and from the shame of those other cops watching him at his lowest.
Finally he was done. Officer Awful pulled away, stood and pulled his pants back up. He straightened his uniform. When Greg moaned and tried to stand, he kicked him in the thigh and Greg collapsed to the ground.
“Stay here,” Officer Awful said. “Now that I’m done checking you in, it’s time to show you to your cell. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t do that again and again all weekend.”
“You said… you’d let me go…”
“I said I’d consider it. And, I am going to let you go, eventually,” he said. He winked at Greg. “But you still got punishment coming to you.”

The Cop

Desmond has long heard tales of the cruel cop known as Officer Awful, but Desmond can’t wait to experience the kind of punishment Awful metes out! He likes to make men bend over and take it, which is exactly what Desmond craves.

Can Desmond handle the punishment Officer Awful has in store?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Desmond staggered down the road, pretending to be drunk. Well, partially pretending. He was drunk, just not extremely drunk. He staggered like he was extremely drunk. He’d had a few drinks to settle his nerves, which didn’t work. His heart raced. He had never done anything quite like this before. The city was quiet but bustling in the early evening. Desmond stood out both because he appeared to be drunk and because he was the only black man here.
Sure enough, the first part of his plan worked: Desmond saw the police car pull to a stop, and Officer Auffernan got out. He was tall and strapping, his broad shoulders barely fitting into the uniform shirt he wore. He was both a literal and figurative redneck, his tan skin having a ruddy hue from working outside. He had a military crew-cut, but his hair was a dark blond so it almost looked like he had a bald head.
“Young man, come here,” he said. He sounded both bored and aggressive, and Desmond shivered in anticipation.
He smiled, dropping the drunken act. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”
“You drunk…?” Auffernan asked, eyebrows furrowing as he realized mid-question that Desmond no longer seemed drunk.
“No, sir. But you can charge me with public intoxication if you want.”
He chewed on his lip. He looked like the kind of man who was not often surprised during the course of his work and didn’t much like it now that it had happened. “What’s yer game, boy?”
The way he drawled out the word boy made Desmond shiver again. This time it must have been obvious that it was sexual, and Auffernan bristled. Desmond felt cold and small, and he had to resist the urge to grope Auffernan’s broad chest right now, here in public.
“I probably shouldn’t say in front of all these people,” Desmond said. There were a few onlookers on the other side of the street. No one was close enough they could hear, but it certainly wasn’t private.
“I feel like you wastin’ my time, boy. So I’m gonna put you in handcuffs for now and take you down to the station. I’ll figure out why later,” he said. He slapped cuffs on Desmond, whose dick burst into life when Auffernan’s hands gripped his wrists.
As soon as he was in the back of the cop car, Desmond caught a whiff of leather and sweat and uniformed musk. He took a deep breath before Officer Auffernan got in the front seat and drove off.
“Well, boy, out with it. What ain’t ya wanna say in public?”
“I’ve heard you… sometimes take young black men and have your way with them, and-“
“You one of them Black Lives Matter folks?” He looked away from the steering wheel, frowning at Desmond.
“No, sir.” Desmond’s heart nearly pounded out of his chest. “I was hoping you’d have your way with me.”
Auffernan paused, then let out a long, booming laugh. “Well, boy,” he said. “First of all, I do not have my way with black men, or wit’ no one I arrest. That would be a crime.”
“Certainly.”
“Let’s say if’n I was gonna do somethin’ like that, I wouldn’t be targetin’ black folks. I love black folks. My deputy is as black as night,” Auffernan said. His squad car glided down the moonlit street. “But I don’t like thugs. I don’t like cocky thugs comin’ down here and making a stink in my nice little town.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You ain’t a thug.”
“No, sir.”
“So you see my problem, boy?”
“You won’t abuse me because I’m not a thug?”
“I ain’t say that. I don’t abuse no one.”
“Would it help if I acted like a thug?”
“Boy, you the queen of all the sissies.” Auffernan said. “I doubt you could pull that off.”
Desmond knew Auffernan was right. He could not pull off a thug act. He tried his best though. He leaned back in the backseat and gave off the disaffected air of a real thug. “You, pig, you best jerk ma dick like ya life depends on it, muddahfuckah-“
“That ain’t workin’. You about as thug as Urkel, boy,” Auffernan said. He sniffled and sighed. “You know I gotta charge you, right? I called this in. There gonna be questions if I just let you go.”
“That’s fine.”
“Gonna be a two hundred dollar fine,” Auffernan said.
“I can afford it.”
“Well hell, ain’t you the uppity kind? You loaded or what?” Auffernan said with a laugh. He made eye contact with Desmond in the rearview mirror.
“Not exactly loaded,” Desmond said. “But I can afford a couple fines.”
Auffernan pulled into the parking lot of the police station. It was a tiny building, barely bigger than an efficiency apartment. Auffernan dragged Desmond out of the back seat. Desmond struggled like a thug the best he could.
“Yo, pig, get off me!”
Auffernan dragged him to his feet. He whistled. “You really like it when it hurts, huh?” He tightly gripped Desmond’s arm with one meaty hand, causing a twinge of pain where Desmond’s wrists were bound.
“Yes, officer. Pig. Go fuck a donut.”
As he walked him to the front door, Auffernan snorted in derision. “Shit, most thugs get more creative than that, boy.” He slapped his thigh.
“I’ll work on that,” Desmond said. He followed Auffernan inside the police station.
There was no one inside. It was just an open room with a few desks scattered about, and at one end was an office — Auffernan’s, presumably. The other end had two small jail cells. That was where Auffernan led Desmond. He added a second pair of handcuffs attaching the first pair around Desmond’s wrists to the cell bars, so Desmond was forced to face away from the rest of the station. “You wait there, bitch. Gonna make you show a little respec’.”
Desmond shuddered. He felt sure Auffernan was going to do it now, and his dick raged in his pants. He had trouble sounding like a thug when he was so horny and so desperate to be submissive. “Who you calling a bitch, pig?”
There was a loud clattering noise, then Auffernan loudly locked the front door. “You shouldn’t be comin’ ‘round to my town and insultin’ me, boy.”
“You evolved in a cave, cracker!”
That made Auffernan stop walking. His menacing cop routine vanished. “What?”
Desmond dropped his thug act as well. “It’s a Five-Percenter thing.”
There was another long silence. “What?”
“Five-Percenters. They believe white people evolved in a cave… Nevermind,” he said. “It’s just what I thought a thug might insult you with-“
“Ain’t all people evolve in a cave? Like cavemen?”
Desmond shrugged. “I dunno. I guess so.”
“Every black person I ever arrested was better at insulting me than you is,” Auffernan said with a sigh. “Even this deaf motherfucker I arrested a couple years back.” Auffernan was right behind Desmond now, unbuttoning his shirt. Desmond moaned.
Desmond could hear Auffernan taking his clothes off but couldn’t see him. The police station had become dark since Auffernan turned the lights off, leaving only the illumination of the emergency lighting in the jail cell.
