experiencing boredom – Mansploitation

The German

Rob’s visit to a beer hall results in an encounter with a hunky German in lederhosen and not much else, and before Rob knows it, he’s on his knees again! Can he satisfy this new German alpha?

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Read the whole thing here!

Rob was stuffed full of sausage and mustard, and now he was eager to find a different kind of sausage. Over the last couple weeks, Rob had been touring the regions of Germany, and he was now in Berlin, enjoying the sights and sounds of Die graue Stadt. But he’d had enough currywursts and deconstructed plays on sauerkraut. He wanted to experience the real German gestalt.
The city was warm and windy tonight, unseasonably so in the early autumn. The streets were safe, which was unusual for Rob. He was used to calibrating his nighttime exploits by the safety of the different neighborhoods he was in. He’d have never worn these expensive Calaio shoes alone at night in most downtowns of American cities.
Rob wanted to stay outside and enjoy the night, but he didn’t want to waste his time. This vacation wouldn’t last forever, and he shouldn’t waste it doing nothing. It didn’t seem there was anything going on on the streets of Berlin. Not wanting to return to his hotel, he sought out some nightlife.
So he went into the first nightclub he saw. It turned out to be a rather old, not very hip club, playing dansmusik, which was just dorky enough to be charming. There was an accordion, a fat woman singing songs that may have been in Bavarian, it certainly wasn’t standard High German, which Rob spoke well.
The customers swilling down beer and eating yet more of the ever-present German sausages were a wide range of groups, both pairs and larger throngs of friends or families or coworkers, it was hard to tell. They were both men and women, mingling together — flirting? Or were they families? It was hard to tell. The men were not really his type. Rob was a fine connoisseur of the male form, but the men here did not have the kind of physiques worth admiring. They were mostly thin, tall, stately — he liked men who were rough, crude and dangerous. The men here were sparse and unpleasant. The poor women having to sleep with them, it must be like cuddling with a typewriter.
He made his way across the dancefloor. There were a lot of women here, that was the first thing he had noticed. A lot of hot women. The women were hotter than the men were handsome. That did not bode well for his chances of finding a man. A lot of women meant no desperate Manns.
He decided to try his luck elsewhere. There had to be a better nightclub.
So without a pause, he headed out and towards the seedy side of town. He hadn’t gotten very far when he saw a Bier Palas that was still open. It was very touristy, so he wasn’t sure if it was for him. Rob wasn’t in Germany for the tourist stuff — he wanted men. He wanted to touch and taste them, he wanted to savor every drop of German manhood.
But he went to the door just to pop his head inside. It was mostly women, he saw, once again, just like the nightclub (why are there so many German women?! Damn it!). Fat tourists guzzled cheap, watered-down beer. The girls were dressed as frumpy fraus in dirndls, with big tits mostly visible, like if a Hooters restaurant were tossed back in time to the late 19th century.
“Guten Abend.” A man’s dour voice filled the air.
Rob turned around and gulped nervously. Was he in trouble?
The man in front of him was an intimidating sight, broadly muscled, exuding heat and authority. He was nearly seven feet tall and built like a professional wrestler, with arms bigger than Rob’s head and a broad strapping chest like he was part-Volkswagen. He was blond and squarish, with a very Teutonic face and a crooked nose like der Kämpfer. His hair was short and neatly combed. He crossed those massive arms over his chest.
“Oh, hallo,” Rob said. Now that he had taken in the man’s towering physique, Rob was turned on. He also noticed now that this man — Hans according to his nametag — worked for the Bier Palas. He was a bouncer or security guard of some sort. He had that face. A man with a face like that could only ever work security. He was too square-jawed and solid to do any other work.
That meant he was dressed like an employee, in traditional German garb. He wore liederhosen and a green and white shirt. This Bier Palas did not have a uniform that fit him well, so the liederhosen were too short, stopping well above the knee, and his muscles bulged out of the clothes.
The German man grunted. “Are you the thief?”
“What?”
He paused, eyeing Rob up and down. He frowned, and Rob’s heart raced. Hans casually opened Rob’s shirt pocket and peered inside. He wrinkled his nose when he did not find whatever it was he searched for.
“Someone has been picking the pockets of our customers as they leave.” He paused. “Wenn du der Dieb bist, werde ich dich fangen.” He waited for Rob to show he understood the German — which Rob did, but poorly enough he could pretend he didn’t.
Rob nodded. “Oh, yeah, I swear, that wasn’t me. I don’t do that. I actually have plenty of money,” he said. “I wanted to ask you something. My name is Rob,” he said. He blushed and stammered because Hans was such an imposing figure wie eine Statue eines heidnischen Gottes. “I wanted to offer you a job, of sorts. It’s not the kind of job you are used to, I assume-“
“Please be quick.” He inhaled deeply and glowered at Rob. “I have a firm schedule. It must not be deviated from. I am to return to work, as I have job duties that are mine to perform shortly.”
“Oh, yes, well, I can offer you money,” Rob said. “If you’re not comfortable with it, that’s fine, I don’t want to hold you up-“
“Then hurry and say.”
“I will pay you five hundred euros to cornhole me.” He paused, but Hans had no reaction. “Are you okay? What do you think?” He tweaked Hans’s bicep, which was harder than Rob expected, Hans must have been an amateur bodybuilder, he thought, with skin like Alabasterstein. He laughed and stroked it again, but Hans pushed his hand away. For a moment though, Rob’s hand stayed there, atop Hans’s rippling muscles.
“You are offering me money to handle my penis. You will masturbate it, and you will use your mouth, yes?”
“Well… Yes, that’s right,” Rob said. “Very efficiently stated. No romance at all, perfect.”
“What?”
“Nothing, I was just teasing you, Hans.”
“Do not. It is waste of time, yes? I have schedule. You have schedule. Let us reach conclusion.”
“I don’t actually have a schedule.”
“You are just wandering? Loosey the goosey?” He waved his arms around in a way that maybe was, to Germans, reminiscent of a loose goose. Rob didn’t get it.
“Sorry, I was just… I don’t like to schedule every second of my time,” Rob said. He sighed. “Do you want to do it or not?”
He flared his nostrils. “Yes. I will do. But I will not interrupt my workplace. That would be inefficient. I have a job to do.” He pointed to a door in the alley, behind the door into the Bier Palas. “Go in there and wait.”
He didn’t stick around to see if Rob would do it. Rob hesitated but did so. It was a small vestibule with a locked door on the other side, beyond which were a few offices. Rob guessed these were the administrative offices for the Bier Palas.
After an hour or so, Hans returned. He still had his lederhosen on, his powerful thighs filling them out nicely. It looked like they didn’t have liederhosen in a size big enough to fit him, so he practically bulged out of the trousers. He came into the small vestible, locked the door behind himself and frowned at Rob.
“Do it.”
Rob’s eyes opened wide. “Uh… Hans? You mean-?”
Hans’s lips were pursed. “I said do it. You want me to give penis, you must do it.”
“Oh, yeah, okay. I just thought, uh…”
Hans stood there stiff as a board, arms crossed over his massive chest. He was so tall Rob could barely reach his shoulders at all. Rob touched Hans’s flat stomach through his shirt, then started to lift it over his chest. The blond hairs on his belly were fine und Weich, and his skin was perfectly smooth, soft as butter in a churn. His six-pack rippled beneath Rob’s touch.
Hans stopped him. “You said you wished to have dick of mine. Like oral and anal penis? Yes?”
“Uh, well… yeah.”
“You do not need to take my shirt off. It could become wrinkled. It would be inefficient,” Hans said.
“Oh. I, uh… I mean, I think if I am paying for it… It would be nice… Okay, fine…” Rob’s voice trailed off. Hans narrowed his eyes to slits, and Rob realized it was best to just move on. He didn’t mind jacking off Manns in clothes.
Hans wore lederhosen, which were like britches and overalls combined, so they were held up with straps that ran over his chest. His pectoral muscles bulged against the straps. Rob was going to undo the straps, but Hans raced to do it like he was in a hurry. He gently but firmly pushed Rob to his knees.
“You are wasting time,” Hans said. “I have the schedule, yes? It is to follow. Hurry to complete your tasks, please.” His ill-fitting lederhosen were tight around the knees, so they didn’t fall all the way down. They just lowered enough to give Rob access zu seinem Schritt, clad in plain, unadorned but perfectly clean briefs. Rob thought that was cute: virtually no men between eighteen and eighty wore briefs back in America.
Hans took his briefs down, again doing it before Rob could. Rob couldn’t tell if Hans was in a hurry now because he wanted to get this over with (perhaps worried he’d get caught) or if he was embarrassed about it or if Hans simply never dawdled. He had a feeling it was the latter.
His dick bobbed and weaved. Rob hesitated, smirking until Hans took charge and dropped his cocktip into Rob’s mouth. Rob started jacking then, teasing the tip and sliding his tongue over the shaft and into Hans’s pisshole.
An emotionless grunt escaped from Hans’s mouth. His Schwanz twitched, then began to stiffen up in Rob’s mouth. Rob’s hands roamed up to his chest, underneath his shirt, and he managed to just barely reach the bottom of Hans’s pecs. Hans snarled and looked displeased, but he didn’t make Rob stop feeling him up.
“Stop.” Hans’s voice filled the vestibule.
Rob looked up at him. He pulled off Hans’s cock but left it there resting above his head. He licked the underside of the shaft. Hans showed no pleasure on his face, which made Rob giggle.
“If you wish to do it in anal manner, you must do it now.” Hans motioned for him to turn around. “It is best to do it with you an all four of your hands and feet. Stick your buttocks high in the air.”
Rob scoffed. “I know how to do it-“
“Then do it! Why do Americans dilly-dally so much?”
“Okay, first of all,” Rob said as he bent over. “I was technically born in Toronto. Second of all, how did you learn the word dilly-dally? No one says that-“
“Shut up. All Americans say they are Canadian.”
Rob was bent over now in front of him, and he had to drop to his knees to get himself lined up with Hans’s manhood. He still hadn’t taken off his lederhosen, which were around his ankles, or his traditional shirt, which he just unbuttoned near the bottom to give himself unfettered access to Rob’s ass.
He drilled into Rob’s ass without any fanfare. He didn’t give Rob much of a chance to adjust to it either. He just slammed his Schwanz in and kept pushing, even as Rob writhed and cried out. Intense pressure erupted in Rob’s behind, along with a burst of pleasure, moving in a long low wave up his spine. Rob yelped and clenched his mouth shut, and he writhed beneath Hans’s powerful body.
“You must open your buttocks hole,” Hans grunted. He smacked Rob’s asscheeks. “Relax it. Make it be open. It is not open adequately enough. I struggle to insert my penis.”
“Yeah, I know how, thanks,” Rob said through gritted teeth. “I get it. You’re very clear, Hans.” The pain was substantial. He wasn’t sure if Hans had never done this, or if he’d only done it with very slutty women with loose asses, or maybe only with kinky women who enjoyed their anal sex painful. Or maybe this was just how it went in Germany, Rob thought, and it was expected to be difficult.
Soon, Rob’s ass did adjust, despite Hans pounding away at it. Rob gripped the floor and howled in both pain and pleasure. The pain, however, slowly diminished with each thrust of Hans’s cock inside him. The pleasure grew and grew, until Rob was covered in sweat and moaning, his voice staggering and breaking eahc time Hans’s cock rammed at his prostate.
His prostate sent wave after wave of bliss through his veins. Once he got used to it, Rob enjoyed Hans’s rough, awkward way of cornholing. It was very efficient — he got his dick in right away, and every time he thrust, he brought his cock virtually all the way out, so just the tip remained in Rob’s ass, then he plowed all the way in until his balls slapped against Rob’s body.
Whenever Rob shifted his weight, Hans wordlessly brought him back to the position he was in to begin with. Hans kept Rob perfectly straight in front of his body, centered, so that when Hans penetrated him, he could go in perfectly straight and symmetrically, right down the middle.
“Goddamn…” Rob cried out. He stroked himself off as he got cornholed deep in his ass, and he lowered his head until Hans forced him back into position once more.
“Wait.” Hans stopped with his dick all the way in Rob. He reached for the lederhosen around his waist. His cock was so big that Rob mewled and whimpered, and he squirmed, but Hans stopped him. “I said wait. There is no need to make any noise.”
“I’m sorry, it feels so good. I can’t help it.”
“It is inefficient. Someone may hear you, and you may disturb their sleep,” Hans said.
“It’s just difficult, sorry, sorry-” Rob panted. He couldn’t stay quiet, and the more he tried, the more his panting turned into loud groans and moans, wordless begging for more. Rob couldn’t see Hans’s face, but he sensed the look of disapproval that flitted over it. Rob said, “Sorry, I’m tryin’ — I’m not used to havin’ to be sneaky. When it feels good, I make sounds-“
“Hush. That is not necessary.” Hans pulled a small paper bag out of his pocket. Inside was a styrofoam container — leftovers from lunch. He kept his dick in Rob’s ass as he opened it up. The smell of yet more sausage and the tangy scent of sauerkraut flooded Rob’s senses. Pleasure coursed through his veins, made stronger by the fact that Hans’s cock remained motionless on Rob’s prostate, relentlessly and endlessly triggering the potent sensations that wracked Rob’s body.
“Are you-?”
“Hush. Ich muss jetzt essen,” Hans said. “I will finish when I am ready.”
“Oh, I-“
“Hush.” Inside the container was about a third of a sausage resting on a bed of sauerkraut. He used a clean fork to spear the sausage, then cut a bite off it with a sharp knife he took from a pittle pouch attached to the side of the food container. He took a bite of the sausage. “I saved this from my lunch to eat on my home after work. That would be now, if I weren’t here with you. In order to keep to my schedule, I will eat now.”
“Oh.” That still seemed weird to Rob, but it was hard to think about anything except that massive Teutonic cock in his ass, throbbing and pulsating, occupying all of Rob’s senses. Rob sucked in his breath. Hans took another bite of the sausage.
The smell of sausage and potently funky sauerkraut filled the air. It was enough to cut through the intense sensations rsouroiling Rob’s body. His voice broke and he lowered his body, jutting his ass back um es tiefer auf den Schwanz zu pochen, der in seinem Arsch pocht. Hans grunted but didn’t complain, he just used a plastic fork to eat sauerkraut from the to-go container.
Then he spent an inordinate amount of time cleaning up, all still without moving a muscle, that massive cock still throbbing against Rob’s prostate. Hans put the plastic fork, the container and the napkins he had used back into the to-go bag he had come with. He carefully folded the top of the paper bag, then placed it by the door to grab on the way out.
“Okay, can we finish?” Rob asked. He was getting annoyed. He had paid for this, after all, and Hans had forbidden him from touching his chest or removing his shirt, had strictly decided on the position he would take, right down to the orientation of his head, which didn’t even affect Hans, and now he made Rob wait while he ate leftovers. It hardly seemed fair to pay for that. Wasn’t the customer always right?
But when Rob turned his head to say something, he saw Hans’s broad chest muscles flexing beneath his shirt, ruddiness running up his neck to the pale skin of his cheeks as he resumed cornholing Rob. He put headphones on too, so Rob realized there was no point in complaining, Hans wouldn’t hear. Hans forced Rob’s head to face forward again.
Then he began plowing hard, his orgasm slowly building. He finally moved as he went, lowering himself, first to pin Rob down and in place, then as Hans reached orgasm, he got lower and lower.
Soon that seven-foot tall body landed on Rob, pinning him to the floor. Rob struggled to breathe, but he didn’t complain — he loved it. He finally sensed some passion and real desire in Hans’s body. Hans breathed heavily and grunted.
“Okay, I am going to finish now, cowboy. I am going to shoot my semen into your ass, and you will take every drop. That is the plan, do you understand it?” His voice was still flat and firm, but there was a note of urgency now, like he raced to say this before he finally shot his wad.
“Yes, okay!” Rob cried out the best he could beneath Hans’s chest. Since Hans was so tall, Rob was crushed beneath his chest and flat stomach, so Hans could feel his pecs on the back of his head. Rob’s own face was above the floor, Rob’s entire body squirming beneath Hans’s muscles, which were like a blanket that weighed him down.
He still had those headphones on, and his eyes were closed. Pulsating Technomusik was audible from the headphones, and it pounded like a soundtrack as Hans rutted. Hans grunted, a few drops of spit slipping past his lips and onto Rob’s cheeks.
Then, finally, he was done, and cum filled Rob up. He shot a massive load, thick and milky, which seeped into Rob’s flesh. Its heat overwhelmed him, along with the body heat of Hans’s broad muscles, until Rob could feel it all over himself, like he had been literally covered inside and out.
“Aaaaah.…” Hans moaned directly into Rob’s ear. Then he wrapped one of those powerful corded-muscle arms around Rob’s thin, reedy chest. He lifted Rob up.
The other orgasm running through Rob was so intense he had little awareness of what was happening. He didn’t get why Hans lifted him up, not until Hans’s hand reached around to Rob’s own cock and touched it.
Rob couldn’t speak right now, so he didn’t ask why Hans gave him a reacharound — and he wouldn’t have asked even if he could, because he worried asking would make Hans realize he didn’t need to and therefore stop.
Hans actually just thought this was part of it. He found it distasteful, but it was just a handjob. He kept his limpening dick in Rob’s ass — he just assumed that was what most men did, because it seemed logical and efficient — as he stroked him off.
Since he had just gotten plowed and Hans’s cock still teased his prostate, Rob began orgasming basically the moment Hans started stroking him off. He writhed, impaled on Hans’s dick, wrapped up in his pale stone-like arms.
Finally cum sprayed over Hans’s fingers and onto the floor. Rob cried out, his whole body vibrating in a ferocious frenzy that was only more intense because Rob knew how much he stood out — Hans barely moved at all, no more than necessary, so Rob’s wild motions seemed odd and unsuitable to Hans.
Not that he would ever say that. Hans was intensely aware of the sticky cum dripping from his fingers, but he didn’t let himself get bothered by it. He waited until Rob was done shooting his wad.
Then Hans let go. His dick flopped out, and Rob toppled to the ground, letting out a loud post-orgasmic sigh. Hans stood. He shook his dick between his fingers, then grabbed the remaining napkins from his to-go bag.
He quickly and efficiently wiped up his own hands and cock, then he even wiped up the cum off the floor and off Rob’s ass. He threw the napkins back into the bag that waited by the door to be thrown away. He pulled his lederhosen back up, cursing at the sight of a few drops of cum that had hit the fabric.
“I will have to wash these now. You must pay extra,” Hans said. “Hand over the money now. Five hundred and twenty euros.”
Rob didn’t really think it was reasonable to pay to clean the lederhosen. If it was up to him, after all, he’d have had Hans take his clothes off, and they wouldn’t have gotten cum-stained.
But Hans didn’t look like he would entertain any haggling. That was something Rob had noticed in Germany so far — no haggling, no special deals or sales, just plain posted prices. It was nice, he thought, even if annoying at times.
He handed over the five hundred and twenty euros, then smiled at Hans. “Thanks for that.”
He nodded. “I hope you have a good time in Germany, sir.” Then he added. “It is simply inspiring.” He smiled, which was awkward on his big squarish face. “Simply Inspiring” was the tourism slogan of Germany and was printed back in that Bier Palas in several languages on one of the walls.
But Rob didn’t know that. He just thought Hans was awkwardly describing Germany as “simply inspiring”. He nodded and smiled. “Oh. Yeah. Cool. Germany’s, uh… been nice.”
“Good. Tell the tourism board I am nice to tourists and I do not frighten you even though I am very big, tell them that,” he said. He nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
He turned around and left, grabbing the paper bag to throw away before he was gone. He put his headphones back on too, and before Rob could even say goodbye, Hans was gone, tapping his feet to the sound of techno before he got on a bus going home.
Rob smiled when he finally left the vestibule. He had done what he set out to do in Germany, he thought, and he was ready to move on.

