MN Manmacker's mansploitation
At the brothel Lipsweet, Vivienne rules as queen, and the many roughnecks who come through are her subjects… But when her position is threatened, Vivienne finds herself on the outs, while the men around her must see to their own needs. Whether at the local jail, in a dusty backroom or in a dirty motel, these macho alphas will have to take matters into their own hands!
Bart is in Japan when he finds himself in a locker room, where he runs into the legendary rikishi (sumo wrestler) Miku Fukumi. Since Bart has always loved big-ass men, Miku is his ideal target, resulting in another incredible adventure of big manhood, big lust and big satisfaction!
Read the whole thing here!
Bart was trying to find Nashimoro Hazumatsu, but he had disappeared in the maze of identical corridors that ran behind the auditorium. Bart knew he was around there somewhere. He didn’t want to come back to America without a contract from Nashimoro, even if he had opposed hiring him in the first place.
The halls were spartan and cold. Bart heard crowds, but he didn’t know where they were. There were signs marking the doors and stairwells, signs in both English and Japanese, but somehow none of them were helpful. The stairwells were literally marked stairs — it wasn’t even possible to be sure they were different staircases, he could have been walking in circles, he wouldn’t know. The other rooms were marked with things like Entrance, Room A and Empty Room. What was the point of labeling something Empty Room, especially when it appeared to be full of cleaning supplies? He stumbled across a door labeled Room 7, and he cursed at this entire country — why would you both number rooms and give them letters? How did Room A and Room 7 relate?
It was infuriating.
Bart didn’t even want to be here. This was not a part of the job that he ever wanted to do. But Debbie Namikki was on maternity leave, and Bart had no choice but to take the trip to Japan in her place.
All this to hire Nashimoro Hazumatsu, a fashion designer who was well-known in Japan for his outrageous designs, his shockingly green hair and his old-fashioned erotic woodcuts.
It was annoying, and it wasn’t even Bart’s plan — a company Bart worked for was supposed to hire Mr. Hazumatsu to design some clothes — Bart did fashion photography for a chain of clothing stores aimed at plus-sized women. He advocated against it at the board meeting. Mr. Hazumatsu was expensive and eccentric and claimed to be a reincarnated dragon and was just generally not someone Bart wanted hanging around the office. But it wasn’t entirely his-
This was a locker room.
Bart shivered as excitement flooded him. He was in a locker room. That wasn’t where he was going or where he thought he’d be, but here he was. Bart had always found locker rooms slightly erotic, or sometimes very erotic, so he spent a moment taking in the empty space redolent of the hustle and bustle of prior activity. It had the soul of industry.
He had gone through a door thinking it was the door he had just come through, and it would lead him back to what he thought was a service hallway, but in fact, it led into a locker room.
Japanese lockers were short and wide, dark blue, with cisterns and wash-basins along every wall — instead of all of them being clustered near the toilets like in an American locker room. It smelled of male bodies and used clothing here.
Bart felt a flood of desire. He hadn’t gotten his rocks off since coming to Japan. Now he couldn’t think about anything else. He wanted to find a man to mess around with here, but he hadn’t yet seen anyone in Japan who lived up to Bart’s expectations.
As an appreciator of the male form, Bart had his preferred physique: thick, rotund, pudgy, fat or even outright obese. He loved them all. Most of the Japanese men he’d seen since coming to this country, however, were skinny. He’d seen a few hefty men, but none who really tickled Bart’s desire.
The search for Mr. Hazumatsu dwindled to the back of Bart’s mind. It seemed unimportant. He was in a locker room, that was the best possible location for finding studly men — many of whom might be thick enough to appeal to Bart.
But no one was here. It smelled like man-sweat, he thought, but no men were here right now.
Then the door opened, and a rikishi walked in — a rikishi is a sumo wrestler — wearing his traditional loincloth and nothing else. That’s what was going on in the building’s auditorium. The people Bart had heard were the wrestlers and trainers, and a small audience. This wasn’t a real tournament, but there was an audience out there, it was sort of the Japanese equivalent of a scrimmage.
The only rikishi to finish his match and come in the locker room right now, however, was Miku Fukumi. Miku had won — the loser of his match stayed out there with his coaches and trainers — and come straight in here. It was improper to gloat, so Miku had done little more than bow and keep a straight face on as he won.
But now that he was alone, he could do a little dance, his hefty body shaking, thickness jiggling, a few beads of sweat dripping onto the locker room floor. A broad smile spread across his face.
He didn’t see Bart, who wasn’t hidden but who was still concealed by a bank of lockers. Bart’s dick instantly stiffened up. Miku wore nothing but the traditional mawashi, the loincloth-like clothing that rikishi wore. Miku wore a white mawashi made of cotton, which was traditional for his rank — sekitori — during training. In a competition, he’d wear a mawashi made of colored silk, but this was only training, so he wore the white cotton mawashi.
He pumped his arms and flexed his bicep like a champion. Then his ears pricked up because he heard Bart.
Not wanting to seem like he was hiding or spying, Bart stepped out from behind the bank of lockers. He had a clipboard in his hand — it had information on the job offer for Mr. Hazumatsu — which Miku interpreted to mean Bart was some sort of inspector. Bart was obviously white, so Miku assumed he was part of some sort of international standards body. Miku’s sumo-league was trying to join the International Sumo Association, so that made sense enough for Miku.
He nodded, shame-faced at having been seen acting prideful. But Bart wasn’t Japanese, so he didn’t worry about it too much — if his trainer had seen it, Miku would have been humiliated. Americans appreciate pride and bravado, even arrogance.
“Hello,” Miku said, his English good but thickly-accented. He’d learned English in school but rarely used it except to follow the dialogue in popular movies and television shows, so he understood it much better than he spoke it.
“Hi,” Bart said. “I’m Bart.” He was taken aback and flustered by Miku’s commanding presence. He was tall and broad-shouldered and thickly built in all the right ways. He had quite dark skin for a Japanese man but was still lighter-skinned than Bart.
Beneath all that padding was a tremendous amount of muscle. Bart could sense it even without touching him. His heart pounded. He could feel the body heat emanating off Miku even from a few yards away, and the folds of his flesh glistened with sweat. Bart was too nervous to speak, he was like a schoolboy talking to his first crush.
“Are you inspectationing this property?” His accent was hard to grasp, especially since Bart was distracted, and he made the word property almost entirely unintelligible (it sounded like bobbity). Bart had to ponder for a few moments to decipher it. Then he still didn’t entirely understand the question.
“I was, uh, looking for Mr. Hazumatsu,” Bart said softly.
“He is watching, in the audience,” Miku said, an annoyed look flickering across his face. He did not like the flamboyant behavior and eccentricity of Mr. Hazumatsu. Men shouldn’t behave that way, he thought, and for men in his own field, sumo, it was entirely unacceptable. But his patronage did help keep the league going, so Miku didn’t complain.
“Oh. Oh, I see…” Bart said. He wanted to suck Miku’s topknot and couldn’t think of anything else. It was adorable, long and slick with the binzuke (wax scented with chamomile) that rikishi used as a hair pomade. It made his hair glisten and stay in the tight topknot, called chonmage, which extended far, and would have gone past his shoulders if he didn’t have the topknot. Bart cleared his throat. “Did you just wrestle?”
Miku nodded. He mumbled, “I must be prepare. I am planning on to meet my girlfriend in the outside, in certain time happening soon.”
“Okay, cool,” Bart said. “I’ll just…” He wasn’t sure what to do — he didn’t want to interrupt Mr. Hazumatsu as he watched a sumo match, that would probably make him less likely to agree to come to America. So Bart would have to wait.
Before Bart could think of anything else, Miku opened up his locker and withdrew his civilian clothes. They were all neatly folded and stacked, and he unstacked them one by one. Then he grabbed a cell phone and glanced at it. He frowned. He pressed a few buttons. Then anger flitted across his face, and he gripped the phone tight as though he wanted to smash it onto the ground. He stopped himself at the last moment and just clutched it hard. He shouted in angry Japanese, which echoed against the locker room ceiling. He howled in either pain or sadness, Bart couldn’t tell which.
“Fucking hell! That stupid bitch!” Miku shouted in Japanese when he could no longer keep it tin, completely forgetting that he had been trying to look proper for the strange American. Miku continued cursing at the text message on his phone.
Bart was taken aback, but glad to have a reason to stay for awhile. When Miku bent over, his asscheeks shifted in waves, dropping out from under his mawashi. With his head near Bart, the smell of his chamomile hair-wax hit Bart’s senses with the strongly floral, almost medicinal smell of the chamomile blossoms.
Miku forced a smile on his face. “I am sorry for my outburst.” He bowed. “It is… my girlfriend, she is… I will not be going to her.” Miku was deflated. He never had sex before a match, or even before training. But now that he was done — and he had won! — he could do it, and he was horny enough to be thinking of little else. He always looked forward to that, to relieving his over-full balls, and she loved it too, or she had always claimed she did. It was like a post-match ritual for them.
But things had been going poorly anyway, and she had said she was going to her sister’s house for awhile. He thought they would patch things up eventually, but then she texted him during the match, when she knew he wouldn’t be available, to say she wouldn’t be coming back from her sister’s and that her brother-in-law was going to come pick up her things at Miku’s house.
So that made it pretty clear she was dumping him. Miku was single again.
“Are you okay?” Bart asked.
“Yes. It is fine.” Miku bowed again, though his face was still ruddy. His post-match tranquility had vanished, and he was suddenly overcome with horniness. He needed a woman. He was owed a woman. He couldn’t think about anything else. The idea of a woman, of relieving the stiffy throbbing in his mawashi, blared like a siren, and Miku was powerless to resist its call.
But he did not show any of these feelings on his face. He looked down at the strange American man who shouldn’t be here.
“I have a proposition for you,” Bart said. He blushed and smiled winsomely. “I’d like you to stick it in me.”
“What?” Miku understood all those words but still wasn’t quite sure he had understood what Bart meant.
“Will you stick it in me? I want to taste your dick, and I want you to get inside me-“
Miku frowned, looking down on Bart, who was short and petite and skinny. “You are a man in gender ways.”
“Yes. That’s correct. Accurately stated, well done, though grammatically lacking,” Bart said. He smiled. “I’ll pay you. I’ll give you ten thousand yen.”
After a long pause, Miku said once again, “What?” He touched his hair, wanting to undo the chonmage since the match was done. But this encounter was weird and offputting and he couldn’t focus on anything but thinking about his girlfriend and his need to alleviate his stiffy tonight or, preferably, right now. He scrutinized Bart to figure out what he said. Miku didn’t want to offend him by misunderstanding his request.
“Twenty thousand yen,” Bart said. He came closer and touched Miku’s chest, just above his belly, where sweat from his chest had collected.
“And for that money, you will expect me to… do penis. With you? Right now.”
“Yes, that’s correct. I want to do penis with you-“
“I do not know how to do that.”
“You don’t need to know. I’ll take care of it. You just have to stand there and do what comes naturally,” Bart said. His fingers caressed Miku’s belly, which was greasy with sweat. His muscles rippled beneath Bart’s touch.
Miku nodded. He still wasn’t entirely sure he understood what was happening, but he needed the money and figured he could always back out later. He didn’t even know if he could get hard without a woman in the room.
“Do you only jack off with wrestlers of sumo?”
Bart shook his head as he slid to his knees. He stuck his tongue out, tracing a long trail over Miku’s belly-folds, slurping out the sweat that collected there. “No. I simply appreciate the physiques of men. Certain physiques, certain men,” Bart said moistly, fluids spilling out of his mouth.
Miku grunted. Bart kissed his dick through the mawashi, and then Miku hurried to take it off — he wasn’t sure if his coach would approve if his mawashi was stained with spit. He might think it disrespectful to the sport.
The mawashi loincloth slid to the ground. The inside of it smelled strongly, and Bart inhaled the scent. He snorted and sniffled, his tongue snaking out and slurping up some of the moisture. He rubbed it all over his face.
He hadn’t intended to do that — he wasn’t an underwear-fetishist — but it smelled so much of fat manhood that he couldn’t help it. He stopped only because Miku looked at him like he was about to leave, and Miku’s dick hung fat and long, dangling, begging Bart to do something to it.
Bart knew he needed to get Miku hard or he might very well back out. Once a guy was erect, however, he’d almost never quit. A hard man was desperate to get a nut off. Bart relied on that principle.
So Bart dropped the mawashi and went right for Miku’s dick. He swallowed it down to the root in one smooth motion, making Miku shake. Bart giggled around the dick in his mouth — he loved making heavy men shake.
His hands reached up to the belly looming overhead. Bart was so tiny he was dwarfed by Miku’s heft, which was like a mountain above him. Miku’s belly obstructed Bart’s view of his head. Bart was buried underneath his fat, his hands kneading whatever belly-flesh he could get ahold of.
A loud chest-rattling sigh escaped from Miku’s lips, as Bart slurped on his with gusto and vigor. He choked up mouthloads of saliva that dripped down Miku’s shaft and into the meaty thickness of his crotch. In no time Miku was hard as iron, his dick throbbing, mouth gasping as he felt twinges of pleasure running through his veins.
He didn’t know a man’s mouth could be like this. His girlfriend rarely got him off at all, and when she did, she was ginger and meek about it. She thought Miku was acceptably handsome in spite of his belly, not because of it. So she dodged his belly when sucking his cock. She focused more on that than on actual sucking — since she treated it as more of a foreplay before the actual sex than as something she actually wanted to do.
Not Bart. He loved Miku’s belly more than anything else. He wanted to lick it, kiss it, suck on it like a supermodel’s pussy, feel it all over him, and he soon sat way back to force Miku to stoop lower — that both made it easier for Bart to lick his dick as well as making Miku’s belly press down on Bart’s head.
When he tasted some precum, Bart pulled off and gasped for air. Miku had him pinned against a locker now, his powerful hips humping even when Bart stopped working on his cock. That dick still jutted angrily forward, ramming back and forth and plowing into the air for a few thrusts.
Bart giggled as he tried to regain his breath. There was so much moisture in this little nook created by Miku’s belly it was like swimming in bodily fluids. There was creamy, sticky precum coating his shaft and dripping onto Bart’s face, as well as saliva from Bart’s moist mouth and layers of greasy, salty sweat flowing from his tubby body onto Bart’s face.
“Goddamn,” Bart said, “I love that belly. Are you ready to put it in me?” Bart didn’t wait for him to agree. He could tell by the way his dick throbbed that he was ready. Bart could have easily slid out from under Miku simply by going to the side. But that would hardly be the most exciting way to do it.
So instead he stuck his tongue out and licked his way free from his position crouching and squashed against the lockers. He suckled on Miku’s fat belly and licked his folds clean, while he kept both hands on Miku’s dick to keep the big man’s attention and desire going.
When Bart was out, covered head to toe in glistening sumo-sweat, Bart bent over the bench in the middle of the lockers. He stuck his ass up.
Miku hesitated. “You want to bend over? You do not want to ride on top of me?”
Bart shook his head. He loved being plowed into from behind like this. Miku was hesitant because none of his prior girlfriends would ever do it like that — he was too heavy, and there was no way to do it without his belly flopping all over Bart’s back. Miku’s girlfriends disliked that. Bart was looking forward to it.
“Stick me like this, you don’t have to go easy on me,” Bart said. “It’s okay to let your belly weigh me down.” He actually loved that. There was nothing more arousing than a massive man’s corpulence squashing him against the bench.
Miku was still hesitant at first. He’d never plowed into a man. He wedged his dick between Bart’s asscheeks and took a deep breath. He spread Bart’s smooth cheeks, which were firm but comically small in Miku’s massive mitt-like paws.
Bart was so delicate and pale, his body trembling. Miku wasn’t sure he could do this. He’d feel like he was spoiling something beautiful, something immaculate and natural.
But his cock moved of its own accord anyway. Miku was too horny — and frustrated with his now ex-girlfriend — to do more than slow himself down. He slipped the tip of his dick in and bit his lip.
A flood of pleasure instantly hit him, while Bart trembled beneath his heft. Miku chuckled at the sight. Girls never responded like that. Miku had to lift his belly to keep going deeper and deeper into Bart, whose well-lubed ass gladly took every inch of his meat.
It was astonishing how easy it was. Miku had thought he’d struggle to remain hard, but Bart’s body was so tender and warm, soft yet firm in the right places. Miku’s dick pulsated and slid right in, all the way, deeper than Miku had ever gotten in a girl’s ass.
Bart winced and squirmed, but Miku kept plowing into his ass, relentlessly thumping hard at him. His belly jiggling, rubbing against Bart’s back. The more he plowed in, the less Miku cared about his size. He pounded down on Bart, using more and more of his weight, until at last Bart was entirely buried in Miku’s body.
Bart squealed, gasping for air as he neared his own orgasm. He could barely even feel the pleasure in his prostate because of the blizzard of sensations on his back — there was a little hairy spot on Miku’s chest, which rubbed against Bart’s smooth skin, while Miku’s hot breath condensed on the back of his head. There was so much belly it seemed to drip around him, until Bart saw nothing but manflesh all around him.
He was literally buried, and Bart loved every moment of it. With all that heft on top of him, he could feel the muscle underneath it all. Sumo wrestlers were among the strongest athletes in the world, he thought, even if they didn’t get much credit for it because their muscles were buried.
But Bart was buried in there now too, so he was ensconced in Miku’s muscles, Miku’s cock exploring every inch of his insides. Bart finally roared and shouted as he reached his own orgasm, the sound of which was muffled by the four hundred pounds of meaty manhood pounding atop his back.
Neither had any idea how long it took. Miku thought it was over in moments, and he was a little disappointed — though also glad, because they would be interrupted by more rikishi sooner or later — but Bart thought it had taken forever, and it was glorious.
Time stopped as a prostate orgasm flowed through Bart’s veins. He never thought he’d get something like this in Japan. He howled, the sound reverberating through the folds of Miku’s flesh as cum sprayed within him.
There was a huge amount — Miku had been horny and refusing to even jack off for a few days in the leadup to today’s event — and cum filled Bart up in great waves. He sighed and moaned underneath that mountain of man-flesh, and yet still more cum jetted into him with each thrust of Miku’s powerful body. His muscles rippled beneath the layer of thickness above his trunk. Miku gasped. Another fat flow of jizz jetted into Bart’s behind.
It was hot and sticky, and Bart could feel it seeping into every part of his body. It dripped out of his ass too, forming a little puddle on the locker room floor, where it joined up with the puddle Bart had shot as well, not to mention the rather copious spit and sweat that had collected on the floor as well.
