being interrupted – Mansploitation

The Fat Redneck

Bart is at the hardware store when he hooks up with a sullen clerk. His name is Carl Slattery, and he’s a big-ass redneck with enough manmeat for Bart to worship for hours!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Bart wandered around the cavernous hardware store in search of an employee. They wore fluorescent orange vests as though they might get run over in here, but somehow, despite all that visibility, Bart couldn’t find a single one anywhere. The Home & Tool seemed to be entirely unmanned. Even the registers were self-service. No employees.
He sighed and flared his nostrils. He thought he saw a flash of orange, but then it was gone. He somehow ended up in the bathroom-fixture area, trapped in a maze of little model bathrooms, including mirrors that gave the whole section a carnival funhouse vibe. Everywhere he went he ended up back at the same mid-century modern grotto. He could even see the actual store, the non-bathroom-fixtures part of the store, but displays of toilets and sinks and toilet paper holders blocked him.
The store did not know how close he came to knocking over the displays to get out of there. For a slim, mild-mannered white man, that was a harrowing experience.
“Hello?” Bart said as he finally made his way to the main hallway that bisected the store. He was back where he had started — by the unmanned register at the paint department — and still hadn’t found an employee.
The key machine was right over there. He could see it. He even knew how to use it, but the employees needed to turn it on, and he couldn’t do that.
At the new grocery stores, they have automatic keymaking machines, no employees needed, Bart thought. He ought to have gone there. But he happened to live near the hardware store. Hardware stores have been making keys for decades, so it made sense. Or maybe forever, he didn’t know. How long had keys been an affordable consumer product? He had no idea. Whenever the world moved on from those giant jailer’s keys they use in movies, whenever that was.
He looked up and down the aisles. No employees.
He had just moved into a new apartment in Opossumtown, Alabama, which he thought sounded like a joke. “Opossumtown”? Was Hillbillyburg already taken? The one nice thing about living in a place like this was the well-staffed hardware stores — in the north, not a single person knew how to use a screwdriver, it seemed, so hardware stores were a giant barrel of useless, but in Alabama, Bart had thought he’d find plenty of handy guys.
But he hadn’t really found as many as he thought, especially not when he actually needed them. Like right now. Bart frowned.
Finally there was one. “Hey, uh, excuse me-” Bart blushed and stopped short at the sight of the rotund redneck in an orange vest, who turned to face him.
He was ungodly handsome, sending a nervous chill up Bart’s spine. He was round but strong, broad-shouldered, with plenty of muscle beneath a mountain of padding. His gait was thick and heavy, like a dreary donkey, but he brimmed with confidence like a stallion. He was heavily tattooed, with looping lines and whorls running up from his arms onto his neck. He had a thick beard too, dangling well below his neck, making him look like a biker.
“What do ya need, man?” the rotund redneck asked as he walked by. He had the swamp-set yellowhammer drawl Bart found throughout Alabama, his vowels dragged out until they overtook the consonants. The accent hung in Bart’s ears like kudzu and was as smooth, sultry and spicy as Alabama barbecue sauce.
“Uh, I need some keys made.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. C’mon,” he said. He was distinctly rude. Despite his desire, Bart was annoyed. It was hardly his fault he needed some keys.
The rotund redneck had a name-tag on that read Carl. He led Bart to the key machine, then had to radio his supervisor to bring him the key that would turn it on. He waited there, breathing heavily — not because he was out of breath, just because he was a hefty guy who usually breathed pretty heavily.
‘Be there in a minute, Carl. Consider reminding our guest of the other items on display.’
“Man, I hate this guy, ah, I ain’t realize it was Jerry on duty,” Carl said with a sneer. He rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Ya, uh, so, like… You want a keyring or something?” He gestured to the wall of dangling key-rings, key-fobs and other add-ons.
“No, thank you,” Bart said. “Your manager is a dick? He sounds like a total shit.”
“Yeah. Yeah, man, fuck him,” Carl said. He looked less annoyed now that he knew he could curse in front of Bart without getting a complaint. Carl grinned. “He’s this bow-tied yuppie freak who always looks like he got a plan to stick his dick in a dog’s ass whenever you facin’ the other way-“
Bart snickered, and Carl laughed with him, but both stopped when Jerry came little-dicking up to them from the front of the store. Jerry was a shitmuncher, Bart saw that from the shitmunching smile on his idiot face. Jerry approached like Bart and Carl were a gift bestowed upon him by a benevolent universe.
“Hello, gentlemen! Carl, thank you for showing our guest to our key department,” said the manager Jerry, a youngish yuppie with a skinny body and a handsome face, wearing a bow-tie like a hipster and a ‘110% every day!’ button on his shirt. Bart hated him too, from the moment he saw him. He just had a face you wanted to punch. It was, Bart thought, a perfectly douchey face. The manager, Jerry, smiled at Bart and picked up a ‘peace-love-tolerance’ keyring. “Oh wow, when did we get this in? This is fantastic!”
“Hmm, yeah,” Bart murmured noncommittally. “Great… keyring.” His tone was sarcastic enough to make Carl laugh — he covered it up with a cough that made his great big body jiggle.
“I could ring that up for you, if you want.” Jerry inserted the little key into the slot that activated the key machine. He beamed at Bart as though waiting for Bart to rush to claim that keyring. When it became apparent Bart was uninterested, Jerry put it back on the shelf. “Okay, well, there you both go. Ironic isn’t it, you need a key to turn on the key machine. How does that work?” He laughed like a character from a commercial who was laughing along with an interracial group of friends, like he didn’t notice neither Carl nor Bart were laughing. Bart pondered what part of Jerry’s words constituted a joke. “Don’t forget to check out our Summer Days clearance sale! It’s got everything you need to make this the Summer of You!” Jerry walked away with a plastic grin slathered over his face like clown makeup.
“Okay…” Bart smiled sickly in Jerry’s direction as he walked away, and Bart handed his own keys over to Carl for him to copy them. He wrinkled his nose. “Ew, that guy was gross… I think my dick just got smaller.”
Carl laughed and blushed. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Aw, man, you don’t even know… once I went into the bathroom when he was just standing there at a urinal, and he like stiffened up as though I was about to prison-rape him, and he totally didn’t pee, he was like scared or something. I stood there at the urinal next to him. I think he was about to cry, just stayed there the whole time with his dick in his hands. Then he turned to look at me and I caught a glimpse of it, he got like a half-inch dick, man, it was so funny,” he said. “I swear, I was laughing right there, I couldn’t even stop myself. I dunno if he knew why I was laughing, but… I think he knew. He looked at me like I just tongue-kissed his mama. Oh shit, it was hilarious-” He stopped short and looked down the aisle, where Jerry had reappeared with that big empty smile back (or still) on his face.
“Hey, Carl, don’t forget to tell our friend about the door sale! That’ll go with those keys something fierce!”
“Okay, sir…” Carl said with a sigh.
“Ugh, fierce? Did he think people still use that word?” Bart whispered.
Carl waited until Jerry was gone, then sighed again, and this time it turned into a pained groan.
“Is a door sale what it sounds like?”
“Yeah. We got a sale on doors.”
“If I’m buying keys, that suggests I already have a door. It doesn’t go with keys at all. Who the fuck buys a door as an impulse item?” Bart laughed.
Carl clasped his belly as he took the finished keys out of the machine. He put them in a bag with a barcode on it. His big firm belly shook from laughter.
“Thanks, Carl,” Bart said. He hugged Carl’s rotundness, which was warm and so thick Bart could have stayed here hugging him forever. Carl looked back and forth in the aisle and chuckled nervously. He had never been hugged by a customer before.