The Third Baseman

When minor league baseball player Lloyd Walters comes by to flooze it up at the Night Along Motel, clerk Avery Flowers is all too eager to help him out with all his… manly needs. Can Avery earn those stars on his customer service eval form?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Late night shifts at the Night Along Motel were slow and boring. Avery didn’t mind it, because he could watch TV and goof off on the Internet, which is realistically what he would have been doing at home. But still, the interminable quiet was dreadful, alleviated only by the occasional pandemonium of a drunken group of hotel guests coming back to their room. It was not usually an exciting job, but it had some perks.
“Hey hombre, you speak English?” asked a man’s deep voice. Avery was startled to see an almost-naked man there. He was a barrel-chested semi-pro baseball player — third baseman for the Riverbank Whoppers in the Mid-Atlantic Minor League — who had checked in a couple hours before, in advance of a game tomorrow. He stood there in plain white boxers from which a few tantalizing pubic hairs poked through, and he swayed on drunken legs. His mustache quivered, moistly. He had a delightfully not quite perfect physique, which Avery adored, and a daddyish thickness though he was lean, hungry-looking, like his muscles were uncomfortable for him.
Avery was used to being asked if he spoke English — a lot of the Night Along Motel’s staff were Spanish-only, after all. “Yes, sir. I checked you in when you got here, Mr. Walters.”
He leaned in close and peered at Avery as though checking to see if he was lying. The man, Lloyd Walters was his name, scratched his balls through his boxers. For a moment his thick cock was outlined by the dingy fabric of his shorts, and Avery’s heart raced as he pictured this brutish jock naked. Lloyd’s rancid breath was beer-soaked and hot. He produced a twenty dollar bill and gave it to Avery.
“Go get me a hamburger. Can you do that? Or is there one that delivers?”
“I can arrange for a delivery,” Avery said, glad that his connection at the scuzzy twenty-four hour hamburger joint across town finally came in handy.
“Good. Get me the biggest hamburger they got and everything they put on it,” Lloyd said carefully, as though describing brain surgery, “But not any kind of mushrooms. And make it rare.”
“Okay.”
“No, wait… Is this a nice place?”
“Well… It’s the only place that’s open this late.”
“Then medium-rare. I can’t be shitting all over the place at the game tomorrow.”
“Yes sir.”
His belly rumbling, Lloyd sauntered back into his room then, and after a few minutes, two cheap floozies crept out the door. Their just-fucked hair made it obvious what had happened; they giggled quietly, whispering, no doubt bragging about how they had just fucked a baseball pro (or semipro, close enough, Avery thought).
Avery’s friend arrived soon after that, with a bag containing the greasy hamburger. Avery gave him a tip and then brought the food to Lloyd’s room. He knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder.
“Come in!”
Avery walked in to see a stark naked Lloyd, sitting on the bed. He was sweaty and relaxed, sprawled out on the bare mattress. His limp cock was still moist, plastered to his thigh and gleaming in the dim light. The sheets and blankets were in a ball on the floor.
The smell of the hamburger aroused Lloyd from his soporific, drunken daze, and he took the bag from Avery. He nodded to the sheets and blankets. “Can I get some clean sheets brought in?”
Avery nodded. “Sure.”
“You might wanna… get rid of those,” Lloyd said. “Both those girls was anal virgins, if you get my drift.”
Avery saw the moist sheets dotted with blood, and he nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Walters. I’ll send the cleaning staff right in.”
“They’s prolly women, right? I should put some drawers on.”
Avery hesitated. “They would probably prefer it, sir.”
“Ain’t you polite?” Lloyd grinned. “Cleaning staff hot?”
“Eh… They are all older Mexican women, sir. The youngest is still a grandmother. They have a… steely handsomeness, but I’m not sure they would appeal to you,” Avery said. His cheeks blushed. He hoped this baseball jock didn’t ask for a prostitute. Avery wasn’t supposed to do that. The city punishes hotel clerks hard if they act as pimps. A hotel that provides women is just a brothel, after all, and the city did not want a brothel.
“Damn… Well, if any of ’em look like a sexy grandnmother, send me that one,” Lloyd said with a wink and a cackle. His sweat-dappled chest muscles rippled.
Avery licked his lips. “Didn’t you just…?” he nodded towards the door.
“We finished like an hour ago, so I’m ‘bout ready for another go-‘round” Lloyd said. “And they barely sucked my dick at all. Silly little college brats can’t suck cock worth a damn.”
“I see. Well, I do not think the cleaning staff will be interested,” Avery said.
“You look like you got nice soft lips there,” Lloyd said. His voice was deep as a canyon, and it had a sultry charm to it. Avery was not surprised he did well with women. Even aside from the fame and the physique of a baseball star, Lloyd had a masculine allure that Avery could not ignore.
Avery was so shocked he didn’t have a response. He had been propositioned by bucks here at the Night Along Motel before, that part wasn’t new, but a semipro baseball jock like Lloyd? That was a first, especially since he had just fucked — normally men were only interested when they were so horny they didn’t care where they stuck their cock. But no matter how virile he was, Lloyd couldn’t be that horny again just an hour after sex. “Yep,” Avery said, finally forming a word then blushing at how stupid he sounded.
“You got something to do with those lips?”
Avery dropped to his knees and kneeled in front of the bed. Lloyd leaned back on some pillows he had propped up, and then grabbed for the hamburger bag. He took it out and the cloyingly greasy smell filled the room.
Lloyd opened his bathrobe, his heavy cock dangling between his legs. It smelled delicious — especially with the odor of beef on top, Avery thought, giving it a tantalizing meatiness. He opened his mouth and swallowed it down to the root, determined to give Lloyd an orgasm he’d remember for a long time. The flavor of his stale sweat and the remnants of his fucking overwhelmed Avery’s senses as he slathered his tongue up and down the shaft.
“Oh fuck yeah,” Lloyd said. He groaned deeply then turned the TV on to Cinemax, where softcore girl-on-girl porn was playing. He belched loudly, his cock throbbing and firming up quick in Avery’s gullet. “Damn, I should take you with me to away games. Call you my personal ball boy.”
The pleasure visibly dancing up Lloyd’s chest made it clear how he felt about this. Avery did jack a dick off better than any women — lots of men had told Avery that. Women didn’t know how to do it, and they didn’t like to swallow a huge cock. Avery did. Avery didn’t even mind gagging on it, but usually, he did not gag.
Avery’s tongue slathered up and down his shaft as he wished Lloyd was serious, but knew he wasn’t. Men said that kind of thing a lot when their cock was in Avery’s mouth, but they always changed their mind once their balls were drained. Lloyd took a big bite from his hamburger, as Avery moved down to his balls.
He knew girls always hated licking balls, but he loved it, especially when they were swollen like Lloyd’s, and dripping with the remains of his wild rutting earlier. Avery could taste layers of sweat and feminine lotion still trapped in the hairs of his scrotum.
Moving back to the shaft, Avery deep-throated his cock. Lloyd gripped Avery’s ears tight, putting his hamburger down so he could use both grease-slickened hands. He pushed his dick all the way down Avery’s throat and held it there as he groaned.
Cum came pouring out of his cock with such an uninterrupted stream it was as though he was pissing down Avery’s gullet. Lloyd’s whole body bucked as his chest and neck turned reddish. Avery managed to swallow almost every drop of the pearly sweet cum. Lloyd grunted, sounding like a bodybuilder working hard on his biceps, and his balls slapped against Avery’s chin.
“Oh fuck yeah, you got a comment card or some shit?” Lloyd said with a throaty laugh. “I’m gonna tell the manager you’re good at your job.”
“You’ll be given an evaluation form when you check out, sir,” Avery said breathlessly as he wiped cum from his lips. He didn’t want to waste any. “I’d appreciate all fives.”
“Is that one of those things where anything less than a perfect score might as well be a zero?”
“Yes,” Avery said. He didn’t like grubbing for positive comment cards, but that was how he earned a bonus. If he got a bunch of them, he could win a five hundred dollar bonus every single month, and Avery was eager to get that money.
Not that that was why he jacked Lloyd off. Avery would do that for the love of it all. He had a great and deep admiration for the male physique. It was so much more appealing than women, he thought. Women were bony and soft and smelled nice, while Avery liked meaty, solid flesh that smelled like a barrel of jockstraps.
“I’m glad I could make your stay at the Night Along Motel more pleasing. Do let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
“I certainly will,” Lloyd said with a chuckle. He sighed, stretched and sprawled out on the bed. He was asleep before Avery had even gotten his clothes back on and snuck out the door.
Avery didn’t see Lloyd again for a couple months, and by the time he did, he had written the experience off as a one-time bonanza that was unlikely to be repeated. A pro (or semipro, technically) athlete must have had his choice of women, Avery thought, and he wasn’t going to settle for a queery blowjob again. That was too much to hope for — God wasn’t that generous, not to people like Avery. So when Lloyd sauntered into the front desk area late one night, Avery’s heart started pounding in his chest. He didn’t have two slutty girls with him this time either.
Lloyd winced a little, as though he was hoping he wouldn’t run into Avery. He hesitated, seemingly pondering his options. He held a suitcase in one hand. He wore an ill-fitting suit, with an off-the-racks black shirt and jacket that clashed horribly with his tan shoes and gray belt. Obviously he doesn’t have a girlfriend, Avery thought, or if he does, she’s colorblind. His shirt had not been ironed, Avery noticed; he looked about as well put-together as a homeless high school senior on an away game.
“Mr. Walters, another game tonight, huh?” Avery said, proud of himself for remembering his last name. That was gonna mean another good comment card, he thought.
Lloyd shook his head. “There’s no games on Sunday,” he said. “We played last night.”
“Oh, good game?” Avery said even as he realized from Lloyd’s body language that it hadn’t been a good game at all. He didn’t see that until it was too late, and Lloyd winced again. Obviously this was a sore subject for him. Avery cursed and hoped he hadn’t ruined his chances of a repeat.
“No. We lost, and…” Lloyd sighed. “Everyone thinks it’s my fault. It is my fault. I mean, not really, it wasn’t a tight throw and — nevermind, you don’t want to hear my excuses. I fucked up. I could have done better, and I didn’t. Can’t win ’em all.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure you did your best, sir,” Avery said, feeling like a den mother. He patted Lloyd on the forearm, and his spine shuddered at the feel of the man’s powerful muscles. He felt bad about thinking of sex when Lloyd was so upset. He handed Lloyd the key to his room. “Would you like me to come help you forget? I have to wait for my manager to go home, but that will be very soon.” Avery’s heart pounded as he wondered whether Lloyd would agree to jack off with him again.
“No, I…” Lloyd stopped and thought about it. “Yes,” he said. “Come on in.”
Avery watched him walk back to his room, the swagger gone from his step. The next hour passed interminably slow, but finally Avery saw his boss head out to the parking lot. After waiting a few minutes to be sure he didn’t come back, Avery hurriedly knocked on Lloyd’s door.
“Yeah, come in,” he said and Avery scurried inside.
Lloyd was already drunk. He must have been chugging booze from the moment he got here, Avery realized. Lloyd was stripped to his basketball shorts and a t-shirt, his bulging chest straining against the fabric. He held onto a metal flask that looked to be almost empty.
“Would you like a massage, sir?” Avery asked. He stood behind Lloyd’s chair and gripped his broad shoulders without waiting for an answer.
“Oh god yes,” Lloyd said. He leaned forward to give Avery more room on his back, then stripped off his t-shirt.
Avery rubbed his strapping back muscles. He used all his own musclepower on Lloyd’s shoulders and thick lats, which were so toned and tight they felt like coiled rope. Lloyd let out a loud moan of relaxation.
“Oh god, I needed this,” Lloyd said. He sounded almost ready to fall sleep right then, and moments later he jumped up onto his bed. Laying on his stomach, his pert asscheeks round and perfect, cradled by his shorts, Lloyd looked so delicious Avery wanted to eat him up right then.
But he didn’t want to make Lloyd uncomfortable, so he moved gradually lower and lower. He rubbed Lloyd’s upper back, his sides, his lower back, his feet and ankles, then slowly moved up his hairy thighs. He waited to see if Lloyd would tell him to stop, but he didn’t.
Was he asleep? Avery wasn’t sure at first. He might have passed out drunk, but he saw a few flickers of life. He seemed to be half-asleep, but still responding to Avery’s touch.
A few drops of sweat hovered just above Lloyd’s asscrack, in the pool at the small of his back. Avery quietly bent down and licked those beads of sweat up, then waited for Lloyd to say anything. He let his tongue jump past the elastic of Lloyd’s shorts, just for a second to see if he told Avery to stop.
No response. Avery smiled.
He let his tongue trace a line from the small of Lloyd’s back over his asscrack, without taking off his shorts. He tasted the plasticy, sweaty flavor of Lloyd’s shorts and smelled his stinky ass. The odor of thousands of hours of practice wafted into Avery’s nostrils, almost making him cum in his own pants right there.
He pulled those shorts down, revealing perfect globes of hairy assflesh. He kissed first one, then the other, giving Lloyd plenty of opportunity to say no. It was obvious he wanted this, Avery thought, and he even lifted his hips a little so Avery could get in there. He was probably just too embarrassed to say what he wanted.
Avery pushed his tongue inside Lloyd’s hairy asshole, and the musky flavor hit his senses. Avery’s own cock spasmed as he reached his own orgasm almost immediately, spraying cum into his hand. He shuddered but kept going deeper into Lloyd’s ass.
With the other hand, he reached around to Lloyd’s crotch and began stroking his dick. Soon Lloyd lifted his hips even more to facilitate it, until he was on his knees and elbows in front of Avery. He flexed his back in sync with Avery’s tongue, and his asshole opened up even more as he relaxed.
His tongue dug deep into Lloyd’s ass, but Avery saved most of his attention for the spongy prostate. Every time he touched it, Lloyd shuddered and his dick jerked beneath Avery’s fingers.
Lloyd’s breathing was short and sharp; it sounded like he was surprised at how good this felt. Avery wondered if he had ever had a rimjob before — possibly not, he knew a lot of men weren’t even aware it was something women did (which was probably fair, since most women would never do it). Avery, however, loved it, especially when he got to taste the wide ass of a semipro baseball player.
Finally he came, grunting as a thick load sprayed across his belly and dripped onto the bed below. Lloyd pawed at the mattress beneath him, then collapsed back onto his belly. Avery lifted his sweat-smeared face and took one last deep breath of Lloyd’s ass.
“Thanks for the massage,” Lloyd said.
“Not a problem, sir. That’s the kind of personal service we focus on here at the Night Along Motel.”
Avery had to get up early the next day to come in for a staff meeting. He wasn’t working the rest of the day, just coming in for a mandatory semi-annual meeting. He forced himself up at six a.m., pretending he hadn’t spent the previous evening servicing a semipro baseball player. He dimly showered and almost fell asleep on the way into work — he rarely started before noon, so this was a difficult disruption to his normal schedule.
The meeting was as dull and uneventful as ever. Avery hated coming to these idiotic meetings, except that he was able to schedule himself to be off those days, so he’d get paid a half-day for attending a one-hour meeting. That was, at least, a nice bonus. It was even worth getting up early. He could go home and take a nap after all, not that he would — Avery couldn’t sleep during the day no matter how tired he was.
When the meeting was over, he headed down the hall, choosing to go out a side door, both to avoid time-consuming chit-chat with his coworkers and because there was a chance he’d run into Lloyd. He wanted to walk past his room on the way out.
Jackpot! He smiled as he turned a corner and saw Lloyd poking his head out of the room. His grizzled face looked like he had just woken up, and was hungover. Lloyd looked at Avery in confusion — Avery wasn’t wearing a uniform.
“You working?”
“It’s my day off,” Avery said. Technically true, but he was paid a half-day today. He probably should have worn the uniform. They had been told to wear it to these meetings, though hardly anyone did and the manager seemed to have forgotten it was a rule. He hoped nobody who cared noticed.
“Oh, I couldn’t get anyone at the front desk, no one answered,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“We just had a staff meeting. It’s over now though. You should be able to get someone. Is there a problem?”
“I just wanted to ask for a massage. You guys do that, right? I mean, not just your kind of massage.”
Avery smiled again. “Well… I do. But everyone else at the front desk just send out for a masseuse from a cheap place down the street. If you want a massage like what you got last night, let me do it. I won’t even charge you a courtesy fee like the hotel would.”
He smiled back. “Okay.”
Avery walked into Lloyd’s room, the same room he had stayed in the previous time as well. This was beginning to be the room Avery used every time he got a hot stud at work — it happened more often than seemed reasonable. The Night Along Motel simply had that sort of reputation. It was a place where men could get laid, not always by hot chicks, but someone or another.
Once Lloyd closed the door, he grinned. “Glad I found you. That massage place down the street… Are they full-service?”
“Uh, no, sir,” Avery said. “There used to be one girl who worked there who did, she gave twenty dollar handjobs though, that’s it. But she got arrested anyway. They usually send a man nowadays. Not a man like me either, a big Swedish guy with a belly and an ugly mustache.” Avery stopped talking, feeling self-conscious; Lloyd didn’t care about this stuff, he thought. He just wants another rimjob or something.
“Oh, well… I was really hoping to blow my nut this morning,” Lloyd said.
Avery dropped to his knees and grabbed Lloyd’s dick through his shorts.
“Wait,” Lloyd said. “I mean… I really wanna plow. No one wants to give up the ass anymore. Oprah said something about anal sex being demeaning last month, and now no chicks wanna do it.”
“Really?”
“I dunno, that’s what this black guy on my team said.” Lloyd shrugged. “I don’t watch Oprah.”
“Wow, I hope that’s true,” Avery said. “Cuz I love it when men get desperate.”
“I bet you do,” he said. He dropped his pants and motioned for Avery to bend over. “That happens a lot here, huh?”
“Yeah, it sort of does,” Avery said. He dropped his pants as he bent over the bed and spread his legs.
“Alright… this is weird, where do I put my hands?” Lloyd said.
“Wherever you want.” Avery felt his hot dick push into his ass, and Lloyd’s hot breath on the back of his neck.
Lloyd murmured something but Avery didn’t catch it; he was too intent on the pain blooming in his ass. He moaned and clawed at the mattress. There was a burst of pleasure as well, a dim pre-orgasmic buzz that grew and grew with every thrust of Lloyd’s hips.
“That hurt?” Lloyd asked.
“Yes, but keep going,” Avery said.
Lloyd chuckled. “Shit, I wish girls was like this about butt stuff. They take all the fun out of it with the complaining,” Lloyd said, then before Avery could respond, he rammed his dick the rest of his way in. “Hang on, this might hurt.”
Avery bit his lip and began stroking his own hard cock with one hand. He arched his back to give Lloyd a better angle, though he knew that would make the pain a bit more intense. In truth, Avery liked it when taking dick hurt just a bit; it made the pleasure more pleasurable, more incredible and more awe-inspiringly, jaw-droppingly potent. He writhed atop the bedspread as he struggled to accept every inch of Lloyd’s meat.
Lloyd whooped like he was leaving the huddle in the middle of a big game, psyching himself up with whooping and hollers. He was gyrating his hips now, moving his manhood smoothly in and out of Avery’s tight butthole.
They were moving in sync now, and Lloyd’s awkwardness with his hands vanished. He grabbed ahold of Avery’s hips to better control the positioning of his ass, and as it became apparent that Avery was going to love any position Lloyd chose, Lloyd lifted his ass even higher while pushing Avery’s head into the mattress with his other hand. His big baseball-toned muscle jiggled with every thrust of his dick into Avery’s intestines.
“You want me to pull out?”
“Fuck no,” Avery said breathlessly, and Lloyd laughed.
“I like to hear that.”
Avery didn’t have a response to that. He was busy shooting his load onto the bedspread, and shuddering as an orgasm ripped through him. He felt his ass squeeze Lloyd tight, which was apparently all he needed to send him over the edge as well.
A wave of cum hit him internally, and Avery felt its warm creaminess spreading throughout his innards. He was still pointed face-down, ass-up, so it drained deeper and deeper within him.
Lloyd’s cock spasmed hotly as he dragged it out, and there was a slick popping sound when it came out. It flopped onto Avery’s ass and left a moist slick there.
“Fuck, man… This is the greatest damn hotel ever,” Lloyd said.
“I couldn’t agree more.”

The Private

On a layover, Avery runs into Private Edmond Samberg, who could use some cash… and a mouth on his alpha male manhood. These are the kinds of problems Avery is prepared to solve!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read it here!