Finally, only when Bart had just realized he couldn’t breathe due to the heft overtop him, Miku rolled over and sighed. He stood massaging Bart’s smooth asscheeks with a big grin on his face.
“That was… a surprise,” Miku said. “Do not tell anyone with the league about it.” He still thought Bart had something to do with the International Sumo Association, and he assumed Bart needed to keep this a secret just as Miku did.
“I won’t. It’s just between us,” Bart said. He sat up and stretched his sore legs. “Say… where else in Japan do big guys hang out?”
He and Miku talked as they cleaned themselves up. Miku even cleaned up the cummy puddle on the floor, and he let Bart keep his mawashi. It was soaked with sweat, both fresh sweat from today’s exertions and also soaked in layers of salt crystals from past tournaments and workouts and practices. The well-worked cloth was warm with Miku’s body heat for now, and it stank with the musk of his fragrant ballsack. Bart inhaled deeply of the scent one more time, but then put it away before he got too horny again.
He wanted to bring the mawashi with him, back to America, to remind him of this forever. He wouldn’t smell it again in Japan, he told himself over and over — though he wasn’t sure he’d live up to that expectation — because he wanted to savor it anew in a few weeks, when he was back home again.
Besides, now that he’d gotten lucky in Japan once, Bart was eager to do it again.
Rob loves football jocks and their sweat-soaked gear, so he hangs out in the college locker room during games. When one studly athlete is ejected from the game, only Rob can alleviate his manly urges… Or can he?!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Rob Winthrop was in the locker room of the GHU Titans. The team was out on the field. He could have gone out there. He paid for the team’s parties and special, not college-approved events — like the stripper parties — so the team allowed him to do whatever he wanted as long as it didn’t disrupt the team. Rob was fine with that; he had no desire to disrupt the team.
He was a major supporter of the GHU athletic department, and he had been for years. He loved locker rooms, and football was his favorite sport — at least at the moment — so he could think of no place he would rather be than right here. He loved the smell and the way it permeated everything. When Rob left here, the smell would linger in his nostrils. It smelled like sweat, but it had a certain quality that Rob thought of as the smell of football itself — not the ball, the sport. It smelled of grass-stains and grease-paint, tackles, sweat-stained jockstraps and stale beer.
They had left some of their gear behind. Of course, the game was going on, so they had most of their gear out there — all their pads and such, their cleats, that kind of thing. But Rob had plenty to play with anyway. Everything reeked of sweat, salty and fragrant, zesty, musky like a fine cologne before it was ruined with floral additions.
One thing he loved was those little half-shirts they wore during practice — football-cut, they call that. The shirts usually became utterly sweat-logged. Rob found three and sniffed them aggressively, licking up all the salt left behind when the sweat evaporated from the fabric. The aroma was intoxicating, heady, grassy, potent like a slap to the face, and it made Rob want to swoon into a football jock’s powerful arms.
The crowd roared, and Rob’s ears pricked up. Somebody must have scored a touchdown. He had no desire to go out there though. The game of football was of little interest to him.
Soon he was too turned on to just smell those stretched cotton swathes of half-shirts, sopping wet and tangy just from the aura of football-sweat clinging to them. He dropped to his ass on the cold linoleum floor, and he dropped his shorts. He flopped his dick on the half-shirts and humped them, moaning as he imagined himself playing the sport with the team.
Rob wished he could play with the team. He had only done so once — and it wasn’t a real game, of course, it was only an unofficial and unapproved scrimmage. Rob was much too small and weak to play on a level like with these muscle-bound behemoths.
But the team thought it was hilarious and agreed (in exchange for gas money for a road trip). They did it after practice so Coach Marshall wouldn’t know. Rob had been right there in the middle of the huddle as his team — the shirts — came up with their plays. Rob didn’t know enough about football plays to participate in that part, so he just stroked their muscles and licked the sweat off their bicep as they huddled.
The part that Rob had really enjoyed, however, was the tackle. That was the part he had been looking most forward to, and it was the part that turned out the best. He had dove onto Tuck McCarraher, the left tackle who volunteered to be on the bottom of this particular dogpile.
Tuck wore one of those half-shirts — quite possibly one of the ones Rob was currently humping in the locker room, since the team shared those — and it had ridden up on his back when Rob jumped onto him, high enough that Rob’s face pressed against his naked neck. Rob was much too light to bring Tuck down, so he had bit back of a moan of desire as he clutched Tuck’s broad, sweaty back.
He would never have been able to hold on for long because the sun had been baking Tuck’s tan shoulders, and they were slick with sweat. Rob began slipping as soon as he held on. He didn’t mind. He rubbed his face against the writhing muscles of Tuck’s back, and he let himself slide.
“Uh-!”
“Agh-!”
“Uh-uh!”
“Yuuuuh!”
It lasted only a few seconds before they were both on the ground, tackled by what felt like a ton of man, jock after jock piling atop Rob’s delicate little back. Somebody’s muscles pressed down on his lithe body. Rob oomphed onto Tuck’s back, his erect cock rubbing over Tuck’s asscheek, cradled by his workout shorts. That was why Rob had asked for a volunteer for him to try being tackled — he knew perfectly well he was going to get aroused and maybe even cum. Tuck had said he was fine with that — well, maybe not “fine with” but tolerant of it anyway.
Tuck laughed nervously as football players piled on Rob’s back. Rob couldn’t breathe due to the hundreds of pounds of man-meat pressing on him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t mean to hump Tuck’s asscrack, but that was exactly what happened. He moved and swayed, trying to breathe, and as a result, his cock — already rock-hard — rubbed between Tuck’s toned cheeks.
Like most college athletes, Tuck had an exquisite body, and when his ass tensed up, it was like humping two warm, fleshy rocks. Rob panted and felt precum soaking into the dingy gray shorts Tuck wore.
But even hotter than that was the man on top of Rob — he couldn’t see who — whose bare chest rubbed over Rob’s back. Whoever it was was so thickly built that Rob was lost in the valley between his pectorals, shrouded in sweat, feeling the man’s own cock and balls cradled by his jockstrap and rubbing against the small of Rob’s back.
Did that man have a hardon? For just a moment, it felt like it. Maybe he did — or maybe he just had such a huge, girthy cock that it always felt hard.
There was another jockstrap resting on his hand. Someone had done that deliberately, he was pretty sure. His hand stuck out from the tackle and someone had dipped his balls onto Rob’s hand, like he was getting checked for a hernia. Rob stroked the ballsac on his hand, groaned and orgasmed right then and there. Moisture filled his crotch and coated Tuck’s back muscles.
“Aw, brah, he’s totally nuttin’, he’s goin’, ah… shit!”
Rob had told them it might happen. That was why they had had a long conversation about who was going to be on the bottom. Tuck had agreed, and he closed his eyes, moaning a little when he felt hot cum spurting over his back.
The whole tackle only took maybe two minutes, a little longer than a tackle in a game. Rob didn’t even need the whole two minutes. He was already turned on before it began, and then before he knew it, he swam in a sea of jockhood and shot his salty cum all over Tuck’s ass. Pleasure exploded within Rob, who moaned out loud, though nobody could hear over the carrying on of the players. Rob’s whole body writhed, ensconced in football jock meat, as exquisite bliss coursed through his veins.
Then it was over. Tuck jumped up and laughed good-naturedly, blushing, ripping those workout shorts off though he was careful at the same time to only hold the elastic waistband of them — he didn’t think any cum had gotten up that high.
“Tuck, damn, you got nutted on-“
“Oh shit, you got cornholed, buddy-“
Tuck blushed and roared. “Man, shut the fuck up, he ain’t stick it in-!” He blushed again as he realized his little half-shirt was cummy too, which meant some of the cum had probably hit his elastic, so he had touched it with his fingers. He took off the little half-shirt, tossed it on the grass and ran into the locker room, wearing nothing but his jockstrap. Rob watched his well-tanned, juicy ass shaking, framed by his jockstrap.
Tuck didn’t mind getting cummed on because being laidback was part of his image. While most of his fellow football players presented themselves as ladysmen who messed with the prettiest, nicest girls on campus, Tuck had little use for that. He didn’t like the plasticy cheerleadery type.
He liked his girls rebellious, alternative, dirty, raunchy even — he liked punks, Goths, weird girls, the kind of girl who would think it a turn-off if he was squeamish about other men. He had calculated that brushing off the cum on his back would pay dividends in getting those kinds of girls to give him the time of day.
So he wasn’t upset about it — he liked having a reputation as the team raunchhog, the Dirty Fucker (a nickname his teammates, and even his coach, sometimes used). Tuck was tall even for a football player, at well over six feet tall, and broad-shouldered like a mack truck. He had long stringy hair like a heavy-metal guitarist too, which was one of the things that made girls like him so much. They ran their fingers through that hair, styled it in an updo, in cornrows, in a ponytail, and Tuck always played along.
Of course, when he was alone, he just left his hair alone. He didn’t care about his long hair except inasmuch as it helped him get laid.
But he did take exception to it when a player on the opposing team said he looked like a “prettyboy” with his long hair. Tuck was the opposite of a prettyboy, his image had never been pretty. He spoke like a hillbilly, covered his chest in amateurish tats and let his chest hair grow out (the rest of the team shaved it because the cheerleaders liked their men smooth).
So he had thrown a punch, right in the middle of that game. The ref saw it, blew his whistle, and Tuck tried to defend himself.
The next minute or two were an angry blur. Later, Tuck was relieved he hadn’t lost control and punched that ref’s lights out, but at the time, all he thought about was how that player had called him a prettyboy.
So he was ejected from the field, and he stalked away from the booing crowd and the judgmental stares of his coaches. The ref didn’t blow the whistle to resume play until Tuck was gone from the stadium entirely.
He entered the locker room just a few minutes after Rob blew his wad all over the half-shirt that Tuck had worn during his warm-up before the game. Rob’s salty load mixed with Tuck’s salty sweat, and it dripped through Rob’s fingers onto the locker-room bench below.
Tuck was so worked up though from the fight that he didn’t smell the cum or notice Rob when he walked into the locker room. In his mind, he was going to go right to the showers and leave — he didn’t want to still be here when the game was over.
But he was so pissed off, he just roared, punched the palm of his own hand and paced. He didn’t take off his pads or even his cleats.
He only stopped to notice Rob when Rob stood and approached him. Rob could hear the game’s announcer through the loudspeaker, so he was aware Tuck had been ejected, but he had been focused on jacking off, so it hadn’t sunk in what he had heard until he saw Tuck’s furious face and his mind backed up to figure out what had transpired to cause this. He remembered then that he heard over the loudspeaker Tuck was ejected from the game.
His shoulder-pads loomed high above Rob, who quaked a little in fear because Tuck was so red-faced and blusteringly angry. Tuck growled at him, too worked up to notice that Rob had just cum onto the pile of half-shirts and workout gear.
“Hey!” Tuck snapped, wishing he could think of a reason to aim his anger at Rob. “You… You fucking…”
“Sorry you got in trouble,” Rob said, blushing. When Tuck didn’t respond, Rob hugged him. Tuck was so tall that Rob wrapped his arms around his jersey and rubbed his face against his flat belly. Tuck’s broad muscles were firm as rock beneath Rob’s grasp, and his heart pounded audibly through his chest. His skin was slick with sweat, which Rob slurped up. Tuck was so upset he didn’t even notice, and Rob grew bolder and bolder about savoring the sweat that clung to Tuck’s muscles.
His dick twitched. It was barely noticeable because it was imprisoned by an athletic supporter jockstrap. His cock and balls hung heavily between his legs, bulging from those leggings.
Tuck grunted. His chest heaved. He couldn’t think about anything but punching that goddamn ref.
And sex.
His girlfriend had promised to fuck him after tonight’s game — she said he could tap that ass — but she made a point of saying it wasn’t “for” this game. She was too “alternative” to support a sport like football. It was a “patriarchal sport”.
Tuck wanted to get his nut off. He narrowed his eyes to slits. Could he dick down Rob? He was sure the answer to that was yes. The questionable part was could he ask? It would be embarrassing, he thought.
“You want me to get you off, baby?” Rob asked for him, because he sensed that Tuck wanted it but was too straight and macho to ask. Tuck nodded and wrinkled his nostrils.
Rob sunk to his knees and pulled down those leggings. He started his attention before he took Tuck’s jockstrap off. He just started licking on the twitchy, throbbing bulge right away, and it soon firmed up. He stopped Tuck from removing the jockstrap just yet though.
First he licked a trail up under that jersey, which Tuck took off to reveal his compression shirt. They called it a “skin” because it tightly hugged his own skin, making his pecs look massive and perfectly formed. Those pecs rippled when Rob touched him.
“You taste so good, baby…” Rob murmured. He sensed that Tuck needed to be bucked up, so he kept saying that over and over, repeating how handsome Tuck was. One of Rob’s hands stroked up Tuck’s chest, under his skin and teased his muscles. He tweaked each nipple, making those mountainous pecs flex and bounce. Rob’s other hand slipped into his jockstrap.
It was sweaty and humid, like reaching into a jungle. Rob didn’t mean to drop his jockstrap yet, but Tuck’s dick was so big and firm in his hand that the jockstrap was forced down anyway. Rob stroked it gently with one hand.
“Damn, shit-” Tuck grunted and flexed his hips involuntarily. He closed his eyes as his cock slid in and out of Rob’s grip.
He still had his pads on when he sat on the bench in the locker room. That gave Rob easier access to his chest. He tried to take the pads off — so he could get that skin off — now that he wasn’t playing, it felt sweaty and gross to keep that stuff on — but Rob’s hands and tongue were in the way, and Tuck gave up.
The ref was gone from his mind. All he could think about now was his cock, throbbing and begging to cum. “C’mon, put it in your mouth,” Tuck said, his barrel-chested voice ringing out in Rob’s ear.
Rob’s heart thrummed as shivers of anticipation rocked his body, and he leaned in to kiss Tuck on the neck, slurping up some of the sweat that clung to his stubble. The smell of the grease-paint on Tuck’s cheek was intoxicating when he was this close.
Rob dropped to his knees, and slammed his own head deep onto Tuck’s cock. He surprised him with a sudden deep-throat, so sudden that Tuck was still leaning forward and Rob had to bury himself in his hairy, meaty crotch.
“Ah, shit, shit!” Tuck grunted and groaned. He gasped, leaning back so Rob could eagerly deep-throat him to the root.
No girl had ever deep-throated him quite like this. Tuck was astonished that someone could do so — he had thought his dick was too big to swallow completely. Tuck howled, gyrating his hips up to slam his dick into Rob’s throat, as Rob’s nose became squashed in the wild untamedness of Tuck’s crotch
He took off his pads and compression shirt finally, glad to bare his chest in the relatively cool air of the locker room. It was actually warm and humid in here, but he was still overheated from the game, so it felt good to take the last of his clothes off. His bare skin prickled and his cock tobbed in Rob’s mouth.
Now he wore only his athletic socks and a pair of cleats, plus his elbow- and knee-pads that he had never taken off. He didn’t want to lay all the way back on the bench, but the more Rob swallowed, the more he couldn’t resist.
He found himself on his back, barely balanced on the narrow bench. Sweat tricked down his face but was stopped by the grease-paint he still wore. He gripped Rob’s head and held on tight, even lifting his trunk-like thighs up to pin Rob in place.
“Shit, baby, swallow it, goddamn!” Tuck exclaimed.
When Rob pulled off, he had to tap Tuck on the belly to get his attention and let go with his legs. Rob stood next to him on the bench, stroking his cock on the verge of orgasm with both hands. Tuck gasped and panted.
“C’mon, man, keep goin’, whatchoo doin’? Swallow it, okay? Don’t spit, please? Please-?”
“Sssssh, baby, you can cum wherever you want. If you wanna cum in my throat, go ahead,” Rob said, his voice a soft purr that made Tuck’s heart skip a beat. He leaned over slowly and slurped up some more sweat off Tuck’s shoulder, in the area newly opened up by the removal of his pads. Rob smiled. “But first consider this: You wanna stick it in my ass?”
Tuck’s eyes opened wide. That seemed too wild, he thought, intellectually. But his cock was already demanding he go through with it. He nodded. Again, the intellectual part of his mind said to do this in the most manly way he could think of — bending Rob over and pounding away from behind.
But Rob had other plans in mind, and Tuck was too aroused to care that much about the details. Rob spread his tiny legs wide enough to straddle Tuck’s body, and he plopped his ass on that cock as it stuck straight up from his crotch.
“Oh god-!” Tuck bucked and nearly slipped off the bench as he writhed. It felt so good it hurt, and it was awkward because he couldn’t reach for Rob’s tits like he would have when he let a girl ride him like this. Spasms of pleasure wracked Tuck’s body, making each of his muscles ripple.
Rob had already cum once, not that Tuck knew that, so his cock had been slow to get erect again. Tuck closed his eyes when he saw Rob jacking off, facing him as he slid down on Tuck’s manhood.
If he had been setting this up beforehand, Tuck thought, he’d have never agreed to this position — or probably any position — and he’d have at least made Rob turn around so Tuck didn’t have to look at Rob’s flopping, precum-glistening cock.
But he didn’t want to even stop long enough to make Rob face the other way; Tuck was too turned on to do more than murmur, “goddamn, boy, do it, shit, ride that cock, boy-!” and groan in a mixture of over-intense pleasure and pained panting. He thwacked his own head back on the bench hard enough to groan in pain.
Rob had trouble balancing when he was all the way down on Tuck’s cock. He ground himself left and right, making that incredible cock press against his prostate and send wave after wave of bliss through his veins.
They stayed like that for what they both thought was just a few minutes. But they ended only just as half-time was about to begin, and Tuck groaned in shock — they’d been going at it for more than a full quarter of the game.
“C’mon, man, we gotta hide-” Tuck bit his lip, blushing, as he got up. The faint but growing sound of a bevy of football players could beard emanating into the lokcer room.
He didn’t take his cock out of Rob’s ass. This felt too good to even think about that, and Rob was small and light and pliable and willing to do whatever it took to get cornholed, so Tuck just lifted him up in his powerful, sweat-dappled arms and dragged him away.
They made it into the supply closet only moments before the locker room filled with Tuck’s teammates. They all snickered because it smelled like cum in here, but they assumed that was from Rob jacking off over the pile of jockstraps in the corner — they always piled up their sweatiest jockstraps for Rob to play with — and they were, in part, correct.
“We’re gonna demolish those bitches!”
