cheering – Mansploitation

The Biker

When Lance wins a motorcycle race against a handsome biker, he’s in for a wild ride on some alpha male meat! He gets to swing on every part of the legendary biker Banner Wilde!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

As soon as Lance set off, he knew he had won. He timed it just right, to roar off as soon as the pretty girl in the short dress dropped her flag. Lance’s motorcycle darted into the darkness of the spring night.
Banner Wilde was the other biker, the one who was now behind Lance, his face increasingly ashen as the crowd stampeded and caterwauled behind him. He was lanky for a biker, well-built but ropy and wiry, not bulky. That was probably a benefit for him, since he was lightweight on the motorcycle. Lance wasn’t much bigger. But Banner had a solid, squarish face like a brick, while Lance was more leanly muscled.
The wind roared through Lance’s hair, and little pinpricks of pain erupted where pebbles pecked his face. He lifted his head up like a kid standing on a bike’s pedals. He was a few feet ahead of Banner, breezing ahead of the crowd of young people cheering, jeering and whooping.
He was already planning how to celebrate his victory — aside from the obvious — before he even zoomed past the finish line.
He virtually jumped off the motorcycle, pumping his fists. “Hell yeah! Fuck yeah!” He blushed a little. It wouldn’t do to look like a sore winner, especially since he didn’t have any friends here. For now, at least, he didn’t care. He just wanted Banner’s cock.
Lance took a few steps back, exulting in the whoops and glories coming from the crowd. They clasped him on the back and complimented the motorcycle, all that kinda stuff, and Lance aite it up with a spoon. Lance was not a biker, he was a mere accountant. Banner was the biker.
And he had lost.
Banner get off his bike too, looking downcast, suddenly his face seemed much tanner than it had before the race. His flashy brown eyes flitted over the crowd, all of whom ignored him. Everyone likes a winner. Banner looked at Lance and nodded faintly as though to say ‘good job’. Then he was mobbed by the other bikers from the Jagged Right bar where Banner and Lance had met.
That was Banner’s motorcycle club. Lance’s too, sort of. Lance wasn’t a biker, but he had a motorcycle and money and the Jagged Right were willing to humor him. Banner’s loss was not an example of humoring him though, Banner had been cocky that he would win, and he was ashen-faced now as his fellow Jagged Right bikers mobbed him. Banner tried very hard to win.
But Lance’s motorcycle had come out on top. He liked to think that was skill, and of course there was skill involved. But Lance had the money to buy, upgrade and maintain a top of the line motorcycle. That was really all it was. Motorycle racing was all about the engines and the tires and that sort of thing, not the human rider’s athleticism.
That wasn’t how people treated it though.
Lance didn’t interrupt Banner, who endured his friends laughed and jeered at him. There was no need for Lance to say ‘told you so’ when Banner’s own friends did it for him. Banner flared his nostrils and ignored them.
“You had better not back out-“
“Oh, he won’t, he’s no welcher, I knew his pa!”
Banner wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like it when people compared him to his father. He didn’t like that at all. But if he complained now, he’d look like a sensitive little snowflake.
He wasn’t going to welch. Banner was going to do it. It was vital, however, that he pretend it was no big deal, like there was not really any reason he’d never done it before, like the only reason he wasn’t ramrodding dudes all the time was that he was too busy swimming in pussy.
That wasn’t even wrong. He didn’t think it was a big deal. Losing was a big deal, but he chalked that up to his weakened gasket. He had misjudged the sissy biker and his Korean-made motorcycle. That, he thought, was the part that annoyed him the most — how did a Harley Davidson lose to a Korean motorcycle?
Fucking Koreans!
“Awright, man, you beat me, you got a helluva bike,” Banner said. He clasped Lance on the shoulder. He had to raise his voice to be heard over his jeering friends.
“Fuck him-“
“You’ll never look at pussy the same way again, Banner!”
“Banner gonna take it in the aaaaaaaa-ss!
Soon, however, they made it to Lance’s RV. Banner was glad to be away from the rest of the bikers. Some of his friends were making fun of him now despite not having been around during the initial incident — they didn’t even know what was going on.
This all started just last week…
But Lance had been acting the fool in the bar, attracting attention and generally making himself look like an idiot. The hairy machos who filled up the bar were always looking for something to tease him about. Lance had taken it all in stride. Until Banner said that Lance’s little pea-snapper bike couldn’t hold a candle to Banner’s Harley. Lance had taken him up on that implied offer of a race, with a twist:
Lance wanted Banner to ram him. If Lance won, Banner agreed to ram him inside the RV. If Banner won, Lance would have painted the words this bike got beat by an American motorcycle on his bike’s body and on the back of the leather jacket he normally wore when riding. That wouldn’t have been embarrassing to Lance. He bought the Korean bike because it had the best stats for the best price. If it lost, it would only mean Banner’s Harley was better. Lance was not a patriotic Korean and had no desire to boost the Korean reputation for motorcycle manufacture.
But he agreed because he thought he’d win the bet and get to ramrod Banner, which turned out to be exactly what happened. Lance was confident that he would win because he had just tuned his bike up and it was a state-of-the-art, precision-engineered beast of mechanicry, whereas Banner’s Harley was a mud-splattered repairberg that drifted down the highway like a rattling, meth-addled beggar. Lance could tell that Banner’s Harley was weak, just from the dismal sputtering tone to its engine noises. He could hear the weakened gasket in it.
Once they got in the RV, Lance sighed and smiled. The other bikers began to scatter. Banner was glad to be in private. He didn’t much want to do this with all his buddies outside asking if he was having trouble getting hard yet. The sound of the assembled Jagged Right bikers was muffled by the trailer, and now that Banner was out of sight, a lot of them lost interest in teasing him.
“So I’m glad it turned out okay, even if this wasn’t the bar I had been told it was,” Lance said, finishing a story that Banner hadn’t been paying attention to — Lance was explaining how he went to the wrong bar at first.
Banner didn’t care why Lance had come to the Jagged Right bar in particular, so he ignored the story. Lance poured himself a glass of water — his mouth had gotten dusty and dry in the race — and then passed one to Banner, who looked suddenly very thirsty. Banner wished he had started drinking in the bar prior to all this happening. He probably would have won the race if he’d been drunk, he thought.
“Yeah, the butch all-women biker bar is The Velvet Log,” Banner said, chewing on one ragged fingernail. “Don’t go in there, those bitches’ll rip your heads off if you look at ’em wrong.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s… Well, you gotta look at butch women in better ways, Banner. Improve your looking,” Lance said with a smile.
He was raven, with a thick mane of jet hair, scraggly and poorly trimmed, like he had had a beautiful amber head of hair like a Viking god but then fell to Earth and doused his head in brambles and mud, giving him a torn and tattered half-curled mop of dinge highlighted with brown and tan and a few strands of gray. His forehead was lightning-bolted with an ugly rill of scar tissue, his left eye droopy underneath it like it had been damaged in whatever incident left his eyebrow slashed. His front tooth was chipped too, and he ran his tongue over the jagged tip of it as he looked down Lance’s body.
Banner was powerfully built and strong without being heavy or bulky. He had that pseudo-nice face, like if he had lived a clean and wholesome life he’d be a leading man with a charismatic pair of dimples, but since he was craggy and worn all over, those dimples gave him an almost menacing aura, like he was trying to trick you by looking so handsome despite being as “ugly as a pile of dirt”, as his ex-wife had said.
“Do you want me to get drunk first?” Banner asked. He kind of hoped the answer would be yes. That was both because he had fewer inhibitions when he was drunk and because he simply wanted to be drunk. Banner usually wished he was drunker than he was.
“No. Unless you want to,” Lance said.