“Sorry,” Desmond said. “I’ll try to get better.”
“You want something to bite on, boy?” Auffernan asked. He was right behind Desmond now, so close his breath condensed on Desmond’s cheek. He wrapped a piece of red vinyl cloth in front of Desmond’s face, like a tether he could bite on.
As Desmond opened his mouth to let it in, he realized what it was — a Confederate flag. That made him feel even hornier, and he wished he could take his pants off.
“Ain’t nothing racist about me using this flag, boy. ‘S just about culture and heritage, not race,” Auffernan said. “You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I use this flag e’ry time I got a northerner come down here, need to be reminded he ain’t from ‘round these parts,” Auffernan said.
“You fucking honky,” Desmond said. He meant for it to sound threatening, but it came out like a seductive groan as the situation made him aroused and panty.
“You gonna jerk me off, boy.”
“Yes, oh god yes!”
“T’weren’t a question,” Auffernan said. “It was a prediction.” He uncuffed Desmond from the cell bars, leaving his wrists cuffed together. He pushed Desmond to his knees. “You ain’t gonna bite me, right?”
“I won’t bite! I promise!”
“I’m sure you won’t. And you got nice soft lips, so I think I’m gonna like this,” Auffernan said. He had a wide, strapping body and a furry blond chest. He had unbuttoned his uniform shirt but not taken it off, revealing a Confederate flag wifebeater underneath, torn and stained with sweat around the armpits. Auffernan still wore his black uniform slacks.
“Can I lick your armpits, officer?”
Auffernan sneered in disgust. “Yes, but you can’t enjoy it. That’s gross,” he said.
“Fuck you, pig, you can’t tell me what to do. Muddahfuckah,” Desmond said. He smiled and attacked Auffernan’s left pit. He inhaled deeply and licked the hairs there, tasting the stale salt of past sweats sticking to his skin. He managed to gag in an authentic way — it was musky and disgusting in an objective sense, so it was easy to respond like it was foul, even if Desmond actually loved it. “Oh god yes,” Desmond said as he moved to the other armpit. “Don’t make me suck on your balls next.”
Auffernan chuckled. “You like swallowin’ white balls?”
“I like the taste of redneck balls.”
Auffernan’s eyes flashed darkly. “I don’t like it when people who ain’t rednecks call me a redneck. Seems kinda like a slur,” he said.
“Let’s talk punishment, hillbilly,” Desmond said before diving his head between Auffernan’s legs. He still wore his slacks so Desmond’s tongue wettened the fabric, which was salty and sour.
“Oh now, I ain’t a hillbilly. I ain’t that rural,” Auffernan said as he undid his belt. His pants fell to his ankles, and he had on a pair of white briefs, dingy and grayed. His cock and balls bulged, thick pubic hair sneaking around the edges of the fabric.
Desmond whistled. “You sure you ain’t part black? You got a massive slab of meat there, ‘specially for a redneck.”
“You just tryin’-a piss me off now, boy.”
“I’ve been trying to piss you off since you arrested me,” Desmond said. He used his teeth to bite the elastic of the briefs, then awkwardly pulled them down — he was still handcuffed, so that was the only way to do it. He had never done this with briefs before — only boxers, but he had ample experience with them — and it was awkward. Auffernan looked down at him with his arms folded over his chest.
“There’s a part of my ballsac-” the way he drawled out ballsac to last for what seemed like ten syllables to Desmond — “thass always itchin’ me, boy. I wanna see if yo’ tongue can scratch that itch.”
As much as a part of Desmond wanted to go right for the dick, which was plump and already stirring with a trace of erection, he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. He stuck his head between Auffernan’s legs and licked his balls.
They were thick and heavy, dripping with sweat — there was air conditioning in the station, but it did not seem to be effective, and the building remained extraordinarily hot, making Auffernan’s balls slippery. The sweat flowed from those hairy balls right down Desmond’s greedily guzzling throat. The musty, salty flavor exploded on Desmond’s tongue, and he gurgled as he savored it.
Auffernan pointed to the rear of his balls, having to awkwardly reach behind his own ass to get his finger there. “Right there,” he said. The spot was right where his scrotum met his taint, and it was covered in sweat-stickied hairs.
Without taking Auffernan’s overflowing ballsac from his mouth, Desmond stretched his tongue out to that spot. The taste was grimy and dirty, making Desmond moan around the flesh that quivered in his mouth. He had to strain to get his tongue out that far, but when he touched it, Auffernan grunted.
“Damn, you one hell of a ballslurper,” Auffernan said as though he was shocked. “Ain’t nevuh had no one suck my balls who really liked it, I guess.” His dick sprang to full erection above Desmond’s face, and it twitched every time Desmond lapped at Auffernan’s sensitive sac.
Goober in. Auffernan, you there? What’s up?”
Auffernan reached to the uniform shirt that he had placed on a nearby desk. He grabbed the radio mic off it and said to Desmond, “This is that black deputy I was tellin’ you about. He always messin’ wit’ pinkboys. Keep quiet fo’ now,” Then he spoke into the mic. “Hey, Goober. Nothin’ going on right now. I picked up a drunk boy. You might have some interest in him.”
A long pause. Crap. My wife’s gonna kill him. Rashaad right? He promised he wouldn’t drink outside the home. Was he on liquor? His mom made him promise only beer-
“Nah, stop, Goober, no-” Auffernan said until Goober stopped talking long enough that Auffernan could transmit. “Nah, not one of yer boys like yer son. I just mean he’s black.”
Oh, well, whatever. You givin’ him the standard welcome?
“Even as we speak,” Auffernan said with a chuckle. “He got a real sour look on his face, and he making these chipmunk sounds.” He held the mic near Desmond’s face so the sound of his moist sputtering could be heard. “You hear that?”
Not really. Just sounds like static. I’m sure it’s a pretty sound. You tell him to keep it real for me, Auffernan. I’m-a go serve that warrant now.
“Roger that,” Auffernan said. He put the radio mic down. Then he looked down at Desmond’s red face and bugging eyes. “You keep it real, okay?”
“Yes, officer,” Desmond said through the balls filling up his mouth.
“You ready to swallow that dick?”
His dick had gotten rock-hard from Desmond’s attention to his balls, and from his position underneath the massive cop, Auffernan’s cock took up almost all of Desmond’s field of vision. He gurgled his excited agreement around the ballflesh overflowing from his throat, which continued to send trickles of tasty fluids down Desmond’s throat.
He pulled away, keeping his mouth open so Auffernan could see the pool of drool and sweat that had collected in the back of his mouth. He stuck his tongue out and licked the entire shaft from root to tip. It twitched. With his tongue, Desmond traced the veins that ran up the side of the shaft. He choked up plenty of spit, which ran down Auffernan’s dick into his bushy forest of crotch hair.
Auffernan lost his disaffected pose, and he shuddered, pleasure visibly rippling through him. His arms were crossed over his chest, but as Desmond licked, he clutched at his body and played with his nipples as though uncontrollably aroused.