“They won’t score a single goddamn point, the pussies-“
“Where’d Tuck go? Prolly off fucking some slut with a mohawk and a tattooed lip-“
“Ah, remember that crazy one with the blue hair?”
Tuck wanted to go out there and tell them off for talking about him behind his back — that crazy one with the blue hair was utterly beautiful, for one thing, and she only had blue hair on Halloween — but his body was an autopilot now. He had Rob on the ground, wrapped up in his arms so he didn’t accidentally make too much noise.
But Tuck made plenty of noise, rutting and whinnying like a horse as he slammed into Rob’s ass. Rob gripped the football helmet beneath him, holding on for dear life with one hand while his other hand stroked himself off, and his ass strained to accept every inch of Tuck’s cock.
Finally, that was it. Tuck stopped for a single clarion moment, and then he pumped one more time. He sighed, moaning into Rob’s ear and even nibbling on his earlobe until Tuck remembered he wasn’t with a girl. He put Rob in a loose chokehold so he wouldn’t move or cry out loud, and Rob bit the meat of Tuck’s forearm to muffle himself.
“Shit, boy-” Tuck groaned into his ear.
Cum spurted into him, great creamy gobs of it that filled Rob up. It kept on flowing, unrelenting, wad after wad spraying into him and spreading throughout his body.
“Aaaaaah…” Rob sighed until Tuck hissed at him to shut up, even though Tuck’s heavy breathing and heaving was much louder. Rob wriggled underneath him.
But Tuck ignored that, and rested, his cock limpening in the soupy mess of Rob’s ass. He had no intention of leaving this supply closet until halftime was over, so his teammates wouldn’t see him. He did let his cock plop out of Rob’s ass though, wrinkling his nose at the foul smell of cum and ass-juice that filled the closet.
He laid back, too tired to do anything else, or even to worry about it when he realized his bare ass sat in the puddle of Rob’s cum. He’d already gotten Rob’s cum on his ass once before, and that had been fine, so he just ignored it this time.
He closed his eyes and slept while Rob licked his chest and cock clean, slurping off his own assjuice. The closet was filled with football gear, which was just fine for Rob — when he had licked Tuck clean, he played with the helmets, pads, jockstraps and footballs that covered the closet floor.
By the time the players went back out on the field, Tuck was sound asleep, and Rob curled up on his chest to sleep too.
Simon and soccer player Octavio share a dorm room, but when Octavio gets dumped and has a stiffy that won’t go down, Simon is eager to help out! Can he accept this Uruguayan exchange student’s exotic machismo and his powerful manhood?
Read the whole thing here!
“Don’t worry, he won’t wake up,” Octavio’s voice filtered into Simon’s mind as he slept.
But that wasn’t quite enough to wake him up yet. Simon lingered in between sleep and wakefulness, as the conversation beneath him grew steadily louder and louder. Octavio’s deep voice echoed in the dorm room they shared.
Simon had come to GHU just three weeks ago, and he already disliked his dormmate. It was tough because, while Octavio was a prick, he was also a handsome soccer star. Simon loved his square jaw, broad shoulders and deep, dark eyes, his unbridled machismo, his bulging muscles that didn’t fit in the too-small soccer shorts he wore to bed. He was rough and brusque and seemed much older than his age. His jaw was broad, his hair short like a soldier, his chest perpetually shirtless.
His jersey and those musty shorts lay crumpled on the floor. Simon sat up as he heard the argument in the bed beneath him grow more heated. Octavio had brought his girlfriend over to the dorm. It was awkward, to have those two giggling and flirting, probably touching — maybe fucking — or at least, you know… touching each other — in the same room as Simon, while Simon wasn’t involved at all. Not a double date, not a friend of a friend, not a party. Simon had no connection to what was happening in his room.
Octavio’s frustrated voice muttered, muffled by the bed separating them. It sounded pleading. Was he asking her for something? Simon wondered if his breathing sounded like he was asleep. How do asleep people breathe? He exhaled slowly. Octavio and his girlfriend probably couldn’t hear though, they were talking, in increasingly animated voices. Octavio sounded frustrated.
“I don’t care, Octavio, don’t be a jerk! Why can’t we wait?!” That was Mandy, Octavio’s girlfriend. She was kind of a bitch, but she was beautiful — big tits, long legs, a round ass, a hefty head of mouse-brown hair. Mandy and Octavio had hooked up two weeks ago, but it already felt like forever. They argued constantly. She set up tasks for Octavio to do a lot, she seemed to think she was his social manager. She wanted Octavio to confront various people about wrongs done, to switch classes and majors, to say various things to various people in specific tones of voice, to buy her things even though she was the one from a wealthy family, while Octavio had to borrow money from her to buy the crap she insisted on. She’d barely looked at Simon. Women like her didn’t notice men like him existed.
“I been waiting!” he said with a groan. Octavio backed away from the dorm bed beneath Simon. She still lay there. Octavio must have been undressing, and maybe she did too? Simon heard a flurry of activity underneath him, which might have been her putting clothes on. Octavio’s face was ruddy and tense
He wore only a clean white jockstrap. The bulge of his dick would have been visible if it weren’t so dark in here, Simon had seen that on several occasions. When it was really hot, Octavio walked around in his jockstrap, either uncaring or unaware of how much his bare ass got Simon’s attention, especially when it was cradled by the straps of his jock.
Hoping to avoid any awkward situations, Simon pretended not to wake up. He couldn’t help but sneak peeks at Octavio’s nearly-naked soccer-toned body, however. Octavio was a soccer phenom back in his native Uruguay — he claimed to have been offered a position as a player for a professional club, but turned it down to go to school in America, here in the middle of nowhere. Simon wasn’t entirely sure he believed Octavio about the professional team offer, but it was plausible. He was the best soccer player on the GHU team, or so everybody said. Soccer fans seemed to think Simon should be overjoyed to be sharing a room with the Octavio Juárez.
“You’re being a real asshole right now. I said we could come up here and make out. I’m not…” her voice trailed off to a whisper, “having sex in front of your roommate.”
“He’s a wuss, and he’s uno nadie. He don’t matter, chica. Only you matter…” he said with a sigh. “I want you. I need you. Now shut up or he’s gonna wake-“
“Don’t you tell me to shut up! I told you about that, I hate that! You fucking asshole, Octavio! I knew this was going to happen. Didn’t I-?” She jumped to her feet.
“Oh, shut your stupid bitch mouth for a minute and let me talk!”
“What did you call me?!” Mandy put her hands on her hips, exchanged dark-eyed stares in the unlit dorm room with Octavio, whose jockstrapped body rippled and flexed like he was using all his muscles just to stand there. Her tits nearly overflowed from her bra, and she carried her blouse in hand. She put the blouse on and clumsily buttoned it as she strode to the door, then stood in the threshold and screamed at Octavio. “You are a real prick, Octavio, you know that? You’re a worthless piece of shit!” Then she slammed the door shut.
Simon sat up, as there was no point in pretending he slept through that. He looked at Octavio, who paced across the darkened dorm room. Light from the streetlamps outside and from the computers and charging cell phones kept the room illuminated enough to see his flat stomach and hairy chest, his nut-nose skin and his grizzled square jaw. Simon felt inadequate — he was small and skinny, and he seemed young in comparison even though he was actually three weeks older than Octavio. How did someone just barely eighteen look like he was pushing thirty? How did he have such muscle and body hair? Simon cursed his luck. Most of the guys in the drama department had a sixth floor dorm. Simon wished he was with them. He wasn’t a drama major — Dad would never allow that — but he hung out with theater people, and it sounded like they had such fun.
They didn’t have handsome machos like Octavio though. Simon licked his lips. He got to shower with Octavio sometimes, and he always did enjoy the camaraderie and the horseplay and the fat jiggling cock. He didn’t think Octavio felt reciprocally though — Simon enjoyed those things when Octavio did them, but Octavio wouldn’t enjoy them if Simon did them, which he didn’t. So to Octavio, those showers were probably boring and dumb, and he probably preferred to shower with his fellow soccer stars.
“Sorry ’bout that!” he muttered, his tone still angry as though this was Simon’s fault. He kept pacing.
“Oh, no worries,” Simon said. “It’s okay. I, uh… I’m sorry-“
But he wasn’t listening. He interrupted Simon with an expressive flourish of his hands. “That fucking bitch promised me she’d put out tonight!”
“Well, she might have-“
“I ain’t bein’ a prick, she was teasing me about it all night! All night, she was sayin’, you just wait till we get back to your dorm!”
“Yeah, Octavio-“
“And now she fuckin’ blueballs me! That goddamn perra! ¡Es la perra más grande del mundo!” he said. He put his hands on his hips and glared at Simon. “Why are you always lookin’ at me in my jockstrap, huh?” His pubic hair peeked out from the edge of the overstuffed jockstrap. It looked like his balls were about to fall out of the pouch.
Simon blushed. He didn’t answer. He just bit his lip. He hadn’t realized how obvious he’d been. But even now, he had trouble looking away from the overstuffed bulge of Octavio’s crotch.
Octavio came closer to the bunk beds. Simon was on the upper bunk, and Octavio was a little too short to look him right in the eye. He sneered at Simon.
“You can swallow my nut, Simon, but if you ever tell anyone, I will kick your ass!” he said. “¡Te voy a arrancar la polla!”
“She was right, you are a jerk!”
But Octavio didn’t register the words right away. He dropped his jockstrap, revealing a half-hard dick angrily throbbing, the veins in its shaft visibly pulsating even in the dim light of the dorm room. He was obviously very horny, Simon thought, which made Simon horny as well. He would greatly enjoy stroking, tasting and rubbing every inch of that awe-striking rod of man-meat.
“You are to say no? You do not want to do chack me off?”
“No! Well… I don’t have to. You shouldn’t take people for granted-“
“But you want to?”
Simon clamped his mouth shut. Saying no wouldn’t sound believable, he thought, so he simply said nothing.
Octavio sighed and flared his nostrils. He paced again, gave his dick a touch, then let go and glared at Simon. Then through gritted teeth, he said, “Will you please get me off? I know you want to…” His voice trailed off like he had wanted to add another insult but didn’t. He clucked his tongue against his teeth.
Simon slid off the edge of the bed, dropping to the floor, and Octavio scoffed like he was annoyed it had taken this long. Heart pounding, Simon moved one hand to grab Octavio’s dick, but Octavio gently pushed him down to his knees.
“C’mon… man… Put your mouf on it…” he said, again struggling to avoid insulting Simon. Simon was on his knees now, so close to Octavio he could smell the funk of his crotch and the floral bouquet of his girlfriend’s perfume, which clung to his skin. In the darkness, Simon could barely make out the silhouette of his cock, but the small portion he saw through the dimness was half-hard, throbbing and veiny, and the sight of it made Simon’s mouth water. Overhead, Octavio’s baritone boomed. “You’re my little pasivo now. You want it, I know it. You are having been looked at it many times. In the shower. You want it. You want me.”
He pushed his dick into Simon’s mouth. It tasted spicy and fresh, and a little like clean cotton from his jockstrap. The flavor reminded Simon of Latin food, the grass of the soccer pitch and the musty sweat scent that Simon caught a whiff of each time Octavio came back from practice exhausted. There was a certain sunniness to his flesh, like Simon could taste all the hours he had spent shirtlessly practicing in the Uruguayan sun.
His throat loosened as Octavio pushed his cock inexorably, but not violently, down. He grunted and moaned in half-articulated Spanish as he went, and his balls slapped against Simon’s chin. Simon’s hands fluttered at first, unsure if Octavio would allow him to touch his body.
He groaned as he fed his dick down Simon’s throat. He held onto Simon by the ear, grinding his dick as he pushed it ever deeper. Simon gripped his plump, muscular asscheeks and held on tight. Octavio’s ass was shockingly hairy for such a young man, the hairs were fine and soft, and his cheeks were firm yet juicy, jiggling beneath Simon’s fingertips.
There was a knock at the door. Simon gasped as Octavio pulled out. Octavio roared in frustration, then he seemed to consider it could be Mandy back again. He ran to the door and looked through the peephole.
“Octavio? Simon? Are you guys alright in there?”
It was Auden, the RA. He was an annoying Young-Republican taste of paste, a thick-thighed bespectacled business major who claimed to tolerate no tomfoolery but actually had such little authority he had no ability to prevent it. Nobody in the dorm liked him. He was mainly concerned with demonstrating his respect for diversity, enforcing rules was a second-order priority.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Octavio said through the shut door.
“Everything’s cool, Auden,” Simon said, his voice weak because he was desperate to get back on Octavio’s cock.
“It’s just… There was a lot of shouting just now. Are you sure everything’s okay? I can set up a conflict circle for tomorrow.” His voice was wavery like a weak string. “We should talk through-“
“Yes, it is okay now! We just have had a little disagreement,” Octavio said through flared nostrils. His dick pulsated in the darkness as it demanded more attention. Octavio opened the door all the way, boldly showing off his huge Hispanic prick, which was hard and dripping with precum and spit.
That made Simon suck in his breath. American men didn’t just flash their dicks in well-lit public areas like, apparently, Uruguayan men did.
The hallway outside the dorm room was quiet and dark aside from the emergency lighting that illuminated Auden. His portly body blocked the door way. “Uh… Oh…” Auden blushed. His fat cheeks jiggled, even when he wasn’t stumbling over any words. He stood there in the doorway, staring at Octavio’s cock. He was as mesmerized by it as Simon was, it seemed. Auden stumbled over his words. “Is… uh… your girlfriend still here?”
“I ain’t gotta tell you shit, esé,” Octavio said.
Auden backed up a few steps. “Okay, okay. I have great respect for the, uh… Uruguayan, uh… traditions, and uh… So, that’s — I’ll get that conflict circle set up-“
“No!” Simon cried out from the dorm room. He hadn’t wanted to get involved in this conversation. But Octavio seemed like he wasn’t going to argue about the conflict circle — Octavio had a coach and practice to use as an excuse, Simon had nothing and would have to talk to Auden about the conflict circle if he didn’t nip that it in the bud right now. “There’s no conflict, Auden. It’s fine. We don’t need a conflict circle!”
“Okay, it’s just, uh, reconciliation, and we need to solve-“
“I am closing the door now. It is a Uruguayan tradition,” said Octavio. He slammed the door in Auden’s face.
Outside the doorway, Auden’s voice could still be heard. “Uh, yeah, okay then… Just keep it down, Octavio.” He paused. “And Simon.”
Octavio’s hardon had almost diminished. But he muttered to himself, stroking it back to erection as he returned to Simon and slapped him over the face with his cock. Simon opened his mouth, and Octavio pushed his dick back down Simon’s throat, still muttering in Spanish about Auden. His dick was now as hard as it had been before the interruption, and he slammed it right down Simon’s throat.
“Swallow it, pasivo, yeah…” Octavio said, and he seemed to be going out of his way to be even louder just to prove he could, to prove that Auden meant nothing to him. He even situated himself towards the doorway as though Auden would be aware that Octavio’s anger was aimed at him.
Soon precum dripped down Simon’s throat again. It was salty and sweet, and it made Simon moaned with desire around the cockmeat in his throat. Octavio’s thick fingers rubbed Simon’s face and neck as he worked his dick all the way down Simon’s spasming gullet.
Then, without warning, Octavio pulled out. He pushed Simon onto his belly on the bed, and rammed his pinkie finger into his ass. He screwed up his nose as though he didn’t want to do it, even as he continued fingering Simon right in the ass. Pressure, pain, bliss and discomfort all hit Simon at the same time.
“Oh, hell… Octavio…” Simon’s voice broke. He threw his head back and moaned. He was on Octavio’s bed now, and he smelled both Mandy’s perfume and Octavio’s manly funk, his sweat, his socks and feet, the pillow he slept on every night, his unwashed sheets. Mandy’s perfume faded to the back of Simon’s mind.
All that mattered right now was Octavio’s youthful aroma and that fat cock, which Simon reached for even as Octavio moved both him and Simon into position. Into position for what? Simon didn’t know, but he was eager to find out.
“I want to stick it in you, americano,” he said breathlessly as he mounted Simon from behind. He didn’t put his dick in yet, just slid it hotly between Simon’s cheeks, and it pulsated there on Simon’s asscrack, as though it was massaging his sensitive hole. It sent waves of sensation through Simon’s body. He spoke right into Simon’s ear. “C’mon, you be my pasivo?”
“What does that mean?” Simon asked, his voice wavering and soft like Mandy’s had been (before she got salty).
“It means I get to stick my dick in ya culo when my girl won’t put out. I’ll be real gentle, promise…” he whispered, like he was embarrassed about it. “You will want it.”
“Oh, well… I guess, I…” Simon said. His heart pounded.
He had no sooner closed his mouth when Octavio pushed his dick in. A tight pressure erupted in Simon’s ass, and he clenched. Octavio had a tube of lube though, and he squeezed some out. Was Octavio planning on talking his girl into accepting anal sex tonight? That seemed hard to believe, but he was just cocky enough to try it.
Or maybe his dick was so big he needed lube for vaginal sex. Simon was a virgin and had no idea if that was normal or not.
Pangs of pleasure erupted in Simon’s sensitive ass, and he gripped the bunk bed tightly. Simon bit his lip to suppress a moan, not wanting Auden to interfere again, even as exquisite feelings ricocheted around in Simon’s body. It felt so good Simon’s whole body tensed and wrenched, and he slammed his head on the pillow underneath.
As Octavio worked his dick in deeper and deeper he moaned into Simon’s ear. He even kissed him on the cheek, then pulled away as though he hadn’t realized what he was doing. As he kept going, however, drilling his hard cock in deeper and deeper, his awkward kissing moved from Simon’s cheek to his lips. He even plunged his tongue into Simon’s mouth.
“I am a machote, you know what that means?” Octavio said when he pulled away from Simon’s lips. He wrapped his arms around Simon’s body as though holding him in place. He growled. “You want me to slam you like I should? An hombre should make his pasivo hurt, y’know. Mi papi always say a pasivo should be crying, that way he knows he is no real man.”
“Yes, oh god yes, Octavio,” Simon said, gasping for air as he was squeezed by Octavio’s muscles. Octavio’s dick, perfectly still, throbbed in Simon’s ass. He didn’t understand and wasn’t listening to Octavio’s words.
“Now take it, puta,” he said. He drove his dick in and out so hard and so quick that Simon gasped, not even able to concentrate enough to scream.