Was it against the rules? It was definitely against the rules to hug a customer. All physical contact aside from “culturally appropriate handshaking” was not allowed. Carl had wanted to ask about that during that godforsaken video about the “rungs of success on the ladder of customer service”, but he didn’t want to do anything that might make the diversity bitch stay here longer. Was there culturally inappropriate handshaking? Were customers allowed to hug employees?
In any case, Bart wrapped his petite body around Carl’s thickness, which jiggled when he squeezed. He lingered longer than seemed normal. Carl didn’t mind. Not a lot of people touched him affectionately these days.
“There, uh, there… li’l guy,” Carl said with a pat of his big meaty paw on Bart’s shoulders.
“Why do you still work here if that guy’s such a dick?” Bart pulled away from Carl, though he kept a hand on the sweat-dampened small of Carl’s back.
Carl shrugged. “I only work with him like twice a week. Not so bad. Anyway, I can’t quit. I need the money,” he said in his low, loping Southern drawl. He slapped his belly again. “Gotta feed the beast!”
Bart giggled. “I could help you out, you know.”
“What?”
“If you took me in the back somewhere, or wherever there’s a private spot…” Bart’s voice trailed off. “Not in the bathroom-fixtures maze, that place is spooky.” He let his hand on the small of Carl’s back drift around to the front, near but not in his crotch. Bart glanced around to make sure nobody could see. This aisle was deserted. Carl’s eyes opened wide. Bart said, “I’d be glad to give you five hundred dollars in exchange for you plowing me senseless.”
There was a long awkward pause. Carl furrowed his brow as though he thought he must have misheard Bart. Then Carl too looked up and down the aisle to be sure nobody was close enough to hear. Carl had been around the block at the Home & Tool though, he knew enough to also peer through the shelves to see if anyone was on the other side (automotive on one side, windows and window accessories on the other). It was a slow day, no customers to be seen. Then Carl said, “What!?”
“Oh, c’mon, silly. My dick doesn’t work that good, and I find that getting big men to… y’know… It helps,” Bart said with a winsome blush and smile. That part wasn’t true, he simply liked being cornholed by fat men. But guys looked at him weird if he said that, and they were more likely to agree if they thought it was helping Bart. He took Carl by the hand and led him towards the back of the store. “Is there a backroom or something?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“That’s what I’m asking you!” Bart said. “I love your physique, Carl. Can I ride on your back?”
“Uh… I guess, uh… yeah.” Carl’s cheeks were beet-red.
Bart was a thin flamboyant man who weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. That was nothing in comparison to Carl’s six and a half foot-tall towering frame of manhood. Bart felt like a child as he leapt onto Carl’s back, straddling his waist and wrapping his arms around his pudgy chest. “Hmmm… You’re so handsome.”
“You think I’m handsome? Girls don’t.”
“Girls don’t know anything. Seriously, some of my best friends are girls, and they know literally nothing about literally everything,” Bart said. “Is it okay if I suck on your earlobe?”
Carl grunted. “I, uh… I ain’t… into that.”
“I know. That’s your second-best quality.”
“What’s my first-best?”
“Your belly, of course.”
Carl snorted. “Ain’t no one think that,” he said as he carried Bart into the employee area in the back. He brought Bart to the storage warehouse, which was mostly stacks of lumber. There were plenty of shadowy spots that couldn’t be seen unless you were right in front of them.
Bart slipped down to his feet. “I like big bellies,” he said. “There’s more to love, more things to suck on…”
That made Carl both laugh and sneer, then even groan. He looked around again as though there was some chance they’d be interrupted around here. He paid no attention to Bart, who went around to Carl’s front side and kissed his chest through his vest and shirt. He slid his hands underneath his clothes.
His belly rumbled. Carl grunted and trembled. “I, uh… I ain’t into that or nothin’. Is that part of it?”
“Yeah, I gotta touch your physique or it won’t work,” Bart said. “I need to lick it all over.” He got Carl’s shirt and vest off, his eyes opening wide at the sight of that giant cavernous chest. He was hairy and tattooed and powerfully muscly, and just embarrassed enough to be ruddy and alluring.
Bart suckled his nipple and licked every corner of Carl’s belly. He slurped up the sweat that clung to the kinky brown hairs there. The only part he couldn’t get to was Carl’s shoulders because he was too tall, and Bart had to tug on his arms to get him to lower himself.
Carl gasped and sucked in his breath as Bart’s hand reached into his pants. Carl shifted his weight back and forth. Bart smiled up at him. “You’ve never done anything like this?”
“No!” Carl blurted out. “I swear, nothing.”
“Relax, relax, it’s okay…” Bart sunk to his knees. He unzipped Carl’s pants and pulled out a big hefty cock. He was worried Carl might have a small dick — fat men sometimes did, and Bart had had a sinking suspicion that might be the case for Carl, so he was delightfully surprised to see a girthy ten inches of manhood pop out of the fly into Bart’s face.
“Ah…” Carl had never taken his dick out in front of a man besides his doctor. Even back in high school when he was supposed to change in gym, he never did. He kept his shirt and boxers on. He didn’t care how sweaty he was, he didn’t want anyone seeing his manboobs and his dick.
Now it was happening regardless. He had agreed to this in a sort of a daze, he thought as his eyes opened wide and his cock slid into Bart’s moist open mouth. He hadn’t really given it any thought. The money was good, and he needed it, and he couldn’t think of any reason to say no — aside from the obvious — so he said yes. It hadn’t seemed real until it began, and now he’d already agreed.
He had agreed to nut in a man thinking that was the kind of thing he could do. Now that he saw his cock slide into a man’s throat, however, he was less sure.
He had to admit it did feel good. It felt real good.
A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine as his cock stiffened in Bart’s mouth. It turned even bigger then, making it a ten-inch slab of manhood that Bart enjoyed deep-throating. The fat shaft grew veinier as it got hard and jabbed deep into Bart’s throat. The taste of his unadulterated manhood flooded Bart’s senses.
“Oh god…” Carl sucked in his breath. It was an odd sort of purely physical pleasure. He had to not think about it, which was tough, and Carl thought he was struggling to get hard. When he did peer down around his belly, he realized he was wrong, his cock was hard as iron, and for some reason, seeing it triggered a burst of pleasure to explode in Carl’s senses.
Bart paused to thwack himself with Carl’s dick. Bart was so small and Carl so big that it was like a club, meaty enough and hard enough to hurt when he really slapped himself with it. He slammed it on his own tongue, chasing it when it bounced off, and every time his tongue touched it, Carl’s chest and belly jiggled.
His hands snaked up to play with his big fleshy body. Bart smiled up at him. He sensed Carl’s anxiety over the situation — his cock was plenty hard and comfortable, but his mind was not. Bart stroked it with both hands.
“You’re so handsome,” Bart said. Rotund guys like Carl usually needed their self-esteem boosted. He stroked Carl’s cock just a little disrhythmically to keep him horny but not on the verge of orgasm. Carl’s knees buckled, and he moaned. Bart licked the shaft and suckled on Carl’s hairy balls. He got him good and hard, leaking precum. That was how Bart knew Carl was ready to move on.
He turned around, pants down, bare ass pale as marble and beaming up at Carl, and he aimed his ass towards Carl’s crotch.
A gasp surfaced from Carl when he saw Bart’s pale ass looking up him, small but perky, fleshy, inviting. The hole looked tight. Carl grimaced and closed his eyes.
“Aaaaah…” Bart moaned, backing his ass up to swallow Carl’s cock inside. He knew enough about getting plowed into by men to not count on Carl being really involved. Men were usually too nervous their first time to touch Bart’s ass or even just pump their hips.
