budgeting – Mansploitation

The Dishwasher

Mario Zappia is a cocky casanova and dishwasher at the Pizza King, but when he needs money, he’s willing to give Avery Flowers a taste of his guido meat. Can Avery handle it?

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Read the whole thing here

Mario sucked on his teeth and rearranged his half-hard cock as he returned from out back. His dick was painfully sensitive because he had just gotten sucked off behind a dumpster. He could barely keep the smirking grin off his face. He loved the post-blowjob strut. He was sure everybody in the kitchen at the Pizza King could tell what he’d done. He licked his teeth like he was owed that blowjob.
Which he was, in a way. He treated that bitch right.
She was such a slut, he thought, and she wasn’t even good at sucking dick. He wondered if her father and brothers knew she gave out blowjobs like candy. They’d be humiliated if they knew. He ran his fingers through his slick black hair and put the hairnet on with a scowl. His muscles flexed, gleaming. The kitchen was so hot he was covered in sweat.
Vinnie the pizza-making fucker and Robert the prettyboy fucking waiter was sneaking peeks at Mario like they knew. Of course they knew he got a blowjob. Mario gets all the blowjobs cuz he got fly hair, a six-pack and he keeps it tight. He sucked on his teeth in their direction.
‘I should’ve gotten that slut to swallow my nut. She’d have done it too, I bet. I could’ve made her show me a mouth full of cum like a porno bitch.’
The image of that was stomach-churningly disgusting to Mario, but he really wanted to talk a girl into doing it. Like a black guy in a porno. The woman out back was such a slut he barely needed to mack on her for a minute before she dropped to her knees. Mario was tough; he was handsome; he was an alpha; he could get a girl to suck him off like that, yo! — the girls around here were such prudes though.
The dishes had piled up. Of course, Vinnie ain’t did any dishes. He was supposed to keep the dishes moving while Mario was out on break, but he hadn’t, and Mario knew he was going to get blamed for it.
The kitchen was a mess. A stack of pizza boxes done fallen over. A pile of banana peppers lay sprawled out across the floor. A mop bucket sat forlorn and filthy near the walk-in. A big bowl of spaghetii grew more and more crusty by the moment, resting on the shelf by the cooking station. A pan lay coated in extra-burnt charcoal near the stove — somebody had burnt something real bad.
With a harsh frown, Mario grabbed a pizza and brought it up front to a table. He wanted to get the kitchen back up to snuff, but he couldn’t do that with orders waiting around. As always, it was up to Mario to keep this place running.
And his dick wasn’t even dry in his pants yet. He had a smirk on his face when he went into the dining room of the Pizza King.
He scoffed and snorted and wrinkled his nose as he sullenly dropped off the pizza. He didn’t say anything to the customers at the table, because he was running through in his mind what to say to Vinnie about how awful the kitchen looked. Sure, maybe Mario realized, or a part of him did, that it was his fault too. Maybe mostly. Mario was supposed to keep the kitchen clean. Vinnie took over when he was outside, but Vinnie wasn’t supposed to be monitoring the entire kitchen.
Mario should have done that the entire time before he took his break, but he hadn’t noticed how the kitchen looked until he went outside and smoked a cigarette and returned. Now seeing it set his blood to boil.
“Man, fuck you, Vinnie, you mincing little shit!” Mario shouted at him as he came back to get a shaker of parmesan cheese for the pizza he had just brought out to a customer. He sneered at the stack of unwashed dishes, growing minute by minute, as though the sink had done him wrong. “You’s s’posed to do the motherfuckin’ dishes, Vinnie!”
Vinnie said something back, but Mario didn’t catch it. Mario sucked on his teeth again and gestured for Vinnie to go fuck himself — first he gave him the middle-finger, then he raised a fist at Vinnie and patted his own bicep — a gesto dell’ombrello. Vinnie glared at him, and his mean-mugging combined with Mario’s already hot collar.
Vinnie sucked on his teeth and waved Mario off.
“Come at me, then!” Mario said. He stepped forward and pounded on his chest. Some of the customers had noticed, but Mario didn’t care. His blood boiled. He wanted to strangle Vinnie. That was how it always went, whenever Mario felt a personal slight, he kept getting angrier and angrier.
The only thing that snapped him out of it this time was when one the other cooks, Tommy Lasso, stepped in front of him. He was a big beefy middle-aged Italian man, who scowled. “Mario, get ya ass in the awffice now!” He had a thick New Joisey accent. He shoved Mario away.
Mario wanted to go back and fight Vinnie. But he couldn’t cause a scene right now, he was trying to get an advance on his paycheck and any commotion was liable to make that impossible. So he backed away, mean-mugging that fat-ass punk-ass bitch-ass fake-Italian Vinnie Delatucci the whole way. He ain’t shit.
He didn’t turn around until he couldn’t see Vinnie or anyone else up front. Then he went into the back-office, Lasso still pushing him in that direction. He was surprised to see a different man there, a slim, flamboyant white man named Avery. Mario didn’t know Avery and eyed him suspiciously.
Avery blushed and nodded, and Mario gave him a hostile nod of hello.
“Mario, I heard you’s lookin’ for money, son,” Lasso said. He had a gravelly voice and that gruffly mellifluous New Joisey stawk. He had an Italian flag tattooed on his neck. It rippled when he moved. He had a craggy face and an ugly nose. Damn was he ugly, Mario don’t get how he ever found a wife. Shit, bitches got low standards in New Jersey.
“Oh, y’know, I ain’t lookin’ for a handout, no sir-” Mario said. “I got — I got bills, you know, but I can work, I do good work, shit-” He was still worked up from the encounter with Vinnie and now he was guarded because of the stranger eyeing him like candy. Avery looked Mario up and down with hungry eyes.
“Shut up. Mistah Caprinelli ain’t nevuh gonna give you one thin dime. He told me to slap ya for askin’,” Lasso said. He laughed. He reared his hand back as though he was going to do it, and in an instant, Mario was ready to hit him back. Mario formed a fist and mean-mugged Lasso, who continued smiling like he hadn’t noticed. “But I won’t. Instead, I got work for you, so you can earn it like a man instead of groveling like a bitch.”
“I ain’t grovelin’, yo’, don’t say that shit, Lasso, don’t spread yo’ scurry-“
“Shut the fuck up, jabroni, Jesus-fuckin’-Christ, you talk a buncha shit, ya fuckin’ prick,” Lasso said. He looked at Avery and nodded.
Avery’s thin lilting voice filled the cramped office. “I’ll give you two hundred dollars to let me jack you off,” Avery said. After a pause, he added, “With my mouth.” When again Mario didn’t immediately respond, Avery added again, “I’ll do it better than any blowjob. I heard you get them a lot.”
That was followed by a long silence, cuz Avery couldn’t think of anything to add to that, and Mario just looked dumbfounded. He probably made the same face when confronted with math, Avery thought. He was quite handsome, like a swarthy raccoon, with furrowing eyes and a petite little head, nose like a biscuit, He had the serious, smoldering brownness of an ethnically ambiguous underwear model, and he looked at Lasso like Lasso’s acne-scar marring on his face was a personal affront, but in a few years Mario wasn’t gonna look like a fresh-faced punk anymore and he was gonna wish he had the gravity of Lasso. He was already twenty-four, Avery thought. Dishwasher is no longer a cute profession for a man his age, and nobody told Mario he needed to improve himself. People don’t tell men with dimples things like that.
But for now, Avery just wanted to jerk him off. Basically all the women of Springfield, Illinois, seemed to want to do the same thing. Avery had heard of Mario’s blowjob prowess through his female friends, and he heard of Mario’s financial needs through his boss Lasso.
That’s who laughed the hardest as the shocked look that took over Mario’s face.
Mario was rarely flustered, but now he just scoffed and coughed over and over, unable to decide if it would look worse for his machismo to say yes or no. His cheeks bloomed red. His dick was ultra-sensitive cuz he just got a blowjob like five minutes ago.
“I just did get a blowjob in the fuckin’ alley, yo! From a chick!” Mario said.
“What? You delivered a pizza to a table-“
“Hmmm… was she fat?” Avery asked.
“Yo, shut up, she wasn’t fat,” Mario said.
“Did you wash your hands?”
Mario smirked. “Fuckin’-A, man, I ain’t touch the pizza. Well, maybe the crust a little.” He extended his middle finger towards the dining room. “Man, fuck ’em, shit, shit, man…” He looked at Lasso like he was trying to remember a reason to want to fight him, then he feinted with a half-hearted fist like he was thinking of doing it for no reason at all.
Then he looked back at Avery, who smiled. “Think you can go again.”
“Yo, no doubt, no doubt, no doubt, shit, man,” Mario said. “No doubt, I can always get hard, yo. Dick for days.” He repeated that like it was a slogan. “Dick for days, yo, dick for days.”
“Gonna see if that cock really works on ya, son,” Lasso said. He pushed Mario forward, towards Avery. Mario gulped, and he again paced — a very tiny route, just like two feet forward then two feet back.
“Yeah, shit, fine.” Mario nodded. “Yeah, sure, fine, man, whatever.” He sniffled and snarled like he did this every day. “Course my dick works. Hell yeah. Jerk it off, man, jerk it good. You deep-throat, bitch?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Avery grinned and dropped to his knees. “Of course.”
During a brief pause, the only sound was the distant roar of the ventilation and the low thrum of conversation in the restaurant. Mario sucked on his teeth, and Avery blushed. They both waited for Lasso to leave his office and shut the door. Mario stayed in that tiny office with Avery dropping to his knees. Lasso wished Avery wouldn’t do this in his office, but it was the only private room in the joint, so it was the only option. Avery had compensated Lasso for setting this up.
Mario gulped. He wasn’t nervous, he insisted that even to himself. There ain’t not a thing wrong with a man blowing a nut, he thought. It was real-uomo old-school, tough-guy prison shit.
Not that Mario had ever been to prison.
“You been to prison, right?”
Avery shook his head. “I was in the drunk tank for a day and a half once.” Avery unzipped his jeans and let his cock flop out. Avery loved men who were a little dirty and raunchy, and Mario fit the bill — he smelled like pizza and dishwater. These were the same jeans he usually wore to work, and he didn’t wash them often; even when he did wash them, that “pizza seasoning” smell didn’t come out. The grease and olive oil and oregano and parmesan all clung to the thick denim fabric, combining with the melange of Mario’s infrequently-washed sweat-coated muscles.
That big Italian hog dangled free, filling the office with the scent of manhood. Avery took it in his hand.
“I thought only booty bandits was ever into this kinda shit,” Mario said. “You nasty.”
Avery shrugged. “You’re wrong. You do have a nice dick.” He hefted it in his hand. “Not too big, not too hard. Smells a little like cheese.”
Mario screwed up his face. “Not too big, what’s’at mean, yo? It’s fuckin’ huge, you know it!” He smirked and laughed like he was looking for a hidden camera. “You know it!”
Avery kissed Mario on the tip of his cock, and he smirked up at him.
“It’s pretty big…”
Mario clucked his tongue. “Yeah, boy, get ya mouth on it that shit, don’t play wit’ it. Jabroni.” Despite his words, he took hold of his cock and slapped it over Avery’s face. “Ain’t it the biggest you ever seen, boy? Huh? Ain’t it?”
“Well-“
“Yeah, thought so,” Mario said. He seemed to have genuinely thought Avery said yes, and Avery didn’t disabuse him of that. Mario liked slapping Avery with his cock because he had done that to a girl once, as a joke, just one time, and she got furious and left. She had said it was disrespectful. Mario didn’t see it that way. He thought she should worship his cock. That seemed proper. His father (who was now in prison) said that women were meant to worship their man’s cock. Mario scoffed. “Bet you love my dick, huh?”
“I do!” Avery moaned. He chased Mario’s cock with his mouth, then finally got it past his lips. Mario stopped moving. Avery swallowed as much as he could in one go.
It was only part firm but getting harder by the second, and it turned into a jabbing iron rod in Avery’s mouth. Avery crooned and moaned around it the intensely savory flavor exploding in his mouth. Avery tasted a hint of something bitter and fruity — a woman’s lotion or maybe perfume — but he dismissed it as soap or remnants of laundry detergent. He didn’t know that it was the remnants of the woman who had sucked Mario off in the alley during his break.
Not that it would have turned Avery off if he knew. He soon hoovered up every drop of her odor anyway, eagerly making Mario forget about her shallow and amateurish blowjob.
Mario gasped and bit his lip, a little worried until now that he would have trouble getting an erection because he had just been sucked off moments ago. He tried to look nonchalant as his cock hardened in Avery’s mouth. Mario didn’t want to look surprised, but he had to admit he was shocked at how good this felt. He would have said that it could never be as good as a girl’s soft lips on his manhood.
But Avery was actually much better than any female. That became apparent right away. Mario’s overful balls thrummed as his dick stiffened up, Avery deep-throating him from the get-go — no girl was ever this enthusiastic about deep-throating. Mario had to talk girls into doing it, and they never had throats as wide or as deep as Avery’s.
Avery knew perfectly well what effect his mouth had on Mario. He had jerked off a lot of guys in the service industry, and an awful lot of them made faces like that. He was an expert deep-throater. Men could do it better than women, Avery thought, because they had the same equipment. They knew how to treat it right.
And women were namby-pamby about servicing big-cocked-studs like Mario.
“Hey, boy, I’m-a treat you right, ya feel me?” Mario said. He looked down at Avery, ignoring his instinctual panic at the sight of a male on his cock. He sucked on his tongue. He could already hear Lasso and others outside the office, laughing, no doubt impressed at how tough Mario was. He gripped Avery’s scalp. “I’m gonna plow ya throat now, I’m gonna treat it real rough. You gonna like that?”
Avery nodded without taking his dick out. His tongue teased the veiny underside of Mario’s shaft.
“Good. I don’t need no pansy goin’ full daffodil on me,” Mario grunted and chuckled. He had to hold back a grin. No girl had ever let him throat them, not like he had seen in porno. That was what he thought a blowjob should be like.
He held on and drilled his dick in. A spasm of pleasure ran up Mario’s spine as he felt Avery choke on his dick, but Avery didn’t make him stop, so Mario kept going. He rammed his cock all the way in until every last bit of dickflesh swelled to fill Avery’s throat.
“Ya, boy, you got balls-on-chin, man, that’s nasty, yo,” Mario said with a chuckle, making his voice loud enough that the guys outside could hear. “You must love my dick somethin’ fierce. Lemme hear you say it.” He pulled his dick out and Avery gasped.
“Uh-” Avery cried out for air.
Mario lightly slapped his cheek. “Lemme hear you say it. You love my dick or not?”
“I love… your dick…” Avery opened his mouth and went back to slurping on it even before Mario had heard him say it. Mario cackled and resumed throating, drilling his dick down deep.
This time, Mario realized he could be as harsh and violent as he wanted, Avery didn’t seem to care. He humped Avery’s mouth hard, laughing every time he heard his sweaty balls thwack against Avery’s chin — he had long ago heard jokes about ballsweat on a girl’s chin and had long thought that was how blowjobs were supposed to go, but he had such a big dick that no woman could swallow him deeply enough to achieve “balls on chin”.
But Avery managed it without even breaking a sweat.
“Ah, shit, boy, goddamn, you swallow dick good,” Mario said. He cleared his throat. “I mean… almost as good as this one female, uh — ” He paused. “I mean, a couple females. You know…” He hoped that sounded believable. Really most girls didn’t like sucking dick and made no effort to do it well. Mario would never admit that this was better than a female though.
In fact, if he hadn’t had a blowjob just a few minutes ago, he would have busted a nut already. He was kinda glad that he had to work for it now, then, cuz it wouldn’t look gangsta to bust a nut that quick. He made sure the guys watching could see his six-pack.
His ears wrinkled when he realized Lasso and the others were huddled together and laughing from the kitchen area. They all must have known what was going on now. Mario wasn’t shook up, and he wasn’t embarrassed — they just didn’t get Mario’s old-school Italian ways, he thought. He sucked on his teeth. “Buncha mamby-pamby pussies,” he thought, as precum leaked profusely from his dick and coated Avery’s mouth.
“You gonna get it up the dook-chute next, Mario?” Lasso called out from outside the office, and the others out there snickered too. It sounded like they were daring each other to come in here.
“Fuck you, Lasso!” Mario said. He wanted to add more, to call Lasso old and to claim he must have a withered useless cock.
But Mario was overwhelmed then by his orgasm, which hit him suddenly, surprised by how intense it was, maybe because his dick had started off so sensitive from the prior blowjob. He held on tight to Avery’s scalp, but Avery had taken control of this. Avery nuzzled his nose all the way into Mario’s pubic hair, letting his veiny uncut shaft throb in Avery’s throat.
“Goddamn… You gonna swallow, boy? Lemme see my nut in ya mouth first,” Mario said, a smile emerging onto his face. He threw his head back, and his voice broke then as an orgasm exploded within him. He couldn’t believe how good it felt. He was sure he looked like some young punk who’d never gotten sucked off before, he was just glad no one but Avery could see.
His lithe light-tan body squirmed, his compact little muscles all flexing at once. Creamy cum flowed plentifully down Avery’s throat. He had a spicy flavor to it, like the pizza shop he worked in and the bracing red pepper flakes that Avery could taste remnants of on his cock. It was warm, salty and savory too, like raw pizza dough, and his body was firm as ice when Avery reached his hands up to tweak his nipples and make his pecs ripple.
“Shit, goddamn…” Mario’s face was red as Avery finally let go. Mario cleared his throat to sound tough, like this was no big deal. Another jet of jizz filled Avery’s mouth and overflowed down his chest, and Mario’s knees went weak. He gasped, and all them all watching laughed. Mario laughed with them, even as his voice broke and he said, “Lemme see ya — ya nasty mouff fulla my nut.”
Avery opened his mouth, which was full of Mario’s cum. That creamy, salty flavor was all his senses could focus on, and Avery craved swallowing it. He needed it.
But first, Mario thought, he wanted all those guys out there to know how big his dick was and how good he was at using it. He opened the door with his massive dick, still half-hard, resting on Avery’s face. Avery’s mouth was open to display Mario’s wad resting on his tongue. Mario pumped his biceps.
“Oh shit-!”
“Nasty!”
“Goddamn, Mario!”
Mario cackled. Lasso and the other guys looked first and cheered, then they all blushed and covered their eyes. No one wanted to see Mario’s dick or his cumwad congealing on Avery’s tongue, but none could really look away either. Mario flexed his pecs too, concealed by his too-tight shirt, but it was tight enough that everybody could see how strong his chest was.
They were impressed, Mario was sure of that.
“Nah, watch this, watch this, I can make him swallow it whenever,” Mario said. He flopped his limp dick between his fingers, making sure his friends could see it, but he acted like it was an accident that he hadn’t put it away yet. He didn’t want it to be obvious he was showing off.
He held his hand in front of Avery’s face. “Spit it out, man.”
Avery spat Mario’s cum into Mario’s palm in front of his face. Avery blushed. “I love your cock, Mario, please, let me lick it more, let me swallow your nut-“
The others laughed so hard no one could hear the rest of Avery’s begging. Mario didn’t care, he just smirked and nodded. The guys all hooted, peering through their fingers as Avery slurped that cumload back off Mario’s mouth. He swallowed it, smacked his lips and let Mario see his now-empty mouth.
“Hell, yeah, boy! He slurped that shit!” Mario thwacked Avery with his limp cock. He couldn’t believe women kept refusing to do that — it was no big deal, he thought, if some dude could do it. Mario sucked on his teeth and pumped his biceps. “And he’s gonna pay me for the privilege, shit!”
Avery handed over the money, which Mario counted standing right there, his dick still out and dangling between his legs. Mario smiled broadly. He hadn’t felt so good in a long time.
When Lasso and the others finally went back upfront to return to work, Mario put his dick away. He sneered at Avery. “That was nice, man. Thanks for the money. Not that I needed it, y’know.”
“Sure.”
“Maybe you can come back in sometimes? Like… y’know, whenever. I work most evenings, except Thursdays and Fridays,” Mario said. He shrugged. “Or whatever, you ain’t got to. I got females, y’know… begging for my meat.”
Avery giggled. “Well, maybe I’ll drop in when I can, and when you’re not too busy with your girls. I sure did enjoy the taste of your Italian sausage.”

The Cops

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.”

The Basketball Team

Lance is teaching financial literacy to some basketball players when they have trouble concentrating… they need someone to service their manly needs, and Lance is eager to help out. Can Lance keep their attention long enough to finish his presentation?

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Read the whole thing here!

