exhibiting hostility – Mansploitation

The Fat Janitor

Bart’s dreary remedial driving-safety class bores him to tears, until a disruption by the massive-bodied janitor Lincoln. During a class break, Bart is ready to service Lincoln’s alpha male needs! Can he finish in time to complete his course?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Bart didn’t want to look too bored. He wasn’t sure how “passing” was defined in a class like this, and he thought if he looked bored, the teacher — Mr. Watson — would say he wasn’t paying attention and make him do it again. This had been boring enough, Bart wasn’t willing to do it again.
So he tried very hard to pay attention. Mr. Watson was explaining how to parallel park. That seemed like an absurd thing to explain in words, Bart thought, it required a picture or diagram.
Or it could just be skipped. This was a class for traffic violators who needed to get their license back. Almost all of them had said they were in trouble due to speeding, drunk driving or having marijuana in the car when they were arrested. Nobody had been in trouble for a parallel-parking violation. Bart was here for speeding.
The whole thing was bullshit. Bart would have rather paid the fine. Ah, but the insurance costs… That was where they get ya, really. Insurance.
But anyway, parallel parking was what Mr. Watson wanted to talk about. His thin, reedy body twisted as he tried to explain, breathlessly. “So, you see, when your mirror — that’s the right-hand one, on the passenger side — see when you see into that one, to the rear of you-
Bart was a good parallel parker, and even he had lost the thread of this particular lesson. He smiled and nodded though. He resolved to remember this later so when Mr. Watson asked — as Bart was positive he would — to “reflect on” what he’d learned today, Bart would have something to say. He’d claim he’d never been comfortable parallel parking until Mr. Watson explained it so thoroughly.
Bart was sucking up just in case that helped him get through this without any points on his license.
The door to the classroom opened, and Bart straightened his back. His boredom vanished as a man walked into the classroom. He was a janitor, presumably, judging from the gray jumpsuit he wore. He rolled in with him a large trash can, which made a loud rumbling sound.
He was very handsome, that was why Bart noticed him so intently. The nametag sewn onto the front of his jumpsuit said his name was Lincoln. He was burly and bristly, snarling at no one in particular when he came in. He looked like a generally disagreeable person, not like he was upset at this moment.
He was pudgy, thick all over, and Bart instantly got a rough and rugged vibe off Lincoln, who had that “it ain’t pervy as long as you’s on top” look. That was exactly the look Bart was hoping for. Maybe it was because Lincoln appeared to be of Italian or Greek descent, or something around that region, Bart thought, and those Mediterranean guys were usually down if they didn’t have a girl at the moment. This chunky mean-looking man almost certainly was single, so Bart had high hopes for him.
“Hi, Lincoln, hello,” said the teacher, Mr. Watson, his voice annoyed at first, then patronizingly respectful. “Welcome to our learning.”
“What?” Lincoln snapped. He stopped short in the doorway. There was no reason to rattle that big trash can on wheels through the doorway. He could have left it out there. That was what the janitor last week had done. She had come in, gotten the trash can unobtrusively, then emptied it out in the hall before returning the trash can.
Was Lincoln being deliberately disruptive?
“I said, uh… welcome to our learning,” Mr. Watson said. “I think of education as a location, a state of mind and a journey all at once. So what we’re doing right here, this is learning, and I’d like to welcome you to it. Perhaps some of our learning will spill over to you.” Then Mr. Watson hastened to add, “And perhaps some of your learning will spill over to us, for I’m sure you have many wonderful knowledge… knowledges. Paths of knowledge. Ways of knowing. Folkways of… paths. Of known… learning. You no doubt… have much to teach us.”
There was a long awkward pause, and Mr. Watson blushed a bit. Lincoln the janitor furrowed his brow. “What? I ain’t here to teach nothin’. If you wanna learn from me, you best pay me.”
“Oh, well… It was more of a… psychological… milieu… uh… thing.”
Lincoln glanced over the classroom of students for the first time since coming in. He nodded at the one young black man in the first row and — for seemingly no reason — licked his teeth, aiming a harsh look at his direction. He maintained the mean stare as he grabbed the trash can by the desk. It looked to have nothing in it aside from one wadded-up piece of paper.
“Uh… Certainly… Indeed,” Mr. Watson said with a nod. He turned back to the class and resumed his “discussion” — that was the word he used instead of “class”, though so far, not much actual discussion had occurred. It was mostly Mr. Watson monologuing.
Bart had a pen near his lips when he caught Lincoln’s eye. Lincoln snorted and huffed as he emptied the trash can, then he stood there with a hostile glare on his face still aimed at the young black man in the front row. Bart slipped the pen into his mouth, subtly at first. Lincoln loudly snorted as he made an arduously over-long and over-loud production of emptying the mostly empty trash bin into the larger trash can. Mr. Watson again stopped leading his “discussion circle” to wait for the clamor to end, which seemed to be taking forever.
Then was when Lincoln made eye contact with Bart, who sucked on his pen like a lollipop. It made Lincoln stare his asians right at him, squinting like he didn’t believe what he saw. Bart pursed his lips around the pen and swallowed it like a very thin cock, demonstrating how deep he could go.
He even pantomimed playing with a pretend-ballsac beneath the pen. Lincoln scowled and loudly tossed the trash can back onto the floor. It rattled and clanged. Lincoln kept his eyes aimed at Bart as he noisily backed out of the classroom with the large trash can on wheels.
The door slammed shut. Mr. Watson frowned and rolled his eyes. “Okay, let’s get back to it. I wanted to have a free and open discussion about the importance of diversity in traffic safety.”
Bart’s dick was stiff. He was sure Lincoln wanted it. He even saw Lincoln’s head in the little window in the door, staring right at Bart, his sour face frowning, his hands in front of his body — was he touching his cock? It was impossible to see through the door, but Bart was pretty sure he had grabbed his dick through his jumpsuit. He wagged it aggressively at the door, presumably either to signal to Bart he wanted to bust a nut or to pantomime forcing Mr. Watson to do it — Bart couldn’t tell which. Maybe it was a bit of both.
Lincoln hated Mr. Watson because he was an intellectual pussy who had said he thought truckers drove poorly. Lincoln had been ruminating on that ever since he overheard Mr. Watson say it to a different classroom. Lincoln used to be a trucker, but had been fired due to complaints from other drivers, whom he imagined were much like Mr. Watson.
So Lincoln really hated him, and enjoyed disrupting his class.
It was especially fun because Mr. Watson was the kind of liberal do-gooder who would never have criticized Lincoln or asked him to be more quiet. Mr. Watson was on the side of the working class, even when the working class was not on Mr. Watson’s side. So Lincoln could be as disruptive and obnoxious as he wanted, and Mr. Watson would not stop him.
But today, he was more interested in that smooth boy. Lincoln had gotten used to plowing into males when he was a trucker, and he didn’t want to pay for the lot-lizard prostitutes who hung out at truck stops.
That wasn’t a huge problem for Lincoln, who preferred to sodomize without thinking about his bottom anyway. Man, woman, it didn’t matter, so long as they were willing and wet or could be made wet. He wanted to plow in and use and abuse whatever tight hole he could get his dick in. Very few women were willing to let him do that, even if he did pay them.
Lincoln went outside and smoked a cigarette. He waited until he heard noise in Mr. Watson’s classroom — the school was closed for today, so no one was here except for the traffic school. An explosion of chatter signaled it was time for the class’s lunch-break.
He waited outside, smoking his cigarette down to the filter, as students filed out. Most of them left. Even the ones who had brought their own lunch didn’t want to eat in there, which Lincoln assumed (mostly correctly) was because they didn’t want to risk having to talk to that pissant Mr. Watson while they ate.
He hoped to see that pen-sucking freak, but he didn’t come out. Had he misread the situation? Lincoln had assumed that slurping on his pen was a signal. Lincoln went in. The little man wasn’t in the classroom, where that shitheel Mr. Watson was eating something that looked terrible — it was some sort of couscous salad, and it made Lincoln’s mouth taste bad just looking at it. He shoveled it in like his fork hated him.
Where did he go?
Lincoln shrugged and went towards the back door. He thought maybe he had gone out the back. Before he got to the door, however, he saw that slim white man going through a hall as though looking for someone. Maybe he had gone in search of me, Lincoln thought.
He headed into a supply closet.
Bart minced down the hall, in search of that janitor. He was annoyed that this had become more difficult than seemed reasonable. They only had twenty minutes for lunch. Bart was already skipping eating in hopes of getting a taste of that studly janitor, but now the time was slipping away quickly.
He had a ham and muenster sandwich to eat. He was really looking forward to it when he made it this morning.
A door opened right in front of Bart, and Lincoln’s hands reached out and gripped him on the shoulders. He pulled Bart into the supply closet and slammed the door shut before Bart could react.
Lincoln was powerful — he fancied himself an amateur bodybuilder though he was far from perfectly muscled. He had a little beer belly and plenty of heft on his thickheavy thighs. He had a deep growly voice and a scruffy beard. “Hey,” he said. “Whatchoo in here for?”
“You dragged me in here,” Bart said with a flirtatious giggle. “I don’t know what you wanted.” He straightened the zipper on Lincoln’s jumpsuit and tweaked one of his nipples through the fabric. “Maybe you needed some help figuring out how to use this broom.” He grabbed a broom and pretended to sweep awkwardly, brushing the broom over Lincoln’s feet. “My teacher made it pretty clear you don’t know anything about anything-“
“Yeah, he a dick.”
“Oh my god, he’s so douchey! I want to slap the pussy off his face every time he speaks,” Bart said. “He said he wouldn’t let us watch that video with all the gory car accidents because he was worried it would traumatize us — but that’s the one part of the day I thought might be good! The rest of it is just him babbling about the importance of showing respect to Hindu people when parallel parking!”
Lincoln laughed so hard his face turned red. His big hairy belly rippled and jiggled, bumping into Bart and knocking him against the door. “Sorry,” Lincoln’s deep voice rang out. He was quiet, but his voice was so deep it echoed against the walls of the supply closet.
“You want me to jack you off?”
“Hell yeah, boy. Go for it,” Lincoln said. “You a freak.” It wasn’t clear from his tone of voice whether that was an insult or not.
Bart gripped the zipper on Lincoln’s jumpsuit with his teeth, and he pulled it down. It was awkward to unzip the jumpsuit that way, but it turned him on. Bart lost the zipper every few inches and had to chase after it. He clutched Lincoln’s stout body for support, while Lincoln rolled his eyes.
“You playin’ games now, boy, hurry up,” Lincoln said with a snarl. His belly was bared, and his powerful chest muscles rippled. He had plenty of flab under his jumpsuit, a big meaty torso, and under that the musculature that Bart had sensed. He put out power and radiated heat, and it sent a frisson of desire up Bart’s spine.
Bart liked to tease him, so he didn’t hurry, even though Bart was the one pressed for time. He even stopped partway down and licked a trail from Lincoln’s belly to his neck, slurping up all the sweat that clung to his body. He would have kept going but Lincoln slapped his head away before his lick turning into a kiss.
Dropping to his knees, Bart pulled the zipper down the rest of the way. Lincoln wore tattered white boxers, which Bart also tried to pull down with his teeth. Lincoln’s plump ass got in the way, however, so Bart struggled, nuzzling the pubic hair that stretched out from the waistband of his boxers.
When Lincoln got tired of Bart playing around, he dropped his boxers unceremoniously and flopped his dick on Bart’s face. He had a big fat slab of meat, and he mollywopped it over Bart’s cheeks. Bart reached up to towards his chest, which he couldn’t reach, so he just clutched Lincoln’s belly with both hands as he slurped up the stale sweat that clung to his cockshaft. Lincoln snarled. “Quit playin’ wit’ it, boy.” He frowned crossly at him. “If you wanna jack me off, do it.”
“Okay, daddy.”
“Don’t call me daddy, that’s nasty,” Lincoln said. He had a fat cock just like his belly, and he slapped it over Bart’s cheeks. Pervs always played games, he thought, he had learned that in all those truck stops. If you let them, they would just lick you all over all day long, jacking themselves off. You had to hurry them along, Lincoln thought, so he spread Bart’s lips and plowed in.
Bart loved teasing alphas and making them ramrod his face like that, so he kept playing until Lincoln finally forced his dick down his throat. Then Bart opened his mouth as wide as he could so Lincoln could ram into him however he wanted. He was an expert at slurping big dicks and could deep-throat nearly anything.
He was glad to let Lincoln initiate this, Bart thought, because it meant Bart didn’t have to offer any money. It was nice to do it for free. Bart had a knack for tracking down hefty plus-sized alphas with meat to spare and a need for his wet mouth, soft hands and tight ass, but he usually had to pay them to ride the thickness-carousel. Lincoln was desperate enough to do it for free.
He couldn’t see Lincoln’s face because of the fat belly above his head, but Bart didn’t mind. He could hear Lincoln snorting like an angry hippo, huffling, chuffing as he sucked on his teeth and his dick stiffened up moistly in Bart’s mouth.
“Ah, goddamn…” Lincoln sighed. This felt good. His frustration at having to deal with that punk-ass shit Mr. Watson vanished. That all seemed so unimportant. Lincoln’s anger-management counselor, his parole officer and his other parole officer all agreed he needed to learn how to let things go, but it seemed so hard sometimes. About the only thing that did it was going to town on some bitch’s throat. That had been difficult to accomplish ever since leaving the trucking industry and the lot lizards of truck stops.
His dick was rock-hard and throbbing now, pouring precum in great rivulets down Bart’s throat. The taste was salty and sour, like pure sweat, unadulterated with deodorant, flowing into his belly. It was hot and sticky, just like Bart liked it. He would have gladly slurped on Lincoln’s cock all day long.
But he didn’t actually want to do that — he wanted to get plowed into. He didn’t want Lincoln to cum so quickly, not with Bart’s ass unplumbed today thus far.
He had to slap Lincoln on his fat asscheeks a few times before Lincoln got the message and pulled away. His belly had been pressing on Bart’s forehead, so there was a layer of greasy sweat left there when he was done. He pulled his cock out and gasped, staring crossly at Bart. Bart gasped for air, and he grasped Lincoln’s trunk-like legs for support. Thick tendrils of spit still connected his mouth to Lincoln’s veiny cockshaft.
“What’s wrong?”
“You wanna get in my ass?” Bart was recovering his breath now, and he chased Lincoln’s dick with his tongue. Lincoln ignored that and got up.
Lincoln blushed and snickered. Most dudes in truck stops didn’t do that. They would stroke you off again and again all day long, after all, but that was it. Anal was only for prisoners and sailors. And lumberjacks, soldiers, exterminators supposedly, a lot of labor unions. Rugby players. Puerto Ricans. So a lot of guys.
But not civilized people.
That’s not to say that Lincoln had never plowed into a man. But he’d never done it sober, with a consenting man he didn’t know, in a well-lit non-prison area.
Being sober really made it seem more daunting, he thought. Everything seems easier when you’re drunk. He wished he was drunk. But in any case, now that the freak from the traffic safety class had offered, Lincoln really wanted to plunder that ass. No woman had given up the ass to him since he gained all that weight.
But with his dick hard and the tight ass right in front of him, Lincoln was not about to say no. He wanted to blow his wad, and he wanted to do it right now. If the only option open to him for now was this dude’s tight ass, he was going to do it without a second thought.
He kept plowing in even when Bart had pulled off his cock. His hips just worked of their own accord, flexing, his angry cock jutting out and stabbing the air around Bart. His dicktip slammed into Bart’s thigh again and again, as Bart tried to turn around in the little space between Lincoln and the door, which rattled on its frame.
Finally Bart had his backside aimed at Lincoln, who again didn’t stop humping. His dick rubbed on Bart’s ass until Bart took the initiative to reach behind himself and aim his cock at Bart’s ass.
It was clumsy to reach back there because Lincoln didn’t stop moving, and his belly got in the way. But Bart managed to aim his cock for his tight hole, then backed his ass up.
Once the tip slid in, Lincoln grunted and groaned. He stopped grinding his dick and stayed still. He closed his eyes, suddenly stricken with nervousness about this — he’d never experienced anything quite like this. Bart backed his ass up, grimacing until he had every inch of Lincoln’s corpulent cock inside him. A spurt of pleasure hit Bart, as Lincoln’s cock rammed into his prostate. Bart shuddered and cried out.
“Damn…” Lincoln grunted. He slapped Bart’s asscheek, making it ripple and tighten and send a wave of pleasure up Lincoln’s body. His muscles all flexed at once — he tended to do that whenever he got nervous, to cover up his anxiety. He bit his lip and pulled Bart’s ass, enabling him to plow in.
Soon he had Bart bent over, struggling to hold onto the door in the frame as he got plowed into. Bart’s head bumped into the door too, but the pleasure emanating from his prostate was enough to make that seem irrelevant and distant.
He strained to take it all, but Bart managed to do it. Lincoln pounded in and out of him, using all of his weight and his power to ram him hard. Bart moaned out loud, stifling himself only when he heard some of his fellow traffic-school students out in the hall — they sounded like they were looking for a place to smoke a cigarette without Mr. Watson seeing them (Mr. Watson had made it clear he disliked smokers and didn’t think they should be allowed to drive).
Bart hoped they didn’t hear. He didn’t want to get kicked out and have to take this class all over again — taking it with Mr. Watson wouldn’t be so bad cuz he could get cornholed again, but probably he’d end up somewhere else that didn’t have a studly janitor like Lincoln.
Bart was sure the twenty-minute break was over, but he didn’t want to hurry Lincoln, who was swaying, grinding his dick within Bart’s ass, plowing into him from every angle he could. It seemed to last forever, Bart’s prostate singing as he took in the greatest cock he’d ever had.
Finally he couldn’t bear it anymore, and Lincoln sprayed his dense wad deep into Bart’s ass. It flowed in like water from a hose, more and more of it, until it overflowed in a big foamy mess of creamy nut that dripped down Bart’s legs. Some of it soaked into Lincoln’s jumpsuit fabric, which was piled down around his ankles.
“Goddamn, boy, take it!” Lincoln held onto Bart by the hair, keeping his squirming body in place as he finished up inside him.
Then, at last, Lincoln pulled out, and a surge of warmth hit Bart, who sighed. Bart was weak with desire, so Lincoln had to hold him aloft, allowing Bart to wiggle in his arms and suck sweat off his chest. Lincoln stroked his own gray-tinged beard hairs as his dick limpened, rubbing against Bart’s asscheek.
More jizz sprayed into Bart, a long flow that filled him up and seeped into his flesh. It was hot and creamy, and already some was seeping out and running down the insides of his thighs. It felt so dirty and so good, and Lincoln gave his cock a few final strokes inside Bart, daggering it slowly back and forth and turning his asscrack into a foamy mess. His hands lay at rest on Bart’s back then, as, very slowly, inch by inch, Bart expelled that massive cock.
Finally it came out with an audible plop, followed by a torrent of jizz that plopped onto the floor. Bart sighed, and Lincoln moaned.
He let go, and Bart collapsed to the ground with a gasp. Lincoln backed away and wiped his dick off. “Alright, boy, you better get back to ya class. Mr. Watson got shit to say. God knows he never gonna run outta words.”
“Hmmmm… Are you still gonna be around in a couple hours?” Bart asked.
“Nah. I gots a date. Well, not exactly a date, but there’s this female at that strip club on the highway…” Lincoln licked his lips. “She said she like big boys. She wanna see me and dance for me. But maybe if things with her don’t work out… I could give you a call?”
Bart nodded. He knew enough about girls to know what was really happening at that strip club, but he didn’t want to get involved. He put his clothes on and slipped out, arriving just a minute or two after Mr. Watson re-began his class. Bart sat down and daydreamed as he basked in the fat-stud smell that clung to his body.
He couldn’t wait to get home and wait for that call.