Avery woke up with an aching back. He yawned. The terminal was quiet. There were sleeping travelers scattered everywhere. He was in Dulles airport, in Northern Virginia. A major snowstorm had trapped everyone here. Even the staff hadn’t left for awhile because the roads were impassable. But it looked like that must have cleared up, because there were a lot fewer annoyed employees lounging around off the clock.
He stood, stretched and went to the men’s room to freshen up. He didn’t look so good. He had gone to a Christmas Eve wedding in Guyana and was on his way home. It had been freakish to go from tropical Guyana to blizzardy Virginia in a few hours.
It was five o’clock in the morning, so very few people were even awake. None of the stores were open. No flights were coming or going. There weren’t any announcements over the PA aside from the routine reminders about minding your bags.
“Oh, hey, hey, man, look, hey, wait up, hey, sorry, sorry, man-“
It took Avery a moment to realize someone was talking to him. The airport was like a mausoleum, so the man’s deep voice resonated and felt profoundly out-of-place. Avery must have looked annoyed when he turned around — he was just surprised and confused, but he must have looked annoyed, he thought, because the man was taken aback.
“Hey, sorry, man, are you in a hurry? I just wanted to ask you something.”
“Um. Not really, no. I mean, yes, in theory, I’m in a hurry to get home, but I’m snowed in so all I can do is pace or whatever. I can’t go anywhere anyway. So, uh…” Avery’s voice trailed off because his sleepy mind finally registered what sort of man he was look at.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a square jaw, wearing Army fatigues and heavy combat boots. He had a grizzled beard and tired, dark eyes. His muscles spilled from his camo. He carried himself heavily, like he hadn’t been muscular long and it still felt weird to him. Remnants of acne scarring on his cheeks gave him a mature look despite his youthful features, but it kept him from having a babyface.
“Do you know how to FaceCall? I don’t know what that is. My wife said I can do it on my laptop, I wanna FaceCall with her and my daughter. They’re in Okinawa so it’s evening there,” he said. “I don’t see it on my computer. Is it on email?”
“What, FaceCall? No, no, that’s not an email thing. Come on, I’ll show you,” Avery said.
Avery used FaceCall all the time, so it was easy for him to set up. In a few minutes he had the soldier — who introduced himself as Private Edmond Samberg — talking to his beautiful wife Omishi and their daughter Abigail, who was only three years old.
Avery had nothing else to do, so he just sat down once Samberg was talking to his family. This seating area was almost deserted. The whole airport was quiet and dark because it was in the middle of the night. Actually well past the middle, it was going on morning. Or maybe not. Avery had little sense of time anymore. He glanced at his phone which had the time on it but it didn’t compute in his travel-addled mind, and Avery didn’t care enough to devote any of his brain’s processing power to figuring it out.
He had a book to read, but he didn’t feel like reading it. He could get his phone out too, but he had been doing entirely too much of that. He was bored of relieving boredom with his phone. There would be nothing new online he wanted to see.
At first he tried to surreptitiously listen to Private Samberg and his family — Avery didn’t want to be nosy, there was just nothing else to do right now. It soon became apparent, however, that this conversation was going to consist mainly of babytalk. Private Samberg barely even spoke to his wife because he was so eager to connect with his daughter. He sang Christmas carols softly, aiming his voice directly into the microphone so it would be loud for his daughter but quiet enough to avoid waking anyone up in the airport.
Avery very nearly fell back asleep. He probably would have if it weren’t for Private Samberg’s strapping muscles bucking and flexing beneath his camo fatigues. He was entranced by the sight, and he blushed when Private Samberg almost caught him looking. Avery pretended to be humming along to “Jingle Bells”.
“Thanks a lot, man,” said Private Samberg after saying goodbye to his family and hanging up. “I would give you something for your time, but, man, I am broke. I’ve got eight cents in my bank account.”
“No worries, no problem. It’s nice to have something to do. It’s boring wasting my Christmas in a nasty old airport,” Avery said. He smiled and cleared his throat. “I know a way you can make five hundred dollars right here. Well, not right here. In the bathroom over there. The disabled bathroom is probably best.”
“What?”
“I’ll pay you five hundred dollars to jack off with me,” Avery said.
Private Samberg looked Avery up and down, nervously fingered his dog tags, then busted up laughing. He blushed. He looked like he was about to say no, but he just blushed more. He rearranged his cock in his camo pants. He covered his face. Then he shrugged. “Uh… Yeah. Okay. You for real?”
“Hell yeah I am,” Avery said. He saluted and stood up. “I’m here to follow orders, sir.”
He scoffed as he followed Avery into the disabled bathroom, which was large and clean. Avery locked the door. Private Samberg said, “You know I’m a private, right? I can’t order anyone around.”
“I know.”
“You really like jackin’ off with guys? I hate it, me and my unit do it all the time. It’s nasty.” He leaned against the wall and groaned. He closed his eyes. “But I do need somethin’ shit! I had a stiffy on the plane before, the one that brought me here, shit! The stewardess was like crazy hot. You shoulda seen her tits, man.” He blushed. “Sorry. I love my wife. I wasn’t gonna fuck her! The stewardess. Even if she wanted it-“
“I’m not the marriage police.”
“Even if she like threw herself at me, I wouldn’t…” Private Samberg’s eyes opened wide, and a moment later they opened wider. His dick twitched in his pants. “Shit! Ah, man!”
“Relax, relax, man, it’s okay to find chicks hot,” Avery said. “You didn’t fuck her, you’re fine. Don’t tell your wife about her though.”
“I won’t!”
“Are you alright? You look tired,” Avery said. He slid his hand into Edmond’s camo pants and wrapped his fingers around his cock. He gave it a few slow strokes, and Samberg leaned against the wall by the hand dryer.
Private Samberg nodded. “I am tired. Man, after I blow my wad, I’m gonna sleep for like twelve hours, I swear. My sergeant’s been yellin’ at me, cuz of this credit card debt… Man, it’s fucked.” He sighed, dropped his camo pants and let his dick fully flop out.
It throbbed hotly in Avery’s hand. It was nice and long, a definite two-hander but Avery only used one hand to make sure Samberg was gonna beg for more in a bit. His hand ran up and down the thickness of his shaft. “Your sergeant yells at you about credit card debt?”
“They’re worried about blackmail and shit, it’s conduct unbecoming,” he said. “And so they have a right to drill it… to, have a rule — it’s in the court, of, you know, the rights…” He blushed. “I don’t know the words. Sorry. My sergeant said it, but he was squeezin’ my balls so I don’t remember ’em.”
Avery smiled and gave his balls a very gentle squeeze. “Like that?”
“Harder.” His eyes bugged out. “He did it harder, I’m not askin’ you to do it harder.”
“Sure, sure,” Avery said. He got both hands on Samberg’s dick, which was beginning to firm up. It was veiny and moist with sweat, and it thrummed with heat and with youthful desire. A shudder ran up from his crotch through Samberg’s spine, and he laughed at himself.
“Shit, man, that feels good. I really needed to bust a nut. There was a guy outside boot camp who did that,” Samberg said. “It was weird.” He looked down. “I only did it once when I was real drunk. I don’t remember it. They said I did it, and I had fifty bucks in my pocket.”
“Fifty?”
“Yeah, He didn’t pay much.”
“Guess I got ripped off offering you five hundred,” Avery said.
“But I’m sober for this.”
“That’s worth four hundred fifty bucks?”
Samberg nodded and shrugged. “You’re the one who decided that.” He groaned, his dick fully erect now, and he moved his hips back and forth to drag the knob over Avery’s face. “Sorry.” He chuckled again.
“Is it okay if I taste it?” Avery asked. He thwacked that meaty erection over his face, chasing it with his tongue.
Private Samberg nodded and blushed a little. “You’re really into that? That’s so weird.” He wrinkled his nose. “Are you a believer that it makes your dick bigger to jack mine off”
Avery shrugged. “Something like that. I don’t know, maybe.” He was noncommittal, but in fact, he was not a believer in that. He just liked jacking off men, and he knew five hundred dollars was more than he needed to offer. He would have offered a hundred if he was being stingy. But he liked Private Samberg and wanted to help out a nice young family.
Avery kneeled between his legs and swallowed Samberg’s shaft down to the root, making Samberg let out a surprised moan like he hadn’t realized this was coming. Avery swallowed it as deep as he could, until his throat clenched and he gagged. Private Samberg took off his camo shirt, revealing a sweat-stained Army t-shirt underneath.
Precum flowed over his lips. It was salty and sweet, and it tasted so good Avery drooled as he gurgled. The moist sounds caused Private Samberg to chuckle, dryly at first, then almost hysterically. The laughter made his muscles gyrate beneath his tight t-shirt and made his cock jab down Avery’s throat.
“Ah shit, I have to use the money you’re paying me on the credit card debt. I won’t be able to buy anything for my daughter,” he said with a groan. “It sucks, my wife had to pay for Christmas for Abigail. I know she’s just a baby… Nevermind, sorry, I don’t wanna think about my daughter when I get a blowjob.”
Avery made a mental note to fix that. He didn’t want to make an awkward situation any more awkward — and his mouth was full — so he didn’t say anything, but he planned to call up and pay Private Samberg’s credit card debt. His wallet was sitting right there, having fallen out of his pocket when he dropped his pants. So Avery found out which bank issued his card and paid the debt later. Private Samberg presumably never found out how or why the bill was paid off.
It was the Christmas season, so Avery was glad to help. Private Samberg’s haggard face leaned back and his worry-wrinkles diminished as he moaned. His crew-cut had grown slightly unruly since he had last tended it, which was probably the last time he had shaved too. Samberg’s muscles rippled beneath his Army-issue t-shirt.
Avery pulled off Samberg’s cock and smacked it against his lips and his tongue hanging out of his open mouth. The sour-salty taste of his unwashed manhood flooded Avery’s senses.
“Hey, you do, uh…” Samberg blushed a deep red, his big hangdog square face looking away from Avery as he whispered, “Cornholin’?”
An excited giggle spread from Avery’s mouth. He nodded. “Sure do. But before we do that…” Avery licked his shaft from tip to root. “I’ll give you another hundred bucks if you let me lick every tattoo you’ve got. I bet you have some tattoos in interesting locations.”
Private Samberg blushed. “I got… Well… Okay…” He blushed an even deeper red. “Uh…” He took off his shirt and sighed. He had an outline of the state of Pennsylvania tattooed over his left pectoral muscle. Avery traced a trail with his tongue, traveling up Samberg’s crotch to his flat belly, his bulging pectoral and the sweat that collected there. He sucked on the tattoo as though trying to vacuum it off his body. Samberg grunted and stiffened his back.
He had barbed wire over his biceps too. The tattoo on his left bicep was complete, and Avery sucked it clean. Samberg even flexed his biceps — cheeks bright red — so Avery could get the full effect. The barbed wire on his right bicep was just the outline, not filled in, but his muscle was even firmer and his sweat even saltier.
“I couldn’t afford to get the tattoo finished,” Samberg said. He chuckled dryly. “The credit card got denied.” He sighed. “And I, uh… I got one more.” This was what made him blush. He undid his camo pants, turned around and bent over — he didn’t do that in a sexy or seductive way, but Avery thought it was even hotter like this, bending over as though letting a doctor take a look at his ass. His big hairy plump cheeks were right in front of Avery’s face.
And right there on the lower part of his left asscheek was a tattoo. It was a red bullseye and words written in elegant cursive. Sergeant Powers made a man out of me and I’ll never be the same.
“I got drunk in San Diego and my buddies made me get this.” He paused and laughed. “Okay, they ain’t really make me do it. But I did it. And so he can’t ever see my ass. He said he gotta approve tattoos before we get them, the Army doesn’t allow a lotta tattoos nowadays. There’s no way he would approve a tattoo telling him to kiss my ass.”
Samberg kept going, but Avery was confused. He kissed the perky firm ass-flesh under the tattoo as he listened to Private Samberg, who explained that his friends had dared him to tattoo the words ‘Sergeant Powers’s Kissing Spot’ on his ass. Those were, however, not the words tattooed there. In fact the message was ‘Sergeant Powers made a man out of me and I’ll never be the same’. It soon became apparent that Private Samberg didn’t know what was on his ass. It was on the lower part of his left cheek, which was round and full and plump — he’d have to get in a very careful position to see it in a mirror, and since it was written in flowing cursive, it wouldn’t be easy to read even then. Samberg must have never read it. His friends had told the tattooist what to do when he was too drunk to remember.
“Part of the dare,” Samberg said with a nervous chuckle, his dick still flopping over Avery’s face, precum sticking to his cheeks and lips. “was that I gotta show him the tattoo now that it’s healed. I keep puttin’ it off. He’s gonna kick my ass, man, I swear. He’s gonna dishonorable discharge me.”
It was a funny story, and it was one that Avery didn’t intend to spoil. He didn’t tell Samberg what his ass really said. He sucked all the furry hairs there — they were thick, dark and kinky because it was the upper part of his thigh. Then Avery plopped his face into Samberg’s asscheeks.
“Oh, shit, man… I ain’t got no tattoos in there, man, but if you wanna lick my ass…” He laughed nervously and gulped. He was bent over, grabbing his ankles, his face was already red from both blushing and blood running to his head. His eyes opened wide and he looked up to see Avery’s face disappear in his ass.
He looked like he was about to laugh, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Avery’s tongue tickled his prostate and Samberg let out a spine-tingling moan. It was loud enough that, if anyone had been awake near the bathroom, they would have heard. Avery probed Samberg’s ass with his tongue, while Samberg grunted as though it felt so good it hurt.
“Goddamn, man!” He bit his lip.
Avery giggled. Samberg’s as, tasted like his battered Army-issue green boxer shorts smelled: musty and salty and savory and so delicious Avery could have cum just from the smell. He pulled away and massaged Samberg’s hairy crack with one finger. It was wet and dripping.
Samberg barked when Avery’s finger touched his asshole. He jumped back up and turned around, his fat cock rock-hard and throbbing as it slapped Avery over the cheek.
“Ah, damn, I wasn’t expectin’ that to feel so good,” Samberg said. His voice was extra-deep as he puffed up his chest. His words resonated in the linoleum-tiled bathroom. He laughed a little. “But don’t put your finger in there, that’s… weird.”
Avery smiled. “Sure, no problem. I wasn’t going to stick it in. A lot of guys are into that anyway, y’know-“
“Not me.” He glowered. He watched Avery slather spit on his cockshaft. He hadn’t really watched before, because his eyes were closed, but he was a little less nervous now. Now, his eyes bugged out. “Damn, you really go deep. My wife don’t suck like that. No way. She got the world’s tiniest mouth. You should see her eat a hot dog. Takes an hour and a half.”
That made Avery laugh. “Maybe I’ll come watch that sometime.” Once he had slobbered saliva all over Private Samberg’s throbbing crack, he decided it was time to move on. Samberg looked down to watch as though it was the climax of a scary movie and he wanted to look away but couldn’t. “Now we get to the best part,” Avery said with a laugh at the expression on Samberg’s face.
Samberg groaned and moaned. Though he looked tense and nervous, he was also excited. It was obvious he was horny and he wanted this. He kept his hands away as he watched Avery bare his ass.
Avery turned around and backed his ass up. He spread his cheeks. Private Samberg looked away, groaning and moaning as his cock slid into Avery’s ass. At first Samberg didn’t touch him at all, like he couldn’t bear to feel a man’s ass for even a moment. His hands sort of fluttered behind himself, like he was balancing on a wire and almost falling off the other way. He watched Avery’s ass break open, while Avery let out a moan of desire as a surge of pleasure and pain hit him in equal portions.
“Aw, man, man, man,” Samberg’s voice broke, as he too felt a surge of pleasure. No pain though. He finally did touch Avery’s ass with one hand, then let go as though someone scolded him. “Aww, man… that feels good!” He again sounded very surprised at that, like he thought it would be painful. “It feels real good!”
“I know,” Avery said through clenched teeth, as he struggled to take Samberg’s girthy cock.
That didn’t last long though. The first time Samberg’s cock encountered a little resistance, he grunted and his muscles flexed all at once. One of his hands grabbed his own manhood, while his other hit Avery hard on the back, pushing his shoulders down. He pulled Avery’s cheeks up to match Samberg’s height a little better.
His dick was big and veiny, thick, long, throbbing, perfect like it was sculpted to fill Avery’s body. Avery let out a long low moan and leaned back until he felt Samberg’s cold dog tag resting against his back, and his broad chest muscles rippled against Avery’s smooth shoulders. Avery grabbed it and sucked on it too, just to get the stainless steel taste and the stale sweat that collected there onto his tongue.
“Damn, you make sounds…” Private Samberg said. In this position, Avery couldn’t see his face, but it was clear Samberg was blushing again. He cleared his throat. “My wife is so quiet during sex. The first time we did it, I thought she fell asleep or somethin’. She said I fuck real good-“
“Private Samberg, I’m going to give you an order,” Avery said breathily. He gasped. He had to focus intently to form any words at all. “Stop talking about your wife and stick it in me.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I just love her so much, sorry, sorry. Sorry. Shit…” His hot breath condensed on Avery’s nape.
Avery kept pushing his ass backwards, basically penetrating himself with Samberg’s cock. But the more they both got into this, the more comfortable Samberg became. Soon Samberg was pounding into Avery just as hard as Avery penetrated himself with Samberg’s cock.
And then, at last, Avery could do little more than submit. He leaned back so that he rested his face on Samberg’s ropy-muscled chest. He was ensconced in Samberg’s powerful arms, licking and suckling on his frizzy-haired muscle. He got another taste of both those barbed-wire tattoos, both the finished one and the unfinished one — in a flash of charitable thinking, Avery promised himself he’d send enough money to finish the other tattoo, then decided not to, he already didn’t know how much credit card debt he’d be paying off, and it wasn’t like the world was waiting for yet another barbed-wire-on-bicep tattoo. But it did taste so sexy when he sucked Samberg’s curly arm-hairs and licked the bulging tattooed muscle there. His wife was a very lucky woman.
“Oh god, cum inside me, please, soldier, fill me up…”
His cringing, begging tone made Samberg laugh just as he reached an orgasm. His whole body bucked and spasmed, and his chest muscles tensed against Avery’s back. For one glorious moment that seemed to last an eternity, Avery experienced a jaw-dropping orgasm that began in his prostate and exploded outward in every direction.
A fat load of cum flew into Avery’s ass. Private Samberg moaned, his hot breath condensing on the back of Avery’s head. Avery had never felt smaller or weaker, buried in Samberg’s muscles all around him. The cum filling up his ass was hot and thick, and it seeped into Avery’s flesh.
“Oh fuck, yeah…” Avery stroked himself off and shot his own load onto the floor of the bathroom. He still had Samberg’s dog tags over his face, so he got another burst of old-sweat flavor as he sucked it clean.
He moaned again, and rubbed his back against Private Samberg’s strapping chest. Private Samberg grunted into his ear. The smell of his sweat-soaked shirt enveloped Avery as he experienced one of the most intense orgasms of his life. Spasms of bliss wracked his body.
Finally Private Samberg stepped back and gingerly pulled his cock out. He looked down at it like he was terrified of what he saw as he wiped it clean with a bit of toilet paper. He grimaced, then smiled and grunted.
“You had better pay me, man,” he said. “And that extra hundred dollars. Don’t stiff me, man.”
“I won’t, I have to too much respect for your service to our country,” Avery said with a sigh as he cleaned himself off. When he was done, he pulled out his wallet and counted out the money. Avery saluted and grinned, before handing over six hundred dollars.
“Uh, sure, yeah, no problem, man,” Private Samberg said with a blush. He took the money and saluted back. “Thanks too, for your help. I had a good Christmas after all.”

