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!
Leslie is a small, weak man working in a maximum-security prison, so he’s wary when the alpha prisoner Samson Miles makes a surprising offer… Samson just wants to be touched, even if that means letting Leslie put him in a mind-blowing Twink on Top situation! Can Samson submit?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
“You come in this cell, boi,” Samson Miles said with a growl. “I’ll eat yo’ ass wit’ a spoon.”
The trustee shivered, blushed and walked away. He was a skinny white man with a weak face, so Leslie wasn’t surprised he was afraid. Samson watched him go and catcalled after his ass as he went. Samson whistled, then glanced in Leslie’s direction. He nodded, looking Leslie up and down.
“Who’re you?” he asked. He ran his tongue over his upper lip, undressing Leslie with his eyes.
Leslie stepped forward. This was his third month working at this prison, and it was his first shift working on the Dangerous Inmates Ward. The men who had cells here were too dangerous to live in general population — they had mostly either killed or seriously hurt another inmate, or had threatened to do so too many times. It was rather like solitary confinement, and at the moment, Samson was the only inmate here who could even talk to anyone.
The cells in the D.I. Ward had two doors, so the inmates weren’t able to come near the hallway — the door to their cell only opened on the second, outer door, which was always shut and locked. They couldn’t say anything to anyone in the hall or even see who was there. But Samson’s outer door was broken, so he was able to interact with anyone walking by for the first in more than a year.
Leslie strode over to Samson’s cell. Leslie was small, he wasn’t weak, but he was barely five feet tall. He was a youthful-looking twink, so he had known the guards and inmates would consider him a weakling.
“I’m Officer Nguyen,” Leslie said. He stopped in front of the cell.
Samson was more than six and a half feet tall, and built like a football player — he spent his commissary money on protein bars so he could continue to bulk up. He was just slightly too old to have a six-pack, but you could tell he did before coming to prison. It was hard to keep a perfectly etched body behind bars, despite what the movies and television suggested, Samson must have spent almost all his time in that cell working out, Leslie thought, which wasn’t too surprising, since there wasn’t a lot else he could do.
“You new, huh?”
Leslie nodded. “I should punish you for threatening that man,” Leslie said. “That’s against the rules, Mr. Miles.” He wasn’t going to do that because it was a lot of paperwork, and he would get in trouble for failing to maintain order on the ward. Besides that, the warden didn’t want a paper trail proving that the outer door to Samson’s cell was broken.
“Oh, Mr. Miles, how fancy,” Samson said. He was so much taller than Leslie that he had to look straight down to make eye contact with him through the bars of his cell door. “Oh damn, you should come in here, little man. I would tear your ass up. You look good enough to eat. I’d wear yo’ little body like a cockhat.”
“That’s another threat, Mr. Miles. I can write you up-“
“Wasn’t a threat.” He murmured lowly, looking Leslie’s trim little body up and down.
“What?”
“I wasn’t threatenin’ ya,” he said. He smiled. “I mean… I wanna make sweet love to ya booty.” He smiled again as Leslie gasped. Samson licked his lips. “Don’t get me wrong. I want pussy. But I been in this room for the last year, and I ain’t seen a girl in person in years. I need some contact, some affection, y’know.”
“Oh,” Leslie said. “So you’d jerk me off?”
“Hell yeah,” he said. He kissed a cell bar and licked it slowly to demonstrate. “I’d lick it clean. I lick yo’ ass too, honky, lick yo’ boypussy like a lollipop wit’ a friendly appeals court judge in the center. Then you can plow me good. I bet a pervert like you know how to do it right, huh?”
Leslie blushed. “Well… not to brag, but I think I’m pretty good.”
“Then come on in here. I won’t tell no one. You the only guard here tonight, right?”
Leslie nodded. “I’m here alone, but I don’t trust you, Mr. Miles.”
“Call me Samson, nigga.”
“That’s inappropriate,” Leslie said. “I’m supposed to call you ‘Mr. Miles’.”
“You think I’ll attack you if you come in here?” he asked with a broad grin. “Put cuffs on me. Put a dental guard in. I just need to be touched, nigga.” He paused and licked his lips again. He kissed his own bicep and took off his shirt to reveal a broad, strapping chest, inked with faded gang tats. He flexed his pecs enticingly. “Is it okay if I call you nigga?”
“I guess so,” Leslie said.
“Good,” he said. “I like Asians. I like the way they taste. I like pretendin’ they’s a woman so’s I can make love inside ’em. I like makin’ a big ol’ pot of love up in they gut. But if you want, I turn the tables for ya. You can stew up the love in my gut, I don’t care. Tie me up so I can’t hurt ya. Just touch me, nigga.” Samson stuck his finger out between the cell bars. “Come on, do it. I know you want to.”
Leslie did it without thinking about it. Samson’s finger was callused and leathery, thick and long — he was so big that all of his body parts seemed impossibly big. His middle finger was bigger than some dicks Leslie had handled.
Samson groaned as though he was going to orgasm solely from Leslie sucking on his finger. He explored the inside of Leslie’s mouth, chuckling when he stuck his finger deep enough to make Leslie gag.
“I wanna taste you too, Officer Nguyen. I don’t care how it happens, I wanna taste you and feel you inside me,” Samson said, his voice low and whispery as though he was worried someone in the other cells might hear (which was impossible due to the ultra-thick double layer of doors they all had).
When he pulled off Samson’s finger, he was surprised to see Samson had pulled his cock out of his orange prison jumpsuit. It was already twitching to attention, its veiny thickness so appealing that Leslie couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was a two-hander, Leslie thought, excited to have something so beautiful waiting for him — being able to top a man like Samson was one of his biggest fantasies, and he couldn’t believe it was coming true.
Leslie took Samson’s manhood with one hand and lazily stroked it. He must have been incredibly horny, because it perked right up to iron-hard immediately. Samson groaned and his knees buckled — Leslie suspected he was exaggerating to seduce Leslie. But he had to admit it was working.
“Hands,” Leslie said.
Samson grinned and put his hands out. Leslie reached between the bars and slapped cuffs on them. Wanting to be extra-careful, he did the same for Samson’s ankles, and he used shackles so Samson’s ankles and wrists were also bound to each other. That gave him almost no mobility. He nearly stopped there, but then Leslie realized Samson’s teeth were still a worry.
“Open up,” Leslie said.
Samson grumbled, but did so. Leslie applied a mouth-guard to him — he had to stand on his tiptoes, and Samson had to bend his knees a bit for Leslie to reach his mouth. That made it impossible for Samson to close his mouth completely.
Then Leslie unlocked the cell, his heart pounding. He couldn’t believe he was really doing this. The cell was like a narrow closet, with a dingy steel toilet and sink, and a shelf with a thin mattress for a bed. Samson’s big body barely fit between the walls and the bunk.
“Oh yeah, boi,” Samson said. The mouth-guard was not as tight as it normally was — typically it was used for dental procedures that required a wide-open mouth, but Leslie kept it on the loosest setting, so Samson could still talk with only a slight speech impediment. He simply couldn’t shut his mouth completely. Samson growled seductively and sunk to his knees. “You wanna sixty-nine?”
“No,” Leslie said. “Put your mouth on my dick.” He had never been in a position of power over someone like this, and he intended to use it. Samson looked disappointed, but he sunk to his knees.
He said something as he lowered himself, but the mouth guard made it hard to understand. Something about getting revenge, possible. Leslie was more focused on Samson’s powerful physique.
There was such an extreme height difference that even on his knees, Samson couldn’t reach Leslie’s crotch. Samson’s head was at Leslie’s chest-height. That didn’t slow Samson down, however, and despite the awkwardness of his height, he kissed Leon’s chest. His tongue stayed out, tracing a trail down his belly, then back up.
“Hmmm…” Leslie couldn’t help but moan. Then, growing paranoid, he checked again that they weren’t going to get caught. Not that he was worried about punishment, which would only be minor and only if the warden was who came in, but because he would be embarrassed to be caught like this. For one thing, only a wussy guard who couldn’t outmuscle an inmate would use a mouthguard and shackles like this. Everybody knew Leslie was weaker than a lot of the guards, but he didn’t want to draw attention to that.
Anyway though, nobody was coming, and it was almost impossible that anyone would be. His hands roamed over Samson’s powerful muscles, which rippled beneath Leslie’s touch.
“Yeah, you taste even better than I thought,” Samson said with a rumbling, aroused tone. “You taste just like pretty girls, like lotion and sunshine.” He licked all the way from Leslie’s neck to his belly button, craning his head down to reach.
On a whim, Leslie leaned in and kissed him. He wanted to see how Samson reacted. To his surprise, there was no hesitation. Samson kissed him back, the best he could with the mouth-guard in. He plunged his tongue deep in Leslie’s mouth.
Then he moved down to Leslie’s neck. He couldn’t exactly kiss back with the mouthguard in, but Samson licked and battered Leslie’s neck with his tongue so hard Leslie thought he might have a hickey later.
Leslie took off his pants. Samson grunted his approval and moved back down to licking his nipples, while his hands caressed Leslie’s cock and stroked it to full erection. It throbbed in his grip, and Leslie had to take it away lest he shoot his nut too soon.
Samson pulled down Leslie’s underwear, and Leslie’s cock popped free. Samson had been stroking it but couldn’t see it til now, so his eyes opened wide. He chuckled.
“Damn, boy, you got a bigger dick than any Asian I ever seen,” Samson said with a whistle. “We gonna get nasty, right? You can jerk me off too?”
“No,” Leslie said. He smiled — he was often complimented on his cock size, and he especially liked hearing it from someone as well-hung as Samson. “If you do good enough, I’ll give you a reacharound when I plow you. That’s all you’re getting.”
He frowned but nodded. “Fine, fine, you beautiful, boy.” He licked a trail down Leslie’s smooth, flat belly to his crotch. “You got a big set of balls for a little man,” he said, then opened his mouth and swallowed Leslie’s cock. He gagged as soon as he touched it, but that didn’t slow him down at all. He was so big he could easily swallow the whole thing.
Leslie gasped, he was so surprised by Samson’s willingness to jerk him off — a part of him had expected Samson to back out, which would have been disappointing, but Leslie would have accepted it anyway. His anxiety over the potential for a surprise attack diminished as Samson’s tongue slathered spit over his cock. Samson had to virtually lay on the ground to do it, and after a few seconds of awkward stooping, he did precisely that. He rolled over onto his back, inviting Leslie to mount him.
Ramming his dick into Samson’s mouth, Leslie grunted, as instantly a wave of pleasure washed over him. He groaned. He leaned his body over Samson’s torso and licked his hairy pecs and meaty chest. Leslie realized it was impossible for them to truly sixty-nine — Leslie would have to grow about six inches taller just to kiss the tip of Samson’s dick — but Leslie did stretch over him as though trying.
In this position, his cock was forced to dagger down Samson’s throat, and Samson either enthusiastically accepted it or was unable to choke it out due to the mouthguard. It was impossible to tell from Leslie’s vantage point, and it didn’t bother him either way. He moaned into the meaty middle of Samson’s torso, while his hands stroked Samson’s cock from root to tip. He had a shockingly strong erection considering Leslie had barely touched it until now.
But Leslie wanted to focus on the pleasure emanating from his cock, as Samson’s warm, moist mouth and throat squeezed around it. His balls slapped on Samson’s nose with each thrust of his hips, forcing his dick in and out of Samson’s mouth. Samson’s tongue battered the top of his dick, and when Leslie pulled all the way out, Samson gasped as though to beg for more. Leslie didn’t wait long enough to hear if that was, in fact, what he begged for.
“Oh god, hmm…” Leslie murmured. “You have such a nice throat.”
Another low growly sound emanated from Samson’s throat as he enthusiastically handled Leslie’s dick, and the vibrations sent a chill of pleasure up Leslie’s spine. Samson’s fingers — bound by shackles — curled up beneath Leslie’s body, and his muscles all flexed as he struggled to breathe.
Wanting to be sure Samson was still willing, Leslie pulled his cock out. Its spit-slippery shaft spasmed where it lay against Samson’s face. Samson kissed it the best he could around the mouthguard that covered his lips.
“Are you still into this?”
“Hell yeah, come on…” Samson said. “Lemme keep at it, I taste precum, and damn, boy, it tastes good after all these years. Tastes just like pussyjuice, really. A bit saltier.”
His balls slapped against Samson’s nostrils as he rammed his dick all the way in again. Samson choked but didn’t stop licking, no matter how violently Leslie pounded his cock in and out. His body desperately wanted to continue — he had never had such amazing dome — but Leslie didn’t want this to end there.
“You really wanna lick my ass?” Leslie pulled out so Samson could answer. Samson gasped for both air and more dick, and he chased Leslie’s knob with his open mouth. His tongue dangled out as though desperate for it, but Leslie teased him, keeping his knob just milllimeters from Samson’s waiting tongue.
“Fuck yeah,” Samson said with a low roar. When Leslie moved, he licked Leslie’s balls with his thick tongue. He stuck it out of his mouth to demonstrate how big it was, as Leslie got up off him. Samson’s muscles rippled in a way that could have been pleasure or anticipation or could have been him fighting against the shackles and the mouthguard.
Leslie couldn’t tell. He was shocked he would do that willingly, but he wasn’t going to argue. He sat back onto Samson’s face, and he grunted when his tongue pushed in.
It happened quick, like Samson had given a million rimjobs before. Which maybe he had? Leslie wouldn’t have thought so, but you never know in a place like this. It takes all kinds, and there’s one of each in this prison.
A surge of ecstasy jolted up Leslie’s spine, and his whole body tensed up. He wasn’t expecting Samson to go at it with such enthusiasm. Not many men did that. Up til now, the pleasure Leslie had been feeling was very casual — intense, but normal — but this rimjob was visceral and shudder-inducing. It brought Leslie’s cock from erect to spasming and leaking precum, and it made Leslie’s whole body as he fucked himself on Samson’s tongue as though Leslie’s ass was a pussy and Samson’s tongue a giant, wet dildo.
Indeed Samson was so big that his tongue felt like a cock, a rather short but thick cock, plowing him hard. Samson had no compunctions, it seemed, he licked furiously, intensely. His tongue explored every inch of Leslie’s ass, and every motion it made magnified the pleasure coursing through Leslie’s veins.
“Ah, hell, Samson, damn, you got a magic tongue,” Leslie said. His fingers explored Samson’s thick pecs and erect nipples, and they stroked his tangled thicket of chest hair. He was very hairy for a black man, with plenty of kinky black fur tinged with gray, and Leslie alternated between leaning back to grind his ass on Samson’s powerful tongue and leaned forward to bury his face and mouth in the sensitive flesh of his chest. Whenever Samson’s mouth was free, he took a loud hoarse breath for air — which sounded like he was reluctant to keep doing this — then moaned — like he was eager to get back to it — before he plunged his tongue back into the tight rim of Leslie’s ass.
Leslie bounced on his face. His dick begged him to stroke himself off, but he didn’t want to cum too quickly, so he instead kneaded Samson’s big pecs and nipples. Leslie ground his ass on Samson’s face.
When he felt like he might blow his load even without touching himself, Leslie pulled off. Samson’s face was streaking with sweat and assjuice. He gasped for air and licked at the spot where Leslie’s ass used to be, as though he was desperate for more.
Leslie kissed him again, tasting the funk of his own ass on Samson’s tongue, then moved his mouth down Samson’s big body. He descended all the way to his cock, licking every inch of his massive torso. His manhood begged for attention, it raged, pulsating, spasming, demanding someone touch it. Samson flexed his hips as though plowing the air.
As soon as Leslie touched it, he knew Samson was about to shoot his wad. He had been locked up for so long he was ready to explode. Leslie wanted to watch him orgasm when his cock was in Samson’s ass, so he let go. He licked Samson’s nipples until they were both rock-hard, and Leslie let their cocks rub against each other. Precum oozed from Samson’s dick.
“You ever taken it up the ass before?” Leslie asked. He moved slow at this point, to bring down Samson’s tension, as his dick was spewing precum so copiously it looked like jizz. Leslie had seen real men shoot smaller loads of actual jizz. He had to resist the urge to slurp it down. That would surely trigger Samson’s orgasm.
Samson shook his head. “Be gentle, okay? I never done it, but I want you inside me. I need it.” His voice cringed and ached.
“Yeah, I won’t hurt you,” Leslie said. He tightened the shackle-chain connecting Samson’s ankles and wrists, which forced Samson to lift his legs up. His thighs were like tree trunks, Leslie thought as he caressed their hairy thickness. Samson’s fat balls and cock were slick with sweat and precum. Leslie’s hand slowly slid down to his taint, and he played with that sensitive spot there, watching Samson breathe heavily. His muscles all tensed and heaved in sync with Leslie’s fingering.
“Come on, boy, plow me,” Samson said softly. “Stick it in me…”
Leslie let one finger push into his ass. Samson had outrageously thick and plump asscheeks, so Leslie’s entire hand disappeared in his buttcrack just for his finger to make it into his asshole. It was warm and wet, and as soon as he entered him, Samson arched his back. He grimaced in a combination of pleasure and pain.
A shudder ran through Samson’s body, and then Leslie did the same as though it was contagious. His hand caressed the funk-filled hair of Samson’s ass, while his finger plunged in and out. He was gentle at first, then increasingly forceful when Samson didn’t complain. His dick even spasmed as though begging for Leslie to stroke it again.
“Damn, I need it, man, you gotta stick it in,” Samson said, his voice breaking as he groaned. He bit his lip as though he wasn’t used to demonstrating so much passion.
Leslie giggled, amazed at how much power and control he had over Samson’s hulking frame. He would have never thought such a big macho man would love a finger in his ass and beg for even more.
Then he wedged his dick between Samson’s cheeks. Samson grunted in a mixture of embarrassment and horniness. His dick spasmed between Leslie’s fingers. He started to say something — it sounded like he wanted to beg for it again, but was embarrassed by how aroused he was.
Leslie pushed in. He had to spread Samson’s asscheeks to do so, and his cock dragged through a tangled thicket of unkempt hair — normally Leslie didn’t like hairy asses, but he made an exception for Samson.
His ass was hot and tight, but Samson was a big enough man that he could take all of Leslie’s shaft without any lube besides spit. That was good, since Leslie didn’t have any lube.
“Uh, yeah, man, stick it in,” Samson said, whispering, breathless. Sweat dappled his entire body as he struggled to accept every inch.
Leslie groaned as he began gyrating his hips, plowing low and slow to prolong the experience. He stroked off Samson’s cock too, with one hand caressing his low-hanging nutsack.
Slamming his cock in and out, Leslie lost track of time. It could have been a minute, it could have been an hour. It felt like they both expanded to fill the entire cell, so all Leslie sensed was Samson’s muscles and the iron of the prison shackles. They writhed together, Leslie inside of Samson, and filling him with precum.
Finally he could wait no longer. Samson gasped and grunted. He bit his lip and flexed his muscles as though trying to shatter the shackles binding him. Cum sprayed all over Leslie’s hand and Samson’s chest.
It was like he hadn’t cum in years, Leslie thought, and a torrent of semen coated his chest. Samson groaned loudly. His dick spasmed in Leslie’s hand.
Then before Leslie could do anything else, he shot his own load. It filled Samson’s ass with creamy goodness, and Leslie blushed as he moaned passionately. He hoped he wasn’t being too loud, but he had long since lost control of his reaction.
“Of plow yeah… ” Samson moaned, and Leslie echoed him.
He took a deep breath, then wiped up all of Samson’s cum with one hand. He had a puddle in his palm, and both hands were coated with his juice.
“Let me taste that,” Samson said breathlessly. He licked the air. “C’mon, I need to get nasty.”
Leslie poured the cum from both his palms into Samson’s mouth, and let him lick the semen off his fingers. Samson gagged as he did, but enthusiastically continued, like he was trying to see how far he could get himself to go.
It was only when his hands were clean that Leslie pulled his dick out of Samson’s ass. Samson sighed with relief, and lay still, sweaty, on the ground. Leslie mounted his broad chest again and kissed him on the lips.
“You work tomorrow?” Samson asked.
Leslie shook his head. “No. But I’ll be here on Sunday.”
Samson frowned. “Nah. That’s the Lord’s day.” He paused and bit his lip.
“I work Sunday night. I don’t even start until eleven,” Leslie said. “At midnight?”
“You come to my cell at twelve oh one,” Samson said with a grin. “I be waitin’.”
Rob is desperate for dirty, oily Turkish manmeat, and he’s about to get his fill! That’s because he’s in Turkey taking lessons… and a lot more — from the legendary wrestler Mustafa Mounsir, who’s gonna give Rob the ride of his life!
Read the whole thing here!
Rob nervously waited for his Turkish instructor to arrive. Rob was dressed like a tourist — which he technically was — and sat there nervously watching the lessons going on in front of him. He was at a grassy field in a small, rural town in Turkey, where the locals practiced for an upcoming oil wrestling tournament.