At least at first.
Bart was gonna hafta use Carl’s dick as a dildo. That was fine with Bart for sure. He did love a fat man’s cock, and he didn’t need the fat man to be super-involved. He slid back on Carl’s manhood, the pressure in his ass growing so intense he grunted in a most unladylike, undignified fashion. He bit his lip. About half of Carl’s cock was in his ass, and he paused to let his asshole relax and widen.
He sighed, closing his eyes, gritting his teeth and relaxing his ass, despite the heavy belly that now pressed down on the small of his back. Carl’s eyes were closed too, so neither of them could see as Bart impaled himself on Carl’s massive manhood.
“Shit-” Bart breathlessly moaned, the sound muffled after a few seconds by Carl’s hand.
I’ll get the two-by-fours, okay, you stay out there! That manager, Jerry, was coming into the storage warehouse. Carl clasped one hand over Bart’s mouth to keep him quiet.
But the motion also forced Carl’s dick the rest of the way in Bart. They flopped to the ground. For just a moment, Carl was on top of Bart — which was intense but dangerous, since Bart could barely breathe, or even squirm, with so much weight atop him.
“Oh god-“
“Shush!” Carl used both hands to quiet Bart. He didn’t mean to be so mean about it, but he was desperate not to get fired — he was only getting five hundred dollars for this, after all, it was hardly retirement money.
But Carl couldn’t bring himself to stop plowing into Bart. It was like his top half and bottom half operated independently of each other. His top half wanted to stop and for Bart to sit still and quiet. His bottom half didn’t care about getting caught and just wanted to wreck Bart’s guts with as much cock and cum as he could spew.
So instead he just kept shushing Bart even though it was Carl’s heavy breathing that was loud, and he pinned Bart on the cold concrete floor. He kept pounding, pistoning his hips, forcing his dick in and out of Bart’s ass.
Jerry whistled as he wandered through the stacks of lumber. He wrinkled his nose — it kind of smelled like semen in here, but he assumed it was his own compulsively-masturbating hands. He loaded up the dolly with two-by-fours, having no idea that Carl was plowing into Bart on the other side of the stack of wood. If Carl were standing, he would have been visible.
He thought there was a sound. “Hello? Carl? If you’re back here, I need you at the paint counter. Don’t make me write you up for being out-of-department. You know this is no way of providing a Summer of You for our guests — I mean a Summer of Them, I guess….” His voice trailed off, satisfied that, if Carl had been back here, he would have revealed himself by now. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.
The dolly’s wheels creaked and rumbled as he went out to the store with the two-by-fours. Carl breathed a sigh of relief, flopping his heavy belly down on Bart’s back once more. Bart’s hands tightened into claws that dug at the concrete floor.
His prostate came alive as they both moaned out loud. Bart’s voice was swallowed up by Carl’s deeper tones, and Carl ground his dick all the way down in Bart’s ass. His balls slapped between Bart’s thighs.
“Shit, boy…”
“Hell yeah, fill me up!” Bart’s high-pitched voice echoed. The first few wads of cum sprayed into his ass.
The storage warehouse and the store floor itself shared a ceiling — the walls separating the different areas didn’t extend all the way up — so Bart’s voice and his screeching groan of desire and orgasm were plainly audible throughout the store.
Everyone there interpreted it differently though. A few workers assumed it was a TV in the electronics section — people sometimes put porn on as a joke — while others guessed it was somebody playing a prank in the men’s room. A few guys went to the bathroom-fixtures section thinking a man and woman must be having sex in there, it was such a maze they did that sometimes and it took forever to find the man.
Jerry the manager was the only person who recognized the voice of Bart, the man who had just bought some keys. But Jerry assumed he must be in the bathroom, because where else would somebody bang a slut? (Jerry assumed Bart and Carl were double-teaming a whore).
So the entire store floor erupted into action, but no one thought to go into the storage warehouse. Bart and Carl had no idea they were audible. Carl grunted like a caveman as he pounded away, cum pouring into Bart’s ass. He kept going, drilling in and out, turning his cumload into a big frothy mess that spilled over his crotch and onto the floor.
“Shit…” Carl sighed.
“Oh god…!” Bart wriggled and clawed at the cement floor. He was red-faced, gasping for air both because the orgasm was intense and because Carl had had him pinned and unable to breathe for a minute or so, as he drained his balls deep into Bart’s ass.
Now cum trickled out and onto the floor, as Carl’s cock plopped out. It glistened hotly. Carl watched it with wide-eyed amazement. He didn’t know his cock could do that. He had wrecked that ass, he thought, watching it gape like a porn star, all whitish and overflowing. He whistled and slapped one asscheek, making more cum drip out.
“Hmmm…” Bart sighed. “Are there any other handsome fat guys who work here?”
“Not really,” Carl said. That wasn’t strictly true — or at least there were other fat guys, and Carl didn’t think Bart would say they were all ugly.
But Carl wanted to keep Bart for himself. He wanted to make whatever money Bart was going to pay in the future.
Bart stood and stretched his legs. He sighed. “Hmm… Thanks for, uh… well, making my keys. And for… whatnot.”
Carl blushed and nodded. “Hey, when you pay for them keys, the receipt’ll have a code on it. Can you fill out the feedback form and mention my name? Tell ‘em Jerry acted unprofessional but Carl was very helpful. Tell ‘em Jerry ruined your ‘Summer of You’ tryin’ to hassle you into buying a door.”
“Okay, cool,” Bart said with a shrug. He had kind of hoped he’d get the keys for free, since he was paying five hundred dollars for that dick and the fat belly. But he supposed Carl would probably get in trouble — the key machine probably kept track, and of course Jerry had seen the keys get made.
Bart handed over the five hundred dollars in cash to Carl with a big grin. He included his phone number too, which Carl programmed into his phone. “Call me when you get horny enough,” Bart said as he walked away.
“I will!”
Bart didn’t think he would actually be around when Carl called him. He didn’t plan on being in Opossumtown, Alabama, that often. It was just a homebase to stay at when he was in the area.
But it was a nice homebase indeed, with the best hardware store in the state. He was going to have to come up with a lot of home-improvement projects to work on.

The Librarian

Everyone’s always surprised Traymon is a librarian, but for a man like Avery, that’s of secondary importance — what matters is that Traymon is a muscular alpha male willing to give Avery a swing on his massive throbbing meat!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery thought that Traymon was a generally polite and solicitous person, because that was the way he acted. It wasn’t until he happened to see Traymon in a grocery store one day that Avery realized it was all an act.
Perhaps that shouldn’t have been surprising. In the Sidetop Public Library, Traymon was a librarian. Since he was a shockingly tall black man in a kangol hat and a dense Muslim-looking beard, he didn’t exactly fit in. The other librarians were mostly either elderly white women who struggled to right-click a mouse or politically activist young women who struggled to put down their abortion signs long enough to come into work. Traymon was the only male librarian, possibly in the whole county-wide library system.
And he wasn’t just male, he was handsome and strong and stately, with a voice like a bottle of bourbon and a bulge in his cheap slacks that attracted Avery’s eye. Traymon had muscles pushing against the fabric of his button-down shirt — literally, his body didn’t seem to fit in his shirt. It looked as though flexing his biceps would make his clothes fall apart like a Hulk.
Did he do that deliberately? Or was he unable to afford clothes that fit? He probably needed to shop at the Big & Tall store, which was expensive and way out across the state line in Maryland.
Whenever Avery came into the library and saw Traymon, he was unable to tear his eyes away from that powerful frame. Avery was a great admirer of the male physique, and Traymon’s was an exemplar.
