MN Manmacker's mansploitation
At the brothel Lipsweet, Vivienne rules as queen, and the many roughnecks who come through are her subjects… But when her position is threatened, Vivienne finds herself on the outs, while the men around her must see to their own needs. Whether at the local jail, in a dusty backroom or in a dirty motel, these macho alphas will have to take matters into their own hands!
Avery is at a diner when the massively hunky cook catches his eye. A hundred dollars later, Avery gets wrecked by this studly giant of a man in the rear pantry, which both is and is not a euphemism! Can Avery both get a full behind and a full belly?
Read the whole thing here!
Avery darted through the woods, cum still drying on his lips. He was stark naked, but he carried his clothes with him, so he stopped behind a tree to get dressed. He had lost the Texan and his buddies, he was pretty sure.
His heart raced, his mind fleeting as he tried to come up with what to do next— go home? Or stay and play? The cruising spot in the woods had gotten rough, but the Texan was gone from it now. Maybe he could return in a few minutes.
He wiped his face off and swallowed down the last few drops of cum he could get to. His own dick was hard, or at least half-hard still — he hadn’t had enough time to get his own nut off; he was saving himself for a big finale, which had never happened.
There was a street up ahead, he saw it and headed that way. He hoped he didn’t look like too gross, with jizz in his hair and stuck to his ears. He didn’t have a mirror so it was impossible to be sure. He wiped himself off as thoroughly as he could manage.
Avery was in downstate Illinois. He passed a state trooper car in a parking lot abutting the woods. Avery thought about leaving the woods for the road, but he didn’t want to do that near the police car. It was theoretically possible that the Texan had called the police, and maybe the cops were looking for him.
That seemed unlikely. The Texan was at the cruising spot doing the same thing Avery was doing. Why would he call the police?
But still, there was no reason to tempt fate, so Avery simply walked through the woods avoiding the cop car. The officer inside was watching drivers on the road and paid Avery no notice.
The forest was dense with underbrush and Avery found the going difficult. His backside was still sore from his escapades with the Texan and, prior to him, a gaggle of Mexicans, who were enjoyable but rough. He and the Mexicans were interrupted by the Texan — or the man in a cowboy hat with a Texan accent anyway, Avery was thinking of him as “the Texan” — who cornholed Avery up the duff till he cried and begged for more. Afterwards, he got violent. Avery had to run off. Avery hadn’t done anything illegal, but he high-tailed it out of there anyway, so he never got to stroke his own self off. He had been waiting to finish off the Mexicans first.
Finally, he found a secluded road and followed it. He kept a little ways off the actual shoulder of the road, so he could hide behind a tree if anyone came past. No one did. This was one of Illinois’s rural routes that saw like two cars a day.
Soon the rural route connected with a less rural route — which was paved — and then that came to a state highway, which was downright civilized. At that point, Avery looked like any other derelict walking along the side of the road. A trim, well-dressed derelict with jizz in his hair. Or maybe not, he was pretty sure he got all the jizz out. Well, not all of it, but all of the visible jizz. He wasn’t gonna look like a cumrag to any strangers, at the very least.
That was good, because Avery soon came to a roadside diner, which was smack dab at an intersection between the state highway and yet another rural route that was a dusty road. The diner was scrutably named “The Dusty Road”.
And it looked homey enough, clean enough and devoid enough of violent post-orgasmic Texans, so Avery decided to stop there. It was as likely a spot as any to relax for awhile. He went in and was instantly struck by two things.
First and foremost, the short-order cook cut a commanding figure. He was well over six feet tall, built like an ox with strapping chest muscles that flexed and rippled and writhed like a barrel of snakes beneath his thin white shirt, which was too small for his giant frame. The sleeves ended midway down his fleshy arms. He was black as plums, his very dark skin gleaming in parts with sweat and splattering grease from the grill afront him. With a dour, frowny look on his roundness, he scooped up a heap of fried eggs and put them on a plate next to a mound of hash browns. He rang the little bell.
The second thing Avery noticed was the waitress. She was a young, pretty girl with the face of an ugly girl, her head buried in her hands as she sobbed with two other girls who did not appear to work here. The waitress was trying to tell some story through her tears. The other diners were trying not to stare. The cook seemed unperturbed. The sobbing waitress wailed, and her powder blue uniform jiggled.
Avery stood in the doorway, not entirely sure what to do. Did you just go right to a table? Or was that crying waitress supposed to show him to a table? He didn’t want to seem like an ass. The waitress didn’t notice him.
In any case, it seemed she wasn’t going to do anything, so Avery just sat down at the counter. That short-order cook muscled arm-flesh jiggled and worked up and down as he finished the second of a pair of platees. That sleeveless shirt was utterly soaked in sweat. It looked like it had been white at one point, but now it was dingy gray like mopwater, and it probably stank like armpits and pancake batter. Avery wanted to suck it clean.
The short-order cook glanced at Avery, then rolled his eyes. He was about to ding the little bell again to signify that the fried eggs and the waffles he had made were finished. But he eyed the sobbing waitress — whose nametag read Polly — that petite white girl with light brown hair, and it was clear she was in no mood to deliver a meal. The cook sighed. He took the plate of eggs and waffles himself to a table near the bathrooms, where a pair of businessmen openly eyed the waitress.
Then the cook approached Avery. He curtly licked his teeth. “Whatchoo want, suh?”
Avery said, “I’d like to look at a menu.” He avoided starting at the crying waitress and also at the cook’s powerful body. That left few directions for Avery’s gaze, and he looked down at the countertop.
The cook snarled and grabbed a menu. “Whatevuh you want, suh.” He tossed the menu in front of Avery, then returned to his spot at the blacktop.
Avery took a few minutes to relax. He perused the menu, but it was exactly what he had expected — typical diner slop. He could have guessed every single thing on the menu.
It was going to be difficult to proposition this middle-aged black man with the tastiest-looking chest in Illinois, Avery thought, with a weeping white girl just a few yards away. It was distracting. From what Avery got through the girl’s tears, she had been on a date with a boy who got handsy, and she was upset because he had seemed like a nice guy.
She can’t cry forever, can she? Girls can though, they have an infinite supply of tears. She’s got two friends comforting her. This could never end. It’s really ruining the anonymous-groping vibe I was hoping for. Avery glanced at the girl and smiled. Wish I was still cruising. He hoped he didn’t look like a creep. He wasn’t flirting with her, he really wasn’t. Some girls assume anyone who looks at them is flirting. Would she like it or dislike it if a flamboyant stranger came over to comfort her? Dislike it, probably.
Avery ordered a cup of coffee and scrambled eggs — he was on a low-carb diet — and sat there, hoping to get a chance to talk to the short-order cook. Damn the waffles looked good though. And they came with apple butter… Avery could eat apple butter with a spoon.
Eventually the businessman behind Avery finished his meal and got up to leave. Avery didn’t care because he was a sniveling nerdy type, and he was skinny. But Avery noticed him head over towards the waitress, who was now wiping tears off her cheeks and sucking in her sobs.
“Hey, sweetheart, how are you doin’?” the businessman said. He straightened his tie, and his eyes roamed up and down the girl and her friends. “I bet I could turn that frown upside-down. Make you feel good as a spring morning, baby…”
There was a moment of awkward silence. Then the girl covered her face and turn away, and her friend hugged her while glaring at the businessman. They all looked at him accusatorily.
“C’mon, baby, I know you lookin’ to get fresh. Why not lemme give you a hug? My hugs feel right as rain, swear to God-“
“Hey! She ain’t interessed, and she made dat clear!” The short-order cook’s voice boomed, loud enough to make the nearby stack of plates rattle. He came around from the grill into the diner, striding in big long steps, heavy feet stomping on the floor. “So you best get ya cheap-suit ass outta hee-ah!”
“What?!” The businessman’s eyed opened wide. “I won’t be talked to like that by some colored boy-“
“I dunno who you callin’ a boy, cuz this right here is a man, fixinna kick ya ass into next week!” The short-order cook stepped closer to him, grabbed the man by the tie and shoved him out the door.
Avery grinned as he watched. When it was done and the door had swung shut with the businessman on the other side, the cook turned around and glowered. The crying waitress got up and hugged his broadly muscled chest, grimacing a little at the sweat-soaked shirt she had to touch. Her arms weren’t even close to long enough to get all the way around his barrel-shaped frame.
“Oh, thank you, Eddie! You’re so nice! You didn’t have to do that, you know. Will you get in trouble?”
Big Eddie looked nervous about the white girl hugging him, and he looked around to see who was watching — just the entire diner — but he bristled and stood motionless. His deep voice grumbled. “Reckon it’s alright, Polly. Just… tell the police I was doin’ right.”
Avery cleared his throat. “I doubt he’ll go to the police. He was wearing a wedding ring, he wanted to cheat on his wife,” Avery chimed in from the counter.
“That pig!”
“Men are all pigs,” said the waitress’s friend.
The short-order cook, Big Eddie, seemed glad to be finished with the hug. He returned to the grill, which he laboriously scraped clean. Avery watched those big meaty arms shake as he did so, and he caught a glimpse of the man’s muscled chest through the opening in his sleeveless shirt.
Nobody would be allowed to wear a shirt like that in the restaurants up north, Avery thought, not while serving food. They’d be worried about armpit-hair falling into the food. Avery wasn’t worried about that at all, he would have gladly eaten some occasional armpit hair if it meant men like Big Eddie got to wear shirts like that.
There was a freshly moist sweat stain on the back of the shirt, which Avery only made out because he stared so closely. He was entranced by the flexing of the man’s firm-fleshed muscles.
Soon the cook turned around and glanced at Avery again. He stared crossly at the waitress, who was still chatting with her friends. No new customers had come into the diner. Big Eddie said, “You want sumpin’ else, suh?”
Avery pretended he couldn’t hear, and Big Eddie repeated himself. Avery smiled. “Sorry, lemme come closer.” He scooted around the counter into the kitchen in the back.
“You want somethin’ else? You finisht ya eggs.”
“Oh, no, thank you, darling,” Avery said. He smiled. “Actually, that’s not quite true, I do want something else.”
“What?”
“You.” Avery came closer and touched Big Eddie on his fat chest. Big Eddie furrowed his brow. Avery played with the greasy tee shirt’s fabric. “You’re very handsome. Can you get away from the grill for a few minutes? I’ll take you out back — or wherever you want — and let you just destroy me.” Then Avery wasn’t sure he was communicating effectively, so he said, “with your dick. I’ll stroke your dick and you can cornhole me in the ass. I’ll make you feel so good, Big Eddie, you won’t even know what hit you-“
Big Eddie looked taken aback. He seemed open to the possibility, Avery thought, but he didn’t trust Avery.
“How about I help you out some? I’ll give you a hundred dollars,” Avery said.
Big Eddie let out a throaty hollow laugh. He glanced up front at the lack of customers. He called out to the waitress. “Hey! I takin’ mah break.” The waitress said okay, and Big Eddie put one big meaty paw on the back of Avery’s neck. “You is sure nasty, mistuh. You de nastiest white man I e’er sawn.” He led Avery into the back, into a walk-in pantry filled with canned goods, sacs of potatoes, napkins and sundry other items. “No ‘ffense.”
“Oh? Are there black men who jack you off a lot?”
Big Eddie nodded. “Dey don’t pay though. And dey don’t do it like this,” he said. He lit a cigarette and leaned against one of the pantry walls. He just stood there like he expected Avery to do all the work.
“What do you mean?” Avery asked. He pulled Big Eddie’s nasty sweat-marinated tee shirt up, baring a big hairy flat and a well-muscled torso. Avery kissed and slurped on a line from his pecs to his crotch, wrinkling his nose at the intensely fruity, sour scent of his sweat. He slurped up a few drops of moisture.
Big Eddie’s mouth was open. “Dey don’t… They don’t go lickin’ on mah chest and shit, man. What is wrong wit’choo? De like… you know, dey j’st sucks a dingle and all. De makes me wear a nice shirt doh, and I gots to take a shower or dey won’t look at me twice. Make me rub dey shoulders and all. You j’st… do it?”
Avery nodded and giggled. “Why make you wear a nice shirt when I’m just gonna ask you to take it off?”
Big Eddie obediently took off his shirt. “You like big-meat colored boys?”
“I appreciate the physiques of strong men,” Avery said. “Color irrelevant.” He slurped up the sweat from Big Eddie’s well-muscled chest. His right hand snuck under his chest, to Big Eddie’s pants. He undid the belt and let them fall to the floor.
He had on tighty-whiteys, which made Avery lick his lips. Avery slid a hand under the fabric and gripped Big Eddie’s massive dick.
“I love your name,” Avery said. He kissed one of the firm pecs on Big Eddie’s chest. “Has everyone always called you Big Eddie?”
Big Eddie shrugged and chuckled. “Nah. I got that name at the Y.”
Avery didn’t really know what that meant, but he was too horny to ask for more information. His mind processed it slowly though, and he realized later that Big Eddie must have showered at the YMCA because he didn’t have hot water in his home, and the men he showered with there must have been the ones who dubbed him Big Eddie… presumably because they saw something big, something only visible in the showers…
As he sunk to his knees, he licked a trail down Big Eddie’s chest and sucked all the grime and diner-grease he could get off his skin. He tasted like breakfast sausage, Avery thought, plus a little funky and cheesy — probably because he didn’t shower often.
Avery didn’t mind that one bit. He loved his men big, strong and a little dirty — or a lot dirty.
On his knees, that broad chest looming overhead like an awning, Avery popped the tip of Big Eddie’s dick in his mouth. He was already hard, his knobbly dick jamming into Avery’s throat.
He used his ass-muscles to pound his cock into Avery’s mouth. Avery was surprised, not expecting such an aggressive throating so quickly. He relaxed his throat and swallowed every bit of cockmeat that he could. Big Eddie’s body rocked back and forth, shaking the shelves in the supply closet.
“Damn… swallow that deep, yeah… Ooh, you got mouth like silk, baby…”
It was so slick with sweat it was like guzzling saltwater. At first Avery thought Big Eddie had already cum, but he soon realized it was just sweat from working in this unairconditioned diner in heavy pants all day. His balls were positively soaked with moisture, which Avery suckled clean when Big Eddie finally pulled his dick out.
He had been nice to the girl, Avery noticed, but he was hardly chivalrous to Avery — he plowed into Avery’s throat as though punishing him. Avery wondered if that was how everyone was around here — did anyone ever admit in public to enjoying them? Maybe he was mean because he assumed he was supposed to? Or maybe that was just what he thought Avery wanted?
Or maybe, Avery thought, Big Eddie was just plain mean to non-girls. Regardless, Avery didn’t mind one bit. He loved powerful, confident men who plowed into his throat without regard for his gagging and choking. Great gobs of spit spilled out of his mouth and onto the floor of the pantry, while Avery had to grip those massive fleshy asscheeks on Big Eddie’s backside for support. His chest slapped Avery on the forehead.
Soon Avery was forced against the door of the pantry, Big Eddie using his entire body to slam his dick into Avery’s throat. His chest got in the way though, squashing against Avery’s forehead. For a moment, Avery was dizzy and thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen. He clawed at Big Eddie’s fleshy ass.
Then Big Eddie pulled away. “You aw’ight?” His voice was gruff and mean still, but Avery didn’t get the impression he intended it that way. He simply didn’t have much of a nice-man’s voice anywhere in his throat, Avery thought.
He slapped his cock over Avery’s face, chuckling throatily as he did, without even waiting for Avery to answer. Avery gasped for breath and chased Big Eddie’s dick with his mouth playfully. He suckled on those balls again, making Big Eddie gasp.
“Damn, you get nasty wit’ dem balls,” Big Eddie said. “You gonna bend ovuh and grab ya ankles?”
“Hmmmm… Yes,” Avery said, blushing. He tried to scoot out from under Big Eddie, but that chest pinned him against the door. “You gotta let me move-“
Big Eddie snarled and stepped away. He grabbed Avery and tossed him like one of those sacs of potatoes against the shelves. “Bend ovuh, whiteboy. What de fuck is wrong wit’choo?”
Avery bent over and stuck his bare, pale ass high in the air. He leaned against the lower shelf, giving Big Eddie the perfect angle to stick him in the ass. Big Eddie hefted his chest up and flopped it right onto Avery’s ass, leaving a layer of greasy sweat there.
“Ya nasty-ass boy, shit…” Big Eddie growled. “Bet yo’ daddy’s ‘shamed of you…” He spread Avery’s asscheeks and peered at his tight hole. He rammed his pinkie finger in — even that was thick and fat, and it made Avery moan in pain and pleasure.
Then there was a burst of pressure as Big Eddie’s cock slipped into Avery’s ass. It was girthy and meaty, so there was a little pain at first, especially bent over in this awkward position. Avery gritted his teeth as Big Eddie drilled into him.
He was relentless. Big Eddie believed that taking dick in the ass was a profound sin — he didn’t see it as a sin to be on top, simply on the bottom, because the man on top was doing as God intended with his cock — more or less — while the bottom was using his body in a way God never intended. So he saw it as reasonable to be aggressive, like he needed to be God’s hand in punishing his bottoms for their sin.
He plowed in, grimacing when he felt resistance and plowing harder. Soon he was all the way in, rocking Avery back and forth as he plowed into. A loud squishing sound could be heard, which made Big Eddie chuckle.
“Big Eddie! We got a customer!” the waitress’s voice could be heard.
Big Eddie shushed Avery, leaned back and opened the door a crack, so just his face could be seen. “I be up there in a sec, girl. I’s takin’ care of man-business.”
“Oh… Okay…” she said, seemingly aware that there was something in the pantry she wouldn’t want to see. She hurried back to the front.
Big Eddie growled and returned to plowing into Avery, slamming into him so hard Avery oomphed — almost crying out loud, though he managed to subdue it — and went with him to the floor. Big Eddie was so broad-bodied he took up almost the entire space there, and his chest flopped on Avery’s small, delicate back.
Avery could barely breathe, both from the intense pressure in his ass and Big Eddie’s heavy body pressing down on him. Big Eddie’s hot breath condensed on the back of Avery’s head, which Big Eddie gripped tightly to force him in place even as Avery squirmed.
A prostate orgasm arose within Avery, who finally shot his load all across the floor. Big Eddie didn’t even notice that because he was busy with his own growing orgasm.
He snorted and sniffled like an out-of-control horse, pounding at Avery’s body so hard Avery wondered if he would break a bone. Avery submitted, gritting his teeth and slurping on whatever bit of salty flesh he could get in his mouth — he was pretty sure it was one of Big Eddie’s manboobs.