“Okay, guys, I know this isn’t fun,” Lance said. “But it is important. You won’t be able to play basketball your whole lives, so the money you make now needs to work for you for a long time to come.”
The team sat in front of him in the locker room. Lance would have rather done this in a more formal environment, but Coach Thickman had said that if you take the players somewhere else, like Lance’s office, after the game, a lot of them will sneak away. ‘You gotta git ’em when they still in the locker room’, Coach Thickman had said.
“Alright, before we talk about your options, let’s go over some terminology,” Lance said. “First off, risk. I’m sure you all use the word risk, but in finance it’s a very important concept. All investment is about balancing risk, and-” Once he got into the flow, he could tune out any distractions. He had perfect tunnel vision for this presentation. After having given this exact spiel plenty of times, he had it more or less memorized.
But he was mid-monologue when he realized most of the team wasn’t paying attention. They were either on their phones or chatting with each other, and one was distractedly rolling a joint as though it required all his concentration. None of them even seemed aware that they were supposed to be paying attention to Lance, like they thought he just came here to monologue about finance in an empty locker room and was willing to do it around them. Lance’s voice trailed off.
“Hey, gentlemen, shut up!” Coach Thickman barked, his voice weary and glowering. He jumped in front of Lance and meanmugged at the players. They did shut up, but they glared at Coach Thickman, whose broad, bare chest gleamed as he stared his team down. “This is an important presentation, and y’all gots to hear e’ry word of it.”
A long pause followed. Lance wasn’t sure if this was normal, or if the players were seriously challenging Coach Thickman’s authority. Thickman furrowed his brow in expectation of utter obedience and furrowed it deeper when the players looked at him like a crazy person for telling them what to do. A few rebellious snickers underhushed, and someone muttered, “Shut that ol’ nigga up.”
“Get’cha butts in the sauna!” Thickman said. “Now!”
The players groaned but stood. They clucked their tongues against their teeth as they sauntered away. More than a few glared at Coach Thickman and licked their teeth, punching fists into the palms of theit other hands, but they all did as told.
They didn’t move quickly though. They sort of sauntered in, all except for the one white player on the team, who hurried in first. Lance wondered if this meant his presentation was over.
When Thickman barked at the others, they hustled into top gear. “I ain’t say mosey into the sauna like sleepy glaciers, did I? I said get’cha booties in the sauna right now, pissheads!” They darted into the sauna, and all conversation stopped.
Lance blushed and bristled. Was that it? Did Coach Thickman think Lance was so useless as to make the presentation irrelevant? Lance was surprised how little of a chance he got. He hadn’t grabbed their attention in the first thirty seconds, and Coach Thickman had just given right up? That didn’t seem fair.
Then Coach Thickman’s hefty hand clasped Lance’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, hoss, they don’t wanna pay attention to nobody. You can give your spiel in a sauna, right?”
“Uh… in a sauna?”
“They’ll be naked, you comfortable wit’ that? You ain’t gotta be naked too. I mean… you can’t really go in there in a suit, you gonna get heat stroke fo’ real. But you can go in there in yo’ drawers,” Thickman said, walking away. “They won’t listen anywhere else. Too many distractions.”
Lance’s heart started pounding. He certainly didn’t mind hanging out in a sauna with a bunch of naked basketball players — Lance was a keen admirer of the male form, so he would enjoy that very much. He’d never given his financial-risk spiel in his underwear though. Would they mind if he was in there with them? What if he got a hardon?
The boisterous chatting of the players made it easy for him to find the sauna, which was at the far end of the locker room. Lance folded his clothes and left them on the bench outside the sauna. He kept his boxer shorts and a t-shirt on, since he knew his body would look pitiful in comparison to the players’s. He wasn’t in bad shape, but he was skinny and short by comparison.
“Yo, Coach, where dat white man at? My balls is stickin’, nigga! I gots bitches beggin’ me to come over, man! Let’s hurry dis shit up!”
When Lance walked in, one of the players — Trent Wyatt, a power forward — was standing right in front of the door, stark-naked, pantomiming aggressive action, he must have been who was bragging about bitches through the closed door. He bucked his hips into an imaginary woman, his thick cock flopping with every thrust of his body. His toned ass was dappled with sweat from the humid air of the sauna.
They all stopped laughing at Trent and looked at Lance. Everyone was quiet for a second.
Then Trent said, “So I told her it’s s’posed to hurt, you s’posed to bring along a girlfriend to lick yo’ pussy at the same time. Ain’t mah fault women hate you too much to get on that girl-girl trip wit’ cha.” That made his team burst into laughter all over again.
It finally died down after a minute or two, and the men all looked to Lance. He blushed, both from embarrassment and from overheating in the crowded, steamy sauna. Trent moved out of the way so Lance could address the whole team. Lance’s bare chest gleamed with sweat.
“Okay, guys, this is really important,” Lance said. “I know it feels like you’re gonna have this income forever, but you won’t. You can’t play until you’re old men. You-“
“But we’s gonna have sponsorship deals and shit, right?”
“Uh, well, some of you probably will, but not all of you, and that won’t pay like-“
They all cheered and clapped their hands as if that ended it. Lance waited until they were done before speaking again.
“That won’t last as long as you think, guys. Unless your name is Michael Jordan-“
But they weren’t listening again. They were talking over his words, bragging about what they intended to do with the money when they finally got it. They spoke of buying islands, of mansions around the world, servants by the fleet and yachts by the flotilla.
“Hey! Hey! Hey, guys!” Lance yelled until he had their attention again. “Please, y’all, let me get through this. You’ll make enough to retire as long as that money is wisely invested. Not in boats or tropical islands, but in income-generating assets. Who knows-“
“I got some income-generatin’ assets waitin’ for me back at the crib,” said one of the players. He chuckled a deep, raspy laugh, and the others joined in with him. “She about this tall, and she got a ass that ain’t nevuh quit.”
The door to the sauna opened. Coach Thickman barged in. The players all fell silent at once. Their eyes were downcast, avoiding contact with either Lance or Coach Thickman. Thickman wore his sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt, and his shirt became soaked in sweat from the steamy sauna.
“Hey, you goddamn shitwads, shut yo’ fuckholes and listen up! Cuz I know from personal experience that at least a half-dozen of you gonna call me in the next year, and be all ‘oh Coach Thickman, I spent all my money at a casino in Vegas and buying high-class whores fo’ mah niggas and now I needs you to pay mah child support or else I’s goin’ to jail and can’t play next month.’ And I ain’t havin’ that. Not even a li’l bit, nah,” Coach Thickman said. He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Put yo’ jockstraps on anyway. Mr. Williams here don’t wanna look at yo’ wingwangs.”
“Reckon he does…” someone said.
Lance didn’t see who said that, but it was obvious that someone had guessed he was into that. It was hard to hide his interest surrounded by jocks. Lance had managed to avoid getting a hardon, but it must have been apparent from the expression on his face and his body language that he enjoyed the physiques of the men around him.
“Hey! Nah!” Coach Thickman barked. “Don’t accuse the nice white man of nothin’.” When some of the players nodded their agreement, Thickman paused. He looked at Lance and raised his eyebrows. Lance blushed. The players hooted. Thickman frowned. “Okay, well, maybe, but still, you best shut yo’ mouths til he finishes his talk.”
“C’mon, old nigga, we got this,” Trent said. He stood up and wagged his dick, swaying his hips to make it slap against each thigh in turn. “Y’old man…”
Lance’s eyes were drawn to Trent’s massive cock. It was nearly a foot long and thicker than Lance’s forearm, and it was moist from the humid air, so it gleamed, the dark skin of Trent’s shaft practically glowing in the well-lit sauna.
“Hey all y’all shut the hell up,” Thickman said. “The league says you gotta listen to this white man’s speech. You gotta have financial advisement, fellas. Tomorrow I gotta fill out a little piece of paper and send it to the league. It’s gonna have the name of every nigga here — and you, Dirk — every nigga who listen up about finances. Whichever motherfucker ain’t on that list, ain’t gonna be playin’ till next season. Got it?” No one spoke, not even Dirk, the token white guy. Then Coach Thickman cleared his throat and opened the door. “So all you niggas best shut the hell up. And you too, Dirk. Listen good.”
“Thanks for rememberin’ me, Coach,” Dirk said with a laugh as the door shut.
For a moment all was silent. Lance was nervous. He felt like a bad substitute teacher who needed the teacher from the classroom next door to keep his students in line. Everyone looked at him.
The heat had begun to get to him as well. His underwear and shirt were plastered to his skin with sweat. Lance cleared his throat. “Okay, well… I’m going to assume that you guys know absolutely nothing about financial investing. That’s probably not true, but I don’t know what you do know, so-“
“Yo, math nerd!” Trent called out. “Nobody gives a shit. We all know what to invest in.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah,” Trent said. “I gots a recording studio, man. I got-“
“You have a recording studio? Does it make a profit?”
Trent paused. “I mean… I got an idea for a recording studio. Alright?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a place you record-“
“No, I know what a recording studio is. What’s your idea for one?”
“Gonna record all the rappers in town, man, all of ’em. I got connects with everyone around here, man. Ain’t gonna be Crips-only or Bloods-only, gonna get ’em all.”
“No you won’t,” Lance said. The sauna was silent for the first time since he had walked in. “You won’t get a single one. Recording studios are one of the riskiest businesses out there. The major record companies can offer multiyear, multimillion-dollar guarantees. You won’t be able to match that, and in any case, recorded music is barely profitable to begin with. Even if you win, you’ll lose money,” Lance said. “You know you’ll have to hire a dozen sound engineers to run that properly right?”
“I can do that.”
“Cuz your multimillion dollar salary from the league is paid out over a couple years,” Lance said. “Those sound engineers are gonna start costin’ you thousands a month on day one — they aren’t cheap. They demand salaries. They demand a guarantee of a job — they won’t move from here for some basketball player’s month-long whim. You’re gonna have to guarantee them a job, one that pays as much as your job is gonna pay. And you know what? They won’t sign up a single rapper. In addition to spending all your money opening a studio and spending all your time hiring sound engineers, you’re gonna have to spend all your time signing those rappers. Oh, and I almost forgot, your professional basketball career will take up essentially all of your time,” Lance said. “I’ve seen hundreds of athletes try to open up a recording studio. You know how many have made a profit?” He paused for effect. “Wait… fuck that, you know how many actually built a functioning recording studio that created at least one actual commercial recording? Zero. Not a single one. Fact is, it’ll take like a third of your salary over the next ten years just to build the recording studio, that’s before you buy any equipment for it, hire anyone to work it or start recording a single song. Again, there’s no money in recorded music anyway. You’d be better off opening a bar that books live acts.” Lance paused. “But don’t do that! Bars are an awful investment!”
There was a long pause. Everyone looked at Trent, whose eyes were downcast. Lance blushed. He hadn’t meant to go off on a rant like that. Every athlete he spoke to these days wanted to open a recording studio, and it was a dismal failure every single time.
“I’m sorry,” Lance said. “But really, I want you guys to succeed. You will be making enough money that you can retire. You can have fun in a recording studio. You can give money to your friends. You can buy jerseys for the little kids in your old neighborhood. But first you have to learn about mutual funds, not fantasize about glamor businesses. The most profitable businesses are boring, behind the scenes things, companies you’ve never heard of.”
Lance cleared his throat. He had their attentions now, but now he was so sweaty — and a bit horny — that he had trouble remembering his spiel. He closed his eyes and went over the beginning again in his mind.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk about a few words you should know. Who can tell me what inflation is?”
“Yo, I’m too horny fo’ this right now,” said one of the players, a light-skinned man with a handsome face and bouncing dreadlocks. “Trent was talkin’ ’bout his bitches ‘fore you walked in, and now I can’t stop thinkin’ ’bout ’em.”
Another player jumped in. “Plus you made me think about girls. Who’s gonna see that new Sally Anne Whitaker joint, huh? I’s ’bout to bust mah nut just thinkin’ ’bout that bitch. She gimme stiffies for real.”
That caused another bout of laughter and boasting from the players. This didn’t last very long, however, before Trent yelled for silence.
“Hey, y’all niggas shut the hell up. If we let ‘im finish, we can all go fuck our bitches,” Trent said.
“Let’s just ram ‘im, he obviously wants it,” said a player. Lance couldn’t tell who it was who said that, but as soon as he did, Lance shuddered a little. Then he smiled as they all laughed — it was obvious Lance wanted it. That comment helped to shatter the awkwardness of the situation.
Everyone fell silent, waiting for Lance to respond. Lance couldn’t think of anything to say at all, he couldn’t bring himself to get on his knees and start servicing them all, even if that’s what he wanted to do, and he couldn’t remember how to continue his presentation. He was utterly dumbfounded, couldn’t agree, couldn’t disagree, couldn’t do anything but stand there in his boxers like a nerd.
“Alright, well let’s do it,” Trent said. He jumped to his feet and approached with his cock in hand. He gave it a stroke. His team chittered, as though they thought he was all-talk.
Lance dropped to his knees. He had a feeling this was going to turn out to be a big prank, like Trent was going to throw a cream pie in his face instead of his cock, but he couldn’t just decline.
“Go’n nigga, damn!”
“Throat the honky down, Trent!”
The other players oohed and aahed, which turned into whooping and hollering when Trent fed his dick down Lance’s throat. He had a cocky smile on his face like he was glad to be the most adventurous player on the team.
The taste of sweaty cockmeat overwhelmed Lance. This was all happening so quick that he gagged on the flavor, then began excitedly deep-throating. Trent’s cock was only just starting to firm up, but he swallowed it as deep as he could get it, making the other players cheer and laugh. He nestled his nose in Trent’s thick pubic bush.
“Lemme in there, nigga,” said one of the other players. He thwacked his cock against Lance’s cheek. Trent grumbled, but he didn’t say no, not even when their cocks glancingly touched each other, which made both men wince and look away. Both looked like they would have objected, but nobody wanted to get called out as squeamish by the others.
Lance moved from Trent to the next player, Jashwan, a tall and lean thug who sneered at Lance. He gripped Lance by both ears and began plowing his face. “Take it, bitch, you little nerd, damn…”
“Force it down that bitch’s throat!”
“Lemme in there-“
“-feels like a shallow pussy-“
“Damn, honky got throat, yo!”
They were in a circle around Lance now, and they laughed as they passed his head between them. Each person grabbed him by the ear, pushed their dick into his throat until he gagged, then passed him onto whoever was next.
“Damn,” that Jashwan Mitchell said, “I ain’t nevuh had a whiteboy on mah dick ‘cept a prison bitch. They actually handle a dick pretty good when you ain’t forcin’ it.”
His teammtes all laughed, but stopped just a moment later when someone shot his load already. It was a burly, mustachioed black man named Deontay, who appeared to be embarrassed at cumming so soon. He sprayed his load right over Lance’s face and a little even got on Trent’s cockshaft before he pulled away.
“Yo, I oughtta beat yo’ ass fo’ that, nigga! You got yo’ cum on me!”
“Damn, that nigga lasted about three minutes…”
Trent’s anger vanished as the rest of the team laughed at Deontay, who stroked his limpening cock like he didn’t notice them guffawing at him. His creamy cum dripped into Lance’s mouth as Lance licked every drop off.
“Taste sum white meat now, honky!” said Dirk, the team’s only white player, causing a burst of hilarious laughter from the others. He rammed his dick in Lance’s mouth. Lance got the distinct impression that this was Dirk’s first time with a man, and that he wouldn’t have agreed except everyone else did and he didn’t want to be left out. His dick was soft, but it jerked to full attention once Lance started working on it.
Soon enough Dirk was in the same circle as the others, laughing as they pulled Lance from cock to cock. Precum coated Lance’s tongue, the salty flavor combining with the general air of sweatiness in the cramped sauna. He loved that taste, and he licked the sweat off their heavy scrotums.
“Hey, let’s bukkake the math nerd!”
It was Trent’s idea, but everyone was into it. They thought the idea was hilarious, and no one asked Lance if it was okay with him. It was, of course, but it would have been nice to be asked. Also, Lance wasn’t a math nerd. He was a business nerd, and he used to work as a merchant marine and even a lumberjack, but it didn’t feel like a good moment to bring that up, and his mouth was full of dickmeat.
“Oh, nasty! This sauna gonna get real gross real quick!”
He loved it when guys painted cum all over his face. That was precisely what center Khyree Pankhurst did just a moment after they agreed to bukkake. He grabbed Lance by the forehead and sprayed cum all over Lance’s face.
It dripped over his body as Lance jerked Khyree’s dick until it was totally limp and had no more cum dripping off the tip. He thought that was it, that no one would touch his face now that it had cum all over it, but the next player to go was Lamar, the one they call a prettyboy cuz he had Nickelodeon dimples and few tattoos. Despite his prettyboy face, he had no compunctions about smearing jizz over Lance’s nose and cheeks with his dick, which he then jacked off into Lance’s mouth. When he came, he pulled out to spray his nut all over Lance’s already cream-coated face.
“Damn, that nigga touched that cummy face! Fuckin’ gross!”
“Buncha little babies,” Lamar grumbled as he stepped away. “How y’all ever gangbang a bitch if’n you ’boutta explode every time you get a little nut on ya?” He wiped semen from his fingers onto Lance’s shoulder.
After Lamar, the men burst one after another in quick succession. They cared less and less with every passing second about touching each other’s cum. Two of them even shot at the same time then, both big pulsating shafts resting on Lance’s face as he stroked them off with both hands. Their fleshy cocktips touched as they sprayed salty seed over Lance’s face.
“Nigguz make a mess, damn!”
Then came Dirk, who blushed as he approached. He definitely avoided touching Lance’s face, right up until he actually orgasmed. He closed his eyes and his dick twitched until it touched Lance’s lips. A big ball of sticky cum dripped there, touching Dirk’s finger and cocktip.
That made him shudder in disgust. Even with his eyes closed, Dirk could tell what was happening, that his cock was touching other men’s cum. His discomfort made it obvious to the other players as well, and they laughed away the awkwardness.
“White man gettin’ nasty too, nice!”
It was Trent who approached with his cock, still rock-hard since he had been saving himself to go last, and wrapped one arm around Dirk’s still-orgasming shoulders. “Come on, whiteboi,” he said. “Don’t tell me you never gangbanged a bitch befo’?”
Then Trent put his limp cock on Lance’s face right next to Dirk’s throbbing white member. Dirk blushed and gagged in disgust but didn’t complain, even as Trent’s ropy muscles left a layer of sweat over his body and Dirk’s cock dribbled the last of his cum all over Trent’s cockshaft.
“Lookit that whiteboi blush, he ain’t nevuh jousted dicks befo’, huh?”
A part of Lance felt bad about making Dirk uncomfortable — the rest of the team acted as though no man had ever become an adult without jousting cocks in someone’s mouth — but Lance was so aroused he couldn’t resist. He took both cocktips in his mouth at once, mashed them both together and flickered his tongue in both pissholes.
“He’e it cums, white man, you gonna taste this fo’ real…”
Before Dirk could pull away, Trent had his own orgasm. He sprayed his load all over Lance’s tongue and teeth, and Lance kept his mouth moving so the entire wad of nut coated Dirk’s limpening cockshaft. Lance sucked it up, then spat it out over both Dirk’s and Trent’s dicks then sucked it up, then spat it out, and he only stopped when they both pulled away.
Lance sat there for a moment, savoring the feel of cum covering his face. He barely even noticed that he was masturbating himself, not until that moment, when he shot his own load onto the floor.
“Ew, nasty-ass pervert, gettin’ his own nut e’rywhere!”
Pleasure undulated through his body, along with a potent sense of shame as the team laughed at him. He blushed and looked down, embarrassed even as an incredible orgasm washed over him. He laughed with the others though, as they swatted dicks and flicked jizz at each other.
At last it was all over. Lance slowly licked all the cum off his face as the players wiped their dicks clean, breathing heavily and speaking quietly — their boisterousness was mostly gone now.
Lance rose to his feet. “Uh, okay…” The men all laughed at his awkwardness.
“Go on, man,” Trent said. the whole team fell quiet. “We need to know this shit. What is inflation anyway?”
“Yeah. When you’re done, can we do that again? I’ll be ready to get hard again,” said Lamar.
Lance blushed and smiled. He gathered his breath. “Absolutely,” he said to throngs of cheering. “And if you want… every time you come to my office to talk about your options, I’ll jerk you off again.”

The Cricketer

Rob is in England when he spies an amateur cricketer who needs some quid. He is Ranuga, and he’s desperate for dosh. That just happens to be a situation Rob can help with!

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Read the whole thing here!