Then Octavio rolled him and Simon over onto their sides. He kept Simon’s chest in a tight hold, and he wrapped his feet around Simon’s ankles to hold him in position. Simon was wedged between Octavio’s lithe soccer-toned chest and the dorm room wall. He wondered if their neighbors would be able to hear. It seemed hard to believe there were two people sleeping maybe five feet from this spot and they didn’t know what incredible things were happening here.
He rammed his dick in and out, pushing the entire length of it, then pulling it almost all the way out, so just the tip remained, just enough to keep Simon’s attention focused on the pressure and pleasure in his ass. He moaned and bit his lip to avoid being too loud.
“Mi papi also teach me another rule,” he said, his voice suddenly low and soft. He kissed Simon on the cheek. “He say it should hurt, but it should also feel good. An hombre should give a reacharound.” His accent was growing thicker now, the more passionate he had become. “If he did his submission like a good pasivo should…”
His hand crept gingerly around Simon’s body, then wrapped around his cockshaft. Octavio moaned as though it was disgusting to him, but he gave it a few strokes all the same. That made a potent tenderness erupt in Simon’s cock, which spewed precum like water from a hose.
Soon Octavio had a good rhythm going. He used one arm to hold Simon into position, while his other hand jacked Simon off and his dick pounded in and out of Simon’s ass. He snorted like a bull as he humped, and Simon was totally immobilized, melting into Octavio’s powerful muscles, which squeezed and rippled and rubbed against the smoothness of Simon’s back.
“I’m going to fill you up. Don’t spill, that’s disrespectful to an hombre,” Octavio said. He sniffled as he drenched kisses on Simon’s back. “Okay, gringo? You promise you will not spill?”
“I promise…” Simon said, groaning as his own orgasm approached.
Octavio hit his climax first. He paused with his dick balls-deep in Simon’s ass, then gasped. Hot cum spread within Simon, who moaned loudly as it spread to every corner of his insides.
As he nutted within Simon, Octavio stopped stroking him off. Pleasure pounded through Simon’s veins. Then he squirmed, desperate to get himself off. His movement made Octavio’s dick twitch, and Octavio’s whole body writhed atop Simon.
And then Octavio resumed stroking. His limpening dick remained in Simon’s ass, even as his muscles all tightened and he groaned loudly.
It was only a minute or two later that Simon’s own orgasm overwhelmed him. He bit the pillow to avoid screaming, then rolled his head back and buried his face in Octavio’s hairy armpits. He grunted and groaned into Octavio’s body as cum sprayed over his chest and belly.
He didn’t know how long he lay there in Octavio’s arms. He would have gladly slept in exactly that position, but after what felt like forever, Octavio moved. He sopped up all the cum that had coated Octavio’s hand and Simon’s chest. Octavio gathered all of it up in one hand, his snorting disgust making it sound like he was being forced to do so, even though Simon hadn’t even asked him to.
Then Octavio held up his cum-dripping hand. He showed it to Simon, then very slowly pushed each finger into Simon’s mouth.
“Yeah, eat that nut, slut… You gettin’ nasty…”
Simon had always loved the taste of cum, but he’d only ever tasted his own. He also enjoyed sucking on Octavio’s fingers, which tasted of leather and grass, like what he imagined sucking on a soccer ball was like. Octavio moaned too, as though Simon’s sucking on his fingers caused him intense pleasure.
Then he finally pulled his limp cock out. He kissed Simon on the lips again and wrinkled his nose at the salty taste of cum. That didn’t stop him from pushing his tongue into Simon’s mouth and licking up all the semen that stuck to the inside of his mouth.
“Are we gonna do this again?” Simon asked.
He grunted in a negative way but paused before answering. “Probably,” he said. “But only at night. Don’t try to touch me during the day, and don’t tell no one about this. I’ll kick your fucking ass to pieces, puta.”
“Okay,” Simon said. He crawled out of the bed but Octavio stopped him. He dragged him back to where he was, ensconced in Octavio’s muscular limbs.
“Don’t go,” he said. “I wanna sleep with someone.”
Simon blushed, shocked that Octavio would do this. His heart pounded, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep. He wanted to lay here and lick those caramel biceps all night, but he knew Octavio would kick him out if he squirmed. So he lay still as Octavio drifted off to sleep.
“You better get out when the sun comes up, pasivo,” was the last thing Octavio said. “I don’t wanna see you in my bed in the light.”
“Okay,” Simon said. “Mi hombre. I’ll get up early.” He cuddled up closer to Octavio’s muscular chest, which exuded solidity and warmth. When he was sure Octavio was asleep, Simon arranged their bodies so that Octavio’s hot dick throbbed in Simon’s sscrack and his powerful arms wrapped around Simon’s body. In that position, Simon drifted into the most comfortable sleep of his life.
Avery filed a noise complaint about some bikers, so they come over to tell him off… or maybe they have something else in mind. That means Avery just might get seven minutes in heaven with a studly biker who’s got no choice but to bend over and take what Avery dishes out!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
When one of the bikers walked towards the campsite late in the afternoon, Avery felt a surge of dread. His friends pushed him to meet the biker, a burly middle-aged type with a beer belly and long, scraggly hair tinged with silver.
You see, last night, the bikers in the next campground over had been so loud that no one in Avery’s campsite could sleep. Avery and his buddies had been talking about going camping together for a long time. It was Avery’s first spring-break that wasn’t drunken and debauched — he felt so mature. They were disappointed to have the trip ruined by a bunch of biker jerks.
So Avery had gone over there and told them to shut up. They laughed at him and threw empty cans of beer, cheered on by one dark-haired biker who wore a thick leather jacket. That man had been an utter drunken jerk. Avery didn’t get mad though — he knew exactly how to proceed. He filed a complaint with the park rangers, and he told them about the littering.
Rangers didn’t care too much about noise, but they cared about littering empty cans of beer. The bikers quieted down after a visit from the rangers late in the night. Avery had been treated like a conquering hero by his fellow college students.
The bikers slept late this morning, then went off hunting or drinking or whatever they did during the day, Avery had no idea (riding bikes presumably, though he hadn’t heard their engines revving). It was now nearly five pm when the older biker approached.
He brought along with him a younger biker, one who attracted Avery’s interest. He was a big burly bear of a man in his early thirties, with thick dark hair and a scraggly beard. He had broad shoulders and a colorful dragon tattoo covering his chest, which was mostly bare, and a snake on his neck. He had a square jaw, and he chewed on his upper lip as the older biker introduced himself. Was this the man who had teased him last night? Quite possibly, but it was hard to be sure; he was in the dark last night, wearing bulky clothes.
“My name Math,” said the older biker, the Southern drawl so thick in his voice that Avery could cut it with a knife. “This here my brother-in-law, Python.”
“Math, Python, nice to meet you,” Avery said. “I’m Avery.”
Math smiled in his avuncular way, but Python just grunted an acknowledgement. He looked at Avery like he was a stack of displeasing medical test results. He straightened the flaps of the leather vest that was all he wore above the waist. His hairy, roughly tattooed chest rested, bare and broad, in the shadows of his vest.
“Be nice, Python,” Math said. When Python didn’t respond, Math slapped him in the back of the head. “Say hello. Use your words, numbskull.”
Python glared at his brother-in-law, and then at Avery. “Hello, Avery.” He spoke with an angry sneer. “You ain’t needta call the fucking rangers on us! You goddamn snitch, you come to us like a man, if you got a problem-“
“Python!”
He bit his lip and looked down at his heavy-booted feet. He shifted some dirt around with one boot. “I’m sorry you had a bout of extreme pansiness, which I see was actually a permanent condition-“
“Python!”
“It is, man, look at him! I ain’t gonna apologize to a lavender lollipop! No offense, sissy,” Python said. He refused to make eye contact with Avery, who snickered at the phrase ‘lavender lollipop’. That was a pretty good burn for a biker.
“Don’t make it seem like you’s too good for that,” Math said. He whispered in Python’s ear, and Python blanched. He looked at Avery then with wide eyes. He gripped Python’s greasy hair and pulled, just hard enough to make Python grunt and flail, though he didn’t try to fight back. Math turned to Avery. “I apologize on his behalf. He gonna play a game wit’ you now. That’ll be his way of sayin’ sorry, since he’s too proud to say it hisself. Come on wit’ us.”
Avery followed, even as his mind screamed not to. He didn’t trust these two bikers. Avery’s friends made plaintive faces as he left — they clearly agreed with Avery’s mind that he shouldn’t go. But Avery went because he was interested and because Python had an amazing body, full of hair and engine grease and scars and tattoos. He wanted to watch the rippling flesh of his back as he walked in front of Avery in pain, with his brother-in-law pulling his hair, dragging him like a caveman back to the bikers’s campground.
As they walked, Math looked behind himself and smiled at Avery. “Don’t worry about Python. He ain’t gonna hurt ya. He’s been clipped. He got two strikes against him. He can’t get in any trouble with the law. That’s why he shut down last night when them rangers came a-callin’.”
“Oh, okay.” That was not entirely reassuring to Avery.
Python’s deep voice rang out. “You ain’t needta tell the rangers-“
“Shut up, you done said that,” Math snapped at him. He threw him into an open tent on the edges of the bikers’s campground. The other bikers looked at Math with quizzical expressions. Math looked to Avery and gestured for him to enter the tent. “Python jerked me off, and he took it in the ass from me.”
Python roared and cursed from inside the tent. “Fuck you, old man! I oughta rip yer dick off-“
Math just smiled. “He did it. Everyone here did it. That’s our initiation. Some gangs do ‘blood-in, blood-out’, but that’s legally risky and there ain’t always someone available who needs killin’. We do ‘cum-in, cum-out’. Well, not ‘out’ cuz no one ever leaves.”
“Really? You guys cornhole… as like, a hazing thing?”
Math nodded. “So I gave Python a choice between saying sorry to you — sorry in a polite, respectful way — or playin’ a little game wit’ you. He chose the game,” Math said. “Seven Minutes in Heaven. You know what that is?” When Avery didn’t respond right away, out of shock, Math explained. “It means you get seven minutes in that tent with Python. He’ll do anything you want in there for seven minutes. You can cornhole the pride right outta his ass, if that’s what you want.”
“Really?!”
Python called out from inside the tent. “Fuck you, old man!”
“So whatchoo think, Avery?”
“Uh… Fuck! Okay,” Avery said.
“You’ll forgive us for makin’ noise last night?”
“Hell yeah!” Avery said. The other bikers laughed at his enthusiasm, which made Avery blush. He crawled into the tent as the other bikers crowded around cheering. It sounded like they rather disliked Python, who had been the loudest one last night — he had been the one who teased Avery and got the others involved. They had all been too drunk to care about being loud (Math must have already been asleep), but it was Python who had gotten mad, and, it seemed, stayed mad.
Avery quickly stripped off his own clothes. Python still wore his pants and leather vest. When Avery started to take the vest off him, he didn’t cooperate. His arms remained at his sides, and Avery struggled to get the vest off. Then he kissed Python on his back, which had just a slight covering of peach fuzz above an iron cross tattooed on the meat of his shoulder.
“Make ‘im moan, Avery!”
When his fingers began caressing Python’s muscles, Python twitched as though it hurt. He hung his head. Avery would have enjoyed giving him a massage, but he only had seven minutes and he wanted to use his time effectively.
So Avery stood as best he could in the tent. He wasn’t tall, so he only had to stoop a little bit. His fat pale dick was already rock-hard. He took Python’s callused hand — with the words FUCK and COPS tattooed on his knuckles — and wrapped it around Avery’s dick. Python shuddered, looked away and began stroking.
Avery flopped his dick against Python’s face, and he jerked and twitched. For a moment, Avery thought Python would attack him. But he held back, just flailing for a moment as though Avery’s dick was painful.
“You fightin’ back in there, Python? You know you can still apologize. You could be a man and own up to yer mistakes.”
But it seemed Python would rather do anything than apologize. Instead he cracked his mouth open. His square jaw trembled like he had to force his muscles to do it. His handsome face was tense, turning red and beading up with sweat.
“Oh, that won’t do. You’ll have to open wider than that,” Avery said, loud enough that the bikers outside could hear. They laughed and Avery forced Python’s jaw to separate — it wasn’t much “force”, of course, since Avery was about a third of Python’s size, and Python was already as agape as he could be. Avery just wanted to embarrass him by saying out loud that Python should open wider.
Then Avery pushed the tip of his dick into Python’s mouth. Python loudly choked and gagged, which again made the bikers outside the tent chortle. Someone banged on the side of the tent, the surprise of which triggered the burst of pleasure that coursed through Avery’s body. Python’s warm mouth lapped at his erection, and every time Python gagged, it sent a new wave of sensations up Avery’s spine.
“There it goes, I reco’nize that sound, fo’ sho’!”
“He gaggin’ on it!”
“Make him swaller ya cum, boy!”
The man’s throat was moist and tight, the hairy grizzle on the sides of his chin scratching at Avery’s smooth thighs as he humped his dick in. The positioning was very awkward given the size disparity and the short ceiling of the tent. Python had to really work at it to get his head low enough to get his mouth on Avery’s meat, while Avery had to stay stooped over.
Avery was already hard even before they started, but it didn’t take long before his dick throbbed in Python’s throat, precum leaking down his gullet. Python kept one tattooed forearm over his belly as though forcing his body not to reject the cock in his mouth.
“Move your tongue around some more,” Avery said, giggling nervously.
Python gurgled angrily but did as he was told. He slathered spit on Avery’s cock, sending waves of pleasure through Avery’s body. Avery was so aroused his knees went weak, and he clutched Python’s head for support, while Python’s muscles all tensed and rippled through him holding back violent gags.
“Sounds like you got a good start in there, Avery. Let me know when I should start timing this!” Math called out with a cackling laugh, slapping one hand on the tent to make it rattle and flap.
Python made a loud retching sound as Avery and the others all laughed. Avery kept his dick in Python’s mouth until Python forced him away. Python coughed and spat pubic hairs on the floor of the tent.
“Damn it, Math! You ain’t been timin’?”
“Nah, I ain’t know you started yet. I-“
“You s’posed to start as soon as he gets in the tent!”
“That ain’t how it works, son. You tell me when you’s ready.”
“I’m fuckin’ ready!”
“Alright, I’ll start countin’ when the second hand reaches the twelve. Go fo’ it, Avery.”
“You ain’t gotta worry about the time then, Avery, cuz Python don’t know how to tell time on one of them circle-clocks.”
The bikers all laughed as though this was an inside joke. Python blushed.
“Get on your knees,” Avery said. He called out to the bikers. “You guys got any lube?”
A bunch of them cackled and volunteered their own supply. As Python sighed and got on all fours, they ran back to their tents and bikes. By the time Avery had worked those leather pants down to Python’s ankles, baring his big hairy ass and a thick cock, someone had unzipped the door to the tent just far enough to throw a tube of lube in. That was followed by about a dozen more half-full tubes.
“That enough?” Somebody called out from outside the rent.
“That’ll get us started,” Avery said. They all laughed again, banging on the side of the tent, which once more made the walls shake like an earthquake.
Python was on all fours, which was a less convenient position than it normally would be because Python was so much bigger than Avery. His ass lined up with Avery’s bellybutton, not his crotch. His asscheeks were much wider than Avery’s entire body, but they were plump, juicy cheeks, not at all flabby or fat. Avery’s hands spread Python’s buttcheeks to each side, baring his tight hole.
Slapping Python’s ass and marveling at its jiggling, Avery made a lot of noise for the benefit of the bikers outside the tent. Python blushed a bright red.
“Lower your hips some,” Avery said after wedging his dick between those hairy, sweaty asscheeks. Python grumbled but did as he was told. He lowered his ass until he was lined up with Avery’s crotch.
They both grunted when the tip of Avery’s dick pushed into Python’s guts. Avery’s grunt was a feminine lilting exhalation, while Python let out a loud oomph that made his biker-buddies chant and clap. Python gasped and clenched down hard. Avery was unable to get any more of his dick in.
“He ain’t lettin’ me in, Math! He’s squeezing me out!” Avery called out. Python shook his head as though Avery was snitching on him to the rangers again.
“Python!”
“Shut up, Math! I’m tryin’! He ain’t got a small dick, man…” Python barked, but he did loosen his ass a bit. “Y’know, if I told Lisa what you made me do, she’d be furious. She’d tell me to tell you to fuck off-“
Someone tossed a cell phone into the tent. It landed on the ground near Python’s face.
“Call her anytime you want.”
“I ain’t gotta do this!” Python yelled. He hung his head as he grunted, hyperventilating to relax his ass. It was not entirely effective, but Avery enjoyed forcing himself into that tight hole.
“No, you ain’t gotta! You could say you sorry. You could decide to stop actin’ like a piece of shit!”
“Nuh-uh, Math, that’s genetic. His daddy was a piece of shit, making Python half-shit himself.”
“He’s proud of his shit heritage.”
“If he ever has some kids, Math, your grandbabies is gonna be one-quarter shits.”
Math murmured something disapproving — Python’s sister was Math’s wife, so Python’s daddy was Math’s father-in-law. But Avery couldn’t hear what he said.
“Don’t you motherfuckers talk about my daddy!” Python roared.
“Do somethin’ ’bout it! Oh wait, you can’t cuz there’s a dick in yer ass.”
But Python just submitted, even as he roared in rage. He lowered his face to the ground, sticking his ass in the air. His cheeks and chest were bright red, and Avery noticed that his dick was hard. Avery reached around to his crotch and stroked it. Python jerked and spasmed like it hurt, but he angled his body to give Avery easier access.
“Fight me then, Python! Come on out here and throw down!”
From the attitude of the other bikers, Avery gathered that they all thought Python was a pussy at heart. They kept challenging him to fights as though they knew he’d never do it.
His broad back was dappled with sweat, muscles rippling beneath his thick flesh. Avery caressed his skin and licked that sweat off where he could reach, which, given Python’s bent-over position, was only about halfway up his back.
As he plowed harder and harder, Avery moved his body further up Python’s frame. Soon Avery had to angle his dick downward, jabbing it in as Python grunted and groaned in pain, and pleasure.
“Ah, shit, damn…”
Then Python’s knees buckled. Avery could feel the pleasure rolling through his body, and Avery knew that Python would never admit that was why he couldn’t support himself any more — the pleasure was too intense.
Python sunk slowly to the ground. He muttered at Math, but it was too quiet for even Avery to hear, much less anyone outside of the tent. Python splayed on the ground of the tent, fingers and toes curling as Avery inexorably humped.
One of his hands remained on Python’s cock, but since Python was on his belly on the ground, it wasn’t easy to stroke him. His dick throbbed in Avery’s fingers anyway, while Avery’s other hand explored Python’s thick-bodied chest and belly. Python winced as he did, like he was ticklish and trying to hide it.