Cum flew into him, huge creamy wads of it, flowing in his ass, seeping into his flesh and making him feel like a big nasty sweat-soaked cumrag. He was covered in fluids from head to toe, including even a few drops of drool that had snuck out of Big Eddie’s lips as he was in the throes of his orgasm.
Avery was soft, covered in fluids, dazed, his sore ass aching as Big Eddie finally rolled off him. There wasn’t quite enough space in the pantry to do that, so Big Eddie had to actually stand up before his dick slipped out of Avery’s ass. He slapped one of Avery’s asscheeks hard.
“Aw’ight, whiteboy, let’s see dat tenduh,” Big Eddie said. He didn’t wait for Avery, who lay limp and gasping on the floor. He pulled Avery’s wallet out of his pocket. Luckily he just took the money he had been promised.
Then he tossed the wallet at Avery’s head. He pulled his pants up and went outside to the kitchen to resume cooking.
“Clean yaself, nasty-ass honky,” Big Eddie said as he left.
Avery basked in the afterglow of his orgasm until he was ready to go. Then he cleaned himself up and headed out. That waitress gave him an odd look. Big Eddie had told her that he was doing “man business” in the pantry. She didn’t know what that was, but she assumed it was like her and menstruation — something only to be discussed with members of the same sex — so she was surprised to see Avery leave soon after Big Eddie did, she didn’t know anyone else had been back there.
For now, all she saw was the strange white man with the messed-up hair and crooked clothes smile at her as he walked out. “Have a nice day!” she said.
“I certainly will, ” said Avery with a smile on his face.
When Bart finally manages to hire the legendary plus-size landscaper Raleigh Routh to mow his lawn, he wasn’t sure he’d have a chance to service his almighty manhood. But a freak rainstorm results in the opportunity of a lifetime! Can Bart seal the deal?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Bart was excited but disappointed too — he was now less sure this would work. Raleigh Routh turned otu to be just as stately, just as masculine and just as desirable as Bart had thought from his picture on the Clip-Crew website. Bart had scheduled a landscaping “session” through the website and kept choosing different times and dates until he found one with Raleigh Routh as the only landscaper available. It was eight o’clock in the morning on a Monday.
Raleigh Routh was a tall, broad man with a small belly and plenty of padding all over, built like an egg balanced upon a pair of tree trunks. His chest was hairy, his face rugged and squarish but round as well, with a hollowly deep voice befitting a man of his heft. People always said he was stupid because his voice had that hollow flatness that very tall, baritone men sometimes had. He blushed easily, and he was often flustered.
When he was flustered, his chunky ass shook, and he stroked his ratty goatee. He was an ex-Marine so he had plenty of power underneath his massive redneck frame — which featured a literal red neck, sunburned from his part-time career as a lawn mower.
So Bart hired him one Sunday hoping to get into his pants. Bart loved the physiques of men, especially large men, and he had a knack for finding ones who ached for a tight hole and a sweet release. He just needed a chance to get his man alone.
But when Raleigh had shown up, Bart became less confident. He usually had a pretty good idea when meeting a man whether he would be willing to be Bart’s latest bit of rough, and when he shook Raleigh’s sausage-fingered hands, he thought “no, this guy won’t do it.”
He just didn’t come across like he would. He was too easily embarrassed, and, when he saw Bart’s flamboyance and heard his slight lisp, Raleigh’s big cheeks turned red and he scratched again at that goatee.
It was a pity he wouldn’t do it. He was really a perfect specimen of man.
Bart hung back in his house as Raleigh got started. He used a push mower that looked like it was about fifty years old. It had maybe been red at one point, but now the paint had faded and chipped until there was nothing left of it but a few stray flecks like bloodspatter. It roared like a mechanical dragon as it whirred into life, and Raleigh began pushing it across the lawn.
After a few moments, Bart returned to his work. If this lawnmower-guy wasn’t going to work out, he thought, he needed to do something productive today. When he happened past the window again later, however, Raleigh was then shirtless, and Bart couldn’t help but watch once more.
He was ruddy all over from the sunlight. He was a naturally pale man, so he burned and turned red easily. He had big broad shoulders like an ox, his belly-fat jiggling as he struggled to push the lawnmower. It took all of his ox-like muscles to keep the lawnmower going as he ascended the hill on the side of the house.
Sweat trickled down his back, sliding onto his ass which protruded from his denim shorts. His underwear was plainly visible, white boxers, soaked until nearly translucent and revealing the upper part of his fleshy asscheeks. The fabric rode up on one buttcheek, revealing most of it.
Shit… I want him so bad, Bart thought, his heart fluttering and his dick twitching. I want to suck the sweat off his back-fat. It must taste so salty…
But just plain asking him might backfire and make him leave — with the lawn half-mowed. He could offer money, but some men were more likely to do it if they weren’t getting paid. Was Raleigh one of them? Would he be upset if he were treated “like a prostitute”?
A sudden thunderclap struck Bart from his reverie. He had noticed it looked overcast earlier, but he had been so distracted by Raleigh’s manliness that he didn’t see the storm clouds gathering and darkening overhead.
Now it was there, an anvil-shaped cumulonimbus, coming on strong, roiling blackly, wind whipping up. It had dropped several degrees in the last few minutes, and Raleigh lifted his head to look. He turned the lawnmower off, standing there, resplendent in his massitude, heavy belly plump with muscle flexing nervously under his skin.
He looked up at the sky, held one hand out and watched a few drops plop onto his palm. Then he raced to turn the lawnmower around.
Again, Bart watched him, his gently sloping curves shaking as he ran through the rapidly rising rain and into the garage. By the time he got there, his boxers were soaked through and Bart could see his ass clearly above the rim of his denim jeans, which were plastered to his thunder thighs.
Oh god, those thighs were thunderous indeed. Bart wanted to lick them clean.
He opened the back door for Raleigh to come racing in. By the time the lawnmower was put away, the rain poured down — it was what Bart’s grandfather would have called “ark-buildin’ weather”.
“Shit, dawg! Fuck!” Raleigh bellowed when he came in, one of his giant hands massaging his soaked chest. His shirt was on the ground outside, he hadn’t had the time to go grab it, and it was presumably covered in rain and mud now anyway. Bits of shorn grass stuck to his skin, plastered on now by the moisture, so there were little green flecks all over his chest and hairy belly.
“Are you okay? Here!” Bart gave him a bathtowel. “Sorry, I have no clothes that might fit you.” He blushed — that was an understatement, Bart was maybe a third of Raleigh’s size, so none of his clothes even came close being sufficient.
“Thanks, man,” Raleigh said. He used the towel to dry himself off, then hesitated. He wrapped the towel around his waist as though going to take off his shorts and just use the towel as clothing, but then he didn’t. Then he re-reconsidered, murmured “fuck it” to himself and pulled his jean-shorts down, and his boxers. He kept the towel around his waist, so Bart never saw his cock or balls, or ass — Bart politely faced away to avoid it.
“Can I put these in ya dryer?” Raleigh asked, his tuba-like baritone echoing, tense due to his embarrassment. He blushed even more than Bart — Raleigh didn’t like his big body or being the center of attention because of it. He didn’t like towering above everyone.
“Sure, right through there,” Bart said, pointing into the laundry room. He scooted ahead of Raleigh, affectionately patting him on the bicep, making his heavy arm-flesh jiggle, as he led him to the dryer.
“Thanks,” Raleigh said, his big dumb face shaking. He scratched his goatee, then tossed his clothes into the dryer and turned it on. He was embarrassed about being so naked in such a nice house because he thought Bart would tease him or think less of him; in his mind, Bart was critiquing his dull-colored clothes, his short hair and unkempt goatee, his graceless voice.
He thought for sure that, if he touched anything or sat anywhere, Bart would call him a “fat-ass lummox” and make him leave, even in the rain. One of his friends once had said he left a “greasy stain” on the couch when he sat down. Raleigh didn’t think that really happened, but everyone still made fun of him for it, and if that was how a friend reacted, Bart would likely be even bitchier about it. He’d probably send Raleigh the upholstery bill.
But Raleigh didn’t know what to do instead. He just stood there, gaping, slack-jawed like an idiot. He hated that everyone saw him as stupid and fat — he wasn’t even that fat, really, he thought. He had a belly, sure, but he was also very tall. People were just predisposed to see him as big because he was so tall, and they always saw him eating, which made him look fat too — his big cheeks and jowly chin jiggled when he ate.
“So, uh…what do you do, man?” Raleigh asked when he realized how dumb he looked standing there.
Bart, in contrast, had no inkling that Raleigh thought all that. He was entranced by Raleigh’s majestic body and the phantomic taste of the sweat, rain, grease and grass that clung to his frame. Bart could almost taste it. “Uh… Well, I own a modeling agency.”
“Shit, really? I bet you know a lotta hot chicks. Damn-“
“I can’t hook you up with any models. You might not like them anyway, we specialize in plus-size beauties, mainly for catalogues,” Bart said.
A grin plastered on his face, Raleigh grabbed his cock through the towel around his waist. “Shit, man, I’m plus-sized myself. I don’t mind a big beauty.”
“Hmmm… Good to know. Me neither, by the way. I mean… I’m not into ladies of any size, but you know… when it comes to men, the more the merrier,” Bart said. He daintily danced his fingertips over Raleigh’s belly. Raleigh’s eyes opened wide. Bart cleared his throat. “That’s not all I do. Honestly the agency barely makes a profit. I also write romance novels, mostly about big, beautiful women.”
“Shit…”
“I have this one series — have you ever heard of The Wolfen Wild? That’s me. By J.P. Loggerhead.”
Raleigh shook his head. “What kinda book is that?”
“It’s a shifter thing. Werewolves. Women dig werewolves.”
“What? Women are into werewolves?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why do they always bitch that I’m too hairy?!” Raleigh lifted his arms and grunted. That bared his armpits and the big bushy fur protruding there. He slapped his thighs — which had inspired his last girlfriend to call him ‘Thunder Thighs’, because whenever he slapped himself there, there was a loud slapping sound like the thunder still roaring outside the house.
“What? Well… Most of the women who buy my books are… I mean, they wouldn’t literally hook up with a werewolf if that existed,” Bart said. “It’s just a fantasy.”
“Man…” Raleigh scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Man…” He blushed and laughed — he was so big that his laughter sounded more like a cavernous echo of a laughter from deep within him — as he looked down.
“I think women are foolish to spurn you, for what it’s worth — you’re so handsome. They should like hairy guys, big guys. They don’t even know. I mean… big guys are so great. Everyone should realize that, but they don’t. Like you know that William Ambers guy? The actor?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s such a fucking prettyboy, like what an alien might come up with based on analyzing handsome dudes from human history-“
“Yes!”
“He’s in that stripper movie, my friend made me go cuz he’s so hot, but he’s like… ninety-percent abs, and his skin is so smooth you could slide right off him, like a goddamn seal,” Bart said, making Raleigh laugh uproariously. Bart continued, coming closer and touching Raleigh’s belly above his towel. “If Hollywood was smarter, they’d tell William Ambers to eat some carbs and give you a movie deal.”
“Ah, no shit, what?” Raleigh had never been told he was handsome before. He sucked in his breath, cheeks turning bright red.
“I’m serious, you’re so much better-looking than William Ambers. You, I’d swallow your dick all night long — no offense, sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but I simply would, that’s a fact. William Ambers, I dunno, I guess I’d let him read me love poetry in front of a sunset. That might be nice. But then when I got tired of gazing into his pretty eyes, I’d come get you to slam my ass,” Bart said. “Hard.”
Raleigh’s eyes opened wide. He clutched his belly with one hand. “Shit… What?”
“Sorry, I just think you’re real handsome. It’s fine. It’s cool,” Bart said. “Don’t be nervous — here.” He handed over the money for the lawnmowing. “So you don’t feel, y’know… pressured, here’s the money for the lawn now. You can leave anytime. I guess you could wear my bathrobe or something.”
The rain had dwindled, Raleigh saw when he looked outside. It was still raining, and it was too wet to mow — the grass was wet and slippery, the ground too muddy to be practical. He could just go home. He had gotten paid.
“Oh.” But Raleigh wasn’t sure he wanted to go just yet. He kept one hand tightly gripping the towel around his waist. If he was with his buddies, they’d be making jokes about how they didn’t want that towel to fall. They’d say it was gross that his plump belly was out. If he accidentally bumped into them, they’d tease him even more; they’d say he slapped them with his belly.
“You can take the towel off if you want,” Bart said. “You won’t offend me.”
Raleigh’s last girlfriend didn’t even like to be near him naked. He bumped into her in the bathroom once and she had freaked out, said he needed to get control over his body. It felt good to drop the towel. His cock hung free, his ass clenching as cool air flowed over it.
“Hmmmm… Your girlfriend is a lucky lady-“
“I don’t got a girl.” Raleigh’s deep voice bloomed.
“Oh, you poor baby… Why don’t you sit down, and let me get you something nice?”
Raleigh felt like he was in a trance. Was he about to get jacked off by a man? That was too weird. He was opposed to that. He worked part-time on a road crew with a bunch of black men who all said that there was a nasty guy who got them off because he thought it would make his dick bigger. They didn’t see it as a big deal. As long as you’re on top, they said, it doesn’t count. Raleigh had never believed that; he thought it was gross — these guys weren’t even handsome rappers or anything either, they were mostly semi-homeless, stinky, dirty, not as fat as Raleigh in most cases but hardly with Hollywood bodies like William Ambers.
But then, Raleigh had never thought it was an option. That was a thing black guys did “on the DL”, as they told him over and over (it wasn’t really downlow if they kept talking about it, but that’s what they said). It would feel so good to be appreciated for his body. His previous girlfriend deigned to fuck him from time to time, but it had been obvious she never really craved it; she never wanted to feel his belly pressing down on her, she never wanted to try to mount his giant body. She didn’t like how she couldn’t reach his face to kiss him when she plowed into him — she always brought that up as though it was his fault, like he refused to kiss her during sex, when he made every effort to lower his head and do it.
He assumed that the “something nice” Bart was going to get him was some food. Instead, however, Bart returned with a porn magazine.
“I thought… if you wanted to,” Bart said, blushing and smiling nervously as though he had never done this before, “I thought maybe you could look at this. Some guy left this here once.”
“Ah…” Raleigh was embarrassed, but he grabbed the porno. A part of him thought it’s weird to take a stranger’s porno magazine when you’re naked in his house but Raleigh dismissed that. His instincts told him to look at the chicks. So he did. He plopped down on the couch and leafed through the pictures. He probably thinks he’s being a good host, like guys need porno just like chicks need white wine. He sprawled out and spread those thunder thighs, baring his cock and balls.
Still when Bart got on his knees and slid between Raleigh’s legs, Raleigh was more engrossed in the porn. Bart seemed distant and unimportant, though he was very near and all Raleigh could think about. He just wants to look, probably. He prolly likes looking at dicks- Then he touched it.
Raleigh grunted. He couldn’t decide if he was nervous or not. His cock twitched. It felt good. He couldn’t deny that. It felt right, he could just let Bart get him hard, that would be fine.
I’ll just let him get me hard, and I’ll jack myself off.
His dick twitched in Bart’s grasp. Raleigh sucked in his breath, lifting the porno magazine up so he could look at it more closely, as though he could convince himself he hadn’t noticed what Bart was doing.
That hand stroked his girthy cock, slowly at first, barely palpable though it sent sparks of desire through Raleigh’s body. Then his shaft pulsated and twitched, and Raleigh’s whole body shook as his muscles flexed. He sucked on his teeth, cheeks turning red, and he let out a throaty breathless yelp.
“Is it okay if I taste it?”
“I dunno… I ain’t, you know… Maybe you could play with it some,” Raleigh said, slurping in his breath every few seconds and playing with his goatee. His eyes roamed down and saw his dick in Bart’s grasp. He had known it was happening, but it was shocking anyway. Bart reached into his fat, moist crotch and stroked it up and down, as though he really wanted it. Raleigh still thought Bart had been kidding about thinking he was hotter than William Ambers — who was like the Hollywood definition of “handsome”, he thought, at least for right now.
“Okay, thanks. If you want me to put it in my mouth, just let me know,” Bart said. He got down real low, stroking Raleigh’s shaft with both hands. He was so close he could feel the hairs on Raleigh’s ballsac, and he could smell the rain-soaked musk of his crotch.
“Uh.” Raleigh’s red face alternated between nervous chuckling and wide-eyed amazement. He’d never gotten jacked off by a man before. This was double-handed too, and that was another thing he’d never done. No girl was willing to do anything like this because no girl had ever been outright turned on by him. They were willing to put up with his size — sometimes — but they weren’t turned on by it.”You really like big guys?”
“I love them,” Bart said. He sighed. “But if you don’t want to get your dick wet…”
As he had expected, Bart didn’t have to wait long. All of a sudden, Raleigh gripped him by the hair and brought his head near his cock. Raleigh did that without thinking about it. He let go of Bart’s head before it touched his cock though.
“How about if I just get it wet?”
“Yeah, do that,” Raleigh said, his bass voice wavery and plaintive. His dick was rock-hard now, sticking out from under his belly. Raleigh closed his eyes and let out a little mewling sound as his dicktip disappeared into Bart’s mouth.
It feels so good… Raleigh didn’t know how to take it. Those guys he worked with were right — men did do it better than women. Bart slathered spit on the tip before deep-throating, making Raleigh moan and shake, those thunder thighs sliding over the couch cushions beneath him.
Soon Bart had his entire dick in his mouth, swallowing it the best he could as he gagged and choked up spit. His nose nuzzled Raleigh’s meaty crotch, while his hands reached up to explore the treasure trail on his belly and play with his nipples. It was obvious no one had really pleasured Raleigh like this before, and he didn’t know how to take it.
“You wanna cornhole me?” Bart said, slurping up the spit and precum that now clung to Raleigh’s dick. He kept leaking more precum too, which slid down his knobbly shaft. Bart swallowed whatever he could get to.
“Hell yeah,” Raleigh said without thinking about it.
Bart slid onto his back on the coffee table, feet high in the air. That was a perfect position for Raleigh, who kneeled before him and held onto his legs. Since Bart was so small, Raleigh could easily grip both legs at once.
None of his girlfriends had just done it. They all wanted foreplay, the right environment; they wanted him to be freshly showered and shaved and they’d only ever do it in the bedroom, under the covers, at night with the lights off.
But now Raleigh could do it as hard as he wanted. He didn’t need to worry about upsetting his bottom — Bart wanted it all. Bart winced in pain but still begged for more, until his ass was filled with all ten inches of Raleigh’s meatshaft.