The Ladysman

Teddy winds up hiring the handsome Turkish gigolo Emre… Emre needs cash and is willing to pleasure anyone who’s willing to pay, giving Teddy a wild ride in gigolo action!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The convention was as boring as any convention ever was. Teddy wanted to tear his eyeballs out — he had experienced a lot of conventions, and this was the worst one yet. He had to sling drinks to dozens of businessmen in cheap suits while they tromped all over his hotel.
Of course it wasn’t really his hotel, he was just a bartender who worked at a country club that was also owned by this hotel, so he had been transferred here when the regular bartender called out sick. That sickness had continued so long that Teddy now knew every inch of this place.
Mostly the guests had come here to ski, if they weren’t here for the convention, which was for bathroom fixtures. Teddy couldn’t imagine a more boring topic for a convention. He didn’t even understand how people could have the idea to schedule a convention for bathroom fixtures without dying from absolutely boredom. What kind of person would brainstorm ideas for business ventures and think, “yes, a convention for bathroom-fixture salespersons, that would be a compelling thing that people will pay money for”? And then, the most shocking part of it all, they were right! People did pay money for it! It was a sound business venture!
Just seeing them drink after a day spent doing whatever, Teddy had no idea what someone would actually do at a bathroom fixtures convention, was enough to make Teddy bored to tears. Did they discuss toilets all day? Advanced urinal theory? Ten tricks to make a tampon disposal box more festive for the holidays?
Teddy sighed. Mostly the convention-goers were tubby men with pasty cheeks and layers of flab ensconced in cheap suits. A few sturdy women who look like they get plenty of fiber filled out the ranks. Well, he thought, they certainly look like they know their way around the bathroom. These men look like they’ve spent most of their lives sitting on the toilet trying to get rid of the Big Macs they scarfed down.
Teddy was not happy with this weekend.
“Hey, how are you doing? Gin and tonic, please,” said a throaty woman’s voice. “Make it a double. Double gin, single tonic. Don’t bother trying to upsell me on the gin, just gimme the rail. Or hell, gimme vodka that’s been stored near a spice-cabinet, that’ll do.” She put a cigarette in her mouth. “Got a light?”
Teddy nodded. He lit her cigarette and made her drink. She sipped from it. She was pretty in an upper-class, upper-age, upper-bitch way, with soft brown hair and a botoxed face. She was probably beautiful twenty years ago. He liked her already.
“Slim pickings here this weekend, huh?” Teddy said. He made sure to say it as flamboyantly as he could so she would know he was referring to males.
She chuckled throatily. “Yeah. I guess I never thought a bathroom-fixtures convention would be full of excitement, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
“You should have been here a couple months ago, we had a bouncer-event. It was pretty hot. Muscle-bound meatheads everywhere,” Teddy said. He blushed. “You’d have had your pick of men then. Assuming you like ’em big and macho.”
She nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m no muscle-queen, but anything would be better than these toilet-shaped dweebs. I wish I was in that field. Bouncers.” She scoffed. “Well, if only there was money in it…”
“There’s not many women here. What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m in marketing. I know, bathroom fixtures is a boy’s club. I’ve talked to all of the women here, and they’re all stuck-up bitches like me,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. A smile appeared on her stretched-taut face, and she sighed as she finished her drink. “Well, I didn’t come here to get laid anyway. I came here to network.” She paused. “Is there a local joint worth visiting in this one-horse town?”
“Not really.” Teddy paused. “Are you… like… horny?”
She furrowed her brow. “Uh… Well, are you propositioning me?” She laughed haughtily.
“No, not me,” Teddy said. He blushed. “Just… if you wanted to… there’s a guy here, a guy who works as a masseur for the country club next door.”
“Uh-huh.” She yawned and took a long but small sip from her gin and tonic. “I don’t normally hook up with, y’know… the help. Sorry if that makes me sound elitist-“
“No worries. He’s not really the help, exactly. I mean, he’s a masseur, but that’s just a way to meet clients and launder his income,” Teddy said. “He’s really a gigolo. The hotel looks the other way.”
“A what?”
“He’ll fuck you for five hundred dollars,” Teddy said. “And he will rock your world. He’ll make you feel so good your pussy falls off.” He paused. “Or so I’ve heard. He licks pussy like nobody’s business.”
“Are you serious?” She looked like she was going to laugh and say no. Then she fell silent. She looked around the room, then back at Teddy. “Five hundred dollars?”
Teddy nodded. “Just call to the front desk. Ask for a massage. Ask for Emre. If you don’t ask for Emre, they’ll send you this fat Polish lady. I don’t know what she’d do for five hundred dollars, but you probably wouldn’t enjoy it as much as Emre.” Teddy shrugged. “He’s Turkish.”
Her eyes lit up. She didn’t respond right away. She was a smart, well-adjusted businesswoman. She wasn’t here for some prostitution.
But on the other hand… if she were ever going to pay a man for sex…
Teddy had another customer then, so he had to walk away. He watched the lady at the bar consider the possibility for a few moments before she got up. She smiled at Teddy and walked out into the hotel lobby.
Well, there’s a hundred dollars. Teddy could virtually smell the horniness wafting out from under her skirt. She was definitely going to do it.
The rest of the convention was uneventful. Teddy served drinks and pointed men towards the one brothel in town when they asked about women — which they all started doing a little after midnight. Teddy didn’t get paid per client for the brothel, so he wasn’t too enthusiastic about referring them. Emre, however, paid him for each client he sent that way.
Teddy saw the woman — Wendy Allister — the next morning, looking shame-faced yet relaxed. Emre had treated her right, that was clear. He always did. Teddy wished he could watch sometime. Emre made women feel “like liquid gold”, as one lady had told him.
Teddy blushed when he nodded at Emre, who came over to the bar and surreptitiously slipped Teddy his hundred dollars — that was Teddy’s commission for sending Emre a woman.
“Thanks for the lead,” Emre said. He had a dense spatchocking accent, all clutters of consonants and staccato vowels that made Teddy lose himself in those dimples. Seeing Emre smile at him always made Teddy blush and stammer over his words. “She was a very good client.”
He kept talking, but Teddy was entranced. Emre was so arousing it hurt. He had an incredibly thick mane of black hair, densely curly, extending up and down and out all at once. He was strong but lean and ropy-muscled, not at all bulky, with a square jaw and a hooked nose whose imperfect shape made his face all the more handsome.
Teddy was drawn to those sterling green eyes, so bright they were almost fluorescent. Teddy had insisted for months that Emre must wear colored contacts, but Emre denied it.
“She was a very good woman,” Emre said with a grin. “She was a little old, but I do not mind. Old women need loving too.” He pulled out a lottery ticket. It was a winner — two hundred dollars — but he hadn’t cashed it yet. “She gave me this too.” That was a lie, but Emre was a well-practiced liar. It didn’t even occur to Teddy that Emre had been holding onto the lotto ticket for months.
Emre had a gambling problem.
No one knew about it. Teddy knew that Emre occasionally gambled on sports, and he had seen him scratching lottery tickets, but no one knew that Emre barely managed to keep it together — every month, he paid his bills and then spent most of the remainder on lotto tickets, scratch-offs, betting or even trips to the casino on the Indian reservation nearby.
So that four hundred dollars he made this weekend went away pretty quick. He paid off a debt to his bookie. It meant he wouldn’t be able to pay his rent on time this month, but he could get past that. There was going to be a human resources convention next weekend, and Emre thought he’d make plenty of money then.
He’d held onto this winning lotto ticket for months now. He could always cash it. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was winning. Emre had read somewhere that that was one technique to reduce “problem gambling” — not that Emre believed he was a problem gambler — because he could pull it out anytime and feel like he had just won. He would maybe not feel compelled to gamble if he could feel like he had won anytime.
Once he had it in his pocket for a couple days, he didn’t even think about cashing it. It was only two hundred dollars. No problem. He didn’t need the money.
He did need the feeling. He needed to have it in his pocket, so he could finger it and look at it and anticipate what it would be like to cash it in. The way they would look at him at the lotto place — he could go to any gas station and cash it in, but he wanted to go to the lotto office. It felt righter to do it there. They knew how to do it right. They’d look at him like a winner. He’d feel like a winner.
And as long as he didn’t do it, he could savor that feeling.
Regardless, it was that next weekend that the HR convention was in town. Emre figured a human resources director convention would have to be ground zero for gigolos. So many lonely women! He could make bank.
But then that HR convention didn’t happen. The HR directors didn’t show up — the convention was cancelled after a freak snowstorm shut down the airport for the whole weekend. Emre had no way of making money. He needed a couple hundred bucks to pay his bills this month. He’d counted on that HR convention and spent some money he probably shouldn’t have.
Okay, he put money down on a basketball game. A couple basketball games. And he lost every dime.
Not an app either. Emre had been banned from all the sports betting apps because he showed “problem behaviors” and sent a manic avalanche of emails to the developer of one app, when he found a bug — a real bug, he identified how it worked and everything. He’d told the developer about it in emails sent through LinkedIn, which got him banned both from that app and from LinkedIn, and he even got a “stop harassing people” email from GMail.
Anyway, Emre had a bookie, and he now owed that bookie a hundred dollars. Not that much, but he also was late on rent and had these medical bills due…
He was expecting to make at least two grand out of these HR ladies. That should have been easy. If the HR convention happened, he would have, no problem.
But as he pondered his situation, Emre could think of only one way to make the minimum he needed to pay off his bookie and get up to date on his rent.
Teddy wiped the bar down at the end of the night. It had been slow tonight because there was no convention, just a few dozen lonely businesspeople having small meetings or rendezvousing with their mistresses. Emre watched Teddy clean the bar as the night drew to a close.
Unlike Emre, Teddy was glad the HR convention was canceled. He could think of nothing more boring than spending the entire weekend with a bunch of HR ladies. What did they talk about? The mind boggles. It’s probably a marathon of threats to add things to “the permanent record”, endless self-evaluations and probing questions asked by idiots.
But at least Emre was here. Teddy snuck glances at him as he shut down the bar.
Emre was good at flirting with women. He did it without even thinking about it. But how did he flirt with a man? Emre had no idea. It didn’t come naturally to him, and the more he thought about it, the more he didn’t think he could do it.
He flashed a dimpled smile, hoping to get Teddy’s attention. It worked, but then Teddy just went back to cleaning the counter as though he hadn’t noticed — he hadn’t realized that seductive smile was aimed at him. Teddy was so used to seeing Emre flirt with women he didn’t recognize when he was the actual target.
Only gradually did Teddy realize there were no women around. The bar was empty of women. Who was Emre smiling at?
“Hey,” Emre said when Teddy got near him again.
“Oh, hi. Slim pickings, huh?” Teddy said, laughing to himself — that was the same conversation-starter he had used with that woman. Emre didn’t get why it was funny, but he laughed too.
Emre smoothed his hair and straightened the collar of his shirt. “There was a lady in here earlier who seemed like a good prospect, but then she got all mad at me. Said she’s Mormon. I guess they don’t do gigolos.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Mormons don’t do most things.”
A long silence sat between them at the bar. Teddy was ready to take the cash drawer into the back, to put it in the safe, but he sensed Emre wanted to say something more than small-talk. Emre licked his teeth and looked down the drink he was still finishing. Then he knocked back the rest of his brandy and tonic.
Finally, Emre cleared his throat. “I could use a client this weekend for sure. So, uh… you’re… you’re nice, uh.. In the hair.”
“What?” Teddy screwed up his eyes. He had never been complimented like that. He didn’t even understand that Emre was complimenting his hair at first, then when he did get it, Teddy ran his fingers through his hair.
Emre blushed. He was never flustered like this. Women took compliments better than that. He straightened his collar again. How do you compliment men? “I just mean, your hair is nice. Your-“
“My hair? What are you talking about? It’s the same it always is.”
“Sorry, I mean… I just wanted to say, y’know, I know you’re… You have, uh… good… qualities,” Emre said. He was trying to think of things women complimented men on. They always mentioned Emre’s hair, which was dense and jet-black and perfectly wavy, and they liked his dimples and his muscular body. But Teddy was slim and had ordinary white-man hair. Emre wasn’t sure what to compliment on a man like that.
“Okay.” Teddy’s eyes were open wide like he was mystified by what was happening. “Thanks. I guess.”
“Sorry. I, uh… I was just…”
“Do you want to say something to me? Just say it.”
“Will you pay me five hundred dollars to jack me off?!” Emre blurted out. He blushed. He was never that direct. He didn’t even raise his price to give himself room to negotiate down. Teddy knew that was the same price Emre gave to women, but surely it would make sense to charge more for a man. Emre had just forgotten, and now he was leaving money on the table. He couldn’t raise the price now. Oh well, that was enough to get caught up. Five hundred bucks would suffice. He cleared his throat again. “I mean… you know what I mean, right? You do the… You get me off. And pay me. I’ll, you know… treat you like a woman. In ways that you want. That you’ll enjoy.” Emre clammed up. He never got like this with women. Was this how women feel when he made them tongue-tied?
“Hush, you’re babbling,” Teddy said. “You want me to pay you to jack you off?” Emre nodded. Teddy’s mind raced. He had an instinctive desire to say no and tell Emre he’s an arrogant asshole, that Teddy didn’t want him that bad, that he’s not God’s gift to dicks. But Teddy could hardly pretend he didn’t want Emre, and he certainly wanted to do it. “Fine.” He cursed himself immediately because he thought he could have talked Emre down on the price — obviously, Emre was only doing this because he needed the money, so he must have some flexibility.
They both walked away annoyed with themselves for not negotiating more, but neither were willing to call it off for a minor monetary dispute.
And so that was how they ended up in the storage closet just after the bar officially closed. The last of the drinkers had only just left, and the door was locked. The waitresses hadn’t all gone home yet, and some of the tables had yet to be bussed.
Nevertheless, Teddy led Emre into the storage closet in the back, and nobody noticed them sneak in there. In that enclosed space, the reek of Emre’s exotic cologne — something Turkish, vaguely funky, sunny, zesty, like a stretewise lemon — assaulted Teddy’s nostrils and made his dick twitch in his pants. Emre’s solid frame seemed bigger in the dark, his muscles bulging through the fabric of his fancy clothes.
He dressed well, in a Moroccan-style suit. Teddy had never noticed how nice Emre’s clothes were. So few men dressed up these days…
Emre was used to seducing women, and in the dark, he simply did what he would do with a female. Teddy was rather feminine in both shape and mannerisms, so Emre thought he could pretend. He kissed Teddy right on the lips.
Teddy got lost in Emre’s warm arms, and he swooned. He kissed Emre back as his hands explored Emre’s broad chest and shoulders. Their tongues met in Teddy’s mouth.
“Aaaaah…” Emre let out a moan. It was forced, but he knew women were aroused by that sound, so he thought Teddy might be as well.
Teddy’s fumbling fingers undid the buttons of Emre’s shirt, and Emre shrugged off that Moroccan suit. His chest was bare, gleaming in the dim light, and his muscles were firm beneath Teddy’s touch. Teddy’s lips sucked a few droplets of fresh, sparkling sweat off Emre’s broad shoulders.
His kisses traveled down Emre’s body. Emre was glad to get some mouth on the one hand because he very rarely got to do that. When women paid you for sex, he thought, they didn’t want to suck dick. Emre preferred to make love in the womanhood anyway. He stood there, stately and elegant though Teddy couldn’t see him in the darkness, while Teddy kissed a trail down his body.
“Oh, yes, your lips feel so soft and sweet on me…” Emre gulped, hoping he sounded natural. This was the kind of thing he would say to a woman. Somehow it come across as stilted aimed at Teddy, but Teddy either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
It was nice how little effort Teddy required. Women required such constant affirmation, an endless dose of assurances and reassurances and comforting. Every time something was less than perfect, Emre had to apologize and make up for it. With Teddy, all that mattered was his body. It was a tool for Teddy’s pleasure, and it required so little from Emre.
Then Teddy undid Emre’s pants and pulled his dick out. It was big enough to be hefty but not so big as to be painful or intimidating. Teddy thought it was perfect. He kissed it right on the tip, then popped it in his mouth.
Emre moaned. He hoped nobody walked past the closet right now or they would definitely hear him. Normally he moaned in a fake, seductive way — he’d learned what turned most women on — but this time, he had no reason to be seductive. Teddy wanted him already, Emre didn’t need to work to make that happen, and he didn’t even especially want Teddy to like him too much. That would be awkward, and it meant the pleasure suffusing his flesh was more intense and visceral than he was used. His moan was genuine, and it surprised even Emre himself.
His dick stiffened up. Emre shifted his weight into his feet and leaned against the wall of the closet. Precum flowed down Teddy’s throat. Teddy guzzled it greedily, craving every drop. It tasted sweet and sunny, like the Mediterranean islands Emre claimed his ancestors came from (which was a lie, his family had worked in a goat slaughterhouse in urban Istanbul, not that Teddy knew that).
“Ah, man…” Emre sighed. He was surprised by how good this felt. He felt like a teenager again. He wasn’t used to feeling genuinely out-of-control pleasure, rather than carefully-meted out pleasure that he had designed to maximize his clients’s desire for a second go-round. Teddy’s mouth worked up and down on his cock, sending wave after wave of pleasure to rock Emre’s handsome frame.
This time, it was a real orgasm.
He grunted and shook as intense bliss ran through his body. It felt like a real mouth — it was, of course, it was just strange to feel it, no performance, no exaggeration, no seduction, just a real, genuine, authentic climax — and it made Emre’s knees weak. He held onto Teddy’s head for support as he sprayed his cum down his throat.
That was another thing the women who hired him never did: blowjobs. A lot of them just wanted to be eaten out, but even among that minority who wanted to suck his dick, not a single one had ever wanted him to cum in their mouths. So it was nice to shoot his wad directly into Teddy, focusing entirely on his own pleasure for once. His seed coated Teddy’s throat and sat hotly in his belly. Teddy swallowed every drop and begged for more when Emre finally pulled out. Remnants of jizz stuck to Teddy’s face. That was delightfully unclean, so unlike making love to a woman. It made Emre chuckle.
“You taste so good… Let me taste you some more, please?” Teddy crawled to him and thwacked Emre’s till-sensitive cock over his face. That made Emre jerk and twitch. He chased the shaft with his tongue, while a few final drops of cum dribbled from his cocktip. Avery chased those with his tongue too.
Emre grunted and pulled his pants up. He had to pull his cock away from Teddy. “Not now,” he said. “You got what you paid for.”
“And I got my money’s worth!” Teddy blushed and smirked, taking in the body heat emanating from Emre’s body. He stayed where he was though, in that closet, arms wrapped around Emre’s well-muscled body. He had a six-pack like Teddy had never seen on anyone besides movie stars and models before he met Emre. His muscles rippled beneath Teddy’s touch, until eventually he felt he had done enough for the money, and Emre extricated himself.
“Thank you,” Emre said as politely as he could muster. His hair was mussed up now. He’d have to fix it before he headed out there, just in case he found any more women before going home tonight. He hoped he did meet a woman, because the money Teddy gave him was burning a hole in his pocket.
After all, he could stop at the corner shop for a lottery ticket. Or more than one. Surely at least one would be a winner…