Rob had one day to kill in Britain before he returned to Asia. He had a first-class plane ticket to Indonesia, and he eagerly awaited the departure. He’d had enough of the dreary monotony of England. Everything here was gray and bland: the food, the weather, the flowers somehow, it was all a vast wash of nothing.
The fields in the park near his hotel had been empty since Rob got here. It looked like a place they’d hold sporting events sometimes, but he saw no signs of that on previous days aside from lots of garbage. He hadn’t spent much time at the hotel, so it was possible something was going on there earlier. He was in Britain just to see a concert by his favorite band, the Monkeysmashers, so he hadn’t paid much attention to anything else.
When he left his hotel to find something to do on his last day in Britain, however, he saw people in the field. The little parking lot attached to it was full of cars.
Is that a park? Rob walked over there. He was trying to walk more, so this was a good plan, he thought. He’d go to the park. You never knew, he thought, he might meet someone.
It turned out to be an amateur cricket game. Or maybe just semi-amateur, maybe league play? Or was it a practice? Rob did not understand cricket enough to know. There was only a small audience, so maybe practice. Or a very unsuccessful league.
That strip of dirt down the middle was the cricket pitch. Rob was fascinated by it — he had never watched cricket, and as he approached, he overheard people express shock that a batsman had hit the ball to “cow’s corner”, which Rob thought was hilarious. It turned out to be a portion of the field that rarely received hits (so cows were free to graze there unmolested).
Rob had only stood there for a moment before he heard a loud engine roaring behind him. He — and the other fans, who appeared to be one small group of loud men shouting “oi!” at everything, and a bunch of women who were presumably the players’ girlfriends — turned to look at the car park.
It was a tow-truck, or a “recovery vehicle” as they called it here. It was a rusty brutalist conglomeration of winches and wheels, and a burly scally in a reflective vest hopped out to get it moving right away. In seconds, he had hooked up a ramshackle old Skoda, which was green like a depressed lime.
“Ranuga! Ranuga! They’re towing your car, mate!”
This was a repo man, Rob thought, or whatever the British word for that was. The tow-truck driver was in a hurry because he wanted to repossess the car before he was seen. Rob stepped aside. This seemed like a potential fight in the making. Or a scrap in the offing, however, they say that here.
A player from the team on the far side of the field sprinted through the game, which stopped as everyone turned to gawk. He shouted in what Rob first thought was a South Asian language — because the coach was either Indian or, Rob suspected as he got closer, Sri Lankan. But it was English, it turned out, just garbled and containing so many jumbled up obscenities and insults — even some rhyming slang — that Rob couldn’t decipher it.
He was Ranuga, and he had a rugged face with a dashing black beard peppered with salt. Rob stopped listening or paying much attention to anything except Ranuga. He was short but broad-shouldered and powerfully built, muscles rippling through the cricket whites he wore. His beard was a scruffy, curly explosion of pure jet hair, matted to his head with sweat. His skin was almost as dark, so the gray dapples in his beard stood out like a sun in the night.
“Hmmm…” Rob moaned to himself. He didn’t mean to do it out loud, but the women near him gave him an odd look. He smiled at them and headed out to the car park.
“You bloody wankeh! I told someone — Marianne, I think, her name was Marianne, in you’h bloody office! She said I could send a payment by the end of the week!”
“You still can, mate,” said the recovery-vehicle driver with a bored look on his face.
“No, no, you can’t take my car. I need that. I have to go to work, I have to drive — I need to drive, I have to, I have to-“
“You can take it up with your financing company,” the recovery-vehicle driver said. He was one of those jaw-heavy Brits who constantly chews on his lower lip. His jaw was working mad as he talked and then even moreso when he was quiet. “But I’m taking the vehicle.”
“I will fight you, I will-” the cricketer Ranuga said. His handsome face flashed and twinkled, and you could see in the solid sterling of his mug that he would have dropped to his knees to beg if he thought that would work. But he wasn’t gonna debase himself in front of the other cricketers unless he was sure he’d get something out of it.
And the recovery-vehicle driver was stone-facing. No mercy forthcame, and the two faced off. Ranuga had nothing more to say, and the driver couldn’t leave without turning his back on Ranuga. So they squared off with hostile mugs neither could come down from.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” Rob said. He came between them and faced Ranuga. He was suddenly stricken with desire. He paused, mouth agape.
“Uh… Yes? Mate?” Ranuga scowled. Then he shoved Rob out of the way.
His firm hands gripped Rob’s arm and pushed. Rob blushed. Ranuga took off his sweatshirt, making the assembled team laugh — Ranuga wore a sleeveless tee (or “vest”, as they would call it here) and flexed his biceps. His team laughed because he was “old” — at forty-two, he was hardly ancient, but he had a prematurely graying beard and the players were about nineteen on average, so he might as well have been Methuselah from their perspective.
Ranuga didn’t care. He was pissed. He had delicately arranged his finances so he could pay all his bills this month. But that wasn’t going to be possible until Friday. Marianne had told him that he could wait until then.
This, he thought, was ridiculous.
So a part of him thought taking off his kit and intimidating the tow-truck driver might have worked. Ranuga was in great shape, with a thick chest and arms like a stevedore. Rob licked his lips at the sight. His chest was covered in a mat of black hair except for a silver streak running down the center, over his sternum. Ranuga’s biceps bulged and ran with sweat despite the bleak chill of the London afternoon.
But the tow-truck driver was not so easily intimidated. He ignored Ranuga’s flexing and sputtering.
Ranuga’s hair was marvelously dense. Rob loved a hairy man. He blushed even though no one was looking at him. The teams were even going home. Ranuga’s red-faced rage concealed his embarrassment. He didn’t want his team to know he had money trouble.
“Uh, sorry, excuse me-“
“You yankee bell-end, wo the fuck do you want?” Ranuga said as he watched his car roll up the back of the tow-truck. He had his hands on the sides of his head, scratching his temple. His voice had a dense London accent, and he spoke like his mouth was full of sandpaper.
Rob came closer. “I can help.”
Ranuga blinked a few times. “Wot?”
“I can help you. With money. I don’t want you to be without a car. I’m sure-“
“Wot?”
“Can you come with me to my hotel room? I want to ask you something,” Rob said. He got closer, so Ranuga could hear him without the others listening in. The onlookers and players had mostly dispersed, but some still milled about, holding bats and balls — Ranuga was supposed to take all that kit home with him to store for the next game.
He was supposed to take that kit home in his car.
So no one knew what to do with it now. They watched Ranuga talk with the young American man — Rob — with a flamboyant lilt to his step. The recovery-vehicle driver glared as though Rob was doing something wrong by helping Ranuga with his bills.
“How much will you need?”
“For what? The car? To get current with payments…? Like six hundred pounds,” Ranuga said. He groaned and closed his eyes. He hadn’t said that out loud before. He was madly in debt. He slapped his hands over his cheeks and stroked that dense beard.
“I can do that. I’ll give you the cash,” Rob said. “If you take me back to my hotel and ram me senseless.”
There was a long pause. Rob blushed, and Ranuga did too, though his was hidden by his beard, which he scratched. He shifted his weight between his feet. It took a few seconds before he raised his eyebrows like he was just now processing what Rob said.
“Aaaaah… Aaah. Oh.”
“I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t wanna do. I wanna jerk you off and-“
“Fine. Deal. Fine.” Ranuga crossed his arms over his chest. Now he felt self-conscious in his vest. He wished he hadn’t taken off the shirt. He glowered, but inside he was exulting — getting current on his car payments would be amazing. That would put him ahead of the game. Ranuga looked to another player, Zaran, and yelled for him. “Oi! Put that stuff in your car and take it to your garage-“
“You do it-!” Zaran yelled back.
They both instantly erupted in shouting. Zaran was handsome too. He was lankier than Ranuga, and he had a charming set of dimples. He was like a zippy little hedgehog, running around the parking lot and playing some kind of prank — taking the piss out of — the other cricketers. It seemed they had all forgotten about Ranuga going off with the stranger. Ranuga obviously liked it that, and he didn’t mention it to anyone as he got work picking up after the match.
Zaran was cute, but he wasn’t as handsome as Ranuga. Ranuga had handsomeness in spades. He’d probably do better with women if he tempered his handsomeness with some cuteness, Rob thought, he was a little too handsome, like his only possible role in a movie would be ‘arrogant prince’. He was stressed due to the debt situation, as he hustled and bustled with Zaran, his muscular shoulders worked hard and stretched the fabric of his shirt. Eventually Zaran agreed, and he loaded up the gear in his car.
By then the other cricketers had all gone too. Ranuga swaggered away from the field and the car park. He didn’t wait to see if Rob followed. He was sure he would face lots of questions next week when he had a car and no American weirdo following him around.
Maybe, he thought, I should tell everyone he’s my bookie. It’s just embarrassing enough to be believable. I could say I won a couple quid on a bet and got my car back on Friday. Nobody can prove that didn’t happen.
“Is you into Sri Lankan blokes, mate?” Ranuga asked as they got near the seedy hotel. He had only just realized how odd this situation was — he had been so focused on getting paid that he didn’t think about this: Why had an American stranger come after him?
Rob opened the door to his room and let Ranuga in. He smiled. “I just admire the male physique.”
“Not Sri Lankans?”
Rob shook his head. “I didn’t know you were Sri Lankan. I would have guessed like Malaysian or something.”
“Malaysian?! Wot!” He scowled and wagged his finger at Rob. “Don’tyoo even say that.” He glared at Rob, who nodded and looked down. Ranuga stroked the beard. “You’re weird as.”
“I know…” Rob blushed. He shut the door, and Ranuga flopped onto the bed.
He wore a pair of track pants which he was about to rip off unceremoniously. Ranuga had never done anything like this before, so he felt a need to hide that fact — he wanted to look like an old hat at it. But he also didn’t want to look like some kinda trashy rentboy.
“Wait,” Rob said. “Let me take your pants off.” He crawled up on the bed, mounting Ranuga’s legs. He had on filthy old dark-blue track pants with a white stripe up the side. They smelled strongly of manhood and grass, and a bit of leather. Rob inhaled the intense scent as he massaged Ranuga’s legs.
Ranuga bristled. He had never been treated like this — most women wanted him to shower and wear nice clothes only to take them off. Rob seemed to want to worship his sweaty track pants, and he even nuzzled his nose within the salt-stained crotch. He inhaled loudly and passionately, full-throatedly savoring the scent and the moisture he flicked up with his tongue.
His forehead bumped against the pouch within Ranuga’s tight boxers, which cradled his heavy cock and balls. He was about to take off that sleeveless vest too, to bare his chest, but Rob stopped him.
He wanted to do it. Rob dove beneath the sleeveless shirt — an A-shirt, rather like what Americans called a “wifebeater” — and inhaled the stale sweat that had collected there. That tee shirt was utterly disgusting, Rob thought with a desirous giggle. It smelled like it hadn’t been washed in weeks.
More like months. Ranuga never washed the shirt because it was good luck. It had seemed like good luck ever since he wore it a couple times in a row when he won a game.
When he came to Britain, his teammates thought it was funny; they intimated it was a Buddhist tradition, that he had had the shirt blessed in a temple and now didn’t wash it in order to keep the blessing. That wasn’t true, but Ranuga had stopped disputing it.
He just didn’t wash it because he had worried it would interrupt his win streak back some twenty years ago, he thought as Rob squirmed and licked all of his unwashed flesh beneath the shirt. He eventually lost a game, so the win streak was interrupted anyway, but he couldn’t help but feel the shirt was good luck anyway. He washed it once then, again a bit later, and a girlfriend had washed it unknowingly once, and then he had washed it again somewhat more recently.
But still, it reeked of his manhood because it became utterly soaked, sopping wet with his spicy sweat every weekend, and he hadn’t washed it in two years. He felt right putting it on.
Now he was embarrassed. Was his stink what had attracted Rob to him?
While Rob appreciated a natural man’s musk, what he really loved — besides the adorable beard — was that chest. Ranuga had a dense mat of black hair over his powerful muscles, which were as black as night. He had darker skin than Rob even thought possible.
Rob’s tongue flickered through the hair that covered Ranuga’s broad chest, and his hands slowly worked the shirt up. His pecs were firm, his abs rippling when he sneered at Rob. His shirt raised slowly, and Ranuga’s frustration drained away while Rob slurped up the filth clinging to his chest hair, then his armpit hair. When the shirt was close enough to Ranuga’s nose to make it impossible for him to ignore the scent, Ranuga snarled in frustration and took the shirt off completely. He tossed it on the floor.
“You take forever, mate,” Ranuga said with a grunt. He was starting to get hard and wanted to finish this off quickly. Plus he didn’t want it to be obvious he had gotten hard before Rob touched his cock directly — it would look too freaky to get hard now. But Ranuga loved nippleplay.
So he lifted his ass and again removed his own trackpants. Rob took them from him and did it instead. He pulled them and his boxers down in one smooth motion, revealing a big brown uncut cock, already throbbing and stiffly floppy, just beginning to get hard. It was uncut, thick as a bottle of cider.
“Hmmmm…” Rob smiled and got down to business. He put the entire thing in his mouth at once, since it was obvious Ranuga didn’t want to dilly-dally. He tasted spicy with a peppery, grassy taste, like licking a lawnmower covered in salt, Rob thought. It made his lips pucker and his throat clench around Ranuga’s shaft.
A jolt of pleasure visibly wracked Ranuga’s cock, which twitched. Ranuga sucked in his breath. “Damn! Blood ‘ell, mate…” he murmured. He lifted his ass as though to stand, but he only leaned forward, pushing his meat deeper into Rob’s throat. That triggered a potent gag that exploded from deep within Rob, who choked out a wad of saliva that ran down Ranuga’s shaft and wetted his silky bush.
But he kept on it. That cock quickly firmed up until it was as hard as his thighs, which were like tree-trunks. Rob gripped them and produced as much spit on Ranuga’s cock as he could. He slurped his spit right back up and spat it out to run down Ranuga’s shaft to his balls.
“Ah, bloody ‘ell, oh fuck…” Ranuga’s voice became deeper as Rob’s mouth moved down his shaft, and then to his sac.
Just like the rest of his body, Ranuga’s crotch was very hairy, and his balls initially looked disappointingly small. But that was only because they were buried in his unkempt nest of pubic hair, and when Rob started slurping and slathering spit all over them, his hair became matted and those full, luscious balls filled Rob’s mouth.
“You wanna ram me?” Rob asked with a sultry giggle when Ranuga’s eyes opened wide.
Ranuga nodded and blushed again, his face now a blackish-red beneath his beard. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
So Rob mounted his body, using his hairy chest for support — which made his muscles ripple beneath Rob’s fingers — as he sat his ass down on Ranuga’s cock. There was a brief burst of pain before Rob’s ass loosened up enough to accommodate every inch of Ranuga’s throbbing member. The pain was replaced with a wave of pleasure when Ranuga’s knob hit his prostate. Rob threw his head back and begged for more.
His eyes opened when his dick slid in. Ranuga had never done it up behind, not even with a woman, so he was astonished at how easily it happened. This was all going down so quickly, he thought. He kept his hands behind his head because he didn’t want to accidentally touch Rob’s cock — and he felt sure if he didn’t move his hands out of the way, he would instinctively reach for Rob’s breasts, which of course he didn’t have.
Ranuga did piston his hips up and down once he got started, and he groaned loudly. He tried to muffle the sound out of concern someone would hear what was going on in here, but he couldn’t help himself. Shivers of pleasure ran up his spine and made it hard to think about anything else.
“Oh holy shit, mate,” Ranuga said, his voice soft but so loud and baritone for the moment that it resonated in Rob’s ears. Ranuga found his hands moving of their own accord, away from his head and to Rob’s ass.
He gripped Rob’s bare cheeks with a sense of wonder — he couldn’t believe he was doing it, touching a man’s bare ass as his cock slid into it.
And he was enjoying it! He had thought, before this began, that he would just lay here and let Rob service him. He pictured himself thinking about other things, maybe even getting drunk first. But that hadn’t happened, and he couldn’t think about other things because this felt too good. A wave of pleasure fell over him, making Ranuga gurgle and murmur, hands turning into fists that clawed at the air in front of him.
It felt better than any woman. He held onto Rob’s ass and lifted himself up. His angle was awkward, and he only used his elbows, not his hands, so it took every muscle in his great hairy body.
But soon he was crouched on the bed, Rob bent way over in front of him with his ass high. That was the perfect angle to ram in and out with all his might, sending waves of pleasure through him and also stimulating Rob’s prostate — not that Ranuga knew that.
So Rob reached his orgasm even before Ranuga. “Oh bloody ‘ell, stick it in me, Ranuga! Stick it in me!” He cried out into the blanket on top of the bed, and his hands gripped the cloth tightly. When he finally touched his cock, a jolt of unspeakable bliss wracked his body so hard it hurt, and his ass clenched.
Cum sprayed over his hand and onto the blanket, covering the bed with his spooge. It was good that Ranuga was about to cum, because within a few seconds it smelled so strongly of semen in here that Ranuga would have had trouble staying hard — he very strongly disliked that smell.
His white beard hairs quivered as Ranuga moaned and pressed down on Rob’s back. He grunted. His hot breath condensed on the back of Rob’s neck.
Then, at last, cum flowed into him. There was a great river of it, more and more continuing to flow, while Ranuga threw his head back and howled. He no longer cared about getting caught or about his teammates thinking he was poor.
There was nothing he could do about that stuff. This asshole, he thought, was something he could handle.
He grimaced, veins throbbing against the skin of his neck. He couldn’t believe how good that had been or how long it had taken — and he even got paid for it! He licked his lips.
Then Ranuga withdrew, his limpening dick sliding out and making Rob shudder with remnants of his climax.
Ranuga took a deep breath. “You better pay me. Six hundred pounds.”
“I will,” Rob said. He reached for the trousers he had dropped on the floor. But he was too tired, his legs and ass sore, to get down and pick up the wallet in the pocket. “You can get all the cash out of there. It’s like six hundred and ten pounds.”
Ranuga didn’t want to look desperate, so he nonchalantly picked up the trousers and found the wallet. His sticky cock was stuck to his thigh. Rob watched the moisture sparkle and evaporate on it.
He was glad to see the money was there. It was actually six hundred and thirteen pounds. A bonus, Ranuga thought as he pocketed it. “If anyone asks, you’re my bookie.”
Rob shrugged. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone anything though. I practice discretion, and I’m going to Indonesia tomorrow.”
Ranuga was relieved. He felt Rob’s eyes peering over him as he put his clothes back on. He was sweaty — and of course that tee shirt was even sweatier — which made him self-conscious. But he couldn’t hardly deny doing the same thing when his girlfriends dressed in front of him. He wondered if they felt the same way about it.
He did turn and wave his dick at Rob’s face before tucking it away. He smirked and took a deep breath. “Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”
“Me too,” Rob said as Ranuga walked out the door, trying to be unobtrusive in case any of his players were around. Rob just leaned back and sprawled out on the bed, which still had the spicy Sri Lankan flavor of Ranuga’s mansweat.
He was beginning to appreciate the sport of cricket.

The Plumber

Rob hires a plumber with a body to die for and an ex-wife he can’t stand. Luckily Rob is there to help him out with a soft touch, an open mouth and a willing ass!
Can Rob get his plumbing fixed at last?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob had never seen a pleasant plumber. They were always fat and gross in his experience, like a sour frog mated with a rejected hog. So when Dino showed up, his knees went weak. Rob stood there at the front door, quaking like a child.
Dino was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with swarthy skin betraying his Greek heritage, though his accent had the baritone stawk of an American man. He had a dense mop of curly black hair that extended in an unruly mess all the way to his shoulders, not that he had a long hairstyle — he had a short hairstyle that was overgrown enough to cover his nape. He wore a tight wifebeater, much too small for his expansive frame, and a thick layer of curly black hair extruded from beneath it.
He had a surly look about him. A lot of people would have seen him as rude — quite accurately — but Rob didn’t care. Rudeness didn’t bother Rob. Meanness did. Some people had forgotten there was a difference. Rob thought that difference was the most important fact that was largely unknown and unspoken of.
It was a simple job, and it only took a few hours. Rob went away to surf the web. It was difficult to distract himself, and he kept getting hard thinking about Dino there under the sink. Dino was sprawled out, head in the under-sink cabinet, long thick legs stretched across the kitchen floor.
“What?” Dino’s angry voice spat out. It was deep and resonant.
Rob was flush with fear. Had he angered Dino? Had he offended him? He wasn’t even in the same room. He cautiously crept into the kitchen.
“I told you about that.” Dino said. His fingers gripped the cell phone tight as he held it to his ear, rolling out from the undersink cabinet. The wide nostrils of his fat nose flared. His shoulder muscles rippled beneath the wifebeater that was now sweaty and marked with grease. He stood up and paced in the kitchen. “I told you — baby, look, I said I’d pay for it, right? So — so just fuckin’ wait for it! Don’t tell me not to curse at you, you’ve been cursing at me since the moment I answered the phone! Well fuck you, I told you about that and you dumped me, so it’s none of your business, you fat stupid cow!”
He hung up the phone and nearly slammed it on the counter but stopped himself at the last moment. He tossed it into his toolbox instead, then he roared and shadowboxed the air, his face ruddy and his hands tightened into fists.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “That was my bitch ex-wife. She’s such a fucking whore. You know she’s makin’ me pay for my daughter’s makeup? I don’t even think she should be wearing makeup yet, she’s only thirteen. I said no. I threw it all away into the garbage. But I don’t get a say, I just have to pay for it.” His face was red and he paced in Rob’s tiny kitchen. He stopped and looked at Rob. “Sorry. She’s just… She’s being a bitch. Wants me to cough up two hundred bucks out of the blue. Like I’m fuckin’ made of money.”
“I know how you can make two hundred bucks,” Rob said with a flirtatious grin, which he hoped looked nonchalant. “Not plumbing. I mean, in addition to the plumbing.” Rob reached out to pat Dino on the belly through his wifebeater. He had so much body hair there Rob didn’t feel the firmness of his flesh, just the tangle of body hair beneath the fabric of his shirt. Dino showed no reaction. Rob said, “And if you do it the way I tell you, I’ll give you five hundred.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Do what?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” Rob said. He blushed and grabbed for the loose waistband of Dino’s jeans. He tickled the rim of his boxers, and Dino’s eyes opened wide. His muscles all tensed. “It’s long, I’m pretty sure, and thick, and it’s probably a light brown, and I’ll make it feel very good-“
“You, uh…” Dino paused. “You tryin’…?” He looked away and bit his lip.
“Yes. Exactly. I’m not big and tough like you, and I’ve read that playing with the dick of a bigger man can make me stronger. I’ll make you forget that bitch ex-wife,” Rob said. “I just want you to help me embarrass my own embarrassing former family. My dad. He’s disowned me, I like to call him sometimes and let some guy he’d think is white trash make it clear he’s made me his bitch.”
Dino blushed and laughed nervously. He covered his mouth with his face. He grabbed his crotch with his other hand. “Let’s, uh, be clear,” he said. His eyes flashed menacingly. “I ain’t gonna touch your dick. You don’t get up in my ass or nothing. I will rip yo’ face off if you even think about it.”
“No, no, nothing like that. I’ll swallow your dick. You stick me in the ass. You make a lotta noise when I call my stepdad,” Rob said with a shrug.
Dino paused. He caressed his own chest, his muscles rippling as he looked away from Rob — he found eye contact very intense and uncomfortable right now. He sighed like he was going to say yes, but then he stopped and reconsidered. He opened his mouth. He laughed again. “Aw, fuck, it’s for my daughter…”
“A noble cause,” Rob said. He gently touched Dino’s meaty but flat belly, through his wifebeater. Then he pushed one of his fingers beneath the fabric, tracing a trail through the sweaty hair there. His chest muscles rippled when Rob came into contact with them.
“You, uh, want me to take a shower first?” He asked. He raised one arm and sniffed at the pit. “I stink-“
“No!” Rob blushed and rammed his head into Dino’s hairy armpit. He suckled on the coarse, sweat-slickened hairs there, which made Dino chuckle. Normally Dino was ticklish there, but he was too shocked to react that way. He was used to people treating his sweaty, hairy body as gross — as impressive, given his muscles, but still foul-smelling and unpleasant no matter how much he washed. Dino was used to it by now, so he found it weird and off-putting to have someone actually worshiping every inch of his raunchy flesh.
“Damn, you are nasty,” Dino said with a bass chuckle, which Rob heard through the thickness of Dino’s chest.
Rob licked the flesh of Dino’s chest. He licked over Dino’s hairy pecs, lapping at the kinky hairs and sucking up all the sweat. Dino’s muscles rippled as he tensed up. He had never had a girl who was really, genuinely into his muscles and hairy body — they occasionally thought he was handsome enough, but they would have preferred he was smaller and smoother.
But Dino couldn’t do anything about that. He had been beat up too much as a kid to be willing to slim down, and anyway he was a big boy by nature. He put on muscle-weight easily, so he worked out a lot. At first he had only worked out because he wanted to look good for when he picked up chicks. He had simply overshot his goal, and he refused to change his trajectory, so he just kept getting bigger and bigger and less and less appealing to women.
He felt self-conscious and vulnerable when Rob undid his belt and dropped Dino’s heavy workpants. His cock and balls dangled. His dick had never been so limp, and he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get hard. Finally he had the bright idea to bring up some medical-supply catalogue models on his cell phone. Hot chicks dressed as nurses usually got him going. It was close enough to pornography, if you know the right sites to look at.
Rob saw Dino take out his phone and mumble to himself as he looked up some chicks. Rob didn’t mind, he was used to servicing big alphas in need of women to get fully hard. He inhaled deeply of Dino’s musk, then swallowed his dick to the root. It was limp and soft, but as soon as it touched Rob’s tongue, it twitched.
It pulsated in Rob’s mouth. He could tell when Dino found a pic he was really into because his dick jumped and hardened. It went from soft to erect as stonehenge in seconds, and Dino groaned over Rob’s head. He began pumping his hips back and forth, gently at first but with more force with each thrust of his hips. His swollen cock rubbed on Rob’s tongue, while Rob’s hands gripped the hairy firmness of Dino’s thighs.
As the sour taste of precum overwhelmed Rob, he gurgled merrily. Dino tasted salty and sweet, and a little like seawater — his precum tasted like Rob imagined seawater did on a remote Greek island. It tasted sunny and warm and savory, and it made Rob’s mouth water as he savored the creaminess and the brine that assaulted his senses. He licked and lapped at that throbbing cock, while giggling at how it made Dino twist and writhe as though it hurt.
Really though Dino just contorted because it felt so good. His knees were weak. His body was overcome by pleasure wafting over him in waves. He wanted to grab ahold of Rob’s head and fuck his throat like a slut’s pussy. Dino rarely got the chance to cum in anyone’s mouth like that — mostly girls thought his body hair was gross enough that any kind of contact was a favor. Women disliked the way his chest hair, back hair, crotch hair, leg hair and armpit hair all kind bled together into a carpet of fur. Rob loved a hairy man. Dino’s ex-wife had made him lick her pussy without ever sucking his dick, and then when he complained, she called him a misogynist.
None of that bothered Rob in the slightest. He loved a hairy man.
His cock spewing prejizz into Rob’s mouth, Dino grunted. He was still on the page for that nursing catalogue when a call came. It bounced him off the website and those beautiful blonde nurses disappeared. He was angered, especially when he saw that it was his ex-wife again.
“Fuckin’ bitch,” he murmured to himself. He answered the phone, which required him to bend over and grab it from the toolbox he had put it away in. His hairy asscheeks loomed high in the air for just a moment. Then Dino snarled into the phone, “What?”
“You are such an asshole, Dino! You never told me about that slutty bitch at the club. It’s just like Tampa all over again-“
“It is not, you stupid bitch!” Dino screamed. “I did tell you about her, and I ain’t fuck her, and we ain’t together so it wouldn’t be any of ya bizness if I did! I don’t gotta tell you ‘bout this shit!”
“If you ever want to see your daughter, I have to be convinced you have a healthy living environment, Dino. You can’t be getting drunk with sluts.”
“I don’t do that when I have Lydia! You are one miserable bitch of a cock-sucking whore! How’s that accountant’s dick taste, huh?”
“Dino! I can’t deal with you when you’re like this. I oughta send my brother over there-“
“Go ahead, I’ll kick his ass again,” Dino said. “What do you want, Marina? I’m busy right now, I got a girl over.”
You’re not at work?
“She was one of my clients. She been beggin’ for my meat,” Dino said.
Yeah, right. You’re a pussy, Dino. And you’re a hairy fuck.
Dino whispered, “make some sounds like a girl.” Then he put the phone next to Rob’s mouth. Rob blushed but did as he was told. As he swallowed, he made loud gurgling sounds, taking care to ensure his voice was as feminine as could be.
Ew, god, Dino, did you just put the phone near your cock? That sounded disgusting. You’re disgusting. She sounds like a total slut. And she sounds fat.
“You’re disgusting, you stupid bitch,” Dino said. “I gotta go. I got my dick in a girl who’s worth a damn.” He hung up, glad he had gotten the final word for once. That rarely happened. He grinned down at Rob.
His dick throbbed in Rob’s mouth like getting the final word made his erection firmer. Now that Dino had gotten more comfortable with this whole thing, he went ahead and plowed into his throat hard. He wrapped his meaty palms around the back of Rob’s head. Rob paused to situate himself at the perfect angle to deep-throat Dino, who began grinding his dick into Rob’s gullet.
That must have sent a wave of sensations through Dino, who groaned and threw his head back when he felt the earliest tingling of his orgasm. He went slow, not wanting to blow his load so soon. He ground his dick into Rob’s throat, which spasmed and struggled to accept every inch of his load.
Dino had been raised Greek Orthodox, so he was overcome with guilt as he pounded. Dino had always thought masturbation was wrong. A man should save up his seed for the holiness of matrimonial passion. He really ought to start going to church, to prove he’s not a degenerate, but also because his ex could try to get him in legal trouble and a history of going to church would look good in court. Plus Dino’s mother would want be furious if she knew he wasn’t a churchgoer.
It didn’t seem like it should be sinful to Rob. He was just jacking off in a welcome, warm, wet hole — what could be sinful about that? The Bible didn’t forbid it. Rob pulled off Dino’s cock and slobbered on the tip. He smiled up at Dino.
“You’re gonna put on a show on my phone too, right? I wanna embarrass my dad,” Rob said.
Dino shrugged. “Fine, whatevuh.” His muscles rippled again as a shiver of pleasure ran up his body. Rob didn’t even stop servicing his cock when he pulled his own phone out of the pocket, and he didn’t let it pop out of his mouth as he scrolled through his contacts either. Finally, he dialed his dad.
When Rob gave him his phone, Dino was surprised — he assumed Rob would start the conversation. He didn’t know what to say to Rob’s father, and he was so overwhelmed by the pleasure snaking through his body that he didn’t know if he could come up with anything to say.
“Yo. Hey, Mr. Winthrop?” Dino asked, his voice wavering because the pleasure arising from his loins.
Yes. Who, may I ask, is calling? He sounded annoyed at being interrupted. Rob snickered around the cock in his mouth. He’d changed his phone number so his dad would accept his calls again, and it looked like that worked.
“Yo, uh, this is Dino. I just wanted to say thanks, for makin’ ya son. He got a nice tight throat, and my dick fits perfectly down it.”
A loud sigh came from the phone. Am I on speaker-phone? Robert, this is truly immature behavior.
“His mouth is full, sir, full of my dick. He looks good wit’ dick in his throat,” Dino said. “You wanna listen as I stick ‘im? I’m gonna stick him in the ass now.”
He grabbed Rob by the hips, and pulled him off. His dick was cold and alone, begging for attention — Rob tried to stroke it as he got in position, but Dino kept moving, making it impossible to jack him off as they arranged themselves.
Rob dropped his pants and bent over on all fours. He put the phone on the ground in front of his face, so his father could hear everything that happened.
“Hey, Dad! I’m just using my inheritance,” Rob said. “I paid Dino five hundred dollars to stick his dick in me.”
Robert… You shame me.
“I know, but you deserve it,” Rob said. He threw his head back and moaned as Dino slipped into him. There was an intense, uncontrollable pressure. He moaned again, as loud as he could, a powerful, cringing sound that resonated in the kitchen. Rob’s father groaned in disgust.
You don’t need to call me for this.
“I absolutely do!” Rob said. His voice broke as a twinge of pleasure erupted in his prostate. He pushed his ass back, squeezing every inch of Dino’s dick into him.
Now that he had started and was into the groove of it, Dino was less nervous. He was surprised by how easy this really was — Rob’s ass felt exactly like a girl’s. It helped that Rob was such a feminine man, with a bubble-butt that was smooth, clean and unblemished, not to mention tight. He writhed like a sexy snake below Dino’s firm body.
“Yo’ son is a pervert, Mr. Winthrop!” Dino called out. He cackled. “That’s my dick in his ass!”
Really, son, you are disgusting. I’m hanging up now. And then he did so.
Rob was disappointed, but he wasn’t surprised. Dad always hung up once the noise started getting really passionate; Rob liked to imagine that he sobbed once he hung up the phone, but he didn’t know if that was true or not. Rob reached behind himself to spread his asscheeks, giving Dino more access to his asshole.
With a loud roar, Dino slapped Rob’s asscheek. He held onto it tightly as he humped. When he had gotten started, Dino didn’t want to touch any more of Rob than he absolutely had to. He was worried he’d feel some body hair and remember he was deep in a man. He’d be humiliated if his dick went soft in the middle of this.
But now that he was into it, he wasn’t worried about that all. Rob’s ass felt exactly like a girl’s, and he was so smooth he put most girls to shame. Dino gripped his ass and slammed his dick all the way in.
“Take it, bitch, god-damn!”
Once he was more comfortable with it, he knew what position he wanted — no girl ever let him do it for more than a few seconds because they said he was too heavy and hairy. But Dino had long wanted to do it laying on his partner’s back.
So that was what he did. He rammed his dick until it was all the way in, and he wrapped one forearm in front of Rob’s mouth. He sighed and moaned directly into the back of Rob’s head. His sweaty, hairy chest plopped down on Rob’s back. Bliss flooded Dino’s body, making his chest muscles spasm and flex against the smoothness of Rob’s spine and shoulders.
Entirely pinned beneath the Greek giant, Rob couldn’t even squirm, due to Dino’s heavy body pressing down on his back. He couldn’t breathe either, both because of the mass of Greek muscle atop his back and because he was too overcome by passion to take a breath. The body hair scratched Rob’s smooth back and left a sheen of sweat that Rob both felt and smelled.
“Hell, bitch, slut… You take dick good, damn! You must do this a lot…”
Dino rotated his hips, moving his dick in a wide circle within Rob’s ass. He hit every corner of Rob’s insides, his cock aiming into every part of Rob’s guts. He could even tell — as disgusting as it was — when his dick touched Rob’s prostate because it made Rob writhe beneath his body. He couldn’t move much, but Dino could feel his body struggle to squirm, and he sensed the pleasure roiling Rob’s innards.
Rob gasped, and Dino grunted.
Finally Dino felt his orgasm coming on strong. Rob had stopped breathing, the pressure in his ass so intense he couldn’t even gasp. Dino snorted like a hog, the sound of his rutting filling the air and echoing in Rob’s ears. Spasm of pleasure wracked both men’s bodies, which made Dino’s muscles ripple while Rob gaspingly pressed his back into Dino’s hairy chest.
“Here I go, baby, gonna fill you up, I love you so much, sweetheart-” Dino stopped and blushed because he remembered he wasn’t talking to a female. Luckily Rob either didn’t hear his words or didn’t take them seriously.
A wad of hot cum sprayed into Rob’s ass. Dino groaned loudly, his deep voice resonant and rough like sandpaper. His cum was hot and creamy, and it seeped into Rob’s flesh. Rob moaned as he shot his own load onto the floor and into his hand. Dino wrinkled his nose in disgust — he hadn’t known Rob was pleasuring himself — but he didn’t stop Rob even if it seemed disrespectful. Dino had been raised to believe a real man commanded respect, and he didn’t let his bitch distract him.
But this was too potent an orgasm to do anything while it still coursed through his veins. Dino’s hands curled into claws, then tightened into fists. He smacked Rob, not outright punching him of course, but hitting him in an affectionate way — or at least he saw it as affectionate; Rob saw it as bullying, but he was so aroused by it so he didn’t complain — harder than he would have ever hit a girl. More and more jizz jetted into Rob, until he was drenched inside and couldn’t even feel if it was still happening. But he could still feel Dino’s thickness throbbing within him, as cream and santorum dripped out between his legs.
He burped and laughed. Any girl would have kicked him out of bed for burping in their face, but Rob inhaled deeply of it and moaned. Dino screwed his nose up in disgust. His cock slowly limpened, but he remained in position, deep in Rob’s ass, his heavy body pressing down on Rob’s back.
“You ain’t gonna stiff me, is you?” Dino asked. It hadn’t occurred to him before now that Rob could just refuse to pay him, and Dino would have no recourse. He should have demanded money upfront. His dick still lay in Rob’s ass, its pulsations sending waves of pleasure up his spine.
“No. I won’t. I’ve got cash in my wallet,” Rob said, his voice strained and clipped. He bit his lip and moaned.
Dino nodded and moved to get up. When he did, his dick swam through the sea of cum that gurgled within Rob’s ass. He could feel the sticky fluid clinging to his soft cockflesh. Rivulets of jizz slid out Rob’s behind and onto the floor.
“Wait,” Rob said. “Can you stay there for a moment? I like feeling you inside me.”
“Fine,” Dino said with a grunt. It now felt pretty gross — this was more what he had imagined it would feel like before he started. He was intimately aware with every passing moment that he was inside a man’s ass. There was no way to pretend he was with a woman, not now. He reached out and grabbed Rob’s pants. “In here?”
“Yeah.” Rob’s voice was weak and wavery.
Dino pulled out the wallet. He briefly considered stealing Rob’s credit cards, but he figured someone as wealthy as Rob probably had excellent security on the cards, and Dino didn’t want to get in any legal trouble, as he might lose the right to see his daughter at all. He pulled out the cash — there was six hundred dollars in there. He took it all, though he had only been promised five hundred dollars.
“I’m taking six hundred dollars. The extra hundred bucks is for the performance I put on for your daddy,” Dino said. He pulled his dick out of Rob’s ass. “And you still gotta pay for the sink too.”
“Okay,” Rob said with a sigh. He turned around and frotted his dick with Dino’s much bigger, caramel-colored shaft. He smushed them both together.
Dino sneered. “That’s nasty, that’s nasty,” he said. But he let it continue for a few seconds, looking away. “I ain’t do no circle-jerkin’ since I was a merchant marine.” He glanced at Rob’s curious face. “When I lived in Greece, I was a merchant marine. Ain’t no females around, just a buncha A-rabs, and they do, y’know…” His cheeks turned red. “They do circle-jerkin’. I ain’t wanna.” He laughed. “But I did.” He finally put his cock away.
“Thanks, Dino,” Rob said. “You’re a great plumber.”