The Dairyman

Bart Dazzle is at it again, this time touring Vermont for big-bodied alphas! His target today is a buttery dairy farmer with a physique so massive you could, and he might, worship it for days! Angus Butterman has got manhood, manmeat and dairy cows in equal abundance, and he has a need that only Bart Dazzle can satisfy!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Them city-folk stay useless, Angus Butterman thought to himself. He got no surprise in him to see the strange out-of-towner approach the farm only when it was too late to matter. All the smarts in the world won’t help if you’re too late to do anything.
Angus was a towering bull of a man, at well over six feet tall and as hefty as a heifer and a half. He was burly and bristly like a barrel full of push-brooms, and his big round face was windswept and dour, like a cow that outgrew its pasture. He wore only his overalls now — he took off his shirt because the sleeves were soaked with cow blood, but he had worn an apron that protected the overalls, so they were dirty only with dust and mud and dried-on whatever, not fresh cow blood. His big muscle-bulging arms flapped as he washed his hands. That was the last of the blood.
He stood by the well near the green barn as the out-of-towner approached, looking frightened of the farm, Angus thought. Scared of work, of getting his hands dirty. He probably had never seen an animal get slaughtered for food, had no idea how much work went into putting a meal on this spindly girlish man’s plate.
All that was more or less true. The out-of-towner was named Bart, and he was indeed from well out of town. Bart was here in Vermont because the governor, Hartfield Merriment, was a delicious ball of flab and machismo that Bart had wanted to worship.
Governor Merriment had turned out to be just as much fun as Bart had hoped. He was jolly and jiggly and roly-poly and he tasted like apple cider vinegar. Bart loved it. But he had gained access to the Governor’s Mansion by purporting to have great knowledge in agricultural policy. He bullshitted his way in, only to find that little lie snowballed, and Bart had to spend weeks reading up on the matter or he was gonna look like an ass and would not get to taste Governor Merriment’s man-meat. He ended up proposing a policy that had to do with calf births. It was so obscure and stupid he figured they’d just ignore it, and indeed, they did. It was a real policy, it’s how they do it in England. It was plausible anyway. Not that Bart actually wanted it implemented, it was just a way in.
That led to Bart sticking around in Montpelier to taste the roly-poly meat of the fire chief, the police chief and this short-order cook with a body like a melted brickwork, and all the while he was trading himself off as an expert in calfbirthing.
In fact, everyone in the Vermont state government in Montpelier called Bart “The Professor” because he had said he studied at Oxford in England. That was why the Mayor came to get Bart when he heard the beloved cow Daisy Sue, in a small farming town nearby, was having a bloody and dangerous labor — she gave birth first to a deformed and dead calf, then continued with a live one.
From Bart’s perspective, that was a disaster. He did not know anything about calfbirthing, and he was going to look like an idiot if he pretended.
He was dreading it the whole way, but he felt an obligation to at least try, and he hoped he looked confident as he came into the Butterman Dairy. Angus Butterman met him by the green barn, where they had planned to meet up. The birthing cow was in there.
He hoped he didn’t mess this up too badly. The worst he could do was not help, right? Just look confident and don’t do anything important. Ask for hot water. Say reassuring nothings. Clean and sanitize. Ideally without touching anything, because Bart saw a human birth once and it was disgusting. So many body fluids of every color going in every direction, and cows were way bigger than a woman. Dear god, that was going to be awful. Shoulda worn a hazmat suit.
It was probably all over and done with anyway. How long could a calfbirth take?
Cows know how to give birth in the wild. Surely they can just figure it out. It can’t be that hard for a cow to give birth to a calf. That’s like all a cow does in its life.
But as Bart approached the farm, he saw Angus Butterman standing there like an imposing statue, and Bart’s heart skipped a beat. Angus was handsome. He stood heavy and plodding, his belly substantial but not fat — he was strong enough to heft a year-old calf like it was a sac of potatoes, and he could lift a sac of potatoes like it was just a single spud. His whole body was thick all over, and Bart could already taste his hairy flesh on his tongue.
“Hmmmm…”
“Hayuh, stranger,” said Angus Butterman. He shook Bart’s hand. It was a weak, lily-livered handshake. Angus rolled his eyes.
“Hi, I’m Bart, I was sent here by the Mayor, I heard… — I heard you were having problems with a calf-“
“No. I fixed it. It’s fine. Daisy Sue is fine.” His voice was flat and rumbly like a dormant volcano. He had his thumbs hooked into the straps of his overalls, which pulled the fabric forward and made his pale, powerful chest partially visible. He was just as hairy as Bart had hoped.
“Oh. Well, thank god, cuz I don’t really know jack about calves!” Bart said. Then he blushed — Angus frowned like he didn’t appreciate Bart’s blasphemy. Bart cleared his throat. “I know more about humans, I’m not actually a veterinarian.”
“Hmm.” Angus paused. “Perhaps you could make yourself helpful and bathe me.” He snortled. He thought that would show this uppity doctor from the city — he assumed Bart would never agree to bathe someone, especially not a rural farmer with a broad body and chunky ass. It would be too humiliating.
But Bart’s eyes opened wide. “Sure! Okay. I mean… yeah. Yes. Sure. I’ll help you bathe,” he said. He smiled bashfully. “I mean… that might be a good idea. I could check you for, uh… wounds, and…” He paused for a long time, nearly drooling at the prospect of manhandling this mountain of a man. “Uh… other… issues. Anatomical… irregularities.”
Angus frowned. Bart spoke in a way he found most unfamiliar, his accent being neither New England nor New York nor Canadian — the only accents Angus was familiar with. It was vaguely British but not convincingly so. He didn’t think he was from the South either. Angus’s accent, on the other hand, delighted Bart. His baritone voice had a trace of holler and a hefty dose of yip, but it was long and low like an elegant moo. It sent a frisson of desire up Angus’s spine.
Angus cleared his throat. “Come,” he said.
He was surprised that Bart would agree to bathe, but Angus wasn’t going to turn him down. He was a big enough man that he found it difficult to bathe himself. That was more laziness than anything else, but he usually had his wife at least scrub his back.
“You have a beautiful farm,” Bart said as Angus led him into a barn. Bart’s smile faltered when he saw the “bathing” facility — there was no showerhead at all, just a hunk of steel that was an old-fashioned tank heater, attached to a hose that led to a copper tub. It looked like a torture device from a steampunk movie, Bart thought. Where on earth would Angus get such a thing?
The copper tub filled with hot water as Angus, ignoring Bart completely, drained the tank. The water steamed and sizzled, but it rapidly cooled when out of the heater. Then Angus stood and removed his overalls. The water was very hot — nearly boiling, Bart suspected, when it first came out of the tank.
Those overalls slipped to the ground, and Angus’s wide ass flapped free. It was broad and fleshy and firm and jiggly when he stepped into the tub. Bart couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was glad to see Angus had a giant dick too. It hung between his legs as thick as a calf’s thigh. It was uncircumcized and veiny, and it made Bart lick his lips in anticipation.
Angus tottered when he lifted his leg to get in the tub. He grunted and heaved, asscheeks squeezing, cock flopping and Bart blushed with hot desire.
“Hmmm… So, Mr. Butterman, is there something I can do for you? Needs you could use satisfaction on?”
“Get the soap and the brush.” He pointed to a table by the wall.
“Sure, sure, but that’s not what I meant.” Bart got the soap and the long-handled brush. The soap was foul-smelling and astringent, and the brush was wiry like a toilet brush. Bart wasn’t sure what the normal procedure was, but he just got his hands wet and worked up a bunch of suds with the soap. “I mean other than this.” He clasped his hands on Angus’s legs and began massaging vigorously.
“You… are not using the brush?”
“If I encounter a part of you that is too dirty to clean with my hands, I will use the brush,” Bart said. “But I don’t mind doing the work by hand. I do like to get my hands dirty, you know. Not all out of towners are ineffectual weaklings.”
“Hmmph.” Angus narrowed his eyes to slits, but he did not argue the point. he sighed as he leaned back in the water, and he allowed Bart’s slim hands to knead the tight, sore flesh of his back. Angus’s back muscles rippled beneath his touch. Angus let out a long low moan.
Not even Angus’s wife rubbed his back so vigorously. Angus licked his teeth to avoid accidentally smiling. Even with Bart not facing him, Angus didn’t want to smile. It simply wasn’t proper. He nodded and harrumphed, spreading his legs so Bart could more easily get all around his thighs. Bart’s delicate hands brushed up against his balls and his shaft, while Bart’s head was right behind one fleshy asscheek.
The stranger’s hands were soft and warm. They’d be good milking hands. A cow could tolerate those easy. Angus had big rough hands from a lifetime of work. He could milk a cow when he had to, but that was largely automated these days. In fact, his milking machine was on its last legs. Angus spent his time supervising the farm and the production of milk, cream, sour cream, cottage cheese and Honduran-style crema. The Butterman Dairy filled orders for companies throughout New England and in Ontario and Quebec.
Angus snorted. Bart’s massaging hands went from Angus’s thighs to his chest — he avoided the private areas for the moment. His hands caressed that barrel-shaped body, and he even planted his lips on the side. He slurped up the bathwater that clung to his now-clean skin. Angus furrowed his brow like he didn’t understand.
“So, you didn’t answer me,” Bart said. “What can I do for you? Not something medical.”
“What?”
“There must be something you want.”
Angus chuckled, his big chest shifting up and down when he did. His deep voice echoed in the high-raftered barn. “There’s a new milkin’ machine on the market. Costs a pretty penny though-“
“I’ll buy it for you.”
Angus looked down at him. “Pardon?”
“I’ll buy it for you if you do something for me,” Bart said. He blushed at Angus’s intense, sour-faced stare. His giant body loomed overhead like an idol. Bart looked down, then hugged his torso. “Will you… lay with me? Treat me like a woman. Stick your dick in me.”
Nearly toppling over, Angus jumped with a start. He was not accepting that. Jacking off was taboo in Angus’s household. He was a god-fearing man.
But in his view, obscenity was worse than some minor, harmless masturbatory indiscretions. As long as he didn’t touch another man in such a manner, Angus didn’t see it as a grave sin. He could allow the mincing stranger to service him. It was not motivated by lust, after all, nor even greed.
But Angus just nodded — he thought he would lose his farm if he didn’t get that milking-machine sooner or later — the other dairies in the area already had it, and they were able to produce twice as much milk from the same number of cows, and with fewer workers. He still stood there, ignoring Bart as though he didn’t understand what Bart had offered.
“So, that’s a yes?”
“You had better actually buy me the machine,” Angus said flatly. His hand formed a fist. “I will have you lynched, mister.”
Bart shivered in fear. Angus had said that so nonchalantly that Bart assumed it could only be a real threat. “Don’t worry, I’ll follow through,” Bart said.
The idea of jacking off with a man wasn’t entirely alien to Angus Butterman. He’d done it before. There was a worker on his dairy farm who had the silhouette of a woman in the right light, and he enjoyed servicing the meats of men with stubborn stiffies. Angus had gone to see him on many a night when his wife wanted nothing to do with him. She said Angus was too big, like trying to lay beneath a buffalo, and so their marital bed was only visited a few times a year. Angus found alternative means to satisfy his urges, in an entirely Christian way.
Bart kissed his cocktip, which made it tremble and shake. Angus smelled strongly of sweat in his crotch because Bart hadn’t scrubbed him yet, just rinsed and massaged him, and he didn’t intend to. He loved a stinky man. Angus could scrub later.
He stroked his dick while slurping on just the tip. He had a feeling it would get magnificently big and he was right — it grew from merely impressive to a full twelve-inch long monster that made Bart shiver again with both terror and anticipation. That was going to hurt in all the best ways, he thought.
“Put your mouth on it, deeper,” Angus said, reaching down to shove Bart into the position he wanted. He seemed to think Bart didn’t know how to do it. Bart didn’t correct him because he enjoyed a pushy alpha — Angus thought he was the worldly expert!
He wrapped Bart’s lips around his cock and began to pivot his hips, forcing more and more of his giant dick into Bart’s throat. The taste was salty and warm and a little bitter from the soap that had dripped into his crotch. Bart had to lean over the lip of the tub to get deep in there, which he did with his hands clasped on Angus’s trunk-like thighs.
“Ah, my…” Angus bit his lip to avoid taking the Lord’s name in vain. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. His dick was so wet it dripped — and not with bathing water either. Bart drooled over it, desiring to have every inch of it throbbing in his throat.
Angus was as hard as pig-iron now, his dick pulsating in Bart’s mouth. His massive dairyman body rippled with each wave of pleasure to wrack his frame. His biceps and thunderous thighs all flexed and relaxed in sync with the cavernous moans that came from his chest. He gripped Bart’s head and held on tight, so he could deeply hump his manhood in Bart’s mouth. His entire foot-long manhood stabbed into Bart’s throat and stayed there before he began to rock back and forth.
“Ah, yes, yes…” Angus’s baritone voice gurgled moistly. His sweaty balls slapped against Bart’s chin.
It was one of the best cockshafts Bart had ever tasted. He thought maybe rural people had better dicks. There was something tastier about their manhoods, more pleasing in the way they plowed into his throat. They acted more on instinct maybe, less self-conscious, more primal and bestial. Whatever it was, Bart adored it, and he savored the sour flavor of Angus’s manhood.
Despite his lungs crying out for oxygen, Bart opened his throat wide and let Angus take charge of it. Plowing back and forth, Angus used and abused his throat, as more moans escaped his chest, and precum coated Bart’s tongue.
Then Angus let go just long enough to step out of the tub, while Bart took a hoarse gasping breath. Angus rammed his dick back in before Bart could even get his breath back. Bart kneeled before his awe-striking body.
“C’mon, boy, take the whole thing, good, good… You’re no doctor… Are you a con artist? That Governor Merriment is a fool…” Angus said as though that was a well-known fact.
When Angus finally let him take another breath, Bart rolled away and gasped. He grinned as he wiped spit and salty precum off his lips. “You wanna cornhole me? In the ass?”
By the standards of a rural farm community like this little town outside of Montpelier, that was a very obscene way to put it. Angus flared his nostrils. Bart had no idea how offensive Angus found his words, but Angus had that New England taciturnity, and he did not say anything about it. He just grumbled inwardly about rude city-folk. He really needed that milking machine.
If that’s how people in New York talk, I’ll be glad to never see another one, Angus thought. Nobody had told him Bart was from New York, it was just where Angus assumed all out of towners were from. Maybe Canadian actually, Angus thought now, that might explain the accent.
In any case, Angus wasn’t going to turn down a chance to blow a nut, plus get a milking machine out of it. In fact, he was glad to spoil such a foul-mouthed man’s bottom, he thought. He would never have done it to someone he thought of as clean and good-hearted.
“Bend ovaah,” he said with an angry snort.
When Bart didn’t move quick enough, Angus bent him over the copper tub. He bade Bart to stick his ass high. It was an awkward position for Bart, who had to keep his face above the water, which now steamed lightly as Angus’s bodily dirt and grease floated on the surface.
“Hmmm… Spread ‘em, stranguh,” Angus said with a thick-voiced chuckle. He had to stand on his toes and lean forward in order to line his cock up with Bart’s ass. He used his other hand to separate the cheeks and then wedged his dick in.
“Oh god, damn…” Bart said, having no idea that blasphemy spurred Angus on to treat him even crueler.
Angus kneaded the soft flesh of Bart’s delicate asscheeks. He slipped his dick in and Bart cried out as a burst of pain hit his backside hard. His eyes opened wide and his face dipped into the water that stank of Angus’s sweaty body. The pain quickly melted away, leaving behind a slowly simmering sense of bliss.
The moan that escaped from Bart’s lips was an intense chest-rattle that made Angus think he was in blinding pain. That seemed right anyway. Angus had no idea that Bart genuinely thought he was handsome — people simply didn’t talk about men in that manner in rural Vermont. So Angus assumed Bart was mentally defective in some way, like a hobo or a mental patient, and that he enjoyed the pain. It was no skin off Angus’s nose.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Bart favored the physiques of big men, and he loved big cocks, and he was good enough at taking on massive manhoods that the pain lasted only a few seconds. Even the pressure was not unbearable. It was made more intense by the heavy body resting upon Bart’s thin back.
“You are… a most low man,” Angus said dourly, chewing on his lip as he struggled to ram his dick all the way in.
Finally Bart took a deep breath and took in every inch of Angus’s dick, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He again doused his face in the now-lukewarm tub of water, which exhilarated him. “Yes, Angus, get deep in me!”
Angus frowned but did so. It was also rude, he thought, to call a stranger by his given name. But if he got one of those modern milking machines, it would all be worth it.
And besides that, Angus decided, this felt good enough to do it even without the milking machine — it was just plain good. His wife never let him plow into her like this. She didn’t want to do it unless they were planning on having another child. Angus accepted that even if he disliked it.
But Bart, it seemed, would take anything — Angus had no idea Bart had a minimum weight — so Angus could plow in as hard as he was capable of. He made Bart grip the far edges of the copper tub, which rocked as Bart was rollicked back and forth by the intense feel of Angus’s heavy cock.
“Oh god, shit… I— oh fuck-!” An orgasm ripped through Bart’s body.
Angus gripped Bart by the hair hard. “Do not curse, little man, and do not take the Lord’s name in vain-” He too cut himself off, his voice breaking as he orgasmed at the same time.
Bart blushed, his mind whirring as he realized he had been blaspheming for several minutes. He was nearly bent all the way over the tub now, his head on the far side of it, so his own cock sprayed its wad into the water.
“Oh — oh-!” Bart couldn’t think of any non-curse word — was ‘crap’ offensive? He had no idea. All he did was howl and scream as his prostate sent wave after wave of pleasure through his body, which was painfully pinned in place by Angus’s powerful body pressing down on him.
Then, all in one fumbling motion, Angus went to the floor and dragged Bart with him. They were both on their sides, writhing and undulating, Angus’s strong limbs flapping around. Bart was swallowed up by his bigness and covered in the water that still clung to his barrel-shaped torso.
“Aaaaaaaah…” Angus moaned and snorted, sniffling, getting himself a nose-full of Bart’s sweat from the back of his head. But it was Bart who got more sweat in his face, with Angus’s body all around him. Everywhere Bart looked was frenzied male flesh rolling and flexing. He slurped every bit of it clean, unable to resist even as his ass cried out for mercy.
Then, it was over. Angus backed off, and his dick slid out.
“Shit…” Bart said again, then clasped his hands over his mouth. “Sorry. That’s a bad habit.”
“I should think so,” Angus said with a judgmental snort. He slapped his own belly, making his muscles ripple. Bart leaved over and kissed his hairy chest.
“I’m really sorry,” Bart said. “Maybe I could hang around your farm for a couple days and keep you satisfied.” Bart suspected there were farmworkers around too, which might give him plenty enough variety to be entertained.
“That would be acceptable. It will take you some time to arrange for that milking-machine as well.”
“Oh, right, sure,” Bart said. “Is it okay if I stay here? In this barn?”
“Here? This is where all the men come to bathe- Oh.” Angus realized that was precisely why Bart liked it. Angus smirked and stood. He waved his dick around above Bart’s face, making a few drops of either sweat or cum or both — Bart couldn’t tell — plop onto his lips. Bart swallowed them up. They were sweet and salty and delicious. “Fine,” Angus said.
He waddled away, putting on his overalls only just before he stepped outside. That left Bart in the barn alone, to work out a plan to seduce as many farmworkers as he could find!

