MN Manmacker's mansploitation
At the brothel Lipsweet, Vivienne rules as queen, and the many roughnecks who come through are her subjects… But when her position is threatened, Vivienne finds herself on the outs, while the men around her must see to their own needs. Whether at the local jail, in a dusty backroom or in a dirty motel, these macho alphas will have to take matters into their own hands!
Ramon is a slim, effeminate prisoner whose cellmate controls his life, putting Ramon on the bottom… Until one day that alpha cellmate — the legendary Thumper White — wants to do him a favor by bending over and allowing another exciting adventure in Twink on Top!
Read the whole thing here!
Prison was not that bad at all for Ramon Mercado. He missed his freedom and easy access to alcohol. He missed his family. He missed being outside at night, seeing the stars and the moon. But as far as prison stays went, his two years so far had gone pretty well. He decided that as he walked back to his cell on the second anniversary of his arrival at the state prison.
Things had gone well for him despite — or maybe because of — the fact that Ramon was a girlish twink with a fantastic ass and long, silken hair the color of unfiltered sunlight. His hips were curved like a pretty woman’s, and he had a sultry voice like a loose woman, not to mention a flirtatious way about him that turned heads in a place like the Florida State Prison, filled with tough alphas who hadn’t seen a real woman in decades in some cases.
Before arriving, he had dreaded coming to prison, unsure what he was in for. The local jail guards gave him sympathetic looks. Everyone thought he’d be targeted for extortion or just plain violence, that the thugs and vatos of the Florida prison system would eat him alive.
But on his first day, Ramon was proposed to by Thumper White, a leading thug from the Bloods gang. Thumper was six and a half feet tall, bursting with muscle all over, his body covered in jailhouse tattoos. He had a small afro when Ramon met him, but had gotten cornrows last year. Ramon was slowly, clumsily, learning how to make and manage cornrows, because Thumper demanded it of his “prison wife”
So he had acquiesced to being Thumper’s prison wife. It didn’t take much convincing.
“I’ll treat you like a princess, baby, as long as you treat me like a king.”
That was a quid pro quo Ramon could get behind. He found hugely muscled alphas like Thumper arousing and alluring, and Ramon had long been an aficionado for the male form. Thumper’s male form was exceptional, and Ramon didn’t even mind that Thumper was getting up there in years and that his body hair was speckled with gray. The hair on his head remained black as night though, and his high yellow skin was smooth and taut like a much younger man.
It hadn’t always been perfect. They argued like any married couple (or like any pair of roommates). Thumper sometimes slapped Ramon, open-handed, across the face. He had never punched him, but he did slap him when Ramon did things wrong, got too sassy, or sometimes for things that were entirely unrelated to Ramon. When Thumper got to be in a bad mood, he lashed out. He always apologized later and kissed Ramon on the lips, which he otherwise refused to do. That made those few sweet kisses feel special to Ramon. His heart swooned every time, and he clutched those broad shoulders as they made out in the dark of their prison cell.
“I’m sorry, baby, I gots a temper in me. I ain’t put it in there, I just gotta put up wit’ it. I gotta work on that, I know. The prison counselor say I need-a show you how I feel. Right now, I feel like kissin’ ya.”
He was also tender at night, when they were alone together in their shared cell. During the day, he was meaner, but at night his nice side came out. Amid the hooting and the ever-present shouted threats of the other inmates, he kissed Ramon’s neck and tweaked his nipples as he relentlessly ramrodded him. He allowed Ramon to choose the positions, and he allowed Ramon to cuddle up with him when the lights were off, but he brooked no dissent as to it happening — not that Ramon ever wanted to say no. He allowed Ramon all the freedom in the world to decide how to do it or what Thumper should do to “pay” for it — Ramon got him to bring him food, clothes, perfume, jewelry, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, whatever he wanted, as long as Ramon gave up the ass whenever Thumper wanted it.
He protected Ramon during the day, even if he also treated him with disdain much of the time. When his fellow gangbangers were around, Thumper called him a bitch (or to be more precise, he called Ramon ‘my bitch’). He made Ramon get his food in the dining hall. Ramon gave massages and begged for Thumper’s cock in front of his friends to puff up his ego. Thumper loved the idea of Ramon loving his dick so much he couldn’t help but try to jerk him off in public — Thumper never let him do it, but he liked it when Ramon tried.
When he walked into his cell that night, the night of Ramon’s two-year anniversary in the Florida State Prison — which was also Ramon’s two-year anniversary of being Thumper’s cellmate and prison wife — Ramon dropped the bag of laundry (both Ramon’s and Thumper’s) he carried. He was shocked to see the cell dotted with lit candles.
“Uh, Thumper?” Ramon scrunched up his eyes. Candles weren’t allowed in the cells, so Thumper must have spent quite a bit to get all these. The lights were off, so the candles provided the only illumination, and their flickering light cast a romantic glow over the tiny prison cell. They gave off copious heat too, not that that was necessary in the already overheated prison.
He was on his bunk, leaning back, stark naked and flopping his big dick between his fingers. He slapped it on his thighs left and right, demonstrating its hugeness. It was thirteen inches long and thicker than Ramon had ever thought possible before he met Thumper. Ramon licked his teeth as he realized Thumper wanted to mess around.
That wasn’t a surprise. Thumper did that pretty much every night. But he didn’t do it with candles and all that.
“Hey, baby,” Thumper said with an awkward smile. “After lights out, I got some treats fo’ us.” Then he growled. “Shut the curtain, boo.”
Ramon did so, his heart pounding. Lights-out was going to happen momentarily. Ramon had finished the laundry for him and Thumper only a few minutes before mandatory cell time. Already outside the cell guards were hurrying inmates off.
“Where’d you get candles?” Ramon asked. He pulled the sheet over the cell bars so no one could see in. It helped muffle the sound too. The guards here didn’t much care what happened — they would ignore the sounds, the smell of weed and the drunken laughter, as long as they didn’t have to see it. Hence, the curtain was always shut when they were both in the cell.
“The chaplain. Told him I was Buddhist and shit,” he said, cackling. “So if he ask, I’m Buddhist now. Tell him I converted last month.” He laughed, a deep-throat belly laugh, like it took every muscle in his jacked body to do it. His pecs roiled as the laughter pumped through his body, and his dick shook, tantalizing Ramon’s tastebuds. He hopped down from the top bunk. “Look in the drawer, baby. I wanna show you tonight how I really feel ’bout ya.”
There was a small plastic set of drawers in one corner of the cell, the only piece of furniture they were allowed. There were four drawers, one for Ramon, two for Thumper and one they both used — anything in that drawer was considered common property (that was a compromise, of sorts, that they had developed after a particularly nasty argument over a bag of crackers). Ramon looked in the drawer they shared and saw a bottle of brandy, a tube of lube, a handful of pixie sticks and two blunts of fine weed sealed up in plastic. Ramon giggled. This will be a pretty good night, he thought.
“There’s more,” Thumper said, leaping down to be right behind Ramon. He kissed him on the back of the neck, his dense beard, nearly two inches long now, scratching at Ramon’s smooth, pale skin. “I got a present fo’ ya, baby. But it’s a present you gotta keep secret.”
“Okay, sugar.”
Lights out in five minutes, shitheads!
The affection went away from his voice, and he gripped Ramon’s torso tightly. He hissed in Ramon’s ear. “I’m serious, man. If you evuh tell anyone, I will rip yo’ goddamn throat out. You will kill the love in my soul fo’ you, and there is only one way I can respond to that, okay?”
Ramon swallowed nervously, shivering as Thumper’s coarse beard caressed his neck. Thumper only called him man when he was very angry with him. Normally he called Ramon baby. Ramon leaned his head back to give Thumper better access to his neck, while Thumper’s roughly callused hands explored Ramon’s smooth body. Ramon said, “Okay, Thumper, I promise. I’ll never tell a soul. What is it? Someone must know you have it if they smuggled it in-“
“Ain’t a thing you can pick up and move around, baby. It weren’t somethin’ smuggled in, and I ain’t nevuh gonna let no one know about it, no how, no way. It’s just between you and me,” he said. He licked Ramon’s ear. “You get to be on top tonight, baby.”
At first Ramon didn’t know what he meant. Aside from some occasional drunken stroking (which he always vehemently denied the next day), Thumper never touched Ramon’s dick. He would have slapped Ramon senseless for even asking Thumper to bottom. He got mad once because he suspected Ramon was imagining Thumper swallowing his cum.
“Oh, really, sugar?! Are you serious?”
“I’m serious as strawberry pie, baby,” he said. He spun Ramon around and kissed him on the lips. In the cramped confines of the prison cell, Ramon accidentally touched the lit flame of one of the tea candles, and he squealed in pain.
“Lights going off in one minute, shitheads!”
They sunk down into the lower bunk, Ramon’s bunk, and Ramon tore off his own clothes, still sure Thumper didn’t mean what he seemed to mean. Ramon leaned back onto his mattress as Thumper kissed a trail down his slim, tender body, his massive head looming afronta Ramon, whose hands wandered over Thumper’s cornrows and his broad muscles. His kinky beard hairs dragged over Ramon’s belly as he moved lower and lower.
The lights in the hall flickered, then turned off, and the candles were the only light in the cell. Thumper growled with a mixture of both anticipation and disgust.
“I already smell santorum, damn, who started before the lights turned out? Huh? Mulch, is that you, nigga? How many inches you take already?”
“Fresh pussy! Fresh pussy!”
“Yeah I smell that shit too, someone is horny as hell tonight! Ram that ass hard, whoever that is!”
“Hey, all y’all shut up! Lights is out! Next person I hear callin’ out is sleepin’ in the guard shitter tonight!”
That brought silence at last, aside from some tittering laughter. There was probably no smell of santorum anywhere — Ramon couldn’t smell anything but the candles and the slightly stale, soap-scented sweat of Thumper’s shoulder, but the other inmates made similar claims every night. They just liked being loud and disruptive.
Alternatively, the Florida State Prison always smelled like santorum. Ramon was used to it. Certainly his and Thumper’s cell had a certain reek to it, mainly Thumper’s sweat from his relentless, continual workouts.
Thumper kissed Ramon’s dick, hesitated and took a deep breath, then swallowed it. A shiver of pleasure ran up Ramon’s spine, and Ramon sat up straight. Thumper gagged after the first few inches got in his mouth but kept going. His tongue tentatively slathered spit along the shaft.
Ramon’s dick rocketed to full erection in a few seconds, as he hadn’t topped since reporting to prison. He loved the feel of Thumper’s beard on his crotch. Ramon had always enjoyed it, but since Thumper didn’t usually kiss him on the lips and rarely even anywhere else, he didn’t often get to feel it touching him. Now he did, and its scratchy texture brought the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and his ballsack to life. Ramon quivered and shook beneath Thumper’s ministrations.
“Fuck you, nigga!”
“Hey! Get off me!”
“C’mon, nigga-“
“I’ll give you three packs-“
“I applied fo’ early release-“
“No way is that gonna happen.”
“Worth at least four packs.”
It felt like he was getting away with something. All these Bloods in the nearby cells, some of whom were literally a few feet from right here, none of them knew what Thumper and Ramon were doing. They’d be shocked and scandalized if they knew. It would ruin Thumper’s rep. Or maybe not, Bloods were weird about that stuff, but it would affect him greatly, and Ramon didn’t know how that would go. Thumper was risking a lot to show him this affection.
When the taste of precum hit him, Thumper wrinkled his nose but he didn’t stop. He was a big man with a big throat, so he easily deep-throated Ramon after a little practice. Ramon shaved his pubes, allowing Thumper’s wide, bullish nose to press into his nearly smooth crotch. The shaved skin smelled like a woman’s shaved crotch, Thumper thought, though he’d been in prison for thirty years at this point and had only a dim memory of what women tasted like.
In the dim flickering light of the candles, Ramon could only barely see Thumper, but for some reason that made the sight of his body even more arousing. His muscles writhed in the shadows, moving along with his head and throat. Ramon couldn’t tell if he was moving like that because he hated touching a dick so much he had to force his body to comply with his mind’s commands, or if he liked it so surprisingly that his entire body roiled with confusion.
“No curtains, gentlemen…”
That was aimed at Ramon and Thumper, but the guard who said it — the one they called Officer Uglymug — just continued by, not taking the curtain down. That was typical. They had never explained why, but Ramon suspected it was a way to cover their ass. They made a rule against curtains, occasionally reminded the inmates of it, and brought that up whenever they were sued for something that happened behind a curtain. They could pretend they had been getting rid of curtains as long as they occasionally brought it up. They wrote in their shift notes that they reminded the inmates of the no-curtains rule, which was all it took to stay out of trouble. So Ramon wasn’t worried, though Thumper lifted his head for a moment, waiting to see if this was the night they would begin enforcing the rule against curtains.
The guard simply moved on, however, and Thumper did likewise.
Then Thumper moved his head down, licking Ramon’s balls while pulling his legs up to get a better angle at it. He gurgled noisily with both balls in his mouth, sucking the sweat and the grime right off. He wrinkled his nose as he did, and as Ramon’s iron dick flopped against it, but he didn’t stop no matter how unappealing he plainly found this.
Ramon was crammed into a rather small bunk, and only the back half or so of it. He wasn’t a tall man. He had a small, slim, twinkish body, so he fit well enough, and he had gotten used to squeezing into cramped spaces while in prison. He was adequately flexible to get his legs all the way back, his feet near his own head, which bared his asshole as his cheeks were forced apart. His tongue plunged right into Ramon’s asshole. Ramon was astonished that Thumper would give him a rimjob, and he moaned. Thumper had been unsure about receiving a rimjob from Ramon, so the idea that he would allow the tables to be turned was mind-boggling.
“Hey Officer Uglymug, lemme see that picture o’ yo’ wife again, nigga! Can I get a copy of that?”
“Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you! Some people is tryin-‘a sleep!”
Ramon’s fingers clutched the tight cornrows on Thumper’s head, watching his prison husband’s strapping body squeeze into the space between the bunk and the cell wall. There wasn’t much room there, but Thumper was used to fitting his broad shoulders and wide hips in this tiny cell. Ramon liked seeing him twisting and contorting, especially naked, with that limp cock dangling like a sausage. Thumper was much taller than Ramon, so he really had to struggle to get his head into Ramon’s ass, while Ramon was crammed into a tiny corner of the cell.
A few of the candles had blown out by now, and Ramon didn’t dare light them — they were moving around a lot, and they moved their bedsheets, the curtain and their clothes as they went, so the potential for a fire was great. The guards didn’t much care what happened behind the curtain, but a fire was one thing they very much would care about. Ramon turned on the little reading light he had, so he could still see Thumper’s muscles writhe as he licked Ramon’s ass.
His tongue was so hesitant and slow that it was, objectively speaking, not a very good rimjob. The positioning was awkward, and the tongue was unpracticed. But Ramon appreciated the sentiment, and when Thumper’s tongue did touch his prostate, the anticipation made the shiver of pleasure shooting up his spine even more intense, as did the scratchy feel of Thumper’s beard on Ramon’s ass.
“Gonna beat yo’ ass, nigga! Gonna beat it down to pulp!”
“Shut the fuck up, whiteboy!”
“Yo, hey! Lemme get a blunt!”
Thumper stood and grimaced. He forced a smile on his face, which was sweet — at least he was trying, Ramon thought. Then Thumper bent over on all fours. He grabbed the bottle of brandy and took a long swig from it. He sighed, and drank again.
“That’s sweet that you bought brandy,” Ramon said. “You remembered what I said…”
Thumper shrugged. He was defensive, like he was already embarrassed about getting plowed. “Whatevuh,” he said. “I like brandy too. I ain’t just buy it fo’ you.”
But Ramon knew that wasn’t entirely true. Thumper had only ever paid for smuggled vodka when Ramon moved in. To him, that seemed logical because it was the most alcoholic liquor — it made sense, he thought, to buy what contained the most drunkenness in the smallest container. But Ramon convinced him that was less reasonable than it seemed — brandy got you just as drunk, and it had a real flavor to it. Thumper had been in this place since he was nineteen, so he had very little experience with alcohol, a fact that he strenuously denied and that Ramon had only gradually realized was true. He might have never been seriously drunk before coming to Brutewood.
“It’s okay, sugar,” Ramon said. He kissed Thumper’s shoulderblades, one after the other. “I love your body, Thumper. You’re so big and strong, and you have the best dick in this prison. Maybe in the world.” He giggled. Thumper sighed and wiggled. Ramon’s tone was more patronizing than he meant — it was obvious that Ramon was saying that to puff up Thumper’s ego in advance of being penetrated. But Thumper didn’t mind that one bit, he often demanded Ramon do things just to puff up his ego. That was the main reason most men in prison kept a bitch, after all. they may express a ton of bluster about real men needing a hole in which to drain their balls, but Ramon knew that wasn’t the main purpose of it: it was to feel needed, wanted, even feared. He kissed Thumper’s asscheeks. “I’ll worship your ass later,” Ramon said. “So don’t worry if this hurts, sugar. Tomorrow, your ass is gonna feel so good you’ll forget this ever happened.”
“¡Siempre serás mi perra!” The catcalling and whooping from the other cells was beginning to die down, as a few people went to sleep and others got distracted reading, shooting heroin or perhaps ramrodding much like Ramon and Thumper were doing at this very moment.
Ramon lubed up his dick and wedged it between Thumper’s ass. He slowly pushed it in, pausing only briefly when he hit resistance. Thumper yelped and bit his lip. He kept his head down. Ramon pushed the tip of his cock in, and he held it in place.
“Is this okay?”
“It’s fine,” Thumper said, his voice breathless and trembling. Despite his words, it didn’t really sound entirely fine. He strained to take Ramon’s dick in his intact hole.
“Tell me if you want me to stop, sugar,” Ramon said. He kissed Thumper’s back again. “This is so sweet of you. You’re such a darling. This is the most perfect anniversary present ever.”
His whole body shook as Ramon squeezed a few more inches in. Thumper grunted. He arched his back and pawed at the ground, tattooed muscles rippling. He was nearly hyperventilating now, but he tried to keep it quiet as though if he didn’t acknowledge it, he wouldn’t feel shame.
“Damn, that hurts…” Thumper said, but there was some faint tenor in his voice that made Ramon think it wasn’t all pain. there was a thin, vibrating note of pleasure there. Ramon made sure to hit the man’s prostate to accentuate the orgasmic feelings deep within Thumper’s thuggish muscles.
“If you don’t shut that goddamn facehole right now, I am gonna sew it shut, bitch!”
“I’m sorry, sugar, it’ll start feeling better,” Ramon said, hoping that was true. He didn’t want Thumper to back out. He continued driving his dick in and out, smiling as he saw Thumper’s back move from pained writhing to pleasurable contortions. Thumper’s gasps of pain turned to petite moans of pleasure.
Luckily his ass started to open up a bit, which made Ramon’s dick slide more easily in and out. He had a nice broad, plump ass that Ramon wanted to smack, but he thought that might make it hurt worse, so he didn’t. He gently and affectionately caressed Thumper’s back and his meaty asscheeks, while Thumper’s moans turned louder and deeper.
His orgasm built slowly, but as he pumped and he felt it coming on, he sped up rapidly like a speeding train. Ecstasy erupted in Ramon, mounting with each thrust of his hips at Thumper’s body. He could barely reach Thumper’s shoulders because he was so much shorter, so he gripped both big corded shoulder blades.
“Here it comes, sweetheart,” Ramon said as softly as he could. He kissed Thumper’s back again. “I hope this don’t hurt too much, sugar…”
“No, not too much. I wanna feel your cum inside me,” Thumper said, then he winced as though he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
They both grunted together as Ramon shot his load. He had a feminine squeal to the sound, as pleasure washed up his spine, and his dick spasmed within Thumper’s back. Ramon moaned so loud the nearby cells erupted in laughter and catcalls. A fat wad of jizz spurted into Thumper, a long creamy wave of it that seeped into his guts.
“Wreck that bitch, Thumper! Wreck him!”
“He’s yo’ wife, you ain’t gotta make him feel good! If he still moanin’ like that, it means you ain’t been rammin’ him hard enough.”
That seemed to last forever. Bliss coursed through both men’s veins, and both of them came — Thumper needed only briefly handle his cock to reach his own climax, just as Ramon was shooting the last of his jizz in Thumper’s ass. Thumper sprayed his wad onto the floor, a fat flow of it that came out in spurts and jets.
When at last both men were good and limp, Ramon pulled out and sat back. He sighed. Thumper curled up next to him, and they spooned, Ramon being the outer spoon for the first time in more than two years. Thumper’s body was stiff at first, but he soon relaxed now that he knew he wasn’t going to be caught. He ignored the hooting from the cells next door, and he kissed Ramon on the lips. Ramon exulted in the taste of his own cock and ass on Thumper’s mouth.
“Thanks, sugar, that was special,” Ramon said softly, nibbling on Thumper’s ear. “And don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
Nigel’s new flatmate turns out to be a trashy chav, and Nigel’s not sure how to take it! Luckily he’s a handsome, muscle-bound chav with meat to spare, and Nigel’s gonna have to take it whether he wants it or not!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Nigel became more and more nervous as he settled into the new flat in the Toppenlad Housing Estate. He had been thinking, “oh, it’s not a big deal, I just need a place to live, it’s not a marriage, it’s just a flat”. He didn’t sign a long-term lease, so what did it matter if he didn’t like the cupboard doors? The wallpaper in the toilet was disgusting, but that was hardly worth complaining about, was it?
Now that he was in though, these concerns seemed increasingly important. Could he live with that creepy wallpaper? It looked like a bunch of werewolves who were unaccountably also Italian waiters, watching him sit on the commode. It wasn’t even a bathroom-wallpaper, it was clearly intended for kitchens.
The flat wasn’t a dump… But it was hardly nice, either. Nigel couldn’t put a cosy spin on it. It was in a shitty housing estate. The neighbours were all well chavvy. The furniture was shit. The buzzer was broken, and the way that was explained to him suggested that Nigel should not expect it to ever be fixed. The hot water was inconsistent, one wall was perpetually sodden, the windows were drafty and hadn’t been cleaned in years.
But Nigel couldn’t afford anything more. He was straight-up skint these days. That was the main reason he didn’t move out. There was a grace period in the lease, after all, he could have changed his mind.
Another reason was that his flatmate seemed to be a sterling bloke. He was working class for sure, not that Nigel was classist. The flatmate was tall and broad-jawed, almost noble-looking in a way, if you ignored the tracksuit and the trainers. But he wasn’t a chav at all.