The Volleyball Player

Rob isn’t interested in volleyball, until he overhears that one hunky player is in need of a few dollars. That’s something Rob can provide, in exchange for a swing on his alpha male meat!

Can Rob satisfy this volleyball jock’s carnal desires?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Rob happily munched on a taco, sitting on a bench near the beach. He watched the sorority girls splash each other. The sun shone brightly, and it lay a blanket of heat upon the beach. He hoped it wouldn’t dissuade the men from coming out, and indeed, the women soon proved an irresistible siren. This splendorous slice of California beach always attracted more women than men. That’s because there were three university campuses nearby, and all three were mostly women.
By eleven o’clock, sun-tanned young men were gathering in dribs and drags, and they made eyes at the girls, who made eyes back at them, and then mostly nothing happened, but it was cute to watch. Rob was a little old for this stuff. They probably saw him as “the old guy over there”. Luckily, there were a few older guys — like really old — so Rob didn’t come across that old.
One of them shot Rob a look like he was a creep. He was a bit young and slim for Rob’s taste, with a face like an overgrown infant, but Rob might have made an offer to him anyway. But Rob soon became entranced by a developing drama. That babyfaced fratboy seemed to have a crush on one girl who wanted nothing to do with him, while a different, somewhat thicker girl was all over him.
There was also a handsome dark-skinned man with long messy hair. Was he Brazilian? Rob overheard an accent, but he couldn’t quite place it. The man had a perfect six-pack, which Rob adored. He was a great admirer of the male form.
But the Brazilian man — if that was indeed what he was — did not look like a good prospect. He flashed a wad of cash when talking to a girl. A handsome man with cash and a girl already swooning over him was not likely to be willing to let Rob swing on his meat for a few dollars. That’s what he was hoping to find today on San Guapo Beach.
Rob was patient. He didn’t mind waiting. He loved beaches. He would gladly spend all day, or even multiple days, hanging out and waiting for a desperate man who might let him take a swing on their meat.
As the day wore on, San Guapo filled with college kids on spring break, including plenty of hefty, tanned and muscled young men who needed beer money and a ride home. Girls were too drunk to fuck most of the time, so the boys were frustrated and horny. It was prime hunting grounds for Rob.
He decided to go back to his hotel a little before noon. This part of the beach was filling up with family-types — women in one-piece bathing suits, carrying babies, and balding gray-haired men with paunchy bellies — so Rob left. Once the evening came he figured he’d be able to go back out, the beach would be crawling with young studs once again.
For now though, he was at a loss for what to do.
There was a crowd of people near the hotel’s part of the beach. Rob was interested and went closer — he didn’t normally hang out at the hotel’s bit of beach because his experience suggested those were the most scrubbed-clean, unexciting and banal beaches of all. It was impossible to do anything fun with corporate security goons on the lookout everywhere.
The Top Inn Hotel staff was here, Rob could see them scattered about, looking terrified of the crowd they had created. But the onlookers weren’t focused on anything but the match:
Volleyball.
It was a volleyball game. It was important enough for ESPN2 to be there filming. Now that Rob saw that, he recalled having seen a sign in the hotel to that effect. Was this a pro volleyball match? Was pro volleyball even a thing? He had no idea. Maybe Olympics qualifying or something.
Rob pushed into the crowd to watch. There were two teams of six playing. One was clearly the “away-team” — they were either Australian or New Zealander, judging from the flags on their shorts. The other were presumably locals, or at least American.
With some graceful shoving and sliding through the crowd, Rob got to the front, close enough that he could see the action and hear the grunts of the players when they struck the ball.
But he got to the front of the crowd only moments before the match was over. He had little interest in volleyball itself, so he didn’t much care about missing the game.
What he was sorry he missed was the guys — especially one guy in particular.
He was on the US team. He was tall and broad-shouldered, built like a jolly truck, with a hefty frame and a perfect six-pack. He was long-legged and long-armed, and he wore only short black shorts that extended just a few inches onto his thighs. Rob could tell his shorts were so short he had shaved the top of his pubic hair or it would have poked out above the elastic.
That volleyball player had a physique that Rob ached to admire. He wanted to taste his sweat-dappled shoulders so bad it hurt. He needed him. He wanted to suck the scruff off him. The blonde volleyballer ran his fingers through his confused blond mop of hair and said something frustrated, his words lost in the thrum and clamor of the dissipating crowd — his team had lost, and it seemed he and his teammates were upset with each other. They good-naturedly smiled for the ESPN2 cameras and shook their opponents’s hands, but they didn’t like it. Rob could sense it in them.
Rob milled about. He wanted that volleyball player. The man was obviously handsome enough to get a girl if he wanted it, but he seemed depressed. The women flocked to the winning team from down under — not only had they won, they had adorable accents. And Rob had to admit, they also had physiques he could get down with.
But they were not for Rob, he had eyes only for his beloved blond buck. He just needed to find a way to get him. Rob bought a bottle of water and drank it as though it was an important activity he couldn’t leave and do, so nobody noticed he was milling around for no reason. He waited for the herd to thin, and the cameras went into a van parked at the hotel. The excitement, such as it was, disappeared.
The argument between the blond and his teammates erupted out in the parking lot. Rob had casually walked out that way when they did. He didn’t catch the beginning of the argument, but he saw it end.
“I told you that wouldn’t work! Why won’t you listen to me?!”
“Now we’re out ten grand-“
“Oh please, he was twenty minutes late, we nearly forfeited-“
“Maybe you ought to show up to practice once in a while!”
“Hey fuck you, none of this was my fault!”
“I’m the team captain, and I said we should-“
“Then it’s your fault!”
As they argued, they climbed into a jeep. At first Rob thought they were all going to squeeze into one soft-top jeep (with the soft-top removed, so there was plenty of room, more or less). It looked that way. But then just four of them slipped into that jeep, leaving two behind to continue arguing as though they didn’t notice the foursome in the keep was leaving without them.
“I told you that I had the better strategy-“
“But you never showed up to practice to tell us about it!”
“Oh come on, I skipped like two practices!”
“Yeah, but they were last week. You were out of practice today. You cost us that match, Hark!”
“Don’t you make accusations, you little pisshole, you served the ball like a goddamn cripple that one time-!”
“I made one error the whole game!” That blond — Hark was his name, it seemed — threw his hands in the air. He was the handsome blond with a bashful tangle of hair and a perfect body. Rob was entranced by the beads of sweat clinging to the pit in the small of his back — there were presumably fine little hairs there collecting the sweat — Rob knew most men had that, but he couldn’t see them because Hark was blond and his skin there was light — and he wanted to suck up every salty droplet. Hark’s shorts had slipped a bit as he walked to the parking lot, so the top of his asscrack was visible. He had big plump cheeks that Rob wanted to put his face between and blow. His asscheeks were pale as porcelain, but his shoulders and his face were browned by the sun.
“Well it cost us ten grand!” the other guy said. He threw his hands in the air. “I’m walking back!” he snapped, as though he had any other choice. The jeep had gone.
Hark stood there watching him go. He put his hands on his hips and ran his fingers through his hair. He scowled, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He forced an awkward smile on his face. Then he turned around and nearly ran into a complete stranger: Rob.
“Ah! Hey. Hi,” Hark said with a grunt. He was normally charming and outgoing, but it was hard to restart himself after that fight with his friends. It took him a moment to switch gears. He had a naturally jolly face when it wasn’t tense with frustration.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah… Yeah, I’m cool,” Hark said. He shrugged. “I just… Things didn’t turn out how they were supposed to.” He added, “Obviously”, because he assumed Rob was a fan and was as disappointed as he was that his team lost.
“You poor baby… you wanna tell me about it?”
Hark looked at him suspiciously. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Rob Winthrop,” he said. “Why don’t you come back to my hotel? I’ve got some weed. I’m not very good at rolling joints, but if you can roll one up for me-“
“Okay,” he said flatly. Then he blushed. “I mean… yeah, cool. I can roll joints. And I haven’t smoked in awhile cuz I was preparing for this match. Some good that did me.”
“I saw your match. You were really good,” Rob said. He didn’t mention that he watched about thirty seconds of it. “What was that fight all about?”
Rob of course didn’t really care. He was just making conversation. Hark explained to him all about the team’s conflicts as they walked back to the hotel, and Rob listened the best he could manage given the dullness of the subject. He had literally nothing to offer to a conversation on volleyball strategy and training regiments. Once Hark — Keith Harkness was his name, Hark to his friends — once Hark got into talking about it, his natural charm took over, and he forgot that this was a kind of weird experience — running into a random man and going back to his hotel room to smoke weed.
The smoking weed part was pretty normal for Hark. The rest of it was odd.
This wasn’t the first time Hark had met some fans he didn’t know and gone somewhere with them. It was weird that Rob was just one person and that he brought Hark back to his hotel room. Hark thought that was odd. But not bad, after all, and he really did want to smoke a joint. That would relax him after that disappointing match and the fight with his teammates. Later, after it was all over, he was stoned enough to get paranoid and wonder what would have happened if Rob was an axe murderer. But that did not occur to him until long after it didn’t happen.
“Man, volleyball used to be fun,” Hark said as they got to the room and Rob unlocked the door. Hark sighed. “I started playing volleyball when baseball got too serious in high school. People would get in fights about it and shit, Coach Shithead yelling at me. I just wanted to lay back and toss the ball around with my buddies, broh.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob said. He shut the door once Hark was inside.
“But now volleyball is all about making it to practice every day no matter what, and my girlfriend dumped me because I went to this match instead of her niece’s christening… it was complicated, but she’s got like, eight sisters, y’know, I can’t go to all their stupid shit. That’s like… all the time, y’know? They have so many kids — christenings like every week! I don’t have time for that! I went to her cousin’s friend’s baby shower! I didn’t get any credit for it because she got in a fight with her friend.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob said, rolling his eyes. “The weed’s in this box.”
“Hell yeah.” Hark’s emotions dwindled once he saw the weed and had a task to complete. He didn’t even just roll one joint. He was stuck on auto-pilot, so once he started, he rolled the entire eighth of an ounce into small joints. He was an expert joint-roller, despite his big sausage-like fingers.
Rob could actually roll great joints. He had only asked Hark to do it to get him in the hotel room. In fact, two joints Rob had rolled last night were sitting in the box. Hark didn’t notice them or realize it suggested Rob was lying about being unable to roll joints.
As Hark worked on the joints, Rob cleared his throat. “So… were you counting on the money from that match?”
Hark nodded. “I kinda need it. I bought this jet-ski last month, and uh… the salesman misled me about the monthly bill.” He blushed. “I mean… It was complicated. There’s fees and like… percents.”
“Oh, you poor baby,” Rob said. He patted Hark on the bare meat of his shoulder. It was firm and warm from the sunlight and moist from his sweat. “I could help.”
“What?”
“If you ram me in the ass and you make me feel good like I know you can,” Rob said, “I’ll give you two grand. I know that’s not as much as you were gonna make-“
“That’s more than I was gonna get it from it. We had six guys and ten grand, I was getting less than two grand out of it,” Hark blurted out. He bit his lip and shifted his weight uncomfortably, like he wished he hadn’t said that so eagerly. “Plus there’s taxes, I mean… you’ll be giving me cash, right?”
“Right. No taxes at all. So this is a lot more than you’d be getting if you had won.”
Hark laughed again, a nervous quaver in his voice. “That’s weird, broh.”
“I know,” Rob said. “I’ll jerk you off so good. I bet I do it better than any woman you’ve been with. I have a nice tight ass too.”
“Really?” Hark laughed. “I mean…” He blushed. “I guess… Yeah… That’s cool.”
Rob didn’t want to dawdle. He immediately pulled Hark’s shorts down — Hark had to lift his ass to give Rob easy access to his crotch — and bared his dick. He didn’t wear any underwear under those shorts. Rob had guessed as much seeing his cock and balls flop around when he had jumped and run across the volleyball court.
But it was nice to see it in person. He had a big meaty dick just like his body, all thick and girthy and strong, pale like his skin. His pubic hair was deep black though.
Hark sucked in his breath and held it in. His cheeks blushed a deep ruddy tone that made Rob laugh quietly. Hark held an unlit joint in his hand as he sat on the edge of the hotel bed, shorts down, looking like he expected to get smacked in the balls any moment now. He was ready to wince.
“Relax, Hark…” Rob said. He made his voice as feminine as possible to put Hark at ease. Then he lowered his head and kissed the tip of his dick.
It tasted like the beach, like flesh after sitting in the sun for hours. It radiated warmth, and the flavor of salty sand hit Rob’s tongue, as did the years of muscle-memory and strategy from Hark’s volleyball career. His hands roamed up Hark’s broad chest, while his mouth opened to swallow the tip of his manhood.
“Ah, oh…” Hark grunted like he had thought this would be painful and was surprised it wasn’t. He opened his eyes just in time to see Rob deep-throat him to the root.
A gasp escaped from Hark’s lips. He lifted his ass up off the bedspread, supporting himself on the palms of his hands. He was exhilarated suddenly, his anxiety vanishing in the face of the intense pleasure that rocketed through him.
He had been hornier than he thought. He was so upset about the match and nervous about being on TV, angry at his teammates and anxious at the situation with Rob that he hadn’t really given much thought to how this would feel. He had thought it was something he would just get over because he needed the money. It would be like mopping a floor — not pleasant by any means, but not the worst way to make a few dollars, and once you got started, you could just put on some Jimmy Buffett and think about something else.
That was what he did now. He put Jimmy Buffett on his cell phone, the tinny speakers filling the air and overpowering the sound of the dome. Hark had trouble concentrating after a few seconds because it felt so good. His hands shook with his cell phone hovering above his body before he could gain enough focus to get the music started.
The lit joint fell loose on the bed, both Hark and Rob having forgotten about it.
His dick rocketed to full erection in Rob’s mouth as Rob slammed his own head down deeply. His nose nuzzled the silky pubic hair of Hark’s crotch, while his hands reached up to tweak both nipples at once. Hark had big hefty pecs — Rob had been mesmerized watching them bounce when he jumped during the game, and now they bounced because they flexed under his fingertips.
“Goddamn!” Hark threw his head back and breathed through his gritted teeth. He laughed. “I never had dome like this.” He peered down at Rob, who greedily, moistly suckled on his dick as though trying to remove it. He slurped on it so hard it almost hurt, and Hark laughed harder to cover up his nervousness.
The sour and salty taste of precum hit Rob’s tongue. He guzzled it all down, making eye contact with Hark’s surprised face. The moist sounds of Rob gurgling on precum were loud enough to overpower the sound of Jimmy Buffett singing about the last mango in Paris.
“Are you ready to stick it in me? I wanna feel you inside me,” Rob said. He grinned and stood. Precum flowed freely down the shaft of Hark’s dick even though Rob wasn’t touching it now.
Hark clapped his hands, eyes giddy and heart beating. He’d never actually had anal sex — his dick was too big for any of his girlfriends to do that. He’d always wanted to try it though.
Rob rubbed lube into his own ass and bent over. He was going to sit on Hark’s lap, but Hark stood — he thought it seemed more manly to bend Rob over the bed so Hark could be on top.
“Ah, man…” Hark laughed again, as he always did when he was nervous. His cock throbbed. Precum dripped down his shaft. He ran his fingers through his tangled blond mop again, then watched Rob spread his cheeks. His tight dark hole winked, beckoning. Hark gulped. Was he really going to do this? Would he tell people about it? If not, he’d have to pretend he was still in need of money to pay for the jet ski.
Hark took a deep breath and slipped his dick in, just the tip at first. He felt resistance and stopped. He bit his lip. A bit more slid into Rob’s ass, which was well-lubed enough it felt like a trap, like quicksand and once Hark’s dick touched it, it was slowly sucked in more and more.
It was awkward, weird, his asscheeks strangely cold. It didn’t feel good at all at first — it wasn’t painful, it just didn’t feel like anything. Hark wondered if he was going to have to stop this.
And then a wave of pleasure hit him. He had been so nervous it didn’t happen right away. Once it did, however, it felt better than he thought possible. It was way better than being with a woman, he realized, because there was less pressure — he was so sure that Rob wanted him badly that it didn’t matter if Hark didn’t do it that good, or did it for too long or too short a time, or if his dick was too big, small, skinny or thick. He could just go with all his might without worrying about any of that.
He gripped Rob’s asscheeks and forced his dick in until his balls slapped against Rob’s flesh. A surge of sensations hit Hark, whose smile turned to an intense grimace. He let out a long low howl that was audible outside the hotel room.
Rob used one hand to jack himself off, while his other tightened into a claw that dug into the bedspread beneath himself. He panted, the potent feelings that coursed through his veins growing with each thrust of Hark’s dick into him.
“Oh god, shit, yeah, broh,” Hark cried out. He realized he was being loud — he had a deep voice so it carried well, it was difficult for him to say anything very quietly — but he couldn’t help it. It felt so good it was like losing his virginity all over again.
He sprayed a massive wad into Rob’s ass, great creamy wads of it coating Rob’s insides and seeping into him. Hark’s heavy balls crawled up in his sac, and still more sticky cum flowed into Rob.
Rob shot his own wad too, into his palm and on the mattress beneath him. But he stayed there, letting his ass get it hard over and over. Hark didn’t stop even when he was done. He kept moved his dick around as it limpened, turning all the creamy cum in Rob’s ass into a big wad of foamy juices that soaked onto the sheets.
“Damn…” Rob howled as loud as he could — which wasn’t very loud. When Hark’s dick finally plopped out, Rob sighed and shuddered. His exquisitely sensitive ass was so potent it hurt and he couldn’t breathe; it was all he could do to experience the climax rocketing around inside him.
Then, Rob collapsed in a sweaty heap on the bed. He looked up at Hark’s ruddy body. “You wanna lay with me for awhile? The cash is in my pants pocket.”
Hark didn’t respond for a long time. He was too engrossed in his own thoughts, trying to decide what to do — should he leave or stay to cuddle? Should he do it again? If so, should he demand more money? He found the cash in Rob’s pocket, but still wasn’t sure.
Then he saw that tender ass, plump and bare and ready for him to go again. “Aw, hell,” Hark said. He climbed into bed and lay next to him. “I guess I could give you your money’s worth.” He placed his arms behind his head, accentuating his chest muscles and baring his armpits. He looked surprised to see Rob smile and suck on his nipples. Rob licked his chest and his neck. Hark sighed. “Thanks, man.” He found the joint he had dropped earlier, which singed the pillow, and he puffed on it.
“No, thank you,” Rob said. For now, he thought, he was right where he wanted to be. He had found the kind of man he was hoping to find when he came to California.