“That’s right, ma’am, I do work here. I’d be glad to help,” he said. Even when he spoke quietly, his baritone voice boomed like a cannon, echoing smoothly in the tiny library. He didn’t really have a quiet voice. His voice sounded like his chest was so massive his words resonated around in there before making their way out, so they came out echoey and cavernous. The little old white lady who had approached the information desk quaked.
She whispered something Avery couldn’t hear. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on that though. He was busy fantasizing about Traymon.
He spoke so properly at the library, but when Avery ran into him at the grocery store, he was hanging out with a couple of other young black men — younger than Traymon. They had been talking about something, but the only words Avery could make out were Traymon saying, “yeah, nigga, I made that ass shake, you don’t even know, she was vibratin’ all over my meat.”
He hadn’t been speaking properly at all. He had been passing himself off as a thug. Or had he simply stopped trying to pass himself off as a kindly librarian? Avery didn’t know which was the case.
He didn’t much care either. It was mildly interesting, but Avery wasn’t here for that. He was here to jack Traymon off. He’d been wanting to do it for weeks.
He waited until the end of the night. Avery knew from personal experience that Traymon closed up alone. He let the other employees go when it was still light out. He even escorted them to their cars like a gentleman before returning to close up.
Avery waited for that tonight. He pretended to read a book in the study room, which was out of the way enough that Traymon wouldn’t know Avery was here until he checked right before leaving for the night.
“You have a good night too, Missus Thickman, uh-huh,” Traymon said. “Lemme get the door.” She must have told him to call her by her first name, because Traymon then said, “Oh thank you, darlin’, Vera. Aren’t you a sweet young thing? If you weren’t too young to date, I’d ask you out.” She must have let out an old-lady laugh too quiet for Avery to hear, but Traymon responded with some friendly laughter of his own.
Avery straightened his back there in the study room, and he moved himself to a more visible seat. After a few minutes, Traymon came back in, sans Vera. Avery still sat there, waiting to be noticed. He heard Traymon moving around behind the counter, finishing up for the night.
Then, at last, Traymon came closer. “Hello, anybody there? We closin’ now, you best wake up if you out there.” It didn’t sound like he had any expectation that anyone would be left in the library. He looked in the bathrooms and down each of the rows purely out of habit. “Hello?!”
Avery stood up and put out a shocked look as Traymon came around the corner and saw him. Avery cleared his throat. “Oh, are you closed?”
“Yes, sir,” Traymon said.
Avery nodded and grabbed his things. He headed for the door. He took in Traymon’s intoxicating scent, which was almost enough to get him hard in itself. He brushed past Traymon’s thick chest on his way out of the study room.
Then he headed for the stairs to the main floor. The front lights were already off, but there was emergency lighting that never turned off. Avery stopped there at the base of the stairs.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
Traymon frowned. “Yes, I’m a real librarian. I know I ain’t typical.” He flexed his arm and kissed his bicep. “It’s just what I do, y’know. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ a brother gettin’ a degree in library science. In fact-“
“Yeah, yeah, sure, I get that, that’s not the question,” Avery said. “Though it’s kinda related. I was wondering…” He pulled out a wad of five hundred dollar bills. “What you’d be willing to do for five hundred dollars?”
“Man, I ain’t a thug, I ain’t beatin’ up no one for you, I swear to Christ-“
“No, not that-“
“You axin’ me for coke? Can’t get you coke, man,” he said. When he spoke to Vera moments ago, he said ‘ask’, but now he said ‘ax’. That wasn’t a racial thing either, as Vera Thickman was black. Maybe Traymon reverted to his natural accent when the library reached its closing time.
“No, no this is nothing like that,” Avery said. “What if you just stood there and closed your eyes and let me jerk you off? I’ll swallow your cum til you dehydrate. And I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”
Traymon frowned and chuckled. “Hmmm…” He grunted. “Uh. Uh-huh.” He shifted his weight between his feet. “Uh… yeah. Five hunnerd bucks? Okay.”
Avery dropped to his knees as soon as Traymon said it. He leaned against the check-out counter, near a stack of children’s books. Avery unzipped his slacks and took his cock out. It was thick and veiny, hefty enough to have some weight to it when Avery flopped it over his mouth, and the scent of his musky crotch assaulted Avery’s nostrils through the open fly.
“Man, you said you wanted to swallow it, honky. Whatchoo playin’ at? If you wanna do it, do it. Put it in ya mouth and get it wet, shit…” He leaned back as though bored already. He sucked on his teeth, then leaned forward so he could see the front door and make sure nobody was coming in.
Avery smirked and started licking the shaft, his tongue running up and down it, tracing the veins that ran the length of it. He planted his lips on the tip and made a loud moist suckling noise. He still hadn’t started throating it yet. He just sucked on the tip like a lollipop he was trying to melt in his mouth as quickly as possible.
A gurgle of desire came from Traymon, covered it up with a grunt like Avery’s efforts were minimally acceptable. Avery knew that wasn’t true. He gave dome like a champion.
Traymon had only unzipped his khakis and undone his belt. His pants were open but not down. His shirt was in the way. Avery didn’t mind — in his view, that just made this whole thing more aroousing. He could smell the musky fabric of his khaki pants, which he had probably worn more than once since he last washed them, mixing with the artificially “fresh” detergent scent of his cleaner underwear.
“C’mon, man, if you gonna deep-throat it, get to swallowin’. Open that mouth up and get it down.” Traymon chuckled dryly. He swiped his dick — just getting a bit hard now — over Avery’s face. “You like that, man?”
“Hmmm… I do…” Avery smiled up at him. He stuck his tongue out and chased Traymon’s dick with it, trying to lick it while Traymon tried to rub that limp shaft over his face. Traymon kept a tight frown on and he kept looking away with a sigh like he really wished Avery would get on with it. But a smile flickered over his face too.
Soon enough his cock was rock-hard, throbbing like an alien engine, and it had swollen to such a huge size Avery wasn’t sure he could swallow the whole thing. He’d love to try though. He slathered spit up and down the shaft, then slurped all that saliva up, then spat it out again. Each time Traymon let out a grunt that turned into a moan that he stifled back into a grunt, like he didn’t want Avery to think he was doing a good job.
But Avery was doing a good job. He always gave good dome, and he could tell Traymon loved it by the his rapidly hastening breath and pulse and the way he kept shifting his weight between his feet. Traymon’s hands hovered above Avery’s head. Every minute or two, he held Avery’s head in place so he could throat him down, making love to his mouth like a delicate pussy, then he let go again. Avery only swallowed him to the root when Traymon forced it, otherwise he let it jab around on his face and in his mouth while Avery chased it with his tongue.
Finally Traymon roared. “I know you just teasin’ me. You wanna swallow it fo’ real, right?”
“I do…” Avery said coyly. That was his cue to start really throating. He went as far down as he could in one smooth motion. He was practiced, so he was able to swallow Traymon like a champion. His nose buried itself in Traymon’s pubic hair, and his throat soon fought because Traymon finally rocketed to full erection.
A long low moan chambered its way outta Traymon’s throat, and his knees went weak. He grabbed Avery’s head, and this time, he didn’t let go. He pounded away at Avery’s throat while emitted a series of spine-tingling moans of ecstasy. His dick throbbed in Avery’s mouth, its veiny shaft pulsating against his tongue. Avery smiled up at Traymon, whose eyes were closed.
“Wait…” Traymon stopped moving, but he didn’t take his dick out. Avery made eye contact with him, and Traymon furrowed his brow. “When I said I’m a real librarian, you said that wasn’t the question you wanted to ask, but it was related. Why was it related?”