The Plumber

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

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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

The Gangsta Bottoms

Avery is at a bachelor party when the others guys all go off with a ho. He’s not interested, but the pimp Slim Jay has something for everyone… even when that something is an anatomically gifted alpha male gangsta willing to bend over and let this twink climb on top!

Can Avery find satisfaction from Slim Jay’s diverse stable?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was embarrassed for himself because he assumed Slim Jay was a mugger at first. Luckily he didn’t respond based on that assumption, so no one knew what he thought.
He and the rest of Jinky’s bachelor party had stumbled out of Lipsweet, a strip club in Lawndale, Chicago. They were all in high spirits, even Avery who thought he’d hate that part of the evening. He was not into strippers. It was fun enough though, and the other partygoers bought Avery a bunch of drinks. That was good, because cash was strapped right now.
The fresh air was cold and invigorating, but it came with a brisk wind that soon made it uncomfortable. Avery did not like the Chicago weather. It was only October, and it already felt like February. The men he was partying with, including the soon-to-be groom Jinky, were drunk, most of them drunker than Avery. They were loud and rambunctious. That soon dwindled though, once they were out of the strip club.
When they made it around the corner, Slim Jay was waiting. He shook hands with Jinky, while Avery reached for his wallet before realizing that this was not a mugging.
Slim Jay was a pimp. He had dark brown skin, a clean-shaven chin beneath his handsome face, which was marred by a scar — which looked recent — that stretched almost to one eye, like someone had attempted to gouge out his eye. He wore a violet suit and a yellow tie, with a purple hat and white belt, and somehow the clashing colors all worked on his muscular frame. He was flanked by a bevy of beautiful women in slutty clothes.
“Alright, gentlemen,” he said. “Step right up and pick the female of yo’ choosing. It’s all been paid for. Y’all got the bachelor party package. Congrats to the lucky groom. You pick first.” He nodded to Jinky.
The guys all jostled, confused at first, then excited. The best man had paid for this, that was why he was making smirky comments about “not nutting in your pants before the afterparty” all night. What was even the point of all the lapdances then? Avery rolled his eyes. They could have seen a show or gone to a nice restaurant and still fucked these cheap-ass whores all night. Or for an hour or two, since Avery doubted that these women were paid enough to spend a whole night with every man here.
Well, every man minus one. Avery didn’t intend to do it.
The others all paired off with a girl, and they headed in giggley pairs to a cheap motel across the street, the Top Inn. Jinky himself went first and got two beautiful girls, the two cleanest-looking ones in the group. That was apparently part of the ‘bachelor party package’ that the pimp had offered.
Awkward and nervous, Avery hung around until the end. It seemed they were all so excited to get laid after hours of being blue-balled in the strip club that none of Avery’s friends noticed he was left last. Finally there were only two girls left, one rather fat and the other horse-faced, which was presumably why they had been last to be chosen.
“Well? Pick one, honky,” Slim Jay said when Avery was the only one left. “I ain’t got all night.”
“Oh, uh… No, thanks. I’m uh…” Avery blushed. “No, thank you.”
“He don’t wanna, Slim Jay,” said the fat one with a chuckle. “Ain’t you see that? He got a wrist limp as a dead snake, and-“
“Shut up, Bethlyn,,” Slim Jay said. He peered closely at Avery.
“No offense, it’s just not my thing. I don’t sleep with prostitutes. I’m not even… I didn’t even get any lapdances in there. Well, one, but that wasn’t my choice,” Avery said. “I’m friends with Jinky from where he used to work, I don’t even know most of those guys-“
“Shut up,” Slim Jay said. He stroked his chin. “You like my hos?”
“Uh… Not… in a sexual way,” Avery said. “They’re cool and all.” He gave a smile and a nod hello to the thick ho, who smiled more eagerly back. She waved at him. “I love your top.”
“Thank you, baby,” she cooed, the motion of which made her corpulent breasts jiggle.
“Shut up.”
Slim Jay nodded. “You Christian?”
Avery nodded.
“Fine. Go to Room 16. Just wait there. I’ll send you someone.” Slim Jay turned and walked away, pulling out his cell phone as he went.
The fat prostitute and the awkward, horsey-faced girl shrugged. They followed after Slim Jay, who went toward the motel lobby. Not sure what else to do, Avery just went to Room 16. If nothing else, he could wait there until the other groomsmen were done. This would not be the first time he waited for other men to be done at a brothel. Room 16 was unlocked, even though this was one of those motel rooms whose doors automatically lock. The lock was disabled, apparently.
He had just given up on Slim Jay doing anything when there was a knock at the door.
Avery got up from the bed, where he had been trying to figure out the remote control. He wasn’t into prostitutes. If Slim Jay brought him a new ho, Avery was just going to tell her to leave.
Standing there, glowering in the doorway to Room 16, was Nutter, a tall, broad-shouldered black man with a barrel chest and a cocky grin on his face. He wore a powder-blue baseball cap backwards, and a large crucifix was tattooed running up his sternum to his neck. He had dark brown skin that was smooth and creamy, and he carried with him a bottle of malt liquor that he finished as he entered the room.
“Yo,” he said, showing off his alluring smile and dimples. He stepped in, his muscular chest tense and puffed out like he meant to intimidate someone, despite the smiling face. “I’m Nutter.”
Slim Jay stood outside the door, with his arms crossed over his violet suit and purple tie. He smiled at Avery’s shocked face. “Nutter’ll do anything you say. Have a good bachelor party, man”
“Thanks…” Avery’s voice trailed off. He had no idea what was going on. The motel room door slammed shut. Of course, the lock had been disabled, so it simply bounced in the doorframe before settling on the threshold, barely shut at all.
But the door was shut enough to give an air of privacy to the dingy motel room.
“You blow weed?” Nutter asked. He pulled out a blunt he had been keeping behind one of his ears. He lit it and puffed til it had a good cherry, then he passed it to Avery, who took a deep drag. He hadn’t smoked a blunt since high school, so he coughed before passing it back. Nutter smiled. Avery took another hit, then passed it to Nutter, who puffed on it like a smokestack. He sucked down like a third of the blunt in his two hits.
Then Nutter held the smoke in his open mouth before exhaling a long plume. “A’ight… You want me to jerk you off, right? Let’s get it over wit’. You gonna stick me in the ass, honky?”
“Oh. Uh… Okay. Yeah, I, uh… I do that, do you, uh, mean…?” Avery was sure he had heard this wrong. He had to laugh at his own nervousness. This was like a dream, he told himself, you better not get so nervous you can’t even take advantage of it while you can. There was no way Slim Jay had a stable of both pretty women — kinda pretty — as well as this alpha male mandingo with the huge muscles and a no-doubt tight ass.
Nutter put the blunt down on the ashtray on the nightstand. He took off his hat, removed his shirt, then put his hat back on. His bare chest muscles rippled.
“So, uh… Nutter, are you…? I mean, uh, do you work, uh, for Slim Jay?”
“You mean am I a ho like a bitch?” Nutter asked. He scoffed. He stood up. He took another puff on the blunt, then exhaled the smoke directly in Avery’s face. “Do I look like a female ho?”
“No! That’s why I was asking! You didn’t seem like it, like that,” Avery said. What if he got beat up and robbed? Did Slim Jay really have any reason to trust Nutter? What if this was a set-up?
“No. I do not work for Slim Jay, whiteboy. I got cash, see?” He pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills. “I got whores of my own, turnin’ tricks for me. Ya dig?”
“Oh. You’re a pimp?”
“Not ‘xactly, but yeah. I got whores workin’ for me, so…” He shrugged as he took off his clean sneakers.
Avery nervously undressed. He was a thin and delicate man, and he felt tiny standing next to Nutter, who was a round-chested, bulging-muscled macho. His chiseled torso was smooth, but Avery could tell it was only because he shaved it, whereas Avery had always been naturally smooth.
“You smell like girl,” Nutter said. He inhaled deeply.
“Uh… I guess… thanks?” Avery said. His dick dangled between his legs. He was proud of it — he rivaled Nutter’s own cock size. Judging from the look on Nutter’s face, he had intended to make fun of Avery for having a small dick and was annoyed to see that Avery didn’t, so he couldn’t.
Nutter got down on his knees. He laughed. “You believe me that I’m alpha as fuck?”
“Yeah!” Avery said. He blurted it out, and as soon as he said it, it was apparent that Nutter didn’t believe him, which made sense since Avery’s instinct was to say no.
“No, you don’t. You just want me to jerk you off,” Nutter said. “But you don’t get it.” He took Avery’s dick in hand and put it in his mouth, for just a second. “See? I can do it.”
“Yeah, I-“
Nutter scowled and frowned at Avery. “I was locked up for a long time, that’s all. I had a girlfriend. I mean, she was a boy, but I plowed her like a bitch and I always call her a her. I-“
“You had a girlfriend in prison-?”
“Don’t interrupt me. I plowed her ass until it turned into a pussy. She grew a clit just to satisfy me, whiteboy, and so I could make her cum so hard her teeth fall out. You believe that?”
“Well… Not really. No…”
“Shut up. I did it, I swear to God,” he said. He kissed Avery’s cock on the tip. “She had a dick like yours. Sometimes I liked to satisfy her dick. It feels good to be close to someone, y’know. Can’t be alone forever. I wanted to make someone happy, ya dig?”
“Yeah,” Avery said. “That makes sense.” He had trouble concentrating because Nutter seemed so aggressive even though his words were not. Avery couldn’t even think about what Nutter was saying. Nutter just scoffed at Avery, flopping his limp dick between his fingers.
“So go fuck yourself, whiteboy,” Nutter said. Then he swallowed Avery’s dick again.
The hostility in the air made Avery nervous. He disliked confrontation. But the anxiety actually made this even better than he expected — in truth, Nutter had an awkward, sloppy mouth. Avery felt his teeth more than once, and he attacked Avery’s dick as though he was angry with it. Avery couldn’t stop thinking about how Nutter could bite his dick off anytime.
That didn’t stop him from getting hard though, and the more anxious he got, the more his dick spasmed and throbbed, stiffening and prodding Nutter’s throat. Since Nutter was so big, he could deep-throat Avery easily, and with just a little struggle, he managed to nestle his nose deep into Avery’s flesh. Pleasure bubbled up Avery’s body.
“Aw, okay, oh god…” Avery babbled, too anxious to keep his mouth shut. It felt so good he stood on his toes and his eyes fluttered, hands hovering above Nutter’s head.
Finally Nutter pulled away. He swallowed, snorted and sniffled. He shot an angry look up at Avery, who blushed and turned his head away. Nutter stood and reached for his pants. He withdrew a bottle of lube.
“You wanna get in my ass, whiteboy?”
“Uh… okay… Yeah,” Avery said.