“Shit, yeah!” Auffernan muttered. “You do that good!” Desmond swallowed his precum-leaking cocktip, letting that mess of fluids in his mouth leak out and down Auffernan’s shaft to moisten it up. Auffernan sighed. He leaned against the cell bars. “Shit…”
Desmond began deep-throating him in earnest, working his dick all the way down his throat. He was an expert cock-sucker, so he didn’t need to gag on it, but he liked to, both because it was enjoyable on its own terms and because it made Auffernan get cockier, which turned Desmond on.
“You can’t handle this much meat, huh?”
He didn’t want to stop to answer, so Desmond just said ‘no, it’s too much!’ around the meat in his throat. All that came out was a gurgling sound, but Auffernan seemed to get the gist of what he was saying.
“Lemme lube it up some,” Auffernan said. He very slowly spat, letting a thick wad of saliva drip down, plopping onto Desmond’s upper lip as he slid down the shaft.
Desmond suckled the spit into his mouth as he stretched his jaw and got all the way down. Then he let that spit roll out down Auffernan’s shaft, as Auffernan grunted. His knees buckled. His balls crawled up in his sac as though about to cum, but then Auffernan removed Desmond’s face from his cock. He lightly slapped it.
“You’s tryna’-a make me cum too early,” he said. “I’m cornholin’ you in the ass, boy. Ain’t gonna let you cum neither.” He chuckled throatily. “You ain’t gettin’ outta here with an intact booty. No way. Not on Auffernan’s watch.”
“Never, you fuckin’ pig!” Desmond said. He stood up, taking a deep breath now that his throat was clear. He grabbed the cell bars with his cuffed wrists and stuck his ass out a bit to give Auffernan a good angle. “I’ll fuck you up, officer!”
“Speaking of pigs,” Auffernan said as he rammed his dick in. A jolt of pain shot up Desmond’s spine, and he howled. Auffernan gripped him by the waist. “Lemme hear you squeal.”
Desmond squealed as loud as he could. He wasn’t sure how pig-like it was, but it was an animalistic squeal anyway. The cock in his ass pushed in a little farther, pulsating deep within him. It awakened a chord of intense pleasure that sounded up from his booty, traveling up his spine and hitting him with a wave of exquisite sensations.
“That ain’t a pig. You just squealed like a… big, retarded rooster,” Auffernan said. “Try it again. Like this.” Then he made a rough, honking noise — to Desmond, he wanted to say it sounded like an angry goose. But he didn’t argue, the pleasure exploding in his ass was too intense to form any words. He just made the sound the best he could.
Auffernan’s dick was all the way in him now, and Desmond’s prostate throbbed with every thrust of his cock. He squealed again, making that angry goose sound.
“Hey, here, make that sound again,” Auffernan said, shoving the radio mic in front of Desmond’s face. He pushed the ‘transmit’ button.
Desmond squealed as loud as he could to be sure the mic could pick it up. The pain was melting away now as his ass loosened up, and Auffernan’s cock flowed in and out easily. Auffernan slammed with all his mind, ramming Desmond into the cell bars with each thrust of his hips.
After a few seconds, there was a click, and then Deputy Goober’s bass laughter came out of the radio.
There a pig loose in the station, hoss? Want me to get the assholes at Animal Control?
“Nah, I got this piggie under control. He just makin’ noise to let me know he feel strongly ‘bout what’s happenin’ to him,” Auffernan said into the radio. Then he whispered into Desmond’s ear, “Alright, boy, I’m-a give you this flag to bite on again.”
The cold vinyl Confederate flag again pushed between Desmond’s lips. He bit down hard, which made the plowing a little easier to take. The fabric was thick enough to have some purchase, so he could relieve the pressure he felt with a strong clamp of his teeth on the flag. As he did so, he bucked his ass backward, forcing it deep onto Auffernan’s cock — he wanted to make this as good as possible for Officer Auffernan, who groaned appreciatively. That groan turned into a shudder like he was holding back his orgasm.
“Fuck yeah,” Auffernan said. He looked around as though checking for anyone else in the station, then whispered again. “Look… I learned somethin’ in the military, a sorta rule. I don’t follow it on the force,” he said. “Cuz normally I only cornhole pissheads.” He took a deep breath. His hands reached around Desmond’s body, squeezing first his nipples as though Auffernan hoped to find tits there. Then his hands roamed lower down until they came to Desmond’s rock-hard cock. Auffernan pulled away for a moment like he was scared. Then he resumed touching and even stroking Desmond’s dick with one hand, while his other hand held the flag in place in Desmond’s mouth. Auffernan moaned, sounding a little disgusted. “My drill sergeant said you can ram a man in the ass, but you gotta give a reacharound. It’s against the rules otherwise.”
“Really?” Desmond asked through gritted teeth, his voice muffled by the flag that was still in his mouth.
Auffernan shrugged. “I’m sure that wasn’t a real Army rule or nothin’. Just what my drill sergeant was into,” he said. “You ever tell anyone, I will get you locked up — not here where you gonna get rammed all the time neither, I’ll get you locked up somewhere terrible where the guards are all fat.”
“Won’t. Tell.” Desmond could barely speak. His ass was on fire with orgasmic energy, while his dick pulsated beneath Auffernan’s fingers. He wished he could prolong it, but he was already bucking and shooting his load. All it took was a few strokes from a massively muscled alpha like Officer Auffernan.
“Dang, boy, you nut fast!” Auffernan let out a wolf whistle.
Semen sprayed across Auffernan’s fingers and into the cell, dripping all over the floor and coating the cell bars in Desmond’s cream. Desmond groaned loudly, and then Auffernan did likewise, but with a more grossed-out tenor, his hand still stroking Desmond’s orgasming cock. He lifted the fingers of his other hand to Desmond’s face, where he wiped cum the cum off his hands onto Desmond’s cheeks.
Then he took both ends of the flag in his hands, pulling tight so Desmond’s head was forced upward. As though he needed to reassert his masculinity after touching Desmond’s cock, Officer Auffernan began pounding his dick in and out, all the way with each powerful stroke. That only continued Desmond’s orgasm.
“Take it, boy,” Auffernan said, growling through gritted teeth. Just as he was saying boy, his voice broke and the first jet of cum hit Desmond’s ass. He continued longdicking through the shoulder-shaking power of his orgasm.
Desmond shuddered and squeezed as though trying to hold on to Auffernan’s cock with his ass. A huge load of cum sprayed into his guts, and a seeping warmth spread to his guts. Desmond moaned along with Auffernan as jet after jet of white-hot cum coated his insides.
That orgasm seemed to last forever. Desmond’s had begun when Auffernan jacked him off and continued through Auffernan’s climax, and even now, Auffernan’s cock spurting out the last of his cum, Desmond writhed and gasped as ecstasy coursed through his veins. His prostate thrummed and hummed, and Desmond struggled against the handcuffs binding his wrists together.