The Masseur

Avery visits the New Age healing spot of a hunky Native American masseur known for seducing married women. Luckily Avery’s got enough dough to get a little more than a massage.

Can Avery talk Johnny Redcob into giving up a taste of his alpha male meat?!

Read it now as an ebook!

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Avery nervously approached the trailer on the side of the road. The “Redcob Healing Lodge” was a trailer that had been adapted into a New Age center for massage, healing and enlightenment. It wasn’t in a trailer park, it was just a trailer in a dusty spot off the road. The land was Johnny Redcob’s — he had gotten a chunk of the land from the government when it was given to his tribe, the Towunkim. It did not look like a New Age center. It looked like a hobo encampment that could only attract one hobo. There were tee shirts and jeans hung up to dry, a beat-up acoustic guitar slowly rotting in the rain and a dismal arrangement of mismatched lawn furniture.
New Age culture was not Avery’s cup of tea, so the lack of an authentic New Age vibe was not a problem for him. More than one of his friends had gone the New Age route. He never saw the appeal. It seemed like bullshit to him, or considering that he was in New Mexico, maybe he should say it seemed like muleshit to him. His friends swore that positive visualization and crystal energy would get him into a more exciting, successful life.
But in the end, Avery had found success with a massage parlor back in West Virginia, and he used the real world, the “old” age, to do it. His friends were still meditating on crystal balls and promising themselves a glorious future. Meanwhile Avery was opening a new location and looking into a flower shop as well.
When Avery knocked on the rickety door to the trailer, he heard shuffling from inside. Something clattered to the floor.
“Hang on, Nancy! I’ll be right there!”
The door opened. Johnny Redcob was shirtless, exactly as he had been described to Avery: a tan-horse stallion, broad-shouldered, bronzed like a sun-aged statue, flat belly rippling with muscle, long flowing hair extending well past his smooth neck. He smelled of sunshine and sagegrass, and his caramel brown eyes sent a thrill up Avery’s spine.
“Oh. You’re not Nancy.” His voice was low and rumbling like gathering stormclouds of sultry silk. When his mouth opened, a breeze picked up and sent a few stray strands of his hair aloft. The wind smelled of meadows and leaf litter, a heady mixture of sunshiney brightness and earthy rot. Johnny Redcob frowned at Avery and ran his fingers through his hair.
“No, sorry, I’m Avery Flowers,” he said. “I heard you give a mean massage. I can pay. What’s your normal rate? Two hundred dollars? Here.” He handed over the money before Johnny Redcob could answer.
Johnny Redcob frowned again, but Avery smiled like he didn’t notice. Avery knew very well what was going on here. Johnny Redcob purported to be a New Age healer and masseur, but that was almost entirely a cover for his real passion: seducing married, mainly white, women. Nancy must have been his latest conquest, Avery thought.
When Johnny Redcob did accept real money in exchange for an actual massage — as opposed to just using that as an excuse to get a woman away from her husband — he did not charge anywhere’s near two hundred dollars. That was a deliberate choice on Avery’s part, to make sure that Johnny Redcob would let him in. Avery could afford it.
“Yes. That is correct,” Johnny Redcob said, his voice flat and grim. “Two hundred dollars. That is my normal rate.” He paused, then angled his body away. “Come in.”
There were a few beads of sweat clinging to his chest. He inhaled deeply of the man’s musky scent as he walked in. It was nose-wrinkling, fresh yet dirty, stale and clean and sweet all at once. It made Avery want to lick his broad chest clean. Inside the trailer, it smelled like incense, with potent clouds of patchouli and sweetgrass filling the air.
“So, Johnny, do you do good business here?”
He scoffed. “It is okay.” He washed his hands at the sink, then relit an incense stick that had gone out. He set up a fold-out massage table and motioned for Avery to climb up it. “Take off your shirt,” he said. “And your pants if you wish for me to massage your thighs as well.” He frowned like he hoped Avery would decline a thigh massage.
“I do,” Avery said. “Thanks so much for this, by the way. I’m traveling through New Mexico and my normal massage guy is back in West Virginia.” A long silence drifted through the trailer like a tumbleweed as Avery took his clothes off. He felt skinny and weak in comparison to Johnny, whose muscles shifted with every step he took, as though it required every scrap of muscle he had to take a single step. Johnny Redcob seemed oversized in the cramped trailer, like he had been built for one much bigger than this.
Johnny Redcob turned on a CD player, but what came out of the speakers was loud hard rock. It was a driving, dirty rhythm that Johnny Redcob turned off. “Sorry,” he said as he changed the CD. “I forgot who was here last.” He turned it back on, and bird sounds came from the speakers. That was followed by some slowly rising New Age music, building in waves and eddies, gradually growing to a crescendo over the next few minutes.
Avery climbed onto the massage table. It smelled very feminine. He could tell that few or no men had used it. He settled down with his face in the hole in the headrest. He wore only his boxers, making him feel vulnerable beneath the grasp of Johnny Redcob’s bear-like paws.
The massage was not the point of this visit, but still, it did feel good. Johnny Redcob was hesitant at first — probably because he wasn’t used to massaging either men or strangers. But once his hands started moving, he relaxed somewhat. He had been a trained, licensed masseur at one point; he’d simply let his license expire years ago.
“So, do you share this place with a girlfriend, Johnny?”
He bristled. “I do not have a girlfriend.”
“Oh? A big handsome lug like you… You must have girls? They probably follow you around like ducklings.”
“Not exactly,” Johnny Redcob said. He flared his nostrils and worked his hands lower on Avery’s back, massaging his hips and his spine. “I… I do know some women.”
“I figured as much.”
“Are you married, Mr. Flowers? Girlfriend?” It sounded like he didn’t really want to ask but felt compelled to make small-talk. He also would rather talk about Avery than himself. He was close enough that Avery could feel his hot breath on his back.
“Please, call me Avery, and no, I’m not married,” Avery said.
“I see.”
“So you’re not in any kind of a committed relationship?” Avery asked.
“No. I am alone. I practice a life of solitude and reflection,” Johnny Redcob said, his words framed by the chirping words and swelling strings of the New Age music pouring out of the speakers. His hair seemed always to be blowing in a breeze, though Avery did not see or feel a fan in the trailer. He seemed to want to say more, and Avery waited for what felt like a long time. Johnny Redcob’s hands continued their movement on Avery’s smooth back, while Avery imagined all the things Johnny Redcob wasn’t saying. Then, at last, he dragged a few words out of the canyon of his throat. “I am not a prairie, I am a mountain,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he believed it.
“You sound like you need… a soft touch,” Avery said. He turned his face to the side and opened his mouth. “I can help with that.” He licked his lips seductively and wiggled his ass. “I am a great admirer of the male physique, and yours is one of the best I’ve seen. I’d love to appreciate it closer.” He licked the air in front of his face, just in case Johnny Redcob was too dense to pick up what Avery had put down.
Johnny Redcob stopped massaging for a moment, his hands resting on Avery’s thighs. “That is not necessary.”
“Why don’t you see how much money is in my wallet?” Avery said. He pointed to his pants, crumpled up on the floor. “You can have all the cash that’s in there. I’ll jerk you off. I do it real good.”
Johnny Redcob hesitated. His hands hovered over Avery’s upper thigh, very close to his cock and balls which rested between his legs. Avery couldn’t see because his head was still aimed through the opening in the headrest.
A surge of anxiety went through Johnny, who was in desperate need of money and was struck by ambivalence about the strange man’s offer. He had been furiously brainstorming ideas to make money when this man had appeared. So he was not about to refuse now.
He went to the wallet and opened it up. His eyes bugged out for a moment. He had already received two hundred dollars, but now he pulled out another three hundred. He sighed and folded the money up into his jeans pocket. That was too much to refuse.
Johnny Redcob wrinkled his nose. This would not be the first time Johnny Redcob made money with his cock.
“You are just passing through this town? You are not staying?” Johnny Redcob wouldn’t want anyone to find out he had done this — not for free and certainly not for money.
Avery sat up. “There is not much in New Mexico that could force me to stay here for longer than a day or two,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about that. I don’t know anyone here, and I probably won’t meet anyone either. It’ll be our little secret.” He batted his eyelashes.
“I see,” he said gruffly. His eyes were downcast. His muscles had tensed up.
“Do you want a massage?”
“What?”
“Who massages the masseur? If you want, I’ll rub your back,” Avery said.
Johnny Redcob scowled. His strong jaw quivered like he was going to say no, but then he sighed and agreed. He replaced Avery on the massage table, which he was too tall for. His feet dangled off the end, and his shoulders were too broad as well, so he had to grip the side of the cushioned table with both hands so his arms didn’t dangle. He looked like an overstuffed meal. His muscles shone brilliantly, all ruddy and tan, nervous sweat dripping down him.
The lines of Johnny’s meaty back curved and flexed as he got into position. There were still a few beads of moisture there, which Avery made sure not to disturb at first. Once his hands had begun massaging the muscle of Johnny’s back, Avery leaned down and sucked up every drop of sweat he could get to.
It was salty and sweet, a little sour, a lot salty. The taste brought tears to Avery’s eyes. There was something intensely distinct about it, something floral and musky, like he had burned so much of the potpourri-scented incense that it had seeped into his flesh. Avery’s tongue snaked down to the small of Johnny’s back, just above his firm asscheeks.
Johnny Redcob didn’t respond. His back was flexed and hard like stone, and he groaned like the massage felt good, but he didn’t relax even for a moment. That wasn’t a problem for Avery, who loved muscles anyway. He enjoyed caressing his rock-hard body, feeling the warmth of his recently-worked limbs and back.
His ass was hugged by tight jeans. There was no way to lower them with Johnny Redcob laying on his belly, so Avery had him roll over. He hesitated at first as though he was going to refuse.
But then he did, and his strapping chest muscles were just as hard as his back, just as meaty and inviting. Since he hadn’t complained before, Avery lowered his head and again sucked off his sweat where it collected in between his mountainous pectoral muscles. He traced a trail down the center of Johnny’s flat, hairless belly with his tongue.
His flesh quivered and trembled as though he was either ticklish or nervous about being licked by a man. It had to be the latter, Avery thought, whoever heard of a ticklish Native American?! He threw his head back and closed his eyes, while Avery’s hands undid his belt and then slowly worked his jeans down. Beneath that he wore plain white boxers, perfectly clean, made of silk and with the Arrizzini brand stitched onto the waist.
“Arrizzini silk boxers?” Avery asked. He was surprised to see a low-rent healer and masseur in such fancy underwear — they probably cost a thousand dollars or more. “Those are nice.”
“They were a gift from… Well, they were a gift,” Johnny Redcob said. He covered his eyes with his muscled forearm while Avery pulled the boxers off. Johnny’s massive cock flopped out, still limp but inviting and tasty-looking. Avery carefully folded those boxers and placed them on the nearby couch.
“From a lover?” Avery asked. He imagineed Johnny Redcob with some wealthy older woman who showered him with gifts.
Johnny Redcob flared his nostrils. He didn’t answer. He bit his lip a few seconds later, when Avery wrapped his hand around Johnny’s thick prick. A loud groan escaped from his lips.
Despite his apparent discomfort, as soon as his dick began to perk up in Avery’s hand, Johnny Redcob clearly enjoyed himself. He closed his eyes and moaned. His dick was floppy and thick, meaty like an uncooked sausage at first. But within a few seconds, it was as hard and throbbingly veiny as the rest of Johnny Redcob’s shining bark-brown body.
It stood straight up from Johnny’s crotch, the jet-black pubic hair neatly trimmed, his cock pulsating in Avery’s hands. Johnny Redcob winced as though it hurt at first, but soon he removed the forearm blocking his eyes. He kept his eyes closed at first like a little boy scared to watch a horror movie.
“This feels very good, Mr. Flowers,” Johnny Redcob said, his eyes still scrunched shut tightly. He sounded polite, like he thought he was obligated to compliment Avery’s skills.
“Johnny… Call me Avery,” he said, speeding up his stroking of Avery’s dick.
“I would… I would rather not,” Johnny Redcob said. “You are my client. I feel we should remain professional.” His eyes fluttered open. He strained to sit up, his six-pack abs flexing as he did so. He rested on his elbows on the massage table, looking down as his dick which disappeared beneath both of Avery’s hands. He was broad enough he struggled to fit on the massage table at all, and he had to wrench his elbows underneath his back to rest his weight on them.
Avery giggled. “Okay, whatever. I’m going to jerk you off now, okay? I bet your girlfriends don’t deepthroat you very often, do they? Girls suck at sucking cock.”
Before Johnny Redcob could answer — he opened his mouth to say something but was cut off — Avery dived down onto his dick. It tasted like a desert sunset, warm and inviting, with a taste like salty sand until the first drops of sweet and sour precum leaked out. It was bright and clean and it made Avery moan with desire. This, he thought, was exactly what he hoped Johnny Redcob would taste like.
A loud howl of desire escaped from Johnny’s lips, but once again, he cut the sound off. Instead he forced himself to grunt, to pretend he found this satisfactory but not really pleasurable. It was obvious from the cascading constellation of expressions on his face, however, that this was the best dome he’d received in some time.
Hoping to impress Johnny, Avery forced his head all the way down, until his nose collided withJohnny’s dense nest of trimmed pubic hairs. He slathered spit up and down that throbbing shaft, letting it drip down and soak his inner thighs.
“Ah, yes…” Johnny Redcob threw his head back again, still resting on his elbows. He licked his lips. His long black hair reached all the way to the massage table beneath him.
A cell phone chirped. At first neither of them reacted. Avery focused on deep-throating the best he could, ignoring his own choking as he shoved that massive prick down his throat. He loved the struggle to swallow alpha cockmeat, and he loved watching big men like Johnny Redcob react.
Johnny Redcob reached for his pants on the floor, but the feelings roiling his body made it hard to concentrate. Johnny Redcob rumbled and grunted. His dick twitched within Avery’s mouth.
“Lemme get that…” Johnny’s voice trailed off and he lost interest. After another few chirps of the phone, however, he reached down and picked it up. He sighed. He answered it, his voice breaking as he let out a shudder of intense pleasure. The precum flowed freely into Avery’s mouth. “Nancy?” He bit his lip and rumbled, Avery’s tongue caressing the underside of Johnny’s cockshaft. “Hello. Yes. I am okay. I just… I dropped something on my foot.” His voice sound tense and clipped.
Avery loved teasing men. Now that Johnny Redcob was on the phone with one of his girlfriends — probably a married chick — Avery suckled on his cock noisily. He hocked up a big ball of spit, let it run down the shaft and then sucked it back up, making a loud, moist sound like someone trying to use a straw to get at the last bit of coke in the bottom of a cup.
“I do not know. He is your husband, Nancy, I can not solve this for you. Tell him to advertise his business. That is what I do,” he paused and blanched, groaning again. “It is a real business. I have a client here right now. His name is Mr. Flowers. Yes. That is what I dropped on my foot, his briefcase.”
His tongue traveled down Johnny’s shaft to his moist cocktip, where the taste of salty precum was fresh and springlike. Avery moved back down the top of the shaft, encircling it with his tongue and licking the entire slab of meat.
Then he moved even lower. He licked Johnny’s hairy ballsack, and allowed each ball to fall in his mouth. He suckled on them each separately and then together, gurgling and looking up at Johnny Redcob in the eye. That made him blanch and look away again.
“I am sorry, Nancy. I can not talk now. I have a client,” Johnny Redcob said. “If you are busy, you do not need to come over today. I have… I have many clients today.” He paused and sighed. “No, Nancy, they are not all women I have sex with. Mr. Flowers is not a woman I have sex with! He is real! Do you want to hear his voice?”
He held the phone up, and Avery pulled off his balls. He had to pause for a moment to gather up his focus — he wanted to sound like a professional businessman, which he was. He cleared his throat. “I am paying for your time, Mr. Redcob. Please do not waste my money with a phone call to your girlfriend. I am a very busy man.” He added, “I am a businessman-” thinking it would make him sound like a professional, but it just made him sound like a child playing at being a grownup. He blushed. That part, he thought, was accurate — Avery was a businessman.
“Yes, see, Nancy? I have to go.” He was about to hang up the phone, then stopped himself. He whispered as though this next part was a secret. “Yes. I will go to the school, I will see his play. I will be proud of… the boy. I will see you there. Tell your husband I am the school’s cultural sensitivity advisor. Goodbye, Vanilla Tits.” Johnny Redcob glanced at Avery like he was uncomfortable with whatever pet name his girlfriend called him — Avery couldn’t hear, but from context he guessed it was something equivalent to vanilla-tits, like caramel-cock. Johnny’s skin was a creamy, caramel-like nut-brown, so it made sense. He hung up the phone and tossed it onto his pile of clothes on the floor.
“Was that your girlfriend?” Avery asked. He kept on stroking, using both hands. He wiped his lips off. He fully intended to get Johnny’s cock in his ass, but he hadn’t actually agreed to that, so he needed to finesse it just right to make it happen.
“She is not my girlfriend,” Johnny Redcob said. He did not proffer a preferred term to describe her.
“I see. You do have sex with her?”
“You are my client, not my therapist,” Johnny Redcob said. “If you are going to get me off, put your mouth on it.”
“I bet your dick would feel good in my ass,” Avery said with a grin. “I don’t have any more cash, but I can write you a check for five hundred dollars. Do you trust me that it will clear, Mr. Redcob?”
Johnny Redcob hesitated. His dick twitched beneath Avery’s grasp. Johnny Redcob frowned. “I do not trust you,” he said. “You must write me a check for five hundred and fifty dollars. I will take it to a check-cashing place. They will take it. The fifty dollars will cover the fee.”
That seemed like a hefty fee, but Avery had been wealthy enough for a long time that he didn’t know what a more normal fee was. Was that typical for a check-cashing joint? Sounds like a good business to be in, Avery thought. He nodded. “Fine,” he said. Without letting go of Johnny’s cock, he pulled his checkbook out of his pants pocket and handed it to Johnny. “You fill it out. I’ll sign it.”
As Johnny Redcob wrote his name on the check, Avery bent over in front of him. Johnny Redcob got off the massage table, his rock-hard dick sticking straight out. He ignored Avery, who stuck his ass in the air and backed up into Johnny’s crotch. That hot dick rubbed between Avery’s cheeks.
Since Johnny Redcob didn’t respond right away — finishing up writing the check — Avery had to reach behind himself to aim Johnny’s dick in the right direction.
A shiver of pleasure shot up Avery’s spine. His ass stretched to accommodate Johnny’s cock, which was an iron rod of manhood slipping into his tight hole. Avery moaned.
“Aw… I need my Nancy…” Johnny Redcob reached back down and picked up his phone.
At first Avery was disappointed, thinking Johnny Redcob wanted to talk to his girl. But instead he just flicked through the photos saved on it, until he found a few pictures of a pretty blonde woman with big hair and bigger tits, bare, giggling as she posed on the same massage table Johnny Redcob now stood next to. Johnny Redcob looked intently through the boudoir photos on his phone, ignoring his dick sliding into Avery’s ass.
That was fine with Avery. He liked controlling the rhythm anyway. So he backed his ass up, groaning as he struggled to accept every inch of Johnny’s cock. He bit his lip.
“Goddamn, Johnny!” Avery’s face tensed up.
Johnny’s dick was just big enough to be a bit of a struggle. Avery liked that. He loved the slow-melting feeling of pain turning bit by bit to pleasure. With every thrust of his hips backward onto Johnny’s manhood, Avery felt a little more bliss flowing through his veins and a little less agony.
He was so focused on the arduous sensation of cramming a large cock in his ass that when he finally got it all in, and his asscheeks slammed into the solid crotch of Johnny Redcob, Avery was surprised. He grimaced and began rocking back and forth.
“She will never leave her husband for me,” Johnny Redcob said. “He is a loser.” He used only one hand to hold the phone now, staring at it wistfully while his other hand gripped Avery’s asscheek. He gingerly held on. He flexed his hips for the first time since his cock had entered Avery’s ass.
Soon Johnny’s reluctance diminished. He kept staring at his phone, but he used one hand to guide his dick into Avery’s asshole. He moaned. He ground his hips, moving his cock in a wide circle within Avery’s body, making sure he touched every inch of Avery’s insides. His muscles rippled.
Then finally he dropped the phone. He rubbed Avery’s back with both hands, and at last gripped Avery’s thin shoulders.
“You make me feel good,” Johnny Redcob said as though he had thought this would be painful for him. His awkwardity was gone now, and he began to hump away at Avery’s ass like he did this all the time.
All at once, silence exploded within the trailer. The New Age CD had ended. Now the only sounds were the heavy breathing of two pairs of lungs, as well as the faint tinkling of crystals that dangled around the trailer. The more powerfully Johnny Redcob thrust, the more the trailer shook and the more the crystals chimed when they bumped into each other.
There was a loud knock on the trailer door. “Hey! Johnny Redcob! Get out here!”
Johnny Redcob sighed and leaned his chest over Avery’s back so he could look out the window. He furrowed his brow and opened it. “Henry?”
From his vantage point, Avery couldn’t see anything but the upper half of Johnny’s body — that was fine with Avery, who didn’t really want to see anything else. He reached up with his head so he could lick Johnny’s erect nipples, which made Johnny Redcob shudder and frown. Johnny Redcob poked his head out the open window, trying to speak as though his dick was not balls-deep in Avery’s ass right now.
“Henry?!”
“Is my wife here, Johnny Redcob?” He sounded belligerent, like a middle-aged man who didn’t often get in fights but was willing to do so right now. “Is she there?”
“No, Henry.”
“Someone’s here! Don’t you lie to me, Johnny Redcob!” Henry’s voice trailed off then. “Whose car is this?”
“I am with a client, Henry. He is a man. He is not your wife.”
“She’s been coming to see you! She-“
“She has headaches, Henry!”
“I know! That’s the problem! I know how you cure headaches!”
“She has real headaches! Actual headaches! I am not sleeping with your wife, Henry!” He wasn’t moving anymore, so his cock was perfectly still in Avery’s ass. That was fine with Avery, who twitched and moaned as quietly as he could beneath Johnny’s broad body. Johnny’s dick pulsated against Avery’s sensitive prostate, sending shivers up his spine as he endured intense pleasure.
“Why should I believe you?”
“You should not believe me! You should believe your wife. You trust her. She trusts you. She trusts you so implicitly it has not even occurred to her that I could attempt to seduce her — I wouldn’t. But she doesn’t know that. She only wants an actual massage, Henry,” Johnny Redcob said. He groaned and shuddered a bit, but managed to keep it low-key so Henry couldn’t see. He held Avery in position beneath him.
There was a long silence. Johnny Redcob made eye contact with Henry, who glowered at him. Avery struggled to avoid crying out. He had to bite on his lip hard enough to really hurt.
“Your wife is not like Nancy,” Johnny Redcob said. “Go now. I have a client.”
Henry sighed. “I never thought you gave actual massages for money,” he said.
“I… I have not always done so,” Johnny Redcob said.
There was another long awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” Henry said. “Just… Tell my wife she does not need any more massages. We can’t afford it anyway.”
“Yes, fine, I will tell her. Go away, Henry,” he said. He shut the window and groaned. He shook his head, making his long hair move in the faint fan-created breeze of his trailer.
Avery bit his lip and moaned. Henry’s truck started up, and the engine rumbled as it backed out onto the road again.
This time, as soon as Johnny Redcob started moving, they both could feel their orgasms growing slowly within them. Staying nearly still while Henry was outside had sent them both to the edge of their climax.
So from the moment Johnny Redcob moved, they both moaned in sync with each other. A fresh spasm of pleasure rocketed through Avery’s body, making him tense up and clench. His own climax began, his cock throbbing in his hands as he sprayed out a thick wad of cum.
Johnny Redcob rammed back and forth for a few seconds more before he hit his own orgasm. His broad muscles all flexed at once, and he pushed his manhood deep within Avery. He wrapped those powerful arms around Avery’s more delicate body, and he even leaned his chest down, his twitching pecs rubbed against Avery’s back.
He groaned deeply. His whole body vibrated and grew warmer, his breath condensing moistly on Avery’s neck.
Finally a spurt of cum hit his insides. Avery moaned loudly, his whole body twisting beneath Johnny’s chest. His prostate came alive again, and sent a torrent of energy through Avery, who twisted and squirmed under Johnny’s muscular grasp.
“God, yes! Nancy!” Johnny Redcob bellowed, his deep voice echoing in the tiny trailer. He gasped. Beads of sweat appeared all over his chest, his shoulders and his forehead.
He shot a nice, huge load. His cum had an especially creamy texture, a sticky feeling that seeped into Avery’s body. He could feel Johnny’s wad spreading within him, its heat and its savory thickness soaking into his flesh from inside out. Avery sighed and twitched.
Johnny Redcob was motionless for a moment. He threw his head back like he was going to howl, but only grunted. Then he rotated his hips a few times, sending intense waves of both pain and pleasure through Avery’s body. The motion made a big mess too, turning Johnny’s load into a frothy slop that bubbled out of his ass.
At last Johnny Redcob pulled out, and when he did, his initial reluctance returned. He glared at Avery’s ass as though he hadn’t intended to stick him in it. Then he gingerly dabbed at his dickshaft with a wadded-up tissue.
Avery stood and stretched his legs, wiping his own ass off as well. He threw the tissues away. He reached his head down and kissed Johnny Redcob on his corded-muscle bicep, licking up all the sweat that had collected there.
“Thanks, Johnny Redcob,” Avery said with a smile. “Hope you didn’t mind messing with someone besides a married white woman.”
He sniffled. “That is not all that I do.”
“Oh? One of your girls is not married?”
“One of them is Laotian,” Johnny Redcob said. “It does not matter. I will be very angry if your check bounces.”
“It won’t, don’t worry,” Avery said. He slowly put his clothes back on, while Johnny Redcob kept wiping his dick off.
When Johnny Redcob saw that Avery moved slowly because he liked watching Johnny’s naked body as he cleaned himself, Johnny Redcob frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. He quickly put his boxers back on — not the fine silk Arrizzinis, but a different pair of tattered brown boxers. He put a black t-shirt on and a leather vest over that.
Avery was disappointed. He wouldn’t have minded staying here for weeks if Johnny Redcob would keep treating him like that. But Johnny Redcob had married women to seduce, and Avery Flowers had studly men to seek out, so it was time, Avery thought, to strike out once more. It was time to find a new man.