Or at least, he wasn’t a chav at that time. When Nigel talked to him before moving in, he spoke with a definite Essexer accent, but he wasn’t a chav. He had dressed well, like he had an actual job, and even tucked his shirt in. He wore nice trousers. He had shaved that morning, his hair was clean.
That lasted until the first evening. At first, Nigel thought that his flatmate — Connor Muttright — was affecting a chavvy accent as a joke. Nigel even joined in for fun.
It wasn’t until Nigel was about ready for bed and he saw hoodied-up Connor outside with his friends drinking lager from brown paper bags that Nigel realised he had always been a chav. He was no better than any of the other neighbors. He was a wideboy, a yobbo, capable of passing as a normal Englishman for as much time as it took to get Nigel to move in. Now it made sense — Connor had said finding a flatmate was hard. The last person to move in didn’t stick around. That last person must have realised his flatmate was a chav and departed. Connor tricked Nigel into accepting the room by pretending he was a respectable man.
Now he was out there hooting at passersby, whilst Nigel tried to sleep in his new bed. Sleep was hard to come by that night.
Dressed in his Burberry hoodie, Connor returned to the flat a little after midnight, when Nigel was still tossing and turning. Even sober, Connor rampaged like a drunken chav, bumping into furniture and laughing so hard Nigel wondered if he brought a hyena home with him. Finally there was a period of silence, just a few seconds long before it was interrupted by a torrent of coughing.
That was followed by some feminine moans. Had he brought a girl here? No, Nigel realised, the sound was flat, electronic, synthesized. It was porn. He was watching porn, quite possibly on Nigel’s computer. Nigel considered getting up to complain.
But before he could decide whether or not to do that, the door to his room crept open. Connor stood there in the doorway smoking a roll-up — or was it cannabis? It might have been. Nigel didn’t know, it didn’t smell like the tobaco he was familiar with. Nigel’s heart raced — Connor thought he was asleep, and had come in here to watch him slumber? What did he intend to do? This didn’t feel safe. The porn could still be heard through the cheap computer speakers attached to Nigel’s laptop out in the other room.
“Oi,” Connor said, a few times until Nigel lifted his head, pretending to be groggy. Connor’s voice was unnaturally baritone, harsh, syllabic, slightly slurred from lager. “Oi. Orite? Oi!” Connor smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. He was tautly muscled, in a too-small vest that his body was ready to bust out of. His musculature looked painful, like his strength might give up and leave his frame anytime. He sat and took a deep breath, weary from drink. “It’s good you moved in, innit? You crazy baa-sted. Nigel. Niiiii-gel.” That made him laugh, and the sound of his own laughter made it turn into a coarse guffaw, like he thought he was laughing with some other person in the room.
“Uh-huh.” Nigel was too nervous to be offended.
“You is pretty little,” he said. One of his hands gripped Nigel’s arm and squeezed as though searching for biceps. Nigel was a small man, not weak for his size, but trim, slim, not muscled like Connor. Connor’s hands were rough like tarmac. He scoffed. “You should bulk up wiff me and me crew.”
“Oh. Uh… Okay,” Nigel said.
“You got a slag?”
“Not… really.” Nigel didn’t want to explain that he was single by choice, and if he were to date, he would not date a slag. He was waiting to be set up with a proper woman, not a slag, not a chavette. Nigel’s tone communicated, however, that his situation was complicated, that he had a woman who was something less than a girlfriend but more than a female friend. That was not what Nigel intended to convey, but he sensed that that was how Connor took it.
“Hmmm… Bring ‘er ova some’ime,” Connor said.
“I don’t, uh…” Nigel’s voice trailed off because Connor’s heavy hand rested on his shoulder, and Nigel couldn’t tell if Connor was even aware it was there. Nigel wished he was the confident, confrontational kind of man who would tell Connor off.
“I could use a slag, Nigel,” he said. He placed one of his hands on Nigel’s back. He had big hands, heavy and callused so they scratched as he dragged them along the surface of Nigel’s smooth back.
“Oh yeah.”
“You wanna be me mate, innit?”
“Yeah,” Nigel said. That was not exactly true. Nigel had no desire for a chav as a mate, but he certainly didn’t want one as an enemy either. For now, it was best to go along to get along.
“Good, mate,” Connor said. “I think you’ll be a good flatmate.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You know about that tradition we got ’round here, innit? On this estate, on your first night in, you give in.”
“What the bloody hell does that mean?” Nigel didn’t normally curse, but he was both fed up and tired, and he wanted to seem less stuck-up to Connor.
Connor smiled, a cruel mischievous smile that suggested he was making all this up. “I’ll show you,” he said. “Your first night ‘ere, you must… be me bottom. You know… take some dick. Get me off.”
A long, awkward silence filled Nigel’s bedroom. At first he thought he had misheard Connor, then he caught the unmistakeable look on Connor’s face in the dim light that spilled in from the hallway. It was clear he was serious. He truly wanted Nigel to jerk him off, maybe more than that.
And Nigel did want to do it. As a fervent admirer of the male form, he enjoyed Connor’s musculature and the handsome sturdiness of his face. But he found his chavviness and his ill-bred manners offputting.
Nevertheless… The heat emanating from Connor’s powerful body was alluring, and Nigel found his hand touching Connor’s well-muscled back whether he wanted to or not.
“What, really?”
“Yes, really,” Connor said. He took off his flat cap and began to undress. His body swayed as if he was on a boat, but Connor didn’t seem to notice that. He almost fell off the bed when he lifted his vest off over his head.
Nigel gulped nervously. Was this really normal in this estate? Was it a trick? He didn’t know much about chavs beyond what he saw on old episodes of The Jeremy Kyle Show. This didn’t seem like the kind of things the Jeremy Kyle chavs would do, but then, if they did do this — cornholing, jerking off, ramrodding — they would hardly talk about it on Jeremy Kyle.
In any case, Nigel was hardly in a position to lecture Connor about proper chav behavior.
Soon enough, Connor’s muscled body was bare, his trackpants crumpled up on the floor. His tattooed chest rippled, and he licked his teeth as he stood up next to the bed. He let out a lager-scented belch, which made him laugh and that in turn made his cock jiggle. That cock was thick and long, already half-hard because he had started watching porn before coming in Nigel’s room and some of his erection from then remained.
“Connor-?”
“Sssh…” Connor’s hands gripped Nigel’s head and kneaded the skin of his face as though trying to rearrange his features.
Connor’s dick srayed left and right above his head. Nigel was still laying there, in the same position as when he had been pretending to sleep. Now it was all happening so fast. He sat up, moving away from the edge of the bed so he didn’t get bonked on the forehead by Connor’s cock.
“Open up, mate, lemme in there,” Connor said. He pulled his gold chains around backwards, so they were on his back. His dick was thick and gleamed with moisture, either precum or sweat or maybe a bit of both. The smell of unwashed ballsweat filled the air.
Connor hopped up onto the bed and straddled Nigel’s chest with his massive thighs. His balls touched Nigel’s skin, and Nigel gasped. His mouth opened, Connor’s cock sliding right in.
The taste of dickmeat exploded in Nigel’s mouth, all salty and warm, a little grimy, with the sourwater flavour of Special Brew coating it as though Connor had spilled it on himself, despite an ASVO telling him he can’t drink. He was so shocked by what was happening that he just accepted it. Connor’s fat cock pushed into Nigel’s throat, invading his gullet like a fist. Nigel choked and opened as wide as he could.
“Bloody hell, fuck yeah, mate…”
The taste was musky and salty, like he had got precummy when he watching porn and never wiped off — or maybe he’d been with a slag earlier and never cleaned afterwards. In any case, it was foul like an disused shower, and it made Nigel’s stomach churn. Despite the rancidity of the taste, it was alluring too, and Nigel found himself fighting back less and less with every passing moment.
Soon enough, Connor’s member was rock-hard and throbbing. It seemed firmer than Nigel’s ever got, and it was veiny, barbaric, heavier than it looked and thicker than seemed possible. Surely no woman could or would take that in her… no woman would take that in her anywhere.
“Hmmm, mate…” Connor might have attempted to say something more, but that was the only intelligible part to Nigel.
When the taste of precum flooded Nigel, Connor moaned out loud. He even moaned with a chavvy accent, like he was half-laughing at Nigel and half-aroused, with just a touch of angry and aggressive at the same time. His moan was equally one of good-natured humor, a threat of violence and a cry of passion all at once. His dick throbbed all the way down Nigel’s throat, pushing deeper and deeper with every thrust of his body.
His muscles flexed above Nigel’s body. Nigel felt small and weak. He always felt that way, more or less, because he was skinny by nature, even if he was rather athletic as well. He seemed tiny in comparison to Connor, whose body was somehow scrawny yet bulging with powerful muscles. Cheap-looking tattoos decorated his pecs and biceps, but the only one Nigel could make out was a string of barb wire that ran up and down both arms and his torso. A few bits of bloody flesh were tattooed attached to the barbs.
“Taste good, innit bruv?” Connor asked with mocking sincerity, like he would have preferred that Nigel hated it.
But Nigel had to admit he was right, it did taste good, and the more Nigel tasted, the more he wanted to savour the flavour forever. It tasted sweet and sour, with a powerful flavour that made Nigel swoon with desire.
Connor didn’t pull his dick out, so Nigel couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. Connor muttered in his indecipherable chavspeak as his balls slapped against Nigel’s chin.
His dick was veiny, the shaft thick and throbbing. The precum flowed so freely down Nigel’s throat that Nigel wondered if it was normal. His own dick didn’t seem to leak that much precum, but he had never measured it, and it was hard to tell what was precum and what was his own spit.
“Hey, mate… flatmate,” Connor said as he pulled out and thwacked his dick against Nigel’s face. “I’m a bloody nice flatmate, so I’m going to go ram you just like you like it.” He pulled out a jar of lube and motioned for Nigel to roll over. “Lemme see that beautiful arse of yours, innit. You ever been rammed in there? Huh? You ever do some porridge, mate?”
“No…” Nigel said, his voice tremulous. Despite his fear, he did roll over. His arse gleamed in the darkness of his ill-lit room. “I’m, uh… I’ve been rammed, yeah.” He cleared his throat. He didn’t usually admit that even to close friends, and he would never have said so to a thug like Connor if he wasn’t overwhelmed by the passion of the moment.
He grappled Nigel by the hair and lifted his face up. Pain erupted in Nigel’s skull and scalp. Connor forced him to turn his head so they could look each other in the eye. Connor hocked up a loogie as though he was going to spit it in Nigel’s mouth, but then he just spat in the bin next to the bed. “You think I’m a tosser, mate?”
“No… I swear, I don’t,” Nigel said.
“Good. Cuz I will bang you out, mate. I’ll bang you out bloody good,” he said, accentuating that last word, which he pronounced in his chavvy way: guuuud. He rammed his pinkie finger into Nigel’s arse, which sent a bolt of pain up Nigel’s spine, whilst also making his dick twitch with anticipation. Nigel yelped and lifted his arse but submitted to the brief fingering.
Then Connor laid himself down on top of Nigel, who arched his back as soon as he felt that thick cock pressing between his asscheeks. Nigel was acting on instinct now, because a part of him wanted to try this more than he ever wanted anything. It was all he could think about now, and Nigel craved every centimeter of that chavvy manhood inside him.
Nigel gulped and bit his lip. A sharp biting pain began in his backside. Nigel first thought that was pretty tolerable, but then it was followed by a wave of intense pressure. It felt like his arse was ripping in two, and he liked it.
“I’m gonnuh ram you bloody righ’, mate…” Connor said softly, directly into Nigel’s ear. That made Nigel shudder in anticipation, and Connor chuckled. The more this went on, the drunker he sounded and the chavvier was his accent, his tongue seemingly growing too big for his mouth. His breath condensed on Nigel’s nape.
Nigel grunted and bucked, escaping from Connor’s cock — a success he instantly regretted, as the pain had come with a burgeoning pleasure that he now missed. He stopped fighting back so Connor could hold onto his hips tight, keeping him in position. His perky asscheeks jiggled as Connor got the knob lined up again with his hole.
Depsite the pain, Nigel was going to take this entire dick, and he had a feeling he was going to do so again every night.
The more he got rammed, the more sure he was that staying in the flat had been the right decision, Nigel cried out with desire, moaning louder with each thrust of Connor’s hips. Connor kept adding more lube from a tube he must have brought in with him — you know he dates slags if he needs to buy his own lube in an extra-value size. The lube made it easier and easier to take every bit of his massive cockshaft, and besides that, Nigel could feel a burning pit of pleasure that grew steadily stronger from deep within him.
“Oi!”
Nigel stuck his head up. Was Connor talking to him? It sounded like he wasn’t, but there was no one else here, was there? When Nigel tried to turn his head all the way around, the movement caused a surge of pain deep within him. He got far enough to see that Connor had picked up his mobile and either answered it or called someone.
“Yeah, mate. He say what?” Connor stopped moving for a moment. He sounded angry. “We is gonna smack him out, mate. Innit, right? Yeah!”
Then he stopped talking for an extended period. It sounded like he was waiting. He resumed plowing Nigel so hard and so powerfully that Nigel had to bite his lip to avoid crying out with desire again.
The pleasure grew more and more intense, and Nigel had trouble avoiding moaning so loud that whomever Connor spoke to on the phone would hear. Nigel wasn’t even aware that his own cock was rock-hard, throbbing though no one had touched it, and the awe-striking intensity of the sensations within meant Nigel couldn’t bear to move. He didn’t notice the precum leaking out the tip of his knob and soaking the brand-new sheets of his bed.
“Yeah. I’m fuckin’ this bitch, mate. She’s quiet. She’s shy. Don’t wanna talk to you, innit, mate,” Connor said. He smacked Nigel’s arse, which made Nigel let out a high-pitched yelp. It apparently sounded feminine enough to pass as a girl for the person on the other end of the line, and Connor chuckled at the reaction he got. He smacked Nigel’s arse again and again. “Yeah, it’s jigglin’ like a fuckin’ bowl of jelly, innit!”
Connor began grinding his dick as he talked on the phone, moving his hips in circles as though trying to touch every part of Nigel’s insides. He laughed cruelly like he thought he was torturing Nigel and ripping him up inside, but in fact, Nigel loved every moment of it. It was intense enough that he had to lay his head down, and he let out a long, low squeal, which sounded pained enough that Connor apparently didn’t notice that Nigel was enjoying himself.
“Nah, that’s the telly, innit. I’m gonna hang up now, mate. I’m arse-deep in this bitch, and I’m done listenin’ to you. We got a plan, right? You meet me at the corner in twenn’y, and we go beat that muvvahfucka down to the ground!” He paused. “Yeah. Peace.” Then he hung up his cell phone and threw it on the bed next to Nigel. “Sorry about that, mate. Lemme get back to rammin’ you the way you deserve.”
Nigel wanted to tell him to keep going, that he wasn’t upset or scared, that he wanted it to continue forever. But it felt too good to say anything.
Outside the apartment, shouts of oi! erupted as some other crew of chavs met up. Connor leaned over to the bedroom window and opened it without taking his dick out of Nigel.
“Oi! You fuckin’ wankuhs shut up out there!”
“Come out here and make us, bloody pissuh!” One of the other chavs called out from the street.
Connor snarled and sneered. He spat out the window, but he shut it without any further dramatics, even as the chavs outside continued to yell taunts and jeers. Nigel shuddered as he realised this neighborhood was getting chavvier and chavvier by the minute — it had seemed respectable during the day, but with the darkness of dusk, he now realised he had made a mistake. He would have never moved in here if had come by at night.
But it was hard to think about that right now, with his arse chock-full of chavvy cock-meat. He gasped as pre-orgasmic pleasure washed over him, accompanied by Connor’s harsh grunting. Even though Nigel’s dick was untouched, Nigel felt an incredible sensation rocketing through him, like Connor had flicked a switch inside him. Waves of bliss rocked his tender frame.
“Gonna fill you up now, mate… Be a good little flatmate and take it. Don’t move till I’m done,” Connor said, repeating himself a few times, his words getting gradually slower and lower as he neared his own orgasm. “Don’t move, don’t move, mate…”
Finally Nigel felt Connor’s broad muscles rippling as he laid down on Nigel’s back. He was perfectly still there for a moment, his massive, heavy body bearing down on Nigel, who struggled to breathe both from the weight and from the pain and pleasure that roiled within his arse.
Then, just as the first drops of cum sprayed into Nigel, Connor’s hands gripped Nigel’s cock. He gave Nigel one long, slow stroke from root to tip, and he kissed Nigel on the side of the cheek.
“Reacharound, innit? Cuz you is my flatmate, and I treat you orite.”
For some reason, that was enough to send Nigel over the edge, just a bare touch from Connor’s hands wrapped around his cock. He barely noticed the cum pumping into his arse because Nigel had his own sudden, overwhelming orgasm.
He grunted and groaned, just as Connor made a torrent of loud rutting sounds. His utterances were cruder, mean, almost insulting even though they were not real words. Somehow, Nigel knew what he meant. But Nigel was overcome by passion in his own dick, which sprayed cum all over his mattress. The orgasm was almost painful it was so exquisite, so sudden, he had been humping the bed just out of pure instinct as Connor slammed his dick inside him. Nigel’s mind was blinded by the agony in his pained asshole.
At last it was all over. One final jet of cum flew from Nigel’s rod at the same time as a cumwad erupted in his ass, and Connor’s long, chest-rattled groan signaled his orgasm was finished. Nigel moaned and squirmed on the bed as he felt every muscle in Connor’s body go limp atop him. Nigel bit the pillow beneath his face.
“Ah, that was pretty good, mate,” Connor said. “Gonna teach you to be a chav. How do you think about that?”
Nigel was too dazed to think about his words, his pain was still intense because Connor’s cock was still half-hard inside him. He shrugged. “Okay.”
“Can you say oi?”
“Oi.”
“Nah. Say it with emphasis, with balls. Say it like you mean it, bruv.”
“Oi.”
“No.”
“Oi!”
“Closer. Say it a couple times.”
“Oi! Oi! Oi!”
“Yeah! There you go,” Connor said. He laughed right into Nigel’s ear, then pulled his now-limp cock out. Nigel shuddered as intense relief flooded his body. He felt like he could think now for the first time since Connor had come into his room. Connor patted Nigel’s bare arse. “Thanks,” he said. “You’re a good flatmate. I’m gonnuh like sharing this place with you very much.”
“Yeah,” Nigel said with a grin. “Me too. I’m glad I moved in here… bruv.”
He watched Connor get up and put his clothes on to go meet his friends. They were going to go beat someone up, Nigel realised with a nervous shudder. Connor put on his trackpants and wifebeater. He walked out without another word.
When Antonov gets arrested by the dreaded KGB, he didn’t know what he was in for. If he’s going to get out of this alive, he’ll have to do whatever Agent Gromov demands of him. Can Antonov make it?!
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A part of Antonov was glad that he was arrested. Of course another part was scared, but he had always known it was a possibility. It wasn’t a bad thing. It might bring a lot of attention to the cause, and it definitely signaled to the media that this was a real movement.
But Antonov wished that everyone got arrested, not just him.
At the time, it seemed great that Antonov was the only one who got arrested. It made him seem like the most serious activist, the one who would get the credit when or if this eventually worked. The police of Moscow were notoriously cruel, but he could handle a few weeks in prison. He was glad to do it to prove his devotion to the cause of spreading democracy in Russia.
Before his arrest, the protest went about as well as Antonov could have hoped. A lot of people showed up, and Antonov caused a big scene that got him arrested in front of all the television cameras. That made him seem like a big player in the movement now. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was offered an organizing job by one of the international organizations that had helped to set up the protest.
The adrenaline in his veins only died down when Antonov was led away from the police station proper and into a small, unmarked building next door to it. There, he was handcuffed to a chair in a large open office area. It was windowless, crowded with plainclothes men smoking cigarettes, and it stank of sweat and fear. Rowdy conversation dominated at the desks and in the conference rooms attached to the precinct floor.
On one side of the room, burly, hairy men in handcuffs were led into the jail that was near Antonov. From his vantage point, he could see down the hall and into the rows of cells when the door to the jail opened. In there, men sobbed out loud, and the sound of someone vomiting echoed out into the police station. There was the occasional sound of flesh on flesh — a fight, most likely, which none of the officers here seemed eager to stop. He shuddered in fear.
I shouldn’t have been so confident. The Moscow police aren’t just cruel and strict. They’re corrupt. They hurt people just to send a message to others.
Antonov gulped. That was one of the reasons he shouldn’t have been happy to be the only protester arrested — if lots of them had been arrested, the chances that any one would be beaten up to set an example for the others was minimal. If it was just Antonov, then they were going to treat him the way they wanted the protesters to fear they would be treated if arrested.
That’s when Antonov saw the sign on the door next to the one leading to the jail. He had to crane his head around to read it: ‘agents of the KGP only’ was printed in neat Cyrilic on the frosted door window. It surely didn’t mean anything that they handcuffed him to a chair near the KGP office.
His dread grew as he became more and more suspicious that he was indeed placed near the KGB door because that was where he was going, whenever they were ready. He watched the other officers bring men in, process them and take them into the jail in just a few minutes, and doing so did not involve handcuffing them to a chair.
So why was Antonov placed here?
His dread turned into quakes of fear when a man in a fine suit came out from the KGB door. He undid the handcuffs attaching Antonov to the chair, and he motioned, with a dour, flat face, for Antonov to come with him.
Stonefacing the best he could, Antonov followed instructions. He followed the officer — Gromov — into the KGP officer, where a dozen or so other men stood around as though they were waiting for Antonov. Antonov avoided eye contact with all of them.
The officer Gromov asked Antonov a litany of basic questions: name, birthdate, birthplace, how did you come to Moscow today? Antonov did not asnwer any of them aside from his name and birthdate. That was all they needed to know.
“Do you have any money?” asked Officer Gromov. “You have been assessed a fine for disorderly conduct and for acting in an inappropriate way in public. You have brought shame upon this country. So we are charging you a fine.” He and the others snickered, suggesting this fine was really a bribe. Officer Gromov would keep it all for himself. “You must pay it to me. Now.”
Antonov shook his head. “No way. I am a prisoner of conscience-“
“I do not care about that. You have a fine to pay. If you are too much of a deadbeat to pay now, you must have to work it off,” Officer Gromov said. His face remained stony, his broadly muscled body looming above and in front of Antonov. He unzipped the slacks of his suit, and he withdrew from the fly a fat uncircumcised cock. “Go on, put your mouth upon it,” Officer Gromov said.