Avery had to laugh even though he still had Traymon’s dick in his throat. That made him choke, his whole body spasming. He didn’t stop though, not until Traymon dragged his cock out and frowned at him.
“I’s askin’ you a question, man, answer me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. His dick bobbed in front of Avery’s face. Avery, gasping for air, chased it with his mouth until Traymon swiped it away. “I swear,” he said, “white boys can’t even handle having a conversation in front of black dick.”
Avery giggled and blushed. He sighed. “I just meant that I thought you were handsome, and librarians usually aren’t muscular and well-formed, that’s all. That’s what people are always asking you, right? If you’re a real librarian? Cuz you’re too muscular to be a librarian. But you are muscular enough for me to admire your physique and… you know…” He motioned to Traymon’s cock, then planted his tongue on the knob.
Traymon eyed him suspiciously. “That’s weird.”
“Exactly.”
“So you ain’t one of them white cuckold dudes or somethin’? You got a thing for mandingo dick?”
“Not unless they’re attached to a man like you,” Avery said. “But no, I’m not turned on by library science and didn’t really need to know how or why you became a librarian.”
“Hmmm.” Traymon nodded. He ordinarily got annoyed when people acted like it was an oddity for a black man to become a librarian, especially a big tough guy with a beard and a criminal record like him. So he should have been happy that Avery didn’t care about that. But now that he had someone uninterested in whether he got his degree through a prison education program or not, Traymon kind of wanted Avery to know about it all.
Regardless, he wasn’t about to give up on an orgasm partway through. He drilled his dick back in Avery’s mouth. This time he kept his arms crossed over his chest.
“No hands,” he said when Avery tried to hold onto the root of his dick. Since Traymon’s arms were over his chest, neither of them could touch his dick as he slammed it in and out of Avery’s throat. It wasn’t quite an aggressive throating — which Avery would have been fine with — it was more of a warm, passionate humping in his mouth. Avery swallowed it the best he could, moving his head to match Traymon’s hips movements, so he could keep on swallowing that massive veiny shaft.
Soon the sour and sweet flavor of precum hit Avery’s senses. He moaned and swallowed it, choking down as much as he could. He loved precum. He always snarfed it down and smiled the whole time, every time. He thought precum was better than actual cum because it reflected a man’s inner nature. It smelled and tasted and felt like his entire body, while actual cum, Avery thought, was all more or less the same: too salty to have an individual flavor.
Precum flowed copiously down Avery’s chin. Traymon smeared some of it around with his thumb, smiling at the desirous look in Avery’s eyes. Traymon could land plenty of sexy chicks who wanted him, but it was rare for them to love sucking his dick.
That was why Traymon liked blowing his nut in men. He rarely admitted it, and he never told those men that he did it often. He preferred to make them think it was something he would never do, that they’d have to seduce him — or give him money — to do it.
But he adored getting dome from a man because he could really pound their throat like he was doing now with Avery. He could make his balls slap against Avery’s chin and even pinch his nostrils shut to make it easier for him to swallow the whole thing.
“Hmmm…”
“You wanna stick me in the ass?” Avery asked, pulling off his dick and letting it spew precum on his lips. That muddled his words, making them sound like he spoke into a glass of syrup, blowing bubbles with his lips as he talked.
Traymon grunted. “Hell yeah.” He chuckled as Avery stood and gripped the shelves behind him. “You holdin’ onto the African American history section. Sounds ‘ppropriate to me.”
Avery smiled and gripped the metal shelf tightly. He gritted his teeth as he felt that thick dick slide into his ass. It was girthy and long and so hard it made Avery wince. He gasped.
But Traymon petted his scalp and said, “Hmmm… it’s okay, man, it’ll feel good in just a second. You just gotta give ol’ Traymon a second to find the right angle. How ’bout that?” He drilled in from one angle, and Avery let out a pleasured moan. His ass stretched to accommodate Malcom’s meat.
That wasn’t good enough for Traymon, however, who kept stroking Avery on the head and neck. He massaged him gently as he penetrated him from a different angle. A few more inches made it in this time, and it sent a wave of pleasure through Avery’s body. Avery gripped the library checkout counter hard with both hands, and he lowered his head to lay his face down on the cool counter surface.
This time, Avery’s howl of desire was so loud it echoed in the library, and Traymon looked around again to be sure no one else was here. He laughed at Avery’s frenzied squirming and his intense panting, as Traymon slowly worked his dick inch by inch.
“Damn, my man, there it is, that’s the angle you been waitin’ for, I expect.” Traymon loved bringing his bottoms to pleasure, and on that score, it didn’t matter if they were male or female. He couldn’t stay hard if the person he was with wasn’t having the orgasm of their lifetime.
So no matter how much his body cried out for him to force it into Avery as hard as he could, from whatever angle helped his giant dick fit in better, Traymon didn’t. He found Avery’s prostate and rubbed his dick against it, smiling when he saw Avery’s legs shake and his hands turn into claws that grappled with the shelves.
“Shit… Aw, fuck, man…” Traymon moaned.
Then, he and Avery both stopped — the door opened. The main door had swung open on the ground floor. If the lights had been on, whoever had walked in would surely have seen Avery and Traymon. But instead they were bathed in darkness, silhouettes indistinguishable even with the dim emergency lighting that never turned off.
“Shit — shush….” Traymon pulled his cock out, and Avery flopped to the ground. It took all his concentration to avoid shouting and groaning out loud, so he ended up rolling around like a dying fish. Traymon hurried to pull his pants up. He still had a hardon, and his cock dripped with precum and anal juices. He grimaced as he put that in his khakis — that was going to feel filthy, he thought, and his dick was still awkwardly erect.
He went to the stairs. “Yo! Who’s there?”
“Oh, Traymon… is that you? I thought that was your car outside. You’re still here?”
“Vera? Yeah… I’m, uh… I was just about to leave,” Traymon said.
“Oh, well, I forgot my phone,” she said. Traymon came down the stairs. He had to walk slowly because his dick was hard in his pants, and he couldn’t let it show. It made it very awkward to use the stairs. He was so focused on that that, by the time he reached the main floor, Vera had found her phone.
“You got it?”
“Yes,” she said. She gestured for him to follow her to the door. Traymon gritted his teeth. She smiled. “Aren’t you leaving?”
“Uh… yeah. My keys is upstairs though. You surprised me,” Traymon said. His chest and neck were dappled with sweat, even though the library was cool. Vera was too far away to notice though. “You go’n ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.”
“Oh, uh, well… Okay,” she said with a shrug. She tottered towards the door.
She had never walked so slow. Traymon walked up the stairs as she left, moving casually, like he was just looking out for his keys. Vera must not have been paying much attention to what Traymon said, or she would have noticed that it made little sense for his keys to be upstairs. Why would he have put his keys in the nonfiction section? But she either didn’t think of that or was too polite to ask.
Traymon waited at the top of the stairs,listening intently for the heavy front door to slam shut. His erection was finally starting to subside, which made it uncomfortable every time he took a step and his sensitive shaft rubbed against the fabric of his underwear.
When he heard the front door click shut, Traymon raced into action. He practically sprinted the rest of the way, even though that made his cock jostle painfully in his khakis. He found Avery, still sprawled out on the floor, and Traymon pulled his pants back down to his ankles. He lifted his shirt up enough that it wouldn’t get in the way and plunged into Avery’s ass like he was putting out a fire.
“Aaaaaaah….” He moaned, his mind finally relaxing now that he was back in Avery’s tight, warm ass. His cock throbbed, and both men erupted in throes of ecstasy. His hands rested on Avery’s smooth back and caressed it as he worked his entire foot-long cock up Avery’s behind. “There you go, thanks for waitin’ while I dealt with that old broad.”