The Stripper

Lemond is a stripper who needs a break… and a few extra dollars! Avery is glad to help out in return for a swing on Lemon’s huge throbbing slab of mahogany meat!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery had never been to a high-class bachelorette party. It was not at all what he expected. The bride-to-be was Daphne Jardine, a wealthy heiress to a chandelier fortune. Avery didn’t know her that well — she was just a friend of a friend whom he saw often at parties — but she had insisted he come. Avery only agreed because he hoped to see a stripper. Avery was a great admirer of the male form, and strippers often had incredible physiques.
When he arrived, however, at Daphne’s ancient mansion, Avery decided that wasn’t going to happen. This wasn’t that sort of party. People who owned mansions like this didn’t hire strippers. He didn’t realize Daphne was this rich.
A butler showed Avery to the party, which consisted of a half-dozen women drinking champagne. The decorations were present, everywhere, scattered expertly, chic and expensive, covering every part of the mansion, but they had a certain soulless quality — Avery could tell that some servant had put them up, not someone who actually wanted to attend the party. There were streamers and a golden goblet for the bride to drink out of, and the giftbag included a skin cream with actual diamond dust in it.
“Oh my god, Avery! I’m so glad you’re here!” Avery’s friend Mandy hugged him. She whispered in his ear, “Oh my god, Daphne has such a stick up her ass, it’s… like a whole tree.”
“Woo, we’re partying! Let’s bring out the cake!”
“Yeah! Oh my god, Daphne, do you know what your fiancé is doing tonight?”
Daphne sat, skeletal and grimly smiling — she was skinny and well-manicured, with brittle hair and a saccharine smile — and shaking her head. “I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me what men do on their bachelor parties.”
“You know what they’re doing…” Avery said with a laugh.
Daphne shot him an angry look. “I told him no stripper, if that’s what you’re implying, Avery. We are remaining loyal to each other. He wouldn’t do that to me.” She shuddered.
“Okay, sorry….” Avery murmured. He rolled his eyes. The putative stripper was the only reason Avery came.
But now, it seemed, she was opposed to strippers. As a servant of some sort — some sort of “games maid”? Avery didn’t know — brought them out a game to play, Avery considered leaving. This felt more like a child’s birthday party thrown by the servants than a real bachelorette party.
The music playing, Avery realized, was a nocturne by Chopin. What kind of bachelorette party played classical music?
The game was essentially Duck, Duck, Goose, but with little penis-shaped cookies — it might have been fun with a bunch of silly girls, a male stripper and enough alcohol that they were all drunk before beginning the game. With just Daphne and some other haughty bitches, none of whom would drink enough to get tipsy much less drunk, the game was a somber, annoying diversion.
There was a knock on the front door — the cavernous main hallway had an echo, so the knock was audible even in the party. Everyone turned to look at Daphne, but she just said to wait. “Velma will answer the door. I believe this is all the guests, right? Are we missing someone? No one else was invited.” Daphne furrowed her brow.
Avery sat in grim silence. No one wanted to start the next round of this utterly idiotic game knowing that whoever the new partygoer was would interrupt them momentarily. Avery looked among the women here — who was missing? Most of these women showed up to parties together, that was how Avery knew them. Mandy was an associated hanger-on who used to work with Daphne at her feminist bookstore, and she was how Avery came to know Daphne and the others. Now Mandy’s eyes twinkled in Avery’s direction.
The door opened, and in walked a tall, broad-shouldered black man in a fine suit. He had dimples like LL Cool J and light brown skin, with a broad chest that barely fit in the suit. It was a plain navy blue suit with an impeccable alabaster tie. He walked with swagger and a thick jaw, and the bulge in his pants attracted Avery’s eye.
“Daphne Jardine?” he said. He had a clipboard in hand.
“Yes.”
“You’ve been served,” he said. He handed over a stack of documents to her.
Daphne’s face turned into a bitter scowl. “I’m being served! You asshole! It’s my bachelorette party! How dare you?!” She called out of the room. “Velma! How could you let this man in? He’s not from the party! Velma! I swear to Christ, I’ll have your son deported-!”
“Daphne, wait! Wait!” Mandy got up and went to her.
But Daphne was in a rage, screaming at Velma in the hallway. Velma quaked and backed away from her. “Don’t tell me to wait, what is this? Is it that jerkoff from the City Council? I told him I read the code, his patriarchy won’t bring me down,” she said to the black man who had served her with papers. His eyes were opened wide like he was shocked she was upset. Daphne wagged her finger at him. “Are you a real process server? I’d like to formally dispute that I was properly served-“
“Daphne, what are you being sued over?” Mandy asked with a big grin on her face. She pointed to the papers in Daphne’s hand.
Daphne sighed and shook her head. “The city council has a bee in its bonnet about my store. They’re claiming that a bookstore is a Class D commercial establishment, but the definitions provided in the zoning code make it clear that Class C is the more appropriate fit. That’s for retail stores that aren’t everyday shops like gas stations. The examples given in the city code include a CD store — the zoning guide was written in the 90s — which is pretty much the same thing as a bookstore, right? Why would it-?”
“Daphne, look at the papers,” Mandy said, exasperated.
Daphne nodded and glanced at them, but it was obvious she was too worked up to really process what she was reading. She looked at the black man. “You! What are you still doing here? This is a private function, and you’ve done what you were hired to do, you jackal! You court-sponsored… hound!” Her face was ruddy, veins popping against the skin of her neck.
“Hey, lady, relax,” the black man said with a sigh. He straightened his tie.
“Daphne! Read the goddamn papers!” Mandy said.
“Now? I have lawyers for that, Mandy,” Daphne said. She finally looked at the papers and read the words. “I’m being sued for… improper use of party-related materials and utter craving for mahogany manmeat. What does that mean? I don’t use mahogany, that’s endangered, I would never do that! This inaccurate accusation will not stand! I’m being persecuted!” It was apparent she was still worked up because she said manmeat like she didn’t recognize it. She looked up. “I will be contacting the National Organization for Women and-“
The black man looked at her. “That’s right, but don’t worry, I’m here to work on both of those charges with you! I am… the Mahogany Miracle!” He shrugged his suit jacket off, and Mandy squealed, followed by the other girls, at the sight of his incredible shoulders straining against the tight fabric of his button-down shirt.
Mandy pressed play on an app on her phone, and the sound of pulse-pounding hip hop filled the air. Avery hurried to turn off the Chopin, though no one could hear it anymore.
“Wooooooh!”
“Oh my god, that’s so crazy!”
“He’s a stripper!!!!”
Finally it began to feel like a real party. The Mahogany Miracle — who later said his real name was Lemond — took his tie off and wrapped it around the back of Daphne’s neck like a lasso, and he pulled her closer to him as he danced. He puckered up as though to kiss her. He had good instincts though, and when Daphne frowned a little, he let go — obviously she didn’t want to kiss him. She was still fuming about the City Council’s zoning regulations.
So he kissed Mandy instead. She was coming up behind him, pretending for the benefit of the other girls that she was going to grab his ass. Then he turned around, took her in his arms and plowed his tongue into her throat and they swooned together like the hero of some romance novel.
Mandy squealed and grabbed at Lemond’s back. His shoulder muscles barely fit in that shirt, which looked like it could pop right off.
“Woo-hoo!” Avery danced with some of the more demure women, hoping to get the party going. Most of these women were too high-class to have ever seen a stripper before, and Avery thought they’d be more comfortable with it if they started off dancing with him.
“Dance with him!”
“Avery! Avery! Avery!”
Avery hadn’t even realized that some of the women were chanting for him to get the next dance — Lemond the Mahogany Miracle was surrounded by Mandy and a few other relatively bold women, while Avery and the other prudes danced in the other side of the room. Now they all began chanting for Lemond to come to him.
At first it seemed Lemond would refuse, that he would say he didn’t dance for men. But then he shrugged, took one step and ripped his button-down shirt off, buttons flying across the room. One button landed in Daphne’s glass of champagne, and she squealed in both shock and delight.
“Oh god…” Avery murmured to himself. Lemond had an impeccable chest, with big mountainous pectorals and a six-pack more perfect than Avery had ever seen. He looked good in his slacks, a big bulge plainly visible in his crotch. His chest was smooth, unblemished, gleaming with a few beads of sweat that had collected there as he danced.
Avery blushed and pantomimed a fishing rod, as though he had lured Lemond, who grinned and played along — neither could speak because the music was too loud. Lemond shimmied over to him, and leaned back to outstretch his chest.
“Body shots!” Avery shouted, and got on his knees right in front of Lemond. He put his tongue out, touching the firm flesh of Lemond’s waist just above his pants, while Mandy poured a bottle of champagne onto Lemond’s chest, so that it ran between his pecs and poured directly into Avery’s mouth.
“Hell yeah!”
“Body shots! Oh my god!”
That helped loosen things up. Avery was glad for that; it felt more like a party now, even if Daphne herself seemed glum. The girls took turns taking body shots off his chest, until those slacks were soaked with champagne.
Then he ripped the pants off, revealing his trunk-like thighs, toned calves and the sausage-hugging banana hammock he wore over his cock and balls. Avery’s jaw dropped — he had never seen such a huge package before. The banana hammock briefs were much too small for him, just like the suit, and if he hadn’t shaved it, most of his pubic hair would be visible. As it was, his heavy cock and balls weighed down the tiny spandex material so much that the root of his shaft was visible.
Mandy took her body shot with her tongue out, running over the round bulge of his cock through those briefs. The girls all squealed and clapped.
It was shocking, Avery thought, how the presence of a handsome stranger changed these women’s willingness to do stuff — he was quite sure that most of them had said they didn’t suck dick at a party last year — they had said oral sex was “oppressive to women in developing nations”; they certainly didn’t lick some stranger’s cock.
And now here they were, kneeling while a man whom none of them knew dragged his dick over their faces.
He was really very handsome, Avery thought, Mandy had chosen well. He was dimpled and charming when the music stopped, with a lilting, smooth voice. He came across like the streetwise older brother on a Nickelodeon kids’ show.
Finally, he let Daphne take that banana hammock off. She gingerly squealed, giggling, blushing, halting several times as she stuck one finger under the fabric and pulled it down. His thirteen-inch cock popped out, limp but meaty, and it slapped at her wrist.
“Oh my god! It felt like a leg of lamb!” Daphne screamed so loud that the “games maid” came to make sure everything was alright. Daphne held her hand up as though they were going to worship any body part that had touched Lemond’s body.
At last, the bachelorette party continued apace, and Avery felt right. Lemond flopped his dick all over Avery’s face — most of the girls hadn’t quite taken it that far, but Avery made it clear he’d love to. He even stuck his tongue out, chasing Lemond’s shaft as it heavily slapped him all across the face.
“Hmmmm… I’m not s’posed to let you lick it,” Lemond said with a wink. “My agency has a rule against that.”
“I just stuck my tongue out,” Avery said. “I wasn’t trying to lick it, it’s not my fault your dick keeps moving around all over my tongue.” He blushed, running his tongue from the root to the tip before Lemond moved on.
By then, some of the girls had passed out, or were nearly there. Even Daphne was half-asleep. Most of these girls didn’t really drink very often. A few glances of champagne was enough to make them sleepy.
Soon enough, the party was over. It happened quickly once it got closer — every time somebody passed out or called for a rideshare, there was one fewer person actually partying, which made the others more and more tired. Even Daphne “retired to her bedroom” with a guilty look on her face that suggested she was going to fuck herself with a dildo until she could forget about Lemond.
The only people left were Avery, Mandy and Lemond, and with the music off, all they ended up doing was sitting around and talking. Mandy was drunk, but neither Lemond nor Avery had had anything to drink. Lemond rolled them up a blunt with the weed Mandy had brought.
Before he lit it though, Mandy begged off. She said she had a headache and thought the weed would just make her throw up. She told them to go ahead and smoke it though.
Lemond talked about his career as a rapper as he lit it and passed it to Avery, who was entranced by that fat cock sticking to his thigh. Lemond, as it turned out, was more realistic than most of the aspiring rappers Avery had met — he wasn’t trying to be a gangsta, he didn’t care about street credibility at all — he was a kid’s entertainer. He had released an album of songs about counting, letters, body parts and colors. It had done well, he said — he didn’t make much money, but he was about to go into the studio for a follow-up, and this time, he had a much better contract.
“But for now, you know, I still gotta strip to make ends meet. This month is tough,” Lemond said. “There ain’t a lotta call for strippers in March. It’s been a dry spell.
“Oh that sucks,” Avery said. “I wish I knew of some more parties coming up you could strip at.”
Lemond shrugged. “I’ll figure something out. Lemme know if you get an idea,” he said. He handed over a business card. Then he sighed. “I guess I should go. Technically they hired me for another twenty minutes, but…”
“I… I have an idea,” Avery said. He licked his lips and looked at Lemond. “If you stick it in me, I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”
Lemond looked at him as though his knee-jerk reaction was to say no. Then he shrugged. “Make it eight hundred.”
“Fine.” Avery considered haggling, but he could afford it, and Lemond had been so charming, he didn’t want to nickel-and-dime him.
Lemond sighed and leaned his head back as though this was a huge imposition and he was exhausted. Avery wondered for the first time if he had been working up to this — was he a hustler? He had been hesitant, yet willing, to dance for Avery all night, and now he was hesitant yet willing? If shaking his ass for Avery had been uncomfortable, why would he agree to plow into him? Lemond grumbled a bit, but it was too realistic, like Lemond knew the best way to get more money was to pretend he needed to be convinced to do it.
Oh well, Avery shrugged. That was part of being into rough trade, he thought, sometimes you got hustled.
“Your cock is so big,” Avery said as he picked it up with one hand. He sunk to his knees between Lemond’s legs, while Lemond lit up his blunt and took a deep drag off it. The fragrant smell of weed filled the air. Lemond’s dick was so big Avery couldn’t wrap his fingers all the way around it. “It’ll be a challenge to swallow.”
Lemond snorted. “You can’t deep-throat it, no one can,” he said like he hated having a big cock. But a smile flickered over his lips too.
“Well, I can’t wait to try,” Avery said. He let the tip fill his mouth. There was still a good ten inches of dickmeat left to slurp on, but Avery just focused on the tip at first.
“Man… I can’t believe I’m lettin’ a man jack me off,” Lemond said as he smoked on the blunt. “I ain’t like that, you know? Don’t fall in love with me. I can’t look, I gotta cover my eyes.” He leaned his head back and put one of his forearms over his eyes. He left enough room for him to keep smoking on the blunt.
Avery had to roll his eyes. This had passed the point of believability — Lemond was too focused on smoking weed to lie effectively. If he was really this nervous about being with a man, he wouldn’t be ignoring Avery to smoke the blunt. Who got off from a man for the first time, made a big deal out of it and then ignored it to smoke some weed?
But Avery wasn’t going to accuse him of being a hustler. He was plenty handsome, after all, that wasn’t a trick.
His dick firmed up in Avery’s mouth, but it was too big to really get hard without some serious deep-throating. Avery took a deep breath and used his own fingers to pry his jaw open the best he could. He let that massive rod slide down him.
“Damn, I never had a man jack me off like that,” Lemond said with a sigh. “You really get deep.” Then his whole body startled and he blurted out, “I mean, I never had a man jack me off at all.” He laughed nervously. “See, uh… Cuz it’s my first time.” His eyes opened wide as a visible shiver of pleasure ran up his spine. “Goddamn… You can get awful deep on there…”
Avery was an expert at swallowing dick. He had been practicing on loosening up his throat for years — he did exercises daily — and was glad to see that was paying off. He pulled off and hocked up a big mouth full of spit. Lemond watched with a cocky grin on his face. Avery moaned through the moisture in his mouth, murmuring, “Hmmm… I wanna taste your whole dick in my throat…”
Lemond licked his tongue. The clue was in his mouth, Avery saw, which was grinning and pursed, excited, glad to get a nice mouth, while his eyes showed the shock he was trying to display — he was a good liar, it was just hard to lie with your mouth. Lemond’s eyes had never been jacked off by a man, but his mouth was a hustler.
Saliva slid down his shaft as Avery slammed his head down. He choked but kept going, hands roaming up to Lemond’s gorgeous pecs. Soon he gagged over and over, producing more spit that helped lube up Lemond’s throbbing manhood, and his nose pressed into the shaved skin of Lemond’s crotch.
“Goddamn, holy fuck, you’re — shit!” Lemond’s voice broke, and he writhed on the chair he still sat on. His muscles all flexed and he grunted loudly. He dropped the blunt on the floor. Thirteen inches of stripper manmeat flooded Avery’s throat, stretching it and making him sputter. His jaw was sore.
Though Avery’s mind cried out for oxygen, he didn’t want to stop just yet. He didn’t mind his lungs desperation or the heaving, retching his body went through. The fact that this was slightly painful just made it hotter, he thought, and all the tension in Avery’s body was in Lemond’s too as he approached his orgasm. The only difference was that Avery’s lithe body twisted, while Lemond’s thickness flexed and firmed up. Lemond gasped and shifted around on his chair. Soon he was literally on the edge of his seat, licking his lips, gripping Lemond’s ears to keep his face angled the right way.
At last, Avery pulled all the way off and gasped loudly, hoarsely, for air. He grinned at the shocked look on Lemond’s face. “Hmmm… Your dick tastes so good.”
“I know, baby.”
“You wanna stick it in me?” Avery said. He turned around, still heaving for air and dizzy from lack of oxygen. He showed off his bare ass, lowering his face to the floor. “C’mon, I wanna feel you inside me.”
“Hell yeah, lemme in there,” Lemond said. He wedged his dick between Avery’s cheeks. “You feel how big that is? Huh? You gonna take that whole thing in there? I bet you can.”
“I can… You won’t be gentle, will you?” Avery asked with a giggle.
Lemond chuckled. “Not if you don’t want, baby,” he said. He aimed his dick for the hole as he smeared lube over the shaft — he had apparently brought his own lube. He bit his lip and slid the tip in. Avery grunted and tightened his body instinctively, before taking a deep breath and relaxing it. He sighed. Lemond slapped one asscheek, then he grunted like he had forgotten he was supposed to be reluctant.
“Shit, you as smooth as any female, I like that in a man-” he winced and cut himself off again. “Not that I ever did it before. I like — That’s why I was, y’know, reluctant, I wasn’t sure I could handle a man’s ass. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh. Cuz… it’s your first time?” Avery said with a tense giggle. He had to suck in his breath to relax his ass more and more, as that entire thick shaft slipped in deeper and deeper. “That’s good lube,” Avery said between gasps.
“Yeah, it’s Shaft-Slipper, you ever heard of it? Good stuff, it’s what I always bring to shows.” He paused. “With women, I mean. Women pay for, you know…” He shuddered and his voice broke. His dick was all the way in now, all thirteen inches throbbing in Avery’s ass. Lemond backed his cock up, slowly at first as he began gyrating his hips.
“Women pay you for anal? You’re an… anal gigolo?” Avery giggled. It was getting easier to concentrate even with that forearm-sized cock stretching his asshole, and he felt thin slivers of pleasure flowing through his veins.
“Uh… Yeah. Yeah, some of ’em, uh… really love anal,” Lemond said.
“I… don’t believe you,” Avery said, his voice hoarse and breathless. He slid his ass back on Lemond’s cock. “You cornhole men for money all the time, right?”
Lemond smirked but shook his head. “I swear, you’re my first.”
Avery rolled his eyes. “No woman pays to get fucked in the ass by a thirteen-inch cock.” He grunted, reaching behind himself to guide Lemond’s dick in and out. “Only a man would ever do that.”
Lemond grumbled without answering. He wrapped one of his massive biceps around Avery’s head, so Avery’s face was ensconced in his stone-like muscles. His other arm held Avery’s ass firmly in place. “Women love me,” he said, ramming his dick in, the entire shaft in one motion that made Avery howl with pleasure. “They’ll pay anything for my meat…”
Avery’s cock throbbed, precum dripping onto the floor. Avery’s hands flailed, the sensations coursing through his body so intense he couldn’t even jack himself off. He was impaled on Lemond’s rock-hard shaft, and the best part was how Lemond seemed distant now, moaning, groaning, but still just heavy breathing into Avery’s ass — was Lemond really enjoying this that much or was he exaggerating for Avery’s benefit? It was impossible to be sure. Avery squirmed in his arms, gasping, licking, sucking all the sweat off his body.
“Hey… I really need the money, man,” Lemond said. He whispered directly into Avery’s ear. “I’m desperate. You wanna gimme another five hundred bucks? I’ll admit it, you were right, I’ve stuck men before. I’m not proud of it, I just… I need the money, and I need it now.”
“Oh god, stick it in me!” Avery slammed his own ass back and forth the best he could, but he was curled up in Lemond’s arms. Lemond was motionless right now, his cock standing up straight within Avery’s ass. Lemond breathed heavily, his hot air condensing on Lemond’s ear.
“I will. I want to. For five hundred dollars… I’ll do something nasty,” Lemond said. Then he whispered right into Avery’s ear as though it was a secret. “I’ll give you a reacharound and let you kiss me for five hundred dollars. That’ll be thirteen hundred total. No checks.”
“Okay, yes! Yes!”
“You got cash?”
“Not with me! Not all of it! I swear, I can get you the rest! I swear! Do it!”
“Don’t mess with me, man, I’ll mess you up, and not in a way you enjoy,” he said.
“I won’t! I’ll pay!” Avery felt tears in his eyes. He wiggled this way and that on Lemond’s crotch, but he couldn’t move forward or back because Lemond’s powerful arm held him in place.
Lemond thought for a moment, then sucked on Avery’s earlobe and said, “Fine.” He turned Avery’s head to the side, planted his lips on Avery’s and his tongue invaded Avery’s mouth. At the same time, his hand wrapped around Avery’s cock and gave it a stroke.
Avery had never felt anything like this. He had been swallowed up by Lemond’s massive body, and all he could do was take it. He’d never taken dick like this. Lemond’s tongue explored his mouth, while his hand expertly ran up and down his shaft. Avery’s fingers clawed at his stone-like body, which Lemond ignored.
The most intense orgasm of his life smacked into Avery like a train. He would have cried out loud but his mouth was clogged with Lemond’s tongue, so all he did was whimper. His ass loosened, then clenched tightly as Lemond plowed in.
Cum flew over Lemond’s fingers and onto the floor. Lemond had been holding off on his own orgasm, wanting to make Avery cum first — he’d been doing this often enough he had remarkable control over his cock. Once he felt that first spray of sticky cum on his hand, he rocked his hips back and forth a few more times and let his orgasm happen.
Avery shuddered and sobbed — he’d never cried during an orgasm before, but the pain in his ass was so intense he couldn’t help it, even if he didn’t feel the pain — he was aware it was there; he couldn’t help but be aware of the biggest dick of his life throbbing in his ass — it was like a distant pain that was happening to someone else, and Avery could sense it but not experience it.
Instead, he experienced an orgasm. Red-faced and panting, he accepted every drop of Lemond’s load as he begged for more. Avery felt cum trickling throughout him, Lemond’s sticky wad jetting into him deeply, seeping into his flesh until Avery could feel it all over.
His tongue slathered spit over Avery’s face, which was a little sour and salty because he had been slurping on Lemond’s dick earlier — Lemond didn’t like that, but he’d done this often enough it didn’t bother him as long as it was his own precum. He did gag at the taste, but he knew that just turned some men on even more. When he gagged, his broad chest muscles all flexed against Avery’s smooth back.
At last, Avery fell limp, and Lemond knew that meant he was done. He backed up slowly, grimacing at the sight of his shaft stretching out that tight hole. It was full of cum, which seeped out and coated Avery’s ass.
“Shit…” Lemond said with a dry chuckle. He slapped Avery’s cheek. “I’m glad I did that, even if it was… y’know, gross.”
“Right.” Avery was breathless. “And it was your first time.”
“Uh-huh.” Lemond stood. He wiped his dick off and put his pants back on. He didn’t bother to put his pants on too. “I’m all done, man, I’m off. So… I’m leaving.”
“Okay, cool,” Avery said. “Thanks for the dick… Your first time.”
“Right, yeah, first time. I jacked off a man,” Lemond said absent-mindedly. He wasn’t really trying to lie effectively now. “Gross. That was gross. Cuz I never did it before.” He sighed as he got dressed. “You gotta get your phone out.” He snapped when Avery didn’t immediately jump into action. “You got PayUp, right? Go get yo’ phone. You best pay me. Lemond always gets paid.”