Turkish oil wrestling was a popular sport here. It was a form of wrestling in which the men — the biggest, hairiest, most macho men in all of Turkey — greased each other up with olive oil from head to toe while wearing these loose leather trousers called a kisbet. Then the goal was to gain control of your oil-slippened opponent by holding onto his kisbet. It inevitably required sticking one’s hands down into one’s opponent’s kisbet, feeling their crotch, ass and every other olive oil-stained muscle. As a keen lover of the male form, Rob considered it the ideal sport.
Rob had done a lot of work to find Mustafa, a professional Turkish oil wrestler who didn’t normally teach lessons. Rob didn’t want to take lessons from a normal class, because he greatly desired spending time with Mustafa Mounsir and his msucled chest. Rob’s ideal physique was a large, handsome and hairy man.
A few tourists and a couple locals were practicing their moves with a lean, handsome Turk in the center of the field. He spoke English well and was encouraging, coach-like. He obviously shaved his chest, for one thing, and probably didn’t have any hair on his back by nature. Rob had suspected as much when he learned there was a tourist-oriented oil-wrestling coaching service — he didn’t want a polished Turk shaved and dolled up for Westerners.
He wanted Mustafa Oğuz Mounsir.
His heart started pounding when he saw Mustafa, a big, hulking brute of a man. He was in the heaviest weight class in Turkish oil wrestling, and it showed in his heavy gait, giant barrel-shaped body, his strapping chest and belly, and his broad shoulders. Most importantly for Rob, however, Mustafa also had powerful muscles and endless curls of body hair stretching up from his chest and over his shoulders. Like all Turks, the hair was dense, kinky and broad, and his sweat clung to it. There was little division between his chest hair, armpit hair, leg and arm hairs, back hair, beard hair and head hair.
“Hello, my name is Rob,” he said, followed by a carefully rehearsed Turkish translation.
Mustafa nodded. “You are here for lesson, yes? I am Mustafa Mounsir.” Mustafa’s English was only a little better than Rob’s Turkish, but he managed to introduce himself and begin a lesson. His accent was thick, as spatchcocking as a dressed chicken, while Rob could think of little more than the closeness of his body hair and the heat emanating from his overworked muscles.
After a few minutes of stretching, Mustafa began showing him some moves. It was obvious that Mustafa was not a teacher; he was gruff; he failed to explain what he was doing; he got frustrated when Rob didn’t do everything exactly right. For his part, Rob did not do well — every time he was instructed to place his hands on Mustafa, a shudder of desire and lust coursed through him.
And all they were doing so far was practicing a few simple holds. About halfway through the first lesson, Mustafa said it was time for a scrimmage, and that meant the best part of Turkish oil wrestling was about to happen. Rob had to force his stiffening dick to quiet down as Mustafa brought him to the side of the field where a pitcher of olive oil waited.
“You will rub it on me. Rub it on ev-er-y part,” Mustafa said, over-enunciating his words. “I will do first.”
Rob nodded. He was pretending to have little idea what Turkish oil wrestling was, so he looked surprised when Mustafa’s callused hands spread oil over Rob’s body, extending down into his loose kisbet.
Praying that he wouldn’t get hard yet, Rob didn’t show how arousing he found Mustafa’s hands running up and down his body, even rubbing olive oil inside Rob’s kisbet, on his ass, his cock and balls, all of it, Mustafa didn’t seem bothered by it. That was a core part of Turkish oil wrestling. Mustafa’s rough-fingered hands had probably rubbed oil into a thousand men’s skin.
Then it was Rob’s turn. Mustafa sneered at him — it seemed he didn’t love the idea of giving lessons to a non-Turk. Rob’s hands dripped with olive oil as he touched Mustafa’s back, which was covered in the thick, kinky black hair that extended over most of his torso. He was like a Turkish sasquatch. Rob’s heart pounded as he forced his fingers through a tangled forest of hair on Mustafa’s lower back.
Then he moved around to the chest, where the hair was even thicker, unapologetically dense, and when Rob disturbed it with his fingers, the odor of stale oil and sweat wafted over him. He got the impression Mustafa expected Rob to be disgusted, and Rob decided to play along. He wrinkled his nose, and Mustafa laughed like he was proud of that.
His body wasn’t perfect, which Rob liked. Six-pack abs were nice to look at, but Rob preferred having some meat to grab onto. That described Mustafa perfectly, his powerful chest like a hard slab of iron with a thick layer of padding on top.
Rob’s hands moved back around to his ass, hands slipping under the kisbet. Much to Rob’s delight, Mustafa’s ass was just as hairy as his chest. The hair there was tangled, so Rob moved slowly, caressing olive oil into those big beefy orbs slowly enough that he worked out all the kinks. His fingers crept between the asscheeks, even though he had the feeling actual Turkish oil wrestlers skipped that, and he touched Mustafa’s quivering hot asshole.
Then he reached underneath Mustafa’s ass, hands stretching between his thighs to the hairy taint. He stood still in front of Mustafa, so he had to step even closer until his face was pushed up against Mustafa’s hairy pecs, and the flavor of sweat-scented olive oil hit his tongue.
By the time Rob got back to the front, shivering in delight when he touched Mustafa’s sweaty ballsac, Rob was already rock-hard. He moved both his hands to the front of Mustafa’s body, starting with his thighs, which were slick with sweat from being in the hot kisbet. He rubbed olive oil into first one trunk-like thigh, then the other.
He cradled Mustafa’s ballsack with his olive oil-laden fingers, and gave his dick one quick stroke. It was long and so thick Rob couldn’t wrap his fingers around it, uncircumcised with extra flesh that moved along with Rob’s fingers.
At last they were done, and Mustafa arranged them for their first lesson. “Feet like this,” he said gruffly, and Rob played along. “No, like this.” He pushed Rob into position.
Having no idea how to defend himself, Rob was on his ass as soon as Mustafa started wrestling. The bigger man had both of his hands down Rob’s kisbet, gripping the leather from inside. The top side of his palms touched Rob’s dick, but Mustafa gave no sign of noticing Rob’s growing erection.
Then they did the same again, and again. Rob managed to dodge Mustafa for a few seconds, but he couldn’t defend himself in any way. He hadn’t given the wrestling part of Turkish oil wrestling much thought. All Rob cared about was the “rubbing oil into men’s muscles” part.
Soon enough, the lesson was over. Rob didn’t think he had learned much — Mustafa was a lot of things, but a quality pedagogue was not one of them — but he was so horny he couldn’t think, so he was glad to be done anyway. His hardon throbbed in his kisbet.
“You give respect to superior man,” Mustafa said. He folded his arms over his chest. “Instructor, me. Respect, it is to dem-onstr-ate, yes?”
Rob hesitated. They were still in the middle of the field, so he thought Mustafa was asking for a tip, but Rob didn’t have any cash — or anything at all in his kisbet. He tried to explain that, but Mustafa just growled.
“Must give respect.” Mustafa took Rob hand and shoved it into Mustafa’s kisbet. His hand entered the dense thicket of sweat, oil-lubed pubic hair, and there, he felt Mustafa’s hot cock, which his fingers wrapped around.
Terrified at first as he wondered whether he was in trouble, Rob realized Mustafa wanted to get jacked off. Then Mustafa growled again and repeated himself once more. “Amer-icans must have respect!” He barked.
Rob gripped his shaft tight and gave it a stroke. It was hot and thick in his grip, and Rob watched closely to see how his stroke affected Mustafa — not at all, as it turned out. Mustafa gave no signs he noticed Rob rubbing his cock with first one, then both hands.
It was only after several minutes of standing there that Mustafa settled down with a self-satisfied smile, and Rob nervously began stroking his dick. Rob wondered if Mustafa made lots of men jack him off — he’d implied this was what all men should do to show respect to “superior” men. Maybe he made lots of both tourists and wrestlers do the same thing.
In no time Mustafa’s was rock-hard and pulsating between Rob’s fingers. He thought maybe it had gotten half-hard from the wrestling, which made Rob glad. Maybe Mustafa got hard easily. In any case, Mustafa closed his eyes as his cock throbbed in Rob’s grasp, both hands rubbing up and down that veiny dick, still entrapped in Mustafa’s oil-soaked kisbet.
Precum leaked down the shaft and added to the mix of fluids in Mustafa’s crotch. Rob wished he could kneel to get a better whiff, because he could tell he would adore that musty scent, but he thought Mustafa might object.
All at once, Mustafa reached an orgasm visible through his rippling muscles. His dick spasmed as his shoulders tensed, his toes curled, and the hair on his chest stood on end. Mustafa closed his eyes and groaned. He bit his lip.
“Yes, good respect, American cowboy,” he murmured.
All of Mustafa’s muscles tightened at once, and his balls crawled up in his sweat-slickened sac. Rob kept on stroking it even as the cum shot out and coated the inside of the kisbet, not to mention Rob’s hand and wrist.
Another vast wad of jizz spurted out. That first cumwad made it to the edge of his kisbet and the underside of Mustafa’s belly, while the rest of his load only got to the waistband. It coated every inch of Rob’s hand, and still more kept jetting out. Mustafa groaned and moaned, looking surprised like he thought this wouldn’t happen, and his knees went weak. He stood up straight again though.
When he thought he had drawn out all of that nut, Rob pulled his cum-streaked hand out and looked at it, wishing he could lick it clean. But he just stared at it as though he was disgusted and followed Mustafa into the dugout, hoping Mustafa still believed him to be an ordinary tourist.
“You come tomorrow,” Mustafa said without looking back. “I continue lesson. Keep paying.”
Rob nodded. Mustafa stopped at the entrance to the dugout. He frowned and furrowed his eyebrows, and Rob got the message. He walked away. The dugout, it seemed, was only for real Turkish oil wrestlers, not tourists.
Though he wished he could suck all the jizz off his hand, Rob was intensely attuned to the audience around, watching the other tourists take lessons from the handsome Turk. They would surely notice him licking jizz off his hands, so he simply hurried away without cleaning it off. He waited until he got back to his hotel room, and only then did Rob wash his hands.
After that, Rob was tired and thought he’d go to bed early. He had to get up in the morning tomorrow for his second lesson from Mustafa, but for now, he had nothing else to do. He wasn’t even hungry, but once he laid down in bed, he wasn’t tired anymore either. He thought having something to eat would help, so he went out of his room to find a quick bite.
“Rob! Rob!”
He heard his name being shouted from the hotel parking lot. Rob didn’t know what was happening, but he ran out the door, thinking he was in trouble.
ustafa was on the ground floor near Rob’s car and screaming Rob’s name. “Rob Win-throp! Rob Win-throp!”
“Mustafa?”
Mustafa saw him then and swayed drunkenly on his thick legs. He headed up the stairs towards Rob’s room, which was when Rob noticed the whorish woman following him. Mustafa grinned when he got to Rob’s door.
“I am very poor,” Mustafa said.
“Okay…”
The prostitute hurried in then. She looked bored as she laid down on the bed and spread her legs. Rob nervously watched.
“I do not have enough money for paying for girl sex,” Mustafa said. “But this girl will kiss.”
“Okay…” Rob still didn’t understand what Mustafa wanted.
“So you will do vagina?”
Rob blushed and looked at the whore. “Nothing personal, ma’am. You have a nice one, I’m guessing. It’s just not for me.”
“No, not you. I do not buy sex for you,” Mustafa said, scoffing at the suggestion. He took off his shirt then and shrugged. His big hairy shoulders flexed, which made Rob’s cock jump to attention in his pants.
The whore said something in Turkish. It sounded like a joke, but Mustafa barked something back at her. He was offended by it. Mustafa turned back to Rob and said, “She does not like hairy back. She says she will charge me less money if it is shaved. But I do not want to shave it. It makes itching.”
“Okay…” Rob said. “I think it’s your best quality.” He kissed Mustafa on one meaty shoulder, and the whore squealed in disgust as Rob sucked the sweat off his hairs. The acrid-sweet flavor of stale olive oil hit Rob’s tongue, reminding him of their oil-lubed practice; it seemed to have suffused into Mustafa’s skin.
“You are dis-gus-ting,” Mustafa said. But he didn’t make any effort to move away as Rob licked his back clean. Beneath the thick mat of fur, his back was strapping and firmly corded with muscle. Then Mustafa said, “Okay? We are agreement?”
Rob hesitated. He still didn’t understand what Mustafa wanted. “I’m not sure…”
Mustafa shook his head and pushed Rob to the ground at the foot of the bed. Then Mustafa spoke to the whore and kicked off his pants. He flopped his soft but thick uncut manhood between his fingers, and smiled as he approached the bed.
He fed his dick into Rob’s mouth. He tasted of old olive oil and overwhelmingly of stale sweat. He stank of body odor but it smelled like he had attempted to cover it up with a scent that was not exactly cologne-like, more as though he had bathed in incense.
Rob swallowed it the best he could. Above his head, he heard kissing and finally realized what Mustafa was doing — he didn’t couldn’t pay the prostitute for vaginal sex, so he was paying her to simply make out with him while Rob mouthed his dick. Mustafa sucked on her tits and fingered her pussy, his dick quickly growing rock-hard in his pants.
She suddenly exclaimed something in Turkish. It sounded like she was offended, and Rob looked up to see her getting off the bed. Mustafa pleaded with her in Turkish but he stood there with his dick in Rob’s mouth the whole time. He turned his body and Rob moved with him.
“Bana geri dön.”
“Sizin geri brüt ve tüylü!”
She slammed the door behind herself, and Mustafa sat on the edge of the bed, his dick still throbbing in Rob’s mouth — Rob had to twist his body to remain in position as Marcus sat down. He looked almost ready to cry, Rob thought.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Rob asked, holding onto the thick prick in both hands.
He sighed. “She does not like my back. She say it is gross.”
Rob stood up and kissed him on the shoulder. He played with a few of the hairs in his mouth. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.” He let his lips drop lower on Mustafa’s back, and licked all the way from his shoulder to the small of his back.
Mustafa shuddered, whether from ticklishness or disgust or both, Rob didn’t know. But Mustafa didn’t stop him as Rob bathed his hairy back in spit. His hair was matted to his muscles then, and Rob moved onto his chest.
He sucked on each hairy nipple until it was erect in his mouth, and Mustafa moaned. But Rob got the impression that this was becoming too pervy for Mustafa, too close to making out, so he quickly dropped back down and swallowed his dick again.
It seemed the nippleplay had reawakened his hardon, which throbbed with desire in Rob’s throat. Rob soaked the shaft with his spit and let it spill out of his mouth into his hairy crotch.
He said something in Turkish too fast for Rob to catch, but he got the feeling it was something like get deeper on it, bitch, because Mustafa then began pounding his dick into Rob’s throat. He chuckled when Rob gagged but he didn’t slow down.
It was a violent throating down, though nothing Rob couldn’t handle. He loved it when machos treated his head like a sex toy. He wished he could widen his throat to accommodate the man’s entire hairy cock.
In no time, he felt the man’s balls crawl up in his sac, and the familiar sour flavor of cum hit his tongue. Rob moaned as he swallowed jet after jet of creamy juice, which had a curious aftertaste that Rob couldn’t quite place — it was almost humus-like, he thought, with a delicious spiciness.
Finally it was done, but Mustafa kept his dick in Rob’s mouth as he used one brutish hand to squeeze out the last few drops of cum.
“Ah, your mouth is woman,” Mustafa said with a sigh. “Good.” He then cleaned himself up enough to leave and exited the hotel room without another word aimed at Rob. That did not surprise Rob. Mustafa was the kind of alpha who saw no need to talk to his bitch. That was why Rob liked him and women did not.
The next morning was another lesson, and Rob found that Mustafa changed his attitude towards him. He was outright kind, and he actually treated Rob like a girlfriend — when no one was watching. At the gym, Rob watched him workout and brought him water, acting like a personal trainer or assistant, though he didn’t know how to do anything of the sort.
Whenever they were alone, however, Mustafa felt up Rob’s ass and even kissed him on the cheek a few times. He grabbed Rob’s hand and shoved it into his shorts with a grin, and he often played with Rob by moving closer and closer to him as they talked, until eventually Rob was pinned against a wall and squashed by Mustafa’s massive, hairy chest.
Then if they were interrupted by someone, Mustafa would either scurry away or even slap Rob lightly, then say something insulting in Turkish. In this country, it was considered acceptable for a boss or coach to be cruel and even mildly abusive, so nobody was surprised to see Mustafa bullying Rob.
When Rob told him that his trip was almost done and that Rob would be leaving Turkey soon, Mustafa was sad. He smiled at Rob and said, in broken English, “I will be missing your mouth. It is very nice for me.”
“I’ll be missing your… Well, your everything,” Rob said. He blushed.
Mustafa stood up. “You come to field tonight. Goodbye present.” Then he walked away.
Rob was glad to see he had made a friend of sorts, then went back to his hotel to pack. He never ended up using most of what he brought because he spent all his time worshiping Mustafa’s body.
When the time came, he made his way back to the Turkish oil wrestling field. He was surprised to see a half-dozen wrestlers already there, wearing their kisbets. They weren’t greased up yet, however.
Mustafa held out the oil pourer for him, and Rob took it as he approached. Mustafa grinned and handed him a kisbet. “This for you. Since you are new, you are having to put oil on men. It is rule for rookies. I know you will like.” He gestured towards the other wrestlers, all of whom were big and hairy like Mustafa. “Then we all wrestle. You lose, you lick ass. Yes?”
Rob was already rock-hard and he couldn’t quite concentrate enough to say yes, but Mustafa seemed to understand what he wanted to say. Rob hurriedly put the kisbet on and poured some oil into his hands.
He gripped Mustafa’s hairy body and began massaging the oil in. The other wrestlers milled about, talking and leering at Rob — normally Turkish oil wrestlers greased their opponent up, that was tradition, but it seemed they also made the new guy do it when they had a rookie. So the more experienced wrestlers spoke to Rob in Turkish but in a way that suggested they were being intimidating, no doubt telling Rob how badly he would lose.
Of course Rob was desperate to lose. He had no real chance of winning anyway, but he certainly didn’t want to. slurping all these Turkish studs’s asses? He couldn’t think of a better way to end his trip.
When Mustafa was done, Rob moved onto rubbing oil into the skin of the the next man, Kaan Gözübüyük. He was taller and leaner than Mustafa, but he was just as hairy. The thick black curly hairs extended up from his ass and down from his shoulder, stretching to almost, but not quite, meet in the middle. He had a fat face — he wasn’t fat, but he had a big face with a wide nose, wide mouth, wide chin, his face just went on forever.
The man after him was burly and paunchy, Cenk Dal, who was maybe the strongest there. He had biceps the size of Rob’s torso and a thick scar that ran over his back. The scar was the only part of his back that had no hair growing on it, and indeed, his whole body was just as hairy from head to toe. Rob had to fight back the urge to lick the scar from ass to shoulder.
Then came a young man, Ömer Pamuk, easily the youngest of the seven Turks there. He was handsome and charming, and he seemed distinctly uncomfortable at being touched by a man. He also appeared to shave his chest and back, but his lower neck was untrimmed, so the hair extended well into his back.
Then the wrestling began. This was an informal match, so they simply paired off and began. Mustafa acted as a coach, yelling encouragement (or so Rob assumed) in Turkish. The big men Cenk and Kaan fought; that left the young man, Ömer, who was about Rob’s size, so they were a good match.
Rob was knocked flat-footed when Ömer came at him, and he barely managed to stay upright. He couldn’t quite grip Ömer’s body, which was lean and toned, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. He had no grip due to the greasy olive oil.
Ömer’s hands were in Rob’s pants and holding onto the kisbet, but Rob managed to separate from him. He plunged his own hands down Ömer’s pants and grunted in shock when his hand gripped Ömer’s long, thick cock. Ömer didn’t seem to notice, as his hands clutched Rob’s asscheeks.
Then it was all over. As suddenly as it began, Ömer had Rob pinned. He couldn’t move a muscle, all he could do was submit until Mustafa declared the match over.
That was it. The three winners (Ömer, Kaan and Cenk) congratulated each other as they all hurried to the stone dugout on the edge of the field. They were chanting at Rob, no doubt telling him to perform his loserly duty.
Mustafa spoke in clipped English. “They think you bet ass-slurping. I tell them you thought American cowboy can win any sport.”
As soon as they got into the dugout, they dropped their kisbets to reveal bare asses and densely hairy holes. They catcalled back to Rob, who pretended to be embarrassed and disgusted. He heard a few words that sounded like “American”, so he thought these men liked the idea of humiliating an American. He even heard something that sounded like yank, though he had no idea if that was really what they said.
He had lost to Ömer, so Rob kneeled behind him first. Ömer had the smoothest ass as well, so it would make sense if he were straight to start there. He made a loud sound that he hoped came across as disgusted, but luckily they were all facing away — they seemed to think it was too disgusting to watch.