“Protest that, weakling!”
Antonov shook his head. He didn’t think he could bring himself to taste a dick no matter what. He pursed his lips closed. Tears welled up in his eyes, but Antonov tried not to cry. He hoped the officers didn’t notice.
“Make him into your bitch, Gromov!” Someone threw a pair of dirty shoes at Antonov, old ragged shoes like they had been confiscated off a hobo . Antonov blushed and tried not to look at the other officers. He told himself he just needed to get out of this with Gromov. Ignore the others.
It was hard to ignore the pit of humiliation burning within though.
Officer Gromov smiled at him, and he laughed with the other KGB officers. That made Gromov’s cock jiggle and sway afront Antonov’s face.
The other officers scattered around the room leaned back in their seats and smoked their cigarettes, which filled the air with a haze and the bitter smell of imported tobacco. Antonov realized with a jolt of fear that they were expecting a show — they wanted Gromov to entertain them by making Antonov put his mouth on Gromov’s ugly, barbaric, veiny cock, which was bigger than any dick Antonov had ever seen. It was long and fleshy, and Gromov waved it around in front of Antonov’s face. It smelled like funk and sweat and semen and piss, and Antonov gagged at the thought of putting it in his mouth.
“You will not swallow it?”
“No way!” Antonov shouted. “I have the right to protest. You aren’t allowed to do this to me! I’m not your pussy!” He felt sure this would get him some respect — maybe they were just doing this as a test. Maybe he could earn Gromov’s respect by refusing to give in.
But the other officers sneered at him as though they had expected him to open up, and they peppered him with jeers and old sandwich wrappers from the garbage cans by their desks.
“You will be a pussy! You will be my pussy!” shouted Officer Gromov. He nodded for two younger KGB officers to come forward, and they took Antonov by the handcuffed arms and threw him against a wall. Antonov’s head collided with the wall, sending an onrush of pain down his body. He was dizzy, and he staggered back.
“Please, stop!” Antonov couldn’t believe this. He was supposed to be a martyr for the cause — he had expected to spend time in prison, not… this. Nobody would respect him for being arrested if it led to him being less of a man, being treated as Gromov’s whore.
Officer Gromov smiled as he played with his dick between his fingers. It was so big and meaty enough it almost hurt when he flopped it against Antonov’s face. Antonov realized that that must have been why these KGB officers had Officer Gromov do this — he had a huge cock. They had chosen the horse-cocked cop to teach a lesson to Antonov, who shook as he fought against his attackers.
“Make him your bitch!”
One of the KGB officers got behind Antonov and pinned his limbs, while the other gripped his nostrils until he couldn’t help but open his mouth. Then at least two KGB officers gripped his chin and cheeks, forcing his jaws apart. Tears streamed from Antonov’s eyes as Officer Gromov flopped his big uncut dick in front of Antonov’s face.
“Will you bite me? If you bite me, I will gut you like a dog,” Officer Gromov said. His beard jiggled as he spoke, and he licked his lips.
“Woof! Woof!” The other cops were acting like dogs now, on all fours and barking, growling, pawing at him like a feral canine.
“Yes! I’ll bite you, I don’t care what you do!” Antonov shouted out of pure instinct. Since his mouth was propped open, however, none of his words were clearly intelligible. Officer Gromov and the others seemed to get the gist of it though.
“I guess we’ll need to get the device,” Officer Gromov said with a laugh.
“The device! The face-rammer! The bitch-maker!”
Officer Gromov grinned at Antonov’s sweaty, reddened face, on which he wiped his greasy cockshaft. He didn’t seem to mind touching Antonov’s scruffy beard, as he wiped his dick over Antonov’s lips and cheeks. He didn’t stick it in, however, until another officer returned with a primitive looking dental device. They shoved it in his mouth, and sharp pincers prevented him from closing his mouth all the way. It was arduously painful, and it made Antonov choke.
As his jaw opened, the device didn’t let it close, so the more Antonov struggled, the more it hurt. Eventually he could do nothing but fall limp. It felt like his jaw was on the verge of shattering, and Antonov didn’t want to fight back for fear of actually breaking it.
“Open it!”
“Pay that fine, bitch!”
“If you can not pay me, you will be my oral bitch, my mouth slut,” Officer Gromov said with a sneer. He flexed his biceps beneath his tight-fitting suit. He spat into Antonov’s open mouth, dark eyes drilling into Antonov’s — he tried to close his eyes, but they pinched his nipples until he opened them. “Look me in the eye when I pluck your manhood.”
His dick pushed right past Antonov’s lips, and when Antonov tasted the sweaty, coppery taste, he gagged profusely. He sputtered, unable to even spit because of all the KGB officers holding him down and the device keeping his mouth open.
That meant that the fluids generated by Officer Gromov’s throating splashed and frothed, spilling over the sides of Antonov’s lips and coating his face. Antonov retched loudly with each stab of Officer Gromov’s massive meat down his gullet.
“Make him your bitch! Make him your cockpig!”
The taste was even worse than Antonov had thought it would be. It was like an old gym sock that had both stale and fresh sweat soaked into it. The flavor of precum was even worse, salty and sour. It made Antonov’s throat cringe.
“See what this is? This is a deadbeat. This is how we treat deadbeats.”
Antonov couldn’t see who said that, but he could hear a wave of rough, lower-class men bursting into a mix of laughter, rage and terror. The officers must have brought other criminals into this room. His eyes were blinded by the spit the officers kept plopping onto his face, but he could tell they were using him as a lesson for other criminals. He was being used this way to scare others into paying their fines — or their bribes, or both, as it often seemed there was no difference between a fine and a bribe in Soviet Russia.
Officer Gromov pumped his hips, slamming his cock into the back of Antonov’s throat. He cackled as Antonov choked.
“You’re no man anymore,” Officer Gromov said, and the other KGB officers laughed along with him.
“Choke on it, weakling!”
Then he gripped Antonov by the hair and violently throated him, with no pause — he slammed his hips in, grinding his dick deep into Antonov’s throat like he wanted to make Antonov retch as violently as possible. A painful wretch escaped from Antonov’s mouth. He choked and sputtered. His balls slammed against Antonov’s beard, leaving a layer of filthy sweat and sac-hairs clinging to Antonov’s furry chin.
“Fine, I’ll pay! I’ll pay! I’ll pay both fines!”
The other criminals were falling all over themselves to pay up now. Antonov could hear the KGB officers laughing at it as they collected money. Antonov realized then that he wasn’t even blocked from view from the outside. Anyone who walked by the building and looked through the window would be able to see that something was happening. They wouldn’t be able to see Antonov’s face easily, but they might have figured out who it was.
In any case, with a dozen KGB agents and probably just as many criminals and local cops, somebody was no doubt going to identify Antonov. Everybody was going to know about this, and Antonov would never be able to live it down. He thought he would never feel clean again.
His nose pressed into Officer Gromov’s hairy crotch. It stank and Antonov’s lungs cried out for air. He writhed, trying to escape the grip of the KGB officers holding him down — he was surprised to see that they didn’t care about getting Officer Gromov’s precum onto them. Great wads of spit and precum plopped out of Antonov’s mouth over and over, landing on the other KGB officers’s hands, arms, chest and even face — none of them seemed to notice. All they cared about was making sure Antonov swallowed every inch of rampaging dickmeat.
When Officer Gromov finally pulled his cock out and even took that device off so Antonov could breathe, all Antonov could do was cough up a slimy ball of spit that landed on the ground. Then his whole body undulated as he gagged up again and again, until his throat was sore. The onlookers — police officers, KGB agents and arrested criminals alike — all laughed and shouted jeers, but Antonov didn’t hear their words. His attention was focused on his cringing humiliation and the suffocating agony in his chest.
“Beg him, boy! Beg him to go easy on you!”
Through his tear-clouded eyes, Antonov saw that there was a criminal snickering as he walked past Antonov. A bunch more waited to be processed, or they might have even been recent releasees who were invited to watch Antonov’s ruination. They all looked at him like they both pitied and despised him, like a stray dog they were about to beat to death.
“You deadbeat, you can not pay your fines,” Officer Gromov said, for the benefit of the criminals — so they’d know how to avoid this same fate. He clucked his tongue against his teeth and flopped his rock-hard cock onto Antonov’s face. “Kiss it.”
Antonov blushed but did as he was told. He kissed the cockshaft on his face, which made him gag in both disgust and humiliation. He felt it pulsating with his tongue on the veiny shaft.
Then at Officer Gromov’s direction, Antonov said through his gasps and tears, “Your cock… is superior… to mine. I worship your meat, Officer Gromov… I will never disobey your cock!”
“Filthy bitch! Disgusting pitiful little maggot!”
Then, with Antonov still heaving for air, Officer Gromov pried his mouth apart again. The other KGB officers held Antonov’s squirming body down until he could not resist parting his lips once again. Every fiber of Antonov’s being told him to fight.
But he could do little more than writhe. He wanted to bite down, but he wasn’t sure he could even do that with men holding his mouth open — in any case, he knew the punishment would be severe and would almost certainly end in his death. The dental device was on the floor now, but Antonov knew he wouldn’t bite. After losing any respect he might have had, there was no point in fighting back now. They’d beat him, and Antonov would still be known as a man’s bitch.
So he just submitted. He opened his mouth as wide as it could go, and he sobbed as that salty rod of meat pushed down his throat again. He loudly gagged, which made the KGB officers all cheer. One of them even scooped up all the spit and precum that dripped off Antonov’s chin and smeared it over Antonov’s face.
“Open your eyes,” Officer Gromov barked. He didn’t give Antonov a chance to do it, he simply pulled Antonov’s eyelids apart. “I want to see your manhood drain away as I fill it up with my cum.” He laughed and spat on Antonov, again and again, plopping huge stinky loogeys all over Antonov’s sobbing face.
Antonov’s head swam after Officer Gromov punched him in the gut. He was too dizzy to resist as he was led to a table in the center of the KGB office. A bunch of intake papers were shoved off the table and onto the floor, while Antonov’s pants were torn down.
That left his ass bare.
“You will be pussy, bitch!”
“Make him your whore!”
“No!” Antonov screamed and panted, desperate for oxygen now that his mouth was empty. But he couldn’t bare to have his asshole rammed, he thought. He’d rather kill himself. “Please, don’t! I have a wife, and sons!”
“Your sons will have no father,” Officer Gromov said. He lifted Antonov’s feet in the air, baring his cheeks and forcing them apart. “Just a bitch for a second mother.”
“They will weep to be sired by such a bitch! We will make sure they know! We will make sure your neighbors know!”
Then a flood of pain hit Antonov’s ass as Officer Gromov’s cock pushed into him. Antonov screamed so loud it could be heard throughout the building, and the inmates there, those who weren’t brought to watch, variously either shivered in fear or stood with great interest to see if they could catch a glimpse of the ramrodding in-progress. They all knew the kinds of things the KGB did to protesters.
His dick tore and ripped into Antonov’s ass, and Antonov squirmed beneath the muscular, uniformed arms of the other officers. More and more KGB officers had come to watch, and now the hallway was choked with men in suits and police uniforms, leering and screaming, some of them even masturbating as they watched.
“Ram him! Ram him, Gromov! Make him your bitch!”
“You like that cock? You want to protest that? Protest away, bitch!”
All of a sudden another wad of cum appeared on Antonov’s face, then another. He couldn’t believe they were masturbating — how could they get off on watching this? Not even participating, but just watching?
But he couldn’t form any words even if his mouth wasn’t choked with cumwads. It was thick and creamy like boogers, and Antonov thought there might be mucus from someone’s nose in the mix. He couldn’t see anyway, and all he could hear was his own sobs. The KGB officers around him formed a circle, dicks in hand, those who hadn’t cum yet.
None of them had dicks as long or as thick as Officer Gromov, but they were mostly pretty big. One by one they popped off, filling his open mouth with their humiliated wads of cream. Each load they sprayed over Antonov’s mouth and cheeks tasted even worse than the last.
“Destroy him! Cover him with so much cum his mother won’t recognize him!”
“Your wife will never have respect for you now!”
Finally Officer Gromov held up his hand for silence. The other KGB officers gradually fell silent, and they smiled as Officer Gromov groaned.
“I am ready to pluck his manhood,” Officer Gromov said with a groan. “He is my pussy now.”
Even the watching inmates were quiet, watching with hushed expressions and grim faces. The only sound was Officer Gromov’s moist humping, the gurgling sound made by his massive prick sliding into Antonov’s tight hole. A wave of pain and intense pressure rocked him, and Antonov squirmed in shame all over again. He could feel the humiliation on his body like the layer of saliva (both his own and the KGB officers’s) that covered his skin. That thin mask of fluids crawled like foul bugs, the nastiness seeping into his skin.
Then a spurt of hot cum hit Antonov, who was flush and covered in tears. A fresh sob erupted deep within him, and Antonov tried to bury his cum-streaked face. But the KGB officers didn’t let him — they made him keep his face bare so everyone who watched this on video would know who it was.
“We will put this on the Internet, so everyone who was at that protest will know what happens when we see them again. We will arrest everyone and treat them like you. We do not tolerate lawbreaking, and we do not tolerate deadbeats.”
“Take my nut, bitch!” Officer Gromov barked, making Antonov squeal, squirm and clench down hard on his asshole. Gromov moaned, his massive muscles flexing and relaxing, back and forth with such intensity it seemed he might break the stitching on his too-tight uniform. His cock rammed in and out of Antonov’s with long, powerful strokes.
The cum filled Antonov up inside. It was hot and sticky, and Antonov thought he would forever feel it within him. Officer Gromov waited until his cock had spewed every drop of cum and started growing limp then let it flop out. A big frothy ball of cum slipped out at the same time.
“You’re going to taste your own whorishness. Bitch.”
Officer Gromov grabbed that ass-slime and cum mixture with his fingers. He groaned at how disgusting it was, but wiped it off on Antonov’s face as the other KGB officers cheered. By then Antonov’s mouth was inured to the foul flavor, or maybe it tasted so similar to the body fluids already on his face that Antonov didn’t taste it too much. He slathered his tongue up and down Gromov’s sensitive cockshaft, slurping up the jizz and assjuice that clung to it.
Then they all just walked away. They left Antonov there on the table, his body sore, blushing as the inmates chanted insults at him. He stood on wobbly legs.
Had they just abandoned him? Maybe they considered the ramming to be punishment enough, he thought. He hadn’t paid the fine, so they rammed him and now he could go. Maybe, he thought, I should leave the country. I could go to Britain. No one will judge me for this there.
But when he recovered enough to look up, Officer Gromov was there with his arms crossed over his chest. He pointed to the door to the jail.
“What are you doing? You go in there, bitch.”
“What?”
“You owe a fine. You will live in the jail and get rammed by anyone who wants to. They will pay you money if they feel you deserve it. Once you make enough to pay off your fine, we will let you go,” he said. “But you will also have to pay for food and water. So you had better start making money.”
Antonov wept. “Please… won’t you pay…?”
“Me? No,” he said. “I do not pay, not unless you were very good at being my pussy. And you were not. You will must practice.”
Antonov cried as he returned to the jail. He wanted to get back to his family — assuming they would not reject him — and to get to the United Kingdom, so that meant he was going to need to start making some money.
First things first, he thought, I need to figure out which of the inmates in here might have some money. Then I can get paid. He trembled as he tried to clean his face off. His throat was sore, but no matter. It was only good for one thing now.
Davy is the biggest linebacker on the football team, and he’s too big for most women… That means he’s just perfect for Bart! Bart loves big bellies, big guys and big meat! Can Davy satisfy his expansive needs?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
“C’mon, man…” Zack pleaded. His dimples were maddening though. Davy Mitchell hated Zack’s dimples and his handsome face. Every moment he was near Zack, he got angrier. He wanted to punch Zack into the dirt.
Of course he couldn’t do that. But he had other plans that would feel almost as good, he thought.
Zack Beauchamp was a freshman and a backup lineman. He would be taking Davy’s place when Davy graduated this year. Zack was younger than Davy. He was smaller, more handsome, cleaner, smarter, more articulate and more charismatic. He had a normal voice. He was majoring in a real subject, math, and he did all of his own work.
In contrast, Davy had an Asian nerd do his homework, even the ultra-simple coursework from his communications-major classes — he could do that. Communications assignments tended to be things like “find a YouTube video of a person communicating and write four sentences about it” — dummy work. Davy could do that. He was not a retard.
But football practice took so much time. How did Zack find the time to go to practice and learn math? Davy felt like he didn’t have enough time to write four sentences about a YouTube video. Hell, Davy felt like there weren’t enough hours in the day to shower and shave and eat eight thousand calories.
And Zack did math?!?!?!
Davy did need help for some of his academic work, because he wasn’t a good student. Math was hard. English was easy, but writing essays took forever. History was too much memorization. Science was hard, plus you had to go to labs and that took a lot of time. Davy was glad no one took attendance for him, and his Asian tutor was prompt and reliable.
But he had noticed and been hurt by the fact that his coaches never once asked if Davy could do the work on his own — they simply assumed he needed a tutor to cheat for him. They didn’t even think he could do communications on his own, and that was just basic speaking and writing. A smart parrot could earn a communications degree.
Ultra-handsome Zack could probably earn a communications degree in a weekend.
Zack was good at math; he actually liked math. Davy thought that was preposterous. He had thought it was a joke when Zack said it. He didn’t even really realize it was allowed for a football player to take real classes and do the work.
How the fuck do you enjoy math? It’s just numbers!
Davy hated Zack, who always had a girlfriend even though he was Christian and didn’t have sex. He was blond and he had blue eyes, and girls loved him. He didn’t even have a very big dick — it wasn’t small enough that Davy could really make fun of him for it, but it was hardly large, not like Davy’s horse-like slab of meat, which would have reached his knees if Davy were an average height. Zack was just a perfect specimen of man, seemingly constructed to please women — the opposite of Davy, who was also a perfect specimen of man in his own way, a way that turned women off and sent them running… into Zack’s well-toned — but not bulky — arms.
“No way, get down on your knees,” Davy said. He crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating his plump pectoral muscles.
Zack blushed as the other seniors laughed. They played along because Davy was a senior like them, but they all liked Zack. They felt sorry for him. Davy didn’t. Zack sunk to his knees in front of Davy, who wore only a jockstrap — everyone in the room wore only their jockstrap, because they were hazing the freshmen.
Davy’s ball-hairs barely fit in the jockstrap, and they jutted out, making him look like a sasquatch who had been stuffed into some ill-fitting human underwear. He didn’t wear the fashionable, colored jockstrap that some of his teammates wore — including Zack, who had a pink jockstrap on — pink — that’s right, pink — and apparently the girls liked it for some reason; pink had become fashionable and no one told Davy, who had teased Zack for his jockstrap a month ago only for his teammates to tell him that rappers wore pink underwear now. “It’s a thing these days,” they said.
Davy had scowled. He’d been looking for a chance to humiliate Zack since then. He wished he was from an earlier era, he thought, when masculinity was more simple.
Zack wanted to come to the Kappa Kappa Pi party tonight, but it was only for upperclassmen. Zack said he was in love with a girl who would be there. Davy hated him so much. Team tradition dictated that any player, including Davy, could veto a freshman’s party invitation. Even if Zack were cool, Davy might have refused an invite for Zack, as that way the party would have a better ratio of females to males. It made sense to reduce the cock-count.
But Davy knew he wasn’t going to get laid regardless. The girls would squeal at his size and laugh at his jokes and say he was so cool, but then they’d all go upstairs with the handsome players. Davy was fun to tease, but not to fuck.
“I… I promise I won’t flirt with any girl, Davy. I swear. I have a girlfriend.” He sniffled. “Please, c’mon, man.”
Davy shook his head. “No way, bitch. You wanna come to the party? Get ready for tea!”
His teammates laughed and clapped to cover up their anxiety when Davy dropped his jockstrap. His foot-long dick flopped out, and those massive balls dangled. Davy jogged in place a little, making his cock and balls jiggle right in front of Zack’s face.
“Lean your head back and open up-“
“Ew, c’mon… at least take a shower first,” Zack said, his cheeks turning bright red.
Davy blushed too, because his teammates laughed at his naked body. They showered together all the time, of course, it wasn’t abnormal to see each other’s dick. It was unusual, however, for only one of them to be naked at a time though, and anywhere other than the locker room. That didn’t happen a lot.
But Davy decided to lean into it. That was what he had always done when people teased him. He pretended it didn’t bother him, that he was deliberately cultivating it. He hadn’t showered today. He stretched like he was going to work out, jogging in place with a big goofy grin. “Gotta get myself nice and sweaty,” he said as he jogged.
As he moved around and stretched, Davy turned around and bent over, pretending to be stretching his legs and his back. It had the effect of making his big hairy asscheeks spread right in front of Zack’s face.
“Ah, nasty!”
“Stick ya tongue in there, Zack!”
The teammates roared their laughter, applauding and shoving Zack’s face towards Davy’s ass. His thick kinky black hairs were plastered to his flesh. He was so tall that he had to lower his ass quite a bit, kneeling awkwardly, to get his cheeks right in front of Zack’s face.
Zack blushed and looked away. He looked like he was considering leaving — he didn’t need to do this, after all. But his girlfriend wanted to come to this party, and he had promised her an invite.
Blushing intensely, Zack nodded. He closed his eyes. He thought this wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t looking. He also didn’t want to admit how big Davy’s cock was. He winced as he felt Davy’s massive body approaching. Zack snuck a peak just in time to see those low-hanging balls drop right into his open mouth.
“Ew, nasty!”
“Teabag him!”
“Drink that ball-sweat, freshman!”
The other seniors laughed and slapped Davy’s asscheeks because that made more sweat trickle down into Zack’s throat. They all winced when they touched him because they were intimidated by his size, and a little grossed out by the sweat dripping from his hairy ass. Zack cringed and wiggled like he was trying to escape. There seemed to be an infinite amount of scrotum flesh filling up his mouth. It coated his tongue with hairy, salty sweat, and it made him gag loudly. He retched. His stomach twisted. Above his face, Davy’s strapping muscles all tensed at once as he wiggled his dick, making it drag over Zack’s nose.
“Ah, shit…” Davy was still soft, of course, but he moaned as though he was about ready to cum. He even gave his dick one long strong to make sure everyone on the team knew how big it was. It was the one aspect of his big body that he could really show off — not to girls, of course, but at least he could ensure his teammates knew he had a bigger dick than any of them.