It plowed into him, teasing his sensitive prostate and sending wave after wave of pleasure through Bart’s body. His belly flopped back and forth as he plowed into, slapping into Bart and leaving a layer of sweaty, rain-and-grass soaked grease on him. Bart reached for his chest, but in this position could barely reach it until Raleigh lowered himself even further.
As both men reached orgasm together, Raleigh let out a chest-rattling roar. His baritone voice echoed in the house, and made Bart croon out loud, begging for more. Raleigh’s entire cock rammed in and out of his tight ass, causing intense pressure but even more pleasure to hit him like a runaway lawnmower.
It felt so good Bart couldn’t breathe, and he shot his own wad on his chest and belly from the moment he touched his own cock. Raleigh would have been nervous and a bit disgusted by the sight of another man cumming, but he was overwhelmed by his own incipient orgasm, and anyway, his belly covered up Bart’s crotch, so he didn’t see it directly.
Great gobs of creamy cum flowed into Bart’s ass, making him moan and shake like an excited worm. He was dwarfed by the massive body jiggling overhead, sweat pouring down over Raleigh’s chest and belly. Raleigh roared and pounded on his own muscles like a victorious warrior — which was exactly what he felt like.
He hadn’t shot a load like this in years, he thought, pangs of bliss shooting through him. It kept going, wad after wad, filling up Bart’s body and slipping out onto his thighs. Raleigh’s balls slapped loudly with each thrust of his hips.
Then finally, Raleigh gulped. It was over, but still too intense to remove his cock. Every motion he made caused such exquisite agony he couldn’t handle it. “Shush, don’t move,” he breathlessly said, glad that Bart disobeyed him and wiggled because it felt so good Raleigh thought he might collapse.
His dick flopped out, and Raleigh flopped back onto the couch. He let out a horse-like whinny. He stroked his goatee and closed his eyes.
Shit… Did I just do that? Shit!
Now that he was done, Raleigh felt rising anxiety. Had he done something wrong? Before he could think of what to do next, however, Bart had appeared with some tissues, which he used to wipe Raleigh’s cock clean.
Then Bart remained there by the couch, licking Raleigh’s belly and the fur that was matted to his skin by various fluids. Raleigh watched until he realized Bart wasn’t going to be done — this wasn’t a brief little afterthought, it was how Bart wanted to spend the afternoon. Raleigh’s instinct was to say no. He didn’t want to lay here all afternoon while Bart licked his belly clean like a cat.
Or maybe, he thought, he did. The mere thought of it made him moan. “Ah, yeah… okay. You can like… lick me and shit,” Raleigh said, blushing as he watched Bart do just that. “You gonna do me again later?”
“Of course,” Bart said with a giggle. “You want me to make you something to eat? I’ll lick the crumbs off you when you’re done.”
“Hell yeah!” Raleigh bit his lip and stoked his goatee. This lawn gig, he thought, had turned out to be more exciting than he would have ever predicted.
Rob loves big macho alphas like pizza-joint cook Vinnie Delatucci, and he’s willing to pay what it takes for Vinnie to give him a swing on his meat… like they do in the “Old Country”!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Avery works at a coffee shop with a couple police officer regulars, and when they need some cash in a hurry, Avery is all too willing to help them out in exchange for a swing on their alpha-cop meat!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
The only reason anyone worked nights was that someone had to be there to receive deliveries. So they might as well be open. That someone was Avery. The delivery truck came anytime between two and six o’clock in the morning.
He didn’t mind working nights. He did hate how boring it was, but he liked being up at night. Most of the time, not a single customer came in before five o’clock. Aside from the delivery drivers, the raving homeless and an occasional cop, only two actual, civilian customers had ever come in between two and five in the morning.
So Avery was bored most of the time. Even when the delivery arrived, all he had to do was sign for it and watch the delivery guy drop the boxes off. That happened at the coffee shop all through the dawn. It was just boring enough to make Avery long for the comfort of his bed.
Then there was Officer Tripiani. He was a regular. The regular, really. He came in most nights for a cuppa coffee and a donut, and he usually wound up chatting with Avery. Avery found him compelling, and his sturdy physique attracted Avery’s eye. Tripiani was an olive-skinned dago with no neck and a well-muscled body — he was an amateur bodybuilder when he found time to lift weights, which wasn’t often. He was squat and tattooed, with a craggy chin and a thick mess of black hair.
Tripiani and usually one or two other cops sat in the coffeeshop to talk, usually around three o’clock in the morning. It was the closest thing to excitement Avery got to witness most of these night shifts. They never did anything interesting, but it was more compelling than the empty store.
“Yo, hey, yo, I’ll shake it as I walk ovuh there, if you get me a laage brew cawffee with cream, no sugaa,” said Officer Tripiani, in his smooth New Jersey stawk, accent that fit him like the fitted baseball cap he wore when he was off-duty. He spoke so suddenly, appearing behind Avery in the front door, that Avery yelped and jumped. His heart raced.
It took Avery a moment to realize what he had said. Officer Tripiani shook his ass like a stripper in Avery’s direction as he walked to the table where the other cops sat. They hooted and laughed, and Tripiani sat down.
Avery got him his coffee, and he put it down in front of him at the table. Tripiani’s broad shoulders stretched his shirt, and his cheeks burned a bright red.
“Hey, Avery, Trip here was hoping to kiss you on the lips-“
“You wanna make out? He just wants to cuddle-“
“You’s guys can go fuck yaselves,” Tripiani said. His dimples flashed a smile at Avery. “They’s just a buncha assholes, hon, don’t worry about ’em.”
They all burst into laughter. Avery blushed and walked away.
Something similar happened a couple days later, then a couple days after that. The other cops, pudgy as pillows, all of them, thought Tripiani’s muscular body was funny.
As a keen admirer of the male form, Avery didn’t object. He didn’t think Tripiani’s muscles were funny, he thought they were ideal. Avery would have gladly kissed and cuddled with Tripiani. But he rarely got more than a quick grope of his biceps or of the meat of his torso, which was hot and firm and usually a little moist with sweat, and Avery could feel his body hair underneath the fabric of his police uniform.
That was as far as it went until one morning, soon after midnight — that was earlier than the cops ever came in. Avery had only just come on duty.
Officer Tripiani stepped in. He smiled goofily. “Hey, man, uh… hey.” He looked around the shop. “I’m glad no one else is here.”
“Hi,” Avery said. He liked it when Tripiani came into the Darling Donuts. He had a warm solidity to him, and he made the whole place feel cozier.
“So, like… I’m trying to save some money, man, I got real financial problems. I got two ex-wives and three cars I’m making payments on,” he said. “It’s messed up, I don’t even got any of those three cars, I wrecked one, my wife wrecked one and she took the third.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, I, uh, I gotta save some cash,” he said. “Or maybe make some money. You know what I mean?”
“Uh-huh.” Avery blushed because Tripiani came even closer. He could smell his toothpaste-scented breath.
“I thought, maybe… you might want me, y’know… I know you want it… I thought, like…” Tripiani blushed, leaned in and whispered in Avery’s ear. “You could jack me off, man.” He chuckled as Avery shuddered, his knees going weak. He instinctively reached out, grabbing Tripiani’s barrel-chested torso for support. Tripiani licked his lips. “You gimme free coffee every night when I come in here. I’ll let you jack me off as much as you want. Huh? Whatchoo think man?” He stepped even closer, his bulging crotch pressed against Avery’s thigh. “I know you want it, baby. Know dat! Know! Dat!” He snapped his fingers.
“Uh… Well… Isn’t that illegal?”
“Nah. Nah, don’t worry ’bout that, man. You just givin’ coffee to a friend. At worst, that’s misunderstandin’ ya store policy. And you just givin’ out handjobs to that friend, ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ two sober, consentin’ adults doin’ the ol’ handy-tug tango, ya feel me, homeslice? So you see, there ain’t no crime goin’ on here.” He paused. “Don’t tell the other cops though. If they ask, tell ’em I don’t pay cuz I gots a tab on account of I did some work for the owner.”
“Okay.” Avery was in a trance. He ‘d been daydreaming about doing something similar, but he assumed Tripiani would turn him down.
Before he knew what was happening, they were in the bathroom in the back of the store. The door wasn’t closed so Avery could hear if someone came into the shop. Tripiani dropped his slacks and his boxers. His uniform shirt covered his cock though, until Avery reached underneath and pulled his foot-long dick out.
Trip raised his eyebrows like a cocky bastard. Avery stroked it slowly, while Trip threw his head back and moaned. His dick twitched right away in Avery’s hand.
“You have a giant cock,” Avery said. His free hand explored under Trip’s uniform shirt, massaging his muscles. Trip’s nostrils flared when Avery touched his nipple, but he didn’t make him stop.
“I know. You can tell people that part, tell ’em you begged me to see it and I whipped it out for you,” Officer Tripiani said. He chuckled.
Avery dropped to his knees. “Is it okay if I put my mouth on it?”
“Nah, nah, that’s sailors and convicts.” He bristled and sniffled. “And black guys.”
“Just the tip? Come on…” Avery blushed. He had never had to talk someone into dome before. He stroked more quickly as Trip sped up. Avery considered trying to slow Trip down, to prevent him from cumming too soon — that way he might let Avery jerk him off.
Tripiani smiled down at him. He began flexing his hips, fucking Avery’s hand like a pussy as precum began leaking down his shaft
“Hey, come on, use both hands, man…” He firmly guided Avery’s free hand to his dick as well, and Avery began stroking with both hands.
Trip had a nice, huge cock that pulsated in his fingers. Avery arranged his hands to jack him off right onto his face. Trip grinned at that, and moaned, his whole body twitching, muscles flexing beneath his uniform.
His pants, up to this point, had been bared just enough to let his cock come out through the fly of his boxers. But all of a sudden, the weight of his gun and utility belt made his pants fall to his ankles.
As if that was the trigger he was waiting for, Officer Tripiani moaned and writhed. He grabbed Avery’s head, pushed his mouth onto his cock, then grunted and laughed at himself like he hadn’t meant to do that.
“God, sorry-” His voice broke.
Avery got about a tenth of a second to taste to the tip of his dick as Tripiani rubbed the cocktip over his tongue, but then he just barely touched Avery’s lips. Finally he came like that, the tip of his dick right at the entrance to Avery’s mouth.
But since Avery wasn’t actually swallowing anything, his mouth wasn’t open, so all of Tripiani’s cum sprayed over Avery’s face and coated his lips. It dripped down his neck and onto his own uniform polo shirt.
“Ah, shit, ah, shit, ah, shit, man, you give good handjobs… Shit… lick it, okay? Shit, swallow it, no wait, just put the tip in ya mouth-” He was already mostly done orgasming when he said that, but Avery didn’t mind. He rammed his head down on Tripiani’s cock. “I mean, just a little, just slurp on it… I mean, don’t do nothing with it, but put it in your mouth… Just put it in your mouth a bit…”
It was too big to deep-throat, but Avery swallowed the first couple inches of it, getting Trip’s last few cumwads in his mouth. Trip shook as though it hurt, having one of the most animated orgasms Avery had ever seen, even grabbing the wall behind himself for support as he nutted.
Finally he was done. Avery giggled as he pulled off his cock. Since Trip had tried not to cum in Avery’s mouth, most of his semen had spilled. It now soaked Avery’s uniform polo shirt and Trip’s uniform slacks.
“Shit,” Trip said. “I’ve got spare pants out in the car. Can you go get them?”
Avery had to change his shirt too, but his coffee shop had a box of spare shirts in the back. Trip just stood there, pants around his ankles, gasping for air, still too overwhelmed to do much of anything. He hadn’t even taken his belt off yet even though he would need to in order to put clean pants on.
“I’ll go out there for you if you let me have a lick,” Avery said. “Just one lick.” He got back down on his knees. He made a big show of planting his tongue on the tip of Officer Tripiani’s cock, which made his whole body shake as it reawakened his orgasm, and then Avery licked all the way down his shaft, to his balls, and then he awkwardly crawled between Tripiani’s legs above his soaked pants — making Trip grunt and flare his nostrils, demanding again that Avery go get him pants — before he licked up Trip’s bare, hairy ass.
Avery had promised to only lick him once, but Avery intended to make that lick last as long as possible. Once Trip realized that, he sighed. Since he had still never taken his shirt off, Trip’s body was not easily accessible. Avery didn’t mind, licking him while moving his uniform out of the way so he could crawl back and forth between his legs.
Finally, Avery lost his balance and his tongue came off Trip’s asscheek. Trip sighed. “Okay, that was one lick. Damn, man, come on, go get my pants.”
Avery took the keys from him. “Okay, but one last rule. You gotta watch my ass as I walk away.” He didn’t verify, but he shook his ass and he was pretty sure Trip watched. Avery wondered if he could get Trip in his ass eventually.
He thought he could. It would just take a little time.
Luckily he had plenty of time. Tripiani came back most every night that he worked and sometimes even on his off nights. He always livened up Avery’s shifts.
Officer Tripiani was a friendly and charming man. Avery thought it might have been awkward to interact with him once he started giving him handjobs for free coffee — what a strange trade, Avery thought. But Tripiani was always charismatic, and he didn’t seem to be in the least bit awkward about it.
The other cops knew. Tripiani had said not to tell them, but it seemed Avery didn’t need to. They whispered about him, they made jokes about getting a free donut in exchange for letting him jerk him off. It was obvious Tripiani had told, or maybe they had guessed.
That only changed when Avery ran into Tripiani outside of the coffee shop. He was walking out of a nightclub on his night off. He snuck out into the alley, where he was blinded by flashing blue lights. There were cops right there on the main street. Avery came forward only to see that he was blocked, trapped in the alley by a cop car.
It was Officer Tripiani, standing there by his car with his partner, while another gaggle of cops pushed a trio of screaming Puerto Ricans into three separate cars. It looked like the Puerto Ricans had been drunkenly brawling just moments ago. Tripiani and his partner, Officer Heartley, were on crowd control, so they just watched as the other cops trundled off with perps in cuffs.
“Hey, Trip,” Avery said. “You wanna move your car? Or should I just shove it up your ass and tickle your prostate with it?” He paused and grinned. “Or should I just climb over the hood? I’ve had two drinks, not much but enough that climbing over a cop car might be difficult.”
“Oh, shit, Avery! Hey!” Tripiani threw his hands in the air. “Holy fuck!”
The black cop, Heartley, looked nervously at Avery. He bit his lip and shifted his weight. Tripiani looked at him and gestured towards Avery.
Heartley older than Tripiani, and he wasn’t a bodybuilder, so he didn’t have that squarish, blocky shape. But he was naturally thick-bodied, with a bristly mustache and a powerful frame that made Avery drool.
“You said you listen to hip hop, right, Avery?” Tripiani asked. Avery was trying to find a graceful way to climb over the cop car out of the alley, but it looked impossible from any angle. He would likely dent the hood any way he went, and he’d look like a clumsy imbecile.
“Yeah.”
“Heartley here is a rapper,” he said. “He raps, like Eminem-“
“Watch it.”
“He’s so good, he used, like, all the rhymes.”
“Man, shut up, Trip, we ain’t on a blind date,” Officer Heartley said. “I’m not a rapper. I just got this-“
“He is so a rapper. He rapped for me like an hour ago-“
“I’m not a rapper, Trip! I sing along with the radio too, I’m not a singer-“
“You didn’t just rap along with the radio, you were freestyling-” Officer Tripiani said.
“That don’t make me a rapper!” Heartley rolled his eyes. “Trip, just mind your own business.”
“My own business was not tellin’ you jack-shit. If you pay that bitch Kendra this month, it’s only because I ain’t mind my own business-“
“You don’t gotta talk me up like a fucking wingman!” Heartley said with a growl. He looked at Avery. “Look, ignore Trip, he’s a fucking retard. I ain’t like him — I know you give him handjobs.”
“Fuck you, Heartley!”
“I need two hundred dollars, man. If I don’t pay my child support on time… well, I’ve put men in handcuffs for less,” Heartley said. “So, uh… I was gonna come find you later-“
“No you wasn’t. You don’t know him, Heartley. I was going to help you, on account of me being so nice-“
“I knew which coffee shop he worked at-“
“He wouldn’t pay to jerk you off if you’re just some random stranger-“
“Oh like you’re some kinda of expert, Trip, come on! You know how often guys check me out? I’m a black man with a nice ass, I could get paid for a nut every time I go to the gym!” Heartley straightened his uniform. “Not like you, you fucking dago troglodyte.”
For a moment it looked like a fight was going to break out.
Then Avery, still a little confused, said, “what?” He was still trapped in the alley by the cop car. The arrest was complete now, so Heartley and Tripiani had no reason to remain here.
Heartley turned to look at him. “Sorry. I ain’t mean for him to be so blunt about it-“
“Oh please, Heartley-“
“Shut up, Trip!” He glared at him, then forced a charming smile aimed at Avery. “I need money and I heard, y’know…” He sighed. “I was gonna be subtle, just so you know. I was gonna seduce you. It wasn’t gonna be some grimy shit. This is Trip’s fault, he just came right out and said it-“
“Heartley, damn it, I will smash your goddamn teeth in!”
“I need two hundred dollars for child support or I’m going to jail next month,” Heartley said. “Can you do it? You can jerk me off.”
“Oh, uh…” Avery’s mind raced. He wanted to do it, of course, but could he afford it? Even as his mind considered his finances, his mouth kept on going. “Hell yeah!”
Heartley smiled, and Tripiani howled with laughter. Heartley hopped over the car hood and walked deeper into the alley. Avery followed, leaving Trip there to holler — it was obvious he was either nervous or maybe a little upset that Avery hadn’t argued about Heartley being more handsome than him.
But Heartley and Avery ignored him. There was a spot behind the dumpster in this alley where men often came to bust a nut after leaving the nightclub. That was where they went now. There was even an old ratty pillow there for Avery to kneel on.
He unzipped the fly of Heartley’s uniform slacks, and let his big, veiny cock flop out. Heartley sighed like he had been waiting a long time for this.
“Is my dick bigger than Trip’s?” Heartley asked when Avery jerked on the tip. Just like Trip, Heartley only unzipped his slacks to let his cock flop out.
“I don’t know, maybe. You’re both big. You’re both about the same size-“
“I’m bigger, we’ve compared it. I’ve got about a quarter-inch. Ask that Asian prostitute on Canal Street. You know her?”
“Oh yeah, there’s nothing I love more than female whores. We talks about boobs and vulvas all night long, and there’s nothing I love more than a vagina that smells like bread.”
“Okay, you don’t need to be bitchy. Well she measured, and she said I was bigger by a quarter-inch. She was very precise.”