Once he was drunk, he’d gladly let Lance jerk him off seven ways to Sunday. That wouldn’t be a problem at all. Lance could probably do it without even asking and Banner would have been too wasted to complain. He would have said that was the only way he’d do it and make Lance wait for him to get drunk, but Lance might cornhole him when he was passed out. He’d rather do it sober so he could call it off if he wanted.
But also, he didn’t want to take the time to get drunk before doing this — his friends would notice it taking so much time, and they’d accuse him of being unable to get hard. It was better to just get it over with.
“Nevermind, I don’t needta be drunk,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s get this over with.” He stood with a loud, moist snort. He saw little reason to act seductive, so he let out a loud belch. Maybe, he thought, that would make Lance back out, and Banner would look so manly he was too much even for the sissies.
But Lance didn’t mind that at all. He looked up at Banner with big doe eyes and smirked. “Well, come on, take those pants off.”
Banner rolled his eyes and came closer. He didn’t like being treated like a piece of meat — which was ironic because he loved it when women treated him like that. But he wasn’t going to look hesitant, or even reluctant, so Banner snarled, “Man, shit, boy, goddamn…” and unzipped his jeans. They were encrusted with old mud and a splatter of stains — blood, engine oil, food, unidentifiable fluids combining like an abstract painting — and they reeked of sour, spoiled fruit, like bad wine.
Lance enjoyed every note of that scent. He liked ’em dirty, and the more Banner snortled and chortled like an annoyed pig, the more aroused Lance became. He was a keen appreciator of the male form.
“C’mon, get to slurpin’ hoss, let’s see that shit get wet!” Banner bellowed loud enough that his fellow Jagged Right bikers outside could hear. They cheered in response. He unzipped his pants, and Lance fished his meat out.
He had a nice hefty dick that slipped through the fly of his jeans. Lance loved jerking men off like that, through the fly. It gave them a sort of mystery, he thought, like you didn’t know what might be on the other side of that fabric. He blushed as he got to work on Banner’s shaft.
He stroked it with one hand, thwacking it over his face. It was thick and fatty like a low-quality sausage, and it jiggled as it roped around on Lance’s face. Banner sneered down at him. Back in prison, Banner thought, nobody would willingly let a man’s limp dick jab around on his face like that, it would be humiliating. But out here, a wussy-ass lawyer could do that and not lose face.
Well, not lose too much face. Many bikers definitely had less respect for Lance knowing he jacked off men. To Lance, this reputation was not a problem.
Banner crossed his arms over his chest, his leather sleeveless vest moving with it to accentuate his bare arms. The tattoos on his muscles were bluish, but faded, giving him that dirty look that fully-tattooed light-skinned people ended up with when their tattoos faded to nothing but a smear of geometric smudge. His muscular arms rippled, and his pecs bounced. His dick was slightly hard now, more from the excitement of the situation than from stimulation, since Lance hadn’t really done anything yet. He was just playing with it.
But then, when it was at least firm enough to swallow it, Lance did precisely that. Banner’s eyes opened wide as his cock slid down Lance’s mouth. A wave of pleasure wracked his body, as Banner’s cock slammed all the way to a full erection in seconds. Banner sucked in his breath and stood on his toes.
“Aaaah, damn…”
He loved the feeling of his cock getting squeezed by his bitch’s moist, warm hole, and he didn’t even have to look down. He didn’t have to see any of this. It was nicer than a blowjob from a woman in a way, Banner thought. No need to be polite, no need to woo, no need to impress the bitch. All he had to do was take his dick out and let it happen.
And lose a race. But Banner was trying not to think about that.
With waves of sensation wafting up from his cock, Banner looked out the window — the curtains were closed, but he peered out the side. He was glad to see that the other bikers were off getting drunk, seemingly having forgotten about the race and the bet and what was going on in here. Out of sight, out of mind.
He was distracted and surprised when a powerful bolt of pleasure ran up his spine. Am I hard? He hadn’t realized he was getting hard. It really was totally physical, he thought, not nerve-wracking or off-putting at all once he got started. His uncle had once said that — that getting throated by a man didn’t mean anything, that it felt objectively the same as getting sucked off by a woman. Banner hadn’t believed him.
But now he knew that his uncle was right, or maybe had even underestimated the sensation — this felt better than any blowjob he’d had. Lance went deeper and held it longer than any woman. He didn’t seem to need oxygen. His hands clasped Banner’s well-muscled thighs, and he signaled when he needed a break by tapping Banner on his meaty asscheeks.
Banner’s knees buckled and he bent back, a moan of desire escaping from his lips. His eyes opened wider than ever. He wasn’t expecting it to feel this good. He bit his lip and moaned again, hoping he didn’t sound weak.
His cock was rock-hard now, throbbing, pulsating. He gripped Lance’s head and held on tight, giving him easy access to Lance’s throat, which he plowed down like it was a field and Banner’s cock a tractor. He pushed his dick lower and lower, marveling at how Lance didn’t make him stop, not even when his throat let out a gag and a choke.
“Oh god…” Banner didn’t want to seem like a teenager getting a nut off for the first time, so he grunted, swallowing up his moans with a manly snort. He tried to sound nonplussed by it all, like he was doing Lance a favor.
Which he was, in a way. Lance was the one who wanted this.
It felt so good though, that he didn’t even notice right away when Lance pulled off him — pleasure still coursed through his veins and wracked his body. Then Lance’s hands slipped under Banner’s tattered sleeveless shirt and badge-covered vest.
He didn’t have a perfect body. Lance liked that, he appreciated men’s physiques and not just six-packed Hollywood-bikers with clean, combed hair. He liked his men meaty and rough-hewn. Banner was exactly that, all thick where it counted and firm everywhere, covered in stinky coarse hairs that tasted of motorcycle engines and group showers. His hair was a dense mop, perpetually uncombed, indeed it seemed likely Banner had never combed it, certainly not since his mother stopped forcing him to.
He lifted the shirt and vest off. Banner groaned. He hadn’t really wanted to take his shirt off, but it seemed rude to insist on it. He wasn’t ashamed, it just felt almost romantic. He stood there unmoving as Lance licked and sucked every inch of his chest, more enthusiastically than any woman had ever done, even back when Banner had a six-pack and a smooth chest. He didn’t react because he still had that immature nagging worry that anything he did might be interpreted as a secret signal for Lance to ramrod him. He just stood there, not even breathing while Lance sucked his pecs and his shoulders, one hand stroking Banner’s cock idly as he did. It throbbed in Lance’s grip.
The precum flowed down Lance’s wrist before he grabbed a tube of lubricant and smeared some on his ass, using the precum for a little additional lubiness. Then he turned around and jutted his ass back, ramming it into Banner’s unkempt pubic bush.
That was one thing he liked about bikers — they never trimmed their pubes. A lot of men did that these days, and Lance did not approve. Banner had a big bush that concealed his cockroot, but his dick was big enough that that didn’t matter. That was why so many men did trim their pubes these days, Lance thought, they thought it made their dicks look bigger. Banner both wasn’t concerned about that and had a big enough dick it didn’t matter. It was close to a foot long, maybe even past it, and it was so thick Lance could barely get his hand wrapped all the way around it. When he did, that veiny shaft pulsated like a beast, and Lance traced a vein running from the glans to the root with his tongue.
“You want me to stick it in?” Banner grunted.
“Hell yeah,” Lance murmured. He had to reach behind himself to guide Banner’s cock into his ass. Banner still wore those nasty old jeans, which hung heavily beneath Lance’s hand, Banner’s prick jutting forth from the fly. Lance couldn’t bring himself to let go until it was ready to go up his ass.
“I’s goin’ for it, hoss, get ready. Hope it don’t hurt too bad,” Banner said. That wasn’t true though. It would help his reputation if Lance told everyone his dick was too big to take up the ass.
