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