The Tennis Pro

Rob helps a handsome tennis pro sneak around with a married woman, and in exchange Rob gets to swing on his throbbing alpha-male meat! Can Rob get away with this scheme and with a taste of this muscular ladysman’s masculine musk?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“The profit predictions for the Canal Street location aren’t as good, that’s the only reason I was hesitant,” said Clement. “But let me show you what the business analyst said about Garraty Avenue. It’s got real potential. There’s no gas stations within four miles, and it gets plenty of traffic. It’s near the community college.”
“Oh, that’s fascinating,” Rob lied. He disliked Clement quite a bit, but that wasn’t really a problem for him — he didn’t want to spend time with him at all. He was just doing this because it helped him reach his ultimate goal: Gabe Willcaster. Rob could already smell the stink of Gabe’s tennis gear.
Not literally. Rob was nowhere’s near Gabe Willcaster. He was in a cheesy “Pennsylvania Dutch” restaurant in Connecticut with the portly banker Clement Tale.
“Have you given any thought to per-gallon tolling versus sunk tanks?” Clement said. “Because sunk tanks are a better way to go in the long-term. We can get you a great deal on a building company too. It takes longer, but that’s just early time, you can get that back on less maintenance over the life of your gas station.”
“Tell me more,” Rob said. It took all of his concentration to avoid rolling his eyes.
But he couldn’t do that because Clement Tale had to think that Rob was for real. Rob was pretending to be interested in opening a gas station here in Orchard Range, Connecticut. He had no desire to do that. It seemed like a stupid idea. But Clement was trying to talk him into it because he was a banker, and that was what bankers did.
And anyway, Rob’s father was strongly encouraging him — requiring him — yelling at him repeatedly about it and sending him nasty emails — to start a business. He wanted to encourage an entrepreneurial spirit.
“How many employees were you going to hire?” Clement asked, and he really seemed like he wanted to know.
Rob thought he might fall asleep any moment now. This was so boring. How do people fall in love with boring fucks like Clement Tale?
Someone had fallen in love with him. Her name was Jessica, and Rob knew her well. She had genuinely loved her husband for a long time, and he had given her five wonderful children, all of them now grown. Clement had been cheating on her for years, and his mistress loved him too. Women were mystifying. What on earth could they have seen in him? He was sorta vaguely handsome in a generic older man sort of way. Not sexy certainly. Stately. Elegantly pleasant to look at.
He was rich. Was that really all women cared about? They stopped listening after they heard the word ‘banker’.
Who knows the ways of women? Not Rob. In any case, Clement had a wife who loved him and a mistress who loved him and actually a couple of spurned lovers who still loved him too. Mystifying but true. Jessica — that’s the wife — knew about the mistresses. Rob had encouraged her to sleep around too. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose.
So Jessica was having an affair with a tennis pro named Gabe, and that was where Rob came in.
Rob had been lusting for Gabe for years. When he finished with his silly distraction — that meeting with Clement was just to distract him so Gabe could go out on a date with the man’s wife — Rob went right back to the tennis club. By then, Jessica would be gone, and Gabe would have some free time before his next lesson.
He was a dark-haired, swarthy young man with a head of curly brown hair, sterling cheekbones and dimples that went out to here. He had a thick voice too, like his throat had been marinated in sherry. He was broad-chested and strong without being muscular, and smooth yet furry, charming, and he had a reputation — among the staff at the Rockhard Country Club — for seducing women.
Especially upper-class women.
That was why Gabe was dating both Jessica and — unknown to either of them — her daughter, Karen. Not to mention Mrs. Fletcher. And he had never broken up with Mrs. O’Connor either, he thought with a grin.
Gabe was exhausted after his date with Jessica. He spent hours with her, speaking sweetly, kissing her on the neck. She paid for dinner, of course — Gabe didn’t make much money — and she had bought him a shirt he liked, and she had even paid for his health insurance — she primly declared that it was a charitable donation and would be written off on her taxes. Gabe was pretty sure Jessica had no idea what that meant or how to do it. Her husband was a banker, of course he would be the one to do their taxes, or more likely hires an accountant.
She ran her fingers through his hair, and she swooned in his arms. Gabe loved making women feel like that, so he could them purring with contentment in his arms. He loved that he could make Jessica feel like that, and her daughter Karen — who was going out with him tomorrow night — and a bevy of other women.
Gabe whistled on his way back to the country club. He had met Jessica there, because he didn’t want to go to her house and be seen by her neighbors, family or butler, and she didn’t want to come to his house for the same reason — silly delicate Jessica actually thought Gabe was wealthy enough to have a butler and neighbors who gave a crap about whether or not Gabe was seeing a married woman.
Since he hadn’t gone home since finishing work, Gabe was still dressed for tennis, and his things were in his cabana. He wore short white shorts and a polo shirt that showed off the smattering of hair on his chest. The country club assigned him the cabana for “work” — he had put the bed in it himself, and he had wired it to play romantic tango music and he had even installed a little vibrating machine on the bed.
“Hey,” said Rob, sidling up next to him as Gabe unlocked his cabana. Gabe had to put down the tennis racket to get his key in the lock.
“Oh shit, there you are, hey, Rob,” Gabe said with a nervous chuckle. He sucked in his breath. He was both eager to get this over with and a little reluctant to do it right now — he’d been hoping to get in Jessica’s panties all night. That didn’t happen, it was just a date at a discrete restaurant.
“How’d it go?”
“Ah… It was a bust. Thanks for distracting Clement though,” Gabe said with a sigh. He went into his cabana and let Rob in behind him. The night was chilly, but the cabana was warm and stuffy, humid, like a blanket that smelled a little of male sweat, a little of sex and a whole lot of cologne.
Gabe wrinkled his nose and lit a scented candle, making the whole cabana smell of “elderberry sunshine” instead. He sighed.
“Oh no shit, she wouldn’t bang you?”
“You don’t have to be crude,” Gabe said with a leering grin, like he really enjoyed Rob being crude but didn’t want to admit it, just in case one of his female companions happened to overhear. He even looked around the empty cabana to check. The walls were those faux-reeds, somple plain mats that weren’t much of a soundproofing technology. Gabe’s cabana was set back to give him some privacy, but anyone who suspected him — like Jessica’s husband and/or daughter and/or any of a bevy of other jealous men, spurned lovers and private investigators.
There wasn’t much furniture in here either, aside from the bed itself. Tennis gear lay all around the room, shoes and rackets and pieces to the tennis ball machine that had broken last year. Rob sniffed the horny sweat from Gabe’s armpit.
“She wouldn’t allow you to make sweet, languorous love to her lovely lady-parts?”
“She wasn’t feelin’ it,” Gabe said. He sat on his bed and spread his legs. He knew what Rob was going to try next.
“I’m feelin’ it…” Rob said with a giggle. He came closer and stretched out on the bed next to Gabe. “You poor baby… You want a backrub?”
“Oh Yeah, yeah, I need that,” Gabe said. He sighed. This wouldn’t be bad. He had agreed to let Rob jerk him off. He spent a lot of time eating women out, and they rarely treated him like his own pleasure was worth considering at all.
Gabe lifted off his polo shirt, revealing a supple, taut chest with a gorgeous six-pack. He had a thin layer of fuzz right over his sternum, just enough to be visible. He used to shave himself as smooth as a seal, but he found women liked it better when he had a bit of chest hair.
He was sprawled out on the bed, and Rob climbed up onto him, mounting his ass so he could rub his shoulders. He cooed softly. Rob was eager to get started, but he didn’t want to push. He had been hoping to get a taste of Gabe’s hot body for a long time.
So it had been worth it to spend hours talking about gas stations with a stuffy fifty-something banker. Utterly boring.
He kneaded the well-muscled back of Gabe’s body, and Gabe let out a seductive moan. Rob leaned down and kissed his smooth skin. Gabe was strong with well-developed shoulders from the years he had spent playing tennis, but he didn’t have a bulky bodybuilderish body. He had stacks of meaty muscle overtop his shoulders, aand his shoulders flexed beautifully when Rob gently sucked on his soft skin.
His hair was immaculate too. Rob didn’t know how he could do it living by himself, because he always kept his hair at the same length, the same level of curliness, the same tapered ending above his neck, so there was never even a single stray hair on his back.
He went lower along Gabe’s spine, plastering his skin with kisses. A few hairs did finally appear there, over the small of his back, just above his ass. He wore white shorts now, above tennis shoes and short socks. Rob slowly untied his shoes.
Gabe stiffened up a bit. He’d never been with a man. It had seemed simple when he agreed to it — he often messed with females he didn’t especially find attractive. It would be nice, he thought, to get dome for the first time in a long time, to get to ram without regard for seducing women or maintaining a good image for the country club.
But it was hard to relax. He remained intimately aware that it was a man caressing his body, not a woman.
“Roll over,” Rob said softly, and Gabe did so. He lifted his ass so Rob could pull his shorts down, and his hefty cock — not obscenely huge, but big — popped out.
It was just slightly hard at the moment, far from erect, but still some lingering firmness from when he nearly got to fuck Jessica and a bit of a reawakening after that from Rob’s hands all over Gabe’s back. Gabe closed his eyes and sprawled out, arms and legs akimbo. He felt an urge to wiggle like a little boy, but he managed to resist, even though he was nervously ticklish to Rob’s petite fingers dancing over his skin.
“Hmmm… You taste real good,” Rob said with a throaty murmur. His hands kneaded Gabe’s chest and his tight, taut little pecs, which flexed beneath his touch. Rob kept giving his dick a half-hearted stroke, teasing Gabe to get him interested.
Soon enough Gabe’s eyes fluttered open and he lifted his head, supporting himself on his elbows. He watched his dick flop beneath Rob’s hand. “Hey did Clement say anything about Jessica?”
“Not really. He said his wife plays tennis,” Rob murmured softly. His attention was on Gabe’s dick.
“Cool.” Gabe couldn’t tear his eyes away from his cock. He cleared his throat. “It’ll get hard if you get it wet.”
“You can’t get hard from a handjob?”
Gabe blushed. “I… I mean…I can… I just-“
“Is it because I’m a man?”
Gabe nodded. “I mean, it’s cool, it’s just… weird.”
Rob giggled and smiled. He knew Gabe wouldn’t get hard like this. Rob was just teasing him, playing with his half-hard dick and massaging his muscles. He bent over and sucked off the sweat that was collecting in the forested valley between his pecs. It was warm enough in here — and plenty humid enough — to make him sweat just a bit.
Gabe smiled back to conceal his growing frustration — he just wanted to get hard and jerked off so he could go home. Or, he thought, he could just stay here. He had never slept all night in the cabana by himself. He’d shared the bed with women; he’d napped there during the day; he’d slept part of the night by himself after his woman of the week up and left during the night, but he’d never just slept in the bed.
It would feel so good to sleep alone. Tomorrow was Tuesday, when the country club didn’t open until ten o’clock, so no staff showed up until nine. He’d have plenty of time to sleep in.
Why do I want to sleep in? Oh god am I old? Do I need to settle down? I sound like Granddad, always talking about sleeping in until nine as though it was some special event to be celebrated and remembered forever! Oh god! I need to find a wife and settle down-
But Gabe’s anxiety vanished the moment his cocktip slid into Rob’s warm mouth. Gabe let out a long, low sigh as his dick rocketed into full erection. He’d been on the verge for so long it took little time to make it happen.
“Hmmmm….” Rob moaned, the sound blending in with the crippeting chorus outside.
His dick tasted clean, of coconut-scent soap and crisp night-time air — it tasted like the air outside of the cabana, away from the stale and humid, chlorine-soaked air. It tasted like a sleeping forest, Rob thought, but beneath that there was a certain funkiness, a little manly musk that made Rob croon and his knees go weak. It was the taste of tennis-jock, and it overwhelmed Rob with desire.
He slathered it with spit. He soon recognized that Gabe was desperate for some genuine affection, even if he would never admit it. He wanted someone to want to make him feel good, instead of just expecting him to lick their clitorises to orgasm again and again.
Gabe moaned out loud, more fully and more passionately than he had moaned with any woman recently. He gripped Rob’s head tightly, holding on as he rode him up and down. Grinding his dick deep into Rob’s throat, he made love to his mouth, plunging in and out, coating his tongue in creamy precum.
“Do you wanna ram me?” Rob asked, wiping spit off his lips. He smiled. Gabe was pale, wide-eyed and stammering. He looked like he was on the verge of orgasm already.
“Uh… I… I guess… I… I didn’t, uh… I want…”
“Just say yes or no,” Rob said. He rubbed Gabe’s dick against his face, slowly so he wouldn’t make him cum too quickly. He wanted to slow Gabe down so he could experience this for as long as possible.
“Yes.” Gabe gulped.
Rob smiled and laid down on his back. Gabe stood, standing at the foot of the bed, where Rob scooted until his feet could be in the air resting on Gabe’s broad shoulders. A lot of guys loved getting in behind men in this position because it looked and felt like fucking a woman. Of course, a lot of them disliked it because it put the bottom’s cock and balls squarely in front of the top’s eyes. Gabe couldn’t help but watch Rob jack off.
For some men, it was too difficult to stay hard while watching a man jack off. Gabe thought that might be him, but he instinctively refused to say it — he didn’t want to be less seductive; he didn’t want to turn away a conquest; he had a reputation to uphold, at least in his mind.
Besides, he told himself, you don’t have to look down.
Despite that, he did look down as he wedged his dick between Rob’s cheeks and slid in. He sucked in his breath because the side of his hand came tantalizingly close to touching Rob’s ballsac — he might have come into contact with a few curly hairs, but he managed to convince himself that didn’t happen.
His cocktip filled up Rob’s ass, and Rob immediately clenched. He struggled to take it in, not because it was so big but because Gabe was used to being extra-gentle. He stopped whenever he felt even a faint twinge of resistance from Rob’s body.
“Oh god, stick it in me, Gabe,” Rob said with a moan to get him going harder. He reached for Gabe’s cock, guiding it into his ass and holding it firmly. He tried to pull it, shoving it in, hoping to hurry Gabe along into him.
“Are you okay?”
“Ramming men in the ass is different from fucking women. Women have clitorises, it feels best-” Rob winced as a shiver of pain hit him hard. But he didn’t let that slow him down any. “They want you to focus on that, right there on the surface. But men have prostates, way down deep in there. You gotta go all the way in.”
Gabe grimaced and blushed but did so. The tension was too great to speak. He couldn’t decide if this felt amazing or gross — it was a bit of both at once, and both sensations coursed through his veins.
Amazing.
All of a sudden, Gabe’s dick rammed in the rest of the way as his inhibitions melted and Rob managed to suck him in. A grand wave of pleasure ran into Gabe like a truck, and he groaned loudly. He first tried to muffle the sound, then remembered that there was no one outside — the country club had been closed for hours, and even the night janitors were gone.
So he could be as loud as he wanted. Men like Rob didn’t even get upset if he acted barbarically too — so Gabe could growl and grunt, paw at Rob’s body and ram into him as hard as he could. He didn’t have to be seductive.
All he had to do was ram as hard as he could. He plowed into Rob over and over, back and forth. He hadn’t been able to really go to town on anyone’s tight hole in a long time. It felt good to act without regard for anything but his own pleasure and without a face shiny with old-lady pussyjuice.
Gabe laughed meanly for the first time in a long time, as an orgasm overwhelmed him and he sighed. His hot breath condensed on Rob’s face, Gabe leaning over when his knees weakened.
Pleasure exploded within Rob’s ass, and he shot his own wad all over his chest and belly. It coated him in a layer of creamy warmth. But even then, Gabe kept at it.
His dick slammed into Rob, and Gabe sucked in his breath. For just a moment — though it seemed to last forever — both men orgasmed at once. Gabe sometimes managed to do that, but it had never felt as real or as vibrant as it did now.
The most intense orgasm of his life, or at least his most intense since he started working here and banging married old broads, wracked Gabe’s body and made him shake from head to toe. He howled and screamed, pounding away at Rob’s ass with more force than he had ever thought someone could take.
At last, it was over. Gabe let out a long chest-rattling sigh, and wiped sweat off his chest. Rob sighed too, and bit his lip. His orgasm dwindled away to tense soreness because Gabe’s dick still throbbed as it limpened inside Rob’s ass.
“Goddamn, that was nice…” Rob said. He blushed. He giggled and slid away, moaning and blinking his eyes as exhilaration flowed through him and his ass emptied.
Gabe smiled and blushed. “I-“
The door opened. In stormed Clement Tale, the banker Rob had distracted earlier, the cuckolded husband of Gabe’s current women (or one of them, anyway) and father of one of Gabe’s other current conquests. Clement looked at the bed with his mouth agape as though it didn’t quite compute.
Clement had assumed he’d walk in on Gabe the tennis pro fucking his wife. He’d grown suspicious of the handsome tennis pro — why did his wife need years of tennis lessons anyway? She barely played! — and then doubly suspicious when Rob had seemed unserious at their meeting. He recalled Jessica’s odd tone when talking about her plans for this afternoon and evening, and Clement had been struck with the certainty that she was fucking that smarmy-faced prick Gabe.
His blood already boiled with rage over the adultery he thought he was walking in, and he couldn’t quite process that that wasn’t what he was seeing. “You manwhore! You wife-stealing bastard! How dare you seduce my…”
“Mr. Tale?!” Gabe shouted. He backed away from the bed, cock dangling between his legs. “I… It’s not what it looks like. This is my… cousin… He’s… staying here, and uh-“
Rob slid out of bed. Clement Tale looked at him curiously, head cocked to the side. It seemed like quite a coincidence that the flamboyant young man who had expressed interest in a gas station just a few hours ago was now apparently here in the room of the tennis pro Mr. Tale had been sure was stupping his wife until a few seconds ago.
Clement couldn’t figure out what it meant or in what way it might be an attack on him. Maybe the flamboyant young man was a con artist? But the plan was for him to invest. He was talking about buying a gas station. He wasn’t asking for money. And why would the tennis pro be involved?
Now Mr. Tale wasn’t sure of anything. “You… you… ingrate!” Mr. Tale shouted. He couldn’t think of what to accuse either man of.
“What are you doing here?” Gabe asked.
“I-I… I’m sorry to disturb you.” Clement backed out of the cabana, into the dark night. He still felt sure there was something he wasn’t understanding. But he had assuaged his concerns, or at least he was satisfied that Jessica was not at this very moment fucking her tennis pro. He couldn’t rule out any other moments. That mollified Clement as much as he was capable of being mollified in this moment, and he walked back to his car in stunned silence. Back in the cabana, Rob kissed Gabe again and again until Gabe signaled for him to stop.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Rob asked, still basking in the heat and the comfortable solidity of Gabe’s frame.
Gabe shrugged. He didn’t want to admit he was eager to make that happen. If he got to ram Rob again and again all night long, he would sleep so good. He allowed Rob to kiss and suck his chest clean, then they both laid down on the bed.
Now, Gabe was glad he wasn’t sleeping alone.
Rob sighed. He was going to sleep with Gabe all night in the bed, it seemed, in this cabana that reeked of Gabe’s lust. He nuzzled Gabe’s now slightly scruffy chin and wrapped one hand around his well-muscled chest.
“Hmmmm… Thanks, Rob,” Gabe said. “I really needed this.”