Nutter continued his hostile glare, never breaking eye contact for a moment as he squeezed lube out onto his hand. He rubbed it between his asscheeks. “You ain’t half the man Ramon was.”
“Okay. Ramon?”
“That was my girl, man.” Nutter spat onto the carpet. He sounded like he thought Avery should have already known that. “In prison. She tasted better than you.” He smirked at Avery, then he shook his head.
“Oh. Sorry,” Avery said. “You know, I’m like… cool with that, right?”
“Yes, you are. You wanted to ram a big black buck, and so that’s what Slim Jay got.”
“Whoah, that is not what happened. I never asked Slim Jay for anything,” Avery said. “You came in here and asked to jerk me off. You asked me to stick you in the ass. So I’m doing it. Don’t get mad at me for doing what you asked me to.” Avery blushed. He was rarely that confrontational with anyone.
Nutter bristled and wrinkled his nose. Then he smiled again. “Whatever, fuck Slim Jay. He’s a shithead. I turned his mom out, y’know,” he said. “She’s a trashy crackwhore.”
“Oh. Okay,” Avery said, slim-lipped and sucking in his breath.
“You’ll go at me hard, right?” he said. “I can take it.” He bent over the bedspread and clutched the blanket there. His big brown ass was bare, gleaming with lubricant.
Avery gulped and spread his asscheeks. He felt small in comparison to Nutter, whose asscheeks were wider than Avery’s entire chest. He rubbed each cheek and moaned at the power he felt in their quivering flesh.
“You gotta get lower,” Avery said softly. “You’re too tall.” His dick was at Nutter’s knee-height.
“Damn, short-ass whiteboy,” he said. He scooted down so he squatted on his ankles. Avery had to sit on the ground under him, making for a very awkward position since Nutter was much bigger and heavier than he was. Nutter chuckled, and his massive muscles writhed in front of Avery’s face. “Ramon was not that short.”
“It sounds like you really cared about him,” Avery said as he wedged his dick in.
“Her!” He barked so angrily Avery didn’t understand what he said at first. Then Nutter said, “Ramon was my bitch. I let her do things to me cuz I loved her, and I needed a tangible expression of my love.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Avery said. “Her. Sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, man, get goin’,” he said. “Come on, hurry up.”
Avery nodded and started to work his dick in. It felt like Nutter hadn’t taken any dick in a long time. His asshole was so tight Avery wasn’t sure this would work. But he squeezed on more lube and slowly got his dick in there, inch by inch.
Soon Avery was all the way in his ass, which squeezed and clenched around his cock. He moaned as little sparks of pleasure erupted in his manhood, and it throbbed in Nutter’s tight guts. Avery topped so rarely that he felt weird doing it now, especially in this awkward position.
But Nutter appeared to only be willing to do it like this. He kneeled in front of the bed as though he was going to start praying. His gold and platinum chains dangled around his neck, and his muscles all tensed as he struggled to accept Avery’s dick.
“You gotta relax,” Avery said when Nutter’s tight body started making it difficult for Avery to keep plowing him.
Nutter took a deep breath. He wrenched his body and gasped. Avery couldn’t tell if he was in pain or pleasure or both, but Nutter writhed. He leapt up and onto the bed so fast he dragged Avery with him.
And then Avery was literally on his back, supported entirely by Nutter’s spasming muscles. Since he had no leverage, it was all Avery could do to hold onto Nutter’s shoulders like a rodeo-rider on a rampaging bull. Avery’s body was wracked by intense sensations, which made him moan and groan, the sound of which was swallowed up by Nutter’s back.
“I would give you a reacharound,” Avery said breathlessly. His hands tried to grope around Nutter’s body, but Avery’s arms were much too short. He could barely finger Nutter’s erect, precum-leaking cock. “But I can’t reach.”
“Ramon always gave a reacharound,” Nutter muttered. “She loved me. Like a good bitch.” He took another deep breath and winced as Avery started to move his hips in a circle. That reawakened the bliss coursing through Avery’s veins.
Since Avery just laid on Nutter’s back and ass for now, he couldn’t plow. He just swayed, moving his dick around in Nutter’s ass as Nutter slowly grew comfortable with it. Nutter’s back muscles writhed, his tattoos gleaming with the sweat that collected there.
Eventually it felt like Nutter had grown used to Avery’s dick in his ass. Avery massaged his back and licked up the salty beads of sweat that dappled his flesh. Nutter moaned, his hostility gone now. Avery was able to slowly grind his dick in and out, every centimeter’s worth of motion wracking both men’s bodies with spasms and shocks of pleasure.
“Yeah, stick it in me, whiteboy,” he said. “You got a bigger dick than Ramon. It hurts more. But it feels good more too.” He chuckled but cut off his laughter when the movement made the pain worse.
Avery smiled. “Yeah. I got a big dick. Not as big as yours,” he said. He wasn’t sure that was strictly true, but he saw the wisdom in pumping up Nutter’s pride. Nutter did straighten his back out when he heard that.
Then Nutter’s cell phone rang. He roared in frustration, reached down to his pants and pulled out the cell phone. “Keep it down, whiteboy,” he said. His movement made his asshole squeeze around Avery’s cock. “I gotta take this. You might hear me get real.”
“Oh. Okay,” Avery said, too overwhelmed by passion to think about what that might mean.
“What?” Nutter said by way of greeting into the phone. “Uh-huh. No. No. No. No. No! You know my answer, Coolie. You pay me tomorrow.” He groaned into the phone. “Shut up, bitch. I’m fuckin’ a female in the ass. You wanna hear her croon?” He held up the phone to Avery, who was startled. He let out a feminine oah, ooh! “You hear that, Coolie? I just might hear you making that sound if you don’t pay me — well, it ain’t that hard, motherfucker. Just charge the shitmunchers more to make up for it. If you was a real hustler, you could it, nigga! Lil Bee do it. Rakhim Shockley do it. Wink do it. Nailboy do it,” he said. His face was red and screwed up, his anger at Coolie mixing with the intensity of being rammed in his sensitive ass. He roared into the phone. “You can do it too. Nailboy is straight up retarded, you fuckin’ bitch-ass nigga, you sell that shit and pay me tomorrow, or I will get the money outta yo’ ass!” By the time he hung up, Nutter was screaming so loud it made the light fixtures rattle. Avery was sure people in other rooms could hear that. His shouting made his asshole squeeze, sending shoots of pleasure through Avery’s body.
Avery was perfectly motionless, focusing on not orgasming despite Nutter’s massaging his dick. He was terrified of the argument — he had seen enough movies to worry that a driveby was coming next. But Nutter didn’t seem upset about it.
“Sorry ya had to hear me act like that,” Nutter said, his voice tense and clipped, Avery’s cock throbbing in his ass. “I know street talk makes white folk uncomfortable.” He sniffled. “Now get back to business.”
“Okay, yeah, sure, okay,” Avery said. “Cool. Fine.” He took a deep breath to stop himself from babbling again.
He took his dick all the way out, then pushed it back in with a loud sigh. He got up on his knees, while Nutter remained laying on his belly on the bed, one hand underneath himself jacking his own manhood.
That gave Avery leverage. He worked his dick in and out, and they both moaned in harmony with each other. Nutter had a deep, baritone voice that resonated in the rickety motel, while Avery’s flamboyant lilt gave the sound a musical air.
Avery was short enough and Nutter’s body was thick enough that Avery could plow his plump, bubbling cheeks while Avery kneeled behind him and Nutter laid on his belly. Avery just rocked his body forward, slipping his dick all the way in and most of the way out.
One of Avery’s hands gripped the bed beneath him, while the other kneaded the thick meaty slab of flesh over Nutter’s shoulder. Nutter moaned loudly. Each thrust of Avery’s hips brought both men closer to their climaxes.
His asshole clenched, and the smell of cum filled the air. Avery moaned as well, as his orgasm overwhelmed him. He felt the most incredible sensation of his life bursting deep within his body. His muscles all tightened.
The feeling of Nutter’s orgasm was palpable in the squeezing of his asshole and his muscles writhing in Avery’s delicate fingers. Nutter spurted a massive load into his hand and onto the bedspread. It soaked into the fabric there and filled the air with its cottony-sour scent. Nutter inhaled deeply of the aroma, while the first drops of cum filled up Nutter’s ass and landed on his sensitive prostate.
For a moment, Avery felt as strong as Nutter was — it was ridiculous, of course, since Nutter was easily twice Avery’s size. Avery pounded on his chest and roared, the sound drowned out by Nutter’s much deeper, louder grunting.
Cum sprayed into Nutter’s ass. It was a huge load, bigger than any Avery had ever shot. He just kneeled there motionless, using Nutter’s muscular back for support. He threw his head back and moaned his eyes, his girlish moan filling the air as wad after wad of jizz flooded Nutter’s ass.
Finally Avery was done. But his orgasm continued, in great waves as he felt Nutter’s muscles contract and flex beneath him. His cum filled up Nutter’s body and dripped out, further soaking the motel’s bedspread.
“God damn,” Nutter said with an exhausted moan. “You like that, whiteboy?”
“Hell yeah…” Avery said as he pulled out his limpening manhood. He took a deep breath. He was suddenly dizzy, overwhelmed by both fear and desire — he had visions of that Coolie person who had been on the phone coming by to fight with Nutter. Avery leaned down and kissed each of Nutter’s cheeks, which trembled beneath his lips.
“Clean up my ass now, bitch,” Nutter barked. Avery grabbed the tissues of the nightstand. He cleaned up Nutter’s ass, where creamy white cum flowed out of it.
Then Nutter stood and stretched his legs. He avoided eye contact with Avery as he got dressed.
“Thanks,” Avery said.
“Thank Slim Jay,” Nutter said. He shrugged. “If anyone asks, you was in here beggin’ me fo’ some free crack. I made you jerk me off and then I still ain’t give you none.”
“Uh… okay,” Avery said. He sat back on the bed. He had no intention of telling anyone that, but he wasn’t going to tell Nutter no.
When Nutter was dressed, he sneered at Avery’s naked body. “You skinny as shit,” he said. “You gotta get bigger.” He relit the blunt he had placed in the ashtray before. He took a deep breath and glanced out the window. “Aw, fuck, there’s that Coolie nigga. I’m-a go beat his ass. Have a good time, y’know, wit’ whatevuh whiteboys do.”
He left before Avery could answer. Avery crept forward to the window, where he watched Nutter stride out into the street. He confronted a trashy-looking, low-class thug, and they argued but soon walked away from the well-lit motel parking lot.
Avery got dressed and stepped out. By then, Jinky and the other groomsmen were finishing up with their prostitutes as well. Slim Jay smiled when Avery came out of the hotel room and met up with the others.
“You have fun, man?” he asked.
Avery nodded.
“Fo’ real?” Slim Jay asked, and in the way he raised his eyebrow, it seemed Slim Jay knew what had happened in here. He knew that Nutter had bottomed, and he knew that Avery wasn’t supposed to reveal that.
“Yeah,” Avery said with a smile. “I jerked him off, y’know. He’s an alpha male, a real gangsta. He throated me down hard. I, uh… I couldn’t take it. He’s too hardcore for me.”