His cock and balls flopped over Zack’s retching face. Davy took a deep breath. “Lick my balls, punk!” He guffawed, his big barrel voice echoing against the walls.
Then, at last, Davy pulled away. He cackled and danced around the room, his heaviness making the floor creak and the shelves vibrate until an empty beer bottle toppled over. His cock jiggled up and down along with his belly, which shifted like a sac of potatoes dangling in front of his chest.
For some reason, Davy pulling his balls out of Zack’s mouth made the taste worse. A gritty salty texture coated Zack’s tongue. He thought he might never taste anything else again. He gagged furiously, his face bright red.
“Zack’s a bitch now-“
“How’s them balls taste, boy? You wanna taste some more?”
“Zack’s the new team ball-boy!”
Zack blushed. He had always been the sexiest guy in high school, the one all the girls had a crush on. He was more popular than the quarterback. He hadn’t taken well to being a mere freshman and a second-stringer, especially while a big dumb loser like Davy was a star. He wasn’t used to being teased or hazed — he was always on the other side of that equation. Zack’s blood boiled.
“Hey, fuck you, dumbass! You’re a fucking retard, Davy. There’s no reason for you to go to the party cuz no girls will ever mess with you and your hairy ass!” Zack said, his face turning red.
The laughter and jeers stopped. The fun hazing atmosphere of the room died. Davy glared at Zack.
“What’d you say to me, you little punk?!” Davy shouted. His voice was so deep it rattled the windows and made everyone in the house, even the freshmen downstairs, fall quiet. Davy grabbed his horse-dick and waved it in Zack’s direction.
Before either of them could say anything else, however, the quarterback Jimmy (and team captain) stepped in between them. “Zack!” he barked. “Get downstairs! You have to respect the seniors, freshman. That’s a rule. Davy might be an ugly sonofabitch, but he’s still a senior.” He paused. “And you’re not allowed to call anyone retarded, except actual retards — I mean, not anyone, not even them. That’s a rule. You can get kicked out of the whole university-“
“Fine, fuck you! I don’t need your stupid party!” Zack screamed. He stormed out of the room and out of the house, cursing himself — why had he gone through with it if he was just going to stay away from the party anyway? He had only licked Davy’s balls because that was the price of going to the party.
The room was quiet for a moment. Everyone looked at Davy, who blushed. He didn’t want to be naked right now, but he didn’t want to look vulnerable by putting his jockstrap back on. The fact that he was the only one in the room with a lot of chest hair — which had gone well over into his back now, since he stopped shaving his chest and there was no one in his life who would help him shave his back — and the only one who didn’t have a six-pack seemed glaringly obvious right now.
“I do get laid,” Davy said. He didn’t intend to sound defensive, but he winced as the other seniors snickered. They must have been more aware than Davy thought that he didn’t have sex very often. Davy frowned. “Look… Girls do dig me. He don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Yeah, sure, Davy, we know,” Jimmy said with that charming grin of his. “Zack’s not allowed to be disrespectful like that anyway. He’s a little puke.”
“Yeah, you’re a tough guy, Davy, we know girls aren’t so into that-“
“We should get Davy laid! Hey, remember that fat chick at the Wendy’s? Who’s got her number? She had a nice ass, and she was like six and a half feet tall-“
The door opened, and Bart walked into the Kappa Kappa Pi house. The seniors in their jockstraps all furrowed their brow. None of them had ever seen Bart before. Davy smiled at him.
The others were all shocked that Davy was naked and seemingly unembarrassed about it. Bart smirked and waved his limp-wristed hand at Davy.
“Who’re you?”
“Hey, man, uh, sir, this is… How’d you get in the house? Who are you?” Jimmy was the team captain, and the “responsible” one, so he addressed Bart.
“I teleported in,” Bart said with a giggle. He gently pushed Jimmy out of the way with his limp wrist. He approached Davy. “I’m here to service this amazing slab of manhood. Evidently the girls around here don’t know what to do with him. You’d think college girls would be smarter than that, but I guess they don’t teach classes in manhandling meat. I blame the liberals.” Bart glanced at Jimmy’s crotch as he walked by. “You’ve got a nice dick, Jimmy. But it’s a little small for me.” The other players chuckled as Jimmy blushed. Bart grabbed Davy’s thick meat and stroked it. “This is more like it.”
Davy put his arms on his waist and sniffled. “Yeah, man, y’all don’t even know. Real men get their dick wet, y’know, and-“
The other players erupted in laughter. Someone slapped Davy’s ass. He blushed intensely and closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was going to get off with another man, especially in front of his teammates. But Bart had appeared at the perfect moment — no one would remember the freshman being a moron and calling Davy out on being poor with women; they would only remember how the guy said Bart’s dick was too small for him and said that only Davy was horse-cocked enough.
And he wasn’t even going to have to deal with Zack at the party either.
“Holy shit, is he doing it?”
“Davy! Davy! Do the Gravy-Boat, man!”
The Gravy-Boat was a dance that Davy did in the endzone sometimes — he didn’t score often, so it didn’t happen too much. He blushed as Bart dropped to his knees in front of him and nodded. Bart had seen the Gravy-Boat before, but he enjoyed the idea of watching it from up close and personal.
Davy blushed. He had never intended for the “Gravy-Boat” to be a thing. He was just trying to impress a girl when he came up with it, though she had only laughed at him — why was it, he thought, that when a dimpled man dances in the endzone, girls think it’s sexy? When Davy did it, girls thought it was hilarious, not sexy, while those very same hot dudes made jokes about Davy causing an earthquake.
It was barely even a dance. He just leaned forward and wiggled his ass, then leaned back and wiggled his ass, then back and forth a few more times. Since he was naked and Bart was right in front of him, Davy waggled his sweaty cock and balls in front of Bart’s face, then turned around and shook his hairy ass in front of his face. Bart watched studiously as though it was an informative documentary.
“Gravy-Boat! Gravy-Boat!”
The other players laughed more loudly than was really appropriate — they were nervous about the stranger seemingly ready to jack Davy off. A few of them even left the room, not wanting to watch; the remainder told themselves and each other they didn’t want to watch, but didn’t want to seem so squeamish as to leave.
Davy stopped dancing, too embarrassed to continue. His face was like a hairy, stupid-looking cranberry, which made Bart laugh. The room fell silent and awkward, and Bart was about to swallow Davy’s dick in front of all these jocks.
But then George Hill pushed through — he was a wide receiver, and he also had a huge cock like Davy’s. He had his jockstrap down just enough to bare his dick, which was uncut and fleshy. He flopped it between his fingers, running past Bart.
“Dicktap!” he screamed.
He thwacked his dick against Davy’s shaft and his balls, hard enough to make Davy oomph and pull away. Davy cried out, “shit, man, ow!” He said more but the team erupted in laughter and applause, drowning out Davy’s breathless howls of pain. They clapped George on the shoulder as he stepped back.
This was a game that had become popular at GHU over the last couple years, among the athletes, especially on the football team. It was called Dicktap. The “game” was to simply hit someone else’s cock and balls (mainly the balls, since it hurt) with your own cock. It wasn’t really much of a game, but Bart enjoyed watching it as the other players all started trying to get a dicktap on George, who danced away and out of the room. It was traditional to only dicktap the person who had previously dicktapped you (so Bart didn’t know how the tradition had begun in the first place).
“C’m’ere, George, I’ll knock your dick clean off!”
“George’s dick really hurts, that’s not fair!”
Bart took advantage of the confusion to get started. Davy loomed overhead, momentarily distracted by the fading pain in his balls and by the commotion from the other players. Bart took his dick in hand and stroked it. Again Davy didn’t seem to notice, not right away. A lot was going on all at once, and his teammates kept bumping into him as they chased George out of the room.
Then Bart swallowed his dick, and Davy couldn’t help but notice that. He grunted. He didn’t mean to be loud, but that voice like an idling eighteen-wheeler made it so loud that everyone fell silent.
The remaining players (a dozen or so) all turned to face Davy, whose face remained a bright red though he tried to look confident and not nervous. His dick was limp still, but throbbing. Bart could sense the erection bubbling up inside him.
“Shit, he’s really doing it…”
“Davy’s crazy!”
“That’s so nasty!”
Davy grumbled. His mouth creaked open amid an assortment of sarcastic snickers and patronizing chuckles. His cock twitched and jerked in Bart’s mouth. Bart wanted to impress the others, so now that they were paying close attention, he slammed his head all the way down. He deep-throated Davy in one smooth motion.
A spine-tingling moan filled the air. Davy leaned against the wall and gripped it tightly, his fingers turning white. He closed his eyes once more, then thought that made him look weak. He shouldn’t look embarrassed, he decided, he should look like this was no big deal and he did this all the time, like it was the others who were weird for not having ever done it.
“Fuck, that’s nasty! He’s deep-throating Davy!”
“He’s doing it!”
His cock was rock-hard now, and its size couldn’t be ignored. None of the players mentioned how big it was though, because none of them wanted to acknowledge that it was bigger than their own dicks. Even when they played Dicktap, no one ever acknowledged differences in cock-size. It was an unwritten rule of jock life: pretend you’ve never looked at anyone’s cock before.
Precum flowed down Davy’s shaft and coated Bart’s face and tongue. He kept deep-throating, even as his lungs cried out for oxygen and his stomach churned. His nose nestled in Davy’s unkempt pubic bush, while Bart’s soft hands stroked his hairy balls and taint.
“Is he doing the Gravy-Boat again?” The other players giggled. Davy wasn’t trying to do his dance, but he was shaking because his dick felt so good, and he was trying to avoid making a lot of noise — he thought that would lead to more teasing — so it rather looked like he was trying to do the Gravy-Boat without removing his dick from Bart’s mouth. His assflesh trembled and his muscles all flexed at once.
“Goddamn, Davy…”
But Davy’s desire to avoid making too much noise backfired. He snorted and sniffled, which made him sound like a tired horse as his muscles sweated and he began to plow down Bart’s throat. Then he grabbed the back of Bart’s head and rammed his dick in, swaying his hips from side to side as though trying to plow into every inch of Bart’s face.
Bart’s hands flailed. He grabbed Davy’s asscheek with one hand, while his other hand tried to reach Davy’s nipples — Davy was too tall, so Bart just teased the lower edge of his sweaty pecs.
“You ever done this before, Davy? You look like you’s an expert. You gonna stick him in the ass next?”
Davy shook his head. He said no, but all that came out of his mouth was a creaky grunt. He had to focus to say anything articulately. “No, no way, man,” he said, sounding like he was already on the verge of orgasm. “Jackin’ off so much ain’t right, it’s unbiblical.” Davy wasn’t really Christian, or at least not seriously Christian, but it was the only objectively reasonable excuse he could think of. A part of him did want to plow into Bart’s butt, but that seemed too gross and off-putting; he certainly wouldn’t do it in front of his teammates anyway.
His sac slapped against Bart’s chin so violently ballsweat dripped down his body. Bart was good at keeping his mouth open and loose, so Davy could just ram his dick in and out.
“Ew, Davy’s gonna nut!”
“That’s Davy’s O-face, man, looks like a caveman holding in a fart.” The other players snickered and pinched Davy’s hairy ass to tease him.
“Holy shit, he does-“
“I bet he does fart when he cums-“
They all began imitating Davy’s supposed orgasm-sounds. They hooted like a cumming gibbon and slapped their own thighs to make a loud, fleshy rippling noise. They guffawed while Davy blushed, both in arousal and embarrassment.
He howled and panted like a wolf when he finally came. Davy used both of his paw-like hands to hold Bart’s face in place, as Davy ignored his friends teasing and poking him. Cum poured down Bart’s throat.
It was salty and sweet, and it was a huge load, even more than Bart had gotten out of him the last time. The flavor was intense, sunny and grassy; it tasted like a football field, he thought, he could even taste the plastic padding of a uniform and sweat-stained cotton fabric of Davy’s too-small jockstrap.
“Ew, he’s swallowing it!”
“Davy’s cumming!”
“Dicktap!” Someone tried to get a Dicktap on Davy as he came, which prompted laughter even though it didn’t work — Davy’s entire dick was in Bart’s mouth, and his balls were inaccessible. So he just flopped his dick over Bart’s face and the root of Davy’s dick.
Bart was dizzy, about to pass out from lack of oxygen. Davy firmly kept him place until every last drop of cum had escaped from his balls, filling Bart up with so much fluid he felt full. He couldn’t believe Davy had shot so much — it was those massive baseball-sized balls, he thought, pumping him until the cum piled up in his throat and slipped out, coating his chin and plopping onto the floor. He was groggy as Davy finally pulled away and sighed.
“Davy! Davy!”
“Do the Gravy-Boat!”
As the last pangs of his orgasm coursed through him, Davy managed to do a Gravy-Boat. He shook his limpening dick over Bart’s face, then spread his asscheeks and wiped his sweaty crack over Bart’s nose. Davy cackled as his friends slapped his hairy cheeks, then jokingly wiped their hands off on each other.
“Ew, ass-sweat-“
“You gonna smell like a gravy boat, man…”
Bart laid back and sighed, satisfied as a smug kitten. Davy started drinking, still stark-naked — the girls weren’t supposed to come over for a few more hours, so there was no reason to put clothes on yet. That meant Bart still had plenty of time to worship every inch of his raunchy linebacker body.
Zeke is one exhausted cowboy, but luckily, there’s a young man on the ranch ready, willing and able to service every inch of his filthy manmeat!
Read the whole thing here
After arriving back at Prairie Stone Ranch from the cattle drive, Zeke Auberly was sore and exhausted. He hated to admit it but he was too plum-tired to carouse tonight.
Well into his thirties, Zeke was beginning to realize that he weren’t no young buck no more. He certainly wasn’t old, but for a working cowboy, he was growing pretty long in the tooth. Most of them cowboys who worked alongside him — or for him, as he liked to think of it, though he weren’t in charge official-like — were ten years younger.
But he got experience, he was smart, he knew the route and the Injuns and the sheriffs along the way. He felt like an old man, like he got an old man’s mind with a lifetime’s worth of accumulated experiences, trapped in a somewhat youngish man’s body.
He wished he could just go right to the barn as soon as he had returned from the cattle drive. He was exhausted, sweat a-drippin’, his entire body one bruise. His flesh was turned to liquid, his knees held together by overslackened straps, and every step was arduous. He was always at his most tired as soon as he arrived back at the ranch, once he got off his horse Betsy Lou, and rest was in sight.
First, he had had to go to Mister Goodman and report on the cattle drive. Zeke sat there, sweat dripping from his brow, stomach churning because he was desperate for food and water and sleep and cleanliness.
Even if he ain’t have to talk to Mister Goodman right away, Zeke couldn’t bathe immediately like he wished to. Nothing technically stopped him from doing so, it simply wasn’t advisable — all the cowboys went right to the barn, behind which was a smoldering campfire. Mister Goodman always started the fire when they were due back from the cattle-drive. There was a large metal tub that could be filled with water and heated with the campfire.
With the sun going down by the time the water was warm and the cowboys were ready to bathe, the air was chilly, the sky falling dark and low upon the horizon, and the bath was as inviting as a peek at a petticoat. Zeke knew from personal experience that it felt amazing. There was nothing like sliding into that bathtub, even having to share it with another cowboy.
Zeke ain’t want to share it now. He was older and he was in charge of the others, so he waited for them to be done. He was worried it diminished his authority to bathe with the others — he wasn’t technically the boss, but he was the most experienced cowboy, so he was the most knowledgeable, and Mister Goodman expected him to keep the greenhorns in line. That was easier to do if they saw him as larger than life, and that wasn’t possible if they batheed with him like a servant.
It was ironic, he thought, because, back when he was a young greenhorn, he wished he ain’t have to share. He thought it would be cleaner if he could wait and bathe alone after the others. That was what the older cowboys had done when Zeke had been new.
Now that Zeke was an older cowboy, however, all he wanted was to sit in the bathtub with another man. He wouldn’t mind his legs interlocking with someone else’s, feet rubbing against his balls and his ass. He wouldn’t even mind jackin’ off with a cowpoke, somethin’ he ain’t never enjoy as a young man.
Back then his very own hand was enough, plus the local fillies did give him the time of day. Zeke was young and handsome as a plate of beans, he was! Women came a-humming and a-thrumming, so when the older cowboys on a cattle drive deep into the wild yonder under starry skies that went on forever did want to fumble and grope through the night, Zeke said no. He would save himself for the splendor of womanhood, and he went to sleep with hardons a-plaguing him, he did.
Now he was that older cowboy wanna to rub rods with a younger man, and the young men do say the same thing, that they got a girl in every town waiting for ’em, with come-hither legs and come-hither eyes. Nobody ever told Zeke he was gonna be one of those silly old cowboys one day. Somebody shoulda warned him.
‘Course, Zeke ain’t tell the young pups they was gonna get old one day. They oughta know. Damn fools, tarnations to ’em!
Anyway, Zeke did finish the report on the drive with Mister Goodman and he did hand over the dollars from the market. Mister Goodman counted and recounted, and Zeke stood there as though he didn’t ache with the fire of a thousand camps. He wished to bathe and sleep and do nothing for a spell, not in that order. He stone-faced for Mister Goodman though.
Mister Goodman always counted coins twice, and he insisted Zeke stay there so as to account for any errors. But because of that, Zeke always counted twice as well, back at the market when he sold the cows, so he was confident the count would come back correct, and it did. Mister Goodman deemed that good enough, and he shook Zeke’s hand.
That was that. The drive was complete, and it was good. At last, Zeke went to the barn. His muscles ached mightily, and even his eyes was tired. He wanna sit somewhere dark and drab and cool, and he wanted to sit there clean.
The other cowboys had dumped the bathtub. Zeke was relieved on the one hand because it meant he was alone and would have a tub full of clean water, but on the other hand, he was annoyed because it meant he would have to wait for the water to heat up again.
His muscles felt like hot tallow. Zeke saw the well off in the distance and he knew he needed to go there to get the water, but he couldn’t even think about moving in that direction and lugging the bucket of water — they used a very large bucket for this, so it was extraordinarily heavy when full of water. It took two trips to fill the tub completely.
Could Zeke do it? For the first time, he considered just passing out. Was he really getting old? When he was a young man, no matter how exhausted he was, he would always bathe and go out to the saloon where he’d seduce some fine woman (or more often, pay Mister Gregarian for a night with a woman at the saloon Lipsweet).
But now he was just too tired. Aside from feeling like a slick of grease stuck to the bottom of his boot, he would have gladly just crawled into the barn over there and slept among the goats. He wanted to do nothing more involved than rest.
“Hello?”
Someone was coming. Zeke’s heart sped up, and he jumped to his sore, blistered feet. There was someone coming closer, carrying something heavy.
It was a man, a slim, somewhat feminine man with big doe eyes. He struggled to carry the bucket, full to the brim with water. Some of the water sloshed out as he went to the fire, which was flaring as the wood Zeke had added enflamed. The man placed the bucket on the grates above the fire.
“Howdy, pardner,” said the man. “You must be Mister Auberly.”
“Zeke.”
“Zeke, howdy, I’m Pat. I was hired by Mister Goodman as an assistant-“
He kept talking, but Zeke stopped listening. Pat’s feminine voice rang out in Zeke’s ear. He sounded a lot like a woman, and he kind of carried himself like a woman, all curves and stately elegance, with a thick pair of plump asscheeks that were plainly visible hugged by his tight pants. He seemed awfully womanly. In the dark, Zeke might have mistaken him for a woman.
Zeke’s mind vaguely registered who he was. Mister Goodman had mentioned hiring an assistant to help with running the ranch. He had said the assistant was not a cowboy, so Zeke hadn’t really cared too much. He’d be doing the numbers, presumably. An accountant or something similar. Mister Goodman always counted twice.
But now, it seemed the assistant would be out here, assisting him, looking so much like a girl that Zeke wanted to lay with him in front of a campfire.
But he didn’t say that. He gulped that down. He didn’t do things like that. On the trail, things were different, the rules were different. On the trail, a girlish cowboy like that would never be cold or lonely at night.
A slim, girlish cowboy like that on the trail wouldn’t make it in the first place, which was why slim girlish cowboys weren’t who Zeke was used to sharing his bedroll with. The vaqueros — Mexican cowboys — they brought along ‘ranch-bunnies’ on cattle drives to ram.
“I just bathed the others but I thought you would want fresh water,” Pat said. He patted Zeke on the back. “Oh you poor baby, you feel so tired, I can sense it in your muscles. You have a nice strong back, huh?” He sounded just like a girl. His hands casually rubbed Zeke as he stood there silently, trying to decide whether to make Pat leave or not. Zeke couldn’t bear to make him go. He craved affection and companionship, and he really wanted Pat to smell like one of Mister Gregarian’s girls.
It was dark enough now, he thought, he could just pretend Pat was female.
“Lemme help,” Zeke said when Pat tried to dump the hot water into the tub. Together they emptied the water, and it let out a billowing cloud of steam when it filled the metal tub.
“You can go ‘head in the water now,” Pat said. “I’ll just go’n fill the bucket again and fill the tub up the rest of the way.”
But Zeke felt a chivalrous need not to allow that. It was just like a woman, he thought, Pat was basically a woman. He acted like a woman and he smelled like a woman and he even mostly looked like a woman — just a woman with short hair, wearing men’s clothing. Zeke couldn’t sit idly by while a man like Pat struggled to carry a bucket of water.
His muscles were revitalized enough to make it easy, or easy enough anyway. With two people carrying the bucket, it was not a problem to fill it at the well and bring it back to the campfire. The water that was already in the tub was still too hot to really be comfortable yet.
“How was ya cattle-drive? Did you lose any cows?”
“Of course not,” Zeke said with a snort. “I never lose any head.”
“I bet. Everyone said you’re so strict. The other cowboys I mean. They said you’re not nice,” Pat said. He shrugged. “But I think you’re nice. You helped me carry the water. The others laughed at me struggling, and they threw rocks at me-“
“Who threw rocks at you?”
“Well… The tall one? With the dark hair and green eyes.”
“I-” Zeke bit his lip. “I recognize him from the dark hair and green eyes. Curly. He is… I will deal with him.” He blushed. “I do not…” His voice trailed off. “I will deal with him properly.”
Pat hugged him. The second pot of water was boiling now, and he rubbed his face against the sweat-plastered shirt sticking to Zeke’s back. It was salty and stiff, the leather soaked with layers of moisture from sweat and rain and river-water. “Thanks. You’re not mean.”