“Hmmmmm… Thanks for coming back,” Avery said. He tried to raise his ass, to get on all fours, but Traymon’s heavy body kept pinning him down.
Finally Traymon realized what Avery was trying to do and lifted his head up. He wrapped one arm around Avery’s neck, putting him in a light chokehold. He dragged Avery into a doggystyle position, all without missing a beat. Avery was too stiff and orgasmic, on the verge of his own climax, his dick throbbing in his hand, to move in a coordinated way.
It was the most intense orgasm of Avery’s life. He cried out, muffling the sound at first and then shouting as loud as he could when he realized it didn’t matter. His shouts echoed in the high-ceilinged library. He hadn’t accepted a dick this big in his ass in a long time, and Traymon was his new favorite librarian.
“Ah, god, I’m gonna cum in ya, I’m goin’, I’m goin’, you ready?” Traymon breathlessly grunted into Avery’s ear. His breath condensed into a layer of moisture on the side of his head. His pecs rippled where they pressed against Avery’s back.
Avery shot his load at the same time, beginning just before he felt the first drops of Traymon’s cum coat his insides. Avery wanted to cry out again, to scream his orgasm into the darkness of the library, but the sensations roiling within him were too intense. He could feel Traymon shooting into every inch of his body, coating his insides in creamy, sticky warmth.
It seeped throughout him and soaked into his body. Avery couldn’t believe how much cum there was, flowing into him like a flow from a massive hose. He felt the creamy heat of his cum spreading through his insides. Traymon’s heavy balls drained deep into Avery’s body, until it dripped down the sides of his hole and into a puddle on the carpeted floor of the library.
“Aaaah… goddamn…” Traymon said as though he was done, but he kept pistoning his hips. He grunted like an animal, like he couldn’t believe he was still going.
Avery couldn’t tell if Traymon was still cumming or not. He felt semen flowing in and out of him, but that was probably just because Traymon was still moving his dick around. It twitched within him, and he frothed his load into a big wet mess that flowed over his limpening mahogany cockshaft.
Finally, he pulled out, and Avery let out a chest-rattling moan. He twitched and fell limp on the ground, marinating in the puddle of cum and juices that lay there. Avery rolled over onto his back so he could see Traymon, who kneeled there.
He had never taken his shirt off, and his pants were still around his ankles. Avery’s toes rubbed over his dickshaft, while Traymon breathed heavy. Then he stood and sighed. Avery grabbed some tissues from the nearby circulation counter, and he wiped his own ass off. Traymon stood there like he expected Avery to clean his dick too, so Avery did so.
“Damn, boy,” Traymon said with a dry laugh. He stroked Avery’s smooth chin. “I like you a lot. You gonna be a regular patron?”
“I dunno, maybe…” Avery smiled. “I do like this library.”

The Stoner

Rob is at it again, letting a handsome young stoner stay at his place for free… free except for a swing on his dick! Kyle is willing to do what it takes for a free place to stay, a bag of weed and some beer money, making these two a match made in heaven!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob came back to his beach-side home on Maui with a bag of groceries, including the jalapeño spam that Kyle said he wanted. Rob hated spam, but he was in Hawaii, so he had been forced to adapt to his culinary environment — and the tastes of his new roommate. He placed the bag on the counter, then went into the living room to look at his latest conquest.
He was sprawled out on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. Kyle’s rippling muscles were bronzed, and he smelled slightly of seaspray — he had already gone surfing and come back. He watched a documentary about a Filipino surfer, but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention. Kyle ran his fingers through his thick blond hair and scratched his balls. That sent a chill up Rob’s spine because he could see the outline of Kyle’s cock for a few moments.
Rob sunk to his knees beside the couch and handled Kyle’s dick beneath his shorts. He felt a twinge of embarrassment, as he always did. But he didn’t mind that, he actually kind of liked it.
“Horny again, huh?” Kyle scoffed. “Damn…”He placed his forearm over his eyes. He did that every time Rob started on his cock, but it never lasted long. Once he got hard and got into it, he didn’t mind sticking his dick in a man’s mouth. He just didn’t want it to seem like he was too into it.
Kyle lived on the public beaches of Maui, sleeping on friends’s couches whenever he could. He spent all his time either surfing, smoking weed or flirting with girls, mostly tourists. Now he slept on Rob’s couch. He was surprised that Rob expected his dick to be available a couple times a day, but Kyle didn’t mind. He was still young enough that his balls were full of cum and always ready to bust.
“Yeah, get it deep down there like that,” Kyle said with an impassioned groan when he felt Rob’s nose in his pubic hair. Kyle would never admit it, but Rob got him off better than any girl ever had. “Goddamn, man!”
His dick perked up in Rob’s mouth. Its twitching made Rob get even more excited. He started to rub on his own dick through his pants, while Kyle got hard quickly and spewed precum down his throat.
Soon Kyle had stopped blocking his eyes, though he still grumbled like he didn’t want to do this. In fact, however, Kyle had been the one who proposed it. Rob had a reputation for letting young men sleep on his couch for awhile in exchange for a taste of their meat. Kyle came to see Rob one night a few days ago. He was drunk then, and his dick had tasted sweet as candy when he was passed out like a log on Rob’s couch.
Now Kyle giggled as he watched Rob on his dick. Kyle picked up his lighter as though he was going to smoke weed, but his bowl was way over on the other side of the living room. He would have to get up and go get it. Kyle rearranged his weight as though he was about to stand, but then closed his eyes, moaned and leaned back.
“God damn, Rob…” He muttered like he was annoyed at how good this felt. Every time he used Rob’s name, it made Rob shiver with delight and made his cock pulsate beneath his own fingers. Kyle chuckled to himself — he got plenty of women, but they never so visibly loved the taste of his cock as Rob did. It puffed up his pride and his machismo, but at the same time deflated it because Kyle still had never turned on a woman as intensely as he turned on Rob.
The doorbell rang. Rob froze in fear as though he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, even though he didn’t really need to be afraid.
What about the weed? Panic flooded Rob’s senses. There was a large amount of illegal weed in here, he thought as he savored the flavor of salty precum coating his tongue. Rob had bought the weed for Kyle — or to be more precise, he gave Kyle the money so Kyle could buy it from his dealer; Rob was too much of a wuss and a nerd to know where to buy anything illegal. Could there be police here to arrest Kyle or Rob or both of them for possession of marijuana?
That seemed unlikely. The rational part of his mind said that it wouldn’t be that. The police wouldn’t have politely rung the doorbell, for one thing. Rob was too distracted by his love for the cock in his throat to calm himself down, however.
“Damn it…” Kyle leaned forward to look out the window. “It’s my boys.” His friends were out there, three young surfers like him. There was Pony the dark-haired and stormy youth, Yoritsune the punk-haired short one and Makana the pretty-faced indigenous Hawaiian. They were all lean and wiry, with flat bellies more from general waywardness, high metabolism and lack of solid food than from actual exercise.
Rob couldn’t see the young men because his face was still buried in Kyle’s crotch. Now that he knew it wasn’t the police, Rob didn’t care what happened — everyone in Maui knew that Rob would jerk off men who needed a place to sleep. Rob was fine with that, he wanted everyone to know, that’s how he found new guys.