The Prison Guard Bottoms

Ramon is a flamboyant twink behind bars, but his release is coming up soon. That’s when a guard brings him a special visitor… Barrack Zales is a new prison guard caught smuggling in drugs, which means he’s in for a special punishment.

This is a punishment that Ramon is gonna enjoy doling out!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The night before Ramon’s release date, he couldn’t sleep. He had been dreaming of this day for what felt like a lifetime. He tossed and turned. It was the worst night in the state prison since his very first, when Ramon wept and trembled in fear until dawn.
Now he thought he should feel good about his imminent release, and a part of him certainly did. But a part of him also wept and trembled in fear until dawn yet again. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he walked out those doors. He didn’t have a plan, aside from the vague boilerplate “integration plan” he had come up with during his legally-mandated meetings with a parole officer.
When the first rays of sunlight came through the tiny window in one corner of his cell, Ramon’s heart skipped a beat. He got up and paced since he couldn’t sleep anyway. He could only walk three feet back and forth in his cell, so it his pacing was subpar, but that was the best that could be managed in his rinky-dink prison cell.
Footsteps echoed in the silent corridor of the protective-custody cell block. There were three guards — including Officer Uglymug — escorting another uniformed guard that Ramon didn’t recognize. The other guard appeared to be new, with a clean uniform and an unfaded ID badge, polished black boots and an insecure swagger.
Was he under arrest? His hands were behind his back as though handcuffed, but Ramon couldn’t see whether they were.
Ramon’s anxiety about his imminent release diminished as he tried to figure out what was happening. Newly-hired guards sometimes thought they could smuggle drugs in and sell it to the inmates easily, since that happened in the movies all the time. But the state prison had ways of preventing that, and it was common for new guards to work a day or two and then be seen leaving the prison in handcuffs (they never served a sentence here).
Officer Uglymug opened the door to Ramon’s cell. He smiled broadly. “You are one lucky sissy, Mister Mercado,” he said. “Meet Barrack Zales, a former guard here.”
Barrack smiled wanly at Ramon. “Congratulations on your release,” Barrack said. His voice was deep and gruff, and he sounded confident, but it was a faux confidence, like he really was insecure but tried to hide it.
“Thanks, Officer Zales,” Ramon said.
“Don’t call him that,” murmured Uglymug. “He ain’t an officer.”
“Oh… Okay, well, then, Barrack,” Ramon said. He stuck his hand out to shake, but Barrack was handcuffed, so all he could do was nod back.
“Barrack here thought he could smuggle heroin into my prison,” Officer Uglymug said. “He wanted to get inmates like you addicted so he could profit off you-“
“That ain’t what I was planning!”
“Oh? What was your plan again?”
“I was… I mean… I wasn’t gettin’ no one addicted,” he said. “I was just gonna sell…”
“You were going to sell drugs at inflated prices to people who would otherwise be in rehab, but aren’t since they get drugs from you,” Officer Uglymug said. “Can you explain the morality of that to me? It sure sounds-“
“Okay, we’ve been over this, man. I’m doing what you want,” Barrack said. He rolled his eyes.
Officer Uglymug stared daggers at Barrack until the silence was so thick it could be stabbed with a shiv. Then he turned back to Ramon and smiled again. “But we decided to spare the taxpayers the expense of a trial. We think you can, uh… well, insert the law into Zales through the asshole, and I figured that’d be a good going-away present for you too.”
Another long silence filled the cell. Ramon cleared his throat. “So… you want me to cornhole him? Instead of being arrested, he gets it up the ass from me?”
Barrack flared his nostrils. “I’ll do whatever you want, man.” He flexed his biceps the best he could with his wrists handcuffed behind his back, and his big bear-like pecs jiggled beneath his uniform shirt. “I don’t care.” Despite his words, it sounded like he did care very much. He looked nervous and vaguely ill. He ignored it as Uglymug undid the buttons of his uniform shirt, which couldn’t come off without removing the handcuffs, but Uglymug let the shirt fall off his shoulders behind his back.
Ramon sighed. “Hell yeah, come on in, Barrack. I’ll do you so good you decide to go to prison for fun.”
Officer Uglymug laughed, but Barrack bristled and rolled his eyes, staying put until Uglymug shoved him forward. The Uglymug closed the door behind him. He remained outside Ramon’s cell though, watching through the cell bars.
“Can I get the handcuffs off?”
“No,” Uglymug said. He stood there with his arms folded over his chest once again.
Barrack straightened his back, towering over Ramon. He struggled against the handcuffs on his wrists, muscles bulging as though he was seriously trying to tear the handcuffs apart with his raw strength.
“Well, I guess… Why don’t we get started?” Ramon said. He pulled down the fly of Barrack’s uniform slacks and removed his throbbing slab of thick dickmeat.
One “good” (relatively speaking) part of coming to the state prison was that Ramon got to show off his substantial dick. Everyone assumed that since he was a little man, he had a small cock, and Ramon was glad to prove them wrong. It had been enough to make him into a celebrity on his first day. The Aryans called him the “Mexican wit’ a big prick”.
Now Barrack sighed and shook his head when he saw it. He looked away, and he gulped.
The tension in the cell remained thick, as Ramon gently picked up Barrack’s meaty member. He swayed it back and forth in his hand. It was thick and juicy, and it made Ramon lick his lips. Then Ramon walloped Barrack’s dick with his own, and they sword-fought there — well, Ramon did, Barrack stayed still like a stone statue, wrinkling his nose, keeping his chin high, like he was pretending not to notice Ramon smashed both limp cocks together. Ramon liked the feel of Barrack’s fat limpness rubbing against his own, leaving a layer of masculine sweat and grime. The tension in the cell diminished, replaced by a comfortable arousal. Ramon’s hands roamed all over Barrack’s body.
When he got to Barrack’s nipples, he tweaked one, then the other, then both, and Barrack twitched. His pecs rippled. Barrack bucked, and Uglymug laughed out loud.
“You seriously uncomfortable with that shit, huh? You were never gonna like workin’ here,” Officer Uglymug said with a big grin on his face. “Can’t be squeamish if you gonna be a prison guard.”
Ramon kept jousting with Barrack, who faced away from him, his body stiff but tense. Ramon’s cock was firming up, so their jousting turned rapidly from dickfat jiggling together to Ramon stabbing his erection into Barrack’s soft cock and trimmed pubes. Barrack wrinkled his nose.
“Get on your knees,” Ramon said, then added, “Bitch!” Uglymug reacted with thunderous applause.
Barrack sneered and lunged like he was going to punch Ramon, but his arms were still handcuffed, so Ramon held firm. He didn’t flinch. Barrach growled.
“Get on your knees,” Ramon said again.
Barrack gritted his teeth and sunk to the ground on his knees. His eyes narrowed into slits aimed up at Ramon.
He was still much too tall to swallow Ramon’s dick like that. Ramon stood there with his hands on his hips. Even on his knees, Barrack’s face was even with Ramon’s bellybutton. Ramon rubbed his erect dick between Barrack’s massive pectoral muscles. Barrack ignored it.
“Ya gettin’ titty-humped, nigga,” Officer Uglymug said. “I think you’re gonna have to go lower than that to swallow his dick.”
“Take your time though,” Ramon said with a smirk. He really meant that, he was enjoying humping Barrack’s muscles. He wasn’t gonna cum like that, but Ramon was in no hurry. Anything to distract from the stress of his imminent relase was worth it. His dick rubbed on Barrack’s sternum, which made his pecs ripple, so Ramon switched to thwacked his erection on the meat of Barrack’s muscle.
Barrack scowled but did open his mouth. He stooped over and took Ramon’s stiff dick past his lips. He gagged loudly, and spit choked down Ramon’s shaft, which he spat out. There was something defiant in his gag, like he was proving that he couldn’t do this.
Little did he know — or maybe he did know — that a gag wasn’t gonna stop Ramon Mercado. Gagging made Barrack’s muscles flex, and it sent a squeezing shiver of pleasure up Ramon’s spine. He smiled.
When Barrack had regained his composure, Ramon rammed his dick in, laughing as Barrack sputtered, eyes opening wide. Ramon’s cock throbbed in his throat, and since he was handcuffed, with his arms behind his back, he could do nothing but submit while Ramon drilled into him.
“Yeah, make him choke!”
“Hmmm…” Ramon gripped Barrack by the head and pushed his dick in, not throating him down like a lot of men in this prison do — Ramon had found his mouth was in strong demand during his time here — but more making love to his throat, humping his tongue, and making sure Barrack tasted Ramon’s cock with every inch of his mouth.
“Gag him! Gag him! Gag him!” Uglymug chanted
The tightness of Barrack’s throat was exhilarating. Every time he gagged on Ramon’s cock, it sent a wave of pleasure through Ramon’s body. He moaned and blushed at how intense his reactions were. He hadn’t topped anyone since well before coming to this prison, so it was nice to experience a hot mouth on his cock again, even if it was unwilling.
Copious spit leaked out his mouth, as Barrack was unable or unwilling to swallow anything. He drooled up on Ramon’s shaft, his whole body buckling when he gagged. Ramon was gentle now that he was getting into it, forcing — gently — oh so gently — his cock down Barrack’s throat. When he did it slow enough, Barrack was unable to spit it out, as he could only retch.
Ramon was in charge of his gullet though. He forced his cock down there then held it in place, as he played with Barrack’s face and head. He had handsome features, big ones too, Barrack was a large man with a big head and big everything on it. Ramon’s petite hands played with his nose, his cheekbones, his chin, his ears, and Barrack glowered and simmered, erupting in a furious choke every few seconds.
At last, Ramon pulled his cock outta Barrack’s mouth, quickly lest he bust his nut. He did not want to finish this until he had gotten up Barrack’s behind.
“Lay down on your back, here on the bunk,” Ramon said. He blushed as he pointed to his bunk.
When Barrack hesitated, Ramon frowned. Officer Uglymug pulled out his cattle prod, which made Barrack roll his eyes and shake. He struggled to fit his broad body into the bunk. He was too tall, so his feet had to curl up so that his head could rest over the edge, and it was difficult to balance himself with his hands still cuffed behind his back.
“Up like this, so I can really get deep in that throat,” Ramon said. He lightly tapped Barrack’s cheeks, then leaned down and kissed him on the lips. Barrack had nice, full lips and a big tongue, which lay in his mouth like a dead fish. He didn’t kiss Ramon back. He just stayed limp as Ramon explored his mouth.
When his burgeoning orgasm had died down, Ramon placed his spit-dripping cock right at the entrance to Barrack’s mouth. Barrack’s lower lip quivered — it was his upper lip at the moment, because his head dangled upside-down over the end of the bed — as Ramon wiped precum off on his handsome face.
His chin and cheeks were smoothly shaved. Ramon slid his dick over the man’s face until Barrack’s entire face glistened with pearly white pre-cum. He gagged every few seconds even when Ramon pulled his dick away, as the smell of precum had seeped into his skin. Ramon thwacked his erection on Barrack’s nose.