Zeke grunted. He pulled away from Pat and ain’t let him help him carry it to the tub to dump it in, Zeke did it himself, one last burst of muscular energy before he finally rested.
At last, he thought with a sigh, he could bathe. He raced to strip off his clothes, uncaring of Pat there watching. He hopped in. His foot-long cock flopped, sticking sweatily to his thigh.
The water was painfully hot at first, but it wasn’t scalding, and it soon cooled down just enough to be a bit uncomfortable. That was where Zeke liked it. The tub was good at holding heat, so it would stay at this temperature for awhile.
“I have my own soap,” Pat said. “Is it okay if I wash you?”
Zeke hesitated. That wasn’t so strange. He and the other cowboys usually washed each other’s backsides. But he knew them well; it was a little weird to let a stranger do it. The reason they let each other do it was because they knew each other well, they trusted each other — they couldn’t make it together on a cattle drive without innate and implicit trust in each other.
Zeke nodded anyway. Since he was not going to go see Mister Gregarian tonight, he thought, he might as well get some affection where he could get it. Pat’s hands flirtily caressed Zeke’s body.
He started to realize that Pat was going to do more than wash him, and Zeke couldn’t bring himself to decide not to do it. He felt strongly that he needed it — his dick throbbed with desire, yet he was too tired to go into town or talk to ladies, even whores; Pat was right here, and he was so womanly.
He was virtually a female.
Zeke had even promised to punish Curly Harrow for throwing rocks at him — that was something he would do for a man who threw rocks at a woman, not a smaller, weaker man. Zeke had always believed weaker men should submit to stronger men.
But he also believed, more and more intensely with every passing day, that stronger men should not take advantage of weaker men, or throw rocks at them.
And Pat was virtually a woman anyway.
His hands touched Zeke’s back. Those hands were so smooth and warm, and inviting, soft, cottony, like a freshly laundered shirt (something Zeke hadn’t touched in years). He licked his lips and closed his eyes. He leaned forward in the tub as Pat’s hands roamed lower. His muscles rippled beneath Pat’s touch.
The filth and sweat flowed off Zeke’s body. He instantly felt cleaner, and with every passing moment, his exhaustion vanished. He was always surprised by how much energy he got when he had finally bathed. He felt like a new man.
“Lean back, sweetheart,” Pat said softly. His voice was loud though because his mouth was right next to Zeke’s ear, and it rang out in his mind.
Zeke did lean back so Pat could wash and rub and sweetly caress his chest. He sighed.
He kept his mind focused on the warmth seeping into his bones and the tender touch of Pat’s fingers on his chest. So he was only dimly aware of Pat’s lips sucking the trail-dust off his ear.
But his body was aware. His hefty cock twitched in the soapy water. Pat could sense it, even if he ain’t see it in the dark of night — the tub was illuminated only by the moonlight and the fading firelight.
Pat reached into the tub and touched his cock. Zeke ain’t react. Pat gave it one long, slow stroke, and it was instantly at full erection in his hand. Zeke closed his eyes even tighter.
Pat had done this before, so he knew well how to take off his clothes surreptitiously. Zeke never realized he was doing so; he just kept his eyes closed and moaned every minutes when Pat stroked his cock in just the right way.
His hand was better than any female, Zeke thought, even Caitlin at the brothel, and Caitlin was supposed to have specialized in using her hand. Zeke always thought that was pointless.
But Pat’s hand felt perfect, like it had been made just for Zeke’s cock. He wanted to lay like this forever, sprawled out the best he could in the cramped tub, letting Pat’s hands massage him. Pat’s left hand tweaked his nipples while his right stroked his manhood, making Zeke moan and shake.
Pat climbed into the tub with him. Zeke was surprised to see he had gotten naked. His body had a very feminine shape, but Zeke just closed his eyes. Pat felt feminine too, all smooth, hairless skin and soft flesh.
Disappearing under the water, Pat had to curl up atop Zeke’s body in order to fit. He placed the tip of Zeke’s manhood in his mouth and he let his tongue run up and down the length of Zeke’s shaft.
The flavor was strong and tough, despite the water all around, like the trail and the sweat had suffused into Zeke’s flesh. Pat suckled on it until he needed to take a breath, then he lifted his head above water just long enough to breathe before returning to savor Zeke’s manhood.
“Ah…. Damn…” Zeke sighed. He placed one hand on the back of Pat’s head.
Of course Pat couldn’t stay underwater for long because he couldn’t breathe. But it felt like forever. His mouth was sticky and tight, his tongue massaging every inch of Zeke’s thick meat.
Before long, Pat had to come above water to breathe. He stroked Zeke with both hands while gasping for air, and he clutched Zeke’s hairy chest. He kissed his neck passionately.
For the first time, Zeke was intimately aware of Pat’s manhood — his dick touched Zeke’s leg. Pat’s lips touched Zeke’, and their tongues interlocked in Pat’s mouth. Zeke hadn’t thought he would kiss Pat. He ain’t even always kiss his females because he knew prostitutes kissed many men, and it seemed a little perverse. Zeke always thought he could taste other men on their lips.
But not Pat. He tasted like apple cider and sunshine, Zeke thought. Once his tongue touched Pat’s, he moved closer, wrapping his arms around Pat’s body and hugging him close. He pressed his muscles against Pat, nearly shoving him under the water in his haste to be on top of him.
Their cocks rubbed together under the soapy water, and Zeke passionately, loudly kissed a trail down from Pat’s mouth to his delicate neck, while his hands caressed Pat’s smooth chest — he had no bosom, of course, but Zeke found that he felt so feminine in texture and shape that he ain’t mind the lack of actual breasts.
“Oh god, you’re so big and strong,” Pat said, gasping as Zeke smothered him with kisses. “Will you be gentle with me?”
“Yes.” Zeke let out a throaty growl. He rolled Pat over, aiming his face down to the ground outside the tub. Pat bent over and stuck his ass high in the air, almost out of the water entirely.
That gave Zeke the perfect angle to drill his dick in. He sighed when it shoved into Pat’s tight hole. He had rarely been with a woman this tight — there were a lot more males than females in north Texas these days, so the women around here was either married or prostitutes whose holes were well-trafficked.
But Pat was tender and tight and moist and welcoming, and he bit his lip, mewling a bit, when Zeke entered him, but he ain’t complain. Zeke petted the back of his head and made soothing noises.
“Ssssssshush, it’s alright, pardner,” Zeke said. He kissed the back of Pat’s neck. “It’s alright. You gonna feel jest fine, yessuh.” He stroked Pat’s hair and rubbed his asscheeks, holding his cock still, just barely inside Pat’s ass.
When he felt Pat’s resistance diminish, Zeke pistoned his hips and pushed in deeper. Pat grunted, his ladylike demeanor vanishing for just a moment. That made Zeke chuckle, especially when Pat let out a pleasured moan.
“There you go, it’s alright, it’s gonna be jest fine, yessuh,” Zeke said. He whispered, but his voice seemed impossibly loud, echoing against the nearby barn and the night sky.
“Oh god, stick it in me, please, stick it in so deep… I need you inside me…” Pat said over and over, his voice a plaintive wail. The sensations roiling him were too intense to speak more confidently.
Zeke had rarely been able to go at a woman this hard, even a prostitute. They often complained that he had a large manhood and made him slow down. But the faster and harder he smashed, the more Pat seemed to enjoy it.
Every thrust of his cock into Pat’s ass awakened his prostate a little more, and sent a wave of pleasure through his body. Pat cried out loud, and it would have been audible even beyond the barn — where some of the other cowboys drank, having already gambled away most of their wages — if he weren’t in such throes of passion as to make a muffled, quiet sound. Zeke’s grunts were louder, but less distinct, and they blended in with the bleating of the sheep and goats that filled the barn.
“Goddamn, boy…” Zeke sighed, nibbling on Pat’s earlobe. He had never felt anything like this. He wasn’t exhausted at all anymore; he felt like a young man again, making love to his first female, feeling such unimaginable pleasure that he knew now that nothing would ever be the same again.
“Hey, boy,” Zeke whispered into his ear, hands caressing Pat’s chest and belly. He moaned loudly, moistly, grunting all over Pat’s face. “Hey, boy… Don’t mess wit’ no other men, okay? While you work here, just… be wit’ me.”
“Yes, Zeke,” Pat said. “I don’t want to be with anyone but you.” He turned his head to the side and kissed Zeke on the cheek. “I won’t be here forever though. This is only a temporary position for me.”
Zeke was disappointed, but in the throes of his orgasm, the bad news ain’t really sink in. He just grunted his understanding and flexed his hips again, forcing his cock in and out. He slathered Pat in kisses, his grizzled chin scratching Pat’s smooth skin.
“Aaaaaaah…” Zeke sucked on Pat’s cheek — he intended to kiss him, but the most intense climax of his life erupted within him then, and it took all his concentration just to rub his face against Pat’s.
Creamy cum flowed into Pat’s ass, making him cringe and undulate beneath Zeke’s muscle-bound body. Pat was crushed against the edge of the tub, and he moaned so loud the cowboys on the other side of the barn heard — they assumed it was a distressed goat, but they fell quiet for a moment to listen for more, to be sure it wasn’t someone trying to steal livestock.
Wave after wave of pleasure washed over Pat, whose hands tightened into claws that dug into the rim of the iron tub. He tensed and clenched as Zeke smashed his dick back and forth a few more times, then fell limp.
“Shit, boy….” His dick was still hard for a moment, stimulating Pat’s over-sensitive prostate until he couldn’t take it anymore.
Then Zeke slid back and his cock popped out, instantly washed clean by the still-warm tub of water. Pat let out a long, cringing moan as his ass recovered. He curled up next to Zeke’s chest and nuzzled his neck.
“Damn… I gots a room in town,” Zeke said. “Above the apothecary. You know where that is?”
“Yes…” Pat said, his voice a soft tenor that hung in the air and resonated in Zeke’s ears.
“When you done wit’ ya work for the day, you come see me,” Zeke said.
“Every day?”
“E’ry day till forever, hell yeah. But I can’t have no one seein’ it, that’s why you gotta meet me there, not here,” Zeke said with a chuckle. He kissed Pat on the forehead. “You is one special boy, and I’s gonna make you feel special. You ready for that?”
Pat kissed his lips. “Of course.”
Greg got drunk last night, so when he wakes up, he’s under arrest and being processed by the legendary cruel alpha-male bully Officer Awful! He’s in for a hardcore tale of domination, submission and utter humiliation!
Read the whole thing here!
Greg was still drunk, but he felt serious now. It had all seemed like a big joke when he was being arrested. He laughed the whole time. But he had been left in the little waiting area for what felt like hours, and the silence and the solitude made him realize he was in big trouble. It was just some drunk-in-public stuff, but he had gotten into it with the cop — into it hard — and they were going to hit him with resisting arrest, assaulting an officer, destruction of property and who even knew what else! Greg was fucked.
Now at last a bulky cop with a shit-eating grin came to get him. That wasn’t the simpering little nerd-looking cop who arrested Greg for public drunkenness. This man had an air of authority.
“Good evening, Mister Hardesty, my name is Officer Auffernan. Some people call me Officer Awful. I don’t condone that,” he said. He held up one hand as though he was testifying in court. “But I don’t forbid it. I’m gonna process you into jail tonight. Now unfortunately our only judge for the weekend has gone home, so you’re going to have wait to be arraigned on Monday.”
“For public drunk’ness?” Greg hiccuped, still slightly drunk.
“I’ll tell you when the time for questions has come,” Officer Auffernan said. “And you should address me as sir.”
“Uh… yes, sir.”
“Hmm, thank you, Mister Hardesty. I’m going to start calling you ‘fuckweasel’. Will that trigger anything in you? Was ya mama raped by a weasel or something like that? Good.” He didn’t give Greg a chance to say anything. Officer Auffernan frowned down at Greg like a disgusting species of frog. “Now what I’m going to do next is punch you right in the belly, as hard as I can.” He lowered his head to look Greg in the eye. Greg blanched, but Officer Auffernan held his head in place. “But don’t you worry, there is a valid penological reason for it.”
Then there was an explosion of pain, so fast that Greg didn’t even realize it had happened until he was already on the floor, clutching his belly. He cried out and twitched so hard his head banged into the wall.
“Now get up and take ya clothes off. I need to search you for contraband. If you is bringin’ contraband into my jail, I will rock ya fuckin’ world, fuckweasel.”
But Greg could do nothing more than groan and squirm. He tried to stagger to his feet, but he was at a loss for breath. He hoarsely squeaked out a gasp, and he managed only to kneel on one foot.
“I said get up and take ya clothes off, fuckweasel!”
Every move he made was arduous. Greg let out a sob and a cry of pain as Officer Auffernan got down real close. He shouted like a drill instructor, his spit splashing onto Gary’s face.
“Take your clothes off, fuckweasel, right now, or I swear to God I will shove this entire jail up your asshole!”
Even as Greg started to unbutton his shirt, fumbling from both pain and terror, Officer Awful kept his face so near his breath condensed on Gary’s cheeks. “Hurry up, fuckweasel. I’ve got a nice hard cot with your name on it. You are gonna regret every day you ever breathed air on this planet, you are gonna feel like a mule rented by a red-headed stepchild if you don’t hurry your stupid ass up, boy. Do you think I am playing with you? Huh? Do you?”
“No! No!” Greg gasped. One of the buttons flew off his shirt, which ripped as he tore it off himself. He threw it on the floor.
Officer Awful pushed Greg over as he tried to drop his pants, and he fell to the ground. “Hurry up, fuckweasel!”
“I’m trying!” Greg ripped the fly of his jeans trying to get them off, as he sobbed into the linoleum floor. It was cold and felt wet, in a vaguely urinal-y way that churned Greg’s stomach. Humiliation rose up in him. He didn’t know how his life was turning out this way. He wasn’t this kind of guy — he wasn’t a criminal, a bad boy.
Was it the alcohol? Greg didn’t think of himself as an alcoholic. He didn’t drink every day. Well… not every day. There was a day a couple months ago… Greg somehow got his pants off over his shoes, which he kicked off as he squirmed on the moist linoleum.
“Alright, fuckweasel.” He grabbed Gary’s hair. His clothes were off, and he lay flat, panting, on the floor. Officer Awful grinned, revealing dimpled cheeks, like he woulda been handsome if he weren’t so craggy and worn. “I’m gonna tell you something in just a second. You should know that I’m telling you this as a friend — or a potential friend — this is not in my position as an officer and representative of the state government.” He took a deep breath as though confiding a great and vital secret. “Here it is: you should beg me to spit in ya mouth. It would make things go easier if you do that, as a gesture of submissive goodwill.”
“What?”
Greg doubled over again as Officer Awful punched him once more in the gut. He was already on the floor, but he now could not get up. Spasms of pain wracked his body.
“No questions!”
Greg gasped for air. He tried to apologize but couldn’t.
“Get up, now, fuckweasel!” Officer Awful mock-kicked him — kicking his foot but stopping it just centimeters from Gary’s body, so Greg flinched and wept each time. He buried his face in his arms. “Gonna turn ya head into my soccer ball, fuckweasel, if you don’t get up.”
When Greg could do little more than crawl, Officer Awful deemed that good enough and opened the door to the next little locked corridor in the jail. Crawling was the most humiliating experience in Greg’s life. His bare ass poked up high in the air, and his knees ached, his stomach ached, everything ached. He wanted to puke, run, cry and hide all at once.
“Please, uh… what, uh…you can do that, uh, spitting thing, just let me up-“
“Don’t you speak like that to me, fuckweasel. If you want something, you address me like a man, as sir, and you plan your words before you open ya mouth. None of this uh or ah business. That’s for girls and pansies, and I don’t see tits or petals on you.”
“Okay, please…” Greg found it difficult to be blunt and not say uh. “Please, you can spit in my mouth-“
‘I know I can. That ain’t what I told you as a friend,” he said. “Wasn’t you payin’ attention? I was tryin’ to be helpful.”
“Please spit in my mouth!”
He smiled again, and took off his sheriff’s hat. “Why, don’t mind if I do.” He hunkered down real close to Greg and hocked up a loogie into his mouth. It was clotty and thick, and it smelled like a doorknob. He spoke moistly as he gathered up spit in his mouth, making Gary’s stomach churn. “In my jail, we call this a ‘bitch-kiss’. It’s how a prison top makes his bottom know his place.” He let loose with another giant wad of saliva and phlegm that plopped in Gary’s mouth.
Greg choked and tried to spit it out, but Officer Awful grabbed him by the neck, squeezing tight enough that he nearly lifted Greg off the ground. Greg squealed and sputtered. Officer Awful spat again, directly into Gary’s mouth, then again. His lips were so close they nearly kissed.
“You feel it, fuckweasel? Ya feel how intimate this is?” He paused and hocked up a loogie in his mouth. He forced himself to couch to fill his mouth even more. He very moistly said, “You my bitch now, fuckweasel. I’m gonna make you open up and suck up the spit in my mouth now. It’s gonna taste real nasty, but you’re gonna choke it down while I watch. You ready?”
Greg shook his head.
“Tough…” He squeezed Gary’s cheeks until his mouth opened, and then a massive mouthful of spit and fluids landed in Gary’s mouth. He still hadn’t swallowed what was already there, so his mouth was overflowing now. Saliva flooded his face from his forehead to his chin, both Officer Awful’s and Gary’s own.
Officer Awful very slowly forced Gary’s mouth closed. “Swallow, fuckweasel. Swallow…” He massaged Gary’s neck like he was forcing a dog to swallow a pill.
Greg gagged and retched, but Officer Awful kept his mouth close and Greg could do nothing but choke back the gags emanating out of his raging stomach. He kept one arm curled over his belly as though to keep it all in. Finally he had quelled the nausea, though he could still taste snot in his mouth.
Before he could recover, Officer Awful dragged him into the next room. A handful of other officers were visible through the windows here, watching and laughing. Greg couldn’t hear them, but he could see their faces light up when they saw him. The nerdy-looking officer who had arrested Greg was there as well, leering at him. They all cheered when Greg let out a choked sob.
“Can… Can I say I’m sorry?” Greg asked. He nodded to the nerdy officer. “Can I apologize to him? I was rude to him before, last night. And… I might have hit him, I don’t remember-“
He doubled over in pain as Officer Awful punched him in the gut again. Through the soundproof glass, the watching officers laughed and cheered.
“You got freedom of speech, fuckweasel. You can always apologize. Jail rules say you can’t ask no questions, that’s why I had to punch you,” he said. “They can hear you through the loudspeaker.”
“Uh… I’m sorry, Officer… Uh… I don’t know your name-“
“Boy, what did I tell you about sayin’ uh?”
“I’m sorry!”
“Well, I appreciate your apology, fuckweasel, and yes, you were quite rude to my fellow officer last night. You said some very hurtful things. Words are weapons, doncha know. So, despite ya ‘pology, you still gotta spend a weekend with me. Don’t worry. I’m sure we gonna be real good friends,” Officer Awful said. “Do you enjoy gettin’ gutpunched?” He did so again, even harder this time, making Greg double over and gasp for air. His flat belly was crying out in pain. He could there was gonna be a huge colorful bruise there tomorrow.
“C’mon…”
“This is not the time for begging. This jail has a begging period every day, please save it for then,” Awful said. Then he directed Greg to stand over the drain in one end of the room, with his legs and arms spread, leaning against the wall. Greg’s bare ass dimpled and jiggled. It was cold in this room.
“Are you gonna…?” Greg wanted to ask if Officer Awful was going to cornhole him. That’s what it felt like in this position. But he couldn’t ask questions. “This position is… it feels like you’re going to cornhole me.”
“Oh. Do you want me to ram you up the asshole til ya buttcheeks fall off? Keep your head still, fuckweasel.” Officer Awful was doing something, getting some piece of equipment ready, but all Greg could see was the wall in front of him. Or was Awful taking off his belt?
“No, don’t! Don’t do that!”
“What was that? Are you begging me to ram you? If you really want me to, I’ll consider it later, fuckweasel. It’s technically against the rules though. Close your eyes,” he said. Then there was a cloud of white powder in the air. Greg coughed and sputtered. Officer Awful made him turn around and covered him in more of the acrid white powder. “Turn back around.”
Greg hacked as he tried to get his breath. His stomach still hurt from being punched, and his drunken headache was getting worse. He could tell — even though he couldn’t hear or see them — that Officer Martin and the other cops in the next room were laughing at him.
Water sprayed onto his back. It was ice-cold, and it made Gary’s balls crawl up in his sac. He gasped and twitched.
“Stay still, fuckweasel!”
The water was so cold Greg couldn’t breathe. His skin tightened up, and his stomach dropped. Officer Awful made him bend backover, sticking his ass in the air. He sprayed water from the hose directly onto Gary’s asshole, which hurt so bad Greg screamed. He clawed at the wall of the tiny room.
Finally the water turned off, and Officer Awful dragged Greg away, into the next room once more. Greg tried to get on his feet, but Officer Awful didn’t give him a chance to. Greg was naked and wet, so he kept slipping and couldn’t even crawl for more than a few feet, he kept collapsing as Awful kicked him and dragged him over the floor.
“Please!” Greg cried out, then clamped his mouth shut lest he start begging again, outside of the designated begging time. He wondered if there was really a designated begging time.
He was dragged over the linoleum floor, naked and wet, dizzy, nauseous. He begged, but Officer Awful barked at him to be silent every time he said anything, so all he could do was pant.
As it turned out, the next room was a medical examination. There wasn’t much to it though — Officer Awful tossed him up onto the cushioned chair and rammed his finger into Gary’s ass so fast Greg hadn’t even finishing sitting down before he felt that finger wiggling inside him.
“Let’s take a walk,” Officer Awful said. “I wanna make sure I search all up in you, and that means you gotta move. Shift your contraband around.”
“I. Don’t. Have. Any,” Greg said, gritting his teeth through the pain. He forced himself to take a step, then another, but every move he made sent waves of agony through his body.
At least he reached the doorway, and Officer Awful gave him a shove. He stumbled forward, Officer Awful moving with him and that finger stayed in his asshole the entire time.
Those other cops were there in the next room, watching and cheering as Greg stammered. He couldn’t even think about a plan because of the pain in his ass.
“Wreck him! Wreck him! Wreck him!”
“Put him on his knees, Auffernan!”
Officer Awful moved his finger like a fishhook, pointing down, and in order to alleviate the pain, Greg lowered himself. Soon he was on his knees on the ground. Officer Awful at last removed his finger.