“Aaaaah…” Lance sucked in his breath as when tip slipped in. He was tense, his lips pursed, face turning pale. There was an intense pressure that was mind-numbing and almost, but not quite, painful.
He took a deep breath and shook his head, focusing, getting rid of the second thoughts dancing in his mind. He gritted his teeth and pushed back even farther.
At last, his ass opened, and Banner let out a shocked, chest-rattling roar. His cock slid in deeper and deeper, inch after inch, as though Lance’s ass was sucking it in and slurping the shaft down. Lance felt it filling him up, inch after inch rubbing over his prostate and sending waves of bliss through him.
“Goddamn-” Banner’s deep voice carried, rattling the RV and drawing attention outside. Banner was too deeply engrossed to notice the snickering and laughter begin again from outside the trailer. The other bikers must have heard Biker’s moans.
Lance murmured incomprehensibly and sucked in his breath at the sound of men outside.
“Ah, fuck… Are they back out there?” Banner paused fucking for a moment with his dick deep in Lance, who gritted his teeth and moaned, his whole body spasming as pleasure rocked his frame. Banner peered out the window — from that angle, he couldn’t see the largest mass of guys, just a few milling about near the parked motorcycles. Someone made some comments about titties, and soon the parking lot filled again with half-drunk men from the bar.
“Hey, that’s Banner in there, with that lawyer dude-“
“Oh, hell! That’s hilarious!”
They laughed and rocked the RV, making mock orgasm-sounds and even pretending to hump each other. One was so drunk nobody could tell what he shouted, and a few others pretended to piss on Banner’s motorcycle.
“Goddamn it…” Banner wrinkled his nose as he realized some people were trying to peer in the windows. He made sure the curtains were all shut.
He lost his inhibitions, hoping to at least put on a good show if they did look in around the corners of the curtains. He gripped Lance’s ass — which was very smooth and clean, more feminine than many of the women Banner had been with — and he rammed in.
He had been so nervous about doing this he was surprised to feel a soft, silken ass squeezing his dick. This felt better than it had any right to. He tried to keep it down at first, then thought that might work against him.
Instead he hooted and hollered. “Yeah, baby, bitch, take that shit! Fuck yeah!” He smacked Lance’s asscheek, watching it rattle and shake as it clenched around his cock. “Damn, he’s bendin’ over just fine, boys!”
“Fuck! Awwwww…” Lance didn’t want to be left behind in putting on a good show, so he shouted too, though his voice wasn’t as deep so it didn’t carry as well. The guys outside just heard his wordless whinnying like an impassioned pony, and they imitated the sound as they laughed and pretend-humped each other.
Finally, an orgasm rocked both men’s bodies. Lance’s began first by a bit, his own cock exploding in his hand and spraying ropy jets of cum all over the floor of the RV. It was followed by a deep, abiding prostate orgasm that rocked his body and made him shake. Lance’s face turned ruddy and tense, sweat dappling his body and matting his chest hair to his filthy chest.
The smell of sex and dirty ass santorum filled the air. Lance took a deep, bracing breath as the pressure in his ass grew greater and greater. Still Banner fucked, unwilling to stop until he was fully done. He jammed his dick in and out, competing to make the RV rock so much the Jagged Right bikers outside laughed.
“Shit…” Eventually, Banner couldn’t take it anymore. His dick was sensitive, not to mention filthy since he had kept on plowing until his cumwad was a big frothy mess. He fully intended to let everyone see that. He hoped they all looked and gagged and laughed at him.
When it came to this sort of thing, it was best to lean into it, he thought.
He grabbed a beer out of the fridge even before his dickshaft had fully flopped out. It was grimy and greasy, laying there on the small of Lance’s back like an uncooked sausage. Banner grunted and belched once more. Jizz dribbled into Lance’s asscrack.
Then he came to the RV door with his sloppy dick dangling out of his pants, cum still sticking to his pubic hair and dripping down his thighs.
“Aw, nasty!”
“Shit, man, lookit that!”
“Holy fuck!”
Banner blushed, but he was tan enough that that wasn’t real obvious. He was glad to walk around with his cock out because it was a warm night, and he had just fucked, so his dick was as big and impressive-looking as it would ever be.
“You really did it, man??
Banner scoffed. “Of course I did it. I made a bet, didn’t I? A Jagged Right man don’t never welch on a bet. I ruined his ass though, he was begging me to give him a break.”

Jail Intake

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

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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

The Barbershop

Desmond becomes an unlikely hero when he saves the day at the barbershop he works in, and he gets a reward he never dreamed of — he gets his choice of men! He chooses his boss, a big burly man who would never bend over and take it… or would he?!

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When the tall Jamaican thug walked into the Cityside Barbershop, Desmond wasn’t interested at first. He seemed like nothing more than another customer. A part of Desmond’s mind realized that the man had long, thick and unkempt dreadlocks — he obviously wasn’t here for a haircut.
But Desmond was deep in to an anecdote, talking to a handsome young man named Lamar as he finished giving Lamar a haircut. Desmond thought that if he played his cards right, he might be able to jerk Lamar off after the haircut.
And then it all changed — the Jamaican man pulled out his gun. He pointed it at Isaiah, the barber who was standing at the register at that moment. Isaiah yelped but did as he was told, taking all the money from the drawer and putting it in a bag. Desmond wanted to scream; he was so close that he could see the sweat beading on the Jamaican’s neck, and he could have reached out to pull on those dreadlocks.
The Jamaican got the money. It all only took a few seconds. He turned to flee out the door, put the gun in the waistband of his pants and ran. Desmond reacted without a second thought. He stuck his foot out.
He tripped the Jamaican man as he fled across the threshold. There was a loud splat as the Jamaican landed face-first on the concrete, dreadlocks akimbo. His jaw shattered, and he spent the next nine months in the hospital. He was still there when he was convicted of armed robbery. Rupert Alan was his name. It was all instinct. Desmond gave it literally no thought. He saw the possibility of tripping the man and did it without considering whether it would work or backfire — a lot could have gone wrong. Rupert could have avoided the trip and shot Desmond in anger, he could have dropped the gun and it went off, he could have gone on a shooting spree. If Desmond had thought about it, he wouldn’t have done it.
But he didn’t think about it, and he did do it, and that was how Desmond became an unlikely hero for the Cityside Barbershop, when all he wanted in the crucial moment was to swing on Lamar’s big fat dick (which he didn’t end up getting to do because the cops showed up and put a damper on the excitement). The whole thing happened so fast.
The other barbers treated him like a champion, especially Isaiah, but the one who was most appreciative was Johnny Cee. Johnny Cee owned this location of the Cityside Barbershop, so he was the one who had the most to lose if Rupert Alan made away with the day’s take.
“You really saved my hide, Desmond, damn,” Johnny Cee said over and over when he showed up an hour later. “Damn… My fuckin’ business insurance lapsed this month. Havin’ cash flow problems. If I’d got robbed, I’d have lost the shop for sure. No way I would have been able to keep goin’. How can I repay you, my man?”
But Desmond didn’t know how he could be repaid (aside from the obvious, money, which Johnny Cee said he simply couldn’t afford), nor did he even especially want it. He was happy to be treated like a celebrity all night. The others bought him drinks and clapped him on the back until they all stumbled home in the darkness of night.
When Desmond showed up for his shift the next morning, however, he was surprised to find the entire chain there, even Isaiah, who was supposed to be off today. They clapped and hooted when Desmond walked in.
He blushed and lowered his eyes. He liked being the center of attention, but this was becoming ridiculous. Then Johnny Cee stepped forward and cleared his throat. He stammered as he waited for the others to quiet down.