There was a symbol of three claws tattooed onto Barrack’s neck. Ramon rubbed them with one thumb as he played with the precum on Barrack’s face.
“What’s the significance of this tattoo?”
Barrack bit his lip. “It’s a gangsta thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re a gangsta?!” Officer Uglymug barked angrily. “What? Why did they even hire you? You got a fuckin’ neck tattoo…”
“Fuck you, Uglymug.”
“Shut up, you don’t get to call me that,” Uglymug said.
“You fuckin’ bitch-ass-!” Barrack’s shouts were muffled moments later by Ramon’s balls, which dropped right into Barrack’s mouth. They were sensitive, and his mouth sent tingles of sensation up Ramon’s body, but Ramon did so mainly to shut him up. He didn’t want this to turn into a fight between Barrack and Uglymug. Ramon could end up blueballed.
Instantly Barrack gagged on the sweaty ballflesh coating his tongue and slipping into his throat. His mouth quivered and the fluids pooled there, a mixture of Barrack’s and Ramon’s bodily secretions filling up Barrack’s mouth. Barrack’s mouth filled and overflowed with drool and ballsweat, as all his muscles flexed when he struggled not to retch. Ramon’s balls filled his mouth and tickled his throat.
“Gargle, motherfucker,” Ramon said. He had to repeat himself as Officer Uglymug turned the cattle prod on again before Barrack did so.
He wasn’t able to gargle in any meaningful sense, because as soon as he moved his tongue at all, he gagged profusely. He spat up a giant ball of spit that landed on the uniform pants he still wore. Ramon wiped up all the saliva he could with one hand and smeared it over Barrack’s face.
“You are one nasty shit,” Officer Uglymug said, as though he was both impressed and sympathetic to Barrack’s struggle.
“Open your mouth wider,” Ramon said. He demonstrated an open mouth. Barrack had a large mouth by nature, but Ramon thought he could do better. “Open that mouth, bitch.”
Barrack looked away, then scrunched his eyes shut.
“Nah. Look me in the eye like the bitch you are,” Ramon said. He was petite, even effeminate, so he knew he sounded ridiculous calling someone else a bitch. But that was what made it so humiliating for Barrack.
“Shut up,” Barrack muttered, his voice weak cuz he was struggling not to gag. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide.
“Let’s see how this does,” Ramon said. He pushed his dick in slowly, dragging it out so Barrack tasted every drop of salty precum on his tongue. Barrack held out until his nose nestled into Ramon’s crotch. His throat squeezed around Ramon’s shaft. But Ramon was relentless — he had been a bottom in prison for years, so he knew a lot of tricks to force someone into deep-throating a huge cock.
“That was pretty good deep-throating,” Ramon said, as he let his erection slide out so Barrack could take a breath. “You’re learning… Good job.”
“You fuckin’ pansy!” Barrack screamed.
“That was rude,” Ramon said with a laugh. “I’ll give you a choice for this next part. Do you want to lick my ass? Or would you rather drink some piss?”
“Fuck you!”
“Both? Really? Officer Uglymug, did he really say he wanted to both lick asshole and drink piss?”
“That’s what I heard. He said, ‘I love licking prostates, almost as much as I love drinking urine.’ I heard him say that,” Officer Uglymug said with a chuckle. “Thought it was weird, but you know… I don’t like to judge.”
“That was a really good impression, Officer Uglymug. Sounded exactly like him,” Ramon said. He paused. “Maybe you can help with this. My dick is hard, and I’m not sure I can piss.”
“I’d be glad to assist, inmate,” Uglymug said. He pulled out his thick cock, and he left it dangling out the fly of his uniform slacks.
“Stick your tongue out, bitch,” Ramon said. When Barrack didn’t immediately comply, Ramon grabbed his tongue with his fingers and pulled. He had a notably long tongue, at least two inches sticking well out of his mouth. Ramon shuddered with anticipation. He had never gotten a rimjob like this. “Keep your tongue out. Remember when folks say you gotta lick ass, that isn’t really what they mean. You gotta stick your tongue inside my ass and lick the insides. Not the asscheek. There’s no point to licking an asscheek. Got that?”
Barrack wiped away tears from his eyes. “Please! I-“
“That was a yes or no question. Do you understand?”
“Yes!”
“Good. Keep that tongue out. Move it around,” Ramon said. He faced his pale, smooth ass at Barrack’s face. “Move your tongue around.” He laughed as Barrack wiggled his tongue. Then Ramon planted his ass on Barrack’s face.
Barrack bucked and screamed into Ramon’s asshole. His tongue flickered away at first, then gingerly touched Ramon’s hole. He gagged as Ramon’s ass-sweat dripped into his mouth.
“Get that tongue in there,” Ramon said. He did not expect a real rimjob, but it was fun to try, and the delay meant he moved further away from the orgasm he could feel gathering deep within.
Barrack struggled to make himself do it. His big tongue pushed into the hole, then out, then back in again. Each time he penetrated Ramon’s asshole, a wave of pleasure washed over Ramon’s body.
Grinding his hips to get his ass lower, Ramon managed to literally sit on Barrack’s face. With Barrack laying on his back on the bunk, Ramon was supported entirely by his head, by his tongue sliding in and out of his slippery asshole.
Ramon’s dick twitched and spasmed. Precum dripped from his shaft. Ramon threw his head back and moaned. He could have cum like this, from the intense pleasure emanating from his prostate. But he didn’t want to.
He pulled away just in the nick of time. Barrack hoarsely belched and gasped for air. He sat up and took a deep breath. His reddish face looked away from Ramon until Ramon pulled on his handcuffs to get his attention.
“Look me in the eye! Beg me for more ass!”
“Please… Please… Uh, Inmate… Please… Let me lick your ass some more.”
“What did I say? Are you supposed to be licking my ass?”
“I mean… Let me lick your rectum or whatever,” Barrack said. Tears winkled in his eyes. He turned to Officer Uglymug. “Please… You can arrest me. I would rather be on trial. Please!”
“Too late now,” Officer Uglymug said. “Besides, you don’t wanna know how they’d treat you when you are convicted. At least this will only last one day, Zales. You ready to drink some piss?”
“No!”
“Well, here it comes,” Officer Uglymug said. He had his hoggish prick out and aimed towards the bunk. After just a moment’s silence, he began pissing, a long, solid stream of acrid yellow piss arcing all the way to the bunk. It soaked into the mattress.
It landed on Barrack’s leg. He squirmed and looked away, then he saw Ramon’s harsh glare. His big, muscled body crept forward and to the ground. He opened his mouth right in the stream of piss, which dripped from his face.
“Alright, lemme take a turn on that ass,” Ramon muttered, as Uglymug was finishing up his stream of piss. He pulled away from Barrack’s mouth and got behind him. Barrack didn’t seem to notice since he was focused on the bitter piss filling his mouth and spilling past his lips. He sputtered and spewed, and he twisted around on the now-soaked mattress.
Barrack had such a wide, broad back that Ramon could barely wrap his arms around it. With his dick wedged between Barrack’s toned asscheeks, Ramon couldn’t reach Barrack’s nipples — it was like climbing onto a great beast whose muscles rippled beneath Ramon’s tiny body.
“What are you doing?!” Barrack screamed as Officer Uglymug finished pissing. Barrack’s face dripped. Since he was in the midst of a furious storm of retches, his asshole wasn’t clenched tight.
A loud pained croaking sound ripped out of Barrack’s throat as Ramon forced his dick in. He pushed it in farther and farther while Barrack squirmed and cried out. With his body unprepared for the sensation, Ramon got most of his cock in before Barrack instinctively tightened his asshole
That made it feel even better. Ramon loved the sensation of Barrack’s entire musculature tightening as he tried to buck Ramon off him. But Ramon just held on tight, his feet no longer on the floor. Barrack roared and screamed.
Ramon had no idea how long that lasted. He held on as Barrack wiggled and squirmed. Ramon couldn’t really ram back and forth at all, he had no leverage with which to move his body. He just gripped Barrack’s muscles and kept his cock all the way in Barrack’s ass, while the writhing of Barrack’s powerful body massaged pleasure into Ramon’s cock.
“God damn, man… Get off me!” Barrack screamed.
Then he went down, and his asshole clenched even tighter again as Officer Zales zapped Barrack with the cattle prod. The tingling of his skin was palpable, and Ramon even squirmed as the electricity poured through him as well.
But it was just a little buzz for Ramon — those cattle prods weren’t set to a strong shock — while Barrack screamed and collapsed into a sweaty, piss-covered heap of limp muscle on the bunk. His entire body tightened and stayed tense.
“There you go, good…” Ramon whispered into Barrack’s sweat-covered face. He began pistoning his hips, slamming his cock in over and over. Barrack’s asshole was clenched tight, but Ramon didn’t care, and he had already torn through his ass once. Barrack couldn’t do anything to stop him as Ramon pounded away at his plump behind.
The sound of Barrack’s tears were music to Ramon’s ears — he had spent years enduring the jeers and taunting of the other guards. He had been extorted and beaten and even worse, and now he got to hear a guard (or a former guard anyway) going through the same tortures.
“At least you get to leave here too,” Ramon said. He hoped his point was getting through to Barrack, but the man was sobbing hard enough that Ramon wasn’t sure he could hear.
Every time Ramon’s cock reached the deepest depths of Barrack’s ass, Barrack’s entire well-muscled body flexed and contorted like he was having a seizure. Sprawled out on the bunk he could do little more than writhe as Ramon slammed his ass again and again.
Finally Ramon could put it off no longer. An orgasm ripped through his body, so powerful it made him gnaw like a baby on Barrack’s shoulder. He grunted. Barrack roared and Ramon barked. They both tensed as Barrack clenched his ass around Ramon’s dick, which spurted a flood of cum into his tight asshole.
It was a huge load, having built up over the last few days — Ramon wasn’t in general population since he was about to be released, so he hadn’t had busted a nut. He hadn’t even masturbated because he hoped to fuck a woman s soon as he was released, and he wanted to have a big buildup of cum. He was glad to have saved it up for something special like this.
He twitched as his passion drained away like the last drops of cum that filled Barrack’s ass. Ramon stayed right there in position, giggling at Barrack’s exhausted choking, as his dick slowly limpened inside Barrack’s ass.
“Do you regret your actions?” Ramon asked. He crawled forward to wipe his ass-dripping cock off on Barrack’s face and lips.
“I do! I’m sorry! I’ll never try anything like it again,” Barrack said. He winced but opened his mouth and even extended his tongue to suck the filth of his own ass off Ramon’s cock. His skin was still so sensitive Ramon shuddered, his knees weakening. Barrack’s tongue sent him to new heights of pleasure, as Ramon experienced the final aftershocks of his climax.
“Good,” Ramon said. He leaned back and took a deep breath of the cum-scented air. He sat on Barrack’s muscled chest.
“You better get your clothes together, both of you,” Officer Uglymug said. “I”m takin’ you both for showers. You’re both going home today, and hopefully, neither of you are coming back.”