“Hey,” Python whispered as the air filled the sound of revving engines — the bikers were riding in circles around the tent now. Python blushed, and Avery leaned forward as far as he could. Python bit his lip and whispered, “Uh… Don’t tell them motherfuckers I got hard… okay? Tell ’em I couldn’t get hard. You cornholed me, whatever, just don’t tell ’em I got hard wit’ a dick in my ass. I’d never live it down.”
A part of Avery wanted to be mean and vicious, and tell them right now. But of course he couldn’t really, because of the loud engines, and he wasn’t that cruel. Python was submitting gamely, that was enough for Avery. He nodded as Python settled on his side, giving Avery enough space to keep giving him a reacharound.
The zipper flap in the front of the tent was forced lower from outside again, and a long fat cock dangled into the tent. It was thick and tattooed with a smoking bong on the shaft. Outside someone — not Math, a different voice — guffawed.
“You want a taste of that one too, Python?”
“Make him swallow it, Avery, you still got him for three minutes-“
“Now hold up there, that ain’t how this game works. He ain’t a slave.”
“Ah, Math, come on-“
“Nah. You ain’t gotta taste no jizz dick, Python. Unless’n you want to.”
Python roared. He reached up and swatted the dick away, hitting it hard enough that the biker outside roared in pain and withdrew the cock.
“Where his dick at now, Python? Inside ya?”
“Show us on the doll where his dick is at?”
“Shut up, man!” Python screamed. His voice was thready and stilted, as he gasped from both pain and pleasure.
“Answer it,” Avery said with a grin. Python clenched in embarrassment, bit his lip and roared as his friends laughed and cheered him on. Avery shuddered as Python’s ass squeezed his dick, which throbbed, rubbing in and out.
“Where’s his dick at, Python?”
“His dick is… in my ass!” Python yelled. His face was bright red now, his muscles spasming beneath Avery’s touch while Avery’s other hand brought his cock to orgasm.
“Nah, come on, be more specific. Where’s his dick at, Python? You know the anatomy of yer asshole? You got the sphincter — that’s the opening itself, the actual hole — then the anus. That’s the first inch or two. After that, it’s called yer rectum. Is he in yer rectum?”
“Has he hit the prostate yet?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Python screamed out of the tent, so angry now his face was a bright red and he spat on the ground. His voice was hoarse and clipped. His vitriol was interrupted by a climax, which was so sudden it surprised Avery.
Python’s massive body tightened all at once, clenching down on Avery’s dick again. Cum sprayed over Python’s chest and belly, so much it dripped and matted his chest hair to his skin. Python gasped, biting down on the floor of the tent to muffle the sound of his moan.
Avery smiled. He gripped the sides of Python’s belly, rolling him over onto his belly. Python grunted and groaned but didn’t resist, even as his face and chest splashed into the puddle of his own cum that collected there. He gagged, causing a rolling undulation of his muscles beneath Avery’s grip, culminating in his asshole squeezing so tight around Avery’s cock it was like he didn’t want to let Avery go.
But Avery was relentless. He was a good bottom himself, and he knew well how to make sure Python’s body accepted his drilling. Avery pounded his dick as hard as he could, making Python grunt with each thrust of his hips. His balls made a loud slapping sound where they hit Python’s skin.
“You got one minute left, Avery. That enough time? I could give you a timeout if you need it…”
“That’ll do, Math, thanks!” Avery called out. He could already feel his orgasm coming on him.
Speeding up his humping, Avery violently plundered Python’s ass. Python moaned, trying to make it sound like a moan of agony. Python lifted his feet off the ground as he submitted to Avery’s cock.
The most intense orgasm of his life shot through Avery’s body. He squealed like a piggie, which made the bikers laugh as Avery knew it would. He sprayed cum inside Python’s ass, giggling while Python harrumphed like he had no idea that was going to happen. Pleasure shot up and down Avery’s spine, and he threw his head back, digging his nails into Python’s back.
At last it was over. Avery took a deep breath and sighed. He kept his dick in Python’s ass, squirming and making sure it touched every corner of his guts. Python clenched down with his feet and hands, tearing at the floor of the tent as though trying to dig into the dirt.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven!”
Avery wiped up all the cum he could find on Python’s chest. He rubbed his hand all over Python’s face, leaving a slick of cum there. His brownish skin and scarred body gleamed with the layer of semen coating his flesh. He gagged at the scent, and Avery inserted one of his own cum-streaked fingers into Python’s mouth.
“Six, five, four!”
“Aren’t you done?”
“I still got a few seconds,” Avery giggled. He wiggled his dick in Python’s ass, sending shockwaves of pain and post-orgasmic pleasure up Python’s spine.
“Three! Two! One!”
As soon as they reached one, they unzipped the tent and ripped the flap open. Everyone jeered at the sight of Avery’s tiny, smooth body on top of Python’s hairy back. Python crawled towards the door.
Avery really hadn’t intended to remain attached to Python’s ass even after the seven minutes were up, but it all happened so fast. He held on for support as Python climbed out of the tent, stark naked, pushing past his leather-clad biker buddies.
It was only when Python was out and standing up near the tent that Avery let himself slide off Python’s back. His dick plopped out of Python’s ass, making Python sigh in relief. He still blushed though as his friends laughed at him, and someone kept handing him a battered old teddy bear, telling him to point to the spot on the doll where Avery touched him.
Python just stalked away, screaming invective at his friends, promising to tell his sister about it, though it wasn’t clear what good that would do. He headed towards the showering facility on the other side of the campsite. He didn’t seem to care that he was naked, cock swinging in the breeze; the cum drying on his face wasn’t so obvious, since his entire body glistened with sweat. Avery, meanwhile, got dressed.
The bikers didn’t follow Python. Math urged them not to. “You gotta give him a chance to regain his pride, folks. Just leave him alone for a bit.”
“What’d you think?” asked another biker — the one who had put his dick in the tent, Avery guessed based on the voice.
“That was… nice,” Avery said, blushing. “You guys can make noise anytime you want, if that’s how you say sorry.”
“You really enjoyed that, huh?”
“It was definitely seven minutes in heaven…” Avery said with a grin.
When a porno shoot goes wrong, it’s up to one janitor to make it right! His name is Rob, and he’s eager to service the handsome porn star Bryan Plumper. Can Rob live up to Bryan’s expectations? Can Bryan satisfy Rob?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Rob hung out in the hall. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he couldn’t wait for it to begin. Inside the studio, he heard muffled words. It was all boring and banal for now though. None of the talent was on set yet.
That was why Rob waited. He had a mop and bucket, though he was not a janitor. He had sought out a role in the interracial-porn industry because he loved the men who filled it. He didn’t care what he did, he just wanted a chance to see — and touch — the gangbang studs he had seen on screen so many times.
A door opened. A tired-looking woman stepped out — Kelly was her name. She glanced in Rob’s direction but didn’t look at him. She headed onto the set. She was a porn star, or so Rob assumed. She certainly looked like it, rather hot, but trashy and made-up.
A few seconds later, Bryan Plumper came out of a different room. Rob recognized him and felt a thrill of desire running up his spine. He’d spent hours fast-forwarding through porno movies looking for shots where you could see Bryan’s handsome face.
He was flanked by two other men. All three were black. Bryan was ungodly handsome, with a square jaw and broad shoulders, deep dimples, deep eyes and a flat belly. He put out charm and easygoing swagger, and he carried himself like a gangbanger. His retinue were less attractive; one was tall and skinny, with a gaunt, grayish look (Lil Bee), and the other was tubby and dreadlocked (T-Boy). They carried themselves like security, but Rob got the impression they were just Bryan’s old friends, not actual bodyguards.
“Yo, nigga, hey,” Bryan said. He slapped hands with Rob. To an objective observer, it might have come across as polite — the well-known porn star saying hello to a nobody janitor. But Bryan Plumper had a certain smarmy, sarcastic way about him. It wasn’t clear how much was deliberate and how much was a default-douchebag face. So when he said hello to a stranger, it came across like an insult.
“Hey, hi,” Rob said.
Bryan scoffed a little and withdrew his hand. His bodyguards both scowled at Rob. Bryan just turned around and walked away. He muttered something, and his buddies burst into laughter. It sounded forced, like they only laughed at his poorly-delivered jokes because he was the boss.
When they burst into the studio, Bryan said something deep and booming. His two buddies laughed, but no one else did. Once again, it sounded to Rob like Bryan thought he said something very funny but no one else did. It also sounded like Bryan was oblivious enough that he didn’t notice that no one laughed except for the two people he paid a salary.
Rob waited outside the studio, pondering whether he could sneak in. He heard the filming begin.
“Oh yeah, bitch, I know that! I know that real good!” That was Bryan’s leering voice resonating out of the studio. There was some more laughter. This time it wasn’t just his two buddies, it was the crew too.
There was a clatter and a clang. It sounded like something fell. Rob hurried into Bryan’s dressing room and sprayed the mirror with cleanser. He wiped it off very slowly so he would still be half-done when Bryan came back.
“You like black dick, slut?!”
Only Bryan’s voice was that loud. Rob wasn’t even near the studio now, but Bryan’s deep barrel voice reached all the way here, or at least it was loud enough when he said certain lines.
“No, wait-!” That was not Bryan. It was a man, a white man, it sounded like.
“Ew!”
“What?!”
“That is so nasty! I quit! No way!” That was her. That was the woman, Kelly.
Rob poked his head out of the dressing room, just in time to see her naked body stride through the hall. She once again failed to notice him. She went into her dressing room and slammed the door shut.
Bryan popped out of the studio a moment later. He was naked, his massive cock swaying between his legs. It was rock-hard and throbbing, veiny, looking delicious like a gourmet meal. Rob wanted to ram it down his own throat right now.
Bryan’s muscles were tense like he had to hold himself back from losing his temper. He carried his arms away from his side too. He had an angry, harsh smile on his face as he pounded on the door.
“Fuck you, man!” She yelled out the door of her dressing room.
“Man, baby, don’t freak out, it don’t mean a thing. You was gonna put yo’ tongue in there,” Bryan said, holding back laughter. His tall buddy had his hand on Bryan’s bare muscled back as though he needed to hold Bryan up.
She came out of her dressing room, clothes half on. “Fuck you! That was never the deal! That wasn’t part of the script!”
“I ain’t mean to!”
“Bullshit! Not farting is a major part of getting a rimjob, asshole!”
Bryan laughed. “Nah, assholes is a major part of getting a rimjob. Farting comes with eatin’ asshole, baby.” His niggas laughed, pretending it was so funny they needed to grip Bryan’s sweat-dripping chest to support themselves. “I ain’t even do it, I just asked if I could-“
“Fuck you!” She strode towards the exit, one of her titties still hanging out of her dress. She carried her shoes. “You don’t know jackshit, asshole!”
“Oh come on? Don’t say no one ever talked to you like that, bitch! You got titties like deflated wine bottles, slut! You got flappy butt, bitch, you got sloppy ass!” He held onto his flat belly and laughed.
She slammed the door shut. The hallway was silent except for Bryan and his buddies standing there laughing. He was still naked, his dick still hard.
“Thanks, Bryan!”
He poked his head back into the studio. “Sorry, man, you should-a told me she was sensitive-“
“No one ever wants you to fart on their face, Bryan. I don’t need to tell you that.”
He chuckled. “It seems that you do,” Bryan said. He let the door shut, then hurried into his dressing room.
He was taken aback at the sight of Rob standing there. “Hey, man, sorry you had to see that,” Bryan said, snickering.
“No problem,” Rob said. He licked his lips. He could see Bryan’s eyes whirring as he thought — Bryan was not especially bright, and when he was trying to think about something, it was obvious. Rob waited patiently. He glanced down at Bryan’s throbbing hard cock. “Looks like you’re disappointed that scene isn’t happening.”
“Whatever. She was nasty. She smelled like garbage. I mean literally, like she slept in a fucking dumpster,” Bryan said. He shrugged. “It don’t matter. I don’t need the money.”
His two buddies bristled, and for the first time, Rob sensed a little conflict between them. He wondered if Bryan was telling the truth, did he really not need the money? Why would he have even tried to fuck a girl who smelled like a dumpster if he didn’t need the money?
“How much were you going to get paid?”
“Ain’t some janitor’s business, reckon,” Bryan said. “I get paid more than you, man.”
Rob smiled. “Fifteen hundred dollars.”
“What?”
“I’ll pay you fifteen hundred dollars,” Rob said. He grabbed Bryan’s cock, which throbbed in his hand. “In exchange for… Well, services to be determined later.” Bryan looked down at his dick in Rob’s hand and took a step away, but he didn’t make Rob let go.
His two homies chuckled nervously, but Bryan laughed a deep, resonant laugh that sounded like he was covering up his own anxiety. His pecs rippled. He couldn’t stop smiling, showing off those deep dimples.
“Yo, nigga, I ain’t, y’know… I ain’t into that downlow shit,” Bryan said.
“Then tell everyone.”
“No, I mean…” Bryan chuckled. “I just don’t do that.”
“You don’t want the money?” Rob kept squeezing Bryan’s dick, which was still hard.
Bryan was silent. His two buddies stared daggers at him, but Bryan pretended not to notice. Bryan had that cocky look on his face, beaming at Rob as though he wasn’t nervous. His dick was hard and pulsating beneath Rob’s grasp.
“I, uh… Course I don’t need the money, nigga. I don’t do this shit, sorry,” Bryan said. “You can play with it a little, but… uh… I don’t do sissy shit.” It sounded like he really wanted to say yes but couldn’t think of a way to do it while maintaining his reputation.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Rob said. He stuck one of his fingers in his mouth, all the way down his throat to show off his minimal gag reflex.
“That’s hot, I’ll admit it, that’s hot,” Bryan said. “Can you get two fingers down there?” He whistled when Rob did so. “I bet you swallow dick pretty good.” He swiped his cock away from Rob. “But I got a rep, homie. I got street cred-“
His tall buddy cleared his throat. “Damn, Bryan… You know, a lotta niggas do shit on the downlow. A lotta street niggas.”
“Real thugs,” said the fat one. They both glared at Bryan, who either didn’t notice or pretended not to.
“Whatchoo want, broh?” Bryan asked, lowering his eyes and staring intensely at Rob. His tone of voice had changed too, like he now thought he was charming enough to get money out of Rob without doing anything too sissy. “Huh? I can get you weed. Heroin. Coke. You want coke? I can bring you fifteen hundred bucks of coke tonight.”
“No. I want you.”
Bryan snorted. He shook his head. He pushed Rob against the wall of his dressing room. He still had that charming, deep-dimpled smile on his face. He grabbed Rob’s wallet out of his pocket. There was no cash in it.
“Fuckin’ liar,” Bryan said.
“Not a lie.” Rob pulled the cash where he had hidden it in his sock. Bryan tried to grab for it, but Rob pulled it away.
“Nah, nah,” Bryan said. He flared his nostrils. “Boy, I can smack the fuck outta you, you know that? I could just take it.” His smile was gone now.
But it was his two friends who pushed him away from Rob. They got in front of Bryan’s face and scowled at him.
“Nigga, come on, don’t get yo’self arrested. Just do it.”
“Yeah, man. We all know it won’t be the first time-“
“Ssh! Shush yo’self, nigga,” Bryan scowled. He looked at Rob. “He lyin’. I don’t do this shit.”
The fat guy pushed Bryan again, against the wall. “Yo, nigga, we ain’t got paid in weeks. I think you need to make that right.”
“We can always walk away, Bryan.”
Bryan gulped and smiled. He chuckled. He patted the tall nigga on the side. “Damn, calm down.” He took a deep breath. “I ain’t nevuh done nothin’ like this, I don’t do-“
“Shut up, nigga.” The fat one turned around and faced Rob. “He did this befo’. When we was comin’ up, there was this sissy dude-“
“Nigga, shut yo’ mouth.”
“Bryan ain’t nevuh make no money sellin’ crack. Even when he was doin’ it-“
“Shut up!”
“He wasn’t nevuh good at it. He just looked good. He just made it look sexy and got all the girls-“
“Nigga, shut yo’ mouth-“
“But they was all nasty girls and they made him pay for all kinds of shit to give up the booty, buyin’ em cars and shit. He ain’t make no money from crack, so he borrowed cash from us and from his grandmoms-“
“Nigga, I will bust you-“
“And he had this sissy cracker paying his rent all the damn time. Remember, nigga?”
The fat one laughed so hard his belly jiggled like Santa. “Remember that time Limey slapped you.” Then he imitated an older black man. “You sold one crack rock e’ry week, nigga. One rock a week. This ain’t some handmade crack where you sell it to connoisseurs fo’ an extra thousand bucks each, Mikey!” He guffawed. “That’s Bryan’s real name, you know. Mikey.”
“You fired, nigga! You fired for, spreading info’mation — false info’mation! — I ain’t payin’ you jack-shit!” Bryan’s face had turned reddish and he stamped his feet like an immature toddler having a breakdown.
They both laughed so hard they rocked back and forth. The tall one imitated someone else, a fae white man’s voice. “See you tonight, right, Michael? Right?” Then he imitated Bryan’s deep, smooth voice. “Yes, sir, Mr. Greenburg. I won’t go out to the clubs tonight so you can suck my armpit-“
“Nigga…” Bryan’s eyes were flat, his lips pursed. “That ain’t how it happened.” He paused. “Man, nigga, it weren’t even Greenburg who — Nevermind. Fuck you both. You’re both fired.” He glowered. Neither of his niggas responded like they thought they were really fired.
The tall one looked at Rob. “He’ll do it,” he said.
Bryan sighed and shook his head. “I… I ain’t say that.”
“Bryan, you have to pay us. That’s gotta happen. If you keep messin’ up yo’ scenes, you gonna have to make money some other way. You could still go apologize to that girl and make the scene. But you owe us money, man. You gots to pay it.”
Rob spoke up. “Two grand, okay? There’s actually two grand in that wad of bills.”
A long awkward silence filled the room. Bryan looked down at his cock — which was still hard — like it had betrayed him. He sighed and flared his nostrils again.
“C’mon, nigga. That’s more than you was gonna get paid for the scene,” the fat one said.
“Shut the fuck up, nigga,” Bryan muttered. He sighed. Without looking up, he whispered, “Fine. But if any of you evuh say anything, I will kill you, I swear to God. You two know I ain’t playin’.”