As soon as his tongue hit Ömer’s asshole, Ömer jerked and exclaimed something that made the others laugh. Rob jabbed his tongue in and felt around. The olive oil was fruity and sweet, mixed with the acrid and bitter flavor of Ömer’s ass-sweat.
His hands reached around to Ömer’s dick, which was already rock-hard. It throbbed between his fingers and instantly leaked precum. Ömer must have really been enjoying the rimjob, Rob thought.
The feeling of submission to alpha male domination flooded Rob — this was precisely what he had been hoping to find in Turkey. He felt like his tongue was plunging straight into a grimy whirlpool of manhood, and he could feel its juices dripping down his throat.
Ömer jumped around without warning and slammed his dick into Rob’s mouth. He only barely made it before shooting a puddle of cum down Rob’s gullet. He laughed as he did so, embarrassed at having cum so soon.
The brothers were next. They were moderately hairy and had nice bubble-butts, and Rob worshiped all four orbs with his tongue before plunging inside. He tasted first one grimy hole, then the other — they were lined up ass-to-ass so Rob could go quickly from one to the other, while he used each hand on one cock.
He was so intent on licking them both that he almost didn’t notice Mustafa getting behind him. He said something in Turkish that Rob suspected meant I’m gonna make you my prison-punk, or something along those lines, and it made the other men say something surprised. They all had a brief conversation about it, but Mustafa didn’t slow down at all.
His dick pushed into Rob’s ass, and he relentlessly kept going — the oil was as effective a lube as he was willing to use, it seemed, and Rob was glad to have a little pain. He always enjoyed that.
The brothers turned around at once and both pushed their dicks into Rob’s mouth. It didn’t seem anyone saw it as weird for them to be jousting like that.
They both came nearly at once, shooting a thick and creamy loud that Rob held in his mouth for a minute. He savored the flavor and the hotness, then let it slide down his throat.
Kaan and Cenk were next, the two biggest guys here, both covered in fur. Rob reached up and caressed their hairy backs as he made love to each asshole in turn with his tongue. They both grunted like pigs every time Rob’s tongue reached their spongy prostates. Meanwhile Mustafa plowed into Rob’s relentlessly, uncaring of how it made Rob feel. Rob exclaimed in pain but it just made Mustafa laugh and gyrate harder with each passing thrust.
That continued for what felt like hours, Rob ripped open from behind by Mustafa’s massive cock, his tongue darting between the sweathair-choked asses of Kaan and Cenk. The handsome young one Ömer backed off when it got serious like that, but he had already cum, so Rob did not miss him. He slathered the other two’s ass cracks in spit, and his hands snaked around their bodies to the body hair jungles of their crotches. He stroked their hardons the best he could with Mustafa ramming him up behind like an elephant.
“Oh god, stick it in me, Mustafa!” Rob cried out. Mustafa seemed too engrossed in his own pleasures to pay attention to Rob’s words., or maybe he had forgotten English, but in any case, he gave no sign of hearing Rob’s demand. He kept at it regardless, and each thrust of his dick caused a ripple of his muscles and a jolt of both pleasure and pain to strike up Rob’s sppine.
“I am to cum,” Kaan murmured, barely audible over Mustafa’s bestial panting. He took Rob’s head out of Cenk’s ass so he could turn around plow his cock down Rob’s throat. Rob gagged uncontrollably, but that only made the others cheer and smack his tender ass. Cenk stroked himself off and reached orgasm along with Kaan.
They both filled up Rob’s mouth with their creamy seed, and sneered down at him with disgust in their eyes. Rob swallowed every drop and showed them his empty mouth. Most of it spilled out over onto his face. He frotted both dicks together as they limpened and he slurped on the cocktips that whole time, his body rocking back and forth with the power of Mustafa’s rams.
At last Mustafa picked Rob up and dragged his body up and down on his shaft, so Mustafa stood still and Rob was forced up and down on his shaft like some cheap fleshlight. Mustafa’s shaft throbbed in his intestines until he finally reached orgasm.
Hot cum sprayed to every inch of Rob’s body, coating his intestines. Some of it dripped down Rob’s thigh, making a hot, stinking mess on the floor. Jet after jet of it filled him up, more than Mustafa had shot up til now. Rob felt it seeping into his flesh, and he moaned out loud, as he finally shot his own wad onto the floor as well.
A great surge of relief wracked his body when Mustafa removed his cock at last. Mustafa snorted. Rob moaned. Rob lay sprawled-out on the floor. When he moved his body, it reawakened his climax and sent a twinge of both pain and ecstasy through his body once more. His ass ached. He cried out, and he lay still there, exulting in the aftershocks of his orgasm.
The men quickly walked away, leaving Rob there on the floor in a puddle of fluids and bliss. Mustafa was last, and as he left, he said, “You hire again. More lessons. Much to learn.”
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.
Avery is working the front desk at the legendary Night Along Motel when he runs into the soldier on leave Willie Redman. Willie is a redneck alpha willing to giving Avery a taste of his manhood, if Avery can take it…
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Every couple of weeks Avery’s job sucked. Normally he enjoyed it — a hotel clerk is a low-stress position, and with sales incentives he normally met, Avery could make pretty good money. It wasn’t what he wanted to do — own his own florist shop — but it paid the bills and came with its own perks.
About once a month, the guys from the local military base, Fort Rumblemore, had a weekend of leave. They often came to Avery’s hotel, and they were always drunk, rowdy and left a huge mess behind. Since they were price-sensitive, they almost never paid for anything from the minibar or anything on pay-per-view, so the hassle of dealing with them was not worth it to Avery.
But this night was especially bad for him. Not only did he have to deal with the Rumblemore boys getting drunk in their rooms before hitting the bars, he was depressed to begin with because his girlfriend Shawna dumped him. He had been upset but thought going to work might help — if he had known it was going to be an armyboys night, he would have called out sick for sure.
Finally the armymen all made their way out to the bars. A few drifted back over the next few hours, but they had females and went straight to their rooms. Their kissing was a little more risqué than Avery liked in his lobby, but he knew better than to ask them to stop. The best course of action was simply to let them go fuck their slut in their room and wait for them to check out in the morning.
The sound of frenzied rutting could be heard when he walked down the hall, emanating from their rooms. More than once an almost entirely naked soldier bumped into him as he drunkenly stumbled off to the ice machine, towel loosely draped around his waist. They stank of cum, and it made Avery so horny he wished he had a free moment to jack off in the bathroom.
Around midnight the last of them came back. He was Willie Redman, a Texan with the sunburnt shoulders of a real redneck, leaner than a lot of the soldiers but ropy with muscle and an elegant tattoo reading Texas-Made on his upper back. He had a loping gait like he was more comfortable astride a horse, and he sucked on his teeth in a friendly way when he nodded hello. He stopped in front of the desk.
“Can I help you, sir?” Avery asked.
“I… I don’t remembuh my room number,” he said.
“I’ll show you. Follow me, sir,” Avery said. He walked down the hall to his room, which was at the far end.
“Hey, hotel clerks know about…” He trailed off as though too embarrassed to go on. “Women? Like… Women that I can… fuck?”
Willie was not the first soldier to ask him this. “No,” Avery said. “I don’t know any prostitutes. I don’t know much about women at all. Sorry.” In truth, he did know of some prostitutes, but he knew better than to get involved — he could be charged as a pimp if the police found out, which was a felony sex crime, worse than either being or hiring a prostitute.
And Avery had no desire to hook handsome soldiers up with women. Avery had other plans for the hunky soldier in front of him.
They were in front of Willie’s door. Willie blanched and said, “I struck out tonight. I was really hoping to get laid. I only got tonight. Tomorrow I ship out to Iraq.”
Avery opened the hotel room door and held it open for him. Willie’s muscles throbbed underneath his sleeveless t-shirt (no wonder he struck out, Avery thought, women don’t normally go for the rough redneck on leave look).
Willie stepped through the threshold, then turned around. “Hey,” he said, “Do you… You can say no, it ain’t a big deal, but do you… Wanna swallow my dick?”
Avery was so surprised he didn’t have a response, but in truth he thought Willie’s redneck soldier look was so arousing he could barely control himself. He wanted nothing more than to taste his dick. He wasn’t expecting this to be so easy. Usually men require a little persuasion. “Yes,” Avery said. He followed him into the room. That was easier than he was expecting.
Soldiers were like that though. They just wanna get their dick wet.
“I never done this before,” Willie said as he sat on the edge of his bed. His head lolled on his shoulders as though he was already half-passed out.
Avery knelt in front of him and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”
He undid Willie’s camo pants, revealing those olive-green PT shorts. They were a little small, so Willie’s bulging cock and balls were readily apparent, straining against the fabric.
Willie let out an awkward moan and looked away. The smell of liquor on his breath was strong, and stale, drunken sweat wafted into Avery’s nostrils as he got started.
He licked Willie’s crotch through his underwear, tasting the salty cotton flavor. Willie laughed a little as though surprised. He leaned back on the bed, keeping his hands up by his head like he was frightened he might accidentally touch Avery.
Avery fished his cock out through the fly of his boxers, and he licked it from tip to root. It had a ruddy quality, and a well-worn thickness that reminded Avery of Willie’s redneck swagger.
His dick got hard right away despite the awkwardness of the situation and Willie’s rather advanced drunkenness. His thick shaft pulsated hotly and leaked precum down Avery’s throat.
It had all happened so fast that Avery was only just then realizing how much trouble he could get in. He was supposed to be working, and consorting with customers in their rooms was strictly forbidden.
But Willie was oblivious to any risk. He grunted as he neared orgasm already, and his balls lifted up in his sac. His eyes closed, then opened wide, then closed again. Avery worked on Willie’s nipples with one hand, using the other to stimulate his shaft.
“You gonna swallow?” Willie mumbled. Asking was a polite gesture, Avery thought, but Willie asked too late for it to matter. Before he even finished asking, cum was spurting down Avery’s throat.
He shot a huge load with a nice thickness that coated Avery’s gullet. He moaned at the savory, salty taste flooding his senses. It was intense, and Avery loved it, swallowing it but letting it fill his mouth first, so it would overflow and coat Willie’s cock and Avery could slurp it all in again. That slurping made Willie’s whole body shake because it extended his orgasm. As long as Avery worked on his cum-dribbling shaft, Willie moaned and groaned, hands fluttering uselessly above his head.
Avery kept on Willie’s sensitive shaft until he was drunkenly pulled off. Willie was already half-asleep, it seemed, and Avery wiped his dick off with a tissue before leaving. He couldn’t resist spending a moment to fondle Willie’s tight pectoral muscles and perfectly round ass, savoring their well-sculpted feel.
But that was it. Avery assumed that when this was over, it was over. Rough trade was usually that way. Willie was a beautiful sight, sprawled out there on the bed, sleeping it off. But like all beautiful things, it wasn’t going to last.
After spending the night with Willie, Avery moved on. He didn’t think there was any chance Willie would return. He wasn’t even stationed at Rumblemore, he was told by some of the other soldiers, Willie had been assigned to a classified mission and may never return to the area. The other soldiers all pretended they knew where he was and couldn’t say, but Avery was certain they didn’t know and just wanted to seem “in-the-loop”.
He resigned himself to the probability that he would never see Willie again. Avery couldn’t feel too bummed out about it. That was part of this industry, and in any case, Avery enjoyed that he met a variety of men in this job.
But then Willie did return. He came back a couple months later.
He was in the waiting room when Avery strode in, not noticing him at first. Willie stood straight and erect at the check-in counter, while Avery gave an elderly tourist couple their room key. Avery’s hands started shaking when he saw who it was. Memories of that fantastic cock filled Avery’s mind.
“Hey,” he said when he stepped forward. Willie wore only a white sleeveless t-shirt, one whose sleeves he had obviously ripped off. His strapping chest was visible from the sides. He carried a ratty old backpack slung over his shoulder. His voice was clipped and curt, as though he was either addressing a superior officer or was controlling his emotions. “I… Look, I remember what happened before, and…”
His voice trailed off. Avery’s heart started pounding just like the first time. He was surprised Willie remembered considering how drunk he had been. He had seemed blackout-drunk at the time, Avery thought. Willie bit his lip nervously.
“You wanna do it again?” Avery said, trying to hide the shock in his voice.
“My girl dumped me. I decided not to re-enlist in the Army so we could be together, and she dumped me as soon as I made it official,” Willie said, blushing so hard his cheeks matched his shoulders. “I don’t wanna try to find some slut… I mean, a female slut… I need to get my rocks off. And I’m sick of chicks right now.”
Avery smiled at his awkwardness. “Well, my boss is in right now. I have to stay up here at the desk until he’s gone,” Avery said. “But go on to your room. I’ll be there in a bit. He’s gonna go home soon, his wife has been nagging him about leaving earlier. I’ll remind him and get him out as soon as I can.”
Willie sighed in relief. He must have thought he might get in trouble, Avery thought. Willie’s muscles relaxed, and for a moment, Avery caught Willie’s musk hidden by cheap deodorant (or possibly not, Avery thought, it smelled like he had rubbed a car air freshener over his pits, that was a typical soldier move). Willie nodded as though he had been given an order, then grabbed his crotch — it looked like he was already getting hard. He sniffed at his pits. “I need to grab a shower…”
Avery blurted out, “No!” Then he blushed. “I mean, if you want to… But I wouldn’t mind, y’know, if you stank a little.”
Willie looked at him in disgust, then sighed and nodded as though he was compromising. “Okay, just come in when you can.” He did not understand people some times. Who wants a stinky man?
The rest of Avery’s shift was impossibly long. His boss was hanging around the office for even longer than usualy, and though Avery reminded him that his wife had been begging him to come home earlier, he only grunted and returned to his paperwork. It was too risky to be caught away from the front desk when Avery’s boss could leave his office anytime. Avery had been caught away from the front desk before. He couldn’t afford to do it again.
But he only had an hour and a half left on his shift, so he forced himself to wait it out no matter how arduously long it felt. Now that he knew he’d be with Willie when he get off, he couldn’t wait. He was virtually salivating at the opportunity, and he had to rearrange his pants to hide a boner several times.
Finally, just ten minutes before Avery’s shift was up anyway, his boss got a text from his wife that he couldn’t ignore, and he ran to his car so quick he had to come back to get his keys. Avery waited until he had driven away.
Then Avery knocked on Willie’s door. He heard him scamper to open it. Avery smiled. Willie must be very horny, he thought, he’s been waiting for me with baited breath.
Willie filled out the doorway, his muscular body barely fitting in it as he let Avery in. He was wearing nothing but his green PT shorts, his enormous cock bulging out of it as though he was about to burst. His whole body was dappled with sweat, and Avery saw one of those stretching arm exercise tools laying on the bed.
“I am so fucking horny,” Willie said and sighed. His muscles rippled, and his cock twitched in his boxers. “It’s been almost a week since I got my nut off. I decided to get my exercise in, is that okay? You sure you don’t want me to shower first?”
Avery didn’t even bother answering, he just dropped down and attacked Willie’s chest with his mouth. He licked every drop of salty sweat off his pecs, played with his nipples until Willie bristled with discomfort, then moved into his pits. He dived into Willie’s right armpit and sucked the sweat off his kinky black hair.
That all began so quick Willie gasped. Willie had to reach over Avery’s kneeling body to shut the door behind him.
Willie made a muffled revolted sound and twisted his torso as he gasped at the sensations roiling his body, then relented. He sneered down at Avery, who moved onto his left armpit and bicep. “You like armpits? I ain’t know any dudes was into that,” he said.
“Oh god yes,” Avery said.
“Does suckin’ armpits make yo’ own dick bigger?” Willie asked. That was the only reason that made sense for a man to do something like this. Willie wasn’t sure he believed that the sweat and jizz of a muscular man made other men stronger or tougher if they ingested it, but he assumed that was what Avery believed.
Avery nodded. He did not believe in that anymore than Willie did, but it was simpler to say he did believe it than to explain that he simply liked the odor and flavor of a man’s body.
“Thanks for not telling any of the other Army fellahs about this,” Willie said. “I never thought I’d do something like this. Definitely not a second time. I ain’t even drunk.”
Avery licked down Willie’s flat stomach to his crotch, and pulled down those stale green shorts. They smelled like a locker room, like he had kept them in the onbase gym and rarely bothered washing them. Willie’s long cock was rock-hard, reaching almost to his belly-button, pulsating, virtually begging Avery to deep-throat it right away.
Lifting Willie’s legs up as he laid on the bed, Avery swallowed both of Willie’s balls at once and suckled on them loudly. The gargling sound made Willie laugh nervously.
He moved on to Willie’s sweaty taint, his thick brownish-blond hairs plastered to his skin by stale man-musk. Avery licked every inch of it, from his thigh to his lower buttcrack. Willie’s whole body shook with intense, surprised pleasure, as Avery darted onto his cocktip and slurped on it.
Avery worked down his shaft, licking off every drop of musty sweat. He moaned, but stopped himself as Willie stiffened — apparently getting awkward because the sound of Avery’s moan reminded him he was not with a woman. He didn’t want to make this uncomfortable for Willie.
Willie said, “In Iraq, fellahs nearly all let guys get them off. As long as nobody finds out, they’re okay with it. They just pretend it didn’t happen.”
“We can pretend that too,” Avery said, hoping Willie would make this a regular event.
“They all think men are best at swallowing cock,” Willie said. “They all deepthroat. They have bigger mouths than women. That’s what this one Arab told me.”
Was that a not-so-subtle hint that he wanted Avery to go deeper? He thought so, and he was glad to try. He took a deep breath and pushed down on Willie’s shaft, getting most of his meat down his throat.
Willie grunted and stood. His knees buckled weakly but he remained upright, and wrapped both hands around Avery’s head. He began slowly working his hips back and forth, pushing his cock deep into Avery’s throat.
Avery took one of Willie’s hands and moved it to his nose, showing him how to pinch his nostrils shut. As soon as he did, Avery’s throat opened as his lungs gasped for air.
Willie closed his eyes as his cock slid the rest of the way in. Avery could feel it pulsating against his vocal cords and could feel the precum sticking to his stomach.
Avery stroked Willie’s heavy, pendulous balls just as they rose up in his sac. Moments later cum flooded Avery’s belly, filling him up inside. Avery groaned and came as well, shooting a load into his pants.
“Thanks a lot,” Willie said as he leaned back onto the bed. His moist cock plopped out of Avery’s gasping mouth. “This is a great hotel.”
Avery nodded and smiled. He left Willie there, naked and gleaming with post-sex sweat. He hoped to see him again in the morning.
But when he went back to the room, Willie was gone. Once again, he disappeared for a little while. Yet again, Avery tried to tell himself not to get his hopes up, not to lose sleep wondering if Willie would get desperate again. He was so hot, surely he could get some real pussy once he got his head right.
A few weeks later, however, Willie surprised Avery by coming back. He showed up near the end of Avery’s shift, his beard scruffy, wearing only a torn tank-top and scuffed jeans. His tanned muscles were lined with new tattoos: barbed wire, kanji characters and an ornate heraldic lion on his chest.
“Come on,” he said, no pretense of asking if Avery wanted to. He gestured down the hall towards the cheap rooms.
Avery showed him to a room he knew would remain empty. His heart thumped in his chest once again, as he felt Willie’s eyes checking out his body. He wondered if he could get some anal from Willie tonight.
“You’re still single?” Avery asked.
“I used to be able to get girls,” Willie nodded. “But not anymore. Is there something wrong with me?”
“No!” Avery blurted out, then blushed as he realized he sounded like a lovestruck teenager again. “You’re perfect! I mean… You have a perfect body.”
Avery showed him to a room and opened the door for him. He hesitated before going in.
“Whose room is this?”
Avery shrugged and said, “No one. No one rented it. The cable’s broken so it’s closed until the repair guy comes tomorrow.” He shut the door behind them. “So we got it to ourselves all night.”
He sat down on the bed. “We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”
“What? Of course I want to,” Avery said. Willie looked like he was on the verge of tears, so Avery sat next to him, not sure if it would seem too weird for him to hug. “If you don’t-“
“What’s wrong with me?”
“What? Nothing… You’re just having a dry spell, man. A guy who looks like you will be able to get laid again,” he said. “Ever since they closed down that state college campus extension on the other side of town, there hasn’t been as many hot young chicks around. You’re not the first man to notice that.”
“No… That’s not what I mean, I-” Willie stopped as though he only just processed what Avery had said, “Oh really? That explains a lot. But that’s still not really what I meant. I think I’m broken.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain. Ever since I got out of the Army, I haven’t been right. I started crying yesterday for no reason,” he said, then blushed and stopped talking.
Avery rubbed his biceps in a way he hoped was both comforting and arousing. He didn’t want to seem insensitive, but he was ready to get on to the sex. One of his hands snaked underneath Willie’s torn t-shirt, fondling his tightly toned chest.
“You’re probably just having trouble adjusting to civilian life,” Avery said. “It’ll pass, baby.”
“You think? I… I think I have PTSD. Do you know what that is?”
Avery nodded.