The Roughneck Bottoms

Lance is on a remote oil rig interviewing roughnecks, when he finds himself cornered in a closet with one. But this grizzled alpha male wants something Lance never expected…

That means Lance is in for an exciting adventure in Twink on Top!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The roughnecks on the oil rig were intimidating. Lance didn’t want to admit that because it made him feel like a pitiful weakling who was scared of any blue-collar guy with dirt under his nails.
But once he got started taking statements, he fell into the old routine. He was here to be on the roughneck-workers’ side anyway. He had come to the oil rig, staying overnight to get statements from each worker. He had to do it now because everyone who witnessed the incident was likely to scatter when they came to shore. A lot of them were probably illegal immigrants, had open warrants or just plain didn’t trust lawyers. Lance didn’t blame them.
The workers all blended in with each other in Lance’s eyes. They were one hairy pot-bellied drunkard after another.
Right up until Cooter. Lance was in such a rut he didn’t notice right away. There was nothing so blatantly different about Cooter that Lance stopped his lawyerly deposing to take notice. It was only as he finished up that Lance noticed Cooter’s small belly — not a six-pack by any means, but just a bit of meaty pudge beneath his massive chest, broad shoulders and grizzled chin. He smelled bad in a good way, like clean sweat and engine oil and stainless steel. He brimmed with swagger and square-jawed machismo.
As Lance got answers out of him — Cooter wasn’t privy to any of the important details of the accident Lance was investigating, so the deposition was quick — he could feel Cooter checking him out.
It was all over, and that was it. Cooter returned to his job monitoring the delta branches (whatever that was, Lance didn’t know), while Lance finished up the last few depositions. None of the workers here really knew much, or if they did, they weren’t revealing it. That wasn’t surprising, but Lance needed to do his due diligence. There was always a chance they had witnessed something relevant.
Later, Lance gathered up all his papers and headed up top (“above deck”? Lance didn’t know the proper terminology on an oil rig) to meet the boat that would take him back to shore. But what had seemed like a simple hallway when he was led to the meeting room had metamorphosed into a confusing array of twisting passages.
Soon enough Lance was lost. He saw a gaggle of African workers, but they didn’t seem to speak English and they looked at him with unabashed hostility in their eyes, so he didn’t ask them for help. He just continued wandering.
He stopped only when he saw Cooter standing there in the corridor as though waiting for him. This part of the rig was a stainless steel tube that was barely six and a half-feet tall, so Cooter had to stoop — he was a few inches taller than that. His broad shoulders barely fit between the walls as well, but he stood there like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.
“You that lawyer, right?” Cooter’s voice was thick and rumbly, and it echoed between the narrow walls of the corridor. Its gravelly tenor made Lance shiver with sexual desire.
“Uh, yeah…”
“Thought so,” Cooter said. He sighed. “There ain’t no girls here.”
“Uh-huh,” Lance said.
Cooter was alluring in a rough, dirty and dangerous kind of way, neck tattoos and all. He was never going to bed a delicate young socialite with a taste for refined men, but he surely got laid when in town, unless he thought himself too good for sluts. That thought made Lance chuckle to himself — Cooter was a lot of things, but he was ruddy, dirty and greasy-haired, and he doubtlessly did not think himself too good to fuck a loose woman.
“You… uh… You get down, sissy?” he asked with a sneer, like he hoped the answer was no even if he wanted it to be yes.
“Uh… yeah,” Lance said, so nervous his throat was parched.
He led Lance into a storage closet filled with what looked to Lance like lawnmower engines — he assumed that wasn’t what they were, but that was the closest analogue he could think of. In there their difference in size was even more noticeable. Lance felt like a child standing next to a giant. Lance was barely more than five feet tall, so his head only came up to below Cooter’s nipple line. If they stood in profile, three or four Lances could line up and occupy as much as width as Cooter’s broad body.
In the tiny closet, they barely fit. If the door had opened inward, it would have been impossible to shut it with them both inside. Lance shuddered with anticipation when he brushed into Cooter’s chest and belly, rubbing past his flesh. Cooter inhaled deeply.
Once the door was shut, the closet was dark. It wasn’t pitch-black, because there was an emergency overhead light that remained on. But that was very dim — it was a fluorescent bulb on the verge of running out. It flickered and cast a shadowy pall over the room. In the darkness, Cooter was a looming silhouette that smelled of lubricant, sweat and grease. Lance’s dick was already hard as steel in his pants.
“You really want-?”
“Stop talking,” Cooter said. He inhaled deeply of the air in the room. Lance shook his ass in an instinctual bid to seduce Cooter, though he knew that was pointless — it was too dark for Cooter to see. He seemed focused on the smell anyway, and he groaned as he inhaled Lance’s cologne (which was a very feminine smell, flowery and lemony; it was a brand aimed at sophisticated and upper-class men). “You smell good enough to eat, girl. I’m gonna pretend you’s a girl, ‘kay?”
“Uh… okay. You want me to jerk you off?” Lance asked. He accentuated his flamboyance as much as possible, and kept his voice quiet and high-pitched, as girlish as he could manage. He gently reached forward — and up — to stroke Cooter’s dick through his scuffed jeans. As soon as he touched that already-hard rod, Cooter jerked and straightened his back. He gulped as though the touch was both painful and arousing.
“Sssh,” Cooter said. He stripped off his ripped t-shirt then, and he threw it on a shelf over those “lawnmower engines”. Lance planted his face right in Cooter’s beefy belly, licking the sweat-dappled flesh and coarse hairs there. It tasted like he hadn’t showered in a few days, not a real shower — they often had limited water, and no hot water, so many of the roughnecks just used a sponge without soap. Lance had a feeling that was Cooter’s most recent bathing experience, and the thought of tasting weeks worth of sweat and grime made him so horny he nearly busted in his pants.
Much to his surprise, Cooter then reached down to pull Lance’s own jacket off. Then he very nearly ripped the tie off his neck and pulled his shirt up, not bothering to unbutton it. It was physically awkward — Lance was pinned between Cooter’s hefty frame and the shelves behind him. He stretched and strained to let Cooter take his clothes off.
But Cooter didn’t stop there. He got on his knees next to Lance, unbuttoned his slacks and pulled his pants and underwear down. Lance had no idea where this was progressing.
“You make sounds like a girl,” Cooter said with a growl. Lance wasn’t making much in the way of sounds, but he was mewling and breathing heavy, with a decidedly feminine tilt to his voice. Cooter inhaled again and kissed Lance on the left asscheek.
“Oh, my…” Lance blushed, not that Cooter could see it.
Then Cooter leaned in and kissed the small of Lance’s back. “Yer skin is so smooth, girl…” He inhaled once again, this time right above Lance’s asscrack. “You smell good,” he said, his voice rollingly breathless. “You smell just like girlfarts. I like that.” Then he spread Lance’s asscheeks and licked in one solid line from the top of his ass all the way down. His tongue glided right over Lance’s asshole, sending a shiver of pleasure up Lance’s spine.
This seemed strange, but Lance’s mind forced it into the only scenario he understood — Cooter was going to lick his ass in preparation to ram him in it.
Then, without a word of warning, Cooter plunged that tongue right into Lance’s tight asshole. Lance yelped and gripped the shelf in front of him. Cooter struggled to lower his head enough to reach Lance’s ass, so Lance stood on his toes and arched his back as much as he could to elevate his hips.
Intense and mind-melting pleasure washed over Lance, whose body undulated as the sensation flowed through him. Cooter’s face was scratchy with unkempt grizzle, rubbing against the interior of Lance’s asscrack. Meanwhile his tongue — which was somehow rough and scratchy like his beard, like a cat’s tongue — plunged into Lance’s body. Cooter growled as he lapped at the interior of Lance’s ass.
Then he moaned as though the taste of Lance’s ass was enough to make him cum. “Hmmm… Yummy in mah tummy…. I’mma eat you alive, honky…” He said it again, his voice serious and grim, like he was diagnosing a medical problem.
That was just silly enough that Lance still couldn’t think of a response. He didn’t want to offend Cooter by laughing, or do anything to change how this was progressing. Cooter was presumably about to plow him in the ass, so Lance needed to let that develop.
Cooter pulled off his asshole, kissing his bare, smooth cheeks again, and he let loose another throaty growl. Lance felt a surge of disappointment — he could have let that scruffy face explore his ass for hours, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Cooter just wanted to prepare his ass for the plowing that he was preparing. Lance breathed deeply and relaxed his hole the best he could. It felt like Cooter’s cock was huge when Lance felt it through his pants. Lance didn’t often take huge dicks, so that might prove to be a challenge (a challenge Lance was going to enjoy living up to).
His callused fingers roamed up and down Lance’s thighs. Cooter’s hands didn’t stop there. He stood, and those callused fingers explored up Lance’s ass and his smooth back, then darted around to his chest as though Cooter expected to find breasts there. He didn’t seem to be disappointed though when all he found, of course, was the lithe and flat chest of Lance’s body. He had never felt as skinny as he did right now — Cooter’s forearms were almost as thick as the thickest part of Lance’s body.
Cooter licked all the way up Lance’s smooth back, to his neck, where he nuzzled romantically. His arms wrapped around Lance’s chest, making Lance gulp as he wondered if he would be able to take every inch of the massive slab of meat that pulsated behind his back. He was ensconced in Cooter’s overwhelming muscles, inhaling deeply of the man’s unkempt armpits. For a moment, it seemed Cooter was going to shove Lance’s face in those hairy armpits — that wasn’t something Lance had ever been into, but in the spirit of going with the flow, he wasn’t going to turn it down.
That wasn’t what happened. Once again, Cooter surprised him, in two ways. First he kissed Lance on the lips, coming from behind so Lance had to turn his head to face him. Second, Cooter’s hands crept around Lance’s body to his dick, which he stroked with his awkward, unpracticed grip.
He assumed Cooter wouldn’t want to use tongue, but that was incorrect. Cooter’s massive meat pushed into Lance’s mouth and interlocked with his own tongue. Cooter’s seductive grumbling resonated in Lance’s mouth as they sucked each other’s tongues in the dark. The only other sound was the omnipresent whirr and birr of the machinery of Rig Delta 69.