But the relief was short-lived because he shoved his finger in Gary’s mouth. Greg gagged at the assy taste, but his head was jammed against a wall.
Then before Greg could even get his bearings or stop gagging, his mouth was pried open. He knew what was coming, but it was still shocking to feel that fleshy, rubbery limp cock slide onto his tongue. He choked all over again. Officer Awful let his dick slide out of the fly of his uniform slacks, ramming as much of it as he could fit into Gary’s mouth.
“You got contraband in yer throat, fuckweasel? Huh? If you do, I’ll find it, swear to God, and I will ram you so hard yer mama gonna feel it,” Officer Awful said. “Now listen here.” He rammed his cock in as far as it would go, maybe halfway in, as it started to stiffen up. “My pops always said you ain’t ram a fuckweasel’s throat hard enough till there’s tears comin’ out of his fuckweasel eyes and there’s ballsweat dripping from his fuckweasel chin. Ya feel me, fuckweasel? You had better swallow enough of my dick to rub my balls on your chin.”
Greg was dizzy, and he choked so hard it hurt his stomach, but with Officer Awful’s cock in his throat, he couldn’t do anything but squirm. The wall was hard and stubbly, scratching against his skin as he moved up and down. It was iron-hard, pressing at his throat like a battering ram.
Finally Officer Awful backed off to let him have a breath. Greg collapsed to the ground, but he had no sooner taken a breath before he was on the floor on his back. Officer Awful pushed him into position, then kneeled over his face so that his balls plopped on Gary’s nose.
“You had best loosen up that throat boy, or there is gonna be some consequences. You won’t like ’em one bit,” he said. Then he bent over Gary’s body like he was doing a push-up. He pointed his dick into Gary’s mouth and slammed down with all his weight.
Greg choked once more. He had never regained his breath, and now his throat was sore even before that massive cock pushed in. But Officer Awful was relentless. He pivoted his hips, laughing as Gary’s throat gradually lost its resistance.
Soon Officer Awful’s balls rested on Gary’s nose and eyes. Gary’s whole world went white, and at first he thought it was cum, that Officer Awful had finally shot his wad. But no, he just lost consciousness for a few seconds.
When he went limp, Officer Awful pulled up and out of his mouth. He patted Greg on the back of the head and chuckled as he hoarsely gasped. “There you go, you did it, hoss, good boy,” he said. “That means I am gonna ram you in the ass, but just one time. And then… well, if you be good, I just might let you go. Got it?”
He nodded.
“See, now you answered me without using words, fuckweasel. I don’t like that,” he said. “Not at all.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Greg squealed and sobbed. “I do understand. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I know… Get on your back, lift your feet in the air,” Officer Awful said. He got on his knees. Greg was terrified, and he especially didn’t want to take that massive dick up the ass in this position. But of course, he didn’t have any choice.
“I like rammin’ like this cuz it hurts my bitch,” Officer Awful said as though that was a good rationale. “Plus it lets me finish with a punch and a choke, so you’ll have that to look forward to.”
Greg tried to think of a way to ask what that meant without asking a question, but he had a feeling he knew the answer. Officer Awful smirked at him. He spat on Gary’s face again, and as Greg winced and gagged, he drilled his cock in.
He lightly smacked Greg on the cheek. “I’m in you now, bitch. Guess how many inches you got in ya.”
“Uh… I-“
He smacked Greg harder, and Greg groaned. “What did I tell you about saying uh?”
“You said not to. I apologize. It hurts…”
“Guess how many inches you got in you?”
“Three?” Greg had no idea, it was just a random guess.
“Wrong. Gimme yer hand,” he said. He didn’t wait. He grabbed Gary’s hand and brought it forward to his ass. The movement made the pain worse. He touched Officer Awful’s cock with one hand. There was still a whole lot of cockmeat to go. “Feel that? You only got like a half-inch in your ass.” Greg could hear deep male voices laughing from the other room — the officer who arrested him, maybe more cops too, they were over there laughing as he endured unimaginable agony.
“Yes, sir, Officer Awful.”
“Now start chanting, thank you big brother, can I have another? You got that? Keep sayin’ it ‘till I get all my dick in ya,” he said.
“Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another!” Greg shouted it at first with nothing happening, but then Officer Awful started to ram his dick in between each chant. “Thank you big brother, can I have another!” Over and over again, he pumped his hips in the silence between chants. And each time, that caused mind-blowing agony in Gary’s asshole. “Thank you big brother, can I have another!”
It continued for what felt like forever. Greg didn’t know how he managed to do it, but eventually he felt that heavy hand close over his mouth.
“Shut up, fuckweasel,” he said with a groan. “I’m all way in you now. You’re my property. Say that.”
“I’m Officer… Officer Awful’s property,” Greg said. He bit his lip and threw his head back. The pain was excruciating, and it quickly got worse as Officer Awful began to gyrate his hips back and forth.
His balls slapped against Gary’s asshole. He wrapped his arms around Gary’s ankles and pressed them close to his muscular chest. His cock throbbed deep in Gary’s ass, which squeezed and churned. He clawed at Officer Awful’s chest, but to no avail. Awful was built like a bear, and he rammed like a stallion.
“Beg me to cum. Come on, be like a porno chick, man. Improvise a little,” Officer Awful said. He spat in Gary’s mouth as soon as he opened up to speak.
“Please… Cum in me… I want your cum inside me…” Greg said through his tears of pain and humiliation. That massive cock drilled into him, back and forth, demolishing his ass, regardless of how Greg squirmed or his hole clenched. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I was rude and drunk… Please fill me up with your cum… Please-“
He was cut off because all of a sudden Officer Awful’s hands slapped Greg’s cheeks. He then squeezed Gary’s throat, hard enough to choke him, and his other hand formed a fist. It hovered above Gary’s face.
Greg tried to scream, but he choked, so all he could do was tighten and spasm. His whole body shook. His asshole clenched around Officer Awful’s cock.
Just when he thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, Officer Awful finally punched him right in the nose. Gary screamed in pain, as Officer Awful let go of his neck and Greg let out a series of hoarse sobs. That cascade of sensations inside Gary’s body was what sent Officer Awful over the edge.
“Cummin’ up in you now, boy, you in the home stretch…”
He gasped. Greg screamed. That spectacled officer, still watching outside the room, clapped and cheered. Cum sprayed into Gary’s ass, deep, hot and creamy. It stuck to his flesh and seeped into him like mud. He choked and gagged even though nothing was in his mouth.
“Hell yeah, fuckweasel, you got a nice ass,” Officer Awful said with a sigh. “Had a nice ass.” His cock spasmed inside Greg, sending more thick wads of cum inside him. It was a massive wad, it felt like, gobs of it spreading to every corner of Greg’s insides. He felt the heat seeping into him.
Then at last, Officer Awful withdrew his dick. The most incredible relief of his life flooded Greg, who closed his eyes. He shuddered, a frisson running up his spine. He didn’t want to ever open his eyes again.
That meant he didn’t see when Officer Awful scooted forward, reached for his mouth to open it and ram his dick inside. The taste of ass and cum intermixed in Gary’s mouth, making him retch and gag so hard his stomach hurt. The shame of tasting his own ass on another man’s dick flooded Gary, and the only consolation was that he was crying too hard to see what he was doing or how many cops were laughing at him.
“Clean up your mess, fuckweasel,” Officer Awful said. He swiped his dick over Gary’s face, making him lick every inch of the shaft, tracing every vein, as Officer Awful moaned and curdled above him. The taste was foul and sickening, and Greg couldn’t stop gagging, both from disgust and from the shame of those other cops watching him at his lowest.
Finally he was done. Officer Awful pulled away, stood and pulled his pants back up. He straightened his uniform. When Greg moaned and tried to stand, he kicked him in the thigh and Greg collapsed to the ground.
“Stay here,” Officer Awful said. “Now that I’m done checking you in, it’s time to show you to your cell. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t do that again and again all weekend.”
“You said… you’d let me go…”
“I said I’d consider it. And, I am going to let you go, eventually,” he said. He winked at Greg. “But you still got punishment coming to you.”
Avery is a cleaner at a military base, so when he decides to tease a cruel drill sergeant, he is able to take it farther than he ever thought possible! Avery is not as obedient as Sergeant Powers expects his cadets to be, which means Avery just might be in for a reacharound he’ll never forget…
Sir, yes, sir!
Or read the whole thing here!
Avery stood in the barrack with a mop in hand. He waited. He thought it would be a long wait, but that didn’t end up being the case.
That was because Drill Sergeant Powers went for a run this morning. He didn’t always run in the mornings because there was a good chance he’d run across some cadets doing something against the rules — sneaking back onto base after an illicit night in town, for example — and then he’d need to punish them. He had a reputation for strictness, so he couldn’t look the other way when he saw cadets sneaking in. But he didn’t want to enforce every rule quite that strictly. He thought it was important to let them get away with certain things. It provided a certain sense of camaraderie among soldiers, and it gave them skills in sneaking, spycraft and teamwork. Plus, ignoring certain lesser offenses gave him the time and the latitude to go after major ones.
So he only went for an early-morning jog when he was pretty sure he wouldn’t run across any cadets breaking the rules. Today, he could easily make that assumption because there were no cadets on the base — they had all left yesterday, to be replaced later today by the first of the new batch.
So as far as Sergeant Powers was concerned, the base was empty. It wasn’t literally empty, of course, there were support staff and other drill sergeants, plus the ever-burgeoning ranks of military administration. But compared to the constant thrum of activity from the young men who filled up the barracks, this was a dead land, like the corpse of a military base, like it was some post-apocalyptic wasteland, Powers thought, and nature was about to start reclaiming this area.
When Sergeant Powers saw a flash of movement in one of the barracks, he barged right in. There shouldn’t be anyone in there, he thought, unless one of the cleaners had come in early today.
“Who’s in there?” His booming voice rang out.
Avery started mopping when he heard Sergeant Powers come into the barrack. Powers was burly and middle-aged and a bit jowly but with a body to die for, great strapping muscles and thick thighs. This morning he wore a tight tee shirt, Army-green, soaked with sweat until it was nearly translucent. Avery could see the hair coating his chest through the shirt.
And oh god those shorts made Avery’s dick hard. They were ridiculous — the kind of short-shorts that the Army made soldiers wear back in the 50s, when that was normal. They would have made Daisy Duke blush. They showed off Sergeant Powers’s thick thighs and tightly accentuated the pouch of his jockstrap stretching the fabric of the shorts, which pulled them low enough that one of the straps was visible running above his plump old-man ass.
“Oh, hi,” Avery said. He smiled bashfully as though this was an accident and he hadn’t meant to see Sergeant Powers like this. Hmmm… he’s got on nasty old shoes… Avery wasn’t a foot-fetishist, but he thought it was cute that Sergeant Powers still wore these ancient, dilapidated sneakers — the young men on base always wore fashionable, ultra-clean sneakers when running. Only old guys would wear old-fashioned short-shorts with beaten-down old shoes.
Of course Sergeant Powers wasn’t old, he was maybe forty-five or so, that was why Avery had been lusting for him for so long. He blushed when he made eye contact with Sergeant Powers, who looked at him suspiciously.
“You’re a cleaner. Why are you here so early?”
“I just… I have a doctor’s appointment later today,” Avery said. “I needed to get my work done early. They said there are no cadets today so it didn’t matter-“
“Yes.” Sergeant Powers barked like he was angry. Then he snorted and wiped his lips with one hand. He interacted almost exclusively with cadets he was allowed to order around, so he sometimes had trouble focusing on a more normal interaction with civilians. “Yes,” he said more softly, though his voice was still a guttural growl that bounced around in Avery’s ears.
“Oh,” Avery said, blushing. “Cool.” He resumed mopping, but he jutted his ass out, aiming it at Sergeant Powers.
Avery didn’t need to be facing him to tell that there was a reaction on Sergeant Powers’s face. His eyes opened wide, and he took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. Avery could feel his eyes aimed at Avery’s plump ass.
Avery mopped, but the mop just shifted around uselessly because he focused more on seducing Sergeant Powers, who now had no reason to be in the barrack but still hadn’t left. His eyes were trained on Avery’s ass.
Then he grunted. “Uh, I… I… What is that?!” he bellowed at no one in particular and picked up a pair of scissors somebody had left behind on a counter. “It’s scissors! It’s… Somebody left these. Nothing sharp in the barracks.”
“Uh-huh. You want me to throw them away for you?” Avery said. He took the scissors, ignoring the growing bulge in Sergeant Powers’s shorts — which were too short and tight to leave anything to the imagination.
Sergeant Powers’s whole body bucked. He closed his eyes and didn’t say anything at first. Then at last he gurgled and said, “No… I… I will keep them.” He put them back down.
“Are you okay?” Avery asked, clucking his tongue. “You look weak. Maybe you’ve been jogging too much, you poor baby.” He patted Sergeant Powers on the sweaty side of his body, and his touch made his whole body ripple, and a little baritone grunt was emitted from his mouth. Avery held his hand up. “Ew, you’re all sweaty!” He smiled at Sergeant Powers. “That’s so gross.”
“Sorry.” Sergeant Powers blushed. He was glad no cadets were around. He had blushed talking to a woman once in front of some cadets, and years later whole new groups of cadets had heard about it and laughed.
“Oh, that’s okay, sweetie, you can make it up to me,” Avery said. “My back itches.” He turned around and rubbed his back and ass against Sergeant Powers’s body, his sweaty flesh rubbing against Avery’s clothed ass and back. Avery felt the hardon in Sergeant Powers’s shorts, and he felt all of his muscles ripple again when his hardon pulsated and a grunt fell out of his mouth.
“Shit… I… Ain’t you s’posed to be mopping?” Sergeant Powers said. Goddamn, that ass just doesn’t quit.
“Hmmm… Yes, I’m supposed to,” Avery said. “But I just can’t seem to focus. I don’t have the discipline.”
“Discipline is my specialty,” Sergeant Powers said. His nostrils flared. “Get back to mopping, cadet!”
Avery saluted — though he faced the wrong way, so he merely saluted the bunk in front of him. “Sir, yes, sir!” He took the mop in hand and started running it over the floor in a little circle. “Sir, like this, sir?” He bent over even farther to keep his ass in front of Sergeant Powers’s crotch.
“No, cadet, you little shitheel maggot! Ain’t ya mama evuh teach you to mop, motherfucker!”
“Sir, no, sir, I’m sorry-“
“Well then I reckon your mama must be the dumbest cunt a donkey ever fucked onstage, ain’t that right? Is your daddy a donkey, son?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Avery said. He held back a series of snickers, but he soon let up and the snickers turned into full-on guffaws. He stopped when Powers aimed a threatening face at him.
“You laughin’ at me, cadet? Am I a clown for ya? Huh? Do I amuse you?”
“Sir, no, sir-“
“Cuz I said to mop, not laugh. I ain’t seein’ a lotta moppin’ goin’ on!” His deep voice echoed in the empty barrack. Avery took a step away then to keep his teasing going. He mopped seriously for just a moment, then looked over his shoulder at Sergeant Powers’s ruddy face. “Did I say to look at me, cadet?! You don’t decide where to look! Your eyes are owned by Uncle Sam now, and Uncle Sam wants ‘em aimed at that floor! You had better mop until I can eat off that floor!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Avery said, holding back a giggle. “Sir, when you eat off the floor, are you going to do it like this?” Avery lowered his head until his face was on the floor, but he kept his ass high in the air, shaking it back and forth in front of Sergeant Powers’s body. His dick was blatantly hard now, and it must have slipped out of his jockstrap because it jutted forward in his shorts.
“Cadet! You’re playing games, and if it’s not Tiddlywinks, I am not interested in any games! Do you understand me?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Because I’m not so sure you do! Where are you from, cadet?!”
“Canada. Most recently.”
“Canada?! Canada?! The only thing they got in Canada is boars and whores, and I don’t hear you squealing like a piggie! Not yet anyway.”
“Sir, not yet, sir! I can squeal like a piggie on command! Or any other squeal-type animal! Sir!”
“You look like the kinda man who would ram another man in the ass and not have the common courtesy to give that man a reacharound! Is that the kind of man you are?”
“Sir, no, sir! I love reacharounds, sir-” Avery yelped because he felt one of those big sausage-like fingers on his ass. Powers gripped his cheeks roughly, like a hunk of dough he wanted to rip off. A chamberous growl came out of his chest at the same time. Avery moved to stand up, but Sergeant Powers pushed him back to the mop. Avery had to lean on it for support.
“Let’s see if that’s true! If you’re lying to me, boy, I swear, I will have you guarding Bumfuck, Canada from the walrus-men before you can blink! Do you believe me?!”
“Sir, yes, sir! I’m from Bumfuck, Canada, sir, I know the walrus-men. They want only peace and fresh mackerel-“
“You think this is a joke, cadet?!” His hand rammed underneath Avery’s pants, pulling them down roughly and tearing his underwear in his haste to bare his ass. “I didn’t tell you to stop mopping, did I?”
“Sir, no, sir! Uh… I just didn’t want to be distracted — so I can do the best mopping job possible-“
His callused fingers kneaded Avery’s ass with such force it hurt. One of his fingers extended into Avery’s smooth asscrack. He teased the rim of his hole. “You had better do the best job possible! This Army is not in the business of giving a gun and a uniform to any piece of shit capable of doing a couple push-ups, you little pissant! This Army gives guns and uniforms to men, who can do things right the first time, men who can follow orders, cadet!”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“So you keep mopping and you don’t stop even for one moment!” Sergeant Powers grinned behind Avery, his heart pounding. He hadn’t expected today to go like this. He hadn’t even been horny until he saw the cleaner — who worked for an outside contracting crew and was obviously a limpwristed sissy ogling cadets every chance he got, Powers had been noticing that for weeks. Then as soon as he saw Avery’s ass and felt it rubbing against his cock, Powers had been overwhelmed by an intense and uncontrollable desire to — as the young cadets said — ‘bust a nut’. That was not a vernacular Sergeant Powers could endorse. Literally, the Army had policies on that sort of thing.
Now he desperately wanted to ram someone who could take every inch of his big dick without complaint, allowing him to plow in with all his might. He loved women, of course, but they never really let him go hard, and sometimes, he didn’t want to be nice.
This was one of those times. “Don’t you turn your head and look at me, you little punk! Your ass belongs to the Army now!”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
His ass was bare, jutting upward. Sergeant Powers couldn’t even see his face now, just that ass, so plump and small yet big enough to have a little padding. He spread the cheeks and stroked his dick with one hand. “Do you feel like begging me to lube your ass up, cadet?!”
“Sir, yes, sir! Please, sir, lube me up! I can’t take it if you don’t use lube!”
“I don’t have any lube, so I’ll have to use spit, cadet! That’s all you’re worthy of anyway, I’d never spend money on lube for your dumb ass anyway!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Avery cried out. He leaned forward on the mop handle, which he still tried to move around like he was cleaning the floor. But it was hard with Sergeant Powers kneading his ass flesh and spreading his cheeks. The mop itself was slippery, so it didn’t support Avery well, and he had to focus on keeping it upright instead of sliding away. That made it hard to arch his back as Sergeant Powers required.
When Powers got Avery’s ass high enough and his own crotch low enough, he lined his dick up with Avery’s hole. “Soldier, you had best get ready, cuz you is in for it now. You in for a world of trouble. You ready for it.”
“Ye — eeeesssss!” Avery yelped because Powers forced his dick in with one powerful thrust before Avery had even finished agreeing. A burst of pain erupted in Avery’s backside, followed by a surge of blood-curdling pleasure. He grunted and mewled, his body twisting back and forth because both his feet and the mop stayed in the same place.
“Does that hurt, cadet?” Sergeant Powers grunted. He spat noisily in his palm and wiped it on his dick, the tip of which sat in Avery’s tight asshole. His whole body undulated as he tried to ram and ram and ram, forcing his dick in despite Avery’s tight hole. He wanted to break that smoothbody open, and he pressed his hairy chest against Avery’s back. His chest hair was already matted to his skin with the sweat from the morning’s run, so it rubbed moist and coarse and salty all at once over Avery’s shoulders and spine. The sensation and the rank and utter manhood smell made Avery’s cock spasm and spew precum even before anybody had touched it.
Avery bit his lip. “Sir, yes, sir! It hurts bad!”
“No it doesn’t, cadet! Your ass is owned by the Army, right? That means you don’t feel pain without my permission!” He pumped his hips, forcing more and more of his dick in. Avery shuddered and moaned into the mop handle.
“Sir, yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir!”
“This feels as good as lemonade in August, you little punk!”
“Sir, yes, sir-“
“Shut up! You’re from Canada, cadet, you wouldn’t know jack-shit about hot summers!” He held back a chuckle as Avery’s back rippled and more of his dick slipped in that tight hole. Soon his balls swayed and slapped against Avery’s backside. That sent further ripples of bliss up Avery’s spine. Powers grunted. “To you, I expect this feels as good as gravy on ya french fries-“
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Which I had better never see you do, cadet! If I ever see you put gravy on ya french fries in the mess hall, I swear I’ll stick my foot so far up your ass my toes sing ‘O, Canada’ using your goddamn vocal cords!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Avery let out a loud moan as a wave of pleasure hit him suddenly. He lifted his head up, and the motion made the mop he was leaning on move — it was still wet and on the slick floor, so it was only a matter of time until it slid across the linoleum.
Avery would have toppled to the ground, but Sergeant Powers grabbed him. He was stretched out though, his entire body rigidly diagonal and taut, and he still felt like he would fall flat on his face and belly at any moment. He was supported entirely in Powers’s brick-muscled arms. His powerful chest pressed against Avery’s back, while cock throbbed in Avery’s ass.
“Ah, shit, son…” Sergeant Powers grunted, unable to bring himself to move now, even though it was difficult to keep Avery upright in this position, because it felt too good. But he didn’t want it to feel too much like he was making love so he moved his hips, grinding his dick and making Avery cry out again in both pleasure and pain. “Did I say to stop moppin’, cadet?!”
“Sir, no, sir!” Avery gritted his teeth and lifted his head arduously, ignoring the waves of pleasure making his back undulate and his mouth gasp for air. His responses now were more breathless and less loud, a fact that made Drill Sergeant Powers cluck his tongue.
“You ain’t usin’ ya big boy voice now, is ya! C’mon, lemme hear you say it!” Sergeant Powers said, watching as Avery’s hands trembled moving the mop handle around. He wasn’t really mopping effectively, but he was moving the mop across the floor. “C’mon, son, soldiers gotta have a voice you can hear!”