Avery smiled. “Well, she is Asian. They’re good at math,” he said. “Can we stop talking about girls now? I wanna jerk you off-“
“Fine, yeah.” He let Avery resume jerking, then hollered out to Trip. “He said mine’s bigger! He said you were wrong, black dicks taste better!”
“I didn’t say that, Trip!” Avery yelled.
“Man-” Heartley was about to complain to Avery, but then Trip shouted a bunch of insults into the alley. Heartley shouted back to him, and stood there yelling at his partner while Avery got him hard.
He only stopped when his dick twitched, fully erect now, and a few drops of salty precum hit Avery’s tongue. Heartley grunted and writhed like he was surprised at how good this felt, but didn’t want to admit it.
“Damn, man, I swear, you do that pretty good. Not bad at all,” Heartley said — which sounded like a major overstatement. Avery knew he was good, he was certainly better than the trashy girls who usually jerked Heartley off. Heartley smiled. “Almost as good as this stripper I used to fuck wit’-“
Trip bellowed — he had come closer, though he faced away so he didn’t have to watch, making his voice loud — “is he talking about Destiny? She was a plus-size stripper, Avery. She was this thick!” Avery and Trip both faced away from each other, so Avery couldn’t see what gesture he was making.
“I ain’t embarrassed, man, I love big girls. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!” Despite his confident words, Heartley sounded embarrassed. “That just means there’s more cushion for the pushin’.” He cackled. “Hey, man, hey man, hey, can I throat you down?” He asked like he thought Avery would say no.
“Yeah, please,” Avery said. He had thought that was assumed.
Heartley clapped his hands. “Ah, shit, ah, shit, alright,” He gripped Avery’s ears. He was so excited he danced a little on his feet, making his balls sway and slap against Avery’s chin. He had a big dick, so girls rarely let him do any throating. His eyes opened wide as pleasure visibly coursed through his body, and he kept daggering his hips, making love to Avery’s throat over and over.
It all ended up only lasting a few seconds, but it seemed like forever to Avery, who loved every moment of it. He submitted as Heartley pounded at his throat, making him gag and sputter and choke. The taste of his throbbing, precummy cockshaft made Avery moan and stroke himself off, soon shooting his wad onto the garbage-strewn alley floor.
Avery opened his throat as wide as he could, letting Heartley plow away at him. His hands flailed, massaging Heartley’s plump ass and his uniformed muscles. Finally, as Avery began to get dizzy from lack of oxygen, he felt Heartley’s balls crawl up in his sac.
Then creamy, salty cum filled Avery’s throat. He didn’t taste it at first because Heartley’s dick was so deep in his neck, he just shot his cum directly into Avery’s belly. It sat there hotly, filling him up with warmth.
“Oh god, yeah, fuckin’ swallow it, girl, swallow it, shit…” Heartley murmured. When he called Avery girl, it made Trip laugh and clasp Heartley on the back. Heartley’s whole body rippled underneath his uniform shirt as he shot another burst of jizz down Avery’s gullet.
Every time Avery tried to pull off his cock, Heartley like the motion caused a sensation too intense to feel good, and he tensed up, standing on his toes and sucking in his breath. That accompanied another cumwad spurting into Avery’s throat, and then Avery didn’t pull off until he was thought he was done. Then it happened all over again. Heartley must have been horny as hell, Avery decided, that was why he shot such huge loads.
Finally he was done. Avery kept going as long as he could, but soon Heartley pushed him off. Avery took a deep breath, then cleaned the cum off his face. Heartley’s sweaty face was tense, his eyes closed. It was obvious he hadn’t really thought it would be that good of an orgasm, but he didn’t want to let on in front of Officer Tripiani.
“Well, shit,” Heartley said. “You got mad skills, whiteboy.” He sighed. He let his dick dangle between his legs for awhile, looking at it like he didn’t understand why it wasn’t doing anything. It lay limp, moist and gleaming, so overstimulated you could practically see the lines of post-nut ache emanating from the shaft. It was dark and glistened until Tripiani wiped it off with the tail of his uniform shirt. Avery played with it a bit too — there was something wonderfully alluring, Avery thought, about playing with a limp penis. Hartley watched him flop his dick left and right, making no effort to take it away and put it back in his uniform pants. “Thanks. That was… Don’t forget, you owe me two hundred dollars.”
“Just come by the coffee shop tomorrow night. I’ll go to the ATM,” Avery said. He kissed the tip of Heartley’s limpening cock. “And maybe I can play around a little more before I hand it over.”
Heartley wrinkled his nose, then he finally tucked his dick back in his pants. He zipped up the fly and straightened the belt. “Maybe,” he grunted. “We’ll see.”
Jay Bone is a pimp who only lets one man cut his hair… the twinky barber Desmond, who’s also willing to service every inch of Jay bone’s body. But Jay Bone has an interesting offer on Desmond’s birthday, cuz this alpha male pimp is willing to experience a twink on top!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Desmond was glad to see Jay Bone come into his barbershop for two reasons. First of all, it had been a slow day and Desmond could use the tip — Jay Bone was a pimp, which meant he was very particular about who cut his hair. He only accepted Desmond. He was a good tipper, so Desmond was glad to cut his hair. The second reason Desmond was glad to see Jay Bone was that Jay Bone always gave Desmond a swing on his dick after his haircut. His delicious dick made Desmond’s mouth water, and Jay Bone had a powerful body brimming with muscle, along with a handsome face that made the girls come running.
Hence, he was a pimp. Desmond eagerly invited him to sit down in his barber’s chair with the same fervor all his bitches promised to please him.
Jay Bone strode in wearing his powder-blue suit with a pink tie and an azure fedora, like an old-school cabbie’s hat. He was dipping and dapping, walking to his own rhythm. He was tall and stately like a skyscraper, and he commanded attention like a white man with a clipboard. Everybody turned to look at his mug, he got a handsome face but an ugly nose, which somehow accentuated the handsomeness of his face.
Though everyone looked at him, conversation stopped when he entered and didn’t resume until he spoke. That was because he exuded authority like sweat and because he was a Crip. The Cityside Barbershop of Lawndale was not a gang-affiliated business, but it was in a Bloods neighborhood and everyone who worked there, including Desmond, was Bloods-affiliated.
Jay Bone came in all the time. It wasn’t forbidden for a Crip to come into a Bloods barbershop. But it did make all the niggas and homies in the waiting room shush their mugs and avoid looking at him. All except Desmond, in whose chair Jay Bone sat.
“How you doin’, Desmond-wit’-a-Geo? You got a new tattoo, huh, I ain’t seen that one?” Jay Bone always called Desmond Desmond-wit’-a-Geo because Desmond used to have a Chevy Geo, and he stopped to give Jay Bone a ride once. That car had been totaled in an accident two years ago, but Jay Bone was fixated on it — he was the kind of nigga who picked one fact about each person and repeated it often as though it showed that he cared about others. Of course, his inability to update that fact when it changed made him seem like he was incapable of caring about anyone other than himself.
But Desmond was willing to forgive him for all of his faults, as long as he got the chance to swing on that meat once in a while. “Yeah, I just got it a month ago-“
“You the man, Desmond, I only let you cut my hair, nigga. My hair’s too perfect to let any nigga touch it. You’s a fool if you let anyone but a sissy cut yo’ hair. Sissies and bitches, in that order, that’s who know how to cut hair,” he said. He paused thoughtfully. “And Italian men. I dunno what it is ’bout them, they can do it. You know any Italian barbers, Desmond-wit’-a-Geo?”
“No. Well, one, I think but he-” As usual, Jay Bone didn’t let Desmond get a word in. He always took over the conversation like this, asking questions without listening for an answer. He only spoke in monologues.
“Not in Baltimore, course. Them guidos is in Jersey and shit,” Jay Bone said. “We only got Pollacks here. You know about Pollacks? They’s like white people but retarded and uuuh-uuuugly!”
“Uh-huh.” Desmond just got started on the haircut, nodding along with Jay Bone. There was no point in trying to really talk to him. Conversation resumed in the rest of the shop. No one wanted to get on Jay Bone’s bad side, so everyone kept their voices lower than his.
“I got this new bitch, Desmond. You’d like her. She Spanish or some shit, half-Spanish, I think. Like Colombian. Is El Dorado a real place? She might be from El Dorado. She got a nice fat ass. Gonna get you over some time to get me off so she can see it though. She don’t suck a nigga dick worth a damn. Need a fuckin’ map and compass to find it and shit,” Jay Bone said as Desmond cut his hair and nodded along. “Got a mouth like a puppy’s water bowl. You know this nigga need more ‘an that!”
“Sounds like a doll.”
“Yeah, she got ass that don’t quit. She can learn about the blowjobs. That’s teachable. You can’t teach ass, that’s what I always say, nigga.”
“Yeah.”
“That shit is inborn, y’know. Reckon ya get that from yo’ mama. That’s prolly where sissy come from too. When yo’ mama bigger than yo’ daddy,” he said.
“My mom is tiny,” Desmond said. “She-“
“I mean big in spirit,” he said. He glowered at Desmond like he didn’t like to be contradicted.
“Oh, uh… yeah, I guess maybe.” Desmond wrinkled his nose. Jay Bone glared at him and Desmond didn’t want to antagonize him. “She got spirit.”
“Yup. That’s it,” he said as Desmond finished up the haircut. “You busy on Saturday? You can come over and jerk me off, show her how. Gonna have to be early though, she gotta work in the evening. She got a legion of johns and jimmies lookin’ to run up and down that snatch, and you know Jay Bone do provide!”
“Hmm… I’ve got, uh… not plans, exactly, uh… this weekend. It’s my birthday. Technically today, actually,” Desmond said. He was glad to have a subtle way to throw that in there because he thought Jay Bone would give him a bigger tip as a birthday present. It would be grubby to ask.
“Yo’ birthday is today?”
Desmond nodded. He took Jay Bone’s money and a satisfyingly generous tip, then smiled at him, gesturing towards the backroom. Jay Bone nodded and followed him that way. The other barbers and customers were visibly relieved that he was gone, and conversation became louder the moment the door to the backroom shut.
“Happy birthday, nigga.”
“Thanks.”
The back of the Cityside Barbershop was a dusty old storage area, with an office at the far end, next to the door leading to the alley behind the building. The owner — Johnny Cee — strictly forbade anyone from using the office when he wasn’t there, and he had told Desmond on numerous occasions not to use it to jerk niggas off.
But that was where Jay Bone went. That was where he always went. He knew Johnny Cee didn’t want him there, which was precisely why he did it. Johnny Cee didn’t get mad, and he didn’t blame Desmond for it. He knew nobody could tell Jay Bone no.
Not that Desmond wanted to tell him no. As Jay Bone pushed a stack of papers off the sturdy table in one corner of the room, Desmond admired the twisting of his muscles beneath that powder-blue suit. He had a big, broad body with a square jaw and rippling flesh, like a Hollywood-Hercules but dressed like a colorful pimp. When the table was clear he sighed as though having second thoughts about this.
Desmond sunk to his knees. “Is somethin’ wrong, sugar? Lemme show you what’s right…”
“Just thinkin’ some thoughts, lil queer,” Jay Bone said. Then he grunted and frowned at Desmond. “Gonna give you a birthday present, Desmond. You gonna enjoy, cuz of course you will. You game?”
“Uh… for what?” Desmond wondered if he was going to give weed, which Desmond would enjoy, or maybe cocaine, which Desmond would also enjoy but wished he wouldn’t offer. Desmond knew he wouldn’t turn it down though.
It was his birthday weekend, after all.
“Seven minutes, nigga. You get seven minutes in heaven, got it? That’s my birthday present to you. That’s seven birthday presents, really. You keep yo’ mouth shut about dis. You tell people you jerked me off,” he said. He took a deep breath. “But you can have yo’ way wit’ me fo’ seven minutes. I ain’t nevuh been wit’ a nigga… y’know, like that. I ain’t nevuh take dick in the ass. I gave a nigga head once in the joint. Nasty. Don’t tell no one that neither, or I’ll shove yo’ dick down yo’ throat. You gonna love this! Jay Bone got a killer body, all over, dick, ass, balls, shit, his toes is worth a million bucks apiece. Know dat!”
“Wait, so…?”
He scowled and furrowed his eyebrows. “You got seven minutes. You can make me do anything you want fo’ seven minutes. You can plow my ass, make me swallow yo’ dick, whatever you want. Jay Bone is a full-service kinda nigga, y’know. I would give you seven minutes wit’ one of my bitches, but I know you wouldn’t know what to do wit’ ’em,” he said. “My bitches needta be treated propuh! Proper as pandas!” He took out his cell phone and set up the timer.
“Ain’t you gonna take off your clothes?”
“Nah, nigga. That’s part of yo’ seven minutes,” Jay Bone said with a mean grin.
His mind raced. Desmond hurriedly took off his own clothes before Jay Bone was ready with the timer. He blushed, certain he looked like a drooling idiot. But he was glad to have the chance to plow Jay Bone — there was no way anyone would ever believe him anyway, so Desmond had intention of telling anyone.
“Yo’ time starts… now,” Jay Bone said. He put his phone down. This was all happening so fast that Desmond had trouble adjusting. He had a feeling that was part of Jay Bone’s plan — by flummoxing Desmond, he could still give this “present” without giving Desmond the chance to take full advantage of it like he might be able to if he had known this was going to happen.
“Uh… okay, you gotta get down on yo’ knees,” Desmond said, his voice wavering. He wasn’t used to telling alpha males what to do, and this situation felt especially awkward because Jay Bone was more than a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than Desmond. Every fiber of Desmond’s being told him to get down on his knees instead. He was the thin twink, so that’s the position he felt he was “supposed” to be in. Topping Jay Bone felt like a transgression, Desmond thought, whose nervous voice repeated his request, “Get down on yo’ knees, nigga.”
Jay Bone did so. Even on his knees he was much to tall to jerk Desmond’s dick. He had to stoop down even lower than that. He inhaled deeply of Desmond’s dick as though he enjoyed the scent, though when he looked back he wrinkled his nose.
“You smell like coconut, nigga,” he said, over-enunciating like he either hated coconut or loved it. Before Desmond could ask which, pangs of pleasure shot up his body as Jay Bone swallowed his dick. His mouth encircled Desmond’s shaft.
He didn’t do this like someone who had only ever done it once, in prison, Desmond thought. He wasn’t about to say that though, that was a sure way to raise Jay Bone’s massive ire.
The sensation wracking his body was incredible, made all the more intense by the awkwardity of the situation — Jay Bone’s fumbling tongue, his hesitant movements, his scratchy scruffy chin rubbing against Desmond’s flesh. Desmond rumbled and moaned so loud it was audible in the frontroom of the barbershop.
“Yo, Desmond havin’ a good time! Jay Bone must be feedin’ him all kind of birthday meat!”
“Nigga frontin’-!”
“Sit’cha ass down!”
“Jay Bone doin’ it right, Desmond?!”
They wouldn’t be teasing Jay Bone if there was some chance Jay Bone recognized their voices. The men in the front room laughed in a mixture of bravado and anxiety. Though most of them let Desmond jerk them off from time to time, they all tried to keep it more discrete than Jay Bone did. None of them would ever even think about jerking Desmond off instead.
But Jay Bone was doing it, and he wasn’t even hesitant or reluctant. He did it like he knew what he was doing and enjoyed it. He deep-throated Desmond to the root, and he snuck his tongue out to lick Desmond’s shaft, making Desmond shift his weight between his feet and suck on his breath.
“Goddamn, Jay Bone… Holy fuck… who taught you how to do this?” Desmond’s hands clutched Jay Bone’s head, upon which was still balanced his blue fedora. It was much darker than his suit, and Desmond worried he would leave fingerpints on it — no doubt resulting in Jay Bone admonishing him and making him pay to have it drycleaned — so Desmond let go of it right away.
Spit dripped in great gobs down Desmond’s shaft. Jay Bone’s mouth was loud and moist, exactly the way Desmond loved it. He bucked his hips to help Jay Bone swallow every inch of his meat, snaking his dick down Jay Bone’s tight throat.
Desmond was deeply aware of the time ticking away. He saw the timer on Jay Bone’s cell phone display, sitting on the desk in the center of the office. Desmond reached down to undo Jay Bone’s pink tie and take his jacket off.
It was awkward, to say the least. Jay Bone made no effort to make it easy for Desmond, though he didn’t go out of his way to make it difficult. Desmond’s fingers fumbled as he strained to reach Jay Bone’s shirt-buttons, but he eventually managed to get it unbuttoned and off.
Then he shuddered. His knees went weak. His hard cock spasmed, and for the first time, Jay Bone let out an intense moan, making a sound for the first time. It wasn’t clear if it was a moan of disgust or delight now that he tasted precum. It was hot and creamy, and Desmond felt it spewing out into Jay Bone’s mouth.
The precum flowed down his throat. Desmond had never felt himself emit so much, but this was such an awe-inspiring situation that he couldn’t stop himself. The precum was voluminous and thick, and it coated Jay Bone’s tongue.
Desmond gasped and threw his head back. His mind said to move on to anal. He only had five and a half minutes left — had it really only been a minute and a half? But it was tough to tear his cock away from such unimaginable bliss inside Jay Bone’s mouth.
“Okay, uh, take off your pants,” Desmond said. His voice sounded impossibly weak and tinny in the cramped office. Jay Bone sighed and growled. Desmond felt a surge of fear as Jay Bone pulled off and stood, like he might be about to attack Desmond. “I mean… if you want to…”
“It’s yo’ birthday, nigga. I do whatevuh you want,” he said with a grin. “I wanna see why my bitches complain so much about gettin’ stuck in the ass. You got a big dick?”
“Uh… It’s pretty big,” Desmond said. He blushed.
Jay Bone knelt against the table, but again, he was much too tall for that to work. Desmond chuckled and smacked his cheeks to tell him to get down lower. “You’re bending over like I do,” Desmond said. “But I’m shorter than you. We can’t just reverse positions and expect that to work.”
“Alright, lil queer, I get it, I’s pickin’ up what you puttin’ down,” Jay Bone said. He sunk all the way to the ground on his knees, crouched over. He dropped his powder-blue slacks and the silk boxers he always wore, revealing a perfectly plump, smooth brown ass. He sighed and shook his head.
“There you go, that’s good, nigga,” Desmond said. He tried to sound like a deep-voiced thug, like Jay Bone, but that only accentuated how flamboyant and effeminate his actual voice was. Both he and Jay Bone laughed.