At last, when his balls were good and drained, Auffernan pulled out and Desmond breathed a sigh of relief. His ass felt cold and empty. He stayed there, bent over and with a Confederate flag in his mouth — Auffernan no longer held on to it, so Desmond could have spat it out anytime. He didn’t want to though. He wondered how many other men had bit this flag while they got rammed. He hoped it was a lot. Maybe that was why Auffernan used it. Maybe he liked the flag soaking up all the ass-pain sweat and drool of the men he ramrodded.
Officer Awful. That was what they called him. Desmond had heard about that, and he came running to this tiny town so he could run into him.
As Desmond recovered from his orgasm, he turned his head to see Auffernan writing him a ticket. He was still naked, his sweaty body swaying, limp dick moist with cum and assjuice. Auffernan put the ticket in Desmond’s hand.
“Here you go, boy. That’ll be two hundred dollars. You can pay at the county courthouse.” Public intoxication was checked, but at the bottom of the list of possible charges, Auffernan had written in, inappropriate squealing, and checked that box as well.
“If I don’t pay, do I get to stay here?” Desmond asked with a grin and a gasp.
“That is exactly correct,” Officer Awful said.

The Terraformer

Madhu is part of a terraforming crew on an inhospitable planet, and his team includes one hunky handyman named Buck. He’s filthy, he’s strong, he’s crude and he’s ready to give Madhu a swing on his mechanically minded meat!

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Read it here in its entirety!

His arms bulged from the too-small uniform shirt. He wore the uniform of a doctor even though he was not a doctor. Madhu couldn’t tear his eyes away from that bicep bulge above the caduceus patch. The green fabric of his right sleeve — the one Madhu could see most clearly from where he sat at his desk — was torn in parts, and there was a burgundy stain — dried blood from who knew what — up near the collar. Had his ear bled onto his shoulder? That’s kind of what it looked like, Madhu thought.
He turned his head back to the microscope just in time to avoid it being obvious that he was checking Buck out. Madhu sighed as he counted algae on the microscope slide.
“Hey, Buck, the O2 levels in the command hold are low!”
Buck grumbled. He yelled out of the lab, down the hall. “I know! I said that at breakfast!”
After a few moments, Commander Chumbers called out, “Well, can you fix it?”
“Yes!” Buck snarled. He ran his fingers through his hair, which was jet-black and greasy, flopping over itself as he tried to straighten it. It ran down to his shoulders, dense curls making it tangled since he didn’t shower often.
Madhu didn’t shower often either. That’s because water was at a premium still. They were able to give themselves sponge-baths from time to time, but not actual showers. Even the sponge-baths were strictly limited to avoid wasting water.
Soon, that problem should be fixed. Madhu was happy with the amount of algae he found in the microscope — they were colonizing the small amount of water that Commander Chumbers’s crew had managed to create. There were now a few ponds on the surface of Lannentia, with algae.
There were five species on the planet now, six if you counted humans. It had taken eight years to get to that point — Madhu had only been here for six months, but the terraforming colony had been around for seven and a half years by then — and would probably take another eight to be minimally inhabitable by humans with just a few adaptations. Terraforming tended to be like a snowball running down a hill: very slow at first, taking three years just to establish one kind of microscopic purple sulfur bacteria that made the whole planet smell like a turd, but then it would go quickly. This time next year Madhu hoped to be stocking the oceans with fish.
But his more immediate goal, the reason he had come to Lannentia, was to taste Buck’s dick.
“Zhing Chuen!” Buck snapped at himself. The screw he was trying to remove had become stripped. He glanced at Madhu to make sure he wasn’t offended by the neo-Chinese cursing. Madhu pretended not to notice.
Buck was the only non-scientist on the crew. He was the handyman, the “rank and file” — this organization divided its employees into “knowledge workers” and “rank and file”, but poor Buck was the only “rank and file” on the entire planet.
“Buck?” Commander Chumbers stuck his head in the lab.
“What?” Buck said with an angry snarl. Then he mumbled, “Sir?”
“Can you fix the O2 in the command hold-?”
“Yes! I’ll do it! Ya want this radiation shielding to work or not? That has gotta be mah first priority!” Buck said.
Commander Chumbers glared at him, while Buck strained to get a screw out. Chumbers was not used to this level of disrespect.
Buck’s arms gleamed with grease-stained sweat, and his biceps bulged and flexed as he worked. Madhu was hunched over the microscope, but when he looked up, he saw Buck’s ass because he was bent over, ass upraised and aimed towards Madhu’s head. He had a thick and juicy ass, and it made Madhu’s mouth water.
“Fine. Yes.” Commander Chumbers hesitated. It was obvious he was reluctant to scold Buck. He should have, he was commander, he was entitled to respect and obedience. But Buck was also right — the radiation shielding was mission-critical, while the command hold could deal with low oxygen levels for a little while. Buck could have said that in a respectful way but hadn’t.
Commander Chumbers turned to leave. He no doubt didn’t want to risk losing Buck, who, despite being the lowest-paid person here, had brought his own shuttle. He could leave anytime. That was, Madhu supposed, necessary for someone like Buck, who probably got fired without notice on many occasions.
Madhu got the feeling Buck left most of his past jobs when he lost his temper and punched his boss. He seemed like that type.
Once he was gone, Buck stood up and rushed the door like he was going to stab Commander Chumbers in the back with the screwdriver in his hand. “Fuckin’ asshole! Ming te tin!” He spat on the ground. Then he glanced at Madhu. “Sorry.” He snorted and grabbed his dick through his uniform overalls, which were tight on him — he had been too big for any of the uniform pieces on the planet, which was why he was dressed as a doctor (there had been a Migwadlian doctor here last year, and they tended to be very large, so the colony had plenty of large doctors’s uniforms).
“No worries,” Madhu said. He stood and stretched his legs. “Commander Chumbers is a fucking asshole.”
“Yeah.”
Madhu came closer to Buck, who furrowed his brow at him. The scientists were usually shy and intimidated by Buck, and Madhu was too, but Madhu was also aroused by his intense masculinity and his dominant attitude. Madhu was a great admirer of the male form. He smiled at Buck. “Do you need money, Buck?”
“What?” Buck stopped, arms upraised as he was about to screw in a new, non-stripped screw. He held the screwdriver up, so his armpits were bare, his big fleshy arms firmly flexing in front of Madhu’s face. The furry bush of his armpits was clearly visible, and the smell of his unwashed sweat filled Madhu’s nostrils.
“Do you need money? I have thirty-four credits burning a hole in my pocket,” Madhu said. He pulled the money out and counted it. “Oh, no, I apologize, I have thirty-five credits.” He paused to lick his teeth. “I’d be glad to hand them over if you let me do certain things.” He tried to insert a finger beneath Buck’s shirt-sleeve onto his biceps, but his arm was high in the air, and anyway it was squeezed into a too-tight sleeve, so there was no space for Madhu’s finger. He rubbed the part that was palpable through a tear in the fabric, which got Buck’s attention.