“Sir… I… Sir… I’m mopping now! Sir!” Avery gasped and squirmed, holding the mop handle against his body with both hands, so he used his entire lithe frame to move it around, like he was hugging and kissing the mop handle instead of Sergeant Powers.
A jolt of pleasure shot up Sergeant Powers’s spine as well, and he took a deep breath. His thick paws moved down Avery’s smooth body, grimacing a little when he felt his cock — Powers had jacked men off before — that kind of thing was not such a big deal when he was in boot camp, and circlejerks were common — yet he still felt a twinge of disgust at it.
Avery’s dick throbbed, rock-hard, in Sergeant Powers’s hand, the skin of which was rough like leather but slick from sweat and spit, which made it soft and intense and provocative of an intense constellation of sensations. Precum flowed down the shaft of Avery’s manhood, further lubing up Sergeant Powers’s grip. It felt angry, insistent, already humping his hand from the moment he touched it, Avery’s sticky precum lubing the shaft up and turned the coarse friction from his rough calluses to silky moisture that sent him into convulsions of pleasure. Avery had been craving a hand on his cock since this began, but he leaned on the mop with both of his own hands, making it impossible to touch himself.
One of the reasons Sergeant Powers gave handjobs was that it distracted his bottom and made his ass loosen up some. That worked on Avery too, who groaned and moaned as Powers’s cock drilled in and out, his ass now slack enough that Sergeant Powers could ram as hard as he wanted. Still Avery had to keep focus on the mop.
“Aaaah… Cadet, are you enjoying yourself?”
“Sir… Not as much as gravy on my french fries, sir!” Avery said through gritted teeth. He stuck his head in the air and howled, trying to muffle the sound at first, then he remembered the base was almost empty right now, so he could be as loud as he wanted.
Powers chuckled, making his dick pulsate in Avery’s sensitive ass. He could watch the pleasure wash over Avery’s body, making it ripple and stretch. Avery even lifted one of his feet off the ground like a dog until Sergeant Powers barked at him. “Why are you lifting your leg, cadet? Keep both feet on the floor!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Avery said, gasping. His orgasm finally began, but was still inhibited by the tension of him nearly falling, trying to mop even as he got slammed in the ass and jacked off at the same time. “Sir… I’ve finished… mopping-” A moan escaped from his lips. “I’ve finished mopping this area, sir!”
“Well, then let’s mop over there,” Sergeant Powers said. He smirked as he took a step, forcing Avery to lift a foot again and take a single orgasm-inducing step. The motion sent a wave of blissful agony to wrack his body, and his knees buckled. Again, he almost fell to the floor. If Powers’s handjob wasn’t a little disrhythmic, unpracticed and callused, Avery would have already came all over his hand.
It took what felt like forever to move just a few yards, but then Avery began mopping the back area, near the toilets. His red face was tense, tears of sheer pleasure leaking down his cheeks as Sergeant Powers pounded into his prostate. Each thrust of his hips sent explosions of sensation through Avery’s body.
“Oh, god, shit, goddamn-” Avery’s voice broke, and he panted for air. His hands flailed, the mop toppling noisily to the ground.
Powers stopped ramming with his dick all the way in Avery’s ass, throbbing, feeling so thick inside him that Avery wondered if it was a fist. He lifted his head, leaning back until he felt that sweat-soaked tee shirt from Sergeant Powers’s morning run rubbing against Avery’s smooth back. “Cadet! Did you just address me without saying sir?!”
“Sir, yes, sir…” Avery moaned. For the first time since this had begun, he turned his head and looked at him. They both moved at once — so they both thought the other initiated it — and their kips interlocked. With Avery getting it up behind, his head craned to the side, it was a somewhat awkward kiss, but their tongues managed to collide within Avery’s mouth.
A burst of cum hit Avery’s insides, and he let out another moan, this one a blood-curdling, echoic moan that made the hairs on the back of Sergeant Powers’s head stand up. The sound reminded him that he was definitely with a man — as feminine as Avery was, that was a masculine wail — but it didn’t slow him down any, nor did the feel of sticky hot cum spreading over his fingers.
More juices sprayed out and onto the floor, while Powers filled Avery’s ass with a torrent of his white-hot cum. He held Avery tightly in place, letting his delicate lips lick on Powers’s tongue — not even really kissing anymore, just literally licking on it — as Avery writhed in his arms. Gobs of his cream coated Avery’s insides.
“Cadet-!” Powers tried to shout an order when Avery pulled away, but another wave of pleasure hit him, and his throaty voice broke. At the same moment, Powers shot another long flow of jizz, gallons of it, it felt like but probably wasn’t, Avery could feel the roping jets of jizz spurting into and leaking out of his ass. He exulted in the warmth seeping into his flesh, and he turned his head to the side so he could plunge his tongue back into Powers’s mouth.
The last few drops of Sergeant Powers’s cum drained into him, and still Powers didn’t let him go. Avery was still shooting a few last drops of his own climax onto the floor and the filthy water collected in the mop-bucket. Powers waited until he was done, Avery’s dick dangling limply in his grasp.
Then at last he let go and pulled out at the same time.
Avery would have slid to the ground, but Powers held him up, and then let him down gently on a bunk. Avery curled up, cum dripping out of his ass.
“Cadet! I’ll give you two minutes to rest, and then you had better get up and finish mopping!”
“Sir, yes, sir…” Avery said with a yawn. He stretched his legs. “Are you going to be around?”
Powers frowned. “No. I have things to do… Do you want to clean the showerhouse? You can watch me shower.”
“Yes!” Avery got up and giggled as the motion sent a fresh burst of pleasure from his still-sensitive ass. “I’d appreciate that very much,” he said with a salute. “Sir.”
Moshe often stumbles across Marines and cadets from the nearby base, so when one of each approaches his door, he wasn’t surprised. A cadet and his drill sergeant are in desperate need of something only Moshe can provide — a chance for the studly cadet to prove his devotion by bending over, grabbing his ankles and whistling dixie while Moshe goes to town all over his alpha-male ass!
Or read the whole thing here!
The Megillah was even more difficult to get right this year. Every year, Moshe found that he struggled a bit more to get the pronunciation right and to nail the rhythm of it — he didn’t speak Hebrew that well, much to his shame, and now that he no longer lived in Israel, he was losing his memory of the language. But every year during Purim, his family had him read the Megillah (that’s the same thing as the Bible’s Book of Esther and is part of the Tanakh whose recitation during the holy season of Purim is required for observant Jews; Purim is a March holiday that commemorates the Jews’s deliverance from certain genocide in the ancient Persian Empire). It was a sort of family tradition.
If Moshe had gotten married and had a child or two, his family would have had his kid begin reading the Megillah, or at least a few brief segments of it as he learned Hebrew. But Moshe had no desire for a child and seemed likely to remain a perpetual bachelor. That was exactly how he liked it.
That was why it remained his increasingly awkward duty to recite the Megillah every year.
There was a knock on the door. Moshe sighed and went to see who it was — if it was his NRA-loving, conservative neighbor with another gun-rights pamphlet, he was going to file a harassment complaint. He had promised himself that before as well, but he didn’t like to make waves, and it was always simpler just to take him at his word that he wouldn’t be back.
But it wasn’t that neighbor at all, it was the neighbor from the house on the other side, Sergeant Powers. Moshe didn’t see that much of him. He was from Camp Pendleton, the Marine Corps training facility here in San Diego. While Sergeant Powers was not exactly “nice”, he was always polite. Moshe rather liked him, certainly compared to the other neighbor.
It helped, of course, that Sergeant Powers was a big burly bear of a man, with muscles and a square jaw and so much swagger that Moshe nearly came in his pants the first time he had spied Powers lifting weights shirtless in his backyard. Today he was here, bright and early in the morning, with a younger man in tow.
The younger man was just as alluring as Powers and arguably even more sexy in a classic sense. The cadet had a Hollywood-handsome dimpled face, kind eyes and it was apparent he sported a six-pack under his t-shirt. Sergeant Powers was a bit older, with a few tinges of gray in his crewcut, and while he still had the body of a Marine, it showed notable wear and tear. The younger cadet was smooth, pert and taut, with dark hair and skin, an olive complexion and deep, dark eyes.
As Moshe opened the door, he realized the younger man looked like a cadet — he wore a crew-cut and a faded green t-shirt with short shorts, both of which appeared to be Marine Corps-issued. They were wrinkled as though he had been roused from bed early in the morning to come here.
“Shalom, Moshe,” Sergeant Powers said. He smiled. Moshe had taught him the word ‘shalom’ a few weeks ago, and now he used it every chance he got. “This is Cadet Pucci. He has a favor to ask you. May we come in?”
“Uh… I suppose,” Moshe said. He led them into his living room, where they both sat down. The situation was tense — Sergeant Powers appeared angry, enough so that Moshe wondered if he had done something wrong. Cadet Pucci, however, looked upset and guilty, as though it was he who had done something wrong. Moshe felt small and girlish in comparison to these two hulking brutes. Moshe cleared his throat. “A favor? I’m sorry, do I know you, Cadet… Antonio?”
Cadet Pucci shook his head. His face was worried, his dimples deep. He licked his lips. “Name’s Cadet Pucci, sir. I was askin’ Sarge here, man, I was-” He stopped talking and winced as Sergeant Powers cleared his throat. Cadet Pucci started again, his voice stilted and awkward. “Good morning, sir. I was hoping I could get your assistance this morning. I am a cadet at Camp Pendleton, and I need a day off-“
“The fuck you do!” Sergeant Powers barked.
Cadet Pucci again blanched and looked down at his feet. “I don’t need a day off. I want one. I’m a lazy guido bastard,” he said, looking to Powers as though expecting him to confirm it — he nodded his assent to Pucci’s words. Then Cadet Pucci continued. “I already had some leave, two weeks ago. And I met this girl. She was beautiful, you wouldn’t even believe it, she looked like, bam! She-” Cadet Pucci stopped himself, his hands fluttered by his sides like he wanted to mime out the silhouette of her body. He cleared his throat. “Well, she was hot as a frying pan, shit! And she’s moving to Georgia, so tonight is the last time I might see her. And I asked my sergeant if I could move a day of leave up. I wouldn’t even have to miss any training, I could leave at night-“
“Tell him why I said no,” Sergeant Powers said gruffly. He placed one hand on Cadet Pucci’s shoulder and squeezed.
“I… I have not always been followin’ the rules,” Cadet Pucci said. “I snuck out before. That was just to get laid though. I didn’t love that girl.”
“You don’t love any girl,” Sergeant Powers said with a scoff, like he disbelieved in the entire concept.
“I do!” Cadet Pucci said as his cheeks blushed. He looked to Moshe. “And anyway, Sergeant Powers said I had to prove I loved her and I wasn’t just after sex.”
“I may be a hardass, but I ain’t gonna stand in the way of true love,” Sergeant Powers said, mockingly wiping a tear from his eye. “Cadet Pucci skipped over a few details. He tried to sneak out for trim four times — that I know of. I caught him each time, so he been skatin’ on very thin ice for some time. He has been one mouthy fuck since the day his wop-dago ass got here.”
“So… uh,” Cadet Pucci said. “If you want… you don’t have to, sir. But, uh, if you want… we could, y’know… do stuff.” His cheeks were red as cherries now. “Like… masturbation stuff.” That made Powers snort and laugh under his breath. Cadet Pucci added, “Or like, whatever. I could do stuff — it’d be worth it to do, you know… whatever. Like cornholing.”
“What?” Moshe was shocked — he had thought Cadet Pucci was going to ask for a ride or for help finding the local girl, something like that. Sometimes cadets at the military base did that. Moshe liked to help them out when he could.
And he liked to help them out when they let him play with their dicks, which they very often did. Nobody is hornier than a Marine at boot camp. Or not yet a Marine, an almost-Marine.
“He’ll do anything you want, Moshe,” Sergeant Powers said. “I want to see how devoted he is to this girl. Plus as long as he gets his rocks off now, I’ll now he ain’t motivated by overflowing balls neither.” He looked at Cadet Pucci and nodded. “Go on, tell him.”
Cadet Pucci sighed. “I’ll… jerk you off, and you can plow me in the ass as hard as you want.” He blushed intensely. Then he took off his shirt, revealing a perfectly tapered torso and a powerful chest, which he flexed. He smiled proudly, though still shamefully, as Moshe looked on. He was splendidly muscled, his shoulders as broad as a barn, and he reeked of youth and sweat and power. Moshe’s dick was already twitching in his pants.
“I thought you’d enjoy this,” Sergeant Powers said.
Moshe nodded. This was awkward, but he certainly was not going to refuse such an incredible opportunity. He wasn’t sure how to begin, and now that he knew what was happening, he couldn’t stop himself from jumping right into it. His dick jerked to half-mast just from the realization of what was about to happen.
After a few seconds of silence, Cadet Pucci closed his eyes like he expected Moshe to get started, which was exactly what he did. Moshe dropped to his knees.
He dove into Cadet Pucci’s crotch before he could drop those shorts, which were musty, moist and sprinkled with dried salt from Cadet Pucci’s sweat. He must have been doing PT in these shorts for weeks, Moshe thought, wondering how long it had been since they were washed. It smelled like a long-time. He tasted layers of dried-in funk. His thick cock and heavy balls were cradled beneath the fabric by his Marine Corps-issued underwear. Moshe licked the bulge from top to bottom, and stuck his head between Cadet Pucci’s trunk-like thighs. Sergeant Powers laughed, either out of discomfort or glee at Cadet Pucci’s stiff-bodied anxiety.
“At attention, solider!” Powers barked. Cadet Pucci stood straight and tall, arms trembling as Moshe’s hands explored his bare upper body. His pecs twitched beneath Moshe’s fingers. Additional beads of nervous sweat appeared on his shoulders, and Moshe smeared them over his musculature.
Horniness arising from deep within and overwhelming him, Moshe wanted desperately to taste every inch of Cadet Pucci’s body and to feel his cock deep inside him. But Moshe also enjoyed topping, and he knew he’d never get a chance to top someone like this again. So he was in a quandary about how to proceed — he decided his best bet was to help Cadet Pucci relax a little by swallowing his cumload first. This would be better for everyone if Cadet Pucci were aroused too, and a virile young Marine like Cadet Pucci would surely cum quickly.
Moshe pulled down Cadet Pucci’s shorts and underwear, whistling to show his appreciation at Pucci’s big uncut cock — alphas loved it when you pretended they had some uniquely huge and wonderful cock. Pucci’s was in fact huge and wonderful, but then Moshe liked all dicks, so it wasn’t unique. Still, the smell of his rank crotch and his heavy balls made Moshe wrinkle his nose as desire flooded him, and Moshe’s dick rocketed to full erection in his pants. Without a word of warning, Moshe swallowed it to the root, as Cadet Pucci gasped and struggled to remain at attention.
“That girl worth it, Cadet Pucci?” Sergeant Powers asked. From his vantage point, Moshe couldn’t see or hear Cadet Pucci’s response, but it must have been yes, judging from the way Powers grunted back at him. Then Cadet Pucci’s entire body stiffened even more, and he yelped. Moshe saw Sergeant Powers’s hand disappearing behind Moshe’s ass.
“You got a tight ass, Cadet. That must be why all the girls like you,” Powers said. He smirked and licked his teeth as he did something with his hand that made Cadet Pucci gasp, bug out and clench his teeth tight.
He must have stuck a finger in there, Moshe realized with a sense of shock. Cadet Pucci’s toes curled and his hands tightened into fists behind his back as he submitted to the fingering. But the prostate stimulation helped him get hard too, and soon his cock was pulsating in Moshe’s mouth.
The taste of precum hit Moshe’s tongue. Above his head, he heard Sergeant Powers get close enough he was nearly kissing Moshe on the cheek. He spoke softly but with an authoritarian tenor to his voice. “That girl still worth it?” He violently rammed his finger — or maybe more than one finger, Moshe couldn’t see — in and out of Cadet Pucci’s juicy asscheeks. Cadet Pucci yelped and blushed, and for a moment he wasn’t at attention, he was leaning on Moshe’s shoulder, his knees buckling as pain and prostate pleasure alike rocketed up his spine.
“Yes,” Cadet Pucci said through gritted teeth. His muscles undulated in sync with his sergeant’s finger ramming into his asshole. His muscles all flexed every time he winced. He bit his lip. “I have to see her this weekend. I love her. Sir.”
Moshe stood and took off his own clothes. He felt tiny next to these two hulking men. Moshe was short, fair-haired and smooth-bodied, lean and trim. He had always been skinny, and though he had been working on bulking up, he simply didn’t have the body type to get big. That was very much unlike Cadet Pucci, whose broad body and fat cock seemed to take up all of the space in this room.
“Gimme one of your hands, Cadet Pucci,” Moshe said as authoritatively as he could muster. Sergeant Powers chuckled at the weak tenor of his voice, and he repeated the order.
“Give ‘im a hand, Cadet Pucci.”
Cadet Pucci did so, gingerly placing his hand on Moshe’s cock. He shrank back as soon as he touched it, as though he had never touched a hard dick before. Then he gripped it again and gave it a tentative stroke.
Moshe had to stand on his toes to kiss Cadet Pucci on the lips, which he did even as Cadet Pucci kept his face straight and stony, so it was like kissing a warm statue. Moshe’s tongue pushed into Pucci’s mouth — on one level, it was a bad kiss, Pucci’s tongue was limp and still like a dead rooster, but on the other level, it was warm and nervous and oh-so-macho. Moshe didn’t mind the lack of passion, as he rather enjoyed the roughness of Pucci’s fingers and the shamefully aroused passion of his body, which still stood at attention. He wasn’t even really stroking Moshe’s cock anymore, he just held onto it loosely while Moshe humped his manhood into Cadet Pucci’s grip. It took all of Pucci’s focus to remain at attention with Sarge’s finger in his tight ass and Pucci’s own hand on Moshe’s precum-soaked cock.
Then Moshe leapt into Pucci’s arms and mounted his chest. Cadet Pucci grunted in surprise and nearly fell over, but he was strong enough to support Moshe even without preparing for it first. He looked down in shock at the sight of Moshe’s hard dick on Pucci’s gym-toned torso, spewed precum over his six-pack abs.
Scooting up Pucci’s trunk-like chest, Moshe let his dick rest between those mountainous pecs, which were still hard from the tension and the pain in his ass. Now that his head was over Pucci’s body, Moshe could see Sergeant Powers’s cruel smile as he wedged a second finger into Pucci’s asshole. His cheeks jiggled marvelously.
Using Pucci’s head for support, Moshe climbed up even farther, until his crotch was right in Pucci’s face. His dick leaked fluids over his nose and cheeks, and Cadet Pucci trembled as he tried hard to avoid gagging.
“This still worth it, Cadet?”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Pucci’s voice was pinched and strained, and muffled by the cockshaft pulsating against his lips. He gagged as the taste of cock flooded his senses.
Moshe struggled to get his dick into Pucci’s mouth from this angle. He had to angle his hips outward, and Cadet Pucci had to support his ass with both hands, but when he did, Cadet Pucci swallowed his entire cock easily. He was a big man, so he had a big throat. Even as it spasmed and choked on the flavor, and Cadet Pucci blushed intensely, he let Moshe’s dick enter his throat. He swallowed it down deep, until his nose was nestled in Moshe’s crotch.
A moan escaped from Moshe’s lips, as Antonio gagged. Cadet Pucci had that thick lustrous dark hair that Italian men were known for. It was cut into a short Marine Corps crew-cut, but it was obvious that he had perfect politician’s-hair when he let it grow out. Moshe gripped his head, savoring the rolls of flesh in the back of his scalp as he shoved his dick down the man’s spasming throat.
From this vantage point, Moshe saw Sergeant Powers’s hand in Pucci’s ass. He smiled at Moshe, who threw his head back and moaned, and Sergeant Powers slowly worked a second finger in. Cadet Pucci bucked and he nearly fell over again, but managed to stay standing, despite the series of gags wracking his throat.
“Keep at attention, Cadet!”
It didn’t take very much for Moshe to feel his orgasm coming. He didn’t want to end like this, without plowing Cadet Pucci in the tight Italian ass, so he hopped down from the man’s shoulders. Pucci’s entire face was moist with precum and his own saliva, which dripped from his lips — he couldn’t wipe his face off without breaking his posture, so he remained there with his wrinkled-nose face shiny, manfluids running in rivulets down his square jaw.
“Gimme twenty!” Moshe said, and after a moment’s hesitation to consider whether to obey, Cadet Pucci dropped to the ground.
He began doing push-ups, counting them off as Sarge put one hand on his bare back to guide him. As he did so, Moshe mounted Pucci’s ass, just wedging his dick between the cheeks for now. Antonio struggled to keep going with the push-ups now that he had Moshe’s weight on his back. His firm back muscles flexed beneath Moshe’s smooth body.
“One!” Sergeant Powers said as he watched Cadet Pucci struggle to get his push-ups right. “I ain’t countin’ these granny-push-ups, Cadet. Do ’em properly!”
Cadet Pucci began doing push-ups much more slowly with Moshe’s weight on his back. He grunted and heaved with each motion. His powerful biceps worked up and down.
“C’mon, Cadet, don’t give up!” Sergeant Powers barked. He got on his knees right in front of Pucci’s face and demanded he keep going. Pucci’s back muscles strained, covered in sweat.
As Cadet Pucci struggled to finish his push-ups, Moshe again had to work on his angle so he could penetrate the cadet. He lowered his body until his cock lined up with Pucci’s ass, then he managed to get the tip of his dick in while still resting his body on Pucci’s ass. Instantly, Cadet Pucci dropped to the floor, gritting his teeth with pain. He squirmed there.
“Get up, Cadet! You fuckin’ pussy! If you can’t finish these push-ups, I swear to Christ you’ll never do a push-up without a cock in your ass again!”
Cadet Pucci struggled back to supporting himself on his arms and legs, while Moshe worked his dick in deeper, rocking his body back and forth to help it slide in. Pucci’s hole had been loosened a bit by Sarge’s fingers, but it was still so tight Moshe though he might cum from the moment he entered. The squeeziness of his booty sent waves of pleasure to crash through Moshe’s twink frame.
“He keepin’ hisself open how you want it, Moshe?” Sergeant Powers asked.
“Yeah, Sarge,” Moshe said. “He’s doin’ good.” That was when Moshe noticed that Powers had a bulge in his shorts too. Moshe reached for that bulge without giving it a second thought, and blushed when Sergeant Powers smiled.