Desmond’s instincts said to dive in head-first and lick his ass — Desmond loved giving Jay Bone a rimjob on those rare occasions when he allowed it (he always said he saved rimjobs so he could make his hos do it as punishment, he didn’t want to cheapen it). Besides that, this was a special occasion and Desmond didn’t want to waste it doing something he could talk Jay Bone into anytime. So Desmond grabbed the bottle of lube he kept around for emergencies and got started.
When he saw that there were just barely four minutes left, Desmond got excited. He slathered half a tube of lube on his cock just because he was in too much of a hurry to measure out a smaller amount. The goopy lube dripped onto the floor.
“Damn, calm down, Desmond,” Jay Bone said with a nervous chuckle.
Desmond blushed. “Sorry. You put a time limit on this, I gotta hurry,” he said, and his plaintive tone made Jay Bone laugh again. It was a deep, cocky barrel-laugh, which the men in the frontroom apparently interpreted as some sort of victorious alpha male grunt, and they all hooted and clapped.
Desmond rammed his dick in, and Jay Bone let out a loud, pained growl — which he turned partway through into a grunt, seemingly putting on a show for the folks in the frontroom. Again, they must have heard because they clapped and cheered Desmond on. They all assumed Desmond was bottoming, jerking Jay Bone off or even taking it in the ass. Nobody would have ever even made a joke about Jay Bone bottoming instead.
“Sorry, sorry,” Desmond said. “I didn’t meant to make it hurt.”
“That’s alright. My bitches is whinin’ like hell. You got substantial meat, nigga, and it ain’t that… bad,” he winced on that last word, and twisted his body as Desmond ground his dick into Daddy’s Rico’s ass.
Desmond couldn’t help but giggle. It looked like Jay Bone now understood why his hos complained about getting rammed in the ass. He grunted and his chest heaved.
“You’re loosenin’ up, nigga, it’ll get easier,” Desmond said. He patted Jay Bone on the arm and shuddered. Normally Jay Bone was so strict about touching. He didn’t let Desmond touch most of his body, no grabbing his ass, no tweaking his nipples under the shirt, and no kissing. So Desmond had never really gotten an opportunity to feel those incredible muscles.
The nicest thing about Jay Bone’s body, Desmond thought, was that it wasn’t perfect. He didn’t have a six-pack, though he came close. He had a big thick body, bulging in all the right places, brimming with power, swagger and strength. If he had time, Desmond would have gladly licked him from head to toe like a cat cleaning its kitten.
Then, like a switch had been flicked, Jay Bone changed. His pained grunting changed to an aroused moan, and Desmond could tell even though he couldn’t see that Jay Bone had gotten hard. He smiled. Obviously, he thought, he had discovered the location of Jay Bone’s prostate.
Desmond reached around him and grabbed ahold of his dick. “This is called a reacharound,” Desmond said. “It’s polite to give a reacharound when you plow a nigga in the ass-“
“I ain’t nevuh doin’ that, lil queer. You can stop bringin’ that up right now,” Jay Bone said. “But you go ahead. I like that.” He shook his head and whinnied like a horse, as though he was surprised — and maybe a bit frightened — by how much he enjoyed getting it up behind.
Now that Desmond had found Jay Bone’s prostate, he knew how to make it feel good.
He had never before topped with a man so much bigger than himself, and it was a nice change of pace, even if the positioning was awkward and difficult. The more he rammed back and forth and the more passionately Jay Bone reacted, the more Desmond struggled to hold back his climax.
By the time he felt his orgasm rising, Desmond was on his toes, using both hands to grip Jay Bone’s back and slam his hips down over and over. Luckily he had used so much lube — and Jay Bone was simply a big man — that Desmond slid easily in and out of Jay Bone’s tight ass.
“Damn, nigga, damn damn damn…”
Much to Desmond’s surprise, his own orgasm was interrupted by Jay Bone himself shooting his load. He gave little indication beforehand, as though he was just as shocked as Desmond was. All of a sudden Jay Bone’s cock throbbed and spasmed in Desmond’s hand, and cum sprayed over Desmond’s fingers. It landed in a big creamy clump on the floor.
But still he kept cumming. His massive body bucked and writhed beneath Desmond’s grasp, until eventually Desmond wasn’t on the ground at all. He was born aloft by Jay Bone’s broad back, to which Desmond held on for dear life, grinding his cock into Jay Bone as the seconds tumbled away on the timer.
“Can you turn your head and kiss me?” Desmond asked, his voice low and breathless. His climax bubbled just under the surface.
Jay Bone smiled and did so. Again, it was awkward — he had to strain his head back, and Desmond had to crawl up his shoulders to reach. But he first gave Jay Bone his hand, which dripped with Jay Bone’s own cum.
He gave no hint of hesitation before grabbing Desmond’s wrist with his big meaty hand, and sucking up every drop of his own cum of Desmond’s fingers. He bucked and writhed as though he was both disgusted and aroused by the flavor, and he slurped on Desmond’s hand like he tried to drain it of juices.
“Fifteen seconds left, nigga,” Jay Bone said, his voice tense like he was eager for it to be over. He sighed as he licked the last of his own cum off Desmond’s fingers.
Then he kissed Desmond without a moment’s hesitation. The taste of cum flooded Desmond’s mouth, the smear of semen all over Jay Bone’s face colliding with the sweat that dripped down Desmond’s cheeks. Desmond had never kissed anyone like that.
At last Desmond’s own body erupted in orgasm. “Ah, fuckin’ hell!” he roared as cum sprayed into Jay Bone’s broad ass.
The orgasm lasted for what felt like forever, though judging from the timer, it was more like thirty seconds. The timer went off near the end as Desmond shuddered. The beeping was impossibly loud, resonating in Desmond’s ears as he filled Jay Bone with his load.
“Shit yeah…” Jay Bone muttered. Desmond could do little more than bark and yelp into Jay Bone’s tattooed back.
The most unimaginable pleasure in his life wracked Desmond’s body. He dug his nails into Jay Bone’s meaty muscles, and he licked all the sweat off where it collected between the man’s broad shoulderblades. He writhed there, precariously balance on Jay Bone, for what felt like forever.
His thin twink limbs contorted, and he dug into Jay Bone’s body. Jay Bone just smiled wryly, rolling his eyes as Desmond’s dick jabbed into him over and over. It was a big, thick and creamy load, which dripped out of Jay Bone’s ass and onto the floor between his trunk-like thighs. It clung to his skin and the hair of his crotch.
“Alright, nigga, you done,” Jay Bone said. He flicked the timer off. “Was that seven minutes in heaven?”
“It certainly was.”
Jay Bone let out a long chest-rattling moan. He glared at Desmond like he was mad at him. “You said you was busy on Saturday, right? What about Sunday?”
“Yeah, I’m free.”
“Good. I’m gonna throat you so hard yo’ mama gags,” he said. He bristled and straightened his back like he wanted to recapture his swaggerous mojo now that he had taken dick in the ass. “You can show my new ho how to take it right.”
“Okay,” Desmond said. He was too tired to think about it now, but he thought he would enjoy that.
“I ain’t gonna have no mercy, Desmond, this nigga can ball!” he said, adding an inscrutable hand gesture that involved snapping his fingers. “You know how I do. I plow hard. Know dat!”
“Yeah,” Desmond said with a grin. “You taught me well.”
Braxton has gotta do something for his girlfriend, and that means letting the twinky barber Desmond go to town all over his alpha gangsta body!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here
It was one of the slowest days since Desmond had been working at the Cityside Barbershop of Lawndale. He sat on his barber’s chair, playing idly on his phone. There was nothing to do. Virtually no one had come in all day.
People didn’t seem to get haircuts when the weather was very hot or very cold. Today it was very hot, even hotter than it normally was in the middle of August in Baltimore. It was like a kiln outside. But the weather had been kind of weird lately, Desmond thought, because last night was very cool for August. Desmond got up in the middle of the night to get a blanket from his closet. So maybe that was why business was so slow today. The weather was both too hot and too cold for haircuts.
He was horny too. The Cityside Barbershop was a nationwide chain with a reputation — what happened there, stayed there, so black men who wanted to get their nut off could always swing downlow discretely. That was plenty fine with Desmond, with a limp wrist, a girlish figure and a seductive lilt to his voice. He greatly appreciated the men who came through on the downlow.
Today, however, none of his regulars came through asking for any dome. Desmond gave three haircuts, none of which resulted in a chance to swing on any nigga dick.
Then one of his regulars did come in — Braxton Bird, a swagger-heavy gangsta in the Bloods — just a few minutes before close. Finally. Desmond straightened his back and nodded at him. Braxton had just come in last week for a haircut, so he must want something else.
He wants to bust a nut. They all do, Desmond thought and licked his lips.
“Hi, Braxton,” Desmond said. He rotated around the barber’s chair so Braxton could sit in it, though Desmond did not think he would do so.
Braxton’s homies stayed out on the sidewalk, holding back nervous laughter and sneaking peeks into the barbershop. It looked like they thought Braxton was going to back out of coming in here.
“Yo, Desmond,” Braxton said. His deep, booming voice was authoritarian, like he expected to be obeyed. “We gotta go in the back and talk.”
Was he upset about something? Did he not like the haircut last week? Desmond couldn’t imagine why, but he didn’t know of any other reason Braxton might be mad at him. Desmond shivered. Braxton had a reputation as a gangsta, and Desmond didn’t know how real that reputation was. He at least had gang connections. If he thought Desmond betrayed him or snitched to the cops about him (or about anything), he might become violent.
On the other hand, Desmond had gang connections too. This was a Bloods neighborhood. And Desmond was not a snitch.
So Desmond followed him into the backroom nervously. The other barbers watched and snickered. They all knew why Braxton was here — or at least why they assumed Braxton was here. It was considered rude to mention it in the shop, but that didn’t always stop them.
“Have fun back there, nigga…” murmured the barber Skelton.
Braxton ignored Skelton. When the door swung shut behind him, he took a deep breath.
“Yo, uh…”
“You mad at me?” Desmond opened his eyes wide and cocked his head to the side, giving Braxton an insouciant grin, like a girl. He delicately teased his fingers over the waistband of Braxton’s boxers, which were visible above his sagging jeans.
“No, no,” Braxton said. He licked his lips and scratched his fingers through the dense beard of coarse hairs on his chin. “I, uh… I was dealin’ dat rock, and uh… Well you ain’t gotta know that part.” He sighed. His confidence was deflated in comparison to his usual cocky, braggy self. Just a few days ago, he walked in here as though he owned the place, chains jingling, swagger dripping off him like a rap star. Braxton closed his eyes. “Ain’t a big deal. Gangsta shit. You know my nigga Jaycee and me, we fucked around one time, when we was in lockup for a weekend. Last year.”
“Oh. Sweet.” Desmond straightened his back. “Jaycee Sands?”
Braxton nodded. “So it ain’t a big deal. I took it in the ass once already. Weren’t nobody’s bitch. It was on the downlow.” He paused. “I mean, not real downlow, that’s why I’m talkin’ ’bout it. It just wasn’t no big deal then, and so it ain’t gonna be a big deal now.”
“What ain’t a big deal? What are you talking about?” Desmond said. He placed one finger on Braxton’s barrel-chest, overtop his shirt, and then traced a line down to his sagging jeans. His pants sagged low enough to feel the pubic hair beneath Braxton’s boxer shorts even before he got to the waist of his jeans. Braxton took a deep breath and his chest muscles undulated like he was aroused by Desmond’s touch but unwilling to touch him back.
“My niggas… Uh, we was hangin’ out wit’ a couple girls last night,” Braxton said. “And we, uh… We been playin’ a game wit’ em.”
“What game?”
“Uh… Truth or Dare,” he said. He took a deep breath. “And, uh… We dared ’em to do some girl-girl shit. You know…”
“Sounds hot.” Desmond shrugged.
“And they dared me, uh…”
Desmond’s mind whirred and he finally realized where Braxton was going with this. “To do something on the downlow? Do girls even know about that?”
He nodded. “These do. But they knew I done let you jerk me off. So it can’t be that. They said… I gotta let you, y’know… Be on top.” His big burly muscles shook.
Desmond’s mind whirred. Was this giant alpha male gangsta offering what he seemed to be offering? Desmond assumed he must have misunderstood what was happening.
“Uh… what?”
“I’ll jerk you off,” Braxton said. “I done it befo’. Don’t think you makin’ me yo’ bitch or somethin’.”
“Course not, sweetheart. I’ll be so gentle…” Desmond said, his voice light and saccharine though he was actually so excited he wanted to shadowbox the air. His heart skipped a beat. He still thought he must have misunderstood what was happening, but he didn’t want to fight against it. He smiled at Braxton. Desmond sighed. “So… you have to let me ramrod you, in exchange for which some girls will let you watch ’em do girl stuff?”
He nodded.
“I don’t have to watch the girl stuff, do I?” Desmond asked.
He shook his head.
“Good. Cuz vaginas are kinda gross,” Desmond said. “I think if I saw that many at once, I might throw up. I don’t know how you put your tongue in there.”
“You put your tongue in butts! Man-butts. That’s nasty.”
Desmond shrugged. “Yeah, but sexy butts! Children come out of vaginas, Braxton! Children!”
“That… I don’t fuck ’em when they’re giving birth!”
Desmond rolled his eyes. “Still. Vaginas look like the forehead of a Star Trek alien.”
“You wanna do it or not?” Braxton asked.
“I do.” Desmond quickly stripped off his own clothes. Desmond watched Braxton undress. “No one is going to know you went through with this.”
“What?”
“You won’t be able to prove to the girls you did it,” Desmond said. Then there was a loud banging sound, and he jumped. When he realized it was Braxton’s friends opening a window to watch, Desmond smiled and pretended to be so frightened by the sound that he collapsed in Braxton’s bare arms. “Oh my god, robbers!” He nuzzled Braxton’s bulging biceps.
“They ain’t robbers. They my niggas,” Braxton said. “Fuck off! Get outta here!” But his friends didn’t go anywhere. The window was very low to the ground outside since the backroom was technically below ground — the Cityside Barbershop of north Lawndale was in the basement of a building, accessible only through a narrow stone staircase from the street. The window that was accessible from the alley was one of those narrow half-windows just above the asphalt. Braxton’s niggas had to get on the pavement and crowd in to watch.
“You ain’t get started yet?!”
“Ramrod the fuck outta that nigga, Desmond! Make him yo’ prison bitch!”
Braxton snorted and flared his nostrils as he stripped off his clothes. He went very slow, reluctant, while Desmond’s eyes went from excited to drooling in a matter of moments. He folded all of his clothes, even his drawers, and he kept his chains on, jingling when he moved. Braxton had a broad, muscular chest and plenty of thickness. Each ass-cheek was like an overinflated volleyball, tight and hard and expansive. His butt was also juicy and just slightly hairy, a perfect rear on a perfectly imperfect-shaped man.
“Swallow that nigga nut, Braxton!”
Braxton stood awkwardly. He didn’t know how to begin. His massive brown dick dangled between his legs. Desmond tried to joust — that was a simple act, so he thought it’d be good to start with that — but Braxton was much too tall. Even on his toes, Desmond couldn’t get his cock to touch Braxton’s.
So he led Braxton by the cock to a corner of the backroom where there was a barber’s chair waiting to be reupholstered because there was a bullet-hole in it. Desmond stood on the barber’s chair, which finally made it possible to jack both him and Braxton off at once.
Desmond stroked both throbbing shafts. His own dick throbbed forcefully, like there was something in there trying to escape, because he was hard and every moment he touched Braxton’s big dick brought him closer to orgasm. Braxton remained limp, ignoring his dick as he eyed his niggas through the window with a hostile glare. They leered and teased him from afar.
“Come on, you do it,” Desmond said with a giggle. “Jack us both off.” He enjoyed playing with Braxton’s soft meat, but he wanted to see Braxton do it. He kissed Braxton on his thick, scruffy neck and his powerful pecs.
Braxton scowled but grabbed both cocks. He leaned his head back and looked away. He spat on the cement floor. He took both shafts in one hand, shivered when his limp dick touched Desmond’s hard one, and stroked them both together.
“You like dat, Braxton?!
“Ooh, lookit that gangsta meat! Gettin’ hard, ain’t he? Gonna get love from Desmond soon.”
“I say shut the fuck up, niggas! You think I won’t come out there and kick yo’ ass?” Braxton shouted. His chest heaved, and he pounded on his pecs. His upper half was ruddy and raging, but his lower half was awkward, limp and too-nervous to be excited about anything. His meaty hand absent-mindedly stroked Desmond’s dick, which throbbed and leaked precum into his fingers. The fluids coated his shaft, proving lubrication for Braxton’s hand. He didn’t seem to notice because he was focused on threatening his friends. “We agreed we wouldn’t make fun of whoever did this. That’s a rule, niggas!”
“We said we wouldn’t make fun of you after it’s done, nigga. That’s what we said. That was what you said. It was yo’ idea. It was yo’ idea to draw straws too. We was gonna let Desmond choose.”
“Fuck you!”
They were laughing so hard they were crying. Desmond smiled as Braxton roared in anger.
“Dem bitches better do it so good,” he said. “Fuck… I wanna see ’em do it all. Lacy Nichols is gonna be there, nigga. Hot damn, if I see her sticking a dildo in that thick girl’s ass… I will bust my nut right there.”
His dick finally perked up as his eyes grew cloudy, picturing the women. Braxton’s meaty shaft grew hard beneath his hand, and it throbbed next to Desmond’s dick. Now that he was erect, his cock was much bigger than Desmond’s.
“If you wait until they tell you what to do, it’ll be more embarrassing than if you just do it yo’self, sweetie,” Desmond said. He acted as feminine as possible to make this easier for Braxton, who growled and looked at Desmond as though his flamboyant lilt made Braxton horny enough to forget that Desmond was a man.
He nodded and flared his nostrils again. He sunk to his knees, ignoring the catcalls and jeers of his friends. He opened his mouth.
“Open wide, bitch!
“Swallow that meat, nigga! Swallow it good!”
“No teeth! If you feel teeth, Desmond, you can punch him. He’ll get the message!”
Desmond’s cock slid past his lips, and Braxton choked from the moment he tasted it. His moist tongue twitched when Desmond’s cock entered his mouth, sending a shiver of desire up Desmond’s spine.
His cock was already hard, so when it reached the back of Braxton’s throat, he was already leaking precum. It flowed down Braxton’s gullet, making him wince and writhe. Despite his discomfort, he soon relaxed and got better at deep-throating it — his massive body helped, since he had a massive mouth and a massive throat to go with it.
“Throat his face, Desmond!”
Desmond was planning on doing that anyway. That was how Braxton did it when he came in for a haircut, so it made sense to throat him back now that their situations were reversed. Desmond felt tiny touching Braxton’s head — Desmond’s fingers were small and delicate in comparison.