Buck’s eyes opened wide. “Oh… Well, shit…” Buck blushed and groaned. He laughed and blushed even harder. His muscles rippled beneath the too-tight doctor’s uniform. “Ah, damn… I mean, there ain’t no females around…”
“Well, there’s Leslie.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Ain’t no females around.”
Madhu laughed with him, though that was mean — Leslie was a rather mannish woman who didn’t even have a pleasant personality to fall back on. Madhu liked her, but he wasn’t surprised that Buck didn’t.
Buck sighed and nodded. Madhu touched his dick through his overalls, and Buck snorted. He hadn’t expected it to happen right here. This was technically in public — no one would likely be here, and it was impossible to sneak up, but still, the micro lab was not a private place.
Buck rolled his eyes like this was yet another unpleasant duty as a handyman — Buck always played everything off like it was a big imposition — everything from addressing his Commander as sir to fixing the plumbing to sponge-bathing himself, he treated it all like he had better stuff to do. That made it easier to demand a high rate of pay, and as a handyman working in off-world locations like this uninhabitable planet (so far), Buck was always negotiating a higher rate of pay.
Pulling his pants down was k awkward since they fit so poorly. He had to shimmy them down, as they were taut against his thunderous thighs. Madhu helped to pull, and he was rewarded with a limp but huge cock flopping into his face when it was finally bared. His shaft was fat, jiggling as it swayed between his muscled thighs.
“Hmmm… Looks tasty,” Madhu said with a petite giggle of desire. He chased Buck’s cock with his tongue as it bounced around, Buck still shaking and struggling to get his overalls down and his shirt off. His muscles rippled.
He didn’t sponge-bathe as often as ships regulations commanded. To Buck, a sponge-bath felt too much like he was a child who had shat himself. Anyway, he didn’t see a need to impress anyone here — there were no women to speak of, and who cared if a bunch of men thought he stank? He did stink, but so did the other men here.
Not Madhu. Madhu smelled like a woman, moreso than Leslie even.
That was why Buck did not care that he smelled like engine grease and stale sweat and who knew what else. It wasn’t a foul smell, but it was intense and astringent, almost cloying, and it brought tears to Madhu’s eyes as he kissed Buck’s chest. He slurped up the sweat that made Buck’s body hair cling to his pecs. Buck eyed him warily — he had only agreed to be jerked off, and he didn’t want to be taken advantage of.
His pecs flexed, and Madhu sucked on each nipple. Sour smoggy oil coated his tongue because Buck had repaired the tao furnace earlier. Buck firmly pushed his head down.
“You said you wanted to jerk me off, not lick my fuckin’ chest,” Buck said with an annoyed growl. He didn’t force Madhu to stop, but he did hurry him along to his knees.
Madhu opened his mouth and swallowed that big greasy hog down. He let it fill his mouth and throb there, dry and soft at first. Buck frowned like he was about to demand more money to get hard — Madhu hadn’t said that was a condition of his offer, after all — but then his dick twitched and firmed up in Madhu’s mouth.
Buck’s frown turned into a surprised shake as a shiver of pleasure ran up his spine. Madhu smiled up at him, his fingers reaching up for those nipples, which remained hard, pecs bouncing beneath Madhu’s touch. Buck grunted.
He wasn’t expecting it to feel this good. Buck was usually disappointed by the mouths of men — it simply wasn’t as good as a blowjob from a woman. But Madhu seemed to be an expert, his mouth silky and warm, and it made Buck let out a moan as his cock rocketed to full erection.
His fingers ran through his mane of jet-black hair, and he grumbled like he was disappointed even though it was plainly obvious that this was the best dome he’d had in a long time — the look on his face was unbridled ecstasy. He groaned and gripped Madhu’s head.
He plowed in deeply, his reluctance gradually melting away. By the time he had his whole cock in, balls slapping against Madhu’s chin, Buck had lost most of his inhibitions. This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten jerked off by a man anyway — it was the first time he’d done it sober when he knew for absolutely certain that it was a man, but as far as he was concerned, if you hadn’t checked the DNA and/or if you were drunk, it didn’t count.
And in prison, it didn’t count in prison either. Or on a farm without women. Any place without women. Any place with fewer than ten women.
“Shit…” Buck definitely didn’t expect it to feel this good. He was only doing it for the money and to avoid awkward situations with Madhu in the future. But he found it more pleasurable than he thought possible, actually better than most any blowjob from any woman he had ever been with. He didn’t know how to take that. He didn’t want Madhu to know he felt that way, so he played it off like it was no big deal. “Damn, man, get deep on there, go’n… Shit… You ain’t best, you know, I’ve had females as good as you.”
Despite that, his words wavered, his voice broke and his knees weakened, and Madhu could tell Buck had rarely felt such unbridled pleasure. Women didn’t give blowjobs with as much enthusiasm as Madhu jacked off Buck’s cock with his mouth, swallowing every inch of that alpha male dickmeat.
A giggle escaped around Madhu’s lips, which were still stuck tightly around Buck’s shaft. Madhu knew perfectly well Buck was lying about how much he enjoyed this. For one thing, Madhu knew he handled dick good — legendarily good — and for a second thing, no one made a point of comparing him to a female unless they wanted to conceal the fact that Madhu was better than a woman.
Madhu didn’t mind. He wasn’t looking for credit, and he could already tell that Buck would gladly do this again whenever Madhu asked. Madhu probably didn’t even need to offer money next time.
Well, Buck would demand money, since he knew Madhu would give it. Madhu would have to pretend to be broke.
At last precum filled Madhu’s mouth, great gobs of it, so much that Madhu first wondered if Buck had blown his wad early. It flowed like milk into Madhu’s mouth, and it coated Madhu’s tongue with its intensely salty, bright flavor. Madhu guzzled down every drop, savoring its sweetness and letting it spill out onto his chin and cheeks.
“Hmmm… You taste good,” Madhu said. He kept his tongue out as he rubbed it up and down on Buck’s shaft, on the underside now, sort of licking, but using his head to move his tongue rather than moving his tongue itself. That sent sparks of pleasure through Buck’s body.
Buck’s eyes opened wide. No girl had ever let him treat her mouth like this. That’s because Buck was dirty and hairy and he usually had an excuse to skip showering — women did not like that. His balls were dark and heavy, low-hanging, begging for Madhu’s attention.
When Madhu’s tongue finally touched his ballsac, Buck moaned exquisitely. It felt good — he had asked girls to do it, but they never would, even if they said they would do it — once they saw how sweaty his balls got, they backed out.
Not Madhu. He loved his ballsacs as sweaty as possible. He loved getting his head real low and letting Buck dip his sac in Madhu’s open mouth. It was just a small piece of his body, but it felt like the whole thing, like the sweat that trickled past Madhu’s waiting lips contained Buck’s entire body in it.
“You wanna ram me?” Madhu asked, his mouth moist and gargly cuz it was full of Buck’s ballsac. He had to repeat it a couple times before lifting Buck’s balls out of his mouth so he could say it more clearly. Then he slurped up all the sweat off his wrinkled scrotum.