“I have flashbacks to… some difficult things,” he said.
“You need some good experiences to balance out the bad,” Avery said. He reached into Willie’s crotch and stroked his dick through his jeans.
“Yeah… I guess so.”
Avery took that as assent and kneeled to take his dick in his mouth. Willie shucked his pants to his ankle, and his cock stood straight out the fly of his boxers.
Avery licked his dick, which tasted clean and soapy this time, with a deliciously funky smell to it. He let his tongue run up and down Willie’s pulsating ruddy shaft.
“I need to be inside you,” Willie said suddenly. He stood up and carefully removed his dick from Avery’s mouth.
“You mean… my butt?”
Willie nodded. “Yeah, sorry, I just assumed you’d be into that. Is that cool?” Even as he spoke, he pulled down Avery’s black uniform slacks and his underwear. He lightly slapped Avery’s asscheeks and spat into his hand, rubbing it into his cockshaft.
“Of course I’m into it, stick it in,” Avery said and cooed. He pressed his ass back onto Willie’s hot, moist cock.
Willie lined his dick up with Avery’s ass, then stopped himself. “No, Jesus don’t allow it. It’s in the Bible.” But he didn’t move away, he just kept his dick right at the entrance to Avery’s ass.
“Jesus doesn’t care, baby, as long as you don’t hurt anyone,” Avery said. He pushed his ass back onto Willie’s dick, sliding it up and down and savoring the feel of its hot thickness between his cheeks. “My ass wants you so bad.”
“I guess you’re right,” Willie said. It sounded like he was talking himself into it. “Less sinful than fornicatin’ with a woman in the ass, right?”
“That’s right. Less sinful, but a hundred times better,” Avery said.
Willie plunged into Avery’s ass, jabbing it right in. That sent a shockwave of pain through Avery’s spine, followed by a burst of pleasure. Willie had a huge cock that barely fit, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just kept ramming more and more in.
“Is this how you fuck girls?” Avery asked. His voice was strained and breathless as he struggled to take every inch of Willie’s manhood.
Willie said yes but he was so horny it was barely intelligible. He sounded embarrassed by the question.
“You gotta go slow, baby. Work up to really slamming it in,” Avery said. He reached behind himself and gripped Willie’s cock. He worked it in himself.
“Like this?”
That felt a lot better, Avery thought and he told Willie so. “Focus on touching every inch of me.”
“What? My dick touches you-“
“I know it doesn’t really make sense, just focus on each piece of me. I love how your cock feels, baby,” Avery said, cooing as girl-like as he could muster. “Make me feel every inch of it. Girls don’t like it rough, Willie, you gotta be nice about it.”
As he worked back up to ramming and jamming into Avery’s ass, Willie groaned. He leaned over Avery’s body, his powerful, corded muscles writhing against Avery’s back.
“Here it comes, baby, here it comes,” Willie said.
Avery shot his own load onto the couch beneath him, just as he felt Willie cum as well. Hot semen flooded inside him, and dripped down his inner thighs. Neither of them moved at first, Avery savoring the feeling of hot cum covering his lower half and Willie’s wide muscles relaxing as his dick softened.
“Thanks for the lesson,” Willie said. His limp cock plopped out of Avery’s ass.
Avery grinned. “It’ll take more practice,” he said. “But we can keep working on it. I won’t give up on you.”
Avery is at the Jersey Shore, where he finds himself servicing a cocky guido named Freddie. He can’t get enough of that Italian slab of manmeat!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Most guidos were actually fat or skinny. They were arrogant, orange-skinned prettyboys who weren’t even pretty. The men at the gym had turned out to be a bitter disappointment.
That was the Cornerside Gym of Northtown Meadows in Seaside Heights, New Jersey. Avery worked there. Cornerside Gym had a reputation nationwide as a place for serious meatheads, weightlifters, boxers, etc., and the gym didn’t even accept women as members except where legally required to.
Seaside Heights, New Jersey, was not one of those places, so no women ever came into Cornerside except as cleaners at night. Avery didn’t mind that one bit. He enjoyed watching men work out, and he greatly appreciated the physiques of the men who worked out here. Seaside Heights was on the Jersey Shore, so a lot of those men were guidos.
It wasn’t like the guidos from that teevee show though. In the real world, most guidos were fat, or at least the ones who came to Avery’s gym were pretty tubby. They didn’t seem to realize it though. They carried themselves like they had good bodies they wanted to show off. One of them even once pulled up his shirt and smacked on his protruding belly as he insulted a skinny nerd in the locker room, even though the skinny nerd was in better shape than he was.
It was disconcerting. More than once, Avery wondered if he had wandered into an alternate reality where the standards for having a good body had changed. Still though, there was something about their cocky confidence that was arousing even when their bodies weren’t perfect, and sometimes they had both the perfect body and the cocky confidence.
Those, of course, were Avery’s favorites. One of them was Freddie Rizzoli.
Freddie walked out of the weight room one afternoon wearing nothing but sandals and a pair of sweat-marinated basketball shorts. Freddie was short and squat, too muscular for his body size, like he had trouble supporting so much muscle, yet he didn’t have that awkward-bodybuilder shape either — he looked too muscular only because he was so short, he packed more power than seemed possible into a small space.
“That’s right, man, fuck it! I told them how it is!” He pounded on his chest, talking to some friends as they all headed into the locker room. His bare chest flexed. He ran his fingers through his greasy slicked-back hair. “I don’t even play like that, man, swear to God! No disrespect, baby!”
Avery blushed and looked away. He hoped he didn’t look too obvious. He went about his business, ignoring Freddie and the other guidos. He heard them grunting and encouraging each other as they did bench presses. They were touchy, gripping each other’s muscles and casually masaging each other’s shoulders in between sets. When walking by, he even saw Freddie laying on that bench press with those sweat-soaked shorts clinging to his flesh. The outline of his huge, uncut cock was clearly visible pressing against the fabric of the shorts. It left nothing to the imagination.
When Freddie lifted, he grunted and his dick twitched. Avery drooled a little. He hurried away. Avery’s own cock was rock-hard, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Freddie. He rushed home to jack off.
But then he didn’t see Freddie at the gym next time he went. Avery was disappointed.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that he saw Freddie again, still with those same couple of friends — he seemed to spend all of his time with them. Freddie ran his fingers through that over-brushed mop of straight, crunchy hair as he went into the locker room, having finished his workout, muscles drenched in sweat and cradled by the too-tight tank top he wore. Avery wondered if he could come up with an excuse to go into the locker room to check Freddie out. He blushed even though he was alone, not wanting to feel like such a lush.
But Freddie and his friends remained in there for only a minute or two. They returned with towels around their waists, having taken off their shirts. Avery watched sweat gleam on Freddie’s chest — which was freshly shaven, and not at all orange (Freddie actually tanned using sunlight, unlike most of his friends).
“Man, it’s just head,” Freddie said to one of his buddies, with a haughty chuckle, “you shouldn’t be picky about head.” He grabbed his dick through the towel around his waist.
“Why not?”
He laughed as though the answer should be obvious: “Cuz then you might get less. A mouth is a mouth, after all. So long as it’s warm and wet, who cares what she looks like?” His friends snorted and agreed with him, except for the one who had asked the question. Avery didn’t mean to follow them, but they went in the same direction he went. They went to the sauna, whereas Avery intended to walk past the sauna to go to the employee lounge. Freddie glanced at him and nodded his chin in his direction. “Fat girls love suckin’ dick,” he said quietly, like he thought Avery would scold him for being crude.
“Ain’t that nasty?”
“You ain’t gotta look down, do ya?” Freddie said as he went in the sauna, friends following behind him. They guffawed and slapped Freddie on the back. Freddie’s dimpled face, wide-eyed and exhilarated, was visible through the little window in the sauna door.
Wow, he is a champion douchebag… That was one aspect of guido life that came through on TV loud and clear. Avery didn’t like men because they were nice though.
He liked men with muscles and machismo and manhood to spare, and Freddie as exactly that sort of man.
Avery was disappointed that he didn’t get to watch Freddie any longer. Unfortunately, the sauna was one of the few spots in this gym where he couldn’t justify simply walking in whenever he wanted. Staff normally stayed out of there, and there was no storage or anything else he might have been able to use as an excuse. Plus, he had some actual job responsibilities he needed to get back to eventually.
For now though, he kept an eye on the little window in the door though. He was able to watch Freddie’s shoulder muscles flex as he laughed. The sight of his muscles and the sound of his arrogant alpha-male laughter made Avery’s dick twitch and harden up in his pants.
Avery was about to walk away to jack off alone when he heard some low murmured comments in the sauna, followed by more chortling laughter. It was very loud this time, loud enough to startle Avery from his daydream. From the tone, he guessed somebody had made some sort of scandalous joke. Something about the sound made him stand flat against the wall, listening the best he could.
A part of him could tell that they had been talking about him. The hairs on the back of Avery’s neck stood on end. He couldn’t put his fingers on what made him think that until he heard their words, but he was certain of it even before he listened.
“Man, that ain’t what I’m sayin’!” Freddie insisted, his voice audible through the door. It sounded like he was trying to stay light-hearted, to prove this wasn’t a big deal, whatever it was. Avery could hear him rolling his eyes in there as his friends laughed at him, a forced smile on his face to make himself seem easygoing even though he wasn’t. “A mouth is a mouth is all I’m saying. That’s how they did it in the Old Country-“
“As though you know, man.”
“Fuck you, bitch, say that to my face!” Freddie barked and everyone fell silent. That part was clearly audible outside the sauna. Then Freddie cleared his throat and chuckled like he hadn’t just snapped. “Yo, I been there, you know that. In Sicily, man, if you act like some disrespec’ful punk, man, you get on ya knees, boi! Verità!” He laughed cruelly. “I ain’t done it myself, but I know how shit goes down. My uncle got this one punk who owe him money, man, he puts that bitch in his place e’ry day, man!” He paused. “‘Cept on Sunday, man, he don’t do that. That’s God’s day.”
His friends murmured quietly in response, but nobody challenged him. It sounded like Freddie said this frequently and they tolerated it but didn’t approve. They exchanged glances with each other, and they laughed politely at Freddie’s antics. As always, he had taken it too far. Freddie always took things too far. When his friends laughed, he laughed harder. When his friends bullied a nerd, Freddie got too mean about it and did time in juvie. When his friends smoked weed or drank beer, Freddie smoked or drank until he puked. When they insulted a pimp, Freddie insulted him so bad the pimp tried to stab him.
The one thing Freddie couldn’t do was stop himself.
Freddie didn’t like the idea of his friends thinking of him as a braggart — he liked the idea of being old-school, hardcore, not behaving like some “prettyboy”, as his father would have called his friends. Only pansies worried about projecting an image; a real man trusted that reality would show off his manhood to everyone who needed to see it. His body streaked with sweat, he made sure his friends could all see his muscles. He kissed first one bicep, then the other, and he let his towel “accidentally” fall away to reveal his gigantic dick.
He knew he had the biggest dick among his friends. He made sure they never forgot it. His shaft was more than a foot long, veiny as fuck, and it was thick like a coke can.
“Man, Freddie, admit it, you playin’, right? You wouldn’t do nothin’ like that, and we all know it,” someone said, and everyone else fell quiet. They all shared knowing snickers with each other. “This ain’t the Old Country-“
Freddie scoffed loudly. “Yo, you don’t even know, man. No disrespect, but you don’t get how a real man is, ya feel me?” He sniffled and laughed to show how little he cared for that suggestion. He shrugged like it was no big deal. “If you got a real man’s cock and balls like me, you need to use ’em, y’know. That’s how Italians do, man, ya gotta drain ya nuts.”
“That’s why you get fat girls, man-“
“Yeah, well, fat chicks suck dick the best, everybody knows that. They know how to get deep, and they don’t get pissy about it if you force it in deeper.” He imitated a girl’s plaintive voice begging for more cock, and he pumped his hips, shadow-fucking a woman’s mouth. “Oh, it’s too big, don’t make me deep-throat it, Freddie, I can’t take the whole thing. But it tastes so good… Oooh, I want more…” He switched back to his own voice. “When I get a woman, I get inside that pussy, man. It’s all about the pussy.” He paused. “Or ass, ‘course, if she a dirty bird.”
“You could get some ass right now.”
“Yeah, do it, Freddie.”
Freddie snorted. “What?”
“There’s that dude out there, right? The one who works here? The little flamboyant one?”
Avery blushed. Am I caught? They must have noticed me checking him out. Avery was the only one who worked at this gym who might be described as a “little flamboyant” man. Avery held back a giggle.
“Yeah, he wanna slurp yo’ balls, man. He looked at you like a fat kid looks at cake.”
“So let ‘im.” Freddie shrugged. He wagged his pecker towards his friends. He guffawed too, slapping his knee at the sick look they made — they didn’t like being reminded that he had the biggest cock in the whole crew.
“Yeah, that’s some Old Country shit, Freddie. Does ya dick work or not?”
They all laughed, all except Freddie. He bit his lip and scoffed again, like this wasn’t a big deal and of course he would do it, like there was no doubt, even though the hesitation in his voice was palpable. “I mean… yeah, like… Uh-huh…. He prolly ain’t allowed to.” He cleared his throat. “Gym prolly got rules and shit.” Then he let out another forced laugh, like that ended the conversation and he wasn’t going to continue it. “So what’re you’s doin’ tonight-?”
“Uh-huh, you scared?”
“He is, he’s worried his dick won’t work-“
“Probably worried the creep gonna have a bigger dick than him.”
“What if the dude makes him bend over and ramrods him like a prison bitch?”
“That’s prolly what’ll happen-“
“Freddie gonna bottom for him-!”
They all laughed, all again, except Freddie, who roared and bellowed. “Man! I could kick that punk’s ass!” Even as he said it, he knew it made him sound weak — it was obvious he could kick that punk’s ass, that’s why his friends had suggested otherwise as a joke. Freddie knew he made himself sound defensive and weak, but he couldn’t help himself. He hated it when anyone questioned his masculinity, even a little bit. “I could do it, no problem. No disrespect, but I could knock that boy’s block off.”
Having a feeling that Freddie was about to come out of the sauna, Avery stepped away. He went to the closet just down the hall and made it look like he had just brought the mop bucket there and needed to move stuff around to make space for it. Since he wasn’t near the sauna anymore, he couldn’t hear what they said, but they kept laughing and chanting while Freddie listed excuses.
“Man, you know how I am, I don’t like, y’know… This gym is real important, I don’t wanna ruin it, y’know, get kicked out and shit. Gotta get my gym on, pump up the muscles, y’know-“
“Uh-huh, Freddie, just admit it, you’ve never jacked off in a dude’s mouth-“
“And you never would-“
“And you know fuck-all about how they would do it in the ‘Old-Country’-“
“All you’s guys can go fuck yaselves,” Fredde said with a grimace. He flexed one bicep and kissed it again, showing off a dimpled smile — for no clear reason that Avery could tell, Freddie was just unsure of himself and filled up awkward pauses with bluster and self-worship. “Course I’ll do it. Ain’t nevuh said I wasn’t gonna do it.”
Finally Freddie came out of the sauna. He had only a towel wrapped around his waist. He blanched at the sight of Avery like he had hoped maybe Avery would have left by now.
But Avery was there by the closet, fiddling with the mop bucket. He smiled at Freddie.
“Hey, uh, yo…” He sounded like he was going to ask a question politely. But then he heard his friends all clustered by the door to hear, poking at his back and teasing him under their breath. He felt he needed to maintain his macho image. So he grabbed his dick through his towel. “Yo, freak, you wanna slurp my meat?”
Avery blushed. “Uh…” His first reaction was, of course, to say yes, but he instinctually wanted to avoid looking too pervy, and Freddie was such a jerk Avery had an unquenchable desire to tell him no, even if he really wanted to say yes. So he played coy. He giggled and touched Freddie’s nipple, making both pecs flex in sync with each other. Freddie furrowed his brow. “I don’t know,” Avery said with another girlish giggle.
“Course you do.” Freddie scoffed. He took a deep breath and dropped his towel, standing there cockily in the hallway like he expected Avery to be so turned on by his foot-long dick that he couldn’t help but start swallowing it down right then and there. He was almost right, but Avery kept a nonchalant look on his face, despite desire blooming deep within him. When his posing didn’t result in Avery dropping to his knees, Freddie just scowled and said, “Come on.” He opened the door to the sauna.
Avery blushed but came in. The other guidos were rushing to get their own towels over their waists — they had been wearing the towels, but they hadn’t bothered to keep them secured, so most of them were loose; now that there was a stranger in the sauna, they made sure to fix the towels.
“Ah, shit, is he really doin’ it?”
“Oh damn, Freddie!”
“Bow-bow-chicka-wow-wow!”
Avery and Freddie were in the center of the sauna, which forced the other guidos by the door. They all clustered together as though worried they’d get splashed on. Though they thought it was too weird to be near Avery, they didn’t mind bumping into each other, clasping each other’s sweaty muscles and getting so close together they could taste each other’s bodies. Avery could even see one man’s towel ride up enough on his thigh that his dick protruded and rubbed against his buddy’s hairy orange-tanned thigh — they were all so engrossed in watching Freddie that no one noticed.
“Well, get on ya knees, boi!” Freddie said, pumping his biceps for the benefit of his friends. He even kissed one bicep, which made Avery giggle. Freddie ran his fingers through his greasy black hair. “You’s guys thought I wasn’t gonna do it, you thought I was just playin’!”
“Freddie’s fo’ real!”
“Aw, shit, baby!” one of them shouted, ran forward a few feet and smacked Freddie on the ass — that seemed to be some kind of inside joke — before going back to his compatriots. As he did, his towel fell, baring a splendid orange-brown ass, gleaming with sweat in the overheated sauna. Avery wondered which of that guido’s friends spray-tanned his buttcheeks.
“Get ya naked ass outta here-!”
“Don’t let your dick touch me!”
They shoved him away, and the one who had run away from the group looked behind his back. He didn’t want to pick up the towel that he had dropped because it would mean he had to bend over, ass facing either his friends or Avery and Freddie. Finally he squatted awkwardly, covering his crotch with one hand, picked up the towel and wrapped it around his waist again.
Avery sunk to his knees. He blushed, embarrassed at the leering, laughing guidos who surrounded him. Freddie had a nice big cock. His pubic hair was trimmed, which Avery was not a fan of — he preferred a more natural man — and his chest was shaved as smooth as a billiard ball. But that gym-toned body was perfect enough to make up for any disappointment in his lack of hair.
When he took Freddie’s dick in his mouth, Freddie gasped but tried to cover it up by sternly grunting, so his friends didn’t think this was a big deal for him. He crossed his arms over his pecs and flexed his muscles, making Avery giggle and blush again.
“See? You’s guys is a bunch of pansies, gettin’ all squeamish like girls,” Freddie said with a scoff, as though this had happened a hundred times and Freddie was fed up with their response. “A mouth is a mouth, boi!” He flexed both biceps over Avery’s head.
But Avery could sense the nervous energy in the thrum of Freddie’s muscles and the tension even in his relaxed limbs. It didn’t bother Avery none, as he focused on slurping that rod down deep.
“Damn, Freddie…”
“Get deep in his throat!”
Ruddy arousal bloomed over Freddie’s face and chest, his tanned neck turning burgundy. His tongue lolled around inside his mouth. Sweat covered his body. Freddie tensed up because he was worried he would cum too quickly. He had been raised to think being on top made him tough but cumming too quick would make him weak — a real man should take a little time to fuck his bottom’s throat.
But taking a break or otherwise slowing down directly would look weak too. Freddie’s instinct was to grab Avery’s head and fuck his face aggressively. He didn’t entirely want to to do though, because it would require touching his head and reminding himself he was with a man. In any case, he was sure that would make him cum right away.
“Swallow it, yo…” Freddie paused and added, in poor Italian, “Succhiare il mio cazzo!” He thought a little trash-talk would be a good compromise — it would make him look tough without making him cum more quickly, and that sentence was one of the few Italian things he could say confidently. So he said it again, “Succhiare il mio cazzo!”. He chuckled. Ain’t nobody else here knew what that meant, so Freddie flexed his pecs to make them bounce and sneered down at the weak man slobbering on his knob. Spit dripped down the shaft and soaked his pubic hair. “Aw, shit, you gonna play with it like a tubby bitch, huh? You best-” His voice broke, which he only barely managed to cover up by coughing. A shiver of potent pleasure ran up his spine. Freddie blushed — it wasn’t obvious because he was very tan and he was ruddy anyway from the heat in this humid sauna, but he could feel it, and he grew antsy trying to affect a nonchalant attitude in front of his friends. “You best deep-throat that shit, baby…” He winced as his friends laughed — he hadn’t meant to call Avery baby. That was a step too far, he thought.
“Baby? You two gonna fall in love?”
“Ooooooh! Freddie’s in love!”