“Hey, Kyle, come on out. The wind is picking up. Good surf starting, should be a couple hours of perfect waves.” That was Makana, who had a handsome boyish face and naturally bronze skin, as well as a pretty lilting, syllabic accent. He was too boyish for Rob though. Kyle, on the other hand, was a strapping lad with hair like a movie star and a beautifully muscled body. He had a handsome, angular face with a slim nose, and his long limbs were well-muscled and wiry. Kyle exuded machismo and sweated swagger, which made Rob so horny he had wanted to jack off from the moment he first saw Kyle scratching at his balls beneath his shorts — he had been drunkenly swaying on the front porch then, right where his surfer-buddies stood now, and Rob had been hiding to look through the window, right where Kyle now kneeled.
“Go away, come back in like five minutes. I’m busy,” Kyle said, holding Rob’s head in place on his cock. As he spoke, he kept pumping his hips, gently, humping Rob’s tongue and his throat. His voice was tight and clipped. He had none of the slackadaisery he usually exhibited. Rob realized with a muffled giggle that Kyle didn’t want his friends to know what was happening. “Go on, I’ll be ready in a couple minutes.”
Rob was crouched between Kyle and the wall. His blood ran hot as he slurped on Kyle’s dick. He tried to make it difficult for Kyle to ignore, just as a sort of game — it hardly mattered, since Kyle had told his friends what he was doing. But there was a difference between Kyle telling his friends that it happened and Kyle being unable to leave because he was amid doing it.
Kyle groaned and pumped his hips instinctually, slamming his dick all the way into Rob’s throat. Rob sputtered, now wedged so tightly between Kyle’s crotch and the wall that Rob couldn’t move at all. He could even hear the motion of Kyle’s friends outside — if it weren’t for the wall separating them, they’d be so close they’d have gotten splashed by the spit that sputtered out of his mouth. But because of the wall, they didn’t know anything except that Kyle was behaving strangely.
“You don’t want to miss it. There should be some good waves in a little while.”
“Not that he’d catch a single one of them. Got no skills.”
“Fuck you, Pony,” Kyle said. He no doubt intended for it to be mean, or at least rude, but he was so distracted by his dick that his words sounded weak and half-hearted. He glanced down at Rob’s face, disgusted to see a man there, and shocked to see his precum running in rivulets down Rob’s cheeks and chin. “Hey, gimme a sec, lemme talk to them-“
But Rob didn’t stop swallowing. Kyle’s cheeks turned ruddy and he looked back to his friends out the window.
“We haven’t had really good surfing weather in months. What’s wrong with the weather these days? We used to have killer waves almost every day.”
“Guys, just go! I’ll meet you on the beach,” Kyle snapped. He blushed. A few beads of sweat appeared on his strapping chest, and he closed his eyes. He ground his dick down Rob’s throat, like he needed to hit it at every angle with every single spot on his shaft. He could have pulled out — Rob held him in place by his ass, but Rob was not strong enough to really force it. He was just barely strong enough to make Kyle have to work on it to pull his cock out, and it would be obvious to his friends that something was happening.
Kyle was still trying to play it cool. So he wiggled his hips, trying to get his dick out without moving too much, while Rob gripped Kyle’s muscular asscheeks. Rob even tried to get a finger in his asshole, but Kyle’s cheeks were clenched shut.
Then Kyle let out an impassioned moan. Now there was no denying what it was — a moan like that came only from the crotch.
Rob giggled as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He redoubled his efforts to swallow that cock better than he ever had before. He nestled his nose deep in Kyle’s crotch, nuzzling his pubic hair and his firm flesh. He slathered spit all up and down the shaft and licked the pulsating veins until Kyle gasped.
“Hey, what are you doin’ in there?”
“Oh, damn, you’re lettin’ your sugardaddy jack you off right now, huh?”
“Oh, that’s nasty!”
“You doin’ that right now? Right in front of us?”
“Holy shit, man, you are crazy!”
Kyle laughed and cheered. He pumped his biceps and ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair. He had always covered up his insecurity and anxiety about this situation, even when it was just he and Rob together, but now that his friends were here, Kyle seemed to feel a need to prove how copacetic he was.
“I’m makin’ him swallow my shit,” Kyle said with an exaggerated grunt. “Gonna get some dome off him. You guys wanna watch?”
“No!”
“Hell no!”
“No way! I don’t wanna see your dick, man!”
But Kyle ignored them. He couldn’t really plow into Rob’s face any harder than he already was, because Rob had been deep-throating him and had already swallowed every bit of Kyle’s cockflesh. But since the surfers outside couldn’t see that, Kyle pretended.
He grabbed Rob’s head and held it in place. He bucked his hips back and forth, pulling his dick all the way out and then slamming it right back in. Huge gobs of saliva stuck his shaft and dripped onto the floor as Rob swallowed.
“Yee-haw!” Kyle held on to Rob’s head with one hand and held his other in the air like a cowboy riding a bucking bronco. He laughed and his friends joined in.
“You fuckin’ weirdo!”
“Ask your sugardaddy for permission to go surfing.”
“Hey! I don’t need his permission,” Kyle said with a sneer. “I come and go whenever I want. I tell him when I want to blow a nut. That’s how this works.” Of course that wasn’t strictly true, but Rob didn’t mind the lie. He loved being dominated by alpha males and would have been fine with it if Kyle came to him when he wanted to blow a nut.
“You got any beer money, man?”
“Hey, get him to give us money for beer!”
“You stick him in the ass yet? He’ll prolly give it to you if you stick him in the ass.”
“Maybe…” Kyle laughed like he was confident, but Rob could tell he was not. Kyle grumbled. He didn’t answer his friends. That was because he didn’t know if Rob would agree. After making a big deal out of the fact that Kyle called the shots in this relationship, Kyle couldn’t very well ask for beer money and be refused. That would shake the carefully constructed front he hid behind.
But Rob wasn’t about to make this easy for Kyle either. He continued slurping on that thick surfer meat, which smelled of salty seaspray and beach sand. He pretended he hadn’t heard the surfers talking about beer money. One of Kyle’s conditions for moving in here had been that he would not, under any circumstances, stick anything in Rob’s ass.
That guarantee, however, was losing its ironclad certainty by the moment. Rob could see nothing but the big beautiful cock in front of his face, but he could tell that Kyle was looking at him to gauge his chances. Kyle was willing to do it now, either because he really wanted beer or because he wanted to prove to his friends that he was rapacious enough to do so, or maybe he had always wanted to ramrod a man but needed a good enough excuse to convince himself it was okay.
“Come on, man, get more money outta him. Just like twenty bucks. We could get a bunch of forties with that.”
“I don’t want forties of malt liquor, Makana, I ain’t homeless.”
Rob grinned, ignoring the argument between Kyle and his friends. Instead, Rob called his father, who didn’t answer — that was normal. He didn’t answer most of the time because Rob usually called to make his father listen to Rob squander his inheritance. Rob hated his father, who in turn hated the lower classes. That was why Rob got into rough trade in the first place, to anger his father. So now whenever he could, while slurping off losers, slackers and white trash, Rob called his father and made him listen to it.
The voice mail recording beeped, and Rob made sure to groan extra-loud so his father would hear it. He didn’t know if his dad actually listened to the entire message, or if he just realized who it was and deleted it. He probably just deleted it, Rob thought, but it made him feel good to make the message as long and as loud as possible.
“Come on, Kyle do it! Get the beer money, man!”
“What’s the point of having a sugardaddy if you don’t get sugar out of him?”
“Fine!” Kyle barked at his friends. “For fuck’s sake…” He pulled Rob off his cock, and they both shuddered. Rob shuddered because he was disappointed that he didn’t get to taste that remarkable cock anymore, and Kyle shuddered because he didn’t want to ask this question. “Hey, uh, Rob…” Again his use of Rob’s name made Rob shake with desire. Kyle sneered at him. “You, uh… I’ll stick you in the ass, if you want. But you gotta give me some beer money.”