“Uh, hey… Desmond, I uh… I was talkin’ to the guys, and y’know, I can’t pay you a bonus, not even a dime. I’m sorry about that,” he said. “But I was wonderin’… I’d like to give you something. So, uh, as yo’ reward, I was gonna say… if you want… you can pick a nigga, and he gonna… you know… do whatever, even… you know, take some dick… or… y’know, on the bottom.” He looked relieved to have finally gotten that out.
All barbers looked at him like they were awaiting news on which of them had cancer. Desmond giggled and blushed. “So, I get to pick one of you, and you’ll jerk me off, take it in the ass, everything?”
They all nodded, and Desmond’s giggle turned into a cackle. They were treating this like such a serious offer, like they were choosing who had to take the fall and go to prison for a crime they had all committed.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Desmond said grandly, raising his arms in a long, low sweeping motion. “Johnny Cee, I thank you for your kind offer. And I choose you.” He didn’t even have to think about it. He loved older daddies like Johnny Cee, whose beard was tinged with exactly two strands of gray. He had a deliciously thick body, with just the right amount of meat in just the right places. Johnny Cee was also the only one here who had never gotten dome from Desmond on the downlow.
Johnny Cee made this offer assuming Desmond would pick one of the young handsome muscle-boys with dimples. But Desmond had tasted their meats already. What he wanted was Johnny Cee himself.
Everyone else whooped and hollered. Johnny Cee chortled. “Damn… I thought you’d pick someone younger, nigga.” He lowered his eyes, avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze.
Desmond laughed and took Johnny Cee by the hand, then gestured for him to lead the way into the backroom. He did so, and as Desmond followed he squealed with a leering grin aimed at the other barbers.
The sound of clapping only died out when the door swung shut behind Desmond. He followed Johnny Cee through the darkened supply area to a small spot with a chair and a bit of carpet. This was where Desmond plied his trade. There used to be porn magazines around, but Johnny Cee had made Desmond throw them away. They made it look unprofessional, he had said, though now he looked rather like he had regretted that decision.
Johnny Cee dropped to his knees as Desmond sat down. Johnny Cee sighed and smiled. “Damn, boy, you smell like a girl. Thanks fo’ that, it does help. You smell like a stripper.”
Desmond grinned. He wore women’s perfume to work for precisely that effect. Johnny Cee had to awkwardly stoop, he was simply too tall to bend right over Desmond’s lap and be able to take his dick in his mouth. Desmond felt a surge of guilt as he saw Johnny Cee’s face — he looked like he had just eaten an extra-sour pickle, and he hadn’t even tasted dick yet, he just undid Desmond’s pants and pulled them down. Desmond awkward lifted his hips to give him space to work on his pants. Johnny Cee averted his eyes when Desmond’s big brown dick flopped out. It looked like he had hoped that Desmond’s little twink body came with a little bitty dick, which was far from the truth.
“You know… you ain’t really gotta do this,” Desmond said. “Just lemme jerk you off. That’s all the thanks I need. I been wantin’ to taste your meat since I started here, nigga.”
“I know. I seen the way you look at me,” he said with a growl — he didn’t like it when Desmond used the n-word. Desmond blushed. “But I don’t mind. I gotta show my appreciation. You really saved my bacon.”
“Aw, your bacon is sexy, Johnny Cee. I’ll always save it.”
“This ain’t the first time I done this. Don’t tell the others.” He nodded to the front room, where nervous laughter could be heard — they were no doubt whispering about what Johnny Cee was doing in here. Johnny Cee took a deep breath. “I… Before I got married, me and my buddy Mando used to trade dome on the downlow.”
“Really? Mando Ray?” Desmond had trouble picturing that.
“This was befo’ Mando got real fat.”
“It’d pretty much have to be,” Desmond said.
Johnny Cee nodded, opened his mouth, scrunched up his nose and swallowed Desmond’s dick in one smooth motion. The smoothness only lasted a moment though, because he was overwhelmed by gagging when Desmond’s shaft penetrated the back of Johnny Cee’s throat.
“Swallow it, Johnny Cee!”
“Make him your bitch, Desmond! Fist him!”
It sounded like they were laughing so hard they were crying. There was more catcalling going on, but most of it was drowned out by a torrent of laughter and jeers. Johnny Cee often badmouthed them — reminding them of their religious obligations, mainly — when they were back here receiving dome, so it sounded like they all wanted to return the favor now.
“I’m tellin’ Reverend Chandler! He gonna punish the fuck outta you, Johnny Cee!”
“Maybe Reverend Chandler will go up your behind next! He could ram the repentance into ya!”
Johnny Cee tried to pretend it wasn’t bothering him, like he barely noticed it at all. His eyes were downcast and dark as he pushed his head up and down on Desmond’s shaft. His mouth was warm and wet, and it sent a shiver of desire through Desmond’s body. The whole situation was such a surprise that Desmond didn’t get hard right away, as though his body had forgotten how to react in all the confusion.
But as Johnny Cee’s tongue began stroking up and down Desmond’s shaft, he fell into the old groove again — he had been a bottom for a long time, and Desmond hadn’t received dome in nearly six months. He had never received dome from a big burly daddy-bear like Johnny Cee.
His hands roamed onto the back of Johnny Cee’s head. He had thick, kinky black hairs that were cut short, which was unfortunate, Desmond thought, as he would have liked to hold on as Johnny Cee got more and more into it. He gradually stopped gagging, though he never lost that sour-lemon look on his face. Then Desmond’s hands explored lower, sneaking under Johnny Cee’s shirt and caressing his rippling back-flesh.
“Can you take off your shirt?” Desmond asked, feeling uncertain that Johnny Cee would do it. Maybe that would seem too weird? Almost romantic? He wasn’t sure. Alphas had such weird rules about this sort of thing. But, Desmond thought with a sigh, that was part of what he loved about them.
“You feel spermies tryin’-a impregnate yo’ rectum, Johnny Cee? Hope you’s on the pill!”
Johnny Cee lifted his head and frowned as he unbuttoned his shirt, removed it and lifted his wifebeater over his head. He had a strong, thick-muscled body with a hairy barrel-shaped chest, his thick arms jiggling as he paused with his shirts in his hand. He had just one tattoo, the Lord’s Prayer in flowing script on his right bicep. He said a brief prayer, then leaned forward and kissed Desmond on the lips.
Desmond was so shocked he didn’t kiss back at first. That was one of the rules that most niggas at the Cityside Barbershop never broke — no kissing. They might even lick Desmond’s ass to lube it up, jack him off as a favor, taste his cum by accident, touch dicks with a nigga during a gangbang, maybe even let someone finger his ass while he was knee-deep in some pussy.
But none of them would kiss a man, except, it seemed, for Johnny Cee. His burly body pressed heavily down on Desmond’s thin chest as they made out, Desmond wrapping his arms around Johnny Cee’s body and clinging on.
They stopped only when Johnny Cee’s cell phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and growled in frustration, and the men in the frontroom burst into laughter again — obviously, they had sent him a teasing message.
“Whatchoo think, Johnny Cee? I know a pimp who’d treat you right!”
Desmond wanted to ask what it said, but before he could, Johnny Cee kissed him again. His grizzled chin was rough and scratchy, his tongue awkwardly flailing about. It was a weird kiss, Desmond thought, especially since he was so much smaller than Johnny Cee — it felt like he was a child again, being kissed by a giant, like Johnny Cee could open his mouth wider at any moment and swallow Desmond whole.
Then Johnny Cee undid his pants, let them fall and dropped his shorts as well. His heavy dick was thick, juicy, and not totally limp, which made Desmond giggle: Johnny Cee was more aroused by this than he let on.