“Fuck you, man, you’s guys-” Freddie pumped his hips one time, cutting off his own words because his dick rammed all the way into Avery’s throat and an explosion of pleasure like nothing he had ever experienced wracked his body. It felt so good it hurt.
He had never been deep-throated like this. He couldn’t admit how unprecedented it was because he had been bragging to his friends for years about how he made his girls deep-throat him. He said that they loved it. He specifically said that his balls rested on their chin when he came. That had never been true until now.
His balls slapped against Avery’s chin, and Freddie let out a tortured crying wail as an orgasm erupted within him. Already his friends snickered — that had taken maybe three minutes — and hooted as they slapped his ass.
He grunted, his orgasm so intense it almost hurt, and he gripped Avery’s head tightly, ignoring his short, masculine haircut. He grimaced and sprayed a massive wad down Avery’s throat, filling his belly up with creamy warmth.
The taste was salty and savory, and Avery guzzled down every drop. He loved straight boy cum because it had a vibrant, spring-like quality that made him crave more even as he swallowed Freddie’s load and licked every drop off his limpening shaft.
It just kept on flowing, more and more. Freddie’s eyes opened wide as he watched. His friends peered closer — they’d never really seen someone cum before. Of course they’d watched porn and they’d fucked their girlfriends alongside each other — they even once gangbanged this older lady who had begged for Italian meat — but they had always been distracted by their own desires and the female flesh around them. Not this time. They had no reason to look anywhere else, and like people unable to turn their heads away from an accident, they stared as Freddie’s dick throbbed and pulsating.
Great creamy gobs of cum spilled out and over Avery’s face. He saw all those eyes staring at him, and he thought to make a big mess, letting most of the cum in his mouth overflow. That embarrassed them all.
“Aw, shit-“
“Lookit that nasty!”
“Oh it’s all over his face! It’s all over his face! You the man, Freddie!”
“Ah, shit, yo, damn…” Freddie said. He shook his head and sighed, trying not to reveal how surprised he was by that big load. Avery had really pulled it right out of his balls. Freddie shrugged as though that was how much cum he normally shot. “Damn… Alright, I was, y’know… You can go now, man-” His voice broke and his friends laughed at him. “We done, you, uh… I used you as quick as I could. I wasn’t tryin’ to take a lotta time, so now you gotta go.” Freddie again knew he sounded defensive; he sounded like he was embarrassed about how quick that had been (which he was), but he couldn’t stop himself. “Man, that was what they call a cazzo veloce in the Old Country.”
Avery remained sitting right there. Freddie was so focused on demonstrating to his friends how macho he was and how he had forced Avery to slurp his dick then leave that he didn’t notice that Avery hadn’t left. Avery sat next to Freddie and clutched his muscular body. Freddie was too uncomfortable to make him leave, so he endured it until he and his friends had finally had enough of the sauna.
Then they left Avery there to remember the taste of Freddie’s fine Italian cock. That, Avery thought, had been unici deliziosi!
Lachlan is a rugby jock promised a happy ending in a massage parlor, but he assumed he’d have a woman as a masseuse… Instead he has a twinky American masseur who is willing and ready to give Lachlan a mouth he can ride like an unruly kangaroo! Can Lachlan handle this masseur’s welcoming manhood?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
“Bloody hell, mate, this place is fancy as!”
Lachlan smiled and played along with his teammates, but he was nervous. The entire minor-league rugby league side he joined a few months ago were on a trip to a match together, and Coach Marshall purchased them all a massage… with a “happy ending”. Lachlan knew what that meant. It made him very nervous, but he didn’t dare back out. The team had been acting like “thirsty yobbos” lately, in Coach Marshall’s words, and he thought the happy ending would help settle them down.
He had only ever rooted two sheilas, and one of them barely counted — he shot his load after just two minutes inside her, and that was how he lost his virginity when he (and she) were eighteen years old. He was deeply embarrassed by that premature ejaculation, though lucky his then-girlfriend was also a virgin and didn’t know it was supposed to take longer than that. The other woman he rooted had been his girlfriend for nearly two years, but that was all over now. No one on the team knew how few women he had ever fucked.
But now he was very worried that his lack of experience would show.
What if he didn’t know how to satisfy the masseuse? What if she made fun of him for cumming too soon? He’d look like an idiot if that happened, if even a root rat made fun of his sexual prowess. His teammates would never let him live that down.
Somebody clutched his ass — Ian, one of his teammates — and cackled as he went down the line doing the same to each player. Ian was a larrikin, so that wasn’t surprising. He thought it was funny to put chilli powder in someone’s jockstrap. Which it was. Lachlan was too nervous to find anything funny though. Ian’s fingers gripped Lachlan’s round asscheeks hard, and his finger even dropped beneath Lachlan’s shorts, fingering his sweaty crack.
“Rack off, mate,” Lachlan murmured.
“Who else is hard already?” Ian asked with a big cocky grin across his face. “I could nearly ram Lachlan here if he wasn’t such a hairy bastard.” To prove his point, Ian attempted at Lachlan’s ass, humping his still-clothed cock at Lachlan’s asscrack, which was cradled by powder blue rugby shorts. Ian gripped Lachlan’s waist and moaned out an exaggerated orgasm. Lachlan blushed and yelped, pushing Ian away. He really was hard, Lachlan could feel it, Ian’s cock, pulsating against the meat of Lachlan’s ass.
“Ah shit, mate! Ian’s gonna ram the new guy!”
But Lachlan didn’t complain about it. If Ian knew you were bothered by something, he’d never stop doing it. Second, Ian had the biggest cock on the team and was always waiting for an opportunity to whip it out — he always went nuddy first in the locker room, and he put his clothes on last, searching for any reason to go running through the gym or across the field, uncut cock waving in the wind. Lachlan just wanted to be left alone. He wasn’t embarrassed of his cock, but he didn’t like showing it off either.
“I’m about to bust too,” Lachlan said, forcing a grin on his face as he turned around, faced Ian and humped him back — since they were face to face, their bulging shorts just bumped into each other. Lachlan was still soft, and his jockstrap-cradled cock and balls brushed up against Ian’s rock-hard manhood. The feel of his erect cock made Lachlan shudder with disgust. At least, he thought, they weren’t all gangbanging the same trashy bogan together, which other rugby teams did heaps.
Then a beautiful Asian woman appeared from the back. The whole side jumped back to their seats and st properly, as though the Asian woman was their kindergarten teacher. They exchanged nervous looks, and more than one of them audaciously checked out her ass, which was plump and juicy, or so it looked to Lachlan. He was one of those who checked her out. How could he not? She made his dick tingle.
She must have noticed the rugby jocks all checking out her ass and the bosom stretching the fabric of her top, but she didn’t complain or let on in the slightest. She wrinkled her nose and scrunched her eyes at the team, taking them in one by one. She reviewed a clipboard with some forms on it with Coach Marshall, then she cast her judgmental eyes over the players once again. She blushed when she got to Ian, who must have made some kind of face at her, maybe licked his lips. Ian was like that, as massive flirt, seemingly unable to prevent himself from doing it. It was the only way he knew to interact with women. Everybody on the team knew not to let him be alone with their girlfriends.
After going over the rules of the spa, that Asian woman called for whoever was first. She was joined by a thin, effeminate man whose name-tag read ‘Avery’. But Avery faded to the back of Lachlan’s perception, as he had eyes only for the pretty woman.
After a few moments of silence, the other players erupted in excited whispers and audible horniness. It was Ian who piped up first. “Seniority! I’m goin’ first,” Ian said, running past the others. He shook his ass in Avery’s direction, or maybe in Lachlan’s direction but Avery was in front of him, so that was also Avery’s direction.
Lachlan was both annoyed and relieved. It seemed everyone was okay with going by seniority, which meant Lachlan would be last. He didn’t really want the others to see him going back with a girl — they’d tease him as he went, as they did Ian now (don’t be impotent, Ian! Is your cock soft yet? He likes being pepper-sprayed right at the moment of orgasm, ma’am!). But going last had its own drawbacks: if he was slow to finish, everyone would know because they’d be waiting for him.
Then three more Asian women came out, each one more beautiful than the last. They each left with one of the rugby players, and the waiting room dwindled. Lachlan hoped they would all be that beautiful. Then they continued coming out in small groups, duos or trios mostly, until finally, only Lachlan was left there in the lobby.
He felt very alone and cold. Even Coach Marshall had gone, either back to the parking lot or maybe he had gone in for a massage and happy ending of his own. Lachlan’s dick had never felt smaller. He knew it was only because he was the newest member of the team, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of personal rejection over being last to be chosen.
“Come along, sir, are you ready for your massage?” That man, Avery, appeared in the waiting room. He smiled at Lachlan, who nodded and hurried after him.
“Uh, yeah…” Lachlan followed the man into the back. His mind raced, concluding that he was being brought to the masseuse. Maybe she didn’t like to leave her massage room, he thought. Once he got into the corridor, he heard his teammates talking trash to each other through the walls.
“Aw, shit yeah!”
“Damn, I bloody love Asian girls!”
“You’re such a dag, mate!”
Lachlan could hear moist sucking sounds in the rooms he passed. They were all women though, he could tell from the feminine sounds they made. He was sure of it. He was positive there’d be a woman waiting in the room the man showed him to.
But there wasn’t. There was just a massage table and a counter covered with fragrant oils, near a bouquet of flowers. A CD player in one corner played New Age music with an Asian flair to it. The man, Avery, nodded at Lachlan, and gestured for him to get on the table on his back.
Lachlan slowly stripped off his shirt, revealing his powerful rugby-toned chest. His pecs rippled nervously and his nipples turned hard as though it was cold in here, even though it was actually humid and warm. He smiled nervously at Avery. “My name is Lachlan,” he said. “Where’s the masseuse?”
“Hello, Lachlan. I’m Avery,” he said. He bowed again. “I’m going to give you your massage today.” He had a very thick American accent.
“Oh. I, uh… I thought it’d be a girl,” Lachlan said. He took off his shoes, but hesitated before dropping his pants.
Before anything else could happen, however, Avery undid Lachlan’s belt in one smooth motion. He pulled down Lachlan’s underpants and again motioned for him to lay on his belly on the table. He moved in a clinical manner, no sexuality here, Lachlan thought, like he was a doctor or a scientist rather than a masseur.
“No girl. Sorry, it’s just me. We ran out of female masseuses today,” Avery said. “I know your Coach paid for a happy ending. It’s okay. Don’t be worried..”
Lachlan was unsure what that meant. Maybe he was just going to give a massage, and then a girl would come over for the happy ending part. That was a reassuring thought. He got up on the massage table and laid on his belly. His bare asscheeks jiggled when he moved.
“Oh yeah, she’s beggin’ for my meat, mates, you wouldn’t even believe it. She bein’ quiet as, because she’s Japanese, but she’s beggin’ me for it!”
“My one loves my dick!”
When the massage began, Lachlan moaned in surprised pleasure and pain. A part of him did feel good, but he didn’t like a bloke touching him so intimately, and it made him uncomfortable. The pain, however, came from the extreme pressure Avery exerted. He massaged as though trying to rub the shoulders right off Lachlan’s back.
Lachlan straightened and stiffened, and he considered calling it off. But the moaning coming from the other rooms made him reconsider. His teammates all had girls, and judging from the sounds they made, they were having a good time. He didn’t want to be left out, and he was now even more confident that Avery was here for the massage while a girl would be coming for the end — Avery acted like a serious masseur. Lachlan would rather have just skipped the massage, but he could live with it so long as a girl came in for the happy ending.
Relaxation flooded his body. Lachlan felt so tense he would never have thought he could relax with a bloke rubbing his back, his hands now just inches from Lachlan’s plump, rugby-player ass. But Avery was actually a very good masseur, and the stress melted away from Lachlan’s back.
“Aah, damn, this girl is swallowing the whole thing, mate!”
“My sheila’s loose as, mate!”
“Roll over,” Avery said. His voice was soft, but he spoke with confidence and authority, so Lachlan could hear it over the hooting catcalls of his teammates.
Lachlan did as he was told. If he hadn’t been suddenly flooded with endorphins, he would have said no. He would have told Avery he’d wait for a girl to come in the room, and he’d roll over for her.
Avery did not put a towel over his crotch, as Lachlan had thought he might. He just began kneading the meat of Lachlan’s pecs and shoulders. Lachlan’s bare dick wiggled when Avery manipulated his flesh. Again, he used so much pressure it was painful, and Lachlan grunted.
“This Asian skank is horny as, mate! You fuckers manage to get hard yet?”
Lachlan blushed as he realised his dick was twitching into full erection, either from his anxiety or from his awareness of the beautiful Japanese girls being fucked all around him, even if he couldn’t actually see any. His hands flailed uselessly above his body. Avery frowned.
“You’re doing okay. Your happy ending is coming soon. You are a football player, right? American football?” Avery said. He didn’t mention Lachlan’s burgeoning hardon.
“Uh, no, rugby. This is Australia, mate. We don’t play American football-“
“I met a quarterback one time. Carolina Panthers-“
“Yeah, that’s a different sport, mate,” Lachlan said, but his voice was weak and strained (he was annoyed that Avery mixed up rugby and American football though — he hated when Americans did that). Avery’s hand was so low on his belly he touched Lachlan’s pubic hair, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“He was very nice. You’re a quarterback? Or the rugby equivalent?”
“Uh… yeah, I’m a quarterback, or something like that…” Lachlan said. He didn’t want to confuse the two sports — it angered him when people did that — but he couldn’t think of anything else to say with his mind focused like a laser on his hard dick just centimeters from Avery’s fingers.
That was when Avery grabbed Lachlan’s manhood with one hand. He held it firmly and stroked it, his rhythm low and slow, his slanted eyes looking at Lachlan like a piece of meat. Lachlan moaned and bucked his body, practically “fucking” Avery’s hand.
“You are going to the Super Bowl?” Avery smirked — he liked pretending to be more ignorant than he really was. It kept Lachlan focused.
“Uh… No, mate that’s a different sport, a different country. Do you know what country you’re in?” Lachlan snapped. His eyes were trained directly on his cock, which throbbed in Avery’s hand. He was surprised he didn’t lose his erection. He certainly didn’t feel sexy.
“Relax… You’re getting a happy ending,” Avery said. He gently pushed on Lachlan’s chest, trying to get him to lay flat on his back. “Quarterbacks are always handsome. They get all the girls, right?”
“Yeah, mate.”
“Oh yeah, this slut knows exactly what she’s doing!!!”
That sounded like Ian. He was always so loud, it annoyed Lachlan, who wondered if the Asian girls were insulted by his teammates shouting out insults like slut. Avery didn’t have any reaction to the sounds from the other rooms, which include some barely audible girlish moaning behind the macho laughter and braying trash-talk.
“Hey Lachlan, how’s yours? You aren’t makin’ a lotta noise, mate? Somethin’ wrong with yah dick? Limp as, huh?”
“Uh, it’s great, she’s, uh… really something!” Lachlan called out. He blushed. That did not sound like something a rugby player would say when having sex with a prostitute. Maybe the others didn’t notice though.
Then Avery bent over and put Lachlan’s dick in his mouth. Lachlan threw his head back, hands hovering above Avery’s head — he had an instinctual urge to hold onto Avery as he licked and slurped on Lachlan’s cock, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch a bloke. So he kept his arms elevated nearby, like any minute now he would push Avery away and start jacking himself off instead.
But he had to admit this felt amazing. It felt more better than the blowjobs his ex had ever given (that was the only person who had ever given him a blowjob, so Lachlan had no idea if she was better or worse than average). Avery’s tongue moved all up and down his shaft, and Lachlan moaned out of genuine excitement. His dick throbbed in Avery’s mouth.
“Yeah, now I hear it, Lachlan, ya got it!”
“We’re all proud of you, mate!”
Lachlan bucked his hips again, slamming his dick down Avery’s throat. He was surprised again to see Avery swallow every inch of Lachlan’s manhood. Apparently, Lachlan realised, this masseur could deep-throat like a porn star. His ex had never gotten more than the first few inches of cockmeat in his mouth.
That sent waves of pleasure up Lachlan’s body. His muscles all writhed and contorted at once, while Lachlan began breathing shallowly, nearly hyperventilating. His face turned a bright red.
Then at last Avery pulled up and off his dick. Lachlan gasped as his dick spasmed in the suddenly cold air. He writhed on the massage table.
“You need some ass, right? Your coach didn’t pay for it, but I know quarterbacks need it. You won’t play right if you don’t drain your balls,” Avery said.
“Um…” Lachlan lifted his head up, eyes opening wide. “Not, a uh… quarterback…”
Before Lachlan knew what was happening, Avery crawled up on the table, spreading his legs. He had taken off his pants at some point, and Lachlan saw his bare white ass.
“Oh, uh…” Lachlan realised that Avery was about to sit on his cock, and he knew he could stop it — all he had to do was slide right off the massage table. But a part of him didn’t want it to stop, not at all, even if his mind told him he should. His full-to-bursting balls were in control now.
“Your coach bought this happy ending, right? You still want it?”
“Uh, yeah…” Lachlan said, his voice sounded weak even to himself. His hands were now above his head so he didn’t even come close to accidentally touching Avery, whose whole body flexed and contorted as he got into position above Lachlan’s crotch.
Then Lachlan gasped again, and he moaned out loud as his dick slid into Avery’s ass. Avery’s cheeks were tight and toned, just like his body, without a single ounce of fat. They were like slightly chilled bowling balls, moving down his cockshaft.
He was astonished that he was doing this, and that he was enjoying it. It was disconcerting and strange but Lachlan wouldn’t have given it up for anything, not now in this moment. Intense pleasure wracked his body, and Lachlan gritted his teeth.
“Oh yeah, who finished first, motherfuckers?!” That was Ian, of course. Why would he brag about that? It’d be better if he could go slower, Lachlan thought, and in any case, Ian started first, so it wasn’t surprising that he finished first. Not hardly anything to brag about, but the rest of the team cheered and clapped as though having sex with a prostitute was as impressive as killing a monster.
“Go for it, Ian, fuck that bitch full!”
Waves of potent sensations shot through his body, and Lachlan found himself grabbing ahold of Avery’s hips regardless of his discomfort with this situation. He felt thin, fine hairs on Avery’s upper thigh, which made reminded Lachlan he was with a bloke, but even then, he couldn’t stop himself from keeping a tight grip on Avery.
Avery moved expertly, swaying his hips up and down, the entire length of Lachlan’s manhood. He faced away from Lachlan, which spared Lachlan the sight of Avery flogging his own cock. That definitely made it easier for Lachlan, though it was obvious that was what Avery was doing. He could see the corded muscles of the bloke’s back writhing as he stroked himself off.
When he felt his orgasm coming, Lachlan blushed. He could hear a moist grunting noise emanating from his throat, but it sounded like somebody else was making those sounds. It felt even weirder a few seconds later, when at least two, maybe a half-dozen or more, of Lachlan’s team came all at once. They moaned and grunted loudly, the sound resonating in the massage parlor’s corridor. It made the hair on the back of Lachlan’s neck stand up.
There was clapping, cheering, oohing and aahing. “Swallow it down, lady, no spilling!” It sounded like they were not being perfect gentlemen — Coach Marshall made them all promise to behave like gentlemen, but no one was doing so, except maybe for Lachlan, who was too nervous to be rude.
His back arched, and he threw his head back again as his orgasm overwhelmed him. He grunted and spasmed. He slammed his dick all the way up Avery’s ass.
Then wad after of creamy-hot cum sprayed within Avery’s gut. Lachlan’s muscles rippled and flexed all together, while spasms of bliss ricocheted up his spine. He clutched at Avery’s back.
“Aw, fuck…” Lachlan’s voice was breathless and hoarse.
With his fingers resting on Avery’s back, Lachlan could feel very clearly when Avery shot his own load. The smell of semen filled the tiny massage room. The muscles in Avery’s back rippled and writhed as an orgasm overtook him as well. Avery shot his wad into the palm of his other hand.
At last they were both done. Lachlan laid back limp and spent, too tired now to be self-conscious about what he had done and who he’d done it to. He wasn’t sure what to do next — his dick limpened inside Avery, who showed no sign of getting off him.
“You feel good now, right?”
“Uh, yeah…”
“You can say to your friends that I was a girl. That’s okay. You’re last so they won’t see,” he said.
“Oh. Okay.”
“You make a good quarterback, I think. You have a nice cock,” Avery said. “And big balls. Football players must have big balls.” Avery suppressed a giggle — he knew perfectly well Lachlan was annoyed by the references to quarterbacks, but Avery thought he was cute when he was annoyed.
“Yeah, football,” Lachlan said. “I’m a good quarterback…” His mind was too focused on his dick in Avery’s tight ass to think about anything else to say.
Finally, just when he thought he couldn’t cope with it any longer, Lachlan breathed a sigh of relief when Avery pulled off him. He still moved in a cold, clinical manner, as though this was simply the last stage in a proper massage. He wiped his ass with a tissue.