The Cricketer

Rob is in England when he spies an amateur cricketer who needs some quid. He is Ranuga, and he’s desperate for dosh. That just happens to be a situation Rob can help with!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob had one day to kill in Britain before he returned to Asia. He had a first-class plane ticket to Indonesia, and he eagerly awaited the departure. He’d had enough of the dreary monotony of England. Everything here was gray and bland: the food, the weather, the flowers somehow, it was all a vast wash of nothing.
The fields in the park near his hotel had been empty since Rob got here. It looked like a place they’d hold sporting events sometimes, but he saw no signs of that on previous days aside from lots of garbage. He hadn’t spent much time at the hotel, so it was possible something was going on there earlier. He was in Britain just to see a concert by his favorite band, the Monkeysmashers, so he hadn’t paid much attention to anything else.
When he left his hotel to find something to do on his last day in Britain, however, he saw people in the field. The little parking lot attached to it was full of cars.
Is that a park? Rob walked over there. He was trying to walk more, so this was a good plan, he thought. He’d go to the park. You never knew, he thought, he might meet someone.
It turned out to be an amateur cricket game. Or maybe just semi-amateur, maybe league play? Or was it a practice? Rob did not understand cricket enough to know. There was only a small audience, so maybe practice. Or a very unsuccessful league.
That strip of dirt down the middle was the cricket pitch. Rob was fascinated by it — he had never watched cricket, and as he approached, he overheard people express shock that a batsman had hit the ball to “cow’s corner”, which Rob thought was hilarious. It turned out to be a portion of the field that rarely received hits (so cows were free to graze there unmolested).
Rob had only stood there for a moment before he heard a loud engine roaring behind him. He — and the other fans, who appeared to be one small group of loud men shouting “oi!” at everything, and a bunch of women who were presumably the players’ girlfriends — turned to look at the car park.
It was a tow-truck, or a “recovery vehicle” as they called it here. It was a rusty brutalist conglomeration of winches and wheels, and a burly scally in a reflective vest hopped out to get it moving right away. In seconds, he had hooked up a ramshackle old Skoda, which was green like a depressed lime.
“Ranuga! Ranuga! They’re towing your car, mate!”
This was a repo man, Rob thought, or whatever the British word for that was. The tow-truck driver was in a hurry because he wanted to repossess the car before he was seen. Rob stepped aside. This seemed like a potential fight in the making. Or a scrap in the offing, however, they say that here.
A player from the team on the far side of the field sprinted through the game, which stopped as everyone turned to gawk. He shouted in what Rob first thought was a South Asian language — because the coach was either Indian or, Rob suspected as he got closer, Sri Lankan. But it was English, it turned out, just garbled and containing so many jumbled up obscenities and insults — even some rhyming slang — that Rob couldn’t decipher it.
He was Ranuga, and he had a rugged face with a dashing black beard peppered with salt. Rob stopped listening or paying much attention to anything except Ranuga. He was short but broad-shouldered and powerfully built, muscles rippling through the cricket whites he wore. His beard was a scruffy, curly explosion of pure jet hair, matted to his head with sweat. His skin was almost as dark, so the gray dapples in his beard stood out like a sun in the night.
“Hmmm…” Rob moaned to himself. He didn’t mean to do it out loud, but the women near him gave him an odd look. He smiled at them and headed out to the car park.
“You bloody wankeh! I told someone — Marianne, I think, her name was Marianne, in you’h bloody office! She said I could send a payment by the end of the week!”
“You still can, mate,” said the recovery-vehicle driver with a bored look on his face.
“No, no, you can’t take my car. I need that. I have to go to work, I have to drive — I need to drive, I have to, I have to-“
“You can take it up with your financing company,” the recovery-vehicle driver said. He was one of those jaw-heavy Brits who constantly chews on his lower lip. His jaw was working mad as he talked and then even moreso when he was quiet. “But I’m taking the vehicle.”
“I will fight you, I will-” the cricketer Ranuga said. His handsome face flashed and twinkled, and you could see in the solid sterling of his mug that he would have dropped to his knees to beg if he thought that would work. But he wasn’t gonna debase himself in front of the other cricketers unless he was sure he’d get something out of it.
And the recovery-vehicle driver was stone-facing. No mercy forthcame, and the two faced off. Ranuga had nothing more to say, and the driver couldn’t leave without turning his back on Ranuga. So they squared off with hostile mugs neither could come down from.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” Rob said. He came between them and faced Ranuga. He was suddenly stricken with desire. He paused, mouth agape.
“Uh… Yes? Mate?” Ranuga scowled. Then he shoved Rob out of the way.
His firm hands gripped Rob’s arm and pushed. Rob blushed. Ranuga took off his sweatshirt, making the assembled team laugh — Ranuga wore a sleeveless tee (or “vest”, as they would call it here) and flexed his biceps. His team laughed because he was “old” — at forty-two, he was hardly ancient, but he had a prematurely graying beard and the players were about nineteen on average, so he might as well have been Methuselah from their perspective.
Ranuga didn’t care. He was pissed. He had delicately arranged his finances so he could pay all his bills this month. But that wasn’t going to be possible until Friday. Marianne had told him that he could wait until then.
This, he thought, was ridiculous.
So a part of him thought taking off his kit and intimidating the tow-truck driver might have worked. Ranuga was in great shape, with a thick chest and arms like a stevedore. Rob licked his lips at the sight. His chest was covered in a mat of black hair except for a silver streak running down the center, over his sternum. Ranuga’s biceps bulged and ran with sweat despite the bleak chill of the London afternoon.
But the tow-truck driver was not so easily intimidated. He ignored Ranuga’s flexing and sputtering.
Ranuga’s hair was marvelously dense. Rob loved a hairy man. He blushed even though no one was looking at him. The teams were even going home. Ranuga’s red-faced rage concealed his embarrassment. He didn’t want his team to know he had money trouble.
“Uh, sorry, excuse me-“
“You yankee bell-end, wo the fuck do you want?” Ranuga said as he watched his car roll up the back of the tow-truck. He had his hands on the sides of his head, scratching his temple. His voice had a dense London accent, and he spoke like his mouth was full of sandpaper.
Rob came closer. “I can help.”
Ranuga blinked a few times. “Wot?”
“I can help you. With money. I don’t want you to be without a car. I’m sure-“
“Wot?”
“Can you come with me to my hotel room? I want to ask you something,” Rob said. He got closer, so Ranuga could hear him without the others listening in. The onlookers and players had mostly dispersed, but some still milled about, holding bats and balls — Ranuga was supposed to take all that kit home with him to store for the next game.
He was supposed to take that kit home in his car.
So no one knew what to do with it now. They watched Ranuga talk with the young American man — Rob — with a flamboyant lilt to his step. The recovery-vehicle driver glared as though Rob was doing something wrong by helping Ranuga with his bills.
“How much will you need?”
“For what? The car? To get current with payments…? Like six hundred pounds,” Ranuga said. He groaned and closed his eyes. He hadn’t said that out loud before. He was madly in debt. He slapped his hands over his cheeks and stroked that dense beard.
“I can do that. I’ll give you the cash,” Rob said. “If you take me back to my hotel and ram me senseless.”
There was a long pause. Rob blushed, and Ranuga did too, though his was hidden by his beard, which he scratched. He shifted his weight between his feet. It took a few seconds before he raised his eyebrows like he was just now processing what Rob said.
“Aaaaah… Aaah. Oh.”
“I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t wanna do. I wanna jerk you off and-“
“Fine. Deal. Fine.” Ranuga crossed his arms over his chest. Now he felt self-conscious in his vest. He wished he hadn’t taken off the shirt. He glowered, but inside he was exulting — getting current on his car payments would be amazing. That would put him ahead of the game. Ranuga looked to another player, Zaran, and yelled for him. “Oi! Put that stuff in your car and take it to your garage-“
“You do it-!” Zaran yelled back.
They both instantly erupted in shouting. Zaran was handsome too. He was lankier than Ranuga, and he had a charming set of dimples. He was like a zippy little hedgehog, running around the parking lot and playing some kind of prank — taking the piss out of — the other cricketers. It seemed they had all forgotten about Ranuga going off with the stranger. Ranuga obviously liked it that, and he didn’t mention it to anyone as he got work picking up after the match.
Zaran was cute, but he wasn’t as handsome as Ranuga. Ranuga had handsomeness in spades. He’d probably do better with women if he tempered his handsomeness with some cuteness, Rob thought, he was a little too handsome, like his only possible role in a movie would be ‘arrogant prince’. He was stressed due to the debt situation, as he hustled and bustled with Zaran, his muscular shoulders worked hard and stretched the fabric of his shirt. Eventually Zaran agreed, and he loaded up the gear in his car.
By then the other cricketers had all gone too. Ranuga swaggered away from the field and the car park. He didn’t wait to see if Rob followed. He was sure he would face lots of questions next week when he had a car and no American weirdo following him around.
Maybe, he thought, I should tell everyone he’s my bookie. It’s just embarrassing enough to be believable. I could say I won a couple quid on a bet and got my car back on Friday. Nobody can prove that didn’t happen.
“Is you into Sri Lankan blokes, mate?” Ranuga asked as they got near the seedy hotel. He had only just realized how odd this situation was — he had been so focused on getting paid that he didn’t think about this: Why had an American stranger come after him?
Rob opened the door to his room and let Ranuga in. He smiled. “I just admire the male physique.”
“Not Sri Lankans?”
Rob shook his head. “I didn’t know you were Sri Lankan. I would have guessed like Malaysian or something.”
“Malaysian?! Wot!” He scowled and wagged his finger at Rob. “Don’tyoo even say that.” He glared at Rob, who nodded and looked down. Ranuga stroked the beard. “You’re weird as.”
“I know…” Rob blushed. He shut the door, and Ranuga flopped onto the bed.
He wore a pair of track pants which he was about to rip off unceremoniously. Ranuga had never done anything like this before, so he felt a need to hide that fact — he wanted to look like an old hat at it. But he also didn’t want to look like some kinda trashy rentboy.
“Wait,” Rob said. “Let me take your pants off.” He crawled up on the bed, mounting Ranuga’s legs. He had on filthy old dark-blue track pants with a white stripe up the side. They smelled strongly of manhood and grass, and a bit of leather. Rob inhaled the intense scent as he massaged Ranuga’s legs.
Ranuga bristled. He had never been treated like this — most women wanted him to shower and wear nice clothes only to take them off. Rob seemed to want to worship his sweaty track pants, and he even nuzzled his nose within the salt-stained crotch. He inhaled loudly and passionately, full-throatedly savoring the scent and the moisture he flicked up with his tongue.
His forehead bumped against the pouch within Ranuga’s tight boxers, which cradled his heavy cock and balls. He was about to take off that sleeveless vest too, to bare his chest, but Rob stopped him.
He wanted to do it. Rob dove beneath the sleeveless shirt — an A-shirt, rather like what Americans called a “wifebeater” — and inhaled the stale sweat that had collected there. That tee shirt was utterly disgusting, Rob thought with a desirous giggle. It smelled like it hadn’t been washed in weeks.
More like months. Ranuga never washed the shirt because it was good luck. It had seemed like good luck ever since he wore it a couple times in a row when he won a game.
When he came to Britain, his teammates thought it was funny; they intimated it was a Buddhist tradition, that he had had the shirt blessed in a temple and now didn’t wash it in order to keep the blessing. That wasn’t true, but Ranuga had stopped disputing it.
He just didn’t wash it because he had worried it would interrupt his win streak back some twenty years ago, he thought as Rob squirmed and licked all of his unwashed flesh beneath the shirt. He eventually lost a game, so the win streak was interrupted anyway, but he couldn’t help but feel the shirt was good luck anyway. He washed it once then, again a bit later, and a girlfriend had washed it unknowingly once, and then he had washed it again somewhat more recently.
But still, it reeked of his manhood because it became utterly soaked, sopping wet with his spicy sweat every weekend, and he hadn’t washed it in two years. He felt right putting it on.
Now he was embarrassed. Was his stink what had attracted Rob to him?
While Rob appreciated a natural man’s musk, what he really loved — besides the adorable beard — was that chest. Ranuga had a dense mat of black hair over his powerful muscles, which were as black as night. He had darker skin than Rob even thought possible.
Rob’s tongue flickered through the hair that covered Ranuga’s broad chest, and his hands slowly worked the shirt up. His pecs were firm, his abs rippling when he sneered at Rob. His shirt raised slowly, and Ranuga’s frustration drained away while Rob slurped up the filth clinging to his chest hair, then his armpit hair. When the shirt was close enough to Ranuga’s nose to make it impossible for him to ignore the scent, Ranuga snarled in frustration and took the shirt off completely. He tossed it on the floor.
“You take forever, mate,” Ranuga said with a grunt. He was starting to get hard and wanted to finish this off quickly. Plus he didn’t want it to be obvious he had gotten hard before Rob touched his cock directly — it would look too freaky to get hard now. But Ranuga loved nippleplay.
So he lifted his ass and again removed his own trackpants. Rob took them from him and did it instead. He pulled them and his boxers down in one smooth motion, revealing a big brown uncut cock, already throbbing and stiffly floppy, just beginning to get hard. It was uncut, thick as a bottle of cider.
“Hmmmm…” Rob smiled and got down to business. He put the entire thing in his mouth at once, since it was obvious Ranuga didn’t want to dilly-dally. He tasted spicy with a peppery, grassy taste, like licking a lawnmower covered in salt, Rob thought. It made his lips pucker and his throat clench around Ranuga’s shaft.
A jolt of pleasure visibly wracked Ranuga’s cock, which twitched. Ranuga sucked in his breath. “Damn! Blood ‘ell, mate…” he murmured. He lifted his ass as though to stand, but he only leaned forward, pushing his meat deeper into Rob’s throat. That triggered a potent gag that exploded from deep within Rob, who choked out a wad of saliva that ran down Ranuga’s shaft and wetted his silky bush.
But he kept on it. That cock quickly firmed up until it was as hard as his thighs, which were like tree-trunks. Rob gripped them and produced as much spit on Ranuga’s cock as he could. He slurped his spit right back up and spat it out to run down Ranuga’s shaft to his balls.
“Ah, bloody ‘ell, oh fuck…” Ranuga’s voice became deeper as Rob’s mouth moved down his shaft, and then to his sac.
Just like the rest of his body, Ranuga’s crotch was very hairy, and his balls initially looked disappointingly small. But that was only because they were buried in his unkempt nest of pubic hair, and when Rob started slurping and slathering spit all over them, his hair became matted and those full, luscious balls filled Rob’s mouth.
“You wanna ram me?” Rob asked with a sultry giggle when Ranuga’s eyes opened wide.
Ranuga nodded and blushed again, his face now a blackish-red beneath his beard. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
So Rob mounted his body, using his hairy chest for support — which made his muscles ripple beneath Rob’s fingers — as he sat his ass down on Ranuga’s cock. There was a brief burst of pain before Rob’s ass loosened up enough to accommodate every inch of Ranuga’s throbbing member. The pain was replaced with a wave of pleasure when Ranuga’s knob hit his prostate. Rob threw his head back and begged for more.
His eyes opened when his dick slid in. Ranuga had never done it up behind, not even with a woman, so he was astonished at how easily it happened. This was all going down so quickly, he thought. He kept his hands behind his head because he didn’t want to accidentally touch Rob’s cock — and he felt sure if he didn’t move his hands out of the way, he would instinctively reach for Rob’s breasts, which of course he didn’t have.
Ranuga did piston his hips up and down once he got started, and he groaned loudly. He tried to muffle the sound out of concern someone would hear what was going on in here, but he couldn’t help himself. Shivers of pleasure ran up his spine and made it hard to think about anything else.
“Oh holy shit, mate,” Ranuga said, his voice soft but so loud and baritone for the moment that it resonated in Rob’s ears. Ranuga found his hands moving of their own accord, away from his head and to Rob’s ass.
He gripped Rob’s bare cheeks with a sense of wonder — he couldn’t believe he was doing it, touching a man’s bare ass as his cock slid into it.
And he was enjoying it! He had thought, before this began, that he would just lay here and let Rob service him. He pictured himself thinking about other things, maybe even getting drunk first. But that hadn’t happened, and he couldn’t think about other things because this felt too good. A wave of pleasure fell over him, making Ranuga gurgle and murmur, hands turning into fists that clawed at the air in front of him.
It felt better than any woman. He held onto Rob’s ass and lifted himself up. His angle was awkward, and he only used his elbows, not his hands, so it took every muscle in his great hairy body.
But soon he was crouched on the bed, Rob bent way over in front of him with his ass high. That was the perfect angle to ram in and out with all his might, sending waves of pleasure through him and also stimulating Rob’s prostate — not that Ranuga knew that.
So Rob reached his orgasm even before Ranuga. “Oh bloody ‘ell, stick it in me, Ranuga! Stick it in me!” He cried out into the blanket on top of the bed, and his hands gripped the cloth tightly. When he finally touched his cock, a jolt of unspeakable bliss wracked his body so hard it hurt, and his ass clenched.
Cum sprayed over his hand and onto the blanket, covering the bed with his spooge. It was good that Ranuga was about to cum, because within a few seconds it smelled so strongly of semen in here that Ranuga would have had trouble staying hard — he very strongly disliked that smell.
His white beard hairs quivered as Ranuga moaned and pressed down on Rob’s back. He grunted. His hot breath condensed on the back of Rob’s neck.
Then, at last, cum flowed into him. There was a great river of it, more and more continuing to flow, while Ranuga threw his head back and howled. He no longer cared about getting caught or about his teammates thinking he was poor.
There was nothing he could do about that stuff. This asshole, he thought, was something he could handle.
He grimaced, veins throbbing against the skin of his neck. He couldn’t believe how good that had been or how long it had taken — and he even got paid for it! He licked his lips.
Then Ranuga withdrew, his limpening dick sliding out and making Rob shudder with remnants of his climax.
Ranuga took a deep breath. “You better pay me. Six hundred pounds.”
“I will,” Rob said. He reached for the trousers he had dropped on the floor. But he was too tired, his legs and ass sore, to get down and pick up the wallet in the pocket. “You can get all the cash out of there. It’s like six hundred and ten pounds.”
Ranuga didn’t want to look desperate, so he nonchalantly picked up the trousers and found the wallet. His sticky cock was stuck to his thigh. Rob watched the moisture sparkle and evaporate on it.
He was glad to see the money was there. It was actually six hundred and thirteen pounds. A bonus, Ranuga thought as he pocketed it. “If anyone asks, you’re my bookie.”
Rob shrugged. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone anything though. I practice discretion, and I’m going to Indonesia tomorrow.”
Ranuga was relieved. He felt Rob’s eyes peering over him as he put his clothes back on. He was sweaty — and of course that tee shirt was even sweatier — which made him self-conscious. But he couldn’t hardly deny doing the same thing when his girlfriends dressed in front of him. He wondered if they felt the same way about it.
He did turn and wave his dick at Rob’s face before tucking it away. He smirked and took a deep breath. “Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”
“Me too,” Rob said as Ranuga walked out the door, trying to be unobtrusive in case any of his players were around. Rob just leaned back and sprawled out on the bed, which still had the spicy Sri Lankan flavor of Ranuga’s mansweat.
He was beginning to appreciate the sport of cricket.

The Warehouseman

Rob thought he was in for a boring day when he runs into a studly young black man in a warehouse. He needs money for court fees, and Rob needs his throbbing fat meat! Can they reach a mutually agreeable deal?