“Okay,” Rob said with a smile. He made a kissy face at Kyle, who looked away. Rob laughed into the phone. “I’ll give you beer money to stick me. There’s cash in my wallet. But you gotta cum in my ass and gimme a reacharound.”
Kyle scoffed as though that should have been obvious. “I don’t do that,” he said. “Only perverts give reacharounds.”
“Slam it in, Kyle!”
“No mercy! Ram him like a bitch!”
“Uh! Uh! Uh!” That was Pony, the dark-haired one. All Rob could hear was him grunting, but he guessed from the sounds and the way it made the others laugh that Pony was pantomiming fucking a woman in the ass.
When Rob turned around, his face finally poked above the windowsill, so he saw Pony, Yoritsune and Makana standing out there on the patio. He blushed at their shocked looks. He jutted his ass back onto Kyle’s erect cock. Rob decided to just try to force it — Kyle wouldn’t want to look like he wasn’t in charge of this situation in front of his friends.
Kyle took a deep, nervous breath. He rested his fat cock on Rob’s asscheeks at first. He looked out the window and steeled his nerves, not wanting to look like he was second-guessing himself in front of his friends. Rob moaned directly into the phone, which was still recording his voice mail, while Rob grabbed his tube of lubricant and greased his ass up.
Finally he was ready, his cock hard, Rob’s ass lubed up. Kyle looked very nervous as he pushed his dick into Rob’s ass. When he was finally in, he sighed in relief as though there was some chance he wouldn’t be able to find Rob’s asshole and he was glad he had succeeded.
There was a burst of pain in his ass, a familiar sensation to Rob. Rob had taken it in the ass from plenty of men in his time. It always began with this uncomfortable pain, which soon turned into waves of pleasure.
But as always, it didn’t stay that way. By the time Kyle’s dick was halfway in his ass, Rob felt his entire body loosen and tremble, as intense sensations wracked his petite frame. Kyle shuddered as well.
“I’m in!” he yelled to his friends, who clapped and hooted like Kyle had defeated a conquering army.
“Lemme see!”
“Fuckin’ gross! Make it loud, Kyle!”
Makana came right up next to the window. He tried to peer down and watch Kyle do it, but from this vantage point that wasn’t possible. Rob was back below the window and all Makana could see was a little of Kyle’s pubic hair. He still grinned broadly as though that was what he wanted to see.
“Let’s hear those balls slap against his ass, man! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!”
It seemed Kyle was trying to slam his dick in in such a way as to make a loud thwacking sound, but he wasn’t entirely successful. There was some noise made when his balls hit Rob’s ass, but it wasn’t loud enough to be heard through the window, especially with Kyle’s friends carrying on.
The last of Kyle’s reluctance disappeared with the final few inches of his dick sliding into Rob’s ass. Then they were in perfect sync. Rob backed his ass up as though it was his job to pound into himself with Kyle’s cock, while Kyle flailed his hands like he didn’t want to touch Rob any more than absolutely necessary. He grabbed the ledge in front of the window and held on tight.
“Get enough money off him that we can bring something girlie to the party! Wine coolers!”
They were all pantomiming gangbanging a woman now. Pony still mimed out violently fucking a woman. All three bounced around on the porch, laughing as they ground their hips into imagined orifices.
“Don’t forget about the reacharound, if you want to get paid,” Rob said. He dragged one of Kyle’s arms around his body to his crotch.
Kyle wrinkled his nose but gripped Rob’s shaft. His hand barely touched it — just a couple fingers — but Rob was already on the verge of cumming, so he didn’t mind.
“C’mon, rub it, I’m not paying you if you don’t do it,” Rob said breathlessly.
Kyle grimaced and murmured to himself. He was glad his friends couldn’t see that he was giving a reacharound now. It was hardly the first time he’d touched another man’s cock — they circle-jerked sometimes, when they were drunk enough — but he wasn’t proud of it.
He stroked Rob’s cock with one hand loosely. He hoped to not make Rob cum, so Kyle could finish first and make Rob get himself off. But Rob was already so close that, basically as soon as Kyle gave Rob dick a few full-hearted strokes, it sent Rob over the line.
Rob’s own orgasm hit him suddenly, waves of bliss flowing through him. Rob sprayed a load into his hand and onto the carpeted floor beneath him. Some of it even landed on his cell phone, which still sat on the floor recording the sound of Kyle’s frenzied gyrating.
“You like this, man? This alright wit’ you?” Kyle asked with a cocky grin. He grabbed Rob’s wallet off the floor. He took all of the cash that was in it, more than a hundred dollars — way more than was necessary to buy a couple forties and some wine coolers — and passed it through the window. “I’ll meet you in five minutes. Just get to the beach.”
“You don’t want us around, huh? Why not? You gonna make out with your sugardaddy?”
The other three surfers were laughing. Their voices faded, suggesting they were leaving to go buy beer, but they kept calling Kyle a pussy as they walked away. Kyle blushed but ignored them.
Once they were gone, Kyle moaned like he had been holding that in and now needed the release. He started to grind his hips, forcing his dick in deeper. Rob cried out as intense aftershocks of his own orgasm rocketed through his body.
At last Kyle lost his final inhibitions. He grabbed ahold of Rob’s ass with both hands, holding him in place while Kyle pounded away at that tight hole. His huge, throbbing cock slammed in and out of Rob, who buried his face in the ground and kept his ass high in the air.
Cum sprayed in Rob’s ass. It was a hot, thick load, full of creamy heat and stickiness. It drifted throughout his body, trickling streams of manjuice seeping into every corner of his body. Rob let out an ear-rattling, hair-cringing moan as that cum just kept on filling him up.
It lasted for what felt like both a long time and not long enough, Rob thought. He felt a torrent of cum dripping into and out of his ass, and he savored it, making sure to aim all of the sounds he made — and that Kyle’s cumming cock made in his asshole — into the phone. Kyle’s dick slowly limpened inside Rob.
“Okay, thanks for the money, man,” Kyle said with a long, slow groan. He stood and gingerly let his cock slide out, then wiped his dick off. Kyle blushed. He tried to hide it, to look confident, like he did this all the time, but Rob could sense that he was relieved he had gotten through it without embarrassing himself.
“Thank you. That was amazing,” Rob said breathlessly. He hung up the phone and tucked it back in his pocket. Kyle either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Kyle grabbed the shirt by the door. He didn’t put it on, he just carried it — in case he needed to enter a store later. He slipped into his flipflops, ignoring Rob who laid there on the floor basking in the glow of his post-orgasm warmth. Kyle opened the door and grabbed the surfboard he kept out on the front porch.
“Leave some dinner for me in the fridge,” Kyle said before he stepped away. “I’ll be back later. Or not. If I find a girl, I’ll sleep with her tonight.”
He walked away before Rob could answer. Rob said, “Okay…” weakly, even though he knew Kyle had gone. He laid there and savored the feel of cum inside himself, resting his head on the spot where Kyle had been sitting earlier. It smelled like his ass.
Rob fell asleep there, on his knees and smelling Kyle’s body even though he had gone. He was glad to have met Kyle, but Rob was beginning to think it was time to move on.
He was ready to find a fresh new slice of rough trade who needed a place to sleep.

The Hobo

Carlos goes to a legendary homeless encampment in order to swing in the dirt with a filthy hobo named Tommy. He’s filthy, he’s drunk and he’s willing to let Carlos service his nasty homeless body.

Can Carlos get the raunchy manmeat he craves?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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

The Roughneck Bottoms

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

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

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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