Lachlan sat up, then hurriedly put his clothes back on. He felt better when he wasn’t naked anymore.
“Well, thanks, Avery,” he said. He blushed.
“You’re welcome. Tip is ten percent. Standard,” he said. “Eight dollars Australian.”
He certainly knows what country he’s in now, Lachlan thought to himself. “Coach Marshall already paid-“
“Tip is ten percent,” Avery said. “That’s not part of the coach price.”
“Oh, uh… okay,” Lachlan said. He stuffed a few dollars in Avery’s hand and hurried out the door. He didn’t really want to tip him, but he didn’t know what Avery would do if he didn’t — he probably would stop showing discretion about this, at the very least, Lachlan thought, and he might even tell the team what had really happened.
He gingerly poked his head out the door. Nobody was in the corridor, so he hurried out, not even Avery. He felt tremendous relief at the realisation that now he was indistinguishable from his teammates. Even if they knew one person had been with a male masseur, there was no way of knowing who was in which room.
“How was that pussy, mate? Tight as?” Ian asked as Lachlan emerged from the shadowy hallway. Everyone looked at him, and for a moment, he thought they might all know. Maybe this was a big prank, and they were going to tease him forever for not turning Avery down.
“Uh, yeah. Tight as,” Lachlan said softly. His spirit brightened when his teammates burst into cheers. They didn’t know, he thought with a deep sigh of relief.
“She give up anal?”
Lachlan smiled. “Yeah. I got anal.”
“Good on ya, mate!” Ian said as they both headed into the waiting room to meet up with the others. There they shared stories of the prostitutes they had just messed with, or so they claimed to each other.
Avery watched them file out the door into the sunny Australian summer, not a single one of those rugby jocks aware that none of them had done anything with a woman beyond shake her hand. They they had all cornholed a man. The women here were just a show but a useful one for sure. Basking in his satisfied glow, Avery smiled and cleaned his massage room.
A footy team would be coming in soon. Their coach had set up an appointment and said they all needed to get a happy ending, or else they’d keep hooting at waitreses. That was a problem Avery was eager to help with.
When Avery sees the legendary heavyweight boxer Wallace Stamper in the gym, he takes a chance and makes him an offer — he’ll pay for his gym membership in exchange for a swing on his fat alpha male meat. Can Wallace perform for Avery despite his cornerman trying to stop it?!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
“C’mon, Wallace, you don’t need this place.”
They turned around and headed back into the locker room. Avery watched from within the locker room, then he headed away from the door so it wasn’t obvious he was eavesdropping.
He resumed mopping the locker room floor — it was his job at the Cornerside Gym, after all. He didn’t look in the direction of the man he was here to find: Wallace
It was always hard to force yourself to “look casual”, but that was what Avery did. He affected a complacent pose, idly sliding the mop about as though he had been at this for hours and had no chance of finishing soon.
A few ropy-muscled black men showered a few feet away, but Avery wasn’t interested in them, and they totally ignored him. A hunky Puerto Rican with a fledgling mustache changed into workout gear on one of the benches. Avery would have loved to jerk him off, but that wasn’t why he had come here.
He had come here to meet Wallace Stamper, the greatest heavyweight boxer in the world. Avery didn’t actually follow the sport, but he was very good and very famous.
And he had a body to die for.
And, it seemed, Wallace couldn’t afford to pay for his gym. His trainer, friend and cornerman followed him into the locker room. That was a handsome Italian man named Valdemaro. He was arousing too, in his way. Like the Puerto Rican, Avery might have jerked him off gladly if there weren’t a grade-A specimen of manhood right next to him. At the moment, though, Avery had eyes only for Wallace Stamper
“Fuck that asshole,” Wallace said with a hostile growl. He shadowboxed the air in the sauna.
“Relax, Wallace, it’s okay,” Valdemaro said. “We’ll work this out. You don’t need a gym to train anyway. We’ll go home and you can punch that mattress. You run home, okay? You run home, I’ll take the bus and meet you there.”
“Shut up, Valdemaro.” Wallace punctuated each word with a punch in the air.
“Come on, don’t be depressed. You’re gonna win on Saturday, I can feel it. With that purse, you’ll be able to pay for the gym membership for years to come,” Valdemaro said. He had a charming grin, but it didn’t look like Wallace was buying his optimism.
Avery pushed between them. He stood in front of Wallace and smiled. He made sure to seem as feminine as possible. “Hi,” he said with an impish smile. “I’m Avery.”
“Nice to meetcha, Avery,” Wallace said. His grumpy face frowned. He was big and thick-chested, with a deep barrel voice like a dragon, and he made Avery shiver in place. Wallace picked up on that. He sneered and sighed, flexing his pecs. “Whatchoo want, man?”
“Uh… I saw your match a little while ago. You’re so good,” Avery said. “You’re a legend.”
“Thank you, sir,” Valdemaro said, touching Avery on the shoulder to get his attention. He tried to hurry him along, to get him away from Wallace.
But Avery just shrugged him off. He smiled flirtatiously at Wallace. “I bet girls throw themselves at you.”
Wallace beamed. “Yeah, kinda. Some. Lotta girls don’t like big guys,” he said. He demonstrated his size by pumping one bicep. He licked his lips and chuckled when Avery grabbed it with both hands and kissed it. Avery licked Wallace’s bicep from his elbow all the way to his shoulder, then he flickered his tongue into Wallace’s sweat-moist armpit.
“Oh, hey, no way, sorry,” Valdemaro said. He pulled Avery away.
Wallace growled. “Shut the fuck up, Valdemaro.” He looked Avery right in the eye, not breaking his gaze. He was such a huge, hulking brute that Avery shivered in fear. His arms were like a stack of pumpkins, his legs thicker than Avery’s whole body, and his ass was thick and juicy like a pair of chicken pot pies. When he moved, his buttcheeks jiggled and his massive pecs shifted up and down with each step.
Despite his trepidation, Avery did not think he was in danger. Wallace looked at him like a hungry man looks at a meal, while Valdemaro continued shooing Avery away. Avery could tell Wallace wanted to bust a nut, but not where anyone could see it, including Valdemaro.
Wallace glanced around. The Puerto Rican was finishing his shower, his long, uncut cock gleaming in the moisture and steamy air. The other men had finished and were walking out the door.
“Wallace, we should go,” Valdemaro said. He kissed the crucifix around his neck. He glared at Avery, then wrapped one arm around Wallace’s wide body, hugging him close and gently pushing him towards the door.
“I said shut the fuck up, Valdemaro. You ain’t in charge of mah dick,” Wallace said. He grabbed his cock through his satin boxing shorts.
“I, uh, I’m in charge of your training, Wallace. That includes your moral development,” Valdemaro said. “I know you know the Bible. Jesus wouldn’t want you doin’ nothin’ you can’t tell ya mama ’bout.”
“Shut the fuck up, Valdemaro. God forgives, don’t he? Even the Cath-olics believe that, right? Confession and shit.”
“That’s not… You have to have real regret in your heart,” Valdemaro said. “Wallace-“
“I’ll pay,” Avery said. He pulled out the three hundred dollars in his pocket. “Is this enough to cover the gym membership?”
Judging from the look on both men’s faces, it was more than enough. Valdemaro snatched it. His Christian morals seemed to have vanished into thin air. He smiled and whistled a jaunty tune. “Okay. You two have fun. I’ll go pay at the front desk.”
He walked away. Wallace grinned at Avery. He glanced at the Puerto Rican, who was oblivious, then he looked at a door on one outer wall of the locker room. He stood up and walked towards it. From the way he walked, it was apparent his cock was already hard. Those giant asscheeks jiggled up and down with each step he took.
“C’mon, girlboy, the sauna’s in here,” Wallace said. He opened the door, and steam billowed out. His hefty body shifted as he slipped in. Avery followed. The heat and humidity hit Avery like a punch to the face.
Wallace had stopped right there by the door, so Avery’s face planted into his mountainous back. His muscles rippled and sweat dripped onto Avery’s lips. He sucked it all up, while Wallace quickly dropped his shorts and stepped out of them. His ass was framed by elastic straps.
He had on those old-fashioned white jockstraps, the strappy, unglamorous kind, dingy and worn with age. Avery moaned at the sight — he hadn’t been expecting that, but now that he saw it, he wanted to suck on it. He pulled it off Wallace’s body and put the whole thing in his mouth. The taste of old funky sweat, soaked in and wildly fragrant, flooded his senses. The jockstrap was so wet it tasted soggy, gritty with salt crystals that remained on the fabric, and the stink of Wallace’s heavy ballsac made Avery’s eyes water, not that that slowed him down at all.
“Oh, damn, you get nasty,” Wallace said. He shook his head and laughed, clutching his belly as though he needed to hold it in and it took all of his muscles to do so.
The jockstrap was sour and salty, and Avery drooled over it. While he loved the taste and the grimy feel of it in his mouth too, the hottest part was Wallace’s reaction, his big squarish face showing equal parts disgust and delight, like he was disgusted that Avery would do such a thing but delighted that his own body fluids would bring someone such joy.
Eventually though, the jockstrap just tasted like spit, and Avery dropped it to the floor. He tweaked each of Wallace’s nipples, making his pecs bounce and Avery’s heart skip a beat. Wallace still had a bemused smile on his face, and he didn’t react to Avery’s fingers on his nipples.
Since he didn’t complain, Avery shifting from tweaking his nipples to sucking on them, while his hands massaged the firmness of Wallace’s torso. His muscles flexed.
“A’ight, prettyboy, you got’cha taste,” Wallace said. “You gonna get me off or what?”
“I definitely am!” Avery said and sunk to his knees, while Wallace plopped his heavy ass down on one of the wooden benches in the sauna. He leaned back and spread his legs. He was so big he took up at least a quarter of the entire sauna, arms outstretched. His balls hung down, cock dangling. He leaned his head back and sighed.
His dick was half-hard already. Avery sensed that he was extremely horny — maybe that cornerman Valderamo prevented him from fucking any women, to keep his testosterone high for fights. His dick jumped right out of his hand when Avery touched it. Wallace gasped and bit his lip. Avery stroked it. It was moist with sweat and condensation from the air, and it twitched as soon as Avery’s fingers danced over his shaft.
“You got nice hands, boy,” Wallace said. “Nice and soft. I like the way yo’ fingers feel.” He didn’t open his eyes. He groaned, chest rumbling, tongue lolling around within his mouth.
“You got a nice cock,” Avery said, whispering like a shy girl.
That made Wallace chuckle and moan. He gently guided Avery’s head down to Wallace’s dick. Avery opened up and swallowed it in one smooth motion, lowering his head until his nose squashed into Wallace’s hairy crotch.
“Goddamn,” Wallace said. “Lordie, fuckin’s hell, fuck…” He gasped and raised his brow. His dick swelled in Avery’s mouth, moisture coating Avery’s tongue with his unwashed flavor. Wallace moaned like he was scratching an itch he’d been waiting to scratch for a long time. His whole body shook, his limbs all flexing and rippling in turn.
Avery’s hands explored Wallace’s broad chest, tweaking his nipples and playing with the network of kinky fur that covered his pecs. He was very hairy for a black man, with coarse hairs coating his pecs and running in a treasure trail down his belly. Wallace’s muscles twitched beneath his touch.
“Hey, you know Roger?” Wallace asked suddenly. He pulled Avery off his cock.
“Who? No. I ain’t from around here,” Avery said. His tongue flickered as he tried to go back to sucking, but Wallace held his head in place, just near enough that he could taste that cock but not actually resume sucking on it.
“Oh he ain’t from around here neither. He from Nashville. But he a… he a sensitive type, like you, with soft fingers like yo’s. He do slurp a nigga nut up.”
“We don’t all know each other.”
Wallace shrugged. “Okay. You handle mah dick better than him, that’s all. And you pay, I like that,” he said. “He just do it fo’s fun.”
Avery furrowed his brow at that. He assumed he needed to pay, but it seemed Wallace would do this for free if he asked nice enough. licked his dickshaft, his tongue tracing the veins that run all the way up from root to tip. Avery could tell that Wallace liked that because his cock spasmed, precum leaking out.
The salty flavor of semen filled Avery’s senses. Wallace continued to talk, telling some story about how Roger jerks him off whenever he’s in Nashville for a fight — Wallace said he never let Valdemaro know about it because Valdemaro was Catholic and snooty and he don’t approve of jacking off, whether alone or with another man. Valdemaro thought a man should save his seed for the marital bed.
“I ain’t nevuh think he was gonna ‘pprove of me dippin into yo’s ass,” Wallace said with a snorting laugh. “Guess he don’t care ’bout none of that if you got the green. Shoulda been tellin’s him all along that Roger be payin’. I thought payin’ fo’ it makes it worse, right? But Roger don’t give a shit. I don’t get Catholics.”
Avery gurgled as he happily sucked. He giggled. Wallace kept talking as though he was having a real conversation, though Avery didn’t respond at all.
“You evuh been to a Catholic mass? Valdemaro took me once. It was weird. I ain’t like it,” Wallace said. “Confession is fuckin’ strange. I ain’t tellin’ some pervuht priest ’bout my sins and shit. That’s between me and God, ya dig?” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes again. “Yo, man, can you suck on my balls a bit? You do that? Winchell Green did that. You know him?”
“I don’t know him,” Avery said, rolling his eyes. He dropped his head between Wallace’s legs and slurped on both of his balls at once. Wallace had heavy, pendulous balls and a hairy sac, which Avery loved. It was slick with sweat and precum, so moist that Avery could slurp the juices off as Wallace groaned.
“Yeah, I ain’t think you would. He in prison. Still there, ‘far as I know,” Wallace said. “He was my cellmate. He licked balls fo’ hours. Some nights he jerk my dick till I nut, then he lick my balls while I play cards or somethin’, then I get hard and he swallow up my dick again.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said around the balls throbbing in his throat.
“You evuh been in prison, whiteboy? That where you learn this shit?”
“No,” Avery said. He went back to licking Wallace’s cockshaft, working his kisses up and down the veiny underside of his meat.
“Well, you be queen in there, I swear to God. If you was my cellmate, I’d tell you I love you, and I wouldn’t nevuh pimp you out, no way. Not unless you want it,” Wallace said with a chortling laugh. “You give up the ass, right?”
“Yes,” Avery said. His voice was muffled and moistened by the ballsac he kept furiously slurping on, while both hands stroked Wallace’s fat cock. It spasmed in his fingers.
“Then yeah, you be my prison queen,” Wallace said. “Fuckin’ hell. Why don’t girls evuh like suckin’ balls, huh? I ask this girl one time and she say ‘nah’, she say don’t no one suck balls. She say no way, no how, no time, not evuh. Fuckin’sbitch.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said. He was too aroused to really pay attention to Wallace, who smacked Avery’s asscheeks. He whistled at the sight of their jiggling.
“Hmm-hmm! Hell yeah! Fuckin’ hell. You like big homeboys, right? Huh? I know this homeboy in the Tennessee State Pen’tent’ary. You wanna be his bitch? Shit, you could retire there,” Wallace said with a laugh. “You just gotta commit a state crime, ya dig? You into that?”
“No thanks,” Avery said. He rubbed Wallace’s dick over his face. He kept flickering his tongue out to tease him. Wallace smiled — he liked dragging this out as much as he could. He bent over and stuck his ass in the air. “It doesn’t matter. Just cornhole me, stick it in me, all the way in, as hard as you can….”
“Hell yeah! I will wreck you, whiteboy. You said as hard as I can, you said that and I’s gonna hold you to it, boy!” Wallace cackled and clapped his hands, then he checked the sauna door to be sure no one was coming. His fat cock stuck out from his crotch like an antenna, and then he got behind Avery. His rod stabbed Avery in the small of his back. Wallace had to bend his knees to get his cock low enough to line up with Avery’s asshole, and he wrapped both arms around Avery’s body. “You ready, whiteboy? It’s goin’ in…”
Avery gasped and jerked his head as Wallace’s cock slid into him. Pain exploded in his ass. It lasted only a second though. Wallace spat on his palm and wiped the lube off on his dick, which combined with the slickness of the steam that filled the sauna to make his dick slip right in.
Pressure erupted in his ass, followed by a twinge of pleasure that grew stronger with every passing second. It hurt too, but the pain was overshadowed by the positive sensations wracking his body. Avery slid all the way down. He rarely took such a huge dick that quickly, but Wallace pulled him by the shoulders down. Avery squealed and slipped, losing his balance so his hands and feet were both in the air. Wallace’s powerful body gripped him however, and held him in position atop Wallace’s cock. Neither man moved for a moment.
“So… this do hurt, right? Roger say he like it, but it do hurt. Winchell say it hurt and he don’t like it,” Wallace said. “You look like it hurt.”
Avery bit his lip. The pain was there, he couldn’t deny that, but his prostate was alive too, sending wave after wave of pleasure up Avery’s spine. It was difficult to concentrate enough to say anything at all.
“Yeah. It hurt. But, uh… I like it,” Avery said with grave difficulty. “It feels good too.”
“Why?”
“Uh… Sorry, can you just cornhole me? I can’t really talk right now,” Avery said, his voice clipped and desperate. He breathlessly gasped and flailed at the air in front of his face.
Wallace cackled. “Alright, sorry, man,” he said. “Let’s do this!” He wrapped both of his arms over Avery’s body, holding him tight and close to Wallace’s barrel chest. Then Wallace began to slam his hips up, virtually punching Avery in the ass with his massive cock. Avery let out a yelp that turned into a long, slow moan.
Much to Avery’s surprise, Wallace forced his head to the side. That put Avery’s face atop Wallace’s strapping chest. Wallace bent his head down and kissed Avery right on the lips. His tongue plunged in, and Wallace groaned right into Avery’s mouth. Wallace seemed to have no compunctions about kissing Avery as he slammed him up and down on his cock. He allowed Avery to suck on his upper lip and even lick his face when their fucking became too frenzied to coordinate a kiss. Wallace’s stony face trembled as Avery kissed his cheek and sucked on his grizzled neck.
“Hey! Wallace! You in there!”
“Yeah, Valdemaro! Leave me alone!” Wallace grunted and growled into Avery’s ear.
“Okay. You alright?”
“Yes! Fuck off, Valdemaro!”
There was a long pause. Avery held his breath, barely able to control himself — he wanted to scream and shout the orgasm welling up within him was so tense. But he wasn’t sure how Valdemaro would take it. He bucked his hips back, making Wallace gasp again.
“Are uh… you okay? Uh… other guy? The, uh… white one. You alright?”
Avery heard him and tried to respond, but all that came out was a choked strangle. The door to the sauna opened. Through the steam, Avery saw Valdemaro’s face poke in, but he remained facing away like he couldn’t bear to watch.
“Huh? You ain’t hit him, did you Wallace?” he asked.
“He fine, Valdemaro. Get the fuck out.”
“Yeah. Okay. I am. Okay,” Avery said, the climax boiling so intensely he could barely grunt. He bit his lip and groaned. A wave of bliss flowed through his veins, and Avery’s knees went weak. Wallace supported him in his powerful arms, which were firm with muscle and slick with sweat.
Valdemaro slammed the door shut with an audible sigh. He laughed nervously on the other side of the door, while Wallace kissed Avery some more. He groaned, his tongue lolling over Avery’s face when Wallace become too impassioned to kiss. His balls crawled up in his sac.
“You know you can’t kiss him, right, Wallace? “
“I know, Valdemaro, shut the fuck up! I won’t kiss him! Just go away, Valdemaro!” Wallace bellowed. He pounded on the bench beneath him with one massive fist. Then he kissed Avery again on the lips.
“Okay, sorry. Just… don’t, uh… We’re going to church as soon as we’re done here, Wallace.”
“Fine! Fuck off!” He paused and roared. “I know you still there, Valdemaro, fuck off! I won’t be able to nut wit’ you hecklin’ me from out there.”
“Okay, okay, sorry, I’ll go reserve the punching bag.” He paused. “I’m coming back in five minutes. That’s enough time, plenty enough time to finish up. I’ll dump cold water on you if I have to, Wallace. You need to focus on your training.”
“Valdemaro, if you don’t fuck off right now, I’m going to ram you next. Swear to god, I will shove yo’ mama’s lasagna up yo’ butthole,” Wallace said. “I will take as long as I want to.” Wallace growled into Avery’s ear. “I wouldn’t waste his mama’s lasagna, that shit’s goo-ooood!” He laughed and clapped. “I would take longer than five minutes just to piss him off. If he dump cold water on me, I swear to God I will hold him down so you can ram him. But there ain’t no way I can wait five minutes. You got ass like none other, I swear to God. I will fill you up wit’ my battuh, you gonna be drownin’ in it. You want that? Huh?”
“Yes, please…” Avery moaned. His cock spasmed in his own hand as an orgasm ripped through him. He tightened up and clenched, which was enough to send Wallace over the edge as well.
“Hell yeah, bitch, hell yeah, hell yeah, hell yeah,” Wallace moaned so loud it echoed in the sauna. His muscles all flexed where Avery rested against his back.