Judging from the look Bryan’s two niggas shared, they did think he was playing. Rob thought he was playing too. Bryan played like he was hard, but he was a lot softer than he let on.
Luckily his body was plenty hard. Rob planted his face right on Bryan’s left pec, which made him groan and throw his head back. His muscles tensed beneath Rob’s lips, as Rob slid down to his knees.
He was sweaty. He had gotten sweaty under the studio lights while starting the scene, but he had only gotten sweatier since then, especially now that he was nervous at being manhandled. His sweat tasted salty and musky, like an entire gym locker room distilled into one mind-blowing flavor.
“You promised you’d deep-throat it,” Bryan said. He snorted. He kept his head held high. It seemed that, since he wasn’t coming across as too tough right now, he was going to make up for that with dickishness. “So I’m gonna throat you down. If you want me to stop, you gotta tap my ass three times. Okay?”
“Wait-” Rob said. He patted Bryan’s ass more than three times, giggling at the sight of his meaty cheeks rippling. “I just wanted to practice-“
“That’s enough,” Bryan said. He didn’t wait any longer than that. He wrapped his hands around the back of Rob’s head and rammed his dick all the way in. He groaned animatedly — thought it seemed a little forced and practiced — and swayed his dick from side to side. He cackled as the movement caused Rob to gag. “See? No one can deep-throat my dick without gagging, on ‘ccount of it’s so big. You like it, huh?”
Rob nodded and said yes the best he could with Bryan’s cock jammed down his throat. He loved the flavor of it, the sweat-soaked musk of it, and the burst of salty precum on his tongue. He reached up to caress Bryan’s pecs with one hand, while his other roamed over Bryan’s asscheeks.
He let his hand slip between Bryan’s cheeks. He was perfectly smooth — he must have shaved his ass, Rob thought, no men were completely hairless in their asscrack. He was disappointed because he liked ass-hair.
He left his finger there at the entrance to Bryan’s hole, teasing the rim. “I ain’t let no queer in my ass, nigga, so you best get yo’ finger away. Don’t let my niggas confuse you. They was makin’ up stories ’bout that Greenburg shit. I don’t know no Greenburg, and I ain’t nevuh let ‘im in my ass, no way.” Bryan glared down at Rob, watching him swallow cock like it was a boring TV show.
The fat one snickered. “What about his tongue, nigga?”
Bryan shrugged. “Oh, that don’t count. Ain’t happen though, no. I let all kind of girls put they tongue in my asshole. You know I love that. But no men, never.” He paused and pulled his cock out. Gobs of spit dripped off it. Rob gasped for air. “You lick asshole? You wanna lick my asshole?” He smiled eagerly. “I ain’t nevuh done that, never let no sissy lick my ass.” He glared at his friends as though daring them to contradict him. “This’ll be my first time.”
“Yeah! I’ll do that! Hell yeah!” Rob said. He didn’t mean to sound so eager, and he winced as the men laughed at him.
Bryan laid on the ground on his back, then lifted his ass up, like a female porn star getting drilled. He supported himself on his shoulders and neck, his huge thighs trembling as he suspended them in the air and spread his asscheeks. His niggas even held onto his ankles to help him keep his legs aloft.
That was a perfect angle for Rob. He dove his face between those thick cheeks. It tasted perfectly clean, polished, like a life-like statue of a porn star. He even tasted lotion — did Bryan use lotion inside his ass?
But the funk of his ass shone through more and more the more Rob licked. He sucked down every drop of assjuice, and flickered his tongue deep into it. He made his rimjob loud and moist, suckling on Bryan’s asshole and generating so much spit that it spilled down his back and his crotch.
“Damn, nigga…” said the tall one. “That is one nasty sound.” They both laughed softly, a little nervously. They held Bryan’s legs up, facing away so they didn’t have to watch. The sound alone was enough to make them buckle like they had to suppress a gag.
“Goddamn, boy, fuck!” Bryan moaned. “You got a hell of a tongue. You should teach these white bitches how to lick ass. They don’t even get all up in there cuz the camera can’t really see it anyway, most of the time. They just lick the crack a bit.”
Rob’s fingers explored Bryan’s body. He stroked Bryan’s cock, but just once because that was enough to make it spasm, veins throbbing, Bryan gasping and biting his lip — he must really love rimjobs, he was on the verge of cumming, Rob thought.
He pulled his tongue out.
Bryan yelped, which he turned into a deep, more masculine-sounding bark partway through. His eyes were closed, ass still in the air, legs supported by his niggas. Rob licked both of those fleshy asscheeks, then blew on his asshole. He didn’t lick it, he just blew air over it.
“Aw, fuck, goddamn!” Bryan screamed like it hurt. His whole body rippled. He hyperventilated a little, until it made his niggas laugh at him, and Bryan stopped. Rob blew some more, and Bryan writhed. Finally Bryan pulled away and dropped his ass to the ground. He growled. “No blowin’ on my ass. I don’t like that.”
“Sure looked like you liked it.”
“You loved it, nigga. Don’t gimme that,” said the tall one with a suppressed chuckle.
“Shut the fuck up.” Bryan rolled his eyes. He lay on his back, limbs sprawled out. His dick stood straight up, begging for attention.
Without another word of warning, Rob mounted Bryan and lowered himself onto his cock. Bryan grunted and closed his eyes. Rob grunted too as a bolt of pain hit him. That didn’t last long, however, and the pain soon melted away into a deep, abiding pleasure.
It was uncomfortable though, until Rob’s ass loosened up enough to accept it. He moaned and bit his lip. He stroked his own cock.
“Oh wow, you ram me so good, daddy,” Rob said, again as feminine as possible. He sensed that Bryan was feeling down on himself, and he wanted to puff him up. “Can I kiss you?”
“Fuck no!” Bryan shouted, his voice suddenly full of so much confidence and bravado that his dick twitched in Rob’s ass. He screwed up his face, the serenity and bliss he displayed while getting a rimjob having vanished, replaced by tension and annoyance. “As a matter of fact, bitch, turn around and get off me. You don’t get to be on top. No way.”
Bryan stood up. He didn’t wait for Rob to agree or to do anything, he just used his powerful muscles to lift Rob up without taking him off his cock. A spasm of agony hit Rob’s ass, followed by a bolt of pleasure as his prostate came alive.
But it was awkward and painful, since Bryan pushed Rob into position. He forced Rob to rotate on Bryan’s dick — that was an extremely painful motion to do with a cock in his ass — until he was on all fours. Bryan was on top of him, and he leaned forward, resting both forearms on Rob’s back like it was a table.
“Alright, bitch, we doin’ this my way,” Bryan muttered. He slammed his hips all the way in like he was trying to make this difficult for Rob, who loved it as hard and rough as possible. Rob moaned. Bryan grunted and wrinkled his nose — he wanted to show off by cornholing Rob harder than he could handle. But Rob was determined to accept every ounce of pounding Bryan dished out.
He writhed on Bryan’s cock. Bryan used every muscle in his body to plow, slamming his barrel chest down on Rob’s back. Rob struggled to remain on all fours. He wanted to jack himself off, but he needed both hands to remain balanced on the ground.
“Take it, bitch,” Bryan muttered. “Beg me for it. You like big dick? Lemme hear it.”
“I want your big dick, Bryan-“
“Not so loud, ain’t nobody allowed to know,” Bryan said. “Say it, just say it quiet.” He wrapped one of his arms around Rob’s neck and pulled his head up. Rob was stretched, leaning forward so far that he would have fallen to the ground since his hands were not on the floor anymore, but Bryan held him up with one powerful arm. Since Rob was not supporting himself, he could do little more than focus on relaxing his ass so Bryan could pound away at it.
“I love your big cock, Bryan, it’s so huge. It’s the biggest I’ve ever taken, and you get so deep,” Rob said, trying to sound as feminine as he could muster.
“I know. Keep sayin’ it though,” Bryan said with a cocky laugh. When he laughed, his chest shifted against Rob’s back and his cock twitched in his ass.
The other two men stood in front of Rob, facing away with their arms across their chests. They whispered to each other, avoiding making eye contact with Rob the entire time.
Finally the tall one said, “Hey, uh, man… You gonna keep payin’ Mr. Plumper for’-?”
“Nope!” Bryan shouted. “This is a one-time thing.”
“A one-time thing like our paychecks, you mean? Or like a long-term thing, like the paychecks we gonna be gettin’ in the future?”
Bryan’s smile disappeared. “Nigga, you had better shut up ’bout that shit-“
“You had better pay up, Michael.”
“Quit callin’ me Michael. My name’s Bryan.”
They both sighed at each other. The tall one leaned down and lightly slapped Rob’s cheek to get his attention. He winced at the sight of Rob’s orgasm-addled eyes. “Ew, alright, nigga, I’s askin’ you a question. Mr. Plumper here would be glad to cornhole you e’ery week for two grand. You in?”
“I don’t know…” Rob said.
“I bet we can convince you,” said the fat one. He leaned into Bryan’s ear and whispered. Rob’s head was still pinned in front of Bryan’s neck and chest, gasping and heaving for air as he sucked on Bryan’s corded forearm. In that position, he could hear the tenor and tone of the fat one’s words, but he couldn’t make out the exact verbiage. It sounded like a firm suggestion.
Bryan blanched and pushed him away. “Man, fuck you, nigga. Get yo’ tongue outta my ear. Or pay two grand like this sissy.” He sighed. Despite Bryan’s words, it sounded like was going to do whatever the fat one had said. Bryan sighed again, sounding angry this time. He kept his one arm holding Rob against his chest.
Then his other hand stretched to Rob’s chest. “If any of you evuh tell anyone ’bout this, I swear to Christ I’ll slit yo’ goddamn throats.” Bryan’s deep voice rumbled, his chest muscles flexing against Rob’s back. His free hand roamed all the way down to Rob’s cock.
“Relax, Bryan. We won’t tell no one, you can trust us.”
“You told this bitch ’bout Mr. Greenburg.” Bryan paused and shuddered when his hand wrapped around Rob’s dick. “Which you made up, course. Ain’t no Mr. Greenburg.”
“Right.”
“Yeah, we shouldn’t’ve made that up, Bryan. Sorry.” The fat one looked Rob in the eye. “We was just teasin’ him. He ain’t nevuh do that. He never been no rentboy. He got lots of offers, but he always say no. He shoot e’ry white man who ask. He real gangsta like that.”
Rob didn’t believe it, but he didn’t say that. He just submitted as all of his muscles went limp — his orgasm began from the moment Bryan touched his dick. Bryan stroked his cock with one hand, slowly at first, then speeding up as both men reached orgasm at once.
Cum sprayed over Rob’s belly and onto the floor, coating Bryan’s hand with goblets of milky white. Bryan groaned in disgust, but he didn’t stop, he just kept on stroking as he finished his nut off in Rob’s ass.
The power of his own orgasm was heightened by the feel of jets of hot cum coating his prostate. Rob moaned so loud it was nearly a scream, and Bryan’s two niggas checked the door to make sure no one was outside. Bryan groaned right into Rob’s ear, which he even licked a little — seemingly out of habit — as he writhed and filled Rob up with his cum.
When they were both done, Bryan dropped Rob unceremoniously to the ground. His cock plopped right out of Rob’s ass. Bryan growled. He wiped his cum-dripping hand off on Rob’s face. “Get yo’ nut off my hand, bitch.” He muttered and shook his head. “I nevuh do reacharounds, just so you know. Don’t evuh ask me fo’ that.”
“Okay.” Rob was too breathless and overwhelmed to point out that that wasn’t true. He sighed and stretched his legs.
“You best wipe my dick off. That’s yo’ ass all over it.” Bryan stood. His muscles were flexed, like he was showing off or trying to intimidate Rob. He cackled arrogantly. “Prison rules, bitch. You got yo’ ass all over my dick, so you best get it nice and clean, I don’t care how much yo’ ass is bleeding.”
Rob got some tissues and wiped Bryan’s dick off. Bryan put his hands on his hips. His buddies exchanged knowing glances like they thought Bryan had no idea what prison rules were. He’d never been to prison.
“His ass ain’t bleedin’, nigga,” the fat one said with a laugh. “He ain’t intact-“
“Shut up.” Bryan took a deep breath. “His ass is bleedin’. You seen it. I seen it. He was beggin’ me to stop. I made him finish me off. Not that we evuh gonna tell no one ’bout this.” He snorted and sniffled. “Stupid weakling couldn’t handle it.”
Rob had all his clothes on. He handed over the wad of cash.
“That money best be in there, nigga. Don’t think I won’t track you down if it ain’t,” Bryan said. He straightened the pants he had just pulled back on. “I ain’t some kinda prettyboy. I am a straight-up thug, nigga. I got connections, ya dig? I will find you, and I will fuck you up.” His friends had to suppress a smile, but Rob saw it. Bryan faced away from them, so he didn’t see it. “You best believe me.”
Rob grinned. He opened his mouth as though he was going to respond, but instead he just let his fist fly. He punched Bryan right in the jaw. Though Rob was perhaps a third of Bryan’s size, he threw a mighty punch, which collided with Bryan’s dimpled chin.
Bryan groaned and collapsed to the ground. He just crumpled up like he was a toy person, landing in a heap on the ground. His two niggas burst into laughter. They clapped. Bryan wiggled, and his toes twitched.
Then Rob turned around and flounced away, leaving Bryan to stagger back to his feet while his two friends laughed. “See you next week, Bryan!”
Rob is eager to service the bouncer at the biker bar, and he just might have his chance! He hangs out in the alley by the dumpster where the legendary bouncer Banner drops off the scumbags he kicks out of the Clever Pipe, and when Rob makes him an offer too good to pass out, Banner is all too happy to treat Rob exactly the way he wants it!
Can Rob handle the punishment he’s begging for?!
Read the whole thing here!
Rob Winthrop headed down the alley behind the club. He smoked a cigarette to make it look like he was waiting for someone to leave out the back. Every few minutes some drunkard did leave out the back, but Rob ignored everyone. He wasn’t here for any of them.
He was here for the bouncer out front.
He had a plan to get him too, but he needed to wait for him to come into the alley. The bouncer was named Banner. He was square-jawed and rugged, with a dense network of scars on his fingers. He said that was from getting angry and punching his fist through glass windows on several occasions. He was a bouncer at the Clever Pipe, a tough bar on the outskirts of town.
Finally the back door flew open, and a drunk man was shoved out of it. Banner followed him, pushing him every few feet and barking out challenges and questions. “Get out. Come at me, brah. Come at me then. You wanna fight? You wanna show off fo’ ya girl? Here’s ya chance, come at me. Lemme see it.” Banner had a handsome face with a noble jaw and a crooked nose, with a flatness to his voice like he had a phonograph in his throat. Even when he spat invective at the drunk man he was kicking out, he didn’t really sound like he meant it. He sounded like a bad actor reading his lines for the first time. He had thick boots like a factory worker. Already tonight a few drops of blood blotted the black leather of his boots. Rob didn’t know if it was Banner’s, the drunk man’s or someone else’s.
Banner pushed the drunk man until he tottered in a garbagey puddle near the dumpster. Then he cackled and kicked the man in the side. The man yelped and squirmed. He tried to crawl away.
A drunk girl came out the back, sloshing through the doorway like a spilled cosmo. She tried to push Banner into the wall — which was ridiculous, because Banner was like a mountain compared to her drunk, wavering twig of a body — but he just moved out of the way. She smacked into the brick wall then stumbled to her boyfriend.
“You fucking pussy!” she said. She sounded so drunk she was about to pass out.
“You’re a slut!” the drunk man bellowed from the ground.
Banner watched with a sneer. The two drunkards argued there in the garbage. Banner lit a cigarette. He flexed his biceps, which were visible beneath the white wifebeater he wore — it looked like it had been brand new at the start of his shift, but now had sweat stains around the shoulders, spilled beer soaked into it and a few drops of dried blood over his heart..
He saw Rob there and nodded. Banner licked his teeth. “I’s the bouncer.” He paused like he was waiting for an order.
Rob came forward. “It’s a dirty job but somebody’s gotta do it.”
The drunk couple headed out of the alley, staggering forward as they shouted at each other. Banner took a deep drag on his cigarette. “You waitin’ for somebody?”
Rob nodded. “But I don’t think they’re coming. They might have gone home with somebody else.”
Banner nodded. Rob made sure to accentuate his feminine side to put Banner at ease. Banner bristled and wrinkled his nose. “Uh-huh.”
“You’re Banner, right? I’m Rob.” They had actually “met”, or at least interacted briefly, last weekend; but Banner didn’t remember that.
Banner grunted and threw his eyebrows back. He wasn’t used to being polite to bargoers. Being a bouncer at a club like this was one of the few professions where being mean to the customers was expected. Banner was not graded on customer service, which was good because most everyone found him chilling. He put a damper on the club every time he worked. He had that grim-eyed stare that made the waitresses trade shifts to get away from him.
But the owner, Math, liked that he kicked ass. Banner never lost a fight. At a bar like the Clever Pipe, that was a frequently useful skill, and it was more important than the comfort of the waitresses.
“I’ll give you fifty bucks to take your shirt off and put me in a headlock,” Rob said. As soon as he said it, he squealed and blushed. He handed Banner the money before Banner even responded.
He took the fifty dollar bill. He stared at it, then sighed and chuckled. He took off his wifebeater. He grimaced at the sight of Rob’s leering eyes. His pecs flexed — not in a deliberate, seductive way, but like he was imagining punching Rob and his muscles were dreaming about it.
But then he put Rob in a headlock. He wrapped his right arm around Rob’s neck, holding him tightly. Rob was squashed between his arm and his chest. His other arm pulled Rob’s body close to Banner’s, whose bare muscles writhed like a barrel of snakes against Rob’s skin.
Sweat dripped onto Rob’s lips and coated his face. The scent of Banner’s unwashed machismo was alluring, and Rob groaned. He smelled cheap deodorant too, but it had already been overpowered by Banner’s sweaty night in the overcrowded nightclub.
“Do you ever make guys jack you off?”
“What?”
“I’ve heard some bouncers sometimes take drunk guys they kick out, and y’know… make ‘em jack them off,” Rob said.
“No.”
“Would you? I mean, if I paid you?” Rob struggled to speak through the headlock. He planted his lips on Banner’s rock-hard bicep and kissed loudly.
Banner groaned and looked away. He gamely kept Rob in the headlock, though he could have dropped him. He blushed. “What, man? You wanna pay me to make some dude jack me off?”
“No, me. I want to pay you to make me jerk you off.”
“No way. I don’t-“
“A thousand dollars.”