“Shit, yeah, c’mon, bend ovuh, baby,” Buck said, clucking his tongue and jumping into position. He bent Madhu over on all fours before stopping himself, as he remembered he was pretending to be reluctant. “I mean… Yeah…” His dick throbbed, precum leaking onto Madhu’s back. Buck hesitated, his body trying to gyrate while his mind slowed himself down. “Uh-huh.”
Madhu giggled. “It’s okay to want it, Buck, you don’t have to pretend. You must be so horny-“
“I’s waitin’ for a female,” Buck said. He blushed and wiped sweat off his face. It was hot in here, but that couldn’t be fixed until he had finished this repair job. His hairy body and head were so overheated he thought he might pass out.
But he wasn’t going to stop. There was something alluring about ramming in sauna-like heat like this, he thought, something aside from the sweat making effective lube. It made him feel like a beast, a feeling that was aided by Madhu’s willingness to let Buck come at him like an animal. No woman would ever want to do it, cuz it might mess up their hair and cuz they don’t wanna be around Buck when he was dripping in sweat.
That was not a problem for Madhu, who bent over and raised his ass so Buck could easily access it.
Buck raced to ram his dick in Madhu’s asshole, both because he was horny and because he thought he might lose his nerve and look weak if he hesitated. He growled and roared, stroking his dick just twice before sliding it into Madhu’s tight, unprepared asshole.
That caused an outpouring of pain, and Madhu howled. He made Buck slow down by reaching his hand behind himself and placing it on Buck’s hairy belly. Buck stopped, with just the first inch or so of his dick in Madhu’s ass. That was enough to cause a wave of both pleasure and pain to wrack Madhu’s body.
“Hmm, okay…” Madhu gritted his teeth. He took a deep breath and his ass slowly relaxed. Buck tried to drill into him as soon as he could, but Madhu stopped him again. “Gimme a sec… Damn, your cock is huge, man, you’re splittin’ me apart.” Madhu wrenched his head back — he exaggerated his pain a bit, since alpha men always liked that.
Buck clucked his tongue and massaged the small of Madhu’s back. He sounded sympathetic but still frustrated that he had to stop. When he sighed and rolled his eyes, his dick twitched and Madhu winced in pain. Buck held back a moan of pleasure.
“Sorry,” Buck said, his deep voice echoing in the low-ceilinged lab. He grinned despite his sullen apology. He had to hold back a laugh at the sight of Madhu writhing and relaxing. Then Buck sucked in his breath as Madhu nodded and spread his cheeks. “You okay?”
“Ram me, Buck! Ram me hard!” Madhu screamed, the pressure in his ass so intense he couldn’t help himself. He clawed at the ground beneath himself, and he squirmed so powerfully he knocked over the stool he had been sitting on just moments ago.
What’s going on? Buck? You okay?
“Ah, shit! Commander Chumbers!” Madhu said. He couldn’t quite bring himself to pull off Buck’s uncut cock, which throbbed all the way inside him, slowly rubbing as Buck began plowing back and forth harder and harder. “He’s coming!”
Buck chuckled throatily. “Let ‘im. He ain’t gonna fire me, can’t find a new handyman,” he said. “He won’t fire you either. He’s a goddamn pussy.”
Madhu nodded. He was too engrossed in the pleasure emanating from his ass to consider whether he agreed with Buck’s conclusion.
What was that? Buck! If you hurt that scientist, I’ll have you court-martialed!
“Fuckin’ fuck-ass jing ma shit!” Buck spat vituperatively without missing a beat as he rammed Madhu. “Why is he assumin’ I’m attackin’ you? You’re the one who shouted, he shouldn’t be makin’ assumptions! Maybe’s you’s assaultin’ me!”
“Uh-huh,” Madhu moaned. He lowered his head to the cool steel floor, which helped him savor the explosion of bliss deep in his ass. He had rarely taken it up the ass this good. Buck’s increasing anger and distraction was part of what made it feel so good — it meant he just plowed back and forth with abandon, without thinking about it, without even being aware of it. His dick rammed at every corner of Madhu’s asshole, which stretched and clenched as he accommodated it.
Buck squatted — simply because he thought that was the most intimidating posture, precisely because it was so awkward. It made his thugs ache almost immediately. But it did make his dick feel good. It gave him the perfect angle to plow in as he approached his orgasm, which he felt growing in his loins.
It probably would have taken longer for him to cum if he weren’t distracted by cursing at Commander Chumbers, whose heavy-booted feet were plainly audible heading this way. Chumbers climbed down the airshaft, which took a minute or two, before he arrived at the micro lab.
He flung the door open just as Madhu sprayed his own wad on the steel floor. Madhu howled and threw his head back, his face reddish and tense. Commander Chumbers’s middle-aged silver-bearded face looked on, in anger, then confusion, then dismay.
“What are you — ? What…?”
“Mind ya own goddamn business,” Buck said with a loud groan, sounding like his entire body was going to fall apart. Jizz flowed into Madhu’s ass. He grunted and growled once more, putting Madhu in a headlock as he rammed his dick all the way in and held it there.
Cum flowed into Madhu’s ass, a great river of it that just kept on going. It almost felt, Madhu thought — but didn’t really believe since it seemed impossible — that Buck kept fucking because he could tell it annoyed and disgusted Commander Chumbers.
“Ah…” Chumbers blushed and tried to avert his eyes, but he kept looking back at it. “Ah…” He was entranced by the sight of Buck’s greasy zheing-lein class body, all hair and muscle and meat, shimmering with sweat as he plowed into Madhu hard.
“Hell, yeah, boy, take it, take it deep, shit…” Buck moaned. He collapsed right onto Madhu’s back as though pinning him down.
Jet after jet of cum filled Madhu up, each drop sending his own orgasm to new heights. It was hot and creamy, sticky, seeping into Madhu’s flesh and dripping onto the puddle of fluids that had already collected on the steel floor.
“Shit…” Buck said with a loud sigh. He glanced up at Commander Chumbers, who frowned at him. His dick throbbed in Madhu’s ass, a few final drops of jizz leaking in. Buck grunted. “You ain’t sposedta watch ya employees naked, sir.”
“You’re not supposed to-!”
“Then fire me,” Buck said. He pulled his dick out and wiped it clean on Madhu’s ass. An intense sense of relief flooded Madhu’s body.
“We don’t hire the likes of you just so you can befowl our-“
Madhu giggled breathlessly, glancing up at Commander Chumbers. Madhu kneeled next to Buck and hugged his muscled torso tight. “Commander Chumbers, shut up.”
Buck laughed. “Yeah, man, shut up. We know you ain’t gonna fire no one on account of you got a deadline to meet. If you fire me, it’ll take you six months to get a new handyman in, and he won’t be any better than me — he’ll be worse, prolly, at fixin’ shit, but he’ll be the same as far as bein’ dirty and stinkin’ the place up and havin’ a big dingdong that scares you. Ain’t that-?”
“I’m not scared of your dick.”