Cum sprayed over Avery’s belly at the same time it filled up his ass. Wallace’s hot breath condensed on Avery’s ear, his cum spraying over Avery’s prostate, which accentuated Avery’s own orgasm. Both men roared — Wallace a deep, booming baritone, while Avery lilted out a feminine growl. Waves of pleasure hit Avery hard, and he writhed in Wallace’s powerful arms. Wallace was less expressive, but Avery could feel and hear the burgeoning moan of desire in his chest, which pressed into Avery’s smooth back.
At last Avery was done. A big stinking puddle of cum rested on his thin belly, while Wallace’s meaty body pulsated beneath him. Wad after wad of cum filled Avery up, as though Wallace was piping it in from somewhere.
“Ah, damn, alright, alright, alright,” Wallace said with a chuckle. “You done there. You can get off me.”
Avery haltingly crawled off. Each movement he made sent a wave of both mind-blowing agony and body-melting arousal through his mind. He gasped and struggled to move. He slipped over and over because Wallace’s body was drenched in sweat, and the humid sauna air made everything slick.
Finally Avery crumpled to the ground. He crawled back up onto the bench, where he wrapped his arms over Wallace’s chest. Wallace bristled when he felt Avery’s limp cock press against his thigh, but he didn’t make him stop.
Wallace snorted and sniffled, like he was signaling that he had allowed Avery to cuddle for the maximum amount of time he would accept. He was too polite to tell Avery to let go, but Avery got the message.
Avery grabbed his clothes and hurriedly got dressed. Wallace was much slower. He grabbed his shorts and headed for the door, still naked, his cock not even fully limp yet — it still dripped with his own cum and remnants of Avery’s assjuice.
He opened the door, and there was Valdemaro’s serious-looking gaze.
Then a bucket-load of cold water landed on Wallace’s face, and a few drops hit Avery’s legs — the water was ice-cold. Wallace screamed in shock. Valdemaro said something about God.
Avery slid out of there before a fight developed. It looked like either Valdemaro or Wallace, or both, were about to throw a punch. Avery was done with them both.
But before leaving the gym, he wondered if that Puerto Rican boxer was still around…
Rob loves raunchy men, so when he goes to the docks, it’s time to worship the sweat-soaked filth of a Greek sailor’s unwashed armpits! Can Rob handle the raunch?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
“Swallow your cum. Swallow your cum.” Rob stood dockside as men streamed off the S.S. Admiral Smikovsk. They were a diverse group of men: Jamaicans, Brazilians, Greeks, Filipinos, Nigerians, Nicaraguans, probably more, but Rob most expected those nationalities based on his inspection of the ship’s manifest. They were deliciously filthy, with blackish smudges of soot and coal on their skin, unwashed beards from weeks at sea, most of them with half-hardons from the moment they walked off the ship.
The reason most of them had hardons was the same reason Rob found it difficult to get the men he wanted — they were macho, and there were women galore.
“Swallow your cum. Swallow your cum. Swallow your cum. Eat your ass.” Rob made eye contact with as many of them as he could. They mostly winced and looked away.
“Hey. Hey, whatcha doin’?” said a stout man with a colorful hat and a dour disposition. Rob didn’t need to be an expert to identify him as a pimp. The pimp scowled at him. “You bein’ a distraction, boy.” He sucked on his teeth. His New Jersey stawk was thick and cloying, like he spoke through a layer of engine oil. “My girls is busy, y’know, ya feel me, boy? They lookin’ for a man. That’s all. They need a date for tonight, and maybe tomorrow night too. Ya feel me, boy? I bet you do.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob said. “Nobody’s taken me up on it, so I don’t think I’ve stolen any of your clients-“
“What’d I just fuckin’ say? Huh? Did I say you was distracting they clients? That ain’t even… They don’t see clients, okay, they are serious ladies, doing serious things… with their boyfriends, understand me? They’s out here looking for boyfriends, and sometimes, they just might find one. Ain’t nothin’ improper goin’ on here. What I accused you of, however, that’s improper — I said you was bein’ distracting. Girls is distracted real easy. It’s them tits, it keeps ’em from gettin’ focused. That’s why men with big chests is dumbasses too, and that’s a fact. I know you ain’t gonna steal none of my girls’s boyfriend. That’s on account of these men don’t cotton to perverts, and my girls know how to satisfy a man. Ya understand me?”
“Uh-huh. I see your point,” Rob said.
“You wanna work for me? I can help you find dick,” the pimp said with a frown like he really hoped Rob would say no.
“No, thank you. I’m very good at that already.”
“Thank god,” the pimp said. “Look, you had best get the fuck off my dock. My girls work here-“
“But I’m not stealing your business-“
“You is stealin’ my girls’s hearts! They ain’t gonna be so eager to find new boyfriends when they see you offerin’ to get on ya knees for nothin’. It’s discouraging to my girls’s capitalistic spirit, ya feel me?”
“I guess…” Rob gulped. This pimp scared him. Rob mumbled an apology and walked away. He entered the crowd of men walking away from the dock. The lanky Latino walking past him had a visible hardon bulging against the fabric of his sailor’s bellbottoms. He popped the low collar of his shirt. The Latino was already touching his dick through his pants as he approached the rather trashy women calling for him on land.
“Swallow your cum?” Rob said, but the Latino completely ignored him. He took his dick out, said something in Spanish and disappeared among the prostitutes. His cock hung free as he raced to take out the wad of cash in his pocket. Rob watched it dangle and twitch, getting hard, the foreskin slowly retracting as the Latino stroked it.
The docks were amazing. Rob didn’t want to leave without seeing the docks, and to bathe in the glorious hunks who filled it with their muscles and swagger and massive cocks. Men had poured out of the ship, hardons already evident — they knew there were girls waiting for them. The girls smiled and cooed, and blushed bashfully when the men kissed them and took out their cocks.
“Go’n, hoss!”
“Do it, Lyle!”
“Lyle, Lyle, Lyle!”
Lyle turned out to be a rather skinny young farmlad in an ill-fitting sailor’s uniform — obviously new to the merchant marine — who approached Rob with a nervous tremble. He gulped and went pale, fingers trembling as he let his massive dick flop out. He lowered his bellbottoms just enough to bare his crotch as he looked away, watching his friends instead of Rob.
His friends laughed so hard Rob couldn’t tell what was going on. Obviously this was some sort of joke or prank, or a hazing episode. Rob touched Lyle’s cock, which twitched beneath his fingers, and then Lyle went running back to his buddies with his eyes opened wide.
“He did it!”
“You squeamish pansy! It’s just a goddamn finger!”
One of the older sailors with Lyle looked at Rob. “Go to prison, pervert! You’ll find plenty of men there.” Then they all walked away. Lyle’s cheeks were bright red. His friends clasped him on the back, and one of them even grabbed Lyle’s cock as a joke, making them all laugh.
Rob was left alone. The S.S. Admiral Smikovsk was empty of people now, presumably. Rob watched the prostitutes pair off (in some cases in larger ratios than pairs). It seemed so far that this dock was more difficult than he had thought.
It had seemed easy. Sailors loved to get a load off and needed money and weren’t usually too squeamish about man-on-man contact. That was perfect.
But those prostitutes… it was hard to get a man to swing downlow with a gaggle of beautiful women beckoning. Or at least somewhat attractive women, Rob thought, whose lack of attractiveness was equivalent to their willingness to fuck. He sighed and decided to go back to his hotel. It was run-down and nasty, crawling with trashy man who, Rob suspected, would be willing to let him swing on their meat for a little consideration. However, Rob didn’t want that. He was here to get a taste of a raunchy sailor. What was the point of visiting a port city if not to jerk off some sailors?
Maybe, he thought, he should find a bar frequented by sailors. Whoever was unable or unwilling to find/pay a female would still be there late at night, and Rob might be able to get a taste of sailor meat then. Of course they’d be drunk, which was disappointing — Rob preferred his men fully conscious.
He turned around, but then stopped because he heard shouting from onboard the ship. The only word he could hear clearly was fuck, but there were definitely other insults, some of which were not in English.
Then two men were visible, and Rob’s knees went weak. One of them — presumably the captain — was a stout older man with an unappealing beard. Rob ignored him and zeroed in on the second man.
He was Nikos — Rob got that from the shouting — and he was the strongest sailor Rob had seen yet. He was tall and broad-shouldered, Greek with swarthy skin the color of toasted grain and an intensely hooked nose, a square jaw like a warrior, and so much body hair his sailor’s uniform barely fit. The fur poked out the wide collar. He was muscular but not big, and he walked with a heavy gait, like his boots were cast-iron.
He was utterly filthy. Rob had no idea why, but would soon learn that Nikos had snuck a rather large amount of alcohol onboard at the last port, and had been selling it at rather exorbitant prices to the other sailors. He had been punished by being sent to shovel coal for the last few days, and at such a feverish work-schedule that he didn’t bathe during that time.
So his clothes were plastered to his skin with sweat, and smudges of black coal dust and soot splattered over and stained much of his face. His clothes appeared to be more clean of coal — presumably he had dug coal naked, or at least in different clothes than these, but wearing them over his foul body had soaked them in sweat and dirt.
“You no-good pissant! When you come back, I’ll search you so good I will tickle your tonsils from behind! If you ever try to sneak that shit on my ship again, I swear to Christ, Nikos-!”
That was all Rob heard because Nikos turned around and exploded in anger as well. He shouted in Greek, fingers running through his dense, tangled mat of black curls. He made some sort of rude gesture that Rob didn’t understand. It wasn’t clear who he shouted at, as the port crawled with sailors, laughing, pointing, shouting at each other. Nikos must have been talking to one of them.
Eventually Nikos made it to the dock, away from the ship and his captain amd whoever he was arguing with a moment ago. He scowled, but he didn’t seem to notice Rob at all. He turned around and made that gesture again, which raised his arms and bared his armpits just inches from Rob’s face — Nikos still hadn’t noticed Rob because he was focused on his argument — sending a wave of intensely acrid sweat over Rob’s nostrils. It was funky and wild, and it made Rob’s heart skip a beat.
That gave Rob an idea. He hadn’t given much thought to what he wanted to do with his sailors — usually he had to let his men choose what they were comfortable with, since many wouldn’t go as far as Rob wanted.
But those armpits were incredible. He was so hairy Rob drooled to look at him. That bushy beard, and the dense growth of armpit hair that looked like a whole nother crotch. Rob giggled, eyes mesmerized by the sight of Nikos’s arm-bush, nose wrinkling at the waves of stale, fetish man-scent that assaulted his nostrils.
“Suck your armpits. Suck your armpits.” Rob’s dick stiffened as Nikos’s greasy body wafted his stink over Rob’s face. “Suck your armpits. I’ll suck your armpits, lick all that sweat up. I’ll worship your armpits.”
But Nikos just muttered to himself in Greek, paying no mind to the small, lithe man talking about armpits next to him. He took a wallet out of his pocket, then a coin-purse. He counted his change. He had very little weekend. He wasn’t getting paid today — he had leave for the weekend, but the captain had refused to pay him due to his continued disobedience. That’s what he was shouting about when he caught Rob’s attention.
He gulped. He barely had enough to buy a meal tonight. He certainly wouldn’t be able to get drunk or hire a prostitute. He could rob someone, he thought, he sometimes did that — he wasn’t a bad man, and he’d never hurt anyone, but he did sometimes rob rich people to fund his lifestyle.
“Lick your armpits. Hey, uh, man? I’ll lick your armpits for twenty bucks. I’ll give you twenty bucks to let me go at your armpits-“
Finally Nikos turned around and realized Rob was speaking to him. It took him a moment to process what Rob had said. Then he furrowed his brow.
“I’ll give you two hundred dollars,” Rob said. He pulled out a stack of twenty-dollar bills — that was enough by far to get drunk, eat a fine meal, fuck a woman — possibly not even a prostitute — and pay for a hotel room by himself. He dangled it in front of Nikos’s face.
Nikos’s eyes opened wide. “What?” He had a noticeable Greek accent, but it wasn’t real heavy. He had been speaking English since he was a boy. He had learned it from a Brit though, so some of his words were tinged with an upper-class British accent.
“I want to lick your armpits, suck them all over, drink all your sweat,” Rob said. He came closer. “Please? Let me lick your pits.”
“Lick my armpits? Why? What does that mean?”
“It means…. Exactly what it sounds like. I want to lick your armpits. I’m into pit worship,” Rob said. He blushed a little at Nikos’s harsh glare. Of course pit worship was not a known thing to most men, so Nikos had to deduce what it meant. He still assumed he had missed something, but he didn’t want to look like a fool by asking again.
Nikos nodded. He looked around to make sure no one was nearby who knew him. Nobody seemed to be paying much attention anyway — sailors went straight for the girls and ignored pretty much everything else. Virtually no one had even yet clocked Rob’s existence. Nikos tried to grab the money from Rob, but Rob tucked it back away in his pocket.
“I will need the money to rent a hotel room,” Nikos said. “So I can shower. Then I will… I will let you do what you wish.”
Rob shook his head. “You have completely misjudged the point of pit worship. Let’s go, I know a spot.”
“What do you mean? Misjudged how? What is pit worship?”
“I already said,” Rob said with a laugh. “It’s licking your armpits. Like, a lot. You misjudged because you thought I wanted you to shower first. That ruins the whole thing. There’s no point in you showering first. I might as well lick a bar of soap. I want to suck your armpits.”
Nikos frowned like he was confused. His English was good, but he assumed he was missing something. “I will not… You may not put your… manhood, uh… in my armpit.”
Rob rolled his eyes, having difficulty controlling not laughing at Nikos. “That’s not my intent. Neat idea, but not my plan. Maybe somebody else, some other time.” He led Nikos into an alley near the beach, where there was a little concealed area behind a mound of trash in the back of the alley.
Nikos wrinkled his nose. “I feel dirty already, I am very sweaty and you will not enjoy my body odor-“
“Oh my god, Nikos, you still don’t get it. How did your people invent democracy? Okay, stop talking, you’re making me even hornier,” Rob said. “I’m gonna blow my wad early.” As soon as they were both behind the mound of trash, Rob dove his face into Nikos’s chest. He had that sailor’s shirt with the very open collar, so Rob could get right into the greasy valley between Nikos’s pecs, which were especially firm right now because he had been using them for days to shovel coal. Nikos’s eyes opened wide.
To Nikos, doing anything like this when he was sober was a new experience. He had been raised to believe it was only an ex-con would ramrod a man knowingly, but in the merchant marine that qualifier — knowingly — had evolved to the point that it barely seemed to matter. As long as the sailor could pretend he thought it was a woman, it wasn’t “knowingly sinful” and therefore didn’t count.
A lot of times, ships had one or two sailors who would put on fishnet stockings and spray on some perfume, and everybody would pretend to think they were a real woman. Nikos did that too. Pretending made it feel more real, and he could ramrod those men for hours fooling himself that he was making love to a woman.
But he was sober now and couldn’t pretend to be confused, and there was a chance he could fuck a real woman. Rob wasn’t even bothering to dress like a lady or wear a wig, or even any perfume. Nikos stood there like a statue because he didn’t want to give the impression that he was becoming aroused and because he still wasn’t sure what Rob was doing or what he expecte from Nikos.
“I will need a woman to get hard. Or at least you will need to act like a woman,” Nikos said with an embarrassed grunt as Rob pulled his bellbottoms down. His trunk-like thighs were covered in dense, coarse black hairs, matted to his skin with sweat. Rob licked a trail from his thighs up his chest — lifting his shirt up over his body — and sucking down all the sweat he could get to. He was surprised and elated to see Nikos didn’t wear any underwear, his dick just flopped freely out, uncut and gleaming.
The scent of his unwashed crotch was acrid and intense, and it brought tears to Rob’s eyes. He gave Nikos’s dick a stroke, just to get him started. It throbbed in his hand. It was hot and clammy, unwashed for days, maybe more than a week. Nikos furrowed his brow like he only just now understood what was happening.
“How long will this take? I can’t spend all evening-“
“Relax, just gimme… an hour. Less than an hour, probably,” Rob said. “Lift your arms.” He nuzzled Nikos’s armpit with his arms tightly at his side, then he lifted them and the fragrantly fruity scent of his rancid armpits hit Rob’s nostrils.
“Ah…. That is nasty. You’re just licking my armpit. What… is that?” Nikos said, furrowing his brow as he watched. He was surprised to learn that Rob had been entirely literal about licking his pits.
It was somewhat ticklish, but Nikos at first didn’t think much of it. It was an awkward situation, standing with another man in a disgusting alley, worrying that someone might come around the corner anytime. He kept looking up to be sure no windows aimed down here on this side of the trash.
But it wasn’t unpleasant. Nikos’s dick wouldn’t get hard like this — which was fine with Rob, since he would rather drag this out — yet it did throb a bit beneath Rob’s touch. Rob even dropped his own pants and let his dick joust with Nikos’s as he slathered spit all over Nikos’s armpit. He slurped down every drop of sweat, and he sucked on every one of the fine hairs of Nikos’s armpits.
Saliva dripped down his powerful chest, matting his body hair to his skin. Nikos still tried not to think about it. Looking at it was gross because Nikos didn’t want to think about what that would taste like. It was probably so moist with sweat, he thought, and gritty with salt, and bitter from the coal dust. Watching Rob’s tongue made Nikos’s tongue taste it too, so he looked away.
Rob moaned. His own cock leaked precum over Nikos’s shaft. Nikos ignored it — he and his fellow Greek sailors thought little of touching dicks when they shared a prostitute, so letting Rob joust with him didn’t feel so strange. He was not squeamish, after all. He sighed.
Was this really going to take an hour? An hour of his armpit being licked? Nikos sighed again, even louder, and rolled his eyes as Rob switched to his other freshly-funky armpit.
Still, for two hundred dollars, Nikos could spend an hour.
The taste was potent and pure stank all over again. Rob moaned, his voice breaking, his whole body cringing. Precum flowed freely over Nikos’s shaft now, which gleamed, sticky and creamy. Nikos was almost hard now.
And then, like a switch being flicked, it felt good.
Nikos’s grunted and moaned. His knees went weak, and for a moment, Rob supported him with his hands on Nikos’s dick. His heavy, sweat-slickened body rubbed against Rob, who could never have held him up for more than a few seconds. Nikos leaned against the brick wall.
He threw his head back and moaned. He couldn’t believe that his armpits felt good. It was his dick that really sent waves of pleasure through his body, but it was Rob’s tongue snaking back and forth between both armpits that made that pleasure grow, giving him an erection that throbbed against Rob’s own hardon.
Both men’s precum flowed over their shafts, lubricating Rob’s hands, which both rubbed up and down in sync with Rob’s tongue flickering over the moist valley of Nikos’s armpits. His biceps were huge and firm, flexed hard as brick now.
“Ah, goddamn, I’m going to-” Nikos bit his lip, and his whole muscled body shook as he orgasmed. It looked so intense it hurt. His knees buckled again, but he leaned against the wall for support instead of relying on Rob.
Rob dropped to his knees, kneeling among the spilled trash bags. He hurried to lower his head and let both of Nikos’s heavy, sour balls plop into his open mouth.
He kept both hands on Nikos’s shaft, which was already throbbing and beginning to spray his first wad of cum when his sac slipped into Rob’s mouth. Having not showered in days, his balls stank powerfully, the sweat dripping in rivers down Rob’s throat. Even though Rob loved mansweat of any kind and in any quantity, this was enough to make him gag and choke.
It certainly didn’t stop him though. His tongue snaked out to Nikos’s nasty taint as cum sprayed up. Rob jacked his cock off with both hands, giggling at the feel of his balls rising up in his sac. Rob could sense the cum coursing up his sac as wad after wad shot straight up.
“Ah, damn…” Nikos grunted. “Nai, afto efnai kalo…” He repeated that a few times — Rob didn’t know Greek, and he was too involved in suckling Nikos’s sweaty ballsac to ask.
Some of it coated Nikos’s chest, matting his fur to his skin, but much of it just dripped right back down on Nikos’s shaft or on Rob’s face. Nikos shuddered and shook. He was surprised at how good it felt, since after all, it was “technically speaking”, just a handjob. His dick hadn’t even gotten wet.
But Rob gave surprisingly expert handjobs, and Nikos he shot a massive load that coated Rob’s face and Nikos’s dick, where it dripped down onto Rob’s body. Then Rob licked a trail up from Nikos’s nasty balls — which now just smelled of saliva — back to his shaft. Rob sucked down every drop of sour-sweet cum there, the saltiness bringing tears to his eyes. He loudly slurped on the mess of fluids on Nikos’s cockshaft, and the sensation of Rob’s mouth on his sensitive knob made Nikos gasp, muscles rippling, as he stood up on his toes.