A long, empty silence filled the alley. Banner held his cigarette in his hand. He narrowed his eyebrows to slits.
“You gonna pay me a grand to jack me off?”
“No. I’m gonna pay you a grand for you to make me jack you off,” Rob said. He writhed in the headlock, and rubbed his ass against Banner’s crotch. “I’ll pay you another grand to cornhole me in the ass.”
“Nope. No way. I don’t do that.” Banner said. He sighed. He pushed Rob away from him. His serious face screwed up like he was sucking on a lemon. “I won’t do that. No way.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “Three grand. Three grand, man. No. Nevermind. I can’t.”
“Oh-“
“Okay, yeah. Three grand. I can do it. Thirty five hundred. I’ll do it for thirty five hundred,” he said. He sighed and leaned over the railing. His big plump ass stood up. It was cradled by tight basketball shorts beneath his scruffy jeans. The top of his asscrack was just barely visible. Sweat collected there. “No, I mean… Yeah. I can do it. Four grand. I want four grand.”
“I better get started before the price keeps going up,” Rob said. He dropped to his knees and in one smooth motion planted his tongue in that spot of asscrack visible above Banner’s sagging jeans.
“Ah shit, man,” Banner squirmed. He looked behind himself at Rob licking his asscrack. “You ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout licking my ass. You ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout that.”
“If I’m paying four grand, I’m lickin’ your ass. Don’t get cheap now,” Rob said. “I promise I won’t put anything in there, not even a finger. Okay, my tongue. I’ll put my tongue in there.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. He turned back around and grabbed Rob by the chin. “Boy… if you even think about putting a finger in my ass, I will kill you. You understand me? I will not try to hide the evidence. I will go to prison with my head held high, bitch. You dig me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir.”
“Okay, uh, Banner.”
He snorted and laughed nervously. He paused and smoked his cigarette. He blew smoke into Rob’s face. Rob coughed.
“You imaginin’ ya finger in my ass?”
“No, Banner. I promise. I swear. I don’t do that,” Rob said.
“Ya dick?”
“No. I only ever bottom,” Rob said. His heart skipped a beat. Like most bouncers, Banner was very good at intimidating people. He stared Rob down, then spat on his face. “I just want to suck your asshole, that’s all.”
“Fuckin’ freak.”
Banner undid the belt of his jeans and pulled down his shorts to reveal a pale, trembling pair of beautifully plump asscheeks. There was a big nasty twisted scar on one cheek. He only pulled down his pants on his backside, taking care to make sure he didn’t bare his cock and balls.
Rob separated those cheeks and inhaled deeply of the scent. The sound of him sniffing made Banner chuckle, his whole body shaking. Rob leaned his head in and slipped his tongue into Banner’s tight hole.
“What’s this scar?” Rob asked as he kissed all up and down the crack of Banner’s ass.
“I got shot,” Banner said. His voice was pinched, as though it hurt to have his asshole licked. He squirmed and groaned. His hole clenched around Rob’s tongue.
Rob tickled the gunshot-wound scar on his ass. One of his hands roamed between Banner’s legs, massaging the taint there. He suckled loudly and moistly on Banner’s asshole. He slurped out all the stank, salty sweat he could get to.
“Who shot you?”
“This guy. There was a disagreement,” Banner said. ‘Bout who owned this girl.”
Rob giggled into Banner’s ass. “I hope you were on the side of ‘nobody owned her’.”
Banner bristled and bit his lip. He didn’t answer at first. Then he murmured, “I ain’t a rapist or a pimp or nothin’.”
“Uh-huh-“
“Ah, damn!” Banner laughed. “I gots an idea.” He clapped his hands and fished his phone out of his pants pocket. That turned out to be difficult to do in this position, so he wordlessly pushed Rob onto the cold, moist ground on his back. Banner lowered his ass, squatting over Rob’s face. That was perfect for Rob, because it forcibly separated Banner’s cheeks, giving him perfect access to his hole. It was easier for Banner to get into his own pants pocket this way.
Rob flickered his tongue all the way in to Banner’s hole, far enough in that Banner shuddered and groaned. He nearly dropped his cell phone as he dialed. Finally he got it to ring and held it to his ear.
“Yo, nigga. Guess what? Remember that thing you said only niggas can ever talk someone into? I got this bitch lickin’ at my hole right now-” Banner paused and groaned. “Nigga nigga nigga, I say it when I want, man. I ain’t even have to talk this bitch into it. Uh-huh. Got that tongue all up in my guts right now, cleanin’ me out, uh-huh. Gonna rub it like a dog now.” He moved his ass back and forth, squeezing over Rob’s tongue. “Yeah, it’s real nasty.” He paused. “Alright, yeah. I meet you tomorrow at noon. Get up early then, and don’t try and pass off schwag, I will kick yo’ ass again. Bullshit. I beat yo’ ass like a cop behind bars, nigga. I destroyed you. I’m just sayin’ it to piss you off now. That’s my right. That’s my First Amendment right as an American.” He paused and grunted. “Hell yeah. But I am takin’ her ass, man — no! No! You can’t call it like that, that ain’t fair. I fuck her in the ass. Yeah, you take the pussy. If our balls touch, I will punch you. If our balls touch, it will be yo’ fault, I guarantee that.” He squirmed atop Rob’s tongue. “God damn, man, you ain’t say ya tongue gonna feel like that. Okay, nigga. Nigga please. Nigga you don’t even- Uh-huh, my nigga. You my nigga, dawg. I swear-” He put the phone down. He snorted. “Hung up. Fuckin’ asshole.” He stood up and grabbed Rob by the neck. “You ready to swallow some dick, deadbeat?”
“Yeah,” Rob said. The only sound he could make right now was a weak squeak.
Banner spat on his face. He laughed and clapped his hands. “Alright, goddamn. This is kinda fun.” He pushed Rob onto his knees. He had a massive cock, already half-hard and throbbing in his hands. He pried Rob’s mouth apart and fed it in. He shuddered, then smiled. “My dad was a bouncer — I only met him a few times in person, he been in jail since I was little — and he always say this is what it used to be like. Police used to be on ya side, you know? If some deadbeat raised a fuckin’ stink, you could raise a fuckin’ stink on his face, dig?” He sighed as he slammed his dick all the way into Rob’s throat.
Rob struggled to accept it all. He gagged violently. His hands tightened into claws that grabbed at Banner’s plump asscheeks, which were still wet from Rob’s licking.
“Man… My dad used to come home late, and he’d drink with my uncle Tony — he lived wit’ us then — and he’d tell Tony about the shit he did to the boys who raised too much hell in his bar. I ain’t understand half of what he said,” Banner said. “Like usin’ a bum as an ashtray.” He made sure Rob’s eyes were open wide, then ground his cigarette out on Rob’s forehead.
The scorching pain on his flesh made Rob squirm. His mouth struggled to avoid biting down, but he didn’t have any leverage anyway, so he probably couldn’t have bit if he wanted to. All he could do was hock up a ball of saliva that dripped down Banner’s shaft.
“Alright, deadbeat,” Banner said. He sounded absent-minded, like he was acting out something he recalled his father saying. “Now here comes the big finale. I’m gonna turn your ass into my woman, a woman I don’t think much of. It’s gonna hurt, and you gonna cry, but eventually it’ll be over. Then you be a flappy-butted loser.” He bent Rob over the railing near the landing by the back door to the club.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Banner had his cock in Rob’s ass — he just jammed it in as though the more he thought about it, the more he might be unable to perform. He sighed once the first inch or so was in. Rob squealed and gasped.
“That hurt? It should. You want something to bite on?” Banner said. He put his corded-muscle forearm in front of Rob’s mouth. “You can bite my arm, bitch. I won’t be mad.”
Rob didn’t want to bite, though the pressure in his ass was intense. He kissed. He sucked on the firm muscle of Banner’s forearm, nibbling a bit only when the sensations in his ass became too incredible to avoid.
“Say ‘I’m a bitch’.”
“I’m a bitch!”
“Say it louder. Be proud of ya bitchitude. Bitch.”
“I’m a bitch! I’m such a bitch! I’m Banner’s bitch! I’ll do anything he wants!” Rob screamed into the darkened alley.
“Ha, now I get it, I know why my dad was-” Banner chuckled dryly, interrupted when his cell phone rang. “That’s prolly that nigga again, tellin’ me he run out of weed or some shit. I swear to God- Oh, nevermind, it’s my boss. Shush.” He stopped moving with his cock all the way in Rob’s ass.
There was a long silence. It took all of Rob’s concentration to avoid crying out. Banner stopped moving, but he stopped with his entire cock throbbing in Rob’s ass.
“Yes, sir. Uh-huh. Uh, yeah, Math, I’m just, uh, takin’ care of- Right. Yes, sir. I’ll be there in a moment.” He hung up the phone and barked. He punched Rob in the back, then roared and backed away. Blessed relief flooded Rob as his ass was emptied. “I swear to Christ, I will rip this bitch’s throat out.” He pulled his pants up. “You hear me? I will kill- Sorry ‘bout punching you, man. I ain’t mean to hurtcha.”
“No worries, I’m not hurt-“
“I will lay down some law like a lawyer, boy. You best believe it,” he said. He went back into the club, still shirtless, his cock and his ass moist. His dick was still as hard as iron, and if the club weren’t so dark, the bulge in his jeans would have been obvious.
Rob pulled his pants up, just in case more people came out the back. He kept the door open too, watching. But the club was crowded and dark and smoky and loud, and Rob got only a vague impression of what was happening in there.
A glass-shattering crash. Gasps. What the fuck?! A crack. More gasping. Some laughter. Angry words spat out too quietly to hear. A moist sound that Rob couldn’t identify. You still feelin’ grabby, my man? A shriek of terror. Shut the fuck up! You gonna walk out like a man or you gonna get yaself thrown out like a bitch?
Then Rob saw a blurry mix of limbs and muscle come his way. He stepped away from the door just in time to see Banner dragging a thrashing man out into the alley. The man was drunk, crying, red-faced, blood streaming from his nostrils.
The man staggered to his feet in the puddle of dumpster water he landed in. “Fuck you!” he screamed. He drunkenly, slowly put his fists up. “Come at me, bro. Come at me. Try me, huh?”
Banner laughed. “Don’t make me. I would come over there and kick ya ass, bro. I would do it. But you happened to interrupt me when I was punishin’ the last deadbeat who raised up a fuss and I don’t wanna stop.”
“Come at me!” The drunk man kept repeating that, staggering around the alley. He didn’t seem to notice at first when Banner dropped his jeans again.
Banner’s cock was not totally hard anymore, but he had only lost a bit of his erection. He rammed it into Rob’s ass and sighed as though he was scratching an itch he had been unable to reach for a long time. He slipped his entire cock in, and Rob squealed — he had to make it very loud to get the drunk’s attention.
The drunk stepped closer like he didn’t understand what he was seeing. He screwed up his eyes and wrinkled his nose. “You’re cornholin’ that man’.”
“You earnin’ yo’ identifyin’-nasty-shit merit badge, man?” Banner said. “Cuz you got it. You earned that.”
There was a long pause. “That’s nasty.”
“Go home, fuckwit! Ain’t you figure this out yet? When I’m done cornholin’ this deadbeat, I’m gonna come over there and cornhole you, ya dig? I’m gonna cornhole you till yo’ eyes bleed. I’m gonna cornhole you even though my dick gonna be limp cuz I just cornhole him, I’ll just shove it in ya ass anyway and watch porn on my phone till I get hard again. So you had better run the fuck away befo’ I finish.”
The drunk man covered his mouth like he had to suppress a shout. Then he turned tail and fled. He ran down the alley, swaying from side to side so badly he bumped into the wall and knocked over a trash can.
One of Banner’s hands grabbed Rob’s hair, holding his head in place. He groaned and moaned. Rob stroked himself off.
But first, before he reached orgasm, Rob pulled out his own cell phone. He handed it to Banner and said, “Here. Will you call my dad?”
“Call yo’ daddy?”
“Yeah. Tell him you’re cornholin’ me. I want to humiliate him. He doesn’t like the idea of me being dirty at all, and he would hate it if he knew I let a bouncer in me. No offense,” Rob said. “I’ll give you an extra hundred bucks. His name is Eugene.”
Banner grabbed the phone and muttered. “Fine.” He snorted and cleared his throat as it rang. “Yo. Hey. You, uh, Eugene? That’s right, I got ya boy’s cell phone. He can’t talk right now, on ‘ccount of he’s bein’ bitched out. Uh-huh. I’s a bouncer at the Clever Pipe, that’s that discount burlesque club, ya boy is here right now jackin’ dudes off for a quarter — yeah, he just drainin’ they balls so they ain’t gotta spend as much on lapdances. If you ever been to the Clever Pipe, you know they got some nasty-ass females. But only scumbags ever come here, so it works out for them. Anyway, I was callin’ you to give you an update on ya boy and see if you wanna buy this car I got — it ain’t stolen, I swear, but I do gotta get rid of it tonight and it’s got Massachusetts tags you should prolly take off right away. You can pay in money or in meth. Uh-huh. Sorry, I’s havin’ trouble hearin’ ya over the sound of ya boy swallowin’ nutsacks. You teach him to do that? You teach him good.” He stopped and shrugged. “He hung up. Ya daddy sound like a judge. He a judge?”
“No.”
“Good. Cuz I might have kick ya ass for real if yo’ daddy was a judge. He sound like the fuckhead who put my brother away,” Banner said. “Now hush up, I’m gonna cum.” He put his cell phone on Rob’s back, and the tinny sound of hetero porn filled the air.
Once he got it started, however, Banner didn’t seem to spend much focus looking at the screen. He closed his eyes and moaned, tweaking his own nipples. He groaned in disgust when Rob orgasmed and sprayed his wad over the alley ground, but he didn’t say anything.
“Aw, fuck, aw fuck, aw fuck…” Banner grunted. He pushed on Rob’s head and gripped his ass tightly in position.
A wash of hot cum spurted into Rob, followed by a long torrent of semen. It was thick and creamy, and it seeped into his flesh. Banner stopped moving while he came. He closed his eyes tightly as though watching a horror movie. His cock spasmed and the cum flowed until it was dripping out of Rob’s ass and onto the trashy ground beneath him.
“God damn, bitch. God damn,” Banner said. He smacked Rob’s ass without removing his cock, chuckling when that made Rob yelp and squirm. Banner swayed his hips and twitched his dick, causing a bubbly frothy load of cum to slip out. It coated Rob’s ass and dripped in clumps onto the ground.
“Wow, thanks-“
“Pay me, bitch,” Banner said with a growl like a jaguar. It sent a chill up Rob’s spine. “You best not cheat me. And clean my cock off wit’ yo’ clothes.”
“Yes, Banner,” Rob said. He used his shirt to wipe off Banner’s cock, then brought out his own smartphone. They used the app that Rob’s father had invented — PayUp — to transfer four thousand, one hundred and fifty dollars into Banner’s account. Rob didn’t tell Banner that it was his father’s app. Rob knew better than to spread that kind of personal info around.
Banner put his sweaty wifebeater back on. “Alright, you done.”
Rob didn’t respond right away. He was all cleaned up and dressed, ready to go, but he wanted to watch Banner’s muscle-bound body for as long as possible. Banner stayed there at the door, scowling at him.
“Okay, man, you get away,” Banner said. He spat on the ground. “Or I will kick yo’ ass for real.”
When Banner formed a fist with one hand and reared back ready to strike, Rob turned tail and fled into the night.
Moshe often stumbles across Marines and cadets from the nearby base, so when one of each approaches his door, he wasn’t surprised. A cadet and his drill sergeant are in desperate need of something only Moshe can provide — a chance for the studly cadet to prove his devotion by bending over, grabbing his ankles and whistling dixie while Moshe goes to town all over his alpha-male ass!
Or read the whole thing here!
The Megillah was even more difficult to get right this year. Every year, Moshe found that he struggled a bit more to get the pronunciation right and to nail the rhythm of it — he didn’t speak Hebrew that well, much to his shame, and now that he no longer lived in Israel, he was losing his memory of the language. But every year during Purim, his family had him read the Megillah (that’s the same thing as the Bible’s Book of Esther and is part of the Tanakh whose recitation during the holy season of Purim is required for observant Jews; Purim is a March holiday that commemorates the Jews’s deliverance from certain genocide in the ancient Persian Empire). It was a sort of family tradition.
If Moshe had gotten married and had a child or two, his family would have had his kid begin reading the Megillah, or at least a few brief segments of it as he learned Hebrew. But Moshe had no desire for a child and seemed likely to remain a perpetual bachelor. That was exactly how he liked it.
That was why it remained his increasingly awkward duty to recite the Megillah every year.
There was a knock on the door. Moshe sighed and went to see who it was — if it was his NRA-loving, conservative neighbor with another gun-rights pamphlet, he was going to file a harassment complaint. He had promised himself that before as well, but he didn’t like to make waves, and it was always simpler just to take him at his word that he wouldn’t be back.
But it wasn’t that neighbor at all, it was the neighbor from the house on the other side, Sergeant Powers. Moshe didn’t see that much of him. He was from Camp Pendleton, the Marine Corps training facility here in San Diego. While Sergeant Powers was not exactly “nice”, he was always polite. Moshe rather liked him, certainly compared to the other neighbor.
It helped, of course, that Sergeant Powers was a big burly bear of a man, with muscles and a square jaw and so much swagger that Moshe nearly came in his pants the first time he had spied Powers lifting weights shirtless in his backyard. Today he was here, bright and early in the morning, with a younger man in tow.
The younger man was just as alluring as Powers and arguably even more sexy in a classic sense. The cadet had a Hollywood-handsome dimpled face, kind eyes and it was apparent he sported a six-pack under his t-shirt. Sergeant Powers was a bit older, with a few tinges of gray in his crewcut, and while he still had the body of a Marine, it showed notable wear and tear. The younger cadet was smooth, pert and taut, with dark hair and skin, an olive complexion and deep, dark eyes.
As Moshe opened the door, he realized the younger man looked like a cadet — he wore a crew-cut and a faded green t-shirt with short shorts, both of which appeared to be Marine Corps-issued. They were wrinkled as though he had been roused from bed early in the morning to come here.
“Shalom, Moshe,” Sergeant Powers said. He smiled. Moshe had taught him the word ‘shalom’ a few weeks ago, and now he used it every chance he got. “This is Cadet Pucci. He has a favor to ask you. May we come in?”