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Rob Winthrop was bored. He felt like crying as he sat there and endured the world’s most hideous presentation. It was so boring it hurt. He couldn’t even think of anything exciting to do, like this presentation was so boring it made other things less exciting through contagion, like it crowded out the part of Rob’s brain that could experience excitement.
What was an exciting thing? Planes… Explosions… Movies? The only movie Rob could remember was Nanook of the North, which he had watched in film class. And that Andy Warhol movie that was just a twelve-hour video of a skyscraper.
Excitement was a real thing, wasn’t it? Rob felt like prying his eyelids off.
It was a presentation about the relative popularity of the costs of implementing various water purification strategies in certain parts of rural Colorado. The presenter was a dour-faced black woman who was probably chosen as a presenter because she was beautiful and they thought Rob would be interested.
Rob didn’t care about her. He only came here because he wanted to humiliate his father yet again. But there were no good opportunities. He could just rip all his clothes off in the middle of the meeting — that would certainly add some excitement — but he’d done that before. People just assumed he had a psychotic break or an alcohol problem, something like that. Rob was a billionaire’s son, so everyone found it easy to believe there was something wrong with him.
No, if he was going to humiliate his father today, it would have to be something else. His father periodically set him up with companies to manage, in hopes of pushing him towards a more responsible future.
But Rob hated his father with a fiery passion, so he always ran those companies into the ground (or just ignored them). Toqay he was in Colorado, taking control of a county government services company. Rob was supposed to help them expand into state and federal government contracts. It was the single most boring goal anybody has ever had.
A woman came into the meeting. She meekly apologized for interrupting it. She needed the CEO, to sign something, which he did with a scowl like he was annoyed, not at being interrupted, but at the thing he needed to sign.
“Another one? Tell him to keep it in his pants, for Ch-f-sh…” It sounded like he was going to say for Christ’s sake, then for fuck’s sake, then for shit’s shake but didn’t want to curse because Rob was here, so he just stammered and said nothing. “He’s going to be a slave sooner or later.”
Then he suddenly blushed intensely. He coughed like he hadn’t meant to say that. He glanced at the presenter, the only black person in the room. She was on the other side of the conference table so it didn’t seem that she heard what he said.
Rob’s eyes opened. This, he thought, was a thing. He didn’t know what, but there was clearly something happening here.
He excused himself and made his way out after the woman, who hurried towards the door marked Human Resources at the end of the hall. She glanced at Rob. “The bathrooms are down that way, sir-“
“That’s not why I came out,” Rob said. He glanced at the clipboard. “Is that…?”
The human resources lady did not know that Rob was not a businessman. She assumed he was given this company because he wanted to and knew how to run it. So she assumed that he asked to see the paperwork because it was relevant to his business, which indeed it was. That simply wasn’t why Rob wanted to see it.
It was a court order, demanding that the company garnish the wages of Jaekwan Malcolm Brown. One hundred and seventy-eight dollars were to be taken from his paychecks and sent to a child-support-payments processing company.
“It’s just a garnishment order, sir,” she said. She blushed. “It’s okay, we know how to do it. Mr. Brown has… other garnishments on his file.”
Rob made a serious face like his father would have. “Well, ma’am,” he said, “I’m going to have to investigate this. Where do I find Mr. Brown?”
“He works in the warehouse,” she said. She watched him walk away like she was nervous, like she was supposed to stop him — which was technically true, since human resources matters were supposed to be confidential. But Rob didn’t care. The more rules he broke, the more embarrassed his father would be, and then Rob wouldn’t have to run any more companies into the ground for awhile.
He went down to the warehouse on the first floor. About twenty guys worked there shipping and receiving supplies. A huge part of the warehouse was filled with blue recycling bins.
The warehouse guys didn’t know who Rob was, and he didn’t really carry himself like an executive, so they didn’t react to him. He asked where Jaekwan was and they said only that he was around here somewhere.
Rob eventually found him among the stacks of blue recycling bins. He didn’t know that’s who it was at first. That’s because he didn’t see him right away. He heard him first.
It sounded like someone trying to lift something heavy. There was the sound of a woman there too. Rob smiled when he realized it was the sound of sex.
It was him. Jaekwan wore the blue pants and polo shirt of the warehouse workers, but he had pulled the pants down and lifted the shirt over his head. He had a tight grip on a thick woman’s hair as he pounded into her.
She was the married receptionist at the pool services company next door. She was thick and not especially attractive.
Jaekwan, however, was perfect. He was young and tall and ropy-muscled, not exactly thick but not skinny by any means. He had cornrows and deep, dark skin inked with blueish tattoos. His face was noble and square and big and expressive, and Rob wanted to gaze into his eyes. He wasn’t sexy or even really handsome, or at least not especially handsome, but he had swagger to spare, and Rob was sure Jaekwon could get any woman he wanted. Presumably that was exactly what he did, hence the garnishments on his paychecks. He let out a growl as he filled the woman’s pussy with his seed. Rob watched cum drip down onto the floor.
“Damn, girl, you treat me right,” he said. He grinned, showing off his deep dimples. His massive dick flopped out of her body limply. She blushed and whispered something to him. Jaekwan bent over and kissed her on the forehead. “Nah, baby, I can’t kiss you on the lips. You sucked my dick earlier. That’s nasty.”
“Jaekwan! I’m leaving my husband for you!” She looked down at her feet as she pulled her panties up.
“Don’t. I tol’ you not to, baby,” he said. He already had his phone out and was texting someone, his pants still around his ankles, fat cock bobbing around and dripping a few remnants of cum and pussyjuice onto the warehouse floor.
“Come on…”
“No.” He pulled his pants up and scowled at her. “That ain’t the kinda nigga I am. You best get back to yo’ office, baby.” He walked away with a noticeable pimp lean. He didn’t pull his shirt back down, so his sweat-dappled chest was bare. Rob had a feeling he did that because it would imply to his fellow workers that he had had sex among the stacks of recycling bins.
Sure enough, he heard their deep-throated greetings, slapping hands and macho boasting. It all erupted at once so he couldn’t hear exactly what was said, but the meaning was clear. They must have known he was here fucking a woman.
Rob tried to make his way back to the main part of the warehouse without being seen, but he made slow progress. He heard Jaekwan become upset about something. He shouted curses about lawyers and judges, which Rob took to mean he found out his paycheck had been garnished yet again.
Soon the warehouse guys filtered out. Rob’s cell phone blew up with text messages from the executives upstairs — they didn’t know where he went, and they needed him to make a decision on some issue that bored Rob so much he couldn’t possibly choose. So he turned his cell phone off.
Jaekwan worked later than the others because it was his turn to clean up. That meant he had to sweep and double-check that all of the heavy machinery was turned off and unplugged, so he was to leave some half an hour after the others. He was supposed to verify that the office was empty, lock the warehouse door and close the gate too.
That gave Rob an idea. He went around Jaekwan — who swept with earbuds in, so it was easy to sneak around him — and went upstairs. He wrote Hey Jaekwan, you wanna make a thousand dollars by demolishing some ass? on a whiteboard, with an arrow pointing into the CEO’s office.
Rob went in there and bent over with his bare ass high in the air. He covered himself in lube.
Finally he heard Jaekwan come upstairs. He opened the door from the stairwell and called out, “Hey! Any motherfucker here?” He sounded angry.
Rob paused, waiting for him to come in here. He was supposed to check that no one was in the office. The company’s insurance required him to look in each room.
But he didn’t. Rob hadn’t even considered the possibility that Jaekwan might not actually do it. Rob hurried out into the hall once he heard the doors slam shut.
Am I gonna be locked in?
He made his way to the stairwell. Jaekwan was down on the first floor. “Hey Jaekwan! Hey!” But his earbuds were still in. Jaekwan danced as he went down the steps, murmuring along with the song. He had a bitter, angry look because he was still mad about the garnishment order. He was pretty sure that kid wasn’t his anyway.
Rob made it into the warehouse behind Jaekwan. He shouted and even knocked over a recycling bin to try to get his attention. Jaekwan opened the bay doors. He stood there waiting for them to open.
Then he stepped out and pushed the button to close them. He only turned around and saw Rob sprinting through the warehouse towards him as the bay door slid shut in front of him.
“Hey!”
“Yo! Hey! Was someone in there?!”
There was a moment’s silence. Rob kept running even as the lights flicked off. He was plunged into pitch-blackness and collided face-first into the bay door just as it began raising once again. Pain exploded in his nose. “Ow, fuck!”
“Hello? Mister? Who in there?” Jaekwan sneered when the door opened. He took the earbuds out of his ear.
Rob was out of breath. “Hey. Sorry. Hey. I’m… I’m Rob.”
“Rob? Do you work here?”
“Sorta… I… own… it.”
“You own it? Own what?”
Rob gestured all around him. “This.”
It looked like Jaekwan either didn’t understand or didn’t believe him. He scowled. “What?”
“I own this place. I’m Rob Winthrop.”
“Oh.” His eyes lit up. “Oh! You’re that guy?!”
“Yeah. That’s me.”
He paused, then forced a smile on his face. “Yo. Uh, hey! Hey… Nice to meet’cha, sir.” He shook Rob’s hand.
“Don’t…” Rob wanted to tell him not to be so polite, to not treat him like a boss. But he was still out of breath. It had been exciting, he thought, after a day of boring work, he had had to race or be locked in overnight.
“Don’t what?”
“Sorry, uh…” Rob said. He leaned against the wall. He took a deep breath. “We’re not at work anymore. You don’t have to call me sir. I mean, you can call me Rob even at work, but now you should really call me Rob.” He took a deep breath.
“Oh. Okay, Rob. I’m Jaekwan.” He grinned. “Sorry I was in a bad mood before. I, uh… I’m kinda upset-“
“I know. I heard. You got your wages garnished.”
He nodded. “Man, I can’t get ahead. It ain’t fair. Court fees got me down. Costs so damn much…” He paused and spat on the ground. “You alright? You fall asleep in there or what?”
“No, not that,” Rob said. He took a deep breath. “I wrote something upstairs — we should…” He chuckled. “Nevermind. It’ll be a surprise tomorrow.” He paused. “I was hoping to talk to you.”
“Me?”
“I would be willing to help you with your court fees and child support,” Rob said. “But you gotta do something for me.”
“Hmm?”
“Cornhole me.”
His eyes opened wide. “What?”
“I want you to cornhole me. I’ll get you hard-“
“Okay.” He paused. Then he paused and bristled. He looked around, shutting the bay door behind himself. “I mean… how much? I don’t do that shit. You gotta pay-“
“Jaekwan, it would be more effective if you negotiated before you said okay.”
“I ain’t mean to say okay. I was…” He smiled like he had been caught in a lie. “You gotta pay a lot. I don’t do this. It’s, y’know… You gotta pay me a lotta money. Twenty grand.”
Rob choked. “Shit, are you serious?”
“Twenty grand.”
“Jaekwan…”
“What, man?!”
“I’m not paying you twenty grand.”
“Why not? I got good nigga dick!” He grabbed his cock through his crotch and snorted. “Bam!”
“That’s not happening, Jaekwan. I’m not paying twenty grand,” Rob said. “I was gonna offer two hundred dollars.”
“Man…” He sucked on his teeth. “Five hundred dollars.”
“Fine.” Rob shook his hand and giggled. “Did you really think I was gonna pay twenty grand?”
He opened the door to the warehouse and led Rob in. “Man, you should pay that. I’m good, man. I swear. I can stick you so good-“
“There is no way you do it twenty grand good. Unless your jizz is Apple stock, it can’t be that valuable.”
He sniffled. He stepped into the warehouse, leaned against a wall and lifted his shirt over his head again. “I’m worth twenty grand, man.”
“Well, prove it,” Rob said as he dropped to his knees.
He unzipped his jeans and let a thick black cock flop out over Rob’s face. He laughed and slapped Rob on the cheek with it. “You like nigga dick, huh?”
Rob blushed and nodded. That wasn’t exactly true — Rob loved all kinds of men. One funny thing about them was that they always assumed he had a fetish for their type. He didn’t have a special love for black guys, but whenever he jerked one off, they assumed he had a black-men fetish. Whenever he jerked off a Texan, they thought he had a fetish for Texans. When he jerked off plumbers or Mexicans or stuntmen or bus drivers or Native Americans, they always assumed he had sought them out for their identity. He didn’t bother to explain that because he knew from personal experience that Jaekwan would just think he was lying anyway.
“Uh-huh…” Rob licked his dick from tip to root. It twitched and got hard in his hand. He kept licking, not putting it in his mouth, just licking it, until it was fully hard and throbbing where it lay against his face.
“Why don’t white boys offer money more? Huh?”
Rob went right to throating it. He didn’t really understand what Jaekwan was asking, and Rob was too focused on his cock to consider it. He slurped up all the day’s sweat off Jaekwan’s dick, while his hands roamed up to Jaekwan’s perfectly flat belly.
“Huh? Man?” He grabbed Rob by the ears and pulled him off his dick. “What’choo think? My daddy always said-“
“Lemme get-” Rob stuck his tongue out. He managed to tease the tip of Jaekwan’s dick, but Jaekwan wouldn’t let him go back to it. Rob pushed against his hand with his tongue out. Jaekwan’s dick, which still stank of that fat girl’s pussy, throbbed half-hard, tantalizingly close to Rob’s face.
“My daddy used to say that you could get white boys to pay you for dick, to make they dick better. Like if’n you swallow some big nigga dick, it make yo’ dick bigger. He say he got this white man who pay a thousand dollars to jack ‘im off. He got all these rules-“
“C’mon…” Rob managed to break free and taste his dick for a few seconds, his mouth plunging deep on Jaekwan’s shaft, but Jaekwan pulled him off without missing a beat.
“He got rules, like you can go behind a swanky nightclub and they’s always gonna be there, givin’ cats dome. But I done that and ain’t no one there but some swishy sissy passed out cold. Ain’t even have no money in his wallet.” He paused. “Well, answer it, man.”
Rob rolled his eyes. “You didn’t ask a question.” He really wanted to get back to Jaekwan’s dick. He had one hand on the base, stroking it slowly, hoping to get Jaekwan hard enough he’d get on with it.
He furrowed his brow. “What up with that?”
“That’s… I don’t know, uh… I mean… Your dad, uh… sounds like he’s full of shit.”
He threw his hands in the air. “I know, right?!”
“Maybe it used to be true. Maybe when he was growing up, there were guys offering money behind a nightclub. That’s not, like, a tradition though,” Rob said. “Can I get back to your dick now?”
“Yeah, man, go for it.” He wrinkled his nose like he hadn’t made Rob stop. He moaned as Rob immediately throated him deeply. He leaned against the wall. “Shit, man…” He paused. “We should set up some regular thing, man. Like… I can come over, and you can pay me-“
“No.” Rob smiled. “Sorry. I don’t do that.”
“Man-“
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“What?”
“Do you have a serious girlfriend?” Rob stroked his dick and teased it, tracing the veins that ran up and down the shaft with his tongue.
Jaekwan scoffed. “Nah. I don’t do that. I got bitches I fuck wit’.”
“Well, I have similar arrangements,” Rob said. He thwacked Jaekwan’s cock around his face. “I’m not going to be sticking around here. I’ll call you up when I’m in the area.”
“Like a bootycall?”
“If you like.”
He frowned. He watched his dick disappear down Rob’s throat. “Yo, man, you prolly know lots of rich people, right?” Rob nodded without taking his dick out of his throat. “You should give ‘em my number. Tell ‘em I got good nigga dick. Tell ‘em five hundred dollars but I can negotiate. No, wait, tell ‘em I don’t negotiate, but like… hint that I might. But don’t hint toward any rich ones. You know rich folk? Don’t give ‘em an amount. I’ll say-“
“Jaekwan, shush,” Rob said. He slurped up the precum starting to leak out of Jaekwan’s piss-slit, despite the fact that Jaekwan was seemingly not paying attention to what Rob was doing.
“Man…” Jaekwan sucked on his teeth.
“I don’t know any one who would pay you-“
“You know girls who pay for sex? I’ll be a gigolo. I’ll fuck fat chicks, no problem. Old chicks too, I don’t care. I’ll do it. Hundred bucks. Plus expenses, if they want me to take ‘em out to dinner or somethin’.” He beamed like this was an act of charity he should be commended for. “I eat pussy real good too. See?”
Rob sighed. He kept stroking Jaekwan’s dick with one hand, while Jaekwan pulled out his cell phone. He played a video for Rob, showing Jaekwan eating some woman’s pussy. Jaekwan was holding the camera as it recorded and as he licked her vagina, so it was a blurry, poorly-shot video. It was held so close it looked like some alien creature gave birth to a full-grown man but his tongue got stuck.
“See? Look, man, I eat pussy so good.”
Rob rolled his eyes. “Jaekwan, quit it. I don’t know any women who will pay you for sex.”
“I’ll give ‘em the first time for free,” he said. Rob just ignored him though. Rob decided to move on. He turned around, dropped his pants and bent over. He stuck his ass high in the air. Jaekwan’s voice trailed off as he looked at Rob’s tight bottom. “Shit…”
“You ready?”
He wedged his thick dick between Rob’s cheeks. There was a moment of merciful silence, which seemed spookily sepulchral in the high-ceilinged warehouse. The tip of his dick slid in, and Rob grunted.
“Oh!” Jaekwan slapped Rob’s asscheek. “I got an idea. You like nigga dick, right? I know all kinda niggas. You gimme a hundred bucks per nigga, I can send you like a million of ‘em. You gonna be drownin’ in nut-“
“Jaekwan, stop-“
“I could send you like twenty of ‘em tonight. Like all them warehouse dudes-“
“I don’t have a black-guy fetish.”
“What?”
“I won’t just mess with any black guy,” Rob said, panting cuz of the pressure in his ass. “I think you are desirable. You, personally. None of the other warehouse guys.”
He looked taken aback, like he hadn’t thought Rob was capable of showing discretion. He stood there with just the first half-an-inch of his dick in Rob’s ass. “Oh. Well, what kinda black guys you like? I can send you ‘em. You want big dicks? I’ll measure dicks, I don’t care. I can do that. Shit, us warehouse niggas all gangbanged this chick last year. I saw most of they dicks then, and Jerome Nicklebee accidentally shot most of his nut on my shoulder-“
“I don’t like them!” Rob shouted. “C’mon, Jaekwan, you gotta cornhole me. I don’t like the other warehouse guys.”
“Not even Malik Jumper? He got a six-pack, swear to God-“
“No!” Rob had no idea if he had seen Malik before, but he didn’t want to talk about this anymore.
Jaekwan grumbled. “Man… you ain’t nice. I know all kinda niggas.” He drilled his dick in a little deeper. “I can hook you up wit’ any nigga you want. We can go drivin’, you pick someone out, on Center Street, there’s always tons of niggas there, most of ‘em shirtless in summertime. I don’t know ‘em all, but you gimme two hundred bucks, I’ll find ‘em. Don’t tell them how much you payin’ me, cuz I’ll only give them fifty bucks-“
“Jaekwan, stop it. I’m not giving you any money for anything besides cornholing me right now. That means you gotta stop talking about other stuff. You gotta focus on cornholing me. You gotta earn your money.”
Jaekwan let out an annoyed growl. “Fine.” He pumped his hips, gradually shoving more of his dick in. At first it hurt — he was in a bad mood and didn’t try to make it feel good, then he remembered he was being paid and he made long, slow, smooth motions with his hips. “That feel good, baby?” His voice was seductive, like he was talking to a girl.
“Hmm… Yeah…” Rob backed his ass up until he felt Jaekwan’s pubic hair and crotch on his ass. He moaned, which made Jaekwan laugh like a cocky bastard.
Jaekwan wrapped one arm around Rob’s face. His father had told him that you should put men in a chokehold when you cornhole them, so that was what he did. It was gross because he was so sweaty — the air conditioning was off, so it was getting hot in the warehouse — but Jaekwan didn’t mind the sweat.
He went down to the ground with Rob. His shirt was over his head, his pants around his ankles. Jaekwan pounded away at Rob’s ass, his bare chest pressing down on Rob’s back.
He stopped moving with his cock all the way in Rob. “Hey. Do you smoke weed? You want weed? I can get you great weed. Or coke. Or Ecstasy, man, I do it all. You want pills? I can get fent, or-“
“No,” Rob said through gritted teeth.
“Damn it… I thought rich guys did lots of drugs.”
“Jaekwan. If you’re going to cornhole me, please focus on cornholing me,” Rob said. He grunted. The pressure in his ass was intense. It felt good too, but it was hard to have a conversation right now. He was ensconced in Jaekwan’s powerful arms.
“Oh. Yeah.” He sounded like he had forgotten his dick was in Rob’s ass. He slammed all the way in and out, grinding his cock deeply into Rob’s tight hole. “Shit, you got a nice ass…”
“You have an amazing cock…” Rob said.
“I know! You should pay me more, man, that’s what-“
“Shut up,” Rob said through gritted teeth.
Jaekwan sighed and kept going. He grumbled to himself as he went, and he tightened his grip on Rob’s arm. The one nice thing about sticking men, he thought, was that they didn’t complain about going at them too hard. A girl would have made him slow down by now.
He was about to ask if Rob needed any work done on his car — Jaekwan was a pretty good mechanic — when an orgasm erupted deep within him. Jaekwan slapped Rob’s ass and pounded him into the ground. He didn’t even notice Rob shoot his own load all over the concrete floor.
Cum sprayed into Rob’s ass. Jaekwan, even though he had just fucked a couple hours ago, shot a massive wad of cum. It just kept flowing, filling Rob’s ass up, until hot, creamy cum seeped into every corner of his flesh.
“Goddamn…” Jaekwan said. He took a deep breath. Aftershocks of his orgasm ran through him. “Yo, man… You got a car?”
Rob heard his question but was too overwhelmed by his own climax to answer. He just shuddered and moaned. Gradually Jaekwan pulled out of his ass, asking the same question again and again. One final long flow of jizz seeped into Rob’s guts, and Rob sighed as aftershocks of his orgasm wracked his body.
“You got a car, man? Huh? I can fix it. I can do anything, man, swear to God. I’m good with cars,” he said. He pulled out and Rob sighed. Jaekwan stayed on top of him, his dick leaking a few more drops of cum onto Rob’s asscheeks. He whispered into Rob’s ear. “Huh? How’s your car?”
“It’s fine. I don’t need any work,” Rob said. Then he smiled. “I’ll give you an extra hundred bucks if you kiss me. With tongue.”
Jaekwan made a face like he would never do that. But then, without another word, he turned his head to the side and kissed Rob right on the lips. His tongue plunged in. It was rather awkward and unpracticed. Jaekwan felt a few stray mustache hairs on Rob’s mostly smooth face, and that made it difficult for Jaekwan to forget he was with a man. The kiss reawakened the sparks of bliss from Jaekwan’s cock, and Rob’s whole body twisted as intense sensations roiled his petite frame.
Finally he was done. Jaekwan sniffled like it was no big deal. He got up and wiped his dick off. “You best pay me, man.”
Rob nodded. He got out his smartphone and arranged a direct transfer into Jaekwan’s bank account.
“Hey, you like Mexicans? I can hook you up with this cholo I know. He’ll rob you, so don’t bring no cash. But he’ll cornhole you first,” Jaekwan said as Rob got dressed. “I’ll tell him not to beat you up. I know buncha Mexicans. Most of ‘em got tiny dicks though.”
Rob ignored him. He just went to his car. There were only two cars in the parking lot, so it was obvious which one was Jaekwan’s. Jaekwan frowned at him.
“Come on, man. He’s great, you’ll like him,” Jaekwan said. “Hey. You think about it. Call me, man.”
“See you later, Jaekwan.” Rob got in his car.
“Yeah! You can lick my asshole!” Jaekwan called out as Rob pulled away. “Uh… Six hundred dollars.” He saw Rob laughing through the driver’s side window, so Jaekwan thought he had guessed wrong. “Twenty bucks!” The last thing he did was pull his sagging jeans down and display his bare brown ass for Rob in the rear-view mirror.
Rob watched his ass get smaller as he drove away. He giggled. He didn’t normally mess around with guys more than once, but Jaekwan was very alluring. He couldn’t resist.
He might wait to run this company into the ground until he had gotten everything he could out of Jaekwan.