The Trucker

Rob is in for a rough time when he stops at a Ramwide Truck Stop. That’s a chain whose locations are known for no-holds-barred man-on-man action, which is exactly what Rob is hoping for?

Can he handle the studly Southern trucker that the Ramwide is sending him?

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Or read the whole thing here!

Rob walked to the truck stop. He sometimes drove there, but he wanted to get some exercise. The older he got, the more difficult it was to inspire him to take walks, but he insisted on doing it every day no matter what. This way, he’d get his walk in while doing something else he wanted to do.
The truck stop outside of Norbilly, Oklahoma, didn’t usually see a lot of use. It did back in the seventies, when Norbilly was a major manufacturing center, with factories and trucks streaming in and out of town. Those factories were all gone now, the worker housing torn down, trucks no longer coming to town at all.
But there was definitely a truck there today, or there would be soon — Rob thought he would probably beat the trucker there. He had seen the truck drive into the All-Mart in town, and he caught a glimpse of the trucker as he brought merchandise into the back of the store. The trucker hadn’t finished unloading yet when Rob started walking to the truck-stop.
The trucker was a tall, broad-shouldered redneck in a flannel shirt with cut-off sleeves, chest bulging out of his clothes, a big cock that barely fit in his scuffed jeans. He had an unkempt beard and deep-set eyes. Rob had seen him at the All-Mart, and he had a feeling that the man would stop at the truck stop before heading out. He fully intended to be there.
It was a Ramwide Truck Stop. Everyone knew that that meant — at least, everyone who was a trucker or who liked jerking truckers off. That included Rob.
He was glad that no one was there when he finally got to the truck stop, and he was glad to have a few minutes to recover his breath. It didn’t seem like a far way to walk when he drove it, but actually walking it was more difficult. The last part was uphill. He sat down near one of the showerhouses to regain his breath, and he bought a bottle of water from the vending machine.
His timing was impeccable. About fifteen minutes after he arrived, the All-Mart truck came barreling down the highway. At first it looked like he wouldn’t get off into the truck stop, but at the last moment he swerved into the offramp lane.
Not wanting to seem like a stalker, Rob waited in the bushes behind the truck stop showerhouse. There were two showerhouses, one for women, but it didn’t see much use. Rob went to the men’s showerhouse, which was a small concrete rectangle that smelled of athlete’s foot cream and armpit hair.
Rob hadn’t gone in yet. He waited in the bushes behind the parking lot. He saw the trucker get out of the cab of the truck, stretch and yawn, then head into the showerhouse.
That was Rob’s cue. He casually walked around to the front of the building. He knew it would look suspicious since he wasn’t a trucker himself — and he didn’t even have a car parked here — but he didn’t think the trucker would worry about that.
When he walked into the showerhouse, he got hit with that humid, showery scent that always made Rob hard because he associated it with naked men. There was a sign on the door explaining that this showerhouse was for adults with an interest in hardcore plowing (it used more polite language, but that was the gist). Inside it smelled of semen and body hair and piss, sweat, saliva and linoleum, with the faint afterscent of cheap soap.
The trucker stood there at one of the open showering areas — the old-fashioned pillar kind, with a central column that sprayed water in every direction, so the bathers were expected to stand around it in a circle. He hadn’t taken off any of his clothes yet, not even his heavy boots, so there were muddy bootprints leading from the door to the shower.
The shower wasn’t on though. The trucker just stood there with those filthy jeans around his ankles, hairy ass flapping in the breeze, as he let loose with piss. Even though there was a bank of urinals against one wall, he pissed onto the drain in the showering area.
He turned around, belched and flopped his dick between his fingers, the last few drops of piss soaking into his skin. He didn’t seem to mind. He was surprised to see Rob standing there. He grunted a hello.
“Hi,” Rob said. “My name is Rob.”
The trucker grunted again but didn’t say anything.
Rob said, “I love your muscles, you must work out a lot. Great physique.”
The trucker nodded like a hill. He pumped his right bicep. He had never redone the fly of his jeans, so his cock flopped out of his hairy crotch. He had big, curvy biceps that Rob darted forward to lick.
The taste was sour with dried-on sweat and dust from the road, flavored with diesel exhaust and the trucker’s natural odor. His arm was hairy, and his fur scratched at Rob’s tongue. He pulled his arm away.
“You one of dem truck stop queers?”
Rob nodded. “Can I jerk you off?”
He curled his upper lip as though he had to think about it, though Rob had the strong impression he already knew the answer was yes. “You nasty.”
“That wasn’t a no,” Rob said. He sidled forward, but the trucker snarled.
“Weren’t no yes neither,” he said. “You swallow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lemme see,” he said. “Suck my finger.” He held out his middle-finger as though he was flipping Rob off.
Rob blushed and nodded. He would gladly suck on any body part this nasty, raunchy trucker wanted him to suck on. He stepped forward and moved seductively, opening his mouth into an O-shape even before he got to the trucker’s hand.
He easily deep-throated the man’s middle-finger. Rob was good at it, so he could get the whole thing into his throat without choking, and he even pushed forward farther as though trying to get the man’s entire hand in his mouth. That, of course, didn’t work, but he did force the trucker’s index finger in as well. The taste was sour and salty from sweat.
It looked like the trucker was about to take his finger away. Rob moved his head. But then the trucker angrily rammed his finger back in, so deep Rob couldn’t help but choke. A fresh explosion of grimy-skin flavor hit Rob’s tongue.
He cackled and pushed Rob back. “I only ram males one way, dig? I fuck girls any way they want — nice, slow, hard, fast, I don’t care. I’ll do anything to get my dick wet in some lady-pussy. But I only ram males if they don’t mind gettin’ nasty. That describe you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Don’chu dare back out once we start. You understan’ me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’m-a ram yer tonsils, and I’m-a ram yer ass. You gonna lick some asshole too.”
“Yes, sir.”
“T’weren’t a question.” He spat on the linoleum floor of the showerhouse.
“Will you spit on me, sir?”
“What?”
“Your spit smells so bad. Spit on my face and in my throat. Please,” Rob said, quaking and blushing. “You’re such a superior alpha male. I need to feel you use me and abuse me. I need-“
He lightly slapped Rob, just hard enough to make a loud slapping sound. A twinge of pain ran up his face, and a twinge of desire ran up his spine. Rob stopped talking.
“Don’t tell me ‘bout your needs, cumbucket,” the trucker said. “You ain’t a girl, I ain’t gotta listen as you babble on ’bout what you want.”
“Yes, sir.”
He bristled and shifted his weight on his feet. “Now it so happens I was gonna spit on yer face. Not cuz you axt me to though.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get on your knees and open your mouth,” he said. He hocked up a loogie, then displayed his rancid mouth full of saliva and phlegm. He hocked again as Rob sunk to his weak knees. He was excited, giddy even, to be doing this — it had been awhile since he bagged a redneck trucker. He opened his mouth and aimed it upward. The trucker formed a kissy face, then let his mouthful of fluids slop out. It plopped moistly into Rob’s mouth, some of it landing on his lower lip. “No swallowin’, bitch.”
The trucker watched Rob squirm with his arms crossed over his chest. He inserted his middle finger back into Rob’s mouth, making him gag this time as he smeared his own spit all over Rob’s tongue. It was foul, fetid, rancid, but it made Rob’s dick so hard he thought it might explode.
“Beg me to let you swallow it.”
“Pleashe? I want your filshe in muh belluh,” Rob said the best he could with a mouth full of moisture. Some of it spilled out onto his cheeks.
The trucker spat again, this time aiming it right for Rob’s nose. It plopped there, sending a fresh wave of that musky scent into Rob’s nostrils. Rob pulled his cock out of his jeans. The trucker glanced at it and scrunched up his nose as though he was going to make Rob stop masturbating, then didn’t.
“You may swallow.”
Rob smacked his lips and let that big ball of fluids flow down his throat. He gurgled as it settled in his belly, warm and moist and a bit nauseating, but he loved it just the same.
“What should I call you, sir?” Rob asked with a gasp. He left his mouth open and stuck his tongue out as though begging for more spit.
“My friends call me Rectum,” he said. “Cuz when I done see bitches with they ass in the air, I wrecked ‘em.” He cackled. “But you keep callin’ me sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I like that. Normally ain’t no one call me sir ‘cept prison guards,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Take off your clothes and dance,” he said. “Shake your ass in my face. Wink your asshole.”
Rob nodded and stood up. He was about to take off his shirt when the trucker grabbed him by the neck. He squeezed just hard enough to make it hard to breathe.
“When I tell you to do somethin’, you say yes. Use your words. Don’t just nod at me like I’s a bitch. I ain’t a bitch, and I definitely ain’t yer bitch.” He let go and threw Rob to the ground.
“Yes, sir, I apologize,” Rob said, gasping for air. “It’s just that you’re such a real man, and I’m such a weakling, I find you intimidating and scary. You’re so much bigger and stronger than me.”
He nodded. “That’s understandable.” He belched right in Rob’s face. “Must feel pretty shitty to be a worthless excuse for a man.”
“Yes, sir,” Rob said as he took his shirt off. He dropped his pants while the trucker finally did the same, revealing a massive, broad chest and trunk-like thighs. His body was matted with hair. His skin was dusky and dark — he was clearly white, just swarthy and tanned, not to mention dirty. There were smudges of engine grease on his chest muscles.
Rob had seduced more than a few truckers in his younger days, so he thought he knew what the trucker wanted next. He bared his ass, facing away so as to avoid reminding the trucker he had no tits or a pussy. He stuck his ass in the air, winking his asshole as he slipped his pinkie finger in. He grimaced as though he was so tight that his tiny finger hurt.
“Nice,” said the trucker. “I ain’t gonna shower. We gonna be dirty. No point in gettin’ clean first, reckon.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“Come here and kiss my feet. Then you can jerk me off,” he said.
Rob crawled over the dirty floor on his hands and knees. He made it to the bench on which the trucker sat, and lowered his head to the trucker’s burly feet. There were a few scattered hairs over the top of the foot and his toes.
He didn’t just kiss, he licked, the whole foot from toe to ankle. He got up every drop of grimy boot-flavor, the scent of leather and sweat, distilled musk so potent it brought tears to Rob’s eyes. He could have cum just from that, jacking himself off as he licked every inch of the trucker’s foot.
Then he traveled up the man’s leg, from his calf to his knee to his thigh. The hairs grew increasingly dense, thick and coarse as he went, and the man’s body grew fleshier, meatier the farther upwards his tongue voyaged. He collected a layer of dried sweat on his tongue, which he swallowed, smacking his lips and displaying an empty mouth to the trucker.
He just grunted, and aimed his dicktip into Rob’s mouth. An explosion of intense cock-taste hit his senses. Rob gurgled. He hocked up a mouth full of spit of his own, and he let it run down that limp cockshaft. Rob slathered spit up and down the shaft.
It didn’t stay limp for long. The trucker groaned and grunted. His muscular upper body roiled. Rob got the impression he had intended to complain that Rob didn’t do it right — that he was going to complain, maybe smack him, and throat him violently — but Rob did slurp, slather and lick just right, so there was nothing to complain about. Rob always did it right.
He had his nose buried deep in the trucker’s cock even before he got totally hard, and he kept it there as the trucker’s meat turned into an iron rod in his neck. It strained and throbbed, making Rob choke and sputter.
But that was exactly how he liked it. He enjoyed the struggle to swallow a massive cock, and he loved being throated hard. He grabbed the trucker’s hairy asscheeks with both hands.
That was the universal signal for ram my face as hard as you can and the trucker picked up on it. He chortled and wrapped his own hands around Rob’s head. He interlaced his fingers in Rob’s hair on the back of his head. He belched, the sound and the vibrations rumbling through his body and his cock in Rob’s throat.
He let Rob take one deep breath, then the trucker rammed his dick all the way in until his balls flopped onto Rob’s chin. His ball-sweat was slick and greasy, sticking to Rob’s skin. He groaned and closed his eyes.
His nose squashed into the trucker’s hairy crotch. Rob inhaled deeply of it, lungs crying out for oxygen as that massive cock throbbed in his throat.
“Don’t let go, swallow that dick, damn…” the trucker said, his eyes closed. He sighed. Rob could sense the waves of pleasure moving up the man’s body from his cock, as Rob’s throat spasmed and squeezed around it. Tears welled up in Rob’s eyes. “Ten more seconds, bitch.”
He held up one hand, his other keeping a tight grip on Rob’s head. He very slowly counted off with his finger, lifting one finger up. Once he got all five fingers, he did it again with the same hand. He hesitated with the tenth finger, teasing Rob for as long as he could take it.
Rob’s face turned red, and he was dizzy from lack of oxygen. Still, he loved the feeling of a giant slab of man-meat filling up his throat. The difficulty of swallowing the whole thing made it a challenge that he enjoyed, and his submission meant he could let his alpha solve the challenge. All Rob had to do was open wide and submit.
They both jumped — and the trucker’s cock pulsated in Rob’s throat — when a burst of music filled the air. It was that “Ding-dong! The Witch Is Dead!” song from The Wizard of Oz. The trucker snarled.
He pulled his dick out, and Rob gasped loudly for air. His lungs cried out, his ribs twisted painfully. He heaved to regain his breath.
“It’s my ex-wife. She’s a fuckin’ bitch.” He answered the phone, while using one of his fingers to beckon Rob. He made Rob sit on the ground, resting his head back on the bench. “Hey,” he said into the phone, as he plopped his plump ass right on Rob’s face. His asscrack was slick with sweat and hair that was matted to his flesh. Rob inhaled deeply of that scent. He cringed and crooned.
He stuck his tongue out, getting a taste of that hot flesh. Sweat trickled onto his tongue. The showerhouse was warm and humid, so it had been collecting there, filth building up and clinging to the trucker’s body. Rob licked it all up, listening to the rumble of him on the phone with his wife.
The trucker’s dominance was gone. He was submissive now. His voice was clipped, anxious, like he was angry but had to hide it from her. Rob couldn’t hear every word, but he picked up a lot of what the trucker said.
“Sorry, baby, I gotta be on the move, you know that. I gave you advance notice, like I’s s’posed to. She understood, and we still got- Uh-huh. Well, baby, you know I sent it. First of the month. Was only yesterday, I’m sure it’ll get there.”
Rob’s tongue slipped into the trucker’s asshole at last. A burst of raw masculinity coated his tongue, silky and gooey, pure manhood flowing down his throat. It was sour and gritty and overwhelming, and he stopped listening to the conversation as its tenor grew more and more angry.
The trucker responded to Rob licking too. He groaned and shifted his weight, plopping his asshole directly onto Rob’s mouth so he could explore the inside of the trucker’s ass. He slathered so much spit there that it spilled out and coated Rob’s face. It dripped onto the bench beneath his head.
“Nah. You ain’t allowed to do that, Christine. It’s in the- What? That ain’t true, and it don’t matter neither. You ain’t in charge of my life. You know that ain’t true. You spreadin’ lies. Don’t you say that!” His body tensed, and his asshole clenched around Rob’s tongue. Rob reached around and gave his dick a stroke, which made the trucker’s entire body spasm. He began to rub his ass back and forth over Rob’s head, filling his own ass with Rob’s tongue as he bellowed into the phone. “Well fuck you then! You think I can’t get a lawyer?! My custody rights ain’t somethin’ you dole out when it’s convenient, Christine! You agreed to that schedule, and you knew what it was then! You knew I was a trucker, don’t pretend I sprung that on you last week! I can’t just switch my days off! I’m in fuckin’ Oklahoma!” He took a deep breath. “Listen, go fuck yourself, Christine. Fuck yourself with that Swedish’s retard’s cock, see if I care. If she ain’t waitin’ for me on Friday, I’ll see you in court.” He hung up the phone and turned it off. He growled and got his ass off Rob’s face, then he grumbled and smacked Rob’s ass-slickened face softly. “Females are the worst.”
“Yes, sir. I don’t like women much at all,” Rob said. He liked talking shit about guys with women, and despite his friendships, he was utterly confident that he would hate dating them. “They’re such bitches.” He felt a little bad, but his female friends would understand. They knew what kind of guys he was into, and frankly, they were glad that he kept these sort of men from getting too frisky.
“Uh-huh,” the trucker said with a throaty chuckle. “But damned if I don’t love pussy.” He dragged Rob into position, bending him over the bench with his ass in the air. “Fuck. Ain’t no female let me just go to town on her like you do. I ain’t a bad lover, mind you, I eat pussy. I eat pussy good, I swear.” He grabbed Rob by the hair and lifted his head up. He stuck two fingers out in front of his face and licked. “See? I lick pussy real good. Stick it all the way in.” He showed off how long his tongue was.
“Sir, if I could make a suggestion…” Rob wasn’t sure he would be allowed to say anything. “Women don’t want to be penetrated with a tongue.”
It looked like the trucker was about to tell Rob he just wanted to ram him, not have a real conversation. But he stopped with his dick throbbing between Rob’s cheeks, right atop his asshole.
“What?”
“When you lick a woman’s pussy, don’t stick your tongue as far in as you can,” Rob said. “Just lick her clitoris. That’s the part that feels good.”
“You ain’t s’posed to stick yer tongue in ‘em?”
“Not really. A little bit is fine, it’s not really a bad thing. But you should lick her clit, not her pussy.”
“Her clit’s in her pussy.”
“Uh… No it isn’t,” Rob said. He blushed. “You really shouldn’t be learning about female anatomy from me. The clit is above the pussy, not in it. Lick that.”
“That don’t make any sense. You gotta stick yer tongue in, that’s what fuckin’ is-“
“No, you don’t. Look, ‘Rectum’, or whatever, do whatever you want. You could even ask a girl where she wants your tongue,” Rob said. “I don’t care. I’d rather have you sexually frustrated so you keep plowing dudes. But if you’re gonna eat some pussy, that’s where you should eat it.”
The trucker was quiet for a moment. He grumbled. “I don’t like it when my bitch speaks so forwardly. If you takin’ dick, shut yer mouth and take it.”
“Yes, sir,” Rob said. He rubbed his asshole up and down on Rectum’s dick.
“Good.” He slipped his cock in, just the tip at first. Then he gritted his teeth, grabbed Rob’s shoulders to hold him in place and worked his dick in inch by inch. “No squirmin’ yet. Don’t move. Hey! Don’t move.” He smacked Rob’s asscheeks every time he moved or made a sound.
The pain was incredible, and the dim, mounting sense of pleasure beneath it all was even more intense, even if it was faint at first. Rob moaned. He loved making sounds because it caused the trucker to smack his ass, which sent an additional wave of desire through Rob’s body.
He plumped his entire cock in without pulling out one time. He just kept grinding and forcing it until his balls smacked against Rob’s ass. The pressure was unimaginably potent, making Rob gasp and squirm no matter how the trucker tried to keep him still.
“Please, fill me up! God yes! I love your cock! It’s so big!” Rob moaned breathlessly. A few tears came to his eyes.
“I know,” the trucker said. “But keep tellin’ me.” He pulled on Rob’s hair with one hand, while using his other to keep Rob’s head in place. He swayed his hips back and forth, teasing every inch of Rob’s insides with his massive cock. It was arduously painful until his touched Rob’s prostate, which sent a wave of bliss through Rob’s body, a sensation so intense it made all the pain up till now vanish from his mind.
Rob melted into a weak pile of submissive flesh. This, he thought, was the part he loved. He couldn’t control any part of his body. He was entirely on autopilot, ass open wider than he thought possible so the trucker could pound away at him. His limbs flailed, mouth gasping, fingers tightening into claws that dug at the air.
“Can you squeal like a piggie?” the trucker asked. He pulled on Rob’s hair, dragging his head upward until they were so close they could nearly kiss.
The feeling of his foot-long cock in Rob’s ass made it difficult to concentrate. The trucker stopped moving and repeated his question, directly into Rob’s ear. His hot breath condensed on Rob’s face.
“Oiiiiiink…” Rob moaned.
“Better. Louder. More pig-like.”
“Oink. Oink! Oink! Oink!” Rob screamed increasingly louder each time. When he did, his asshole clenched, sending waves of agony through his body and pleasure through the trucker’s.
“Yeah, you is one nasty bottom,” the trucker said with a groan. He slammed his cock in and out while Rob continued to make pig-like rutting sounds.
Soon the sensations were too extreme for Rob to make any focused sounds, so all he could do was moan and squirm. The trucker pounded away, groaning directly into Rob’s ear.
“Excuse me, sir, would you like to make some money?” Rob asked, straining to get the words out with the intense feelings welling up within his ass.
“What?” He stopped moving with his cock deep in Rob’s body.
“I’ll write you a check for a hundred dollars if you kiss me while you wreck my ass,” Rob said. He was on the verge of tears. It felt like his entire body was going to explode. That massive cock was inside him, plowing every inch of his innards. “And I’ll write you a check for five-hundred dollars if you both kiss me — with tongue — and you give me a reacharound. I can’t prove the check will clear. You just have to trust me.”
Neither man moved for a long time. The trucker recoiled then, and growled.
“You write that check out to cash, you little bitch,” the trucker said. “I ain’t tellin’ you my real name. Get your checkbook now.” He held onto Rob’s ears as Rob staggered, in great pain and mind-numbing pleasure, to his clothes crumpled up on the floor. The trucker followed him without letting his dick fall out of Rob’s ass. Rob had made sure his checkbook and a pen were ready in case he needed it. He scrawled out the check, made out to cash.
“I didn’t sign it yet,” Rob said with a moan, the bliss wracking his body so intense it hurt. He wrenched his head back and handed the check over. “Do it first. Sir.”
The trucker grimaced. His mouth was right next to Rob’s ear, so their faces were nearby anyway. His bristly beard scratched at Rob’s face. He stuck his tongue out gingerly.
When that thick tongue touched Rob’s lips, the trucker jumped and twitched. He even gagged a little. His tongue hit Rob’s mouth, and Rob kissed him back.
His muscles all tensed, his chest hair rubbing against Rob’s smooth back. The trucker’s body wriggled and squirmed as he fought against his own instincts. His hesitance and reluctance were clear, but he didn’t slow down and he didn’t even try to make it a quick, perfunctory peck on the lips. His hot breath mixed with Rob’s as their tongues interlocked.
Then one of his callused, rough hands wrapped around Rob’s cock. The trucker’s whole body shook again, and his dick twitched. The trucker groaned without removing his mouth, so the sound resonated all the way into Rob’s belly.
At last he resumed plowing. He kept his mouth planted on Rob’s and rammed his dick all the way in, nearly all the way out, then balls deep once more. Rob’s whole body reacted and spasmed, limbs flailing.
The trucker rammed him so hard that Rob’s feet lifted off the ground. He was supported entirely by the trucker’s strong arms, his cock and his tongue in Rob’s mouth.
It was not a passionate kiss, nor a competent one. His tongue fought with Rob’s as though he intended to invade and conquer Rob’s mouth. His handjob was rough and dysrhythmic as well.
But most of the allure of getting rammed by men was the raw, amateur feel to it. Rob was glad to submit to this colossal cockjob, and he loved servicing the man behind and atop him.
Once the trucker got moving, he seemed to forget that his tongue was in a man’s mouth, and he didn’t pay much attention to his hand either. He kept both in position though, even as he focused on drilling his dick in and out.
The motion he created was enough to send Rob over the edge. He was overjoyed to cum like this, with the trucker still in his ass, his hand on Rob’s cock and his tongue in Rob’s mouth. As uncontrollable pleasure wracked his body Rob kissed him back, slathering spit all over his lips and his beard. He sucked on the man’s tongue.
A burst of hot cum sprayed over the man’s callused fingers, coating his tanned skin. He kept on jacking, his hand moving slowly up and down the shaft until every last drop of cum had been drained from Rob’s balls. At last he pulled off Rob’s mouth.
“Could use some lube, bitch,” he said through gritted teeth. He took his cum-coated hand and stroked his dick one time, wiping all that semen up on his shaft.
Then he jammed his dick in and out, the hot, creamy cum providing enough lube to send him over the edge. His hairy muscles all flexed at once, and he pushed Rob’s head back down to the ground. Rob’s face pressed into the cum-splattered linoleum, his ass in the air.
The trucker watched his creamy dick slide in and pulsate there, his veiny shaft spasming as he nutted within Rob’s ass. He grinned at the sight of Rob’s curvy cheeks, his feminine shape and his tight asshole accepting every drop of the trucker’s cum. With Rob’s head on the ground, all the trucker could see was that asshole and the frothy, cummy mess that bubbled out of it.
“Yeah, you fuckin’ nasty-ass cumdump,” he groaned. “Hell yeah… Fuck… Where was you when I was in lockup, damn…”
Every time Rob thought the trucker was done, he groaned and a fresh spurt of cum flowed into Rob’s ass. He shot such a huge load that it dripped into every corner of Rob’s flesh, and it slipped out his ass too, dripping down his thighs and onto the showerhouse floor.
He stayed there, cock deep in Rob’s ass, even when he was finally done. When Rob opened his mouth to speak — but before he could actually make a sound — the trucker roared and pounded on his back. The trucker shifted his cock back and forth, and it twitched inside Rob’s sensitive body.
“Here. Sign the check.” The trucker handed it over, his dick still in Rob’s ass, growing limper by the moment.
Rob’s body was tense and tight. He struggled to grip the pen, but he managed to write his name with shaky fingers on the signature line. He handed the check back to the trucker, who finally pulled out.
The most jaw-dropping sense of relief of Rob’s entire life flooded him. He moaned so loud it startled the trucker, who gently kicked his ass with one bare foot. Rob collapsed onto the floor, a squirming mass of post-orgasmic flesh.
He nearly fell asleep. He didn’t quite, but he almost did. He was a warm buzz of desire and arousal, and he couldn’t even think about getting up yet. He heard the trucker walk over to the showers. He belched loudly and bathed, ignoring Rob.
Finally he stood on his weak knees. He stretched his legs. He took a few steps towards the door, intently aware of the trucker watching him leave.
“Hey, bitch!” He had to bellow to be heard over the sound of the shower running.
“Yes, sir?”
He was covered in soap suds, partially obscured by billowing clouds of steam. He licked his lips and sneered. “You like truckers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Next month. This time next month. I be back here in Norbilly. You bring your checkbook,” he said. “I’ll… I’ll bring at least two other truckers. Like me. You pay me, okay? Five hundred each, so fifteen hundred dollars. Don’t tell them you’re paying. They’ll kiss and give a reacharound, maybe more. I can make ‘em do it.”
“Yes, sir. That’s a lot of money, sir.”
“I’m gonna buy my daughter the pony she been beggin’ for. That’ll teach my bitch ex-wife to call me a loser,” he said. “You be ready. Bring lube. Forget the word ‘no’.”
“Yes, sir.” Rob said. He walked out of the door, clothes in hand. He stood naked in the parking lot of the truck stop, then slowly got dressed. He smiled and started to walk back to town. He couldn’t wait for next month.
That was going to be the most exciting day of his life, and he only had one month to prepare.