“Uh… I suppose,” Moshe said. He led them into his living room, where they both sat down. The situation was tense — Sergeant Powers appeared angry, enough so that Moshe wondered if he had done something wrong. Cadet Pucci, however, looked upset and guilty, as though it was he who had done something wrong. Moshe felt small and girlish in comparison to these two hulking brutes. Moshe cleared his throat. “A favor? I’m sorry, do I know you, Cadet… Antonio?”
Cadet Pucci shook his head. His face was worried, his dimples deep. He licked his lips. “Name’s Cadet Pucci, sir. I was askin’ Sarge here, man, I was-” He stopped talking and winced as Sergeant Powers cleared his throat. Cadet Pucci started again, his voice stilted and awkward. “Good morning, sir. I was hoping I could get your assistance this morning. I am a cadet at Camp Pendleton, and I need a day off-“
“The fuck you do!” Sergeant Powers barked.
Cadet Pucci again blanched and looked down at his feet. “I don’t need a day off. I want one. I’m a lazy guido bastard,” he said, looking to Powers as though expecting him to confirm it — he nodded his assent to Pucci’s words. Then Cadet Pucci continued. “I already had some leave, two weeks ago. And I met this girl. She was beautiful, you wouldn’t even believe it, she looked like, bam! She-” Cadet Pucci stopped himself, his hands fluttered by his sides like he wanted to mime out the silhouette of her body. He cleared his throat. “Well, she was hot as a frying pan, shit! And she’s moving to Georgia, so tonight is the last time I might see her. And I asked my sergeant if I could move a day of leave up. I wouldn’t even have to miss any training, I could leave at night-“
“Tell him why I said no,” Sergeant Powers said gruffly. He placed one hand on Cadet Pucci’s shoulder and squeezed.
“I… I have not always been followin’ the rules,” Cadet Pucci said. “I snuck out before. That was just to get laid though. I didn’t love that girl.”
“You don’t love any girl,” Sergeant Powers said with a scoff, like he disbelieved in the entire concept.
“I do!” Cadet Pucci said as his cheeks blushed. He looked to Moshe. “And anyway, Sergeant Powers said I had to prove I loved her and I wasn’t just after sex.”
“I may be a hardass, but I ain’t gonna stand in the way of true love,” Sergeant Powers said, mockingly wiping a tear from his eye. “Cadet Pucci skipped over a few details. He tried to sneak out for trim four times — that I know of. I caught him each time, so he been skatin’ on very thin ice for some time. He has been one mouthy fuck since the day his wop-dago ass got here.”
“So… uh,” Cadet Pucci said. “If you want… you don’t have to, sir. But, uh, if you want… we could, y’know… do stuff.” His cheeks were red as cherries now. “Like… masturbation stuff.” That made Powers snort and laugh under his breath. Cadet Pucci added, “Or like, whatever. I could do stuff — it’d be worth it to do, you know… whatever. Like cornholing.”
“What?” Moshe was shocked — he had thought Cadet Pucci was going to ask for a ride or for help finding the local girl, something like that. Sometimes cadets at the military base did that. Moshe liked to help them out when he could.
And he liked to help them out when they let him play with their dicks, which they very often did. Nobody is hornier than a Marine at boot camp. Or not yet a Marine, an almost-Marine.
“He’ll do anything you want, Moshe,” Sergeant Powers said. “I want to see how devoted he is to this girl. Plus as long as he gets his rocks off now, I’ll now he ain’t motivated by overflowing balls neither.” He looked at Cadet Pucci and nodded. “Go on, tell him.”
Cadet Pucci sighed. “I’ll… jerk you off, and you can plow me in the ass as hard as you want.” He blushed intensely. Then he took off his shirt, revealing a perfectly tapered torso and a powerful chest, which he flexed. He smiled proudly, though still shamefully, as Moshe looked on. He was splendidly muscled, his shoulders as broad as a barn, and he reeked of youth and sweat and power. Moshe’s dick was already twitching in his pants.
“I thought you’d enjoy this,” Sergeant Powers said.
Moshe nodded. This was awkward, but he certainly was not going to refuse such an incredible opportunity. He wasn’t sure how to begin, and now that he knew what was happening, he couldn’t stop himself from jumping right into it. His dick jerked to half-mast just from the realization of what was about to happen.
After a few seconds of silence, Cadet Pucci closed his eyes like he expected Moshe to get started, which was exactly what he did. Moshe dropped to his knees.
He dove into Cadet Pucci’s crotch before he could drop those shorts, which were musty, moist and sprinkled with dried salt from Cadet Pucci’s sweat. He must have been doing PT in these shorts for weeks, Moshe thought, wondering how long it had been since they were washed. It smelled like a long-time. He tasted layers of dried-in funk. His thick cock and heavy balls were cradled beneath the fabric by his Marine Corps-issued underwear. Moshe licked the bulge from top to bottom, and stuck his head between Cadet Pucci’s trunk-like thighs. Sergeant Powers laughed, either out of discomfort or glee at Cadet Pucci’s stiff-bodied anxiety.
“At attention, solider!” Powers barked. Cadet Pucci stood straight and tall, arms trembling as Moshe’s hands explored his bare upper body. His pecs twitched beneath Moshe’s fingers. Additional beads of nervous sweat appeared on his shoulders, and Moshe smeared them over his musculature.
Horniness arising from deep within and overwhelming him, Moshe wanted desperately to taste every inch of Cadet Pucci’s body and to feel his cock deep inside him. But Moshe also enjoyed topping, and he knew he’d never get a chance to top someone like this again. So he was in a quandary about how to proceed — he decided his best bet was to help Cadet Pucci relax a little by swallowing his cumload first. This would be better for everyone if Cadet Pucci were aroused too, and a virile young Marine like Cadet Pucci would surely cum quickly.
Moshe pulled down Cadet Pucci’s shorts and underwear, whistling to show his appreciation at Pucci’s big uncut cock — alphas loved it when you pretended they had some uniquely huge and wonderful cock. Pucci’s was in fact huge and wonderful, but then Moshe liked all dicks, so it wasn’t unique. Still, the smell of his rank crotch and his heavy balls made Moshe wrinkle his nose as desire flooded him, and Moshe’s dick rocketed to full erection in his pants. Without a word of warning, Moshe swallowed it to the root, as Cadet Pucci gasped and struggled to remain at attention.
“That girl worth it, Cadet Pucci?” Sergeant Powers asked. From his vantage point, Moshe couldn’t see or hear Cadet Pucci’s response, but it must have been yes, judging from the way Powers grunted back at him. Then Cadet Pucci’s entire body stiffened even more, and he yelped. Moshe saw Sergeant Powers’s hand disappearing behind Moshe’s ass.
“You got a tight ass, Cadet. That must be why all the girls like you,” Powers said. He smirked and licked his teeth as he did something with his hand that made Cadet Pucci gasp, bug out and clench his teeth tight.
He must have stuck a finger in there, Moshe realized with a sense of shock. Cadet Pucci’s toes curled and his hands tightened into fists behind his back as he submitted to the fingering. But the prostate stimulation helped him get hard too, and soon his cock was pulsating in Moshe’s mouth.
The taste of precum hit Moshe’s tongue. Above his head, he heard Sergeant Powers get close enough he was nearly kissing Moshe on the cheek. He spoke softly but with an authoritarian tenor to his voice. “That girl still worth it?” He violently rammed his finger — or maybe more than one finger, Moshe couldn’t see — in and out of Cadet Pucci’s juicy asscheeks. Cadet Pucci yelped and blushed, and for a moment he wasn’t at attention, he was leaning on Moshe’s shoulder, his knees buckling as pain and prostate pleasure alike rocketed up his spine.
“Yes,” Cadet Pucci said through gritted teeth. His muscles undulated in sync with his sergeant’s finger ramming into his asshole. His muscles all flexed every time he winced. He bit his lip. “I have to see her this weekend. I love her. Sir.”
Moshe stood and took off his own clothes. He felt tiny next to these two hulking men. Moshe was short, fair-haired and smooth-bodied, lean and trim. He had always been skinny, and though he had been working on bulking up, he simply didn’t have the body type to get big. That was very much unlike Cadet Pucci, whose broad body and fat cock seemed to take up all of the space in this room.
“Gimme one of your hands, Cadet Pucci,” Moshe said as authoritatively as he could muster. Sergeant Powers chuckled at the weak tenor of his voice, and he repeated the order.
“Give ‘im a hand, Cadet Pucci.”
Cadet Pucci did so, gingerly placing his hand on Moshe’s cock. He shrank back as soon as he touched it, as though he had never touched a hard dick before. Then he gripped it again and gave it a tentative stroke.
Moshe had to stand on his toes to kiss Cadet Pucci on the lips, which he did even as Cadet Pucci kept his face straight and stony, so it was like kissing a warm statue. Moshe’s tongue pushed into Pucci’s mouth — on one level, it was a bad kiss, Pucci’s tongue was limp and still like a dead rooster, but on the other level, it was warm and nervous and oh-so-macho. Moshe didn’t mind the lack of passion, as he rather enjoyed the roughness of Pucci’s fingers and the shamefully aroused passion of his body, which still stood at attention. He wasn’t even really stroking Moshe’s cock anymore, he just held onto it loosely while Moshe humped his manhood into Cadet Pucci’s grip. It took all of Pucci’s focus to remain at attention with Sarge’s finger in his tight ass and Pucci’s own hand on Moshe’s precum-soaked cock.
Then Moshe leapt into Pucci’s arms and mounted his chest. Cadet Pucci grunted in surprise and nearly fell over, but he was strong enough to support Moshe even without preparing for it first. He looked down in shock at the sight of Moshe’s hard dick on Pucci’s gym-toned torso, spewed precum over his six-pack abs.
Scooting up Pucci’s trunk-like chest, Moshe let his dick rest between those mountainous pecs, which were still hard from the tension and the pain in his ass. Now that his head was over Pucci’s body, Moshe could see Sergeant Powers’s cruel smile as he wedged a second finger into Pucci’s asshole. His cheeks jiggled marvelously.
Using Pucci’s head for support, Moshe climbed up even farther, until his crotch was right in Pucci’s face. His dick leaked fluids over his nose and cheeks, and Cadet Pucci trembled as he tried hard to avoid gagging.
“This still worth it, Cadet?”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Pucci’s voice was pinched and strained, and muffled by the cockshaft pulsating against his lips. He gagged as the taste of cock flooded his senses.
Moshe struggled to get his dick into Pucci’s mouth from this angle. He had to angle his hips outward, and Cadet Pucci had to support his ass with both hands, but when he did, Cadet Pucci swallowed his entire cock easily. He was a big man, so he had a big throat. Even as it spasmed and choked on the flavor, and Cadet Pucci blushed intensely, he let Moshe’s dick enter his throat. He swallowed it down deep, until his nose was nestled in Moshe’s crotch.
A moan escaped from Moshe’s lips, as Antonio gagged. Cadet Pucci had that thick lustrous dark hair that Italian men were known for. It was cut into a short Marine Corps crew-cut, but it was obvious that he had perfect politician’s-hair when he let it grow out. Moshe gripped his head, savoring the rolls of flesh in the back of his scalp as he shoved his dick down the man’s spasming throat.
From this vantage point, Moshe saw Sergeant Powers’s hand in Pucci’s ass. He smiled at Moshe, who threw his head back and moaned, and Sergeant Powers slowly worked a second finger in. Cadet Pucci bucked and he nearly fell over again, but managed to stay standing, despite the series of gags wracking his throat.
“Keep at attention, Cadet!”
It didn’t take very much for Moshe to feel his orgasm coming. He didn’t want to end like this, without plowing Cadet Pucci in the tight Italian ass, so he hopped down from the man’s shoulders. Pucci’s entire face was moist with precum and his own saliva, which dripped from his lips — he couldn’t wipe his face off without breaking his posture, so he remained there with his wrinkled-nose face shiny, manfluids running in rivulets down his square jaw.
“Gimme twenty!” Moshe said, and after a moment’s hesitation to consider whether to obey, Cadet Pucci dropped to the ground.
He began doing push-ups, counting them off as Sarge put one hand on his bare back to guide him. As he did so, Moshe mounted Pucci’s ass, just wedging his dick between the cheeks for now. Antonio struggled to keep going with the push-ups now that he had Moshe’s weight on his back. His firm back muscles flexed beneath Moshe’s smooth body.
“One!” Sergeant Powers said as he watched Cadet Pucci struggle to get his push-ups right. “I ain’t countin’ these granny-push-ups, Cadet. Do ’em properly!”
Cadet Pucci began doing push-ups much more slowly with Moshe’s weight on his back. He grunted and heaved with each motion. His powerful biceps worked up and down.
“C’mon, Cadet, don’t give up!” Sergeant Powers barked. He got on his knees right in front of Pucci’s face and demanded he keep going. Pucci’s back muscles strained, covered in sweat.
As Cadet Pucci struggled to finish his push-ups, Moshe again had to work on his angle so he could penetrate the cadet. He lowered his body until his cock lined up with Pucci’s ass, then he managed to get the tip of his dick in while still resting his body on Pucci’s ass. Instantly, Cadet Pucci dropped to the floor, gritting his teeth with pain. He squirmed there.
“Get up, Cadet! You fuckin’ pussy! If you can’t finish these push-ups, I swear to Christ you’ll never do a push-up without a cock in your ass again!”
Cadet Pucci struggled back to supporting himself on his arms and legs, while Moshe worked his dick in deeper, rocking his body back and forth to help it slide in. Pucci’s hole had been loosened a bit by Sarge’s fingers, but it was still so tight Moshe though he might cum from the moment he entered. The squeeziness of his booty sent waves of pleasure to crash through Moshe’s twink frame.
“He keepin’ hisself open how you want it, Moshe?” Sergeant Powers asked.
“Yeah, Sarge,” Moshe said. “He’s doin’ good.” That was when Moshe noticed that Powers had a bulge in his shorts too. Moshe reached for that bulge without giving it a second thought, and blushed when Sergeant Powers smiled.
“Stick it in me…” Moshe said, his voice weak and breathless as he worked to hold back his orgasm. He stopped moving with his cock all the way in Pucci’s ass, letting it throb there,
Powers grinned. He smacked Pucci’s ass and laughed at how the motion made him writhe and flex every muscle on his powerful body. Then Sergeant Powers got behind Moshe and pulled his shorts down.
He rammed his dick in hard and grunted as it melted right in. Moshe was well-practiced at taking huge cocks like his — and at taking Powers’s cock specifically — so he gritted his teeth and submitted to it. He dug his nails into Pucci’s broad back as he loosened himself up. He lost himself in the exquisite sandwich of Marine meat both in front and behind him.
Cadet Pucci stopped doing push-ups. Nobody was counting anymore, but Moshe was fairly sure he had hit at least twenty — though Sergeant Powers had refused to count many of them. Regardless, Cadet Pucci lay flat on the ground now, grunting with every thrust of Moshe’s dick and yelping when Powers thrust into Moshe, which forced Moshe to penetrate Cadet Pucci even harder.
Moshe felt like a bug being squashed between two large stone statues. Powers, however, was a bit soft — he was bigger than Cadet Pucci, but older, hairier and less perfectly etched. Moshe was fine with that. While he certainly appreciated the Hollywood-handsome good lucks of Cadet Pucci, he enjoyed the burly hairiness of Sergeant Powers as well.
As Moshe neared orgasm, he rested his face in Pucci’s broad, sweat-covered back. He licked his strapping muscles. Above him, Powers did much the same, resting his weight partially on his knees but also on Moshe. That put Powers’s head above Moshe and near Pucci’s ruddy, wincing face.
“You like this, Cadet?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“Good,” Powers said. He laughed as he licked Pucci’s earlobe, making Cadet Pucci shudder in humiliation and agony. Moshe managed to get one of his hands under Pucci’s body, and was surprised to feel a rock-hard cock — he must really enjoy prostate stimulation, Moshe thought. He stroked Pucci’s dick the best he could, and Cadet Pucci began humping his hips instinctively.
“Tell me when you feel cum in yer ass,” Sergeant Powers said. When Cadet Pucci winced and looked away, he repeated himself. “I wanna cum at the same time. So tell me.”
It looked like Cadet Pucci didn’t want to acknowledge the feeling of semen in his ass, but he nodded anyway. As Moshe felt his orgasm approach, Powers lifted both Cadet Pucci and Moshe, so all three were on their knees. Moshe was still sandwiched between the huge men on both sides of him, and Moshe barely even moved himself, allowing both men’s powerful bodies to provide all the motion. Moshe just licked and sucked on the taut muscles all around him.
In the end, Cadet Pucci acknowledged it even before Moshe had realized he was cumming. His orgasm washed over his body and made him shudder with delight. His spine was wracked by exquisite pain from his ass, which mingled with the pleasure he felt all over. Hot cum sprayed within Pucci’s asshole.
Then, a few seconds later, both Cadet Pucci and Sergeant Powers shot their own load. Powers had a huge wad that sunk into every corner of Moshe’s body, while Cadet Pucci bucked and gagged when he shot his load into the palm of Moshe’s waiting hand.
While all three dicks limpened, Moshe raised his handful of steaming cum to Pucci’s mouth. Cadet Pucci gagged again, and winced, still in pain from Moshe’s dick in his ass.
“Open your mouth, Cadet,” Sergeant Powers said. “Still worth it?”
Cadet Pucci opened his mouth. “Absolutely worth it, Sarge.” Moshe emptied the cumload into Pucci’s mouth, and sighed as Pucci’s ass clenched around his cock once more. Cadet Pucci choked and gagged down every drop.
And then it was at last over. Powers dismounted Moshe, who pulled away from Pucci’s naked, moist body. Cadet Pucci collapsed onto the ground, but only for a moment before Sergeant Powers barked at him to get up.
“Up, Cadet, at attention!”
Pucci’s ass was in terrible pain, so his knees buckled, but he managed to stand at attention. His limp dick hung between his legs. Moshe giggled as he stroked it and got a few nervous shakes from Pucci’s body, tensing his muscles again as his overly sensitive dick throbbed in Moshe’s fingers.
Moshe smiled. “I guess his love is true, Sarge,” he said.
Sarge nodded. “I sure thought he’d back out,” he said. “Alright, Cadet Pucci, you can have your leave, and I won’t charge you for conduct unbecoming.”
Cadet Pucci gasped. “Thank you, Sergeant Powers,” he said, then added, “And Moshe, thank you too.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps when I want an extra night off in the future-“
“Absolutely-” Moshe said, but was interrupted by Sergeant Powers.
“No way, Cadet. Next time, you submit to me,” Powers said with a grin.