The haircut was really very good, Desmond thought. He was proud of himself. Thinking about that as his cock slid down Braxton’s throat made him giggle like a schoolgirl. His fingers massaged Braxton’s scalp through his hair.
Desmond began grinding his hips, rubbing his cock over every corner of Braxton’s mouth. Despite his initial reluctance, Braxton almost seemed to be enjoying himself. He gurgled and slathered spit all along Desmond’s throbbing cockshaft.
The dense nest of beard hair scratched at Desmond’s cock and his balls when they slapped against his chin. The hairs were coarse and kinky, and thick enough that it looked like Desmond’s dick disappeared into Braxton’s beard rather than his mouth. Spit and precum dripped from Braxton’s lips and soaked his beard.
At last Braxton pulled off, just as Desmond began to get worried he would blow his load early. He grimaced and looked away, holding back a gag as a ball of fluids leaked from his mouth and landed with an audible plop on the floor.
“Nice mouth, Braxton! You can do me next!
“Yeah, but you gotta shave that beard first!
“Fuck you, niggas! I’ll kick yo’ ass when we done in here,” Braxton said. “I don’t gotta let you watch them girls get nasty, man! I’ll make you leave!”
“Ain’t up to you, nigga. You ain’t the grand marshall of they pussies. They made an agreement wit’ all of us. As long as one nigga let Desmond ram ‘im, they gonna let all of us watch ’em get nasty wit’ each other.”
“Ah shit, you think they gonna scissor? I hope they scissor.”
As the boys outside laughed and argued over what they could get the girls to do to each other, Desmond thought it was funny that the girls didn’t want to watch. They wanted Braxton to humiliate himself, but they weren’t interested in seeing it happen. The boys, meanwhile, were desperate to see some girl-on-girl action, no matter what it took.
“Don’t worry, I’ll lick you till you good and loose, nigga, and I’ll give you a reacharound,” Desmond said.
Braxton grunted as he bent over. He first grabbed his ankles like a soldier at boot camp waiting to get it up the ass from his drill sergeant. But he was so tall that was not at all an effective position for Desmond. He tapped Braxton’s hefty asscheeks until he got down on all fours.
That was perfect. Desmond dived in, tongue-first. He slammed his tongue deep into Braxton’s asshole, in the thicket of hair in his asscrack. He wanted to shock him into opening up right away, which worked even better than he thought it would — that hole parted like the Red Sea. Desmond’s tongue fit easily inside.
“Make love to that nigga, Desmond! Shoot some babies up inside him!”
He could have licked that big burly asshole for hours. Desmond loved giving rimjobs, and he had never gotten to taste Braxton’s insides before.
But he was ready to move on. He left a finger in the hole to keep it loose as he got ready to ram.
“Here I go, baby, tell me if it hurts too bad,” Desmond said, quietly enough that only Braxton could hear.
When his dick pushed in, a shudder of pleasure ran up Desmond’s spine, while Braxton grunted. He lifted his head and rolled his eyes. He bit his lip to stifle a louder sound.
“Ah, damn, there it is, Braxton! That’s a dick in yo’ ass!”
“Fuck you, niggas! You know this ain’t a big deal, right?! I ain’t a bitch! He ain’t a real man!” Braxton barked. Then he sniffled. “Sorry. I mean… You is a real man, Desmond. Just… you ain’t a gangsta. Don’t count.”
Desmond nodded. That was fine with Desmond. It all seemed silly to him.
A long, low howl escaped from Braxton’s throat as the last of Desmond’s cock slid inside him. His massive ass swallowed up Desmond’s dick just like his mouth had done. His insides were soft and warm and tight, but just loose enough that Desmond could slip in and out. He had never rammed anyone quite so perfect, he thought as he slapped each of Braxton’s big brown cheeks. He watched them jiggle and felt the muscle tense beneath his touch.
“Ha ha! He like it! He lovin’ it! Can I go next, nigga?!”
“I do not! No way!” Braxton groaned. He wrenched his head back and groaned. It sounded like a moan of pain, but Desmond could tell it wasn’t — or rather, there was some real pain there, that was understandable, but even more than that was a wave of prostate orgasm rolling through Braxton’s body. His muscles all tensed, turning him into a giant slab of warm marble into which Desmond slammed his body.
As Braxton squirmed in pain and pleasure, Desmond reached around him. Desmond was so much smaller than Braxton that it wasn’t easy to do. He had to really stretch to get his hands onto Braxton’s dick.
But as soon as he did, he saw that he was right — Braxton was as hard as he had ever been. He must be really enjoying this, or at least enjoying part of it. Luckily from their perspective, Braxton’s friends couldn’t see that he was hard. All they saw was Braxton’s intense squirming and his agonized grunts.
Desmond decided to lie. “Come on, you gotta get yo’ dick hard, nigga,” he said. The men outside laughed, calling Braxton a limp-dick nigga, but it was clear they were disappointed — it’d have been easier to make fun of him if he was hard when he got it up the ass.
Of course, his dick was hard. He grunted as it throbbed and leaked precum into Desmond’s fingers. He tried to whisper something, but he couldn’t quite form any words. Desmond could tell he wanted to say thanks for Desmond pretending he wasn’t hard, and Desmond responded by affectionately licking the small of Braxton’s back.
The more Desmond plowed back and forth, the more intense was Braxton’s reaction. Since he was such a big man, his every motion provoked an even bigger response in Desmond’s body as he tried to keep up. Braxton even lifted himself up, forcing Desmond to climb onto his back.
He couldn’t really hump effectively in this position. His dick was all the way deep inside Braxton, throbbing within his guts, but his feet were not on the floor anymore. Braxton thrashed and grunted, and Desmond could do little more than hold on to his meaty shoulder with one hand, while his other hand gripped Braxton’s cock — he couldn’t even get enough leverage to masturbate Braxton, all he did was hold on as Braxton squirmed.
“Wreck dat nigga, nigga!”
“You can use his tears as lube, Desmond!”
From a distance, to the men in the window, it no doubt looked like Braxton was in tremendous pain, like tiny Desmond was holding him down and ramrodding him hard. But in fact, Desmond could barely maintain his position. He wiggled his hips a bit, moving his cock around within Braxton’s ass, but all the power came from Braxton, who shifted and moved, tightened and relaxed his ass, and humped his hips so he that humped Desmond’s hand and penetrated himself with Desmond’s cock at the same time.
In the end, Braxton even shot his load first. Desmond clutched desperately to his shoulder with his left hand, while his right held onto Braxton’s throbbing cock.
Cum sprayed over Desmond’s fingers, bursting forth in a thick torrent that coated the floor of the backroom. Braxton moaned loudly, and the pleasurable tenor of his voice was unmistakeable. His spine shook and he threw his head back as beads of sweat dappled his flesh.
“Hot damn, nigga, looks like Desmond gettin’ you good!”
“You wanna take my dick next, Braxton?!”
Braxton shook his head and grunted, heaving deeply for air. He finally relaxed enough to drop back down to all fours, which placed Desmond back on his feet on the ground.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He had no sooner flexed his hips one time when an intense orgasm began deep within him. His cock slid all the way into Braxton’s ass, making the bigger man contort all over again.
Braxton’s exhausted knees buckled, and he slid to the floor. His belly landed with a splat in the puddle of cum he had just spewed out, while he groaned into the cement floor.
With his arms spreading over Braxton’s thick back, massaging the muscles there, Desmond shot his own load deep into Braxton’s ass. Though he couldn’t see it of course, it felt like a huge wad of cum, thick and creamy, spreading into Braxton’s guts. They both moaned together, Desmond’s weaker voice harmonizing with Braxton’s baritone boom.
He kept going as he came, because Desmond loved doing that — they called it butter-churning. His cock slid in and out, lubricated by his own load. Pangs of unimaginable bliss shot up Desmond’s spine, and judging from the way Braxton sighed at the same time, he experienced the same thing.
Since he kept penetrating Braxton, churning butter in his guts, Desmond’s cum soon turned into a thick, frothy mess. It dripped out of Braxton’s ass, the pearly white color of Desmond’s cum contrasting with the deep brown of Braxton’s skin. It soaked into his ass-hair and dripped between his legs onto the floor.
At last, Desmond was limp. He could have laid like that, head resting on Braxton’s broad sweat-dripping back, for hours. But he could tell that Braxton was getting calmer, which meant his ass was going to start hurting now that the adrenaline rush was over.
“You like that, big boi! Sure look like you loved it!”
So Desmond pulled out. He kissed Braxton’s bare shoulders, and pulled out some wetnaps he always kept back here. He wiped off his own cock and carefully cleaned all of the cum and santorum that had dripped out of Braxton’s ass.
Aside from wincing a little when Desmond’s fingers and his wetnaps touched Braxton’s sensitive asshole, Braxton remained still and silent, recovering. Then he rolled over to let Desmond wipe off the cum from his belly and his limp, pulsating cock. He smiled bashfully.
“That weren’t so bad, nigga,” he said. He whispered, looking suspiciously towards the window as though his friends might try to climb in (which was impossible anyway, since it was only a very narrow half-window). “Don’t tell them I said that though. Tell them I didn’t cum. Tell them I didn’t even get hard. Tell them I’m too gangsta.”
“Okay. The girls didn’t say you had to cum too?”
“Nah,” he said as he stretched his legs and stood on weak knees. “That was it.” He smiled. “Ah, hell yeah, they gonna let me watch. I bet they let me finger ’em too while they do it.”
“Good luck,” Desmond said. “If you ever wanna play Truth or Dare with me, come on by.”
He smiled politely, but he shook his head. “That’s a baby’s game. We only play it wit’ bitches cuz they act like fuckin’ babies,” he said. He slowly got dressed. “But, I mean… maybe we could mess around sometime. I mean, not like we normally do. But, y’know…”
“Yeah,” Desmond said. He waited to put his own clothes on so he could watch Braxton’s naked body for as long as possible. “I do know, and I’d like that very much.”
Rob Winthrop bought a house abutting a prison so he could service inmates through the fence, but he never thought they’d have meat like this! His name is Tanker, and he’s got the goods if Rob is willing to cough up some dough…
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Rob Winthrop knew it would work eventually, it was just a matter of time. He had bought the house on Theodore Street both because it was a good investment — it was undervalued due to its neighbor — and because it abutted a prison, and there was nothing Rob loved more than hardcore prison thugs, mafioso and toughs of all kinds.
Of course, prisoners weren’t simply allowed to roam around all the time, or really any of the time. So Rob went for frequent walks along the couple of acres where his property shared a boundary with the prison, but there was never anyone outside whose attention he could get.
It was a wooded area, and on the prison side of the fence, there was a dirt road about thirty yards past the property line. Rob could barely see it from his property. That was the only thing he could see, since the trees were too dense to actually see the prison yard or any buildings.
But he could hear people talking between three and four o’clock in the afternoon — there was a distant, dull roar every day in that time. That, he deduced, was their rec time. The prison yard must have been beyond the trees somewhere.
Every day he hung out there in the afternoon, waiting for an opportunity. Finally on a Monday afternoon he saw a young black man in orange prison pants, shirtless, creeping down the dirt road. He was on the lookout for people following him, but he didn’t pay any attention to the far side of the fence, so he didn’t notice Rob standing there.
“Hey,” Rob said when he got real close.
“Aaah!” He yelped and put up his fists like he was about to box. Of course there was a fence in the way, and he screwed up his eyes.
“What’s your name?”
“What? Who the fuck are you?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Rob said. He was too nervous to think clearly. This guy was a handsome dark-skinned thug with cornrows and bluish tattoos covering most of his body below the neck. Most prominently, there was a dagger inserted in his chest above the heart, with blood seeping out and covering most of his torso. Another wound, a bloody gash, was tattooed over his sternum. Rob took a deep breath, entranced by the man’s muscles, which gleamed with sweat. “I’m sorry. I’m Rob. I live here.”
“In the woods?” He wrinkled his nose.
“There’s a house over there,” Rob said. “Are you… escaping?”
“What? No, man, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“You were creeping along like you were hiding.”
“I ain’t want no one to follow me,” he said. “I’m allowed to be here.”
“What is this road?”
“Nothin’. It’s s’posed to be a nature trail or some shit. No one ever uses it,” he said.
“Why are you here?”
“None of yo’ business, dude,” the prisoner said with a sneer like dude was a slur.
“What’s your name?”
“Also ain’t none of yo’ business.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Rob said. “Do you want me to jack you off through the fence?”
There was a long, awkward silence. The man peered deep into Rob’s eyes to see if he was kidding. His chest muscles flexed and he stepped close to the fence.
“What?”
“I really wanna get you off,” Rob said. “If you tell the others, I’ll jerk anyone off. And I swallow..”
“Anyone?”
“No diseases, no fatties, no old people,” Rob said.
“You nasty.”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “What’s your name?”
“Tanker.” He curled his lip like he was disgusted.
“Tanker? That your last name? Or your nickname?”
“Fuck you. Lick my dick,” he said. He spat on Rob’s face through the fence. Then he raised his eyebrows like he wanted to see if Rob would walk away or not. But Rob loved being spat on and treated poorly by prison thugs like him.
Rob dropped to his knees. He reached his fingers through the fence, getting just enough leverage to pull on Tanker’s loose orange pants. That lowered them. His dick flopped right out the fly of his coarse, gauzy prison-issue boxer shorts.
“You got a lighter, man?” he asked.
Rob nodded. He handed it over while licking on the shaft of Tanker’s dick. It tasted unwashed, but not exactly dirty — it tasted like cramped sweaty men, like Tanker had been spending time with other men in such a tiny area that his body, and his cock, brushed up against his homeboys and cellmates. That was precisely what Rob had hoped it would taste like. He gurgled merrily, and Tanker twitched like he hadn’t expected it to feel this good.
He lit a hand-rolled cigarette with the lighter, which he then pocketed. The woodsy smell of cheap marijuana filled the air — that must be why Tanker was sneaking into the woods by himself. He didn’t want to get caught with weed and he didn’t want to have to share it with anyone.
His dick perked up and jerked. Rob switched to swallowing the whole thing, or as much as he could since it kept getting thicker while it hardened in Rob’s mouth. Soon it was so thick Rob struggled to get more than the first inch or two into his mouth.
He paused and took a deep breath. He needed to focus on relaxing his throat, and he told himself over and over to relax. He was so excited that his plan was finally working.
“Damn, dude, I ain’t had a mouth like this in a minute,” he said, taking a deep drag on his joint. “You like homeboy meat, huh?”
Rob blushed. Thwacking that massive brown cock over his face, he smiled up at Tanker. “I like prisoner meat,” he said. “I don’t care too much about its color.”
Tanker nodded. He bucked his hips, slamming his dick forward. His entire body pressed on the fence, which swayed with his weight. His flesh pressed against the chainlink fence.
“Deep-throat that shit, man, swallow it,” Tanker said. He sounded frustrated, his fingers stretching through the fence the best he could, like he wanted more than anything to grab Rob’s head and pound him.
But Rob wanted to tease him a little. He slathered spit with his tongue all over the sensitive tip of Tanker’s dick, until the saliva dripped down onto the ground in long, thin tendrils. Rob knew how good this felt, and how powerful Tanker’s instinct would be to ram his dick into Rob’s mouth.
He didn’t though; he couldn’t. He could do nothing more than grab the chainlinks, gyrate his waist like he was humping the fence and moan loudly. He bit hit lip and bucked his hips. He fingered Rob’s hair through the fence, trying to grip it but all he succeeded in doing was pulling a few hairs out of Rob’s head.
“Damn, quit teasin’ it, man, come on, swallow it. Swallow it, man. Swallow it,” Tanker said. Rob lazily stroked it, giggling at Tanker’s exaggerated reaction.
“How long has it been since you blew a nut?”
He paused for a long time, seemingly trying to decide whether or not to lie. “I ramrodded this punk a couple weeks ago,” Tanker said.
“Who’d you ramrod a couple weeks ago?”
Tanker shrugged. “This prisoner. He Mexican.”
Rob nodded.
“He only charge twenty bucks for anal,” Tanker said. “I ain’t have the money for that though. I had to pay other ways.”
“What other ways?”
He thought for a long time. He chewed on his inner cheek. Then he shrugged. “I stabbed a homeboy. Ain’t kill him. He was a bad homeboy anyway.”
Rob relaxed his throat and deep-throated him, all in one smooth motion without warning. Tanker moaned so violently it sounded like it hurt. His humped his hips forward, pressing his crotch so hard into the chainlink fence that it bowed outward.
Precum flowed down his throat, its sweet and salty flavor assaulted Rob’s senses. It tasted frustrated and horny, exactly like a man who hadn’t had sex in months. Rob rammed his own head so far down that his nose nestled itself in Tanker’s untrimmed pubic hair.
“Ah, god-damn, boy,” Tanker swore. His entire body pressed against the chainlink fence.
He took a deep breath and snorted. He pulled away from Rob then, sneering at him. “Fifty bucks, sissy,” he said.
“What?”
“You wanna keep gettin’ me off?”
“Yeah.”
“Then pay me. Fifty bucks.”
“If I don’t pay you, you’ll just walk away?” Rob had every intention of paying him — he was going to hand over money even if Tanker hadn’t asked — but he wanted to see if Tanker would seriously claim he would walk away. Rob didn’t believe it. Tanker was too obviously horny to blueball himself.
He shrugged. “I can jack off,” he said. “I know you want it, and I know you got money. You got a taste of it. You know how big it is. Pay me.”
Rob slyly turned around. He shook his ass in Tanker’s direction. He pulled out his wallet and counted out fifty dollars — he didn’t want Tanker to see how much cash he actually had, or Tanker would just demand more.
He handed the money through the fence. “Hey, if you bring me other guys like you, I’ll pay you. If you get them to accept twenty bucks, I’ll give you the other thirty.”
“Hell yeah,” Tanker said.
“Gotta keep it low-key, or the guards will find out,” Rob said. “Make sure you-“
“Don’t tell me how to handle the prison, bitch,” Tanker said with a growl through gritted teeth.
“Oh. Okay, sorry. Just don’t get caught,” Rob said. He stuck his face into the chainlink fence, so his mouth squeezed through one of the openings. It was just big enough for his lips to fit through to the other side. He stuck his tongue out and wiggled it.
“Beg me fo’ it.” Tanker spat in the palm of his hand, and wiped it over his gleaming cockshaft as he stroked it.
“What?”
“I say beg me fo’ it. I like hearin’ pussies beg,” Tanker said.
“Please let me touch your dick some more. It tastes so good, and it’s so big and you’re so tough, I just need it. I need your dick in my throat, Tanker, sir, and I want to all of your cum. I want you to drown me in cum,” Rob said.