“You taste nice,” Cooter said when he was done. “You use girl’s shampoo.” He sniffed Lance’s hair as those big meaty paws rubbed down Lance’s body. He again gripped Lance’s dick and stroked it — his touch was not crude and rough, more like a coach patting a player on the ass than a lover seducing his partner. Cooter’s awkwardness, the cramped closet and the scent of his unbridled musk made the whole experience sexy even if the handjob was rather clumsy and inept.
“I, uh… I don’t actually, I use a shampoo made with hibiscus and, uh… lavender. It’s for men, it’s Prince of Tahiti, that’s the brand. They have it at All-Mart, it’s not expensive,” Lance said, aware that he was rambling but unable to stop himself. It wasn’t a tony brand, that was the point.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Yes. I mean… Yes. Whatever you want. Whatever. It’s okay. Yes. Sure. I mean… just tell me wha- I’ll, uh… Yes. Probably. I mean… whatever, yes,” Lance said. He blushed, glad that Cooter couldn’t see it. Cooter thrust his fat cock at the meat of Lance’s ass.
“Sssh, just say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Pretend your dick is a dildo.”
“What?”
He spoke through gritted teeth, his soft tone suddenly menacing. “Pretend your dick is a dildo. A strap-on. And stick it in my ass. I wanna feel it inside me.” He let go of Lance then, and he gripped the shelf next to him. He jutted his ass out so its hairy thick globes were right in the center of the closet, pressing against Lance’s bare back.
Lance’s mind reeled. He couldn’t quite comprehend this. A part of his mind figured it out — Cooter was into pegging. He enjoyed having women sodomize him with a strap-on dildo. In the absence of women, he was willing to let Lance’s dick be that dildo. But Lance still thought for sure he had misheard that, even as he turned to face Cooter’s backside.
“You gotta bend over,” Lance said breathlessly, in a hurry to get started lest they get interrupted or Cooter change his mind or something. Cooter was standing straight up, so his ass lined up with Lance’s bellybutton, nowhere’s near close enough to plow him.
Cooter bent his knees and gripped the next lower shelf. When that still wasn’t enough, he went for the next shelf, and then the even lower one. That left him stooped over awkwardly, big hairy ass aimed high in the air.
It was still not quite enough for Lance, but there was a box of something heavy on the floor. Lance used his foot to push it into position so that he could use it as a stool. That enabled him to get his dick high enough to enter Cooter’s ass.
“Bend your knees-“
“You get taller!” Cooter barked.
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Lance said. “Come on, I’m on my toes on a stool here.” Though he grumbled, Cooter did bend his knees some. That let Lance lean forward enough to aim his dick for the center of Cooter’s hair-tangled asscrack.
When the tip of his dick actually entered Cooter, pushing through that dense swamp of sweat-choked hair, Cooter twitched and grunted. “Whuuuuuuhhhhhhhckkkk… You don’t play, did ya get that big’un at law school?” He let out a pained chuckle that morphed into a rig-shaking roar that reverberated in the tiny closet. Lance thought he had done something wrong, but Cooter’s labored breathing had a jagged, panty vibe to it that suggested he was in love.
Lance pushed his dick in more. There was ample resistance from Cooter’s tight ass, but not as much as Lance might have thought. He was tight but accepting, even though the only lube Lance had was his own spit. Cavernous groans escaped from Cooter, but they were groans of pleasure, and his back muscles arched and flexed with every thrust of Lance’s body.
“Hmmm, you feel so good…” Lance gripped the firm meat of Cooter’s body. In the light he had seen the numerous scars and tattoos of varying professionalism that belied his lifetime of hard work — and likely prison sentences — in the kind of trashy locales where you get both scars and cheap tattoos. But in the dark of the closet, Lance couldn’t see any of that, he could only feel the firmness of Cooter’s muscles and the powerful, burning passion within his barrel-shaped torso.
“Huuuhhhnnnk…” Cooter may have been trying to say something, but whatever it was, Lance couldn’t get it. Cooter gasped and clawed at the wall of the oil rig closet.
Cooter jacked himself off as Lance rammed back and forth, which was good because there was no way Lance could have reached all the way around Cooter’s massive frame to give him a reacharound. He enjoyed trying though, wrapping his arms over those strapping muscles. He could barely reach the man’s nipples, which he flicked and tweaked as he pushed his dick deep in Cooter’s burly ass.
The door to the closet opened suddenly. The sound of macho rednecks grumbling — complaining of something — filled the air for only a moment. Cooter was lightning fast: he winced before reaching behind himself to hold on to the doorknob. He re-shut the door before it could open..
“Get the fuck outta here,” Cooter said. He was trying to sound authoritarian, but his voice was weak and pinched, wavering, like it might shatter at any moment. Lance gasped too, holding himself still the best he could despite a powerful urge to thrust and ram and force his burgeoning manhood in and out of Cooter’s ass. His dick throbbed and spewed precum inside Cooter’s hairy ass.
“Who’s in there? Cooter?”
“Yeah, man, get away,” Cooter said.
“Whatchoo doin’ in there, man?”
“I’m lettin’ that lawyer jerk me off.” Cooter’s voice was clipped and pained, but he added a gruff confidence that made it work.
There was a long silence from outside the closet, then loud braying laughter filled the air. They pulled hard on the door and hooted. Cooter kept a tight grip on the doorknob so they couldn’t open it.
“You kiddin’, man?”
“I ain’t nevuh think you was serious about that.”
“Shut your dimwitted asses up!” Cooter screamed. He pounded on the door, which made them laugh all over again. “Get away, fuckheads!” The motion almost triggered an orgasm in Lance, because it made Cooter’s asshole squeeze around his cockshaft all over again, and Cooter’s whole body rippled. He grunted.
Their laughing slowly died down, and it sounded like they walked a few feet away, then stopped. They whispered among themselves.
Finally one of them meekly whispered, “We need a pump motor, Cooter. You ramroddin’ them too?”
He sighed. “Fine,” Cooter said. “Hang on.” He used his one free hand to grab a motor. Then he pulled the door open just wide enough to push the motor through. His friends tried to push it open, jubilantly laughing as they hoped to catch him in flagrante delicto, but Cooter kept a tight grip to hold the door from opening any farther. He awkwardly, painfully twisted his back with Lance’s dick still in his ass, and dragged the heavy motor with one hand to the door. They grabbed it and walked away, cackling with laughter.
When they were gone, he slammed the door shut again. He breathed a sigh of relief and held on to the doorframe for support. His knees quaked from the pressure in his ass.
But as Cooter reacted and calmed himself down after being very nearly caught, he lifted himself up. He straightened his back again. Lance had such a tight grip on Cooter’s thick back muscles that he held on even as Cooter lifted up.
The end result was that Lance clung desperately to Cooter’s body. His toes curled around Cooter’s trunk-like thighs, clinging to him there while his hands desperately gripped the flesh of Cooter’s body. Holding on like a child getting a piggyback ride, Lance slammed his hips the best he could.
Cooter grunted and roared. He yelped. He squealed in both pain and pleasure, and the array of snorts and groans coming from his mouth filled the air in the cramped closet. Lance couldn’t hold on much longer, but he tried to keep ramming his climactic cock for as long as he could.
He knew it was over when Cooter shot his own load. He rumbled as he moaned, filling his hand with cum. Lance’s ears pricked up just before his own orgasm began — were there more people outside the closet? Maybe those guys had gotten others and they were going to surprise Cooter by bursting in.
But it was happening too fast for Lance to slow himself down or say anything. He sprayed his wad deep within Cooter as intense pleasure rocketed up his spine. Lance tried to keep himself quiet so he didn’t accidentally make a masculine sound that would shatter Cooter’s illusion that he was being pegged by a girl. He just nibbled on the meat of Cooter’s hairy shoulder as he filled Cooter’s ass with his seed.
The pleasure was unlike anything Lance had ever experienced. He filled Cooter with this sticky seed and lolled his tongue over the rippling muscles of Cooter’s body. He threw his head back and moaned as waves of ecstasy wracked Lance’s body.
At last he was done. He pulled out and let himself slowly dangle off Cooter’s back until he slid down and onto his feet. His knees were weak from the power of his orgasm.
“You eat cum?” Cooter whispered — the first real whisper since they had come in here.
Lance nodded. Before he could say anything else, Cooter smeared cum all over his face — it was Cooter’s load from his own dick. It tasted thick and creamy, sweet and sour and savory all at once. Lance wanted to lick it all up, but Cooter told him not.
“Leave it there on yer face, sissy.”
They both quickly dressed. Lance wondered what he was supposed to do with a face full of cum. His question was answered moments later by Cooter flinging the door open.
There stood a dozen or so leering men. They were shushing each other as the door swung open. They clapped and hollered, making Cooter blushed. He tried to mean-mug them, but his face was bright red, making it clear he was more humiliated than angry.
“You like that, Cooter? Your next night off is gonna be a doozy!”
Lance blushed too as he realized what was happening — Cooter had known his friends were outside the closet, waiting to embarrass him. He had covered Lance’s face in cum so it would look like Lance had jerked Cooter off, just as Cooter had said was happening. It looked like everyone believed it.
Wiping his face off with the sleeve of his shirt, Lance looked away as Cooter sneered at him. He said something, but Lance couldn’t hear it over the sound of the other roughnecks. Cooter stalked away, ignoring them as well as Lance, who watched his swaying ass in his filthy workpants as he led his friends down the corridor. Cooter still had to walk awkwardly because he was so tall, which was good because Lance was sure he couldn’t walk straight right now anyway. His ass must ache something fierce, Lance thought.
Lance was about to walk the other direction, though he still had no idea how to get back to his boat. But there was one roughneck still there, standing in front of him. This one was tall and lanky, ropy-muscled, with a mustache on his upper lip. He looked like he probably dressed in leather pants and a cowboy hat when he wasn’t on the oil rig.
“Howdy,” he said. He looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was coming. “You smell like a girl.” He nodded into the closet. “You got another one in ya?”
“You want some dome? Sure…” Lance said.
“Not exactly that, no,” said the man. He blushed as he led Lance back into the closet. “But somethin’ along those lines.”