The Politician

When Avery lobbies a presidential candidate on some pet issues, he didn’t realize what he was in for! The studly Governor Harold Tamperton is ready to give Avery the reacharound of a lifetime in exchange for political support, an exchange that’s worth every penny to Avery!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Avery sighed. Was Mr. Tamperton going to stand him up? He would have thought not — Avery was representing an important lobby group, and Mr. Tamperton’s campaign was who set this up. They reached out to Avery, not the other way around. Now Mr. Tamperton was an hour late. Avery had come to assume politicians would always be late — that was in their DNA. A part of him had believed Charlie Tamperton’s claim that he would be different. A part of him hoped Tamperton would be different.
But mostly, Avery suspected that Charlie Tamperton would not be different at all.
The hotel lobby was fashionably minimalist, with carpet softer than most mattresses and of the most exquisitely vibrant shade of white Avery had ever seen, it was sort of an electric white, like the white equivalent of neon pink, and it was spotless. Shockingly spotless, like fresh off the factory, not a single smudge or mote of dullness. That and an odd statue were the only things of note in the vault-like minimalist “splendor” of the Granger Ben Hotel.
Minimalist doesn’t mean spending less on decor, it means spending more on less decor. The elite will always spend to make sure the peons know they can. In the olden days, they did so by hiring a hundred artisans to work for a lifetime decorating every inch of a cathedral. Now they hire the equivalent in man-hours to create, install and clean a fantastically expensive alabaster carpet that gets steam-cleaned every ten minutes and one statue that was hard to identify but might have been a goat in a bathtub and which may have had a feminist bent. Avery couldn’t quite put his finger on what was feminist about it. It had a plaque, but he was not going to read a goddamn plaque about a feminist, like in a museum, but anyway, both the goaty shape and the bathtubby shape had a feminist air about them. So instead of hiring stonecarvers and woodworkers to build a cathedral for seventy years, they pay a couple million up front for some absurdly dumb feminist goat in a feminist bathtub and a million or two in wages over many years to various cleaners, installers, repairers, etc. They spend just as much, but they call it minimalist.
Avery would rather employ stonecarvers and woodworkers than feminists and cleaning crews. Plus, there’d be more to look at when he sat here twiddling his thumbs like a fucking idiot, waiting an hour and a half for that billionaire shitheel Charlie Tamperton. Avery was definitely deleting his dumbass apps. Except the one with the ostrich that finds coupons.
“There you are, Mr. Flowers,” said a suited man who appeared next to Avery, startling him. How he snuck up to Avery in a minimalist hotel lobby, with nothing to hide behind except six uncomfortable chairs, ten dead-eyed staff and a goat-in-a-bathtub’s worth of feminism, Avery will never figure out. Somehow the Asian man with the dead eyes and swampy cologne managed to surprise him. He gave Avery a polite nod. “I’m Delaney Chu, Mr. Tamperton’s campaign manager. He’s ready to see you now.”
Avery nodded and shook his hand, wondering where Tamperton had come from — Avery was sitting in the front lobby of the hotel, and he hadn’t seen Tamperton enter. He must have slipped in through a service entrance, presumably to avoid the mob of journalists outside. The Democratic primary was heating up, and Tamperton was no doubt being followed by both the press and his opponents’s trackers.
“Mr. Tamperton is very excited for this opportunity,” Delaney said. “He’s wanted to reach out to the legitimate-massage community for a long time. Honestly it’s my fault he hasn’t, blame me for that. He’s been telling me for months that we’ve got to make some allies there. And he’s totally right.”
“I see,” Avery said. He didn’t really believe Delaney — not that he thought Delaney was lying, exactly, but it made sense for Mr. Tamperton to focus on consolidating the main wings of the Democratic Party. He had risen to prominence with a series of sharply worded statements in accordance with Avery’s views, including a harsh eye aimed at the prostitution industry, especially the semi-legal massage parlors that make it hard for legitimate companies to operate. Avery’s business couldn’t compete in advertising with literally all of the city’s pimps and hookers, but many city governments across the country had decided it was better to the semi-tolerate semi-legal semi-businesses of pimps and madams, and they had no interest in supporting the operations of legitimate massage companies. Avery had formed and then found himself in charge of a lobby group devoted to legitimate-massage businesses, and as the presidential race heated up, Avery found his little pressure group rising to the top of the Democratic Party. That wasn’t because it was a huge pressure group, precisely the opposite. All the huge pressure groups had committed to a candidate months or years ago. Avery’s was one of the few groups that hadn’t yet committed to a candidate.
The immigrant-rights community nationwide had rallied around Avery and rocketed him to the top of the Democratic Party’s primary polling in the early months. That was not his intent — a lot of immigrants were masseurs, that was why. So the conventional wisdom was that candidates could nail down Avery’s endorsement and garner votes from the anti-prostitution folks and the immigrants.
Now that the first primaries and caucuses loomed closer, some of the more minor candidates were getting traction. Mr. Tamperton’s endless barrage of media-grabbing statements dominated the news, while Vermont Governor Paul Thandrasepkatar got some key endorsements, especially from a handful of celebs. Tamperton had come out on the wrong side of the police brutality debate, which made it hard for the ultra-leftists to support him. Governor Thandrasepkatar had come out in support of some popular things, which Mr. Tamperton couldn’t support without being seen as a flip-flopper. So despite Tamperton’s initial success, Governor Thandrasepkatar was vacuuming up support.
Avery represented one of the few immigrant civil rights organizations that hadn’t yet endorsed Thandrasepkatar, and he knew Tamperton was going to be desperate for a way back in to the good graces of the immigrant community. He wondered what Tamperton would say today to dominate the news cycle tomorrow, and he hoped it wasn’t at his expense.
Of course none of that had anything to do with legitimate massage. But more than two-thirds of the dues-paying businesses in Avery’s lobby group were owned by immigrants, and there were a lot more immigrants than legitimate massuers in this country.
Avery was so lost in thought he didn’t notice that Delaney was taking him downstairs, to the basement. He wasn’t going to a hotel room at all.
In the basement of the hotel — the basement had no decoration either, just more spotless white in the form of painted walls, which again had no smuges or fingerprints or faded spots —Delaney brought Avery past the pool. They stopped in front of a door marked SAUNA. He smiled and held the door open, motioning for Avery to squeeze in past the pair of burly bodyguards who stood sentry.
“Mr. Tamperton is getting a steam,” Delaney said. “But he’ll see you now. Feel free to take off your clothes.”
There was a little changing area in the front of the sauna. Avery entered and nervously took off his clothes. He had always loved saunas — that was his favorite part of his recent trip to Finland. It was only as Avery wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into the sauna that he realized he had posted about the trip, and his effusive love for saunas, on Facebook.
That was why Tamperton arranged for a meeting here. He looked through Avery’s Facebook timeline until he found out what he liked: saunas. It felt like pandering, it was patronizing. It was hard to take notes in the steamy sauna too, which made Avery wonder if Tamperton’s plan was to prevent Avery from keeping a record of what he said.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Flowers,” Mr. Tamperton said. His face was shrouded by steam. “Please, call me Tamperton. Don’t you love this sauna? It’s the greatest, I’m a yuge fan of saunas. The steam is wonderful for the skin.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Avery said. “Well… Tamperton, I’m sure you realize why I agreed to meet with you. The organization I represent-“
“Wait, wait, Avery, let’s not jump right into business,” Mr. Tamperton said. “Let’s just chat a bit. I’d like to get to know you.”
Avery shrugged as he sat down. The sauna was so misty and dim that he hadn’t seen Tamperton until he got to the bench he sat on. That’s when he clocked that Tamperton was stark naked, not even wearing a towel around his waist.
His body was more powerful than it seemed when he wore a suit on television, Avery thought. Tamperton had a barrel chest, not at all saggy from age, and though the hair on his head was ruddy and balding, the hair on his chest was fresh, dark and just thick enough to grab nd hold onto. He was stronger than Avery had thought he would be, and perhaps most surprisingly, he had a massive cock resting between his sweaty thighs.
This was definitely not how Avery had expected this interview to progress. He wondered how he could bring this up at the next meeting without looking like a Tamperton fanboy excited to see his crush’s cock. That wasn’t at all how Avery felt He had never thought of Tamperton as having an excellent physique until just now, when his naked, sweat-dappled body was right in front of Avery’s eyes.
And now Avery found his eyes drawn to that magnificant cock.
“How are you enjoying the campaign?” Avery asked, nervous at sitting next to someone so intensely masculine, not to mention a powerful billionaire. The humid sauna-sweat glistened on his broad chest and shoulders, and when he touched his own chin, he left a trail of moisture that ran down his the curves of his pecs in rivulets.
“I’m enjoying it plenty, I love this kind of scrappy repartée, the exchange of ideas, the Sturm und Drang of it all,” he said. “The one problem is that I never see my wife.”
“That’s tough. Being president is even tougher though,” Avery said. A part of him had always been worried that Tamperton wasn’t serious — being president wasn’t like being CEO of a professional rugby team (that was one of Tamperton’s high-profile business ventures). He was going to have to be on duty all the time.
“Sure, sure, I can’t wait. I’ll enjoy that, honestly. My wife will be there in the White House with me. She can’t travel on the campaign trail with me, but she would gladly move into the White House. She’s already picking out curtains,” he said. Then he cleared his throat nervously. “Look… I’m gonna have trouble concentrating on this interview if we don’t do something about…” He gestured towards his crotch. “Without my wife at my side at nights, I need another way to let off a little steam.” He laughed as he gestured to the steam that filled the sauna.
“I’m sorry, Tamperton?”
“Do you want to jerk me off?”
“… I’m sorry, Tamperton?”
“Of course you can’t put it in your article. I’ll deny it. Not even my bodyguards out there know what we’re doing in here,” he said. He shrugged. “You don’t have to. I just thought you were the kind of man who knows your way around a cock.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been checking me out.”
Avery nodded and blushed.
Before he could do anything else, Tamperton leaned in and kissed him. Avery was so shocked he just sat there like a dead fish at first, then shoved his tongue in Tamperton’s mouth. They collapsed onto the sauna bench, with Tamperton on top of Avery, his burly body weighing him down and his heavy cock pressing into Avery’s thigh.
“Oh… Mr. Tamperton-“
“Call me Tamperton.”
“Tamperton…!”
Tamperton kissed a trail down Avery’s neck and chest. He suckled on each nipple until it was hard, and he smiled at Avery. “You see, I do respect immigrants. I love the immigrants. Not to mention massage. Massage has helped so many of my rugby players with physical ailments.” His breath condensed on Avery’s nape. “I’ll do whatever I can to help the industry.”
“I see…”
His back arched as pleasure shot through him. Tamperton gave his dick a few strokes. It pulsated between Tamperton’s thick fingers, as Avery dragged his own fingers through Tamperton’s thinning reddish hair. The body heat emanating off Tamperton merged with the humid warmth of the sauna, and Avery found his hands moving over the well-worked muscle of Charlie Tamperton’s chest and back.
Then Tamperton lowered his head, as he kissed Avery again on the lips, then the chin, the neck, and a moan of passion came out of both men. Avery sucked in his breath.
This was not how he thought this little foray into lobbying would pan out.
His hands fluttering and running all up and down Tamperton’s well-muscled back, Avery leaned back, thinking Tamperton would soon stop kissing. But no, his kisses moved lower and lower.
Then, before Avery knew it, Tamperton’s mouth encircled Avery’s dick. Avery was astonished to feel his lips on Avery’s cock, but he was too aroused to even process what was happening. He continued lowering his head, still holding his breath as his heart raced, until Avery was laying on the sauna bench on his back. He reached for Tamperton’s crotch, and he hefted that fat erection in one, then both, hands.
With Tamperton atop him, Avery and he arranged their bodies to sixty-nine, with Tamperton on top, his plump, piggish prick aimed right for Avery’s mouth. He was so huge and heavy that Avery could barely wrap his arms around Tamperton’s body.
Avery opened up, feeling that familiar sensation of hot meat invading his throat. His fingers clenched Tamperton’s thick back and ass, as precum invaded his mouth. Avery sucked vigorously, deep-throating and swallowing every inch of his meat. They writhed together, in unison, and for a little while, Avery forgot that Tamperton was part of the political and business elite.
Tamperton’s muscles tightened and flexed above Avery. Tamperton was in much better shape than he had seemed, and Avery could feel the power bristling just below the surface of his body. He had the muscle of the rugby players he employed, Avery thought, wondering if he worked out with his athletes. He was a tech guy, originally and mainly, Tamperton built his business off apps. But he was never a slim computer geek, and his patronage of the American Rugby League was well-known.
The rugby players probably sauna together, Avery realized as he slurped on the savory cock invading his throat. Tamperton might sauna with them.
He loved the man’s body hair too, just thick enough to be unkempt and furry, but not so thick as to be dirty or offputting. He smelled clean and strong, even his dick and despite the sauna-induced sweat that covered his body. His balls were thick and heavy, without the old man-droopiness that Avery had rather assumed he would have.
Precum flooded Avery’s mouth. He enjoyed the sour and salty flavor of precum, not to mention the creamy texture, and he savored it in his mouth now as well. He let it coat his tongue, which ran up and down Tamperton’s veiny shaft. Avery was leaking precum too, and Tamperton swallowed it like he was well-practiced. Avery wondered how often Tamperton had done this before.
He did not do it like a man exploring something new. He did it like this was old hat.
“Wait,” Tamperton said, pulling out just as Avery neared his orgasm. His hefty body hovered above Avery, who gasped in desperate need for more. His cocktip dangled tantalizingly near, just centimeters above Avery’s head. Tamperton smiled. “I’m gonna ram you now, okay? In the ass. I need a tight booty, and I can tell you are gonna be taut as a drum.” He caressed Avery’s smooth belly and added, “I’m gonna tap your ass good, Avery. You won’t be walking straight for a week. You like it like that?”
Avery nodded. “Hell yeah.”
“Do I have your endorsement?”
“I…” Avery gulped. “I need your support on-“
“Of course, of course. The proposed legislation, right? The Massage Rescue Plan? I can absolutely support that, and I promise, if elected president, I will do everything possible to ensure it gets through Congress,” he said. He stood, letting his erection bob around afront Avery’s face. Avery chased it with his tongue until he sensed Tamperton’s bemused gaze.
Then Avery serioused up. Despite his own erection and his strong desire to handle Tamperton’s, Avery only shrugged. “Well then, I guess we can support you — it’s not entirely up to me, you know?”
“I understand. Just tell them what I said — what I said about the Massage Rescue Plan — and that you believe me,” Tamperton said. He teased his knobtip on Avery’s lips. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Fuck yes!” Avery exclaimed. He felt bad about selling out his endorsement so easily, but he reasoned that it wasn’t really up to him anyway. He’d tell his committee the political promises Tamperton made, and if that was enough, they’d take their endorsement public. Supporting that in private was the most Avery could do. He wasn’t sure Tamperton understood that, but Avery was not in a position to explain the nuances of his lobby group’s mechanisms.
In one smooth motion, Charlie Tamperton stood, holding Avery in his powerful arms. He flipped Avery over, then bent him over the bench and spread his asscheeks. Avery’s knees went weak even before penetration began. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, and he wondered if anyone would believe him if he told. Probably not, he decided as Tamperton’s broadly muscled chest rippled behind him, rubbing on Avery’s smooth back.
Tamperton must have had a bottle of lube hidden somewhere nearby, because Avery felt that slippery coldness, which was a pleasant sensation contrasting with the humid warmth of the sauna. The lube slid into his ass and spread to every corner, making him feel all slippery inside. Already Avery felt Tamperton’s hot cock throbbing against the small of his back, and Avery had to hold back a chest-rattling howl of desire.
“Here it comes, Avery, be ready for it,” Tamperton said, using his toned arms to hold Avery in place. The fact that he said Avery’s name turned him on — it felt good to know he was on a first-name basis with someone like this. People often treated him as though he should have personal connections in the government and business elite because of his position in this lobby group, but he didn’t, until now. Tamperton was the only major politician he’d ever met.
“I’m ready…”
A burst of pleasure erupted in his ass as Tamperton’s thick meat pushed inside. Avery gasped and writhed in his arms, struggling to take in its thickness. He reached behind himself with one hand to guide it in, so he could only support himself with the other hand.
Tamperton wrapped both arms around Avery’s body and held him tight, lifting him up so he didn’t have to support himself on his hands at all. Avery’s feet were barely on the floor at all. He ground his ass into Tamperton’s crotch, while feeling his hairy chest grind against Avery’s back.
“Oh god… I secretly love your budget proposal,” Avery blurted out. He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even really thought it firmly to himself. But he felt so good that his internal filter disappeared, and so he moaned on a few more words about tax rates and progressivity before losing track of his thoughts.
“Really? I’m glad you like it, Avery…” His voice was low and guttural, aimed directly in Avery’s ears. Again, when he said Avery’s name, it sent a shiver of sexual energy up Avery’s spine, which caused him a spasm of pain and pleasure as it made his ass twinkle. Avery wondered if Tamperton knew how arousing it was to hear him call out Avery’s name.
One of Tamperton’s hands crept around to Avery’s dick and began stroking it. Avery was already so close to orgasm that his whole body twitched and pulsated as though his touch was painful. Avery moaned so loud he wondered if the bodyguards outside could hear, but if they did, they didn’t say anything or even poke their head in.
Despite Avery’s animated response to his touch, Tamperton didn’t slow down. He forced his dick in and out, hard enough that Avery felt overwhelming agony that was drowned out by the bliss emanating from his ass. He moaned around the thick arm that caressed his neck and face.
He finally shot his load just as Tamperton reached his own climax. Hot cum sprayed from his dick and covered the bench beneath him. Avery moaned and squirmed beneath Tamperton’s grasp. His back rippled as his muscles all tightened at once, and Tamperton held him tight. It felt like they were melting together, becoming one person, and Avery even had a momentary fantasy of him moving into the White House with Tamperton.
Wad after wad of creamy seed burst forth within Avery’s spasming body. It coated his insides and dripped down his legs as Avery’s spine undulated. Pleasure coursed through his veins. He gasped and fell limp, supported only by Tamperton’s strong arms.
Then it was over. Avery had no idea how long it had lasted. His orgasm felt like it might have gone on for hours, though he knew that was impossible — Tamperton’s retinue would have come in to get him by now. He must not have been as loud as it felt like he was too. Bodyguards would definitely have come in if they heard Avery scream the way it sounded in Avery’s own ears.
Tamperton pulled out, sending a shiver of relief up Avery’s back. His jizz continued seeping through his body and dripping down his thighs. Tamperton whistled his appreciation. “That was nice, Avery,” he said. “Reminds me why I’m not loyal to women. They don’t do it like that, and if they did, they’d still want to cuddle and talk about feelings afterwards. You don’t want to do that, do you, Avery?”
“No,” Avery said. The last thing he wanted to do now was talk about feelings. Cuddling did sound appealing, but once the orgasmic afterglow wore off in a few minutes, he’d be tired of it and their bodies would be hot and sticky.
“Good,” Tamperton said. He held Avery close in his powerful arms, where Avery felt safe and protected. He could see why people supported Tamperton politically — even if he was obviously full of hot air, he was confident and swaggerous, and it made Avery feel less vulnerable to be there scooped up in his arms.
“That was amazing, Mr. Tamperton… Tamperton, I mean,” Avery said. “Are you really a big supporter of the legitimate-massage industry?”
“I really am. It’s vital to the athletes who work for me, and I have always insisted that my companies offer massage as part of the healthcare and benefits package,” he said with a deep breath. “I’m so glad to have your support. I look forward to your organization campaigning with me.”
“that’s really up to the board,” Avery said. He blushed as he straightened out his sore legs — he thought Tamperton was right about him not being able to walk straight for a little while, at least not without concentrating intensely. “But I’ll recommend we come out to support you.”
“Thank you, and Avery?”
“Yes,” Avery said as Tamperton stood up and headed towards the door.
“When I win, I want you to visit me in the White House. You can arrange that, right?”
“That won’t be a problem,” Avery said.
“Good. We can have a wau-wau and… do other things, things that are definitely going to be off the record,” Tamperton said with a knowing grin. “The Lincoln Bedroom will never be the same.”