Desmond stroked Johnny Cee to full erection as they kissed, and then Desmond licked his way down to Johnny Cee’s pecs. He looked like he had probably had a six-pack and a mountainous chest when he was younger, but now there was a perfectly thick layer of flesh atop his body, which hadn’t lost a lick of power since then. That was just the way Desmond liked it. He liked the massive meat of Johnny Cee’s middle-aged frame, and he enjoyed the way it nervously quivered as Johnny Cee got more and more into it.
Every fiber of Desmond’s body said he should start jerking Johnny Cee off, but Desmond didn’t want to, even though his dick was hard as steel and already oozing precum into Desmond’s fingers. This was an opportunity that wouldn’t likely happen again, and Desmond wasn’t going to squander it.
“Alright, be gentle,” Johnny Cee said. He sighed and turned around, his pants still around his ankles so he had to shuffle awkwardly. He bent over like a prisoner submitting to his cellmate: he put his hands on the floor and stuck his ass in the air.
Desmond giggled. “You greatly overestimate my height, Johnny Cee,” he said. Johnny Cee’s ass towered above Desmond’s head where he sat in the chair.
“Oh yeah,” he said with a grunt. “Mando was taller than me.” He lowered his ass slowly, yelping in surprise when Desmond’s fingers gripped those big hairy orbs. He grinned at Johnny Cee’s reaction. Johnny Cee winced and turned his head to face Desmond. “Yo’ fingers are cold, man.”
Desmond clucked like a mother hen. “Sorry, baby, lemme warm ‘em up.” He breathed on his fingers, then caressed Johnny Cee’s asscrack. Johnny Cee shuddered and stopped moving, his back flat and ass right at the level of the chair in which Desmond said.
“Make his ass bleed, Desmond! If you ram him hard enough, he’ll learn to love it!:
His skin was marked with hair and rough spots, which Desmond loved. He kissed both asscheeks and spat into the dark, funky hole. Then he dove his head in to get it loosened up.
The taste was musty and masculine, dripping with salty sweat and the flavor of coconut oil-scented soap. It was a decidedly feminine kind of soap, Desmond thought, no doubt chosen by Johnny Cee’s wife. His tongue plunged in to that tight, dark hole and explored it as Johnny Cee stiffened his entire body in response.
A loud, foundation-shaking moan escaped from Johnny Cee’s lips. He cut it off when he realized the niggas in the frontroom could hear and were guffawing as though they had never heard anything like that (which was very possibly true — Desmond had never heard that kind of moan either). Johnny Cee’s asshole bloomed, loosened and opened up all at once, while his dick spasmed and leaked precum even with no one touching it.
Then Desmond stood, ready to begin the actual ramrodding. Johnny Cee breathed fast, tense, and hung his head low. Desmond couldn’t believe this was happening, and he kept thinking that Johnny Cee was going to back out. He stood on the chair, looking over Johnny Cee’s broad, rippling back.
“Uh… damn…” Desmond said. “I, uh, I don’t know how to do this.”
“Well you’re the expert. Don’t ask me for help,” Johnny Cee snapped.
“I know, I know. It’s just you so big. Normally I’d give you a reacharound but I don’t even know if I can reach,” Desmond said.
“Don’t worry about that. Once you get into me, I ain’t gonna have a boner no more,” Johnny Cee said. His voice sounded clipped and annoyed.
Desmond didn’t think that was true, but he wasn’t about to argue. He decided to just go for it. He kneeled on the edge of the chair and wedged his dick between Johnny Cee’s asscheeks, which he pulled apart with both hands.
As soon as his dick entered him, Johnny Cee grunted, bit his lip and threw his head back. Desmond lightly caressed his meaty back muscles, or at least the lower third of his back, which was all Desmond could reach.
He tried to gyrate his hips, but with himself sitting on the chair and Johnny Cee lowering his ass onto him, that wasn’t too easy to do. His dick couldn’t move much in this position. That didn’t detract from the intense pleasure he felt as Johnny Cee’s tight asshole clenched around his dick. A wave of exquisite sensations rollicked through Desmond’s petite frame.
“Did you and Mando ever share any ass?” Desmond asked, his voice tight because he had a behemoth riding his cock.
Johnny Cee shook his head but didn’t answer. He groaned and sighed. Desmond suspected that meant the answer was: not in any way that counts, meaning we did it when we was drunk, stoned, in prison or homeless, or some combination thereof. Johnny Cee’s ass pinched and flexed as he struggled to take all of Desmond’s dick.
When it became clear that it wasn’t going to work like this, Desmond used the chair for leverage. He thought he’d ride Johnny Cee to the ground and just hump him there on the floor, but that wasn’t what happened — Johnny Cee easily supported Desmond’s weight.
So Desmond clutched his thick back and held on as he began working his dick in and out. He was completely off the chair, riding Johnny Cee like a piggy-back ride, just lower down on Johnny Cee’s back. He stayed bent over, on his hands and feet with his ass still high in the air.
Johnny Cee was so tall that he seemed to take up an impossible amount of room, filling the tiny space Desmond had set aside for jerking off horny men. He had never thought he’d use this space to top anyone.
As Desmond humped, Johnny Cee bit his lip to avoid crying out. The men in the front room were quiet now except for a few scattered giggles. Desmond had been back here often enough to know what that meant — they were listening at the door but not talking about what they heard, probably because there was a child in the shop. It was just past nine, after all, so the Cityside Barbershop was open now.
Johnny Cee staggered and bumped into a shelf, nearly knocking it over. A box full of unsold doo rags fell onto Desmond and scattered over the floor. Johnny Cee was breathing heavy, having trouble supporting himself not because Desmond was so heavy but because Johnny Cee was jacking himself off as he took it up the ass, which meant he only used one hand to support his body now.
That suggested that he was hard. Desmond wanted to point out that Johnny Cee’s prediction was proven incorrect, as he had known it would be, but his own pleasure was too intense to stop. The more he humped, the more frenzied was Johnny Cee’s reaction.
“Damn, get it in me, man…” Johnny Cee said softly. He grunted and heaved, stumbling throughout the room and bumping into the walls head-first. The emotions galloping across his tense face were equal parts agony, pride, humiliation and jaw-dropping bliss. Johnny Cee’s entire body reacted to each thrust of Desmond’s dick inside him, tension rolling up and down his flesh from head to toe and back again. His face, when he looked behind himself so Desmond could see it, was ruddy and covered with sweat, eyes bugging out of their sockets.
When Johnny Cee clenched hard on Desmond’s dick, Desmond didn’t know why. He just knew it sent a crescendo of pleasure up his spine, and Desmond grunted so loud the sound overpowered Johnny Cee’s reactions for a moment. But then it was clear why Johnny Cee had clenched down — he was cumming.
That much was a surprise. Desmond knew that most men would get hard when being rammed, simply due to prostate stimulation, that was why Desmond had disbelieved Johnny Cee’s prediction that he’d remain soft. But he was shocked that Johnny Cee had managed to cum while Desmond still pounded his ass.
“Aw, fuck yeah, nigga…”
But there was no mistaking the cummy smell that filled the area, and the intense moan that came from Johnny Cee’s throat. Someone applauded outside the room, leading to another burst of laughter. Johnny Cee tried to cover up his pleasurable groaning with a cough, but his coughing spasm sent a shiver of pain up his spine as it made Desmond’s dick grind even deeper into his ass.
That was it for Desmond, who couldn’t hold back anymore. He dug his nails into the flesh of Johnny Cee’s back while an intense orgasm rocketed through his body. It grew in waves, each successive outpouring of pleasure more incredible than the last. With his face buried in the meaty middle of Johnny Cee’s back, Desmond felt like he was ensconced in masculine flesh in a way he hadn’t felt even when being rammed all over by big men in the past. For a moment, he and Johnny Cee might as well have been one person.