Tanker gurgled. He spat on Rob’s face through the fence. He stuck his dick through the fence and swayed his hips, trying to slap Rob over the face with his manhood. Rob had to move his head to be in the right position though. He moaned as its meaty thickness thwacked onto his cheeks. Tanker chuckled dryly.
Opening his mouth, Rob chased Tanker’s dick. He didn’t use his hands, he just tried to swallow it while Tanker rotated his hips to tease him over and over again.
“Chase it, sissy, huh? You gonna catch it or what?” He laughed some more.
Then Rob did catch it. Tanker stopped moving for a moment, and Rob deep-throated his dick as far down as ever. Tanker moaned and stretched. He raised his arms and gripped the chainlinks, his unwashed muscles beaded with sweat as he slammed his entire body into the fence.
The precum flowed freely. It was clear he would have cum already if there wasn’t a fence in the way, meaning he couldn’t plow the way he liked, he just kept spasming inside Rob’s mouth.
“Damn, man, I wish I could hold onto you,” Tanker said. “You’d regret this, fo’ sho’, bitch. I don’t hit boys nice in the butt. I’d be grabbin’ yo’ scalp and rammin’ you till you throw up, man.”
“I wouldn’t regret that. I’d love it,” Rob said.
“What?”
“That’s why I like prison thugs,” Rob said. He blushed and looked down. He kissed the tip of Tanker’s dick, the piss-slit winking at him as he flickered his tongue into it. “I love servicing cruel machos like you.”
“Can’t grab yo’ head,” Tanker said. He took a deep drag off his joint, which he had to hold carefully with two fingers now.
Rob had an idea. He took off his belt and passed it through the fence to Tanker. He took it having no idea what to do with it at first, then he got the idea.
Rob pressed his face against the fence again, and this time Tanker fed the belt through as well. He had to whip it around Rob’s head — Rob helped guide it — and wrapped it over Rob’s scalp. That meant Rob couldn’t back his head away. He wasn’t unable to move away, since he could still lower his head, but his head was immobilized enough for Tanker’s massive dick to throat him down.
“Take a deep breath, bitch,” Tanker said. He took one last puff on his joint, which he then swallowed without extinguishing it. Rob inhaled deeply of the scent of Tanker’s unwashed crotch.
Rob was still exhaling when Tanker jammed his dick down Rob’s throat. That now-familiar flavor of masculinity, dirty clothes and stainless steel hit Rob’s tongue, and he groaned as it shoved into his throat.
That triggered his gag reflex, but Rob was good at suppressing that, and in any case, Tanker seemed to like it. He grunted and pulled on the belt a little tighter. He held his dick deep in Rob’s throat, relentless even as Rob began to squirm and choke. Massive quantities of saliva dripped in clumps onto the ground at Rob’s feet.
One of Tanker’s hands remained on the belt to keep it taut, while the other squeezed a pair of fingers over Rob’s nostrils. It was a tight fit, since there was little space in front of Rob’s face, but he managed to do it, and that forced Rob’s throat open a little wider.
Finally Tanker allowed Rob to take a break. He let go of one end of the belt, and Rob’s body instinctively pulled away. He let out a hoarse, choking gasp for air.
“You okay?” Tanker asked as though he was unused to it, like he rarely inquired after anyone’s wellbeing.
“Hell yeah!” Rob exclaimed as enthusiastically as he could with a throat crying out for more oxygen.
Tanker looked dourly down at him. “You got a nice throat, bitch. If you was my bitch, I’d tattoo some pussylips on yo’ face.”
“I’d like that very much, Tanker.”
“You got a marker?”
“Uh… Yes!” Rob had forgotten he had his work bag with him because there was lube and some other stuff in it, including a sharpie. He handed it through the fence.
Tanker chuckled again, suppressing a smile, like he hadn’t really thought Rob would say yes. He did as Rob hoped though, and he drew some labia on Rob’s lower and upper lips. Since he had to do it through the fence, the drawing wasn’t very good — just a blurry smear of black ink really — but Rob couldn’t see it anyway, so he wasn’t disappointed. Tanker pocketed the marker.
Then he put the belt back in place again. His cock was still rock-hard and throbbing, looking even darker now that it was moist with saliva and bile and even some of Rob’s oxygen-starved tears.
“Let’s see how you manage, bitch. You can take dick, I give you dat, but can you take it right? Gonna make you throw up, bitch, I swear to god,” Tanker said once Rob was back, belted to the fence with his mouth open. Tanker hocked a big loogie into Rob’s open mouth.
This time, he didn’t just deposit his cock directly into Rob’s throat. He held onto his head through the belt and explored Rob’s gullet, humping his dick in from every direction and even moving it in a wide, slow circle. He seemed to be trying to make Rob gag — and succeeding, laughing each time — so he fucked his throat every way he could, as if it was a disreputable fleshlight.
“Love hearin’ dat sound,” Tanker said. “The sound of a bitch chokin’ on yo’ dick, ‘specially a pussy like you. Hell yeah. Choke up some more, bitch.”
Rob gurgled. He tried to say yes, sir but since his mouth was full, he succeed only in tickling Tanker and triggering a heave in his stomach. More saliva flowed over Tanker’s dick, soaking his pants.
“I think I’ve made a mess,” Rob said as he gasped for air. “Sorry.” Tanker’s orange prison pants were soaked with Rob’s spit-up.
Tanker shrugged. “I’ll tell e’ryone I got off with a bitch. They won’t care. I ain’t gonna say who you is.” He paused. “If you here all the time, man, they gonna see you. I can’t control who get a nut off, y’know, I can’t get paid if they know when you gonna be here. Why don’t you just schedule it wit’ me? Then I can send you homeboys when you ready, and you pay me.”
“Okay,” Rob said.
“You best pay me, motherfucker. I got connections on the outside. They can put a hurtin’ on you if you try and stiff me,” Tanker said. He spat again, aiming for Rob’s face. But his spitwad hit the fence, and only a few drops splattered onto Rob.
“Okay. I’ll pay,” Rob said. “No problem. I’ll be here at three o’clock every day.” He lazily stroked Tanker’s pulsating cock, which dripped with saliva. Rob spat more up and onto the shaft. “You can meet me and bring whoever you want. I’ll hide behind this tree, so if someone else comes through they won’t see me.”
Rob knew he could get more prison cock if he just hung out here. He could tell anyone who came by that he was jacking off anyone, and he’d probably have dozens of men coming through. But he didn’t do that for a couple reasons. First of all, most prisoners were really not very handsome — the average age of an inmate in America was sixty-two, and a lot of them were fat as well — but Rob felt confident that Tanker would only bring his gang buddies over. They’d be younger on average, and no doubt having a better physique than most. Besides that, with dozens of inmates crowding the fence, it was likely that fights would break out, and guards would soon learn what was happening. If the prison administration made this a solid fence, or electrified it, or just added a second fence a foot away from the first one, it’d be impossible for Rob to get anyone off.
And the most important reason to let Tanker bring him men was that Rob liked the idea of Tanker bringing men here and keeping them quiet. The only downside was that Tanker was a black prison thug whose buddies were no doubt also black prison thugs, whereas Rob enjoyed a little diversity — he would have to offer Tanker extra cash to bring rednecks, mafioso, bikers and more.
“I’ve got an idea, Tanker,” Rob said as he licked the shaft and suckled moistly on the tip. Tanker’s whole body writhed and he nearly orgasmed right then, jabbing his salty cocktip into Rob’s mouth. The belt had fallen to the ground, and Tanker was too distracted by pre-orgasmic pleasure to notice. He gripped the fence with his hands and even bit the chainlinks, dick throbbing on Rob’s lips. Rob giggled. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Rob turned around and undid his pants — since he had already taken his belt off, all he had to do was stand and his pants fell down.
“Aw, damn, dude, you want me in yo’ ass?”
Rob nodded.
Tanker chewed on his lower lip. “I promised my mama I wouldn’t do that. She don’t like ugly.”
“Oh well, you don’t have to do it,” Rob said. “I don’t wanna make you break a promise to your mom and-“
“I ain’t say no,” Tanker said. He sighed. “Gimme more money.”
Rob shrugged. “I’m not paying you more every time,” he said. He handed over the hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. Tanker’s eyes opened wide like he had never seen a hundred-dollar bill before.
“Damn, you really want my dick in yo’ ass, huh? Well for a hundred and fifty bucks, I’ll stick it in anything,” Tanker said. “Come on, back dat ass up.”
Rob got down on his hands and knees. He backed up until his ass was pressed against the fence.
“Nah,” Tanker said. “You gotta get up higher. I got some self-respect. Ain’t gonna ram a male down in the dirt, like a fuckin’ swine.”
Rob blushed but agreed. He raised his ass higher. Since Tanker was so tall, it wasn’t easy, and in the end, Rob had to stand and bend over to grab his ankles.
“Spread yo’ cheeks, bitch. I can’t get a grip,” Tanker said. He jabbed his dick towards Rob’s hole, but he couldn’t get any leverage to spread his cheeks.
This was a very difficult position for Rob. He had to use both hands to separate his asscheeks, which meant he couldn’t support himself on his hands. He was bent over, head nearly on the ground with his hands in the air behind his back.
A twinge of pain hit him, followed by a long, slow melting pleasure that wrapped over his bones in waves, emanating from his ass. It took a long time for the pleasure to build, but Tanker’s rock-hard cock explored Rob’s ass and found his prostate soon enough.
Despite his claim that he had promised not to plow a man in the ass, Tanker did not plow like someone who wasn’t used to it — that made Rob wonder if that had been a lie, if maybe Tanker only said it to get more money out of Rob.
“Keep yo’ cheeks spread, bitch,” Tanker muttered whenever Rob’s hands slipped. It didn’t slow him down any, now that his cock was in Rob’s ass. His fingers slipped through the fence and fingered his cheeks desperately, trying to get a grip on his flesh.
Soon his entire cock pulsated in Rob’s ass. Precum flowed within him, and Rob could feel the man’s dick throbbing, the orgasm bubbling under — Rob sensed it growing with each thrust of Tanker’s dick.
If Rob had any hands free, he would have been jacking himself off and would have undoubtedly cum already (at least once). But he couldn’t stop spreading his cheeks, even for a moment, or Tanker would bark at him to get back in position.
“You tryin’-a get away from me, bitch? Stay there. Stay in position, ya fuckin’ sissy,” Tanker roared through the fence.
But Rob didn’t stay in position. For the first time since this had begun, he didn’t do what Tanker said. Despite the pain it caused in his ass, Rob lifted his head and upper body.
The motion sent waves of agony through Rob’s spine as his ass moved around Tanker’s dick. Meanwhile Tanker moaned and grunted like he was surprised. He had to focus to keep his cock deep in Rob’s ass while it moved, but he managed to do so.
Rob lifted himself up until his entire upper body leaned against the fence. Tanker was still deep in his ass, and his upper body leaned against the other side of the fence. So they were close enough now that Rob could feel Tanker’s solid muscles writhing, and he could feel the sparse body hairs scratching at Rob’s smooth back skin. Just the wiry edges of the chainlinks separated their bodies.
“Oh, you down fo’ that standin’ shit, huh?” Tanker muttered. He slammed his hips, whistling in appreciation at the new position. “That’ll do nicely, baby.”
His fingers pinched Rob’s back and his asscheeks, as he tried to grab ahold of him through the fence. All he could manage was a few pinches.
But his face was right behind Rob’s head, and his hot breath condensed on Rob’s neck and cheek. Rob even rolled his head to the side, so his face was against the fence. Much to his surprise, Tanker kissed his cheek through the fence, moaning as he did. He nibbled seductively on Rob’s earlobe.
Though his words were still menacing, Tanker’s voice broke and showed some affection as he neared his orgasm — Rob could feel it coming deep in his own ass. Tanker’s cock, which seemed to be getting bigger with every passing thrust, rammed easily in and out now, like Rob’s ass had been built just to accommodate Tanker’s manhood.
“I love the way yo’ asshole feel around my dick, boy,” Tanker said softly. “It feels real good. You got a nice ass. I like destroyin’ it, boy. I love it. I think I might love you, bitch. You love me?”
“Yes, baby!”
“Good. I don’t love you, you too nasty. You too dirty,” Tanker said. “You don’t love me neither. You love my cock, right?”
“Yes! Oh god, yes, I love your cock!”
“‘Course you do. E’ryone loves Tanker’s cock ‘ventually,” he said. He gasped. “Gonna fill you up in a minute. Beg me fo’ it.”
“I want your cum inside me! I wanna feel yo’ baby batter flowing into me, please!”
“Jack yo’self off, baby,” Tanker said. He nibbled on Rob’s earlobe again, then kissed him on the cheek. Rob nearly collapsed in shock as Tanker even kissed him on the lips the best he could — since Rob’s face was sideways on the fence, it was an awkward kiss, but it felt perfect to Rob. “You love me, baby.”
The switch from calling Rob a bitch to calling him a baby was unexpected, and it made Rob croon with desire. No one like Tanker had ever called him baby before.
The sensations in his ass were incredible, mind-blowing. It felt like he was being ripped apart yet at the same time it felt so good Rob had trouble remaining upright. His knees were weak. His own dick throbbed in his fingers.
“C’mon, I wanna blow,” Tanker said. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, but I ain’t doin’ it yet, baby.” He kissed Rob on the lips again. “I wanna feel you cum, okay? I always make my prison punk jack off when I ram him, that way he clench down when he cum. C’mon, finish yo’self off.”
Rob’s mind whirred — that confirmed that Tanker was lying about promising not to be a ramrod (or at least it confirmed that he had never upheld that promise). That made Rob feel a little better, since he didn’t like the idea of making someone break a promise to his mother and pastor.
His whole body undulated as an orgasm hit him. It was the most powerful climax of his life, since it began in his prostate and kept building as Rob stroked himself off. By the time his first few drops of cum landed on the ground at his feet, the pleasure was already so intense it wracked his body like a seizure.
And then Tanker reached orgasm as well. He grunted and moaned, cursing indecipherably as he slammed his dick into Rob’s ass one last time. He held it there, unmoving, for what felt like forever, while Rob clenched and writhed.
A spurt of white-hot cum sprayed within his ass, followed by more. Then it flowed out like piss, a long, constant stream of creamy cum that felt so good Rob moaned as loud as he could.
“Take it, baby, gonna fill you up, hell yeah… Gonna drown yo’ ass in nut, baby, gonna fill you up so much it come out yo’ ears…”
Tanker’s whole body flexed, then relaxed and he groaned. He slapped Rob’s ass, sending a wave of bliss through both men’s bodies. Tanker’s balls drained wad after wad of his seed, so much so that it dripped out of his ass and flooded his innards. Rob felt it seeping throughout his body, soaking into him until it was everywhere, like he was becoming one with Tanker.
At last it was all over. Rob had no idea how long the climax had lasted, but it felt like forever. His knees were weak. When he finally pulled off Tanker’s dick, a tremendous sense of relief overwhelmed him, and he could do nothing more than stagger away and collapse onto the ground.
Tanker took a deep breath and wiped his cock off with one hand. He wiped his hand off on a nearby tree. He grimaced at Rob when he saw how his hand was now covered in sticky santorum.
“That was good, baby,” Tanker said. He sighed. “You got a nice ass.”
“Thanks. I love your cock. When you’re released, you can come see me,” Rob said. “I’ll let you stay with me. As long as you fill me up every day, you don’t have to pay any rent.”
He nodded. He frowned. “I ain’t gonna be released till I’m nearly fifty.”
Rob shrugged. “As long as you still got that dick, come see me,” he said with a giggle. “Don’t forget. You get thirty bucks for bringing me men.”
“Don’t pay ‘em nothin’,” Tanker said. He pulled his pants up and walked a few feet away. “Just gimme fifty bucks each. I’ll tell ‘em you do it for free. They’ll do it for free. Hell, I might be able to make ‘em pay a few bucks.”
“You’re gonna get paid from both ends?”
Tanker smiled broadly, and wiped the sweat off his dark brown brow. He licked his lips and squeezed his dick in those orange prison pants. “I’m a pimp, baby. That’s why I’m in here in the first place. Courts don’t like pimps.”
“That’s a long sentence for pimp.”
“Three strikes, baby, and I tried to shoot a cop.” He paused. “I did shoot a cop. He lived though.”
“Oh, cool. You’re gonna be my pimp.”
“That’s right, baby,” Tanker said. “I loves ya, and I’ll make sure you get treated just like you deserve. You do whatevuh I say, baby, or I’ll make you go find some other pimp to bitch-slap you.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Come back tomorrow at three,” Tanker said. “And bring some cigarettes. Menthol. 100s.” He walked away without waiting for a response. The bare muscles of his sweaty back flexed as he strode through the woods back towards the prison.
“Okay. Love you too, Tanker!” Rob stood there and watched him disappear into the woods, and he was so aroused by the experience that he stood there and jacked off again by himself. He daydreamed about Tanker coming to visit him outside of prison, a little older, a little grayer, but still full of all his prison thug appeal.
Rob couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
Bart is visiting the legendary Ramwide Truck Stop when he stumbles across a thickbody trucker, who’s desperate for a little action. Bart loves big men, big-time, and he can’t wait to help out this Fat Trucker!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Bart stapled a flyer on the bulletin board in front of the truck stop diner. He tried to look like he belonged, because he didn’t — he was no trucker, and he didn’t have permission to post on this bulletin board.
But it didn’t look like anyone regulated this particular bulletin board. Somebody had written, in pen on a blank scrap of paper, in scrawling block letters: call Ricky to ram in ass, nasty, gross, fat, loves it up the butt no I don’t yes he does especially if you are black he will love it yum yum that’s what he always says. So obviously this was not a strictly monitored bulletin board. Bart hadn’t asked for permission because he thought they — whoever was in charge — would probably say no.
The flyers that Bart put up were professionally produced, so they looked out of place here. They had a picture of a pretty thick woman and a phone number in big letters. Looking for plus-size female models for a clothing line. That was what Bart did as a side-hustle, he was a fashion photographer. He was always on the lookout for thick females. He thought this truck-stop would be a fine spot to search in.
Bart himself had no interest in women of any size. He liked his men as big as the women he photographed, or even bigger. So for him, this truck-stop had an even better attraction than the women — the men.
Truck-stops were full of hefty hunky dudes, precisely the kind that Bart adored. They were mostly, but almost all were willing to mess around with tiny twinks like Bart. Now that he had done his work, hanging up the flyer, he took a look around the truck-stop to scope out his possibilities.