“Then look at it.” Buck stood and crossed his arms over his chest. His massive dick dangled. His muscles all flexed. Commander Chumbers gritted his teeth and lowered his head.
He barely glanced at it before turning to Madhu. “What about you? I can get a new microbiologist in a heartbeat-“
“Then do it,” Madhu said. He shrugged and kept touching Buck’s chest until Buck gently but firmly shoved him away. Madhu smiled.
Buck waved his dick in Chumbers’s direction. “Go’n, sir, why don’t you go get my toolbox and bring it to the command hold. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
After a long pause, Commander Chumbers said, “Clean yourself up, Buck. You’re representing Tao Terraforming-“
“Ain’t no one here to represent to-!”
But Madhu just got dressed, ignoring the argument. It was obviously never going to end. Commander Chumbers really couldn’t afford to delay things — and there was a constant need for repairs here, so without a replacement, the entire place would shut down in days — but he wasn’t so much of a weakling as to ignore Buck’s insolence. Madhu wasn’t interested anymore.
He had gotten what he wanted.

The White Trash Veteran: Chapter11

The White Trash Veteran

Goose learned meditation at a lumber camp near Yakima, where he was the only white feller. The other workers was all Cambodian, fresh off the boat. They taught him to cook on a wok and to experience samatha and sati, two words he was only beginning to acquaint hisself with, though he been searching for ’em since he left America fifteen years ago. Goose taught them too, how to make cornbread, dodge a skunk, play the banjo.
The Cambodians worked him hard. His shoulders got to aching, knees creaky as a scary movie, and for the first time in his life, he felt physically old. He’d felt mentally old before, but now, approaching forty, he felt his limbs a-clacking and his joints a-popping. The Cambodians taught him to savor that, to use it to live in the moment, to savor the joy of being the kind of conscious animal that rises above its suffering.
Living with males was good, and living with Buddhists was salvatious. Goose meditated like a stone. No mind, no past, no dam. He polished ten perfections, but Goose did got a boy he needta return to. A man do sacrifice everything, even enlightenment, for his kin.
Buck was fifteen now. His teacher was a nice old lady with two sigogglin’ heavy-hangers drooping low like a paira sleepy grapefruits. She set up Buck with special lessons after school, and Buck was eager to do ’em too. But his grades stayed basementy. Buck don’t put in the effort, that’s the problem.
Smarts is overrated anyway. The most unhappy people Goose ever met was smart as laundry. Dumbdumbism may mean you won’t invent some new kinda computer or something, but it ain’t a barrier to happiness.
The Buddhists say that consciousness is the awareness that life is imperfect. Like, take the skunk. It may be dumb, but it accepts that it sees the world as a skunk do, fulla skunky thangs and not-skunky thangs, thangs that could be predators, thangs that could be prey, and e’erythang it sees aligns with its perceptions. It could see a alien spaceship, wouldn’t pluss a skunk, cuz it just put all big loud things in the same category. To a skunk, the world is perfect. E’rythang is in its place, cuz a skunk only knows a couple places. But a human’s conscious soul sees the multitudes and all the thangs that don’t fit into ar’y one of ’em. Like a battle without a war, a fight you both won and lost, a past that circles the present like a vulture and pecks at the future. A skunk don’t ponder. A skunk do swim with the current in the river of it all, while Goose be building a flotsam raft outta hillbilly jetsam to fight through flawed rapids to the wise, wise ocean. Things happen in they own way, as is they wont, and it is our way to never reason why, only to do or do die. A skunk don’t never try to reason why. Idiot blunders is a monster on the left, and overthinking intellects is a monster on the right, while wisdom is a middle route on the righteous and narrow.
When Goose was in boot camp, he had his difficulties with the academic side of Army life. Goose’s drill sergeant acted like his donkey-skull was a deliberate decision, not a failure of competence.
“You a retard, boy?!” shouted Drill Sergeant Tucker when Goose flunked some dumb-ass test about tactics and equipment and jargon, not the true suchness of the world.
“Suh, no, suh!” Goose said. He stood at attention in Tucker’s office.
“Why ain’t you got the answers then? I taught you all this shit.”
“Suh-!”
“Only reason to not know ’em is if you was a retard or you chose to forget ’em, which is it?”
“Suh… I was confused ’bout the questions, some of ’em — and the time limit was tough, I ran outta time-“
“All I hear is excuses! You is finally right about one thing, Sampson! You done ran outta time!” Sergeant Tucker said. His face was cranberrying up hard, his wrinkles smudging, jowls jowling. He got asraddhya coming outta his old-man pores. He jabbed a finger at Goose. “Was you tryin’ to fail?”
“No suh!” Goose said.
“Hopin’ to get outta the Army by bein’ dumb?”
“No suh!”
“Boy, what?!”
“No suh!”
“Do I gotsta beat some smarts into ya dumb skull!” Tucker barked, and he was already throwing a punch before he finished his threat. His fist collided with the meaty thickness of Goose’s belly. Goose be oomphing like a tuba, but he stonefaced. This too would pass, as all things demonstrate the impermanence of anicca.
Goose was shirtless, so his torso turned red as Sergeant Tucker punched him again and again. Goose thunk he was sposedta not show his pain, but when he couldn’t anymore, he doubled over, gasping for air, his torso turning yellow and purple. Ten fetters anchored him, cuz he thought he shouldn’t be feeling pain. How wrong he was!
“Well? Sampson!? Whatchoo got to say for ya candy-ass self?” Drill Sergeant Tucker said when he stopped stopped hitting him. Tucker dunno that there is no self, that atman is an illusion, and so’s candy and asses for that matter.
He stood and waited for Goose to catch his breath. Finally, Goose choked out a few words. “Suh… I… suh…” He wanna say he got no pramada, but this was before Goose thunk about enlightenment, he ain’t yet hold no Choo Dye Bee in his grubby mitts. All he could do was bristle and rare, his lungs clawing for wind.
“Uh-huh. Sampson, I am gonna drill this shit into you one way or another. I will put the facts into ya brain by hand if I gotto. Nobody gets outta the Army on a brainpower issue, not on my watch.”
“Suh, I wasn’t…” Goose took a deep, painful breath. “I wasn’t tryin’ to fail, suh. I reads slow, tha’ss all. Suh, I was a-studyin’-“
“Don’t gimme that, I’m gonna make you hurt til learning seems easier than flunking. You gonna learn every last word, Sampson,” Tucker said. He held up the study guide everybody done get givened. He tossed it at Goose. “Hold it close to ya heart. I’ll drill it in that way.”
“Suh, yes, suh,” Goose said. He clutched the study guide to his chest, unaware that this moment, like all moments, was the bija, or seed, of everything that came later. That’s another of time’s blips that can only be reckonized downstream. “I’ll read it again-“
“I know you will.” Sergeant Tucker got behind Goose. “Memorize it, Sampson. No leave, no free time, till you memorize every word.” He reached round Goose and undid the belt holding up Goose’s camo trousers, which toppled to his ankles. “Stay at attention. Hold the study guide.” Then before Goose knewed it, his green drawers was ripped down, and Goose’s foot-long cock dangled.