Desmond yelped and squirmed atop Johnny Cee’s body, and he even bit at the flesh of his back when the intensity of his climax was too overwhelming for Desmond to accept. Johnny Cee didn’t even seem to notice the bite.
At long last it was over. Johnny Cee was perfectly still now, stooped over so his back was flat. He breathed heavily, waiting for Desmond to finish. Desmond was still too exhausted to react, so he remained there as his dick softened inside Johnny Cee’s ass. He tightly gripped Johnny Cee’s body, which he still clung to like a small adult riding a giant stallion. Johnny Cee cleared his throat, but Desmond still remained right there.
Then Desmond let go of his back, which made Johnny Cee let out a sigh of relief. That sigh accelerated as Desmond slid down and his cock finally plopped out of Johnny Cee’s ass. Desmond’s face rubbed up against the burly man’s lower back and his cum-dripping asscheeks until he finally landed on the ground on his feet. He nearly fell as his orgasm had weakened his knees, but Desmond managed to remain upright.
Johnny Cee turned around and winced. He kissed Desmond on the lips, and their tongues awkwardly interlocked once again — Johnny Cee’s massive tongue overfilling Desmond’s mouth, in which it barely fit. Then Johnny Cee pulled off and smiled bashfully.
“Sorry,” he said.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. You’ve got a nice ass, Johnny Cee.”
“Yeah, well… Thanks, for that, and for, uh… y’know, saving the shop,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” Desmond said with a gasp and a shudder. They both got dressed. When they were done, Johnny Cee took a deep breath.
“So, y’know, I’m gonna tell them niggas that you go hard but it ain’t hurt too much. I ain’t gonna tell ‘em… y’know… that I jacked off too.”
“Okay,” Desmond said, sighing and smiling at Johnny Cee’s nervous stammering. “No one ever has to know you enjoyed bottoming. Your secret is safe with me.”

Boot Camp

Sgt. Powers is a no-nonsense drill sergeant who tolerates a bit of nonsense: horseplay! He doesn’t mind his cadets dipping into the down and dirty, especially if it means he gets to bend a soldier over and give him what-for!

Can he keep control over his squad of alpha male recruits?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Drill Sergeant Powers stood behind the barracks, peering into the window. He stood on the air conditioner so he could see in the high window to the showering area in the back of the barracks. He smiled as he watched Cadet Willie Redman sit on Nathaniel Muckham’s face.
Two dozen of the heftiest, most athletic cadets in the Army were in those barracks, and Powers watched them shower. He could have gone in there, but then they would have stopped and he couldn’t watch any more. He liked to watch the hijinks.
Redman’s shower-glistening body was broadly muscled, and every one of those muscles seemed to be in use as he squatted over Muckham’s face. It wasn’t a rimjob, of course. Muckham had a bet, so he allowed Redman to sit on his face, as the others chanted and cheered. It was only for a moment. Had he farted on his face? Maybe, but Powers didn’t think so. He could hear them laughing as Muckham blushed and clawed at his own cheeks.
Then they all started dancing and Powers was confused — a sudden dance party? Was this a Japanese game show?
But then he heard a pounding techno beat. That seemed to be A Thing, which he didn’t understand because he was too old — every once in a while, this generation of cadets put on electronic music and they all danced like club kids. It wouldn’t have been strange if they actually enjoyed that kind of music, but not a single one of them actually chose to listen to it in any other context.
Powers didn’t understand the younger generations.
They danced together for about a minute, stopping only when someone slapped Cadet Haruto Amasuzi’s ass. It soon degenerated into a torrent of laughter and horseplay — they treated each other like strippers, slapping each other’s ass and jiggling their buttcheeks in front of each other’s faces.
Drill Sergeant Powers began masturbating. He was just inches from those plump asses — inches that included the wall of the showerhouse — and he could even taste the soapy shower water as it covered their taut skin.
These were not any random collection of Army recruits. They had been chosen to be on the US Army wrestling team. They were given a shared barrack and Powers was put in charge of their training, all because the Army was tired of losing to the Navy in wrestling.
It was Powers’s job to turn them into champion wrestlers, and hopefully soldiers as well.
Inside the barracks, the horseplay had turned into a game called Boner Loses. They didn’t invent it, it had been passed down from an earlier group of cadets. Drill Sergeant Powers had even played a very similar game back when he was a new recruit, which felt like it was eons ago. Powers was glad that Cadet Redman was going to play this game now, because he really hoped to watch Redman lose.
Willie Redman frantically tried to come up with way to get out of it, but he came up with nothing. Everyone expected him to do it, and Willie wasn’t willing to violate their expectations like that — they were his expectations too. That’s because Willie saw himself as more sexually experienced than anyone else here. He had had sex with nine girls, more than anyone else in his barracks. He had had sex with two women at once. He had had sex with an older woman.
So he thought he was well-suited to win Boner Loses. That was a game wherein the player (Willie) stood still while another player (usually someone who had lost a bet, in this case Haruto Amasuzi) had to put his dick in his mouth.
“Do it!”
“Oh, nasty, he’s really doing it!”
“You can lick it if you want, Haruto!”
Haruto just kneeled and winced and gagged before letting Willie’s limp dick flop onto his tongue. Haruto gagged again as he felt wiry pubic hair rub against his cheek and his tongue.
The object of the game was not to get hard. If Willie got an erection, he was required to lick Haruto’s dick. That was it, that was the whole game, just don’t get a boner. When the older cadets had first explained it to Willie, he thought it was beyond stupid. He thought no one would ever play that “game”.
But the others had done it. Willie didn’t want to be the only one who was too prudish to join in. So he never told anyone he disliked it, and he even pretended he was always trying to get others to play it (that was virtually part of the game: no one ever wanted to play it, but it was fun to cajole others into playing it).
Since he was not an undersexed hornball like these other soldiers, Willie thought he would be alright. He wasn’t going to get hard for no reason. So he was alarmed to feel Haruto’s mouth silkily encircle his dick as Willie’s whole body twitched. He couldn’t pull away or stop, he could do nothing but watch as his dick firmed up in Haruto’s mouth. He watched it happen in slow-motion, like some horrible scene in a terrifying movie.
“Ah, shit, Willie lost!”
“On your knees, boy!”
Willie sighed and blushed. He knew the best way to avoid being humiliated was to simply pretend it wasn’t a big deal, so that was what he did. He rolled his eyes and dropped to his knees. He was much taller than Haruto, so he had to stoop to reach his crotch.
This wasn’t the first time this game had degenerated into dome. Willie never thought it would be him that did it. He didn’t want to be a wuss who refused to follow through. No one still made fun of Martin, who had been the first to lose this game.
So he opened his mouth and swallowed Haruto’s dick, gagging again — Haruto had taken a dick in his mouth a few weeks ago when he was on the other side of this game. T
It seemed so silly, Martin thought as he closed his eyes. Haruto’s cock stiffened up, and it jabbed down his throat. The taste of salty, musty dickmeat flooded his senses. He tried to think about anything other than that taste and the jeers and laughter of the cadets surrounding him.
When he was in college in an ROTC program before joining the Army, Willie had been the most popular guy on campus. He was the most athletic man anyone knew. That was why he had been recruited for the Army wrestling team. He was a state champion wrestler back in Pennsylvania.
So it had been difficult for him to accept that he was no longer the top athlete around. He was one of many athletes, and the officers of the US Army were strict in an entirely different way than any of his coaches had ever been. He did not like that he wasn’t in charge of hazing like he had been in college. He was one of many men here, each of them equally “in charge” most of the time.