The Guido

Avery’s up for another adventure in rough trade, and this time it’s a cocky guido named Joey Rizzoli. He’s got manhood to prove, money to earn and balls to drain…

Can Avery satisfy Joey’s needs?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here

Avery forced himself to exercise. If he didn’t make an effort to move around, he’d burn about fifty calories a day because he could do all his work sitting at a desk. So he occasionally stopped by a Cornerside Gym — he traveled around the country, and Cornerside Gyms were common enough he could usually find one somewhere not too far away from wherever he was.
He was in north New Jersey when he decided to go in for a workout. He had to do it quickly because he hadn’t done any work yet today. But he wanted to do his workout first, so he could finish up before the place filled with overweight divorcées working off their mimosas.
But when he walked in the front door, Avery’s plans changed instantly.
There was a young man there, maybe nineteen years old or so, short and broad-shouldered, wiry-muscled, with a few tattoos dotting his body. He wore a sleeveless shredder — that’s one of those muscle shirts without sleeves or sides, so it was really just a hunk of fabric that covered his chest. He had a fantastic body, short and compact but stunning, six-packed, bulging where it needed to be, smooth and nut-brown.
“Yo, man, whatchoo sayin? I ain’t gotta show no ID, I know that-“
“I’m afraid I’m required to ask for it in this case.”
“Ain’t not a single other motherfucker here that you ask fo’ ID. Nah. That ain’t right.” The young man grunted and his hands formed fists at his side.
“You’ll need to purchase your own membership, sir,” said the clerk, who stammered and blushed.
The guido, Joey, ran his fingers through his dense mane of black hair. He clucked his tongue and feinted like he was going to punch the clerk. “Man, this ain’t ‘bout money.”
“I know you’re not Thomas Molloni,” the clerk said. “Sorry. I don’t care if you share passes. But my boss said we have to put a stop to it. You can buy a year-long membership for only-“
“Man, it ain’t ‘bout the money.” Joey paused. “Ain’t Tommy got some kinda guest passes on his account?”
The clerk shook his head. “Sorry. He had three for the year, but he used them up in January.”
“Man, this is fucked! I been comin’ in here on Tommy’s pass for two years, boy, I swear to God!” Joey had a thick Italian New Yorker stawk. Avery wasn’t sure if that was genuine or an affectation, but it sounded real to him. Joey must have made a face or a gesture that got the clerk scared, something Avery couldn’t see from where he stood. The clerk took a step back and put his hands up. Joey scoffed. “I ain’t gonna hitcha, boy. Man, just… Fuck you. Alright, go fuck yaself.” He spat, turned and licked his lips. He saw Avery and nodded as though they knew each other.
Joey sauntered outside. His hands were clenched in fists, and since his shredder didn’t cover most of his chest, Avery could see that his muscles were tense all over. He walked like he didn’t care though.
“Hey, man, I can help you out,” Avery said. He followed Joey outside. Joey was distracted by his anger, so he didn’t realize Avery was talking to him. “I’ll buy you a membership for a whole year.”
“What?” He paused and thought. “Wait, what? Huh?”
“Will you ramrod me? I’ll buy you a membership for a whole year if you cornhole me,” Avery said.
There was a long pause. Then Joey guffawed. He clasped his belly and bellowed, “Yo, what?!”
“I’ll jerk you off better than any girl, and you can demolish my ass,” Avery said. “Come on… A whole year of gym membership.”
“Yo, man…” He made a face like he was going to say no, like he was going to shout ‘of course not’. He grabbed his dick through his workout shorts. “Yo… Yo, man… Hey… Uh…” He sighed. “Yo, I ain’t poor or nothin’. Don’t get that impression. I ain’t, y’know, I ain’t not buy that membership myself cuz I can’t afford it. Ain’t ‘bout that, man, I swear to God. I’ll light a twenty-dollar Avery on fire now just to prove it-” he took his wallet out then put it back. “I ain’t got no cash, man, but I would, I swear to God-“
“Okay, I believe you. Even when you can afford something, it’s always better to get it for free, right? Plus you get to ram me silly,” Avery said.
“Yeah, but I mean… I got a rep to protec’,” he said. He shrugged his shoulders. “Lotta… I mean, a lotta guys do that, right? Like… fo’ real? That’s true, right? People say that. Like… old guys. Old motherfuckers, y’know, when I was comin’ up… I ain’t nevuh think I get no freak swinging on my nuts. Man, they say that’s how it used to be…” He took a step back towards the door. Then he paused. “Yo, this gonna mean you my puttana. In the old country, a man who get rammed is a lesser man, a bitch, a puttana. That’s old-school, man, but that’s how I roll. You feel me?”
“That’s fine. I’ll be your bitch,” Avery said. He followed Joey inside, and they went to the fearful clerk. Avery paid for a year-long membership, while Joey mean-mugged the clerk. Joey jutted his chin out, flexed his pecs in the clerk’s direction and snarled arrogantly when Avery paid the Avery.
Then they went to the back, into the sauna. As soon as he got in there, Joey took a deep breath like he was nervous. He didn’t say anything though. He just bit his lip and flipped his shirt off.
“Yo, I got a sick body, don’t I?” He licked his lips. “Yeah, girls love me. I don’t even need the gym, man, I swear. The world is my gym, y’know.” He paused. “Like black guys in prison, y’know, you can get hard just in ya bedroom or whatever. You don’t need a gym.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery murmured as he sunk to his knees and pulled Joey’s shorts down. Joey gasped, but covered it up with a cocky chuckle. He leaned back like he was trying to escape.
After a pause, Joey blurted out, “not that I can’t afford it, man. That ain’t why I work out, y’know, wherever. I just…” He gasped a little as his cock popped out. “Damn, boy, you eager.” Then, like he needed to remind himself that he was supposed to be arrogant, he added, “‘Course you is. You wanna taste my meat. Y’ain’t no kinda vegetarian, I bet, no way.” He chuckled to himself.
Despite his cocky words, Avery thought Joey was perhaps the most nervous guy he had ever jerked off. Avery was glad to see that Joey had a big horse-cock — he had been worried that Joey was overcompensating for a small piece of meat, but that wasn’t the case. It was long and thick and veiny, and it twitched as soon as Avery popped the tip in his mouth.
“Yo, man, yeah… I, uh… swallow that shit, bitch,” Joey said. His voice was tremulous, like he had read somewhere that guys should trashtalk when they get dome from a man, but he didn’t really know how to do it. “You some kinda girlyboy, huh? I bet… Pansy, uh… You’s a pansy-ass.”
His dick stiffened up in Avery’s mouth. Joey tasted strong and firm, his cock warm and sending flavors of musk, salt and expensive soap through Avery’s senses. He could tell that Joey used some kind of fruity lotion, either as lube when he jacked off or just as lotion and then he jacked off; either way his cock tasted like it.
“I bet you like this, huh? You into it, girlyboy? Huh? This the best dick you evuh ate? I bet so,” he said with a throaty chuckle.
Avery took his dick out and thwacked it over his face. He shrugged. “Could be better. You can ram my face, y’know. Just grab my head and go for it.”
Joey’s eyes bugged out. “I, uh… I know, man.” He screwed up his eyes as though it was obvious. “Yeah. I assumed that was gonna happen. I was just lettin’ you get started. I’m hardcore, man, swear to God, you don’t even know.” He gingerly grabbed Avery’s scalp and held on tight to his hair. He gulped. “I ram, man, that’s what I do.” He danced a little on his feet. “I don’t let up neither. I tell girls, don’t mess wit’ me if you don’t want yo’ mind blown. It’s gonna be difficult, but it’s worth it, ya know? E’rything good is difficult, swear to God. Ya gotta work at it, baby. So yeah, I’m-a ram ya throat. You my puttana, that’s just right. It’d be wrong fo’ me to be gentle on ya throat, bitch. God don’t want that. God want puttanas treated like puttanas.” He gulped again and pivoted his hips.
His dick slid down Avery’s throat once more. Avery opened up as wide as he could to swallow it, and when he couldn’t take any more, he gagged. He loved that meaty feeling crowding up his throat, making his eyes water as he accepted it all.
“Oh, wait, I seen my uncle do this,” Joey said, his voice finally betraying his excitement. Then he made a serious face. “No gaggin’, baby, show me that you love me.” He lightly slapped Avery’s face and rammed his dick down again. When Avery gagged, Joey said, “No gaggin’, baby, show me that you love me.” He did it again, and again, his words not exactly mean but firm and strict, like he was talking to a disobedient prostitute.
Avery loved it. He made no effort to stop gagging. He loved being facefucked, and he loved Joey talking to him like a slutty girl. Joey’s balls slapped against Avery’s chin as he savored the salty taste of precum that flowed down his throat.
“No gaggin’, baby, show me that you love me.”
Finally Joey managed to get his dick all the way in, balls dangling against Avery’s chin. Joey pumped his biceps and cheered. He grunted loudly like a caveman, then realized he might be heard outside the sauna so he stopped.
“Yo, yeah, you my puttana now, hell yeah! Ram! Turnin’ yo’ throat into my pussy, bitch!” Joey said. “Got my balls on yo’ chin. You got chinballs, that’s what you got. I see that, bitch. Yo’ daddy must be ‘shamed of yo’ chinballs, ain’t he? Should be.” He sniffled.
He pulled off and let Avery gasp for air. Thick tendrils of spit connected Avery’s lips to Joey’s cock. Joey’s face was a little reddish, both from sexual arousal and embarrassment, not to mention a physiological reaction to the warm, humid air of the sauna.
“You worshipin’ my shit, right? Yo, you ever seen a man wit’ a body like this, huh?” He gestured to his six-pack. “Fuckin’ bomb, right?!”
“Yeah-“
“Yo, man, I try to strip and the woman — who was a total fuckin’ bitch, lemme tell you. But she say nah, she won’t hire me, she say no way on ‘ccount of I’m too short.” He looked like that was the biggest injustice he had ever heard of. His eyes popped out, jaw jutting forward. “Fuck that, man! Fuckin’ hell!”
“You have a great body-“
“I know, man, I know it! Whatevuh, fuck her, I don’t even care.” He paused. “It weren’t about the money, neither. Strippers make good money, but I got money, no problem. That ain’t it. I just wanted to give girls access, ya know. They deserve it. They need it. Ya dig?” He paused. “I ain’t poor, swear to God.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said as he rubbed Joey’s precum leaking cock over his face. Then he slowly licked a trail up Joey’s body, licking his chest and savoring the salty sweat that collected there. Joey was visibly uncomfortable with that — it looked like he was ticklish and trying to suppress his giggling — but he didn’t want to stop Avery; he puffed up his chest to make his muscles bigger. Avery smiled. “You know if you were a male stripper, you’d get hired by a lot of men. It’d be a lot of dudes feeling you up, appreciating your physique.”
He narrowed his eyes to slits. “I wouldn’t be that kind of stripper. Unless they pay good.” He paused. “I mean, no… No way, not for no amount of money. I got money, man. My papa got money, yo. He work for the Mafia. You ain’t hear that from me.”
“Sure, yeah.” Avery sucked the sweat off his biceps. “You have amazing arms. I’ve never seen anyone with biceps like yours. So big… You must be so strong.”
“That’s right, puttana, I swear to God. People don’t even know. I’m short, I know that, people’s always, y’know, talkin’ smack ‘bout me bein’ short. But y’know, I got meat, I got muscle, and I work out like none other, swear to God. I be in this gym e’ry day, man, you don’t even know,” he said. He flexed his biceps. “I’m gonna be a stuntman, yo, I swear to God.”
Avery dropped back to his knees and licked Joey’s cock until it was fully hard again, while he rubbed lube into his asshole. Joey didn’t seem to notice, he had his arms folded over his chest as he daydreamed about being a stuntman.
“My papa don’t even know, man, he always talkin’ ‘bout how I gotta go work at McDonald’s or somethin’,” Joey said with a groan. Then he startled and stood up. “I mean… as a front, ‘course. He want me to have a visible source of income, ya know? For the IRS or whatever.” He paused. “I don’t live wit’ my parents. I mean… Wait, yeah, I live wit’ my parents, but only so I can protect ‘em, y’know. There’s all kinda families who wanna hit ‘em, who wanna hit me and might stoop so low as to hit my mama to get at me.” He peered down at Avery to see if Avery was buying this. Avery didn’t care, he focused on slathering spit up and down Joey’s cockshaft. Avery didn’t believe Joey at all about any of this, but he saw no reason to let on. Joey sniffled like he was satisfied. “That’s, y’know, that’s part of bein’ hardcore. You gotta put up wit’ risk, ya dig? Always someone tryin’ to come at me.”
“You ready to ram me?” Avery asked. He kissed Joey’s dicktip, then turned around and guided it towards his ass.
“Hell yeah.” Joey’s voice again betrayed his lack of confidence. Avery wondered if he had ever even rammed a girl in the ass; he suspected not, but Joey, of course, would never admit that. Joey jerked in his breath as his dick pushed into Avery’s ass. Joey closed his eyes and gasped. He leaned against the wall of the sauna.
“Gonna wreck, uh… Gonna wreck ya butthole, man,” Joey said. He sounded like he was near tears, which made Avery suppress a giggle as Joey continued to haltingly, tensely talk shit. “Damn, boy, shit… You, uh… Gonna turn yo’ asshole into my, uh… Uh… pussy. Or, uh… Yeah.”
His hands jumped around in the air above Avery’s back, like he didn’t want to touch a man’s flesh any more than absolutely necessary. He pumped his biceps, showing off his muscles in the mirror on the sauna wall — no one was here to watch except for Avery, who faced the wrong way, so the only person who could see Joey’s muscles was himself.
“Oh!” Joey gasped like he had just remembered something. “You gotta play along, man. I’m callin’ my boy.” He bent over to pick his phone out of his pants pocket. Then he dialed a number. His voice was suddenly deep and gruff, betraying no hint about what he was doing. His dick rubbed against Avery’s prostate, forcing Avery to muffle the sound of his tortuous moan of pre-orgasmic bliss. Joey sneered at him. “Yo. Yeah. I just wanted to let you know I’m doin’ that thing we was talkin’ ‘bout, that you said we should all do but nevuh admit-” He laughed cockily. “Nah, not that. Nah. Nah.” He rolled his eyes. Then he whispered, “ain’t a fat chick, man. I don’t ram wit’ fat bitches, quit sayin’ that, and she weren’t that fat. It ain’t no kinda girl. Remember? You said you’d do it and I was like no way. Well, y’know, my balls got swole and-” He laughed. “Yeah, man, yeah, I’m demolishin’ this boy. He owe me money, y’know.”
Avery grunted as he slid all the way back, finally getting every inch of Joey’s dick in his ass. It was thick and hard, throbbing, and it sent waves of intense pressure through Avery’s body. He felt pleasure too, but it was more distant for now, growing with each thrust of Avery’s body back and forth on Joey’s manhood.
“Nah, this is some bitch who owe me money. He ain’t got it on ‘ccount of him being a deadbeat. So I shove my interest rate right up his stupid bitch-ass, to remind him he gotta pay me. Ain’t that right, puttana?”
“Yes! I’m a deadbeat and I’m your bitch!” Avery groaned. He didn’t make an effort to sound like he was really a deadbeat, but the tension in his voice was enough to further the illusion for the friend on the other end of the line.
Joey scoffed at whatever his friend said. “Yeah, man, I don’t gotta tell you e’rything. Ain’t loan-sharkin’, not exactly. I just got some business interests, y’know. I loan out a little money here and there. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ it, I just gotta get a little creative to get paid. I swear, man, whatchoo sayin’? Huh? I don’t tell you ‘bout all the Mafia-shit I do. Ain’t s’posed to, man, it’s secret. Go ram yaself, Tommy. You don’t know e’rything I do. I swear to God, I just make loans — I got money, Tommy, you know that — fuck you! Fuck you! I don’t ‘live in my parents’ basement’, man, it ain’t like that! I’m security! I keeps ‘em safe!” He paused, screamed into the phone and punched the wall behind himself. “Ram you!” He hung up the phone.
Then, before Avery could say anything, Joey grabbed his hips and rammed his cock all the way in. He growled and grabbed Joey by the hair. He held on tight as he rode him hard.
Pain exploded in Avery’s ass. He moaned, biting his lip to avoid making too much noise. Though the pain was intensified by Joey’s angry plowing, the pleasure was magnified as well. Avery grunted and squirmed beneath Joey’s body.
“Man, ram that asshole, I swear to God. I could kick his ass. I should, man, I swear to God, I will. Next time I see him, I gonna demolish him. He don’t know, man, he don’t know jack-shit ‘bout me, swear to God,” he said. “He knows I’m in the Mafia. He knows that. He just denies it to piss me off.” He was so focused on expressing his anger against his friend that he barely noticed when Avery motioned for him to lower his body.
So Joey just did it. He had started off not wanting to touch Avery any more than necessary, but now he slammed his heavy, muscle-dense body on Avery’s back. He grunted into Avery’s ear as he rammed hard, ramming his dick in and out. He was oblivious to everything except his harsh words muttered into Avery’s ear.
“He’s a pussy anyway, man, he didn’t lose his virginity until senior year, swear to God, that is some weak sauce. He always cryin’ bout how he loves some girl or another, man, that ain’t hardcore,” Joey said. “So he don’t even know. He don’t even know, man, swear to God.” He paused and grabbed Avery by the hair, lifting his head up so he could see his face. “You know, man, right? I go hard, huh? You evuh been rammed this hard?”
“No, never. It’s too much!” Avery said, laughing even as he climaxed. His torso twisting, lungs heaving for air, covered up the sound of his laughter, so Joey interpreted it as genuine agreement with his boasts.
“See! Ha! I bet he never got no one sayin’ that,” Joey said with a groan. “He make love, ya know, he don’t cornhole punks. He ain’t hardcore like me, swear to God.”
Avery’s orgasm continued. He gasped, covered in sweat. Joey would have cum already — Avery could sense it in his throbbing cock and his balls rising up in their sac — but he was still angry and more focused on that than his own pleasure, so he just kept pounding numbly while Avery shot his own wad onto the sauna floor.
It was the smell of Avery’s cum that sparked Joey to realize what he was doing. Joey took a deep breath. He licked his lips and grunted. He opened his mouth to speak, but all of the pleasure and climactic bliss that had been building up in him while he was distracted erupted at once. Joey moaned.
When he moaned, his open mouth landed on Avery’s cheek. It was close enough to a kiss for Avery, who melted into Joey’s powerful arms. Hot cum sprayed into Avery’s tight ass, while Avery lazily licked Joey’s neck and muscular shoulders.
Joey shot a huge load, thick and creamy, hot, seeping into Avery’s flesh. Avery shuddered as he felt it flow within him. Joey’s cock throbbed and spasmed inside Avery’s ass, making Avery squirm beneath Joey’s massive muscles.
“Hell yeah…” Joey said with a grunt, cum flowing like a river into Avery’s body. Then he jerked up his spit and licked his lips. ” Yeah. Fuckin’ yeah. I fuck girls in the ass all the time. I tells ‘em, y’know, when we first hook up, you best give up the booty. I don’t mess wit’ weak-sauce girls who don’t do anal, y’know, I ain’t no pussy, swear to God. I mean, I fuck pussy, I ain’t too good fo’ some pussy. But sometimes a real man need ass, ya dig?” Even as he was still cumming the last few drops of semen, he was already boasting and talking again. Now his deep, throaty voice was right next to Avery’s ears, making Avery moan, his own orgasm continuing as long as Joey’s dick teased his prostate.
But finally that came to an end as well. Joey backed up and sighed, visibly relieved like he had thought he might not be able to do that. He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Alright. Good. Fuck you, pansy,” he said. He chuckled to himself. “Yo, I’m a real paesano, ya know.” He grabbed Avery’s pants, pulled his wallet out and took the twenty-dollar Avery out of it. “I’m chargin’ you an extra twenty bucks cuz I rammed you so good. I ain’t mean to ram you that good.” He sniffled. “Not that I need the money. Ain’t ‘bout that.”
Avery couldn’t respond because his body flooded with endorphins now that his ass was empty. He laid limply on the floor. He didn’t mind losing the extra twenty dollars anyway. He smiled.
Joey tucked his cock away. He flexed his biceps at himself in the mirror. “Yeah. Good, that was cool. Fuck yeah. If anyone ever ask, boy, I swear to God, you had best say you owed me money. You.” He looked at Avery. “Well, whatever. Nobody gonna ask. If we run into each other at the gym again, you pretend you don’t know me.” He paused. “Unless I’m alone. You can, y’know, make another offer if you want. I don’t need the money. But, y’know, maybe I do it, just to pass the time or whatever.” He frowned. He walked to the door, then paused before he walked out. “But you gotta offer me money, man. I won’t do it for the money, but I won’t do it wit’out it either.”
“Okay, yeah, no problem,” Avery said.
“Good.” He paused again. “I mean… Even if I’m wit’ someone, you can offer. Make me an offer. I’ll prolly say fuck no. But hang around and I’ll find you after. Ain’t ‘bout the money. You can suck my swagger, bitch.”
“I know, okay. I can’t wait.”
“I know. You ain’t gotta tell me, bitch,” he said as he slammed the door shut.