Goose sucked in his breath. Sergeant Tucker remained behind him, so he had to look round Goose to see it. He clucked his tongue like he don’t approve of big dingdongs. He grabbed Goose’s cock from behind and slapped it left and right. It jiggled like gelatin, and his heavy body pressed into Goose’s back.
“Thought so. Thick-ass dumb fuck!” Sergeant Tucker said from behind Goose, who could hear the tanha in his voice, but also cetana. Sergeant Tucker got great cetana. That’s how a military officer is, sacrificing his volition for craving. Karma is a curse to war, but soldiers are a society’s upaya. “A smart man’s smarts is in his brain. A dumb motherfucker’s dumbs is in his dick. And ya dick is overflowin’ with dumb, Sampson.”
“Yes, suh.”
His arms wrapped round Goose’s torso, Tucker rammed his dick into Goose’s ass. It glanced off his intact hole. Tucker rammed again, hard, hard enough to hurt even though it didn’t go in. Goose ain’t show no pain.
“You gonna fight me, Sampson? Spread ’em, private. Make a hole and make it wide,” he said. That was what he always said when the squad was jogging and he came up in the middle of ’em.
Goose did spread his legs, but he ain’t open his ass. He got his pride. He couldn’t tell a officer no without getting court-martialed, but no rule says he gotsta make it easy for him. He stayed up straight and all, legs spread.
That did open his bootyhole up enough for Tucker’s dick tip to tease in, just the tip. That was all. Goose thought maybe he’d be satisfied with that. It was technically penetration. It did go in. He could hold his head high and so could Goose.
But then Tucker surprised him by reaching around and grabbing his ballsac. He squeezed it with one hand. A jolt of electric agony shot up Goose’s spine.
And when the pain vanished, cuz Tucker leggo, Goose’s ass momentarily unclenched. Sergeant Tucker was waiting for that.
His rock-hard cock forced its way into Goose’s butthole, heaps of dickmeat ramming right in. Goose couldn’t help but scream, as pain exploded up his spine. He cut it short when Tucker barked incomprehensibly behind him.
“Sssssuh…?!” Goose’s voice trembled. A howl came outta Goose’s mouth, but he choked it back, and he stayed upright. Tucker’s hands gripped Goose’s chest to hold him in place at attention.
“Don’chu dare fight me, son!”
“Suh, yes, suh!” Goose struggled to speak with the pain exploding in his ass.
One of Tucker’s callused hands wrapped round Goose’s cock and squeezed it. “Does ya dick work?” Tucker’s dick ain’t move yet, it just rammed in and stayed still. Goose’s whole body trembled and shook.
“Suh, yes, suh!”
“Then get hard, Sampson!” Sergeant Tucker said. He was mad stroking Goose’s cock, his own dick planted deep in Goose’s ass like a poplar. It throbbed hotly, and Goose sensed it felt good to Sergeant Tucker, who ain’t show no response to the sensation. He focused on stroking Goose’s dick into firmity. Tucker chuckled. “Is this thang why they call you Goose?”
“Suh, yes, suh.”
“Best get hard, son, I ain’t gonna finish in ya ass till you blow a nut. Maybe you’ll shoot some of the dumb outta that pecker,” Tucker said. His breathing growed jagged though, and his words was clipped like he was holding back a moan of desire. He be dimpling his hips too, as if he was resisting the instinct to ram back and forth.
Somehow Goose did get hard. He was in too much pain to think about it. Maybe it was the tension of the situation, but before he knewed it, his dick was firm and throbbing in Tucker’s hand. It both hurt and felt good, the pain and the pleasure erupting from oppposite ends. He writhed and gasped in Tucker’s strong arms.
Precum dribbled out and coated Sergeant Tucker’s hand, then both hands when he started using ’em both on Goose’s shaft. Every couple seconds, he again gave Goose’s balls a light squeeze.
“Ow, shit-“
“Hush ya mouth, son,” Sergeant Tucker said. His breath condensed like steam on Goose’s ear. He was daggering slightly now, unable to resist moving his sensitive cock, which only strengthened the agony in Goose’s ass. The pleasure in Goose cock growed stronger though, with every stroke of Sergeant Tucker’s hands.
Pain still exploding in his rear, Goose shot a massive load onto the floor. The first arrow was the agony of the moment, but that is fleeting like a leaf in a river. The second arrow was the stress and fear that come with pain, and it was that Goose needed to avoid. Course, that hillbilly ain’t learn that lesson at this time, he was just a dumbass grunt with a big dick, shooting ropes upon ropes of creamy jizz onto the ground. Tucker stroked the entire time, not missing a beat. His painfully callused hand felt much better on Goose’s sensitive shaft after it was coated in sticky jizz. Sergeant Tucker groaned as he teased out Goose’s cum.
Only then did Tucker begin moving his dick back and forth, the final few wads of nut was still on the dribble outta Goose’s pecker. The motion reawakened the pain in Goose’s ass.
Goose sucked in his breath and clamped his mouth shut, breathing through clenched teeth as little sparks of pleasure kept erupting outta his dick. Behind him, he heared Sergeant Tucker’s broad chest muscles ripple, and he sensed how good Goose’s intact booty felt to him.
With a chest-thumping old-man roar, Sergeant Tucker held Goose close and pounded hard at his ass. Goose struggled to stay upright cuzza the pain and the lingering sensitivity in his dickshaft — which Tucker never leggo of, he kept stroking it even limp as twine — as he moaned directly at him, so loud it made Goose’s whole body shake. Or maybe that was the pain from Sergeant Tucker’s cock rocking his innards. Cum sprayed into Goose’s ass. A fat hot burst of it exploded in Goose’s guts, and his knees went weak.
“Stay strong, soldier! At attention!”
Goose worked out staying upright — both experiencing and wishing for khanti — and he resumed his at-attention stance while Tucker pounded away at his ass. Cum poured down his legs as fast as Tucker could shoot it into his booty. It was hot like lava and goopy like slime, sticking to his innards and to his thighs where it dripped down his legs.
“Get this place mopped up, son,” Tucker said, still finishing his nut off in Goose’s muscled ass. He swallowed up a moan by gently biting Goose’s nape. Goose stayed at attention. Tucker’s cock growed soft, but he ain’t take it out. “And I’ll give you one more try at passin’ that test.”
“Thank you-” Goose’s voice wavered from the pain. “Suh, thank you, suh.”

Authority was a double-edged sword

If word got out that nobody was protecting this beach, they would all come do and do the same thing. This area’d be crawling with gropers and rapists. None of the women’d be safe.

If word got out that nobody was protecting this beach, they would all come do and do the same thing. This area’d be crawling with gropers and rapists. None of the women’d be safe.
Dale had the same concern as Poahi — everybody at the beach expected Dale to do something. Authority was a double-edged sword: perks in good times, obligations in bad.

From Poahi the Lackey