There was a thick-ish dude over there who was kind of hot, but not hot enough to get Bart’s motor going. A couple of skinny weirdos at a picnic table, passing a joint around. Bart wandered towards the parking lot full of semis, some of them with idling engines, others cold and silent like steel skeletons.
A few women were around. Prostitutes probably. Some might have been willing to model for Bart, but he had long ago learned that approaching them never worked out well — hence the flyer. In person, they usually thought he was a pimp, despite his small stature and flamboyant personality.
“Hey, baby, whatchoo doin’ tonight? Huh? You wanna play a game?” asked a trucker, who glanced up at Bart as he walked past. The girl in skimpy clothes, with a tattoo of Roger Rabbit on her neck, grinned and batted her tired eyes.
She was too skinny to model for Bart, he thought idly. This truck-stop was loaded with lot lizards. That was going to make it hard for him to find a man.
He saw an appropriately hefty man behind a truck, getting sucked off by a middle-aged woman. Bart tried to sneak up to check him out. The man was thick and hairy, with a powerful body but plenty of padding overtop it. His side-fat jiggled as he moaned and threw his head back. The prostitute’s head was lost in the meat of his belly.
His dick glistened with spit and precum. Bart approached, making more noise than he had intended. The trucker glanced back at him and smirked. “You wanna join in, hoss?”
“I-“
“No way, that costs extra,” the woman said. She glared at Bart. “You gotta pay — I-” She cut herself off and looked Bart up and down. “You want in? Thirty bucks.”
Bart licked his lips. He came near the trucker. “Can I play a little with you? I’m not interested in the woman.”
“The woman?” She looked up at Bart with a sneer. “How dare you-?” Then the fat truck got his dick back in her mouth, and she shot mean eyes up at Bart but didn’t try to say anything else.
He kissed the man’s thick fleshy bicep, sucking up the sweat that had collected on his hairy arms. The man shrugged and resumed plowing the prostitute’s face. She glanced up at Bart as though to ask why he would do something like this without getting paid.
But Bart just shrugged and stroked the man’s plus-sized ass. He sucked the sheen of sweat off his belly too, and fully intended to keep on going when the man moaned and grunted. He shot a thick load with an intensely cottony smell into the woman’s mouth. Bart was disappointed. He licked the man’s asscheeks, but the trucker just ignored him and pulled his pants up when he was done. He paid the woman — who grabbed more money out of the man’s wallet and glared at him as though daring him to say anything — then he just walked away.
She glanced at Bart. “You’re nasty, you sick fuck,” she said. “At least I charge money.”
Bart shrugged. “I’m sorry, I’m having trouble hearing you over the sound of your bony body clanking like a sac of rusty rebar,” he said, raising his voice as though to be heard over the sac of rebar. He walked away, leaving her to stew and look for another client.
Way too many females here to have a chance, Bart thought. He frowned to himself. Maybe he should just move on. He needed to put flyers up in more places today, he had simply hoped he’d get lucky here before going anywhere else.
He walked among the maze of parked semis, in hopes of finding a desperate enough man. He did see a chunky trucker taking a piss, but he was done before Bart got close enough to watch or join in or even see how handsome he really was. The door to the trailer behind him opened up.
“You foul-ass stinkbug! Oh shit that was nasty! You are fucking disgusting! You smell like my grandfather’s shoe!” said a girl as she climbed out of the truck. She looked very young from behind, Bart thought, but her face was tired and weary, and she had a network of tattoos visible on her bare midriff. She shouted into the truck. “You had better pay me, or I’ll send Martin after ya-!”
“What do you think Martin’ll say if he knows you turned down a man?”
“He don’t want my pussy stinking like some fat-ass sonofabitch!” She took a few steps away on wobbly legs, then stopped to put her heels back on. She tottered unsteadily. “And by the way, guys with manboobs the size of a German shepherd shouldn’t call women ‘chunky’!”
“I meant it as a compliment!” The man bellowed, but she was already gone. He glanced over at Bart. He nodded and closed the door to his truck.
Bart’s heartrate rose. There was an ideal target.
The trucker was heavy, but not really obese: he was obviously strong, with plenty of manmeat. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, and his pants were around his ankles revealing threadbare boxers. He was hairy and his belly jutted out marvelously, not huge like Santa, but big and round and stout. His arms were powerful and meaty, his pecs fleshy and jigglesome when he moved or spoke or did anything really. He barely fit in the doorway, and he walked like his cock was as fat as the rest of him.
Bart knocked on the door. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Eh… hang on.” The trucker’s voice sounded tremulous. He was back in the sleeper, and he fidgeted with something. He frantically moved around back there. “I… That chick was my girlfriend, you know. I wasn’t… I ain’t pay her for nothin’ illegal, suh, just so you know!”
“That’s not — I’m not a cop!” Bart called out. He sighed. He often came across as a cop in places like this. That was because he was slim and spoke properly. He didn’t really fit in. “I swear! I’m not a cop.”
The trucker opened the door. “What do you want then?”
“I just wanted to see how horny you were,” Bart said. He blushed. “My name is Bart. I’d like you to ram me.”
“What?”
“I want you to ramrod me. Stick your dick in my ass. You know about ramrodding-?”
“Yeah. It’s what black guys do to white dudes in prison,” the trucker said.
“That’s… They don’t have a patent on it. You can ramrod me, it’s not illegal.”
“Still gross.”
Bart shrugged. “If you don’t wanna do it, you don’t have to… But I’ll offer you fifty bucks.”
“You serious? I ain’t into that trip. That’s some kinda nasty,” he said. “And it ain’t in the Bible.”
“Neither’s fuckin’ prostitutes.”
“She ain’t fuck me. And she weren’t no prostitute, that was my girlfriend,” the trucker said with a knowing grin. “Name’s Dabney. Dabney Cosgrove.”
“Hi Dabney.How ’bout I up the ante. I’ll offer you a hundred dollars to ram me?” Bart said. He snuck one of his hands up Dabney’s boxer shorts. Dabney stood in the driver’s side door of his semi, so he was much higher than Bart. Bart could peer under his boxers, and see a big shadowy dark spot he assumed was the man’s low-hanging cock and balls.
He slapped Bart’s hand away. “Now I know you a cop, cuz ain’t no pinkdick punks like a big hairy ass like me. I thought limp-wrists like you was is into prettyboys with long hair and skinny butts.”
“Why don’t you let me prove I’m not a cop?”
“How?”
“Turn around, bend over and let me kiss your asshole. Would an undercover cop kiss a fat redneck’s ass?”
Dabney thought about it for a long time, then he shrugged and nodded. He checked that no one could see before turning around. He pulled down his boxers, revealing a big ass that was ruddy and inflamed from sitting so much. He spread his cheeks, which were hairier than his unshaven cheeks. The hairs on his ass were matted to his skin with sweat.
Bart had to step onto the ledge leading into the driver’s side of the semi, but Dabney was already there, leaning over and jutting his bare ass out. That made it a delicate balancing act, and Bart struggled to get up there. When he did, he dove enthusiastically in and rammed his tongue right into the sweat-silkened hole of Dabney’s rotund ass.
He only left it there for a moment. Dabney yelped and laughed. He turned around and slapped his dick over Bart’s face, and Bart was glad to see it was as big as he thought it’d be. Some kind of fat men have small cocks, cuz their bellyfat subsumes it. Others have huge cocks around which the fat doesn’t grow in the same way. Bart, of course, preferred the latter, and he found he had a sixth sense for detecting which fat men had which kind.
Dabney’s belly hit Bart’s forehead, the hair scratching at his skin, and it softly jiggled around him. Bart’s hands ran up that maginificent body to Dabney’s fatty tits, which caused the massive pectoral muscles underneath to ripple.
“That’s nasty. You just hang out in truck stops lettin’ fat dudes ram you?”
Bart blushed. “You gonna judge me or you gonna make a hundred dollars?”
“I’m gonna do both.” Dabney moved out of the way to let him in. Bart didn’t wait, so he bumped into Dabney as the much larger man worked his way into the sleeper. Bart kissed those hairy cellulite-ridden asscheeks before Dabney plopped onto his bed.
It stank in here. That was why the prostitute had left. She had been willing to put up with Dabney having a belly, and she was willing to put up with him being hairy, and she was willing to put up with him having a big knobbly dick that was going to hurt, but she wasn’t willing to put up with getting rammed in a sleeper compartment filled with the scent of Dabney’s thickish sweat. It was a very strong aroma. Bart couldn’t blame her. He didn’t feel the same way, but he wasn’t surprised the woman did.
That fruity body-odor smell billowed forth into Bart’s nostrils, and it was strong enough to bring tears to his eyes. Dabney didn’t notice it. He thought she had been exaggerating. He’d be willing to put his boots and dirty clothes outside anyway, he thought, and she didn’t even let him try that before freaking out and stalking off.
This was just as good. Dabney sometimes rammed with the filthy whores who filled certain truck-stops. They were good for a lay, and they didn’t help the smell situation in the sleeper of his truck. Sometimes he rented a motel room to really go to town on a woman — and take a private shower — but that got expensive, and Dabney would rather sleep in his truck’s sleeper.
Bart was smooth and lean, yet he had a fantastically plump ass. He smelled so clean, so unlike any of the whores Dabney visited. Bart’s skin was pale as Dabney’s mother’s fine china, which she never used in case a celebrity came for supper, and he was unblemished from head to toe. Dabney was all blemishes. He got dry skin, too much hair and tufts of ingrown hair that got infected, bacne, something called folliculitis sometimes, Dabney had awful skin. Most of that wasn’t obvious cuz his body hair covered it up.
Dabney pulled his boxers down and let his dick flop out. It was soft, but had just a trace of hardness from the girl he had brought in here for a few minutes. She got him hard before storming away, and then Bart’s quickie rimjob had gotten his dick twitching once more.
So he was already fleshy and firming up when his dick slipped into Bart’s mouth, caressed by his soft lips. At first Dabney didn’t know how to take it — it was just like a woman’s mouth, and he even made little sucking sounds that came across as feminine somehow.
“Oh god… Shit, boy, get deep on it, get real deep on it… You like it nasty, huh?” Dabney said. He gripped Bart’s ears because he had always wanted to do that when getting a blowjob — no girl had ever let him — and he pulled on them to drag Bart’s head up and down. He was exhilarated at finally being able to do that.
Bart looked up to make eye contact with him. The smell of his body odor was intense down here. He had obviously not showered in some time. There was a truck-stop shower right here, but Dabney didn’t use those.
His dick quickly grew as hard as steel in Bart’s mouth. It was big enough to be a challenge to swallow, but it was a challenge Bart adored. He didn’t mind choking on it. He even forced himself to choke and gag as much as he could because that made Dabney moan.
Soon Dabney’s whole body jiggled, his belly rubbing over Bart’s face. That left a sheen of sweat that covered him, and it made that glorious smell stick to his nostrils. The sweat on Dabney’s bellyfat was sticky like spilled juice, and it coated Bart’s skin. He thought the smell would never go away, and he hoped he was right. Bart couldn’t help but pull off Dabney’s dick and went to lick and suck that belly. His tongue snaked into the fold of flesh right over his ribs, inside of which was funky unwashed skin that tasted of unadulterated manhood.
“C’mon, man, get me off,” Dabney whined. “Put ya lips back on it, that felt good. You go deep, damn!” His deep voice was resonant in the tiny sleeper. He kept pulled on Bart’s ears, but he didn’t force Bart to go back to his cock. He just kept trying. “C’mon, man, swallow it, swallow it, swallow it deep. You was so good at that. I wanna get back in ya throat.”
“Hmmm…. Lemme just suck on your titties some, and then I’ll play with your dick,” Bart said. He sucked on each of Dabney’s nipples. Dabney sighed and leaned back, allowing it even as he rolled his eyes and growled in frustration. “Your dick is so big… I wanna joust a little, okay?” He sat in front of Dabney on the mattress, looking tiny in comparison to Dabney’s cavernous belly. He could barely reach Dabney’s nipples, which he sucked on as he thwacked his cock against Dabney’s.
Dabney tried not to be self-conscious. He tried to ignore the fact that it was a dick itself — an actual man’s cock — on him. It was hot and hard. Was his dick that hard? Dabney thought it wasn’t, that his dick was always soft and jiggly in comparison to Bart’s iron-like cock.
But when he touched them both directly, he realized that wasn’t true. It was just weird to handle someone else’s cock, especially someone so skinny and small. Dabney grinned at the sight of his much larger dick pressing against Bart’s, which was nothing to be shameful of. Dabney’s dick approached ten inches though, while Bart’s was a relatively meager seven.
“I’m gonna put my ass on it now, okay?” Bart said, giggling at the sight of Dabney’s shocked look and plump chins jiggling. Bart stood the best he could, crouching to fit and struggling to move on the soft mattress. He turned around, baring his pale ass.
Dabney kissed each asscheek. He did it entirely by instinct, and it took him by shock. That wasn’t something he ever did before.
The feeling of Dabney’s lips on Bart’s smooth booty made Bart giggle and squeal as he lowered his ass towards Dabney’s crotch. Dabney was more aroused than ever. He had never kissed a woman’s asscheeks because he had never been with a woman who had such pert and perky, plump, perfectly poundable asscheeks: smooth, unblemished, hairless. Dabney slathered each cheek in kisses until his spit dripped down Bart’s thighs.
Then Bart sat on his crotch. He had to push on Dabney’s belly to get it out of the way, layers of flab weighing heavily upon him. He kneeled, facing Dabney despite the awkwardity of it. In this position, Bart had to spread his legs wide so he could take in the massiveness of Dabney’s torso. Bart hugged him close, so he could rub his whole body on Dabney’s thickness.
The other nice part about this position was that Bart could see the shocked and maybe frightened look on Dabney’s face.
“Goddamn, man, you’re really — shit, you wanna get rammed somethin’ serious, huh? Gonna get in ya guts, lemme in there,” Dabney said, a sheepish grin on his face.
Then he bit his lip and howled. Just the tip of his dick slipped in, and already it felt so good Dabney thought he might blow his wad. He chuffled back and forth, hands flailing and slapping Bart’s ass because he liked how it jiggled.
A sharp burst of pressure hit Bart, who winced and slowed down. That caused Dabney to grip his ass and massage it. He obviously wanted to pull Bart all the way onto that dick, to impale him completely, but Bart couldn’t take that just yet. He grimaced as he adjusted, leaning on that big plump belly for support.
“Will you ram… Oh god… Be on top…? ” Bart couldn’t speak because of the pressure in his ass. It hurt so good, and it made his voice waver and shake. Every moment it was inside him sent a new wave of sensations through Bart’s body, and each time Dabney pumped his hips, his cock jostled inside Bart and stimulated his prostate, while the motion made Dabney’s magnificent bellyfat shake like jello in an earthquake. Bart moaned and sucked up the sweat clinging to Dabney’s body.
He normally liked riding men on top, but with Dabney, he wanted to be below. He dropped low on Dabney’s cock, while Dabney arduously lifted his head. That kept Bart on his dick, mostly concealed by that roundish belly, and Dabney could pound away without having to look at Bart or be reminded he was not fucking a woman right now..
His bellyfat weighed Bart down, so Bart could barely breathe. He squirmed, his arms and legs flailing, toes curling, fingers tightening into claws that dug at the sleeper-compartment mattress. His ass was wet from his own arousal and from the rivers of precum that Dabney’s dick filled him up with.
Soon Dabney was plowing hard, with abandon, without thought for Bart’s comfort. Dabney had been craving that so hard he didn’t even know it. He’d only managed to get anal one time, and that had been a desultory affair.
This was the hottest thing he’d ever done. It was disgusting, filthy rutting, the way it was supposed to be. Dabney could ram hard like his bottom was just an object, a tight hole with a body attached to it, and no matter how hard Dabney rammed, no matter how much his greasy body slid and slipped over Bart’s formerly clean back, still Bart begged for more.
“Oh god, your dick is so nasty, ram me! Ram it in me! Ram it all the way in me!” Bart called out the best he could despite his inability to take a deep breath.
His prostate thrummed and sent a tsunami of pleasure to crash through him. Bart squealed like a piggie, making Dabney laugh even as the most intense orgasm of his life crashed into him.
Cum sprayed all over. It seemed to be everywhere in the sleeper-compartment. Dabney didn’t even know how that was possible, because he remained deep in Bart’s ass, exploring his innards with his cock, grinding into his guts as he spurted forth wad after creamy wad of cum.
It flowed into Bart, trickling through him. More fluids flew — Bart’s own cum, which Dabney had forgotten about — and spit from both men, because they drooled and Dabney spat instinctively onto the floor of his sleeper. He grunted and spit onto Bart’s ass too, adding more lubrication for his ramming, jamming and slamming.
He couldn’t even tell if his dick was still hard or not. He thought it was, but then when he pulled out and slipped back onto his pillow, leaning against the sleeper wall, his limp dick flopped against his thigh. It glistened with santorum, and Dabney grimaced at the sight of Bart’s gaping asshole.
He slipped one finger in. The sensation was creamy and thick, and Dabney wrinkled his nose. Dabney had never fingered anyone’s ass, but he couldn’t resist it. He rammed his finger in and out, pulling all of the cum out and smearing it over Bart’s asscheeks.
“Goddamn…” Dabney said. “You are one nasty slut.”
Bart turned around and laid his head in Dabney’s lap, letting that hairy belly flop over his face. “Same to you.”
“Don’t you forget to pay me,” Dabney said with a threatening growl.
Bart struggled to reach his pants, then finally got his wallet out. He handed over the cash.
“You come to this truck-stop a lot?”
“No,” Bart said, “Sorry, baby.” He kissed Dabney’s belly and sucked up some of the grease that had collected there. Then Bart sighed and leaned back. He cleaned off his ass, put his clothes back on and smiled at Dabney. “I don’t usually come to the same place twice. There’s always guys around though. You should give one a try.”
“I like girls.”
“Well, then do that first,” Bart said. He climbed out of the semi. “But if you get rejected again, remember you have… other options.” He smiled and waved as Dabney shut the door. The stink and humid heat from the sleeper visibly wafted out from the truck door.
Bart whistled and walked away. He had enjoyed this truck-stop mightily, and he was already planning on which one to go to next, for another curvy, raunchy trucker-stud.
Desmond cuts hair in his barbershop, and he often gives his studlier customers a “happy ending”… But when one encounter with a wannabe rapper leads to a hit song name-checking Desmond’s oral skills, this downlow arrangement becomes more out in the open than Desmond expected! That leads to a series of man-on-man encounters with some of the toughest and handsomest alpha male thugs, ex-cons, jocks and even strippers around!