At last, he was done, Rob’s own load congealing warmly on the trashy pavement. Rob sat back and plopped his ass on the garbage. He lazily reached up to stroke Nikos’s limp dick, making Nikos’s hairy body tremble with post-orgasmic bliss. His brown skin had already gleamed with sweat, but now much of it was covered in either semen or spit or both, so he was positively shimmery.
Nikos suddenly felt cold and dirty. He really wanted to take a shower, and he was annoyed that he hadn’t been able to before leaving the ship. He let out a menacing growl when he realized Rob hadn’t paid him yet. Rob hurried to hand over the money, the full two hundred dollars, which he counted out in twenty-dollar bills in Nikos’s hand.
“Have fun this weekend,” Rob said. “When you find a prostitute, you should pay extra to fuck her in the ass.”
“Why?”
Rob shrugged like the answer should have been obvious. “Because it’s awesome.” He laughed. “Or so I’ve been told, I don’t know much about women.”
Nikos grunted and put his clothes on. Now that he had his money, all he could really think about was getting away from Rob before he blew his reputation. That and he still desperately needed a shower. He walked away, ignoring Rob’s eyes aimed at his ass.
Rob smiled and sighed. He leaned back in the garbage. Had he had his fill of sailor meat? He thought so. But it was just armpits, there were more sailors and more body parts, and Rob was ready to track down every single one.
Avery is at the music store at the mall when he spies a studly hard rock guy in need of some cash. That’s exactly the kind of situation Avery loves helping out with! Can he meet his alpha’s musical needs?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
The Tune & String music store at the mall was one of the bigger stores remaining. Nearby was Randall’s Candles, a sad little giftshop, and several vacant storefronts. A KT Toys provided a little vibrancy for about six weeks out of the year, but it was a mausoleum most of the time. The Cinnamon Bun Hut was the most popular attraction at the Pickspring Mall for Avery Flowers, but he was trying not to go there.
The smell was damn alluring though. Last time he came here, he was so desperate for cinnamon buns he ended up making them himself. That was his compromise — no buying thirty thousand calories worth of cinnamon buns. If you want to eat that, you can make it yourself.
But his didn’t smell like the ones at the Cinnamon Bun Hut. They were good, but not that good. Avery was not a baker.
He was not a drummer either, yet Avery was here to buy drumsticks, but there was no one at the counter to check him out. His niece was getting a drum-set for Christmas, and Avery was going to give her the sticks, wrapped, under the tree, so she would open them before she saw the actual drums. Since he didn’t have any kids of his own, he looked forward to seeing that on Christmas Day.
But now there was no one in the music store. It was like a museum of music, full of display cases featuring pianos, saxophones and flutes, alongside rows of shelves of sheet music. There were DVDs too, instructional stuff, and a few odds and ends — even rolling papers and small glass pipes behind the counter.
“Hello? I need to buy drumsticks!”
He heard laughter upstairs, on the little balcony where the pianos sat. Avery craned his head up and could just barely see the clerk. It sounded like an argument up there, a rigorous piano dispute, presumably. The thought made Avery chuckle, imagining who would get into a rigorous piano dispute. He waited politely, but no clerk was forthcoming.
He didn’t want to make a scene, but Avery was ready to get out of there. He wasn’t gonna spend all day waiting to buy drumsticks.
So he went up the stairs. Avery had something else he planned on doing today — going to the other side of town, to this trashy nightclub in the ghetto, where a DJ had promised to let Avery jerk him off for money to buy recording gear. But first, he needed to buy these goddamn drumsticks.
And nobody was here! Avery had been daydreaming and didn’t notice he’d been standing at the counter for what felt like an hour. It was maybe ten minutes. Did nobody work here? He looked around the store. There was no bell to ding to get an employee’s attention.
“Hello? I need to buy drumsticks. Hello?” Avery ascended to the second floor of the music shop.
The clerk was a hipster with a goattee, a mustache and a five o’clock shadow. He was handsome though, and he caught Avery’s eye. He was probably a hit with women. His nametag read “Twig Smitten”, which just had to be a performing name.
There was another man there talking to him. He was a hard-edged hard-rock heavy-metal kind of guy, that much was obvious, with a fat mop of greasy black hair and sunken eyes. He was young, or young-ish anyway, but he had the face of a work-hard life on the road, like a handsome hobo in the Old West. He was strong, but his muscles were haphazard, not toned, you could tell he never lifted weights. He simply worked and lived hard and probably drank more beer than ate solid food. He had a powerful, tattooed chest that nearly bulged out of his sleeveless tee shirt (a black shirt with the demonic skull logo of the band Clusterfuck, which Avery suspected was this man’s band).
He was like something out of the 80s too, with that thrash-metal look, but his dirt-colored mustache — and a scruffy beard behind that — was straight out of the 70s. He was well-muscled, with a blue-collar look to his dusky skin and wind-beaten face.
His name was Logan, and he was trying to browbeat the clerk into giving him the employee discount on the guitar. Logan had a deep rumbly voice with a menacing edge to it. “Come on, man, I know you gave Roger the discount. He said it-“
“Man, Logan, it’s not like that. He used to work here. I need to make my commission-“
“Don’t gimme that shit,” Logan said. He took a step back and pointed a finger at the clerk. His face was ruddy, meaty arms flexing, eyes darting back and forth. “I know you’re allowed to do it. Roger said it’s a rule, you gotta make the sale-“
“It’s not a rule! The employee discount is for employees!”
“I know the manager!”
“Mr. Demetrius said to tell you to go fuck yourself if you ever come in here, Logan!” the clerk Twig Smitten said. He pointed to the exit to the mall itself. “So… you know, go fuck yourself. Somewhere that isn’t here.”
“Don’t be a dick, man! I can kick your fucking ass, y’know, you little punk. Come at me then-” Logan took a step towards the clerk. “I need that guitar, I got a damn show tonight! UPS ruint mine! I can’t — it’s not even here, man, come on!”
“I’ll buy it for you,” Avery said. He stepped in front of Logan, who was taken aback. Avery was so close he could smell Logan’s sweat beneath the scent of bleach, which looked to have been speckled on his black boots earlier. Pale spots now spread over the top of Logan’s feet, and some dotted the lower cuffs of his pants too. Logan’s jaw dropped as he tried to gather his wits and shift focus from kicking ass to talking to a stranger.
“What?” he snapped like he was offended by his own confusion.
Avery smiled despite the tension of the situation. He felt much smaller than either of the other two men, though in fact there was little difference between them. Neverthless Logan loomed large over the trio like a moai, and Avery felt tiny before him. Avery patted him on the side, feeling the meaty thickness of his body above his ribcage. That sleeveless shirt he wore reeked of his armpit sweat and his body hair and again of bleach. Avery said, “I’ll buy you the guitar. The whole thing. No employee discount.”
“What?”
Avery smiled. The clerk had backed way off, so Avery lowered his voice, that way only Logan could hear. “I’ll jerk you off. We’ll go in the mall bathroom, and I’ll jerk you off. Okay? I’ll swallow your dick you so good you forget how to play guitar-“
He scoffed. “I…” Logan wiped some of the sweat off his brow. “Shit… uh…”
“I’ll deep-throat you so good…” Avery sucked on his finger. Logan’s eyes opened wide. Avery could sense Logan’s dick twitching, but Logan covered it up by shifting his weight between his feet. He cleared his throat.
“Don’t you want me to like… take a shower or some shit? I just got off work, I got band practice in a bit-
“Don’t you dare shower, I like my men unfiltered,” Avery said. He took Logan by the hand and led him back down the stairs. The gawky clerk was there watching. “We’ll be back to buy that guitar. And drumsticks.”
“Drumsticks? I don’t want drumsticks-“
“Unless you came out of my sister’s vagina, they’re not for you. Let’s go.”
“I ain’t say I’d do it,” Logan said.
“Then you’re on your way out of the store, right?” Avery said. “Either way, this is the route.” He pointed towards the door out of the mall. The bathrooms were by there too.
“Uh…” Logan stopped. “You’ll really buy the whole guitar? You ain’t playin’?”
“I never play about that,” Avery said with a serious look on his face. Then he laughed. “That’s not true, I do play about jacking men off. But I’m not kidding about doing it. I’ll jerk your dick til the cows come home. Or is there a heavy metal equivalent of that? I’ll jerk you off til the heavy metal singer smiles?”
“I ain’t a metal singer. I sing rock. Hard rock. Not metal.” Logan furrowed his brow at Avery. “I don’t cotton to the metal scene. They’s all about the goths. You know about the goths? I don’t do the goths.”
“Hmm… Yeah, I get’cha,” Avery said. “I like rock too, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that — I’m not really a music aficionado.”
“You not scammin’ me, right? You got the cash?”
“I got it. And I’ll even buy you some extra strings, okay?”
Logan sighed. “Okay, but you can’t tell no one, man. I ain’t… He chuckled. “I never got a man to jerk me off when I was sober before. Usually it’s only when I struck out for the night.”
“No shit, really?”
“Uh-huh. I got this buddy, he does it when I’m drunk,” Logan said. Avery sunk to the floor as Logan closed the door. “He thinks I’s too drunk to know he done it, but I know.”
Avery undid Logan’s fly and belt. His mud-splattered jeans fell to the floor, which was good because that muffled the smell of bleach from his boots. He had had to work his community service first thing in the morning — he had mopped the floors at a ranger station in a state park, hence the bleach on his boots — before going to his regular job as a janitor.
“So what’s your band like?”
Logan’s anxiety disappeared — he was at his most confident when he was performing, so thinking about his band made him relax. “Aw, man, we rock hard as shit, man. You goin’ to the Tough One Fun Run? We gonna play at that. Cluster-F. We Clusterfuck, but they only sayin’ Cluster-F on the radio. We got a followin’, man. I got groupies and shit.” He checked that the door to the bathroom was locked, then reached into his pants around his ankles and fished out a pack of smokes. He seemed completely disinterested in Avery pulling his boxers down. His sleeveless black tee was short, so it wasn’t in the way of his cock, which bounced free and jabbed Avery in the face. Logan said, “We’s like, uh, hard rock, y’know, boogie-rock and shit, man. We all used to play AC/DC songs before we was writin’ our own-“
“Awesome, AC/DC’s great,” Avery said. He really had no special love for AC/DC, but he wanted to get on Logan’s good side.
“Yeah. We rock hard, man, swear to God. You know Black Crowes? I met them once, swear to God,” he said. He saw his dick dangling and bit his lip. This got suddenly more real, just before his cock disappeared into Avery’s mouth. His eyes opened wide. “They was arrogant shits, man, fuck them, fuck!” He groaned. “They owe me money too, like a hundred eighty bucks, man, swear to God. Buncha shitheads, and they talk a bunch of shit, they can’t back it up.” Even as he talked like he hadn’t noticed what his dick was doing, he was already pumping his hips back and forth, treating Avery’s mouth like a pussy. His dick wasn’t hard yet. That was good. Logan thought a man shouldn’t get hard too easy if there’s no woman around. Not even any porno.
Avery’s mouth was soft and warm, and it felt good. Logan sighed. He was usually so relaxed when this happened because he was drunk, and it didn’t feel real. This had felt entirely too real right up until it began. It wasn’t a big deal.
Now that it had begun, Logan felt silly being reluctant and slow to get started.
While Logan had been very drunk the first few times he let his friend jerk him off, he’d lately done it whenever he could. It just got easier the older he became, and nowadays, he’d usually whip it out even if he only had a few beers.
It actually felt even better than his buddy’s mouthjobs. His dick firmed up right away, and it throbbed hotly in Avery’s mouth. Avery was surprised that it happened so quick once it got started — Logan had been a bit slow to get into it, because he was talking about his band. But now that his mouth was shut, his dick rocketed to full erection immediately.
“Goddamn…” Logan’s throaty voice grunted.
He probably sounded good as a singer, Avery thought, nice and bluesy, like a non-hipster Tom Waits. He wanted to ask if Logan sang or just played guitar, but his mouth was full, and Logan’s hands gripped his head, making it hard to speak. Avery didn’t want to stop long enough to ask.
He opened his throat as wide as he could, letting Logan’s filthy cock slide in, even as Avery’s throat clenched and fought back. He sputtered, choking around the blue-collar filth that coated his tongue. It was a bit sour and loamy like soil, with a fresh, sunny flavor that made Avery wonder if he took his dick out on the job — it sure tasted like the outside. You could tell he worked outdoors all day.
“Shit… You do it better than my buddy,” Logan said, his voice a little wavery, almost giddy. He didn’t add — though he thought it — that Avery did it better than any woman either. He didn’t want to admit that.
Avery looked up to make eye contact with him, but Logan wasn’t looking down at him. Logan kept an eye on the door to be sure no one came in and interrupted them. Someone did try the doorknob, but the lock stopped them, and they walked away.
His arms stretched up, his hands creeping under Logan’s raggedy black tee shirt. Logan didn’t seem to notice. Avery’s hands made it to his nipples, and then his whole body twitched. Logan groaned. He lifted his shirt off and tossed it on the toilet. Moments later, it slipped into the toilet bowl. Logan’s eyes were closed, so he hadn’t noticed that yet, and Avery faced the other way, so he didn’t see it either.
Logan had nice pecs that flexed beneath Avery’s touch. He wasn’t muscular like a bodybuilder, you could tell he didn’t work out at all — his glamour muscles were underdeveloped, it was the real, actual muscles that were built up — and his arms, since he spent hours every night practicing guitar.
His right arm in particular bulged. It was as thick as Avery’s head, and as hard as rock when Avery managed to massage it without pulling off Logan’s dick. When he started to taste precum, however, Avery did pull off, just to give him a rest. He didn’t want Logan to cum too quickly.
“C’mon, man…” Logan’s throaty voice was hot and breathless, almost begging. He tried to whisper out of a general desire for discretion, even though nobody could possibly hear, and his voice was too deep anyway to really be quiet. He kept humping his hips even when his cock popped out of Avery’s mouth. He fucked the air while Avery’s mouth and lips traveled up his body.
He had never shaved his chest, so his belly had a fine trail of brownish blond hair. Avery sucked on his skin, traveling up to the much furrier valley in between his meaty pecs. Avery attacked each nipple, sucking on them both while he gripped Logan’s dick with both hands.
“Shit, man…” Logan couldn’t believe how good it felt.
His dick stayed hard, pulsating, leaking precum into Avery’s fingers. Avery’s tongue snaked over his armpit, to that massive guitar-playing right bicep. Avery wasn’t ordinarily a muscle-queen, but Logan’s arm was delightful. Avery sucked all the sweat and dust off it — since Logan had worn a sleeveless shirt today, his skin was dirty and tasted of asphalt. Avery sucked all the grime off, while Logan furrowed his brow in confusion — he wouldn’t have guessed anybody wanted to lick literal dirt off his arm.
“You wanna ram me?” Avery asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. He dropped his pants, turned around and displayed his ass for Logan — he guessed that Logan was the kind of man who might say no right up until he saw Avery’s tight pale hole.
“Shit…” Logan grunted. A part of his mind said he should refuse, or pretend to refuse in order to get more money. But he was too horny to stop.
So he didn’t refuse. He wanted to get deep in that tight asshole. Even as his mind started coming up with a plan to get more money out of Avery, his cock was ramming itself into his ass.
Before Logan knew it, he was already inside Avery, to the root, and Avery had let out a long low howl. No girl ever let Logan plow her like this. Avery kept his ass high and his head low, nearly on the cold linoleum floor of the bathroom.
“Goddamn, man,” Logan said with a loud roar. He pounded on his chest. He roared like Tarzan and flexed his pecs, and he slapped Avery’s asscheeks until the sound rang out and Avery groaned. You could see the pleasure flowing through his body in his muscles rippling, his body hair becoming matted to his skin with a fresh layer of sweat.
“Holy shit…” Avery said with a panting gasp, the sensations flowing through him so intense he had to wrench the words out of his throat. “If you play guitar as good as you plow, your band is goin’ places…”
“I wish, man…” Logan said. He heard a knock on the door to the bathroom, but it seemed distant and unimportant. He heard the security guard Gerald say something. Logan hated Gerald, who had called the cops on him last month because he thought Logan was homeless — Logan was merely sleeping on a bench near the mall doors. “Fuck off, Gerald!” he shouted towards the door. Then he lowered his head and voice, and spoke to Avery. “We better hurry up. Gerald’s a fucking moron, but he’ll get the key and come in here eventually.”
“Okay,” Avery said, his voice weak and wavery because he was already on the verge of his orgasm. He didn’t much care about getting caught either.
“Gonna put you in a headlock, don’t worry, I won’t hurtcha,” Logan said. He grimaced as he wrapped that massive guitar-playing arm around Avery’s neck. He didn’t know why he wanted to do that so bad, except that he had tried once when fucking a girl and she reacted like he did something terrible. She said his hairy body was kind of gross, she didn’t want to be wrapped up in his sweaty arms like that.
So it was nice for Logan that Avery didn’t seem upset about his hairy body or the musk of his armpits. He wrapped both arms around his face, and Logan even let Avery bite down as they both orgasmed. Avery gnawed on Logan’s rock-hard arm-flesh, while Avery sprayed a massive wad onto the floor of the bathroom.
Logan’s creamy cum flowed into Avery in great thick wads. Logan didn’t shoot a stream like most men, he sprayed in short but massive spurts that kept coming and coming. Each time he did, his whole body twitched again, muscles all tensing and rubbing against Avery’s smooth back.
“Hey! Open the door, sir! You have to let me in! This is mall security! My name is Gerald!”
Logan snorted mid-orgasm — Gerald was so self-important it hurt to hear him. Logan sighed, breath condensing on Avery’s cheek as the last few drops of his cum drained into Avery’s tight asshole.
Another loud knock on the door, which rattled in its frame. Then Gerald swore as he walked away. “Hello?! I’m getting the key!”
Logan scoffed and chuckled. He pulled his dick out, letting his entire load drip out too. He pulled Avery back and aimed his ass down so that entire cumwad would flow out onto the floor. Logan’s moist, crackling voice filled the air. “C’mon, let’s get dressed. Leave a big mess for that tubby security motherfucker.”
The bathroom was hot and humid now, or at least it seemed that way to Avery. It stank too, ina good way from Avery’s perspective. Logan was less enthused. It was the smell of fucking fat chicks at a show, he thought. That ain’t a good smell. It signifies something good, but it is not good. Logan wrinkled his nose.
“Stinks in here, man, fuckin’-A,” Logan said. His dick swayed and jiggled between his legs. Logan looked down at it, in no hurry to tuck it away. He shrugged. “You want some tickets to our next show. Gimme ya phone number, I’ll send you tickets.”
Avery was too tired to think. He just nodded and smiled, his ass aching. He stretched his legs and hurried to pull his pants on, then texted Logan so he could get those tickets. Avery was probably not going to go, he was just being polite. Logan was the singer in a rock band — at a show, he was going to have women to fuck. Avery might as well be invisible. He didn’t really want to listen to Clusterfuck’s music.
But he liked the idea. They must have something on an app, Avery could listen to it to be polite. And it was obvious the real reason Logan wanted Avery’s phone number so he could arrange a meet-up some other time, when he had a hardon and no groupie around to fuck.
It was only then that they both noticed Logan’s shirt in the toilet.
Logan laughed. “Hell yeah, Gerald gonna have to do somethin’ ‘bout that.” He turned around to leave without the shirt. “He gonna get toilet water all over himself! Fuckin’ bitch!” He spat in the direction he imagined Gerald was in, but his spit simply splattered on the wall of the bathroom.
Avery usually cleaned himself off pretty good, but he was in a hurry. Logan didn’t care — Logan tucked his dick away without even wiping all the santorum off it, and he just walked out on bare feet and shirtless. Avery raced to follow him while Logan put his shoes and socks on out in the mall.
Everyone stared at Logan’s bare chest, which was hairy and gleaming with sweat. Avery’s hair was a mess, Logan was shirtless, both their clothes crooked. Logan hopped along as he slid into those bleach-stained boots.
Gerald the security guard was on his way back with the key when they saw him. He scowled at Logan and said, “You can’t be in the mall without a shirt on, man, I’ll call the cops again.”
Logan shrugged. “Fuck you, Gerald.” He went with Avery to the music store.
Avery was a law-abiding person, more or less. So telling a security guard to fuck off and hanging around shirtless in contravention of the rules while cops were on the way was nerve-wracking for him. Logan didn’t seem to care.
The clerk took Avery’s money. He cast a sideways glance at Logan but didn’t complain about the lack of a shirt — it was Avery who actually paid for the guitar, strings and drumsticks, after all, so there was no point in kicking Logan out and causing another argument with him.
“Shit, fuck yeah,” Logan said when Avery handed him the guitar. “Gonna sound good tonight.”
Avery smiled and blushed as he followed Logan out. “What was your band’s name again?”
“Clusterfuck. All one word. Look us up, we’s on YouTube and Google and Spotify,” he said. Then he added, more shamefacedly, “And join the Facebook group. That’s good for us, for real.”
“I definitely will.”