It had been difficult to accept. So Willie struggled with his pride as he licked his compatriot’s dick. At first he thought he could just get it over with, it wouldn’t be a big deal unless he made it a big deal — he used to get freshmen to lick his balls when he was working out, so he was all sweaty, so he’d be a hypocrite if he regarded it as beyond the pale for him to be hazed similarly. It was just difficult to accept.
Willie’s face turned red, and his wrestling-toned chest was ruddy, sticky with the spit that dripped from his square chin. He was surprised at how much saliva he produced — girls didn’t normally, unless he could encourage them to, but he wasn’t trying to do this. Somehow he made loud gurgling sounds which would have been embarrassing except that his barrackmates howled peals of laughter that drowned out the sound.
Outside, Drill Sergeant Powers masturbated furiously.
He fully intended to get into Cadet Willie Redman’s ass eventually, and he could stand here and watch those cheeks jiggle all night long. He inhaled deeply of the musky scent that emanated out of the barracks, which was enough to send him over the line into orgasm.
Cum sprayed onto the air conditioner he stood on, while Powers watched Willie swallow Amasuzi’s load. Cadet Haruto Amasuzi bellowed and barked and pounded on his chest, moaning more passionately than he probably needed to — he exaggerated to humiliate Willie more.
“He’s swallowin’ it!”
“How’s that cum taste, man?!”
Sour, salty cum sprayed into Willie’s mouth, coating his tongue in thick, sticky spooge. Willie gagged once again, though the most compelling fact he noticed was that cum didn’t really taste bad, or at least, not worse than vagina. He allowed that sticky fluid to flow down his throat.
As soon as Amasuzi let go of his head, Willie pulled off and winced. Everyone laughed and clasped him on the shoulder.
“Didja like that, Willie?”
Willie blushed. He stood up straight, making certain everyone could see that he held his head high. For a brief second, he thought he saw his drill sergeant’s face in the window, but then it was gone. Willie was glad. He’d have been humiliated if he knew Powers had seen him.
He was just glad the game was over. After that they showered and changed to go out on leave. This was the first night of leave they’d had in weeks, so Willie and all the others looked forward to it. Boot camp was almost over.
They headed out, all but two of the cadets: William Morton and Tommy Draper. Powers told the two of them to suit up for some wrestling practice. They dourly did so. Those two did not have leave because they were in the doghouse.
The practice proceeded quickly, as it wasn’t a real practice, Sergeant Powers simply wanted the cadets to begin with something easy. They were both good wrestlers. He had them scrimmages, and he cheered them both on.
“Go for it, Morton!” Powers clapped and barked. “You got it, Tommy!”
The scrimmage proceeded as he had thought. He knew Morton would lose. He simply wasn’t as good. He was stronger than Cadet Tommy Draper, but he was slower and not as smart or tactical. Of course Tommy won.
“Alright, alright, you two go shower up,” Powers said. He was glad the practice was finally over. He slapped them both on the ass through their sweat-soaked singlets, and he took the opportunity to savor both meaty asses.
Everyone but these two was out on leave. Powers had been forced to take away Draper’s and Morton’s leave because they failed this silly test about sexual assault and racial tolerance. It wasn’t even a real failure, they simply hadn’t taken it seriously. They thought it was more like a survey, and they just filled in the bubbles without reading the questions.
So Powers made them retake the test, and he made sure they took it seriously this time. He didn’t let them continue until they filled out all of the correct answers.
“Good job, boys,” he said when they were done. He had really only wanted Draper to practice — Morton was not likely to make weight in time for the tournament, and he wasn’t very good besides. Powers saw him as a backup. If one of the others was forced to leave the Army, Morton would be a real part of the team.
A big part of the problem was that Morton was so handsome and charming. He had no need to be good at anything because he got laid plenty — he had no need to change. Girls thought he was hot and didn’t care how good he actually was at wrestling. Morton smiled a lot and had plenty of friends, so he seemed only dimly aware of the fact that he simply wasn’t very good.
But Morton wasn’t smiling today, as he walked away towards the barracks alongside Tommy. He wished he had had his leave taken away with literally anyone besides Tommy. Morton felt nervous — he often got the feeling Drill Sergeant Powers watched his ass shake in those tiny green Army shorts. Today Powers had slapped his ass and held on for a few seconds, but even after that, Morton could feel someone staring at his ass. When he turned around, Powers was gone.
It was going to be a long night in for the both of them, made worse by the fact that Morton was gonna have to take it up the ass from his buddy Tommy. Morton had lost a bet.
“Gonna ram you in the a-a-a-sssssss…” Draper sang a little, laughing when he saw Morton blush. “Come on, let’s get it out of the way.”
“Fine.” Morton bit his lip.
During their last leave, they had both been horny. They spent the entire day talking about how horny they were and how much they were going to get laid. Then they made a bet — Morton always did so well with girls he assumed he would get laid. He promised he would, and he said that if he didn’t, he’d let Draper ram him in the ass. Draper made the same bet. Morton assumed Draper would fail and he would succeed, but the opposite had happened.
So now, this weekend, Morton had to give up the ass.
The barracks was empty, but it still stank of men and stale underwear. Morton wished they could do it somewhere else, but this was the only spot on the whole base where they could be sure Drill Sergeant Powers wasn’t around. That man somehow seemed to be everywhere, Morton thought.
Tommy Draper spat on his cock for lube. He was almost as nervous as Morton, but he hid it well. He laughed and slapped Morton’s ass, cheering when those cheeks rippled. It really was a nice ass, he thought, if only it was attached to a woman.
He slid his dick in, grimacing when he felt it enter Morton’s tight asshole. Morton grunted and immediately clenched.
Neither of them moved. “Damn it,” Morton said with a grunt. His face turned red as Draper began drilling his dick in farther and farther. “Ah, oh, shit…” Morton’s voice was weak and thready.
“Damn… Oh, shit…” Tommy said more or less the same word, but his had an entirely different tone. He was shocked at how good this felt. He had thought ramming a man in the ass would be worse than a girl, or at best maybe the same so long as he didn’t feel any hair or accidentally grab for where her tits would be. But it was actually far better.
He didn’t know if it was better because Morton was intact (presumably) or because he was simply better, or maybe because Tommy didn’t need to worry about making his bottom enjoy it. He didn’t need to make Morton feel good, so he could focus on slamming away at that tight wrestler ass.
Morton kept squirming, and he clawed at the bunk beneath him. The most embarrassing part, he thought, was that it wasn’t entirely painful — he felt pleasure too. It happened very slowly, growing with every thrust of Tommy’s cock inside him.
Vague and distant at first, overpowered by the pain, Morton’s prostate orgasm grew more potent over time. Soon he was moaning and grunting with bliss, not agony, though he avoided making that obvious so Tommy wouldn’t know. The one way, he thought, that would ensure he was teased for this forever was to enjoy it.
But he had to admit there was a certain amount of pleasure that came with it. He moaned and bucked and writhed beneath Tommy’s body.
Just like the pleasure in Morton’s ass, Tommy’s own passion had grown slowly over time. At first he tried to avoid touching Morton any more than absolutely necessary. But the more excited he got by this, the more he pounded away, and the more he actually touched Morton.
Soon, Tommy’s hands gripped his back, trying to pretend his muscled shoulders were a female’s. Tommy closed his eyes. He lowered his chest until he pressed down on Morton’s body, ramming him wildly, grunting and moaning into his ear.
“Oh, fuck…” Morton moaned, and the tremulous note to his voice made it clear he was enjoying himself.
Only Powers was able to detect that though. Tommy was too engrossed in his powerful plowing. Powers shot his wad onto the outside wall of the barracks, just as he caught his first whiff of cum from the soldiers.
Morton did shoot his own load onto the bunk beneath him, but he managed to avoid being obvious about it, so Tommy didn’t notice that either. Tommy slammed into Morton until his balls crawled up in his sac, and he shot a thick load that coated Morton’s insides.
“Ah, shit yeah, take it, man!” Tommy closed his eyes and moaned. He sprayed the biggest wad of his life, and it spread within Morton. Tommy loved cumming inside girls, and he was surprised to see that he loved cumming inside boys just as much. He could have stayed like that forever, feeling victorious once again and dominating Morton’s powerful body.
At last he was done. Tommy pulled out, slapped Morton’s ass once and laughed as he squirmed. Morton groaned loudly.
“Shit,” Morton said. He breathed heavily. He hoped Willie didn’t notice that he had cum too. “That hurt.”
Tommy snorted like a cocky bastard. “Of course it hurt.” He grabbed his dick. “That’s cuz I got huge meat.” He paused. “It ain’t feel good too, did it?”
Morton blushed and protested a little too vociferously. “No! No, man, that was terrible. The worst. I ain’t enjoy that at all.”
They both headed back to the barracks then. Drill Sergeant Powers had disappeared at some point. Morton didn’t notice where he went. But as he passed by his office, he saw him in his office, with a cadet named Wojohowitz, who looked like he was in trouble. Morton hurried pst.
Cadet Wojohowitz was the best wrestler in the unit, so Powers didn’t want to kick him out. As he stood there, watching Wojohowitz’s nearly-naked body take the news, Powers’s heart broke.
Wojohowitz was young and thick-bodied, a star heavyweight wrestler. He was honestly not the best soldier, just the best wrestler, but as far as Powers’s superiors were concerned, wrestling was more important anyway.
Wojohowitz quiveringly said it was his girl, that she had smoked a joint and he hadn’t taken a hit but he had inhaled some. Powers believed him, but he didn’t have any control over this rule: A failed drug test means the soldier must go.
“Sir, I swear, I didn’t smoke any of it. I don’t have a drug problem, sir.”
Powers flared his nostrils. “Don’t beg, cadet. You’ll be okay-“
“I — I’ve been looking forward to the Army for so long.” He stood there in his boxers, his muscles rippling. “Uh… Sir… My dad said, uh… back when he was in the Army… he said that, like, if you was really regretful ‘bout something, like… your drill sergeant was, y’know… you could get a second chance if you was willing to… like… y’know-“
“Cadet, what in the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“My dad said… you could ram… you know, that I could give up the ass, and you’d, y’know, see that as a sign that I’m in the for the long haul, that I’m willing to do what it takes to stay,” Wojohowitz said. “I swear, I won’t let girls smoke weed around me. I won’t even go to any concerts. I promise.”
“You’ll give up the booty if I give you a second chance?”
Wojohowitz nodded.
Powers pretended to think about it. He had been waiting for an opportunity to get in Cadet Wojohowitz’s plump ass. It was going to be so tight Powers was already drooling. But Powers pretended to be reluctant. “I don’t know, cadet… Look… In my day, a man could ram another man in the ass as long as he had the common courtesy of giving a reacharound,” he said. He sighed grandly; he hoped he didn’t sound too eager. “So bend over, cadet.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Wojohowitz said. His voice broke a little as he knelt over his own bunk, sticking his ass in the air. He thought he could do this. No one would ever know, he thought, since he was pretty sure Sergeant Powers wouldn’t tell anyone.
Powers sighed. He had been waiting to get in this ass for a long time. Wojohowitz’s ass was so thick and juicy he couldn’t resist. Powers had a plan to make the drug test go away. He could claim to his superiors that the lab had suggested it might be a false positive. That could happen — they had said that with a result two months ago, they said they needed another sample to be sure because this one was weakly positive (the second sample turned out to be negative). He could put off the replacement drug test for a month to make sure Wojohowitz could clean himself up, or maybe Powers could just supply his own piss instead.
Regardless, he could do it. It was worth it to get in that tight ass. He moaned as his cock slid in, and Wojohowitz’s muscles all twitched. He had that cocky alpha strut, which Powers loved to ram out of a soldier. He smiled when he saw Wojohowitz’s toes curl — Powers knew what that meant: pleasure. Somewhere deep within Wojohowitz, his prostate was coming alive and making him feel such pleasure he couldn’t even acknowledge it yet.
Powers slammed the rest of his cock in, sliding his coarsely-furred forearm in front of Wojohowitz’s mouth. Wojohowitz bucked and grunted — he would have shouted but the sensations inside him were too intense.
“You can bite down on my arm,” Powers said. His left arm was in place for Wojohowitz to bite on — which he did, biting hard enough to make Powers’s arm cry out in pain; he didn’t stop though because Powers always liked feeling just a little pain while he rammed. It made it better.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Wojohowitz said. He was surprised at how much it helped to bite down. It was a good distraction from the pain. He gnawed on the firm muscle of his sergeant’s arm.
And then Wojohowitz realized the pain was going away anyway. That’s because Sergeant Powers reached out and grabbed Wojohowitz’s dick. He stroked it, gently and slowly at first. Wojohowitz moaned and found himself licking the salty-sweat off his drill sergeant’s forearm.
He blushed, not that anyone could see it. Wojohowitz was shocked and humiliated at how easily he got hard with a dick in his ass. It felt impossibly big. He wondered how big it really was. Was Sergeant Powers’s cock bigger than his?
But he couldn’t have asked right now even if he was willing to, because the feelings that rocked his body were too intense. Sergeant Powers’s muscled, hairy chest pressed down on Redman’s smooth back. Wojohowitz grimaced a little, as he wasn’t used to feeling a man’s chest muscles rippling over his skin. Sergeant Powers had that distinct “old man texture”, he thought, not wrinkled but well-worn, his skin coarse in parts, his chest hairy and stinky with sweat.
But even despite all that, Wojohowitz had never been more aroused. He gasped and groaned, rubbing his face against Drill Sergeant’s forearm. He bit down hard enough to taste blood.
Powers didn’t notice that. He was singularly focused on his cock, which rammed into Wojohowitz’s intact ass and stayed there as he came. His balls crawled up in his sac and he filled Wojohowitz with his creamy seed.
“You ready, son?”
“Sir, yes, yes,” Wojohowitz said, his normally confident voice now weak and wavery. He wasn’t scared though, because he trusted his drill sergeant implicitly. He knew this would all be okay. When it was over, he’d be able to pretend that he hadn’t been rammed by a man and, even more importantly, that he hadn’t liked it.
He shot his own load onto the floor beneath himself, coating Powers’s hand as his reacharound continued. Despite it being just a handjob and despite the limpening cock in his own ass, Wojohowitz experienced the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life.
He writhed beneath his drill sergeant’s firm embrace, and his asshole squeezed around his dick. Both men grunted, their mouths so close together they nearly kissed. Pleasure coursed through both men’s veins.
But then it was over. Drill Sergeant Powers stood, and they both sighed together when his dick finally plopped out. Cadet Wojohowitz twitched.
“At attention, cadet.”
Wojohowitz’s knees were weak, and his cheeks were red. But he managed to stand on uncertain legs. His cock dangled, still dripping cum onto the floor. Sergeant Powers grabbed it and squeezed.
“Good work, cadet,” he said. “You’ve proven your dedication to the Army.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Cadet Wojohowitz had never responded with such confidence and swagger. He didn’t know why, he just suddenly felt better than he had in a long time, even if his ass was still sore. “I’m glad I don’t have to leave the service, sir. I want to serve the Army for as long as I can.”
Powers stood up, dick dangling and dripping fluids onto the barrack floor. “Son, you’ll be able to serve the Army for life.” He walked away with a proud grin on his face.