“Stick it in me…” Moshe said, his voice weak and breathless as he worked to hold back his orgasm. He stopped moving with his cock all the way in Pucci’s ass, letting it throb there,
Powers grinned. He smacked Pucci’s ass and laughed at how the motion made him writhe and flex every muscle on his powerful body. Then Sergeant Powers got behind Moshe and pulled his shorts down.
He rammed his dick in hard and grunted as it melted right in. Moshe was well-practiced at taking huge cocks like his — and at taking Powers’s cock specifically — so he gritted his teeth and submitted to it. He dug his nails into Pucci’s broad back as he loosened himself up. He lost himself in the exquisite sandwich of Marine meat both in front and behind him.
Cadet Pucci stopped doing push-ups. Nobody was counting anymore, but Moshe was fairly sure he had hit at least twenty — though Sergeant Powers had refused to count many of them. Regardless, Cadet Pucci lay flat on the ground now, grunting with every thrust of Moshe’s dick and yelping when Powers thrust into Moshe, which forced Moshe to penetrate Cadet Pucci even harder.
Moshe felt like a bug being squashed between two large stone statues. Powers, however, was a bit soft — he was bigger than Cadet Pucci, but older, hairier and less perfectly etched. Moshe was fine with that. While he certainly appreciated the Hollywood-handsome good lucks of Cadet Pucci, he enjoyed the burly hairiness of Sergeant Powers as well.
As Moshe neared orgasm, he rested his face in Pucci’s broad, sweat-covered back. He licked his strapping muscles. Above him, Powers did much the same, resting his weight partially on his knees but also on Moshe. That put Powers’s head above Moshe and near Pucci’s ruddy, wincing face.
“You like this, Cadet?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“Good,” Powers said. He laughed as he licked Pucci’s earlobe, making Cadet Pucci shudder in humiliation and agony. Moshe managed to get one of his hands under Pucci’s body, and was surprised to feel a rock-hard cock — he must really enjoy prostate stimulation, Moshe thought. He stroked Pucci’s dick the best he could, and Cadet Pucci began humping his hips instinctively.
“Tell me when you feel cum in yer ass,” Sergeant Powers said. When Cadet Pucci winced and looked away, he repeated himself. “I wanna cum at the same time. So tell me.”
It looked like Cadet Pucci didn’t want to acknowledge the feeling of semen in his ass, but he nodded anyway. As Moshe felt his orgasm approach, Powers lifted both Cadet Pucci and Moshe, so all three were on their knees. Moshe was still sandwiched between the huge men on both sides of him, and Moshe barely even moved himself, allowing both men’s powerful bodies to provide all the motion. Moshe just licked and sucked on the taut muscles all around him.
In the end, Cadet Pucci acknowledged it even before Moshe had realized he was cumming. His orgasm washed over his body and made him shudder with delight. His spine was wracked by exquisite pain from his ass, which mingled with the pleasure he felt all over. Hot cum sprayed within Pucci’s asshole.
Then, a few seconds later, both Cadet Pucci and Sergeant Powers shot their own load. Powers had a huge wad that sunk into every corner of Moshe’s body, while Cadet Pucci bucked and gagged when he shot his load into the palm of Moshe’s waiting hand.
While all three dicks limpened, Moshe raised his handful of steaming cum to Pucci’s mouth. Cadet Pucci gagged again, and winced, still in pain from Moshe’s dick in his ass.
“Open your mouth, Cadet,” Sergeant Powers said. “Still worth it?”
Cadet Pucci opened his mouth. “Absolutely worth it, Sarge.” Moshe emptied the cumload into Pucci’s mouth, and sighed as Pucci’s ass clenched around his cock once more. Cadet Pucci choked and gagged down every drop.
And then it was at last over. Powers dismounted Moshe, who pulled away from Pucci’s naked, moist body. Cadet Pucci collapsed onto the ground, but only for a moment before Sergeant Powers barked at him to get up.
“Up, Cadet, at attention!”
Pucci’s ass was in terrible pain, so his knees buckled, but he managed to stand at attention. His limp dick hung between his legs. Moshe giggled as he stroked it and got a few nervous shakes from Pucci’s body, tensing his muscles again as his overly sensitive dick throbbed in Moshe’s fingers.
Moshe smiled. “I guess his love is true, Sarge,” he said.
Sarge nodded. “I sure thought he’d back out,” he said. “Alright, Cadet Pucci, you can have your leave, and I won’t charge you for conduct unbecoming.”
Cadet Pucci gasped. “Thank you, Sergeant Powers,” he said, then added, “And Moshe, thank you too.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps when I want an extra night off in the future-“
“Absolutely-” Moshe said, but was interrupted by Sergeant Powers.
“No way, Cadet. Next time, you submit to me,” Powers said with a grin.
Madhu is approached by a pimp with a bizarre offer — tutor his brother in computer programming in exchange for the ride of a lifetime. You see, Perry the pimp doesn’t want his brother to follow in his footsteps, meaning he is willing to give Madhu a free swing on a ho for lessons…
But when Madhu’s not interested in a ho — he prefers Perry’s studly body — Madhu is in for a topsy-turvy climax of alpha male twink on top action!
Or read the whole thing here!
Living in Philadelphia during presidential caucus season meant that Madhu Sharma was used to being harangued by ideologues of various sorts, distributing pamphlets, QR codes, rumors, surveys, social media pile-ons, revenge porn and, worst of all, merch. So when he saw a flamboyantly dressed man on his doorstep, knocking loud like a swat team, Madhu assumed it was some sort of political stunt. Gato had been calling Governor Saltieri a “pimp for ethanol” for a long time, so Madhu thought perhaps this was a Gato operative.
He opened the door with a dour frown. “I’m a registered Democrat,” he said. “Please don’t give me a sales pitch on any Republican-” He stopped talking because he realized the man in front of him was — or at least was very good at appearing like — a real pimp.
He was black as twilight, and the clothes were fine, tailored, brightly-colored, and seemingly real, not a costume. How many Republican political volunteers were black men with actual pimp clothes? Probably very few. This could only be a real pimp. He was tall, kind of lean but powerfully built, with a harsh face and a long scar from his chin to his cheek. He looked like he thought he was more handsome than he was, and he probably was very handsome as a younger man. Now he was craggy and scarred, with the despirate cast-iron look of an ex-con.
“I ain’t no Republican, motherfucker,” said the man in a hippy rhythm, like it was the opening line to a song. He put a big smile on his face. “The name’s Perry. Can I come in?”
“Uh…” Madhu didn’t answer, but Perry didn’t wait. He pushed past him into the house. He was a lot taller than Madhu, and Madhu’s face was shoved into the door by the massive man as he shoved his way in. Madhu shut the door behind him.
“Can I… uh… help you? I haven’t hired a… well, anyone. I haven’t hired anyone for anything,” Madhu said.
“I know. I gotcha, baby,” he said. “I pickin’ up what you’s puttin’ down, sweetheart. You got confusion, I got answers. Listen, cuz they is packing a wallop. Perry got answers for e’erything, man. Madhu, right? You got any questions about the universe, God, science, history, whatever you want, Perry will lay down the truth to you.” He walked into Madhu’s kitchen and opened the fridge. He snarled in frustration. “You got no beer?”
“No-“
“Liquor?”
“Uh, yeah, in the cabinet over there,” Madhu said. He pointed, and Perry found a bottle of bourbon. He poured himself a drink and added ice. As he did, he passed over his smartphone, which was open to a picture of a scantily clad girl. She looked pretty, but in a rather whoreish way. Madhu couldn’t tell if it was a photograph or a publicity still from a porno. He glanced at it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Look through there for a girl you like,” he said.
Madhu did as he was told, flipping through pictures of slutty-looking women in low-cut dresses. Many of the photos seemed to have been taken in the same low-rent apartment, some ghetto-ass place, and some of the girls were wearing the same dresses. His heart pounded as he tried to figure out what was going on. He had no interest in any of these girls. Why had a pimp burst into his house like this? Should he call the police? If he had his phone nearby, he might have done it, but it was sitting on the charger in his bedroom.
“You know my brother, Jerembee.”
“No I don’t,” Madhu said. “Look, these girls are nice. They’re very pretty, but I don’t see what-“
“That wasn’t a question, bitch, shut yo’ mouth,” Perry said with a dramatic sigh. “When Perry graces you wit’ a statement, you shut yo’ fool mouth and listen.” He took a sip from his bourbon. “You hear me?”
“Yeah… I get it, I just don’t understand-“
“Shut the goddamn fuck up before I shut you up. I is in the process of explainin’, but you ain’t respondin’ right. I’s talkin’, and you’s over there flippy-flappin’ like a penguin about the phone-“
“You told me to look in the phone-!”
“You can do two things at once, dumbass!” Perry jabbed a finger in his direction. “Both look at the girlies and listen to me!”
“Fine.” Madhu flipped back through the pictures of trashy women. He’d already seen them all. When he went back to the end of the photo album, he saw a dick pic of Perry’s cock — presumably — a photo of a birthday cake and some pics of puppies doing cute puppy things. He wondered if Perry realized he was able to flip past the women.
“”You do know Jerembee. He lives next door to you. He lives right over there.”
“Who? Oh, Jay Man?”
“He calls himself Jay Man?”
“Yeah, that’s what he introduced himself as,” Madhu said, though now that he thought about it, he had received mail addressed to his neighbor, so he did know his real name was Jerembee. He just hadn’t thought of it in time. Perry’s presence and his big-chested swagger made it hard to think about anything else.
Perry chuckled. “Don’t call him that. Call him Jerembee from now on. That’s good enough for our mama, it’s good enough for him.” He took another long drink of bourbon. “Fuckin’ Jay Man.” He looked at the glass of bourbon like he had just noticed it was in his hand. “That’s good bourbon. What is it, French?” He looked at the label.
“All bourbon comes from Kentucky.”
His face screwed up tight, and he wagged a finger at Madhu. “Don’chu dare educate me ’bout liquor, you spicetip shit, I will correct you in a most unpleasant fashion, you hear?”!
“Yeah, fine, I still don’t get why you’re here,” Madhu snapped.
“Don’t get snippy wit’ me. You find a girl you like?”
“I… uh… I’m not into prostitutes,” Madhu said.
Perry cocked his head to the side and looked him up and down. “What?” he asked. His eyes cringed at the sight of Madhu’s thin twink body and girlish face. He inspected Madhu up and down. His menace made Madhu shiver with fear. He frowned and grabbed Madhu’s crotch. Madhu felt a surge of pain as Perry squeezed hard on his cock and balls through the fabric of his pants, and Madhu sucked in his breath and stood on his toes. Despite that, Madhu’s cock swelled up, both from arousal and fear. Perry frowned again.
“I’m sorry… Why are you here?” Madhu asked.
“You know my brother, right? And you a computer programmer?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you teach him?”
“Teach him what?”
“Programming, motherfucker.”
“Uh… I’m not a teacher,” Madhu said.
“I know, but he can’t afford college or nothing like that,” Perry said. “Hs gotta go clean. I ain’t gonna let him end up a thug. I know he can get a job if he programs. I read them tech firms is lookin’ for niggas, cuz they get protested all the time, for being like ninety percent white.”
Madhu scoffed. “Try ninety percent Indian.”
“Well, not ninety percent nigga, that’s for damn sure. They want niggas, and Jerembee’s gonna be one of ‘em,” he said. “I was gonna let you go to town on one of my bitches anytime you want, if you keep givin’ him lessons. I was thinkin’ computer programmers is a bunch of nerds, right? Prolly a virgin, gonna teach Jerembee all kinda shit if he get some nice pussy.”
Madhu shook his head. “That’s gross. And I’m not a virgin. You’re taking advantage of those women.”
“Shut up.”
Madhu’s heart started pounding as he wondered if this meant he was going to get a chance to handle Perry’s meat. He blushed at the thought, and his eyes were inexorably drawn to the crotch of Perry’s crimson slacks. He’d noticed when Perry moved before, Madhu caught a glimpse of a massive bulge there.
Perry put his hands on his hips. “Well, fine, you got me,” he said. He wrinkled his nose. “Whatchoo want? You want me to jerk you off?”
“What? Really?” Madhu had thought maybe he could get a chance to swing on Perry’s cock — these ubermacho thugs sometimes let that happen, on the downlow, and Madhu was all too willing to keep it as downlow as they wanted. But he never thought Perry would be willing to bottom. He wasn’t even sure he had heard that correctly. “You want to bottom?”
“No.” He scoffed. “But I will. If it gets my brother the education he needs.”
“You know how to do it?”
“I can do anything, motherfucker,” he said. “I’m a pimp. You can’t be good at this job if you don’t know e’rything about dick. You gotta be willin’ to sacrifice. And I been locked up. So I done spent my turn on bottom before. Ain’t my preference, but if you’ll give Jerembee lessons, you can stick it in any hole you want, bitch.” He got on his knees, needing to stoop to reach Madhu’s dick.
“Wow, so you’ve done this before?”
“Just twice,” he said as he pulled down Madhu’s pants. “Not by choice. But you know, sometimes in prison the shitty-shit happens, and a nigga gotta bend over.” He was quick and unceremonious, like he just wanted to get this over with, to check the boxes that he had indeed handled Madhu’s dick. He put it one hand and gave it a few rough strokes. “And you best believe, if Perry is gonna give up the booty, it is gonna be fine indeed! I will show my own bitches up, they don’t act right, Madhu, if you can believe it, they do trifle, even though I try to teach ’em. You ever try to teach a woman?”
Madhu inhaled sharply and said, “No. Haven’t. Done. That.” He was still unsure if this was a trap or a trick, though he couldn’t imagine what the point would have been. He watched his dick spring free, already half-hard as much from nervousness as actual arousal. It throbbed in Perry’s hand.
He frowned distastefully at the sight of Madhu’s cock, as though he had been hoping it’d be smaller. He gave it a few long, slow strokes, and he looked up at Madhu as though expecting a big dramatic moan of desire. But Perry’s hand was thick and callused, and Madhu was only beginning to get into.
Madhu’s knees went weak, and he almost lost his balance. He gripped Perry’s thick arm muscles for support, which Perry frowned at but didn’t complain. He got both hands on Madhu’s meat now, one hand holding the root of his cock, the other expertly working the shaft. Despite the discomfort of his rough macho-man’s skin on Madhu’s sensitive dick, he was getting hard, slowly.
“I only did it in prison, when I ain’t have a choice… Cuz that’s just the way it is in there, and when you as sexy as me, you know… prison guards wanna take a whack at’cha. They only got millimeter peters though, mosta ’em, so I don’t count it, you feel me?” He leaned in. “Don’t tell nobody that, ‘specially not my brother.”
“Okay…” Madhu bit his lip. Precum was oozing out the tip of his dick now.
“You look kinda like a girl to begin with, so I’m already likin’ you better than the last one. That was a hairy-ass Italian dude. Smelled like a loaf of bread you forgot about in the backa the pantry.”
“Oh, okay,” Madhu said, holding his breath. He couldn’t really think about what was happening right now enough to formulate a more cogent response. Maybe Perry realized that, cuz he narrowed his eyes in Madhu’s direction.
Then, still kneeling in front of him, Perry opened his mouth. Madhu’s knees went weak again as his dick slipped into Perry’s mouth. He gripped Perry’s bright red fedora for support, holding him so tightly that the fedora fell off, and Madhu clutched Perry’s tight cornrows instead.
His dick got fully hard right away, as Perry’s tongue slicked spit up and down the shaft. Madhu was so shocked by what was happening that he could only look down at it as though it was a computer program that didn’t make any sense. Perry didn’t seem into it, but he didn’t seem to hate it either. He approached it like a non-vegan might eat a vegan lasagna when there was nothing else available. He frowned at it, but he slathered spit all along the shaft, and he didn’t stop to gag once.
Looked like he had to bite back a couple gags though.
Perry didn’t take his red and violet suit off, so his back muscles rippled beneath the fine cloth. He loudly suckled, clenching his throat every few seconds and sending waves of pleasure up Madhu’s spine. This day was not turning out at all like he expected.
“Oh, fuckin’ hell, Perry… Damn,” Madhu said, blushing at how exaggerated his reaction was. He twisted and gasped for air, and he leaned on Perry’s cornrowed head for support.
Perry didn’t stop to say anything, but he murmured around the cock in his throat. Madhu didn’t know what he said, all heard was a moist explosion of syllables. Perry’s grizzled chin scratched against Madhu’s thigh as he nuzzled his nose deep into Madhu’s crotch, and he produced so much spit it dripped onto the floor beneath him. His lips caressed Madhu’s shaft, so expertly that Madhu began to doubt that Perry was as ill-experienced as he had suggested.
Precum leaked down Perry’s throat. He gurgled and made a sour face when he tasted it, but it didn’t slow him down any. Perry grabbed ahold of Madhu’s bare asscheeks, slapping them as though appreciating their plump roundness, even if he couldn’t see them from his position.
Since Perry was so tall, he had to bend way over to get his head in Madhu’s crotch. That meant his broad, strapping back was laid out in front of Madhu. He leaned forward and slipped his hands underneath Perry’s clothes, caressing the man’s smooth, ropy-muscled back.
A humming, moaning sound came from Perry’s throat. He pushed his head all the way down, until his nose was buried in Madhu’s pubic hair. His throat clenched as he gagged out loud for the first time, then pulled away and spat on the floor of Madhu’s kitchen. Madhu was too intensely horny to care about the mess on his floor.
Avoiding eye contact with Madhu, Perry pushed his head between Madhu’s legs — his head was so big it barely fit, and Madhu had to spread his feet to accommodate him. Then Perry swallowed Madhu’s entire ballsack.
The sensitive skin of Madhu’s scrotum tingled, and his knees went weak again. He murmured to himself as he slowly sank to the ground, hips mounting Perry’s face. Since Perry had to struggle to lower his head under Madhu’s crotch, it was easier for him to just lay on his back anyway.
Lifting his balls, Madhu aimed his cock back for Perry’s mouth again. He swallowed it down greedily, as though he enjoyed it even as he gagged at the onrush of salty precum hitting his tongue. Perry was tall, with a big mouth and a cavernous throat, and he swallowed Madhu’s cock easily.
Madhu leaned forward as though to start sixty-nining, but he was nowhere’s near tall enough to actually jerk Perry off. He snuck his hands beneath those violet slacks and stroked his dick, which was, much to Madhu’s surprise, already hard as stone.
They continued like that, faux sixty-nining until Perry slapped Madhu’s perky brown asscheeks. Madhu pulled away, and Perry took a deep gasping breath. He sat up and frowned at Madhu. “How was that?”
“That was… amazing…” Madhu said, looking down at his feet. He was shocked once again as he saw Perry turn around and pull his slacks down. Perry bared his asscheeks, still keeping his shirt, tie and suit jacket on, just lifting them all up enough to show off his plump brown asscheeks.
“I always tell my bitches I could handle dick better than them. Pity they’ll never know. You best not tell no one about this,” Perry said. He thought for a moment. “He gonna ask me when I tell him about this. He gonna want to know if I’m payin’ you.”
“Uh, well…”
“You like niggas? I tell him I gave you Mackdog. He got that disease that make him white, just a bit on his leg. Tell him that.”
“Vitiligo?”
“That’s it, he got that and the biggest dick you ever seen. I ain’t ashamed to admit he packin’ more meat than me. He don’t know how to use it though, and he mess around wit’ any kinda nigga on the downlow. So you tell him you rammed Mackdog. Jerembee will get a laugh outta that,” Perry said, turning his head back to see Madhu. “I’ll tell Mackdog to back it up. He don’t care, he’s a animal.”
“Okay. Mackdog, yeah.”
Madhu felt tiny behind Perry, who was broad-shouldered and wide-assed. He had big round cheeks that Madhu had to stretch on his toes to reach, even with Perry on all fours. As soon as his finger touched the rim, Perry’s hole puckered. He winced even before anything penetrated him.
“You want me to lick your ass first?” Madhu asked.
“Hell yeah, sissy,” Perry said. “If’n you eat ass, eat away. I ain’t nevuh turn down a rimjob.”
Madhu got on his knees and dove in. He loved giving rimjobs, and he especially loved smooth black assholes like Perry’s. He ran his tongue through the asscrack, collecting all the sweat that dripped there. Perry had an intensely masculine musk, with a faintly chocolate flavor which Madhu thought of as the taste of the cocoa butter lotion most black men used.
Then his tongue plunged in to that musty dark hole. Perry lifted his head up and howled, his pride returning now that he wasn’t jerking cock. His body undulated as Madhu lapped at his ass.
Perry’s back arched as he grunted. It sounded like he hadn’t really expected this to feel that good. Madhu was proud of his rimjobbery skills and he beamed, not that anyone could see it. He inhaled noisily. Perry made a proudful sort of moan, and his cock throbbed — Perry was glad to be dominant for at least part and he rubbed his asshole all over Madhu’s face.
He made sure to lick loudly and messily. Madhu loved the sight of a man with spit dripping down his ass, some of it even sliding all the way through his taint and into the messy nest of sweaty pubic hair at the base of his balls. A few drops of that assy saliva even dribbled into the seat of Perry’s nice slacks, which were around his ankles. Madhu hoped he wasn’t going to be furious about that when he saw it later — he seemed like the kind of pimp who hated getting his clothes dirty.
“Ah, damn, you sure you ain’t black, boi? Cuz you eat ass like a nigga!” Perry said loudly. He slapped his hand on the floor as he said it. “Alright then, whiteboi, time to stick it in me. You be gentle, ya hear?”
“Yeah, I will. Just tell me to stop if it hurts too much,” Madhu said.
Perry grumbled as though he didn’t want to do that. Madhu got the impression he didn’t like to show pain. But Perry got back up on all fours and spread his perfectly round asscheeks. His hole twinkled, beckoning Madhu with its temporary looseness.
Madhu stood back up on his toes, slipping the tip of his dick in before Perry’s ass had time to tighten back up after the rimjob. Perry bit his lip and grunted.
Pleasure shot through Madhu’s body like a bullet. He worked his dick in inch by inch, smiling as he saw Perry wince and try to pretend he didn’t feel any pain, or even pleasure. He stayed as stoic as he could, stone-facing there on all fours, his muscles all tensing and relaxing in sync with the thrusts of Madhu’s cock into his ass. The pleasure was even more shameful for him, it seemed, than the vulnerability he showed when he writhed in agony. Behind that agony was the bliss he didn’t dare acknowledge out loud.
But his dick couldn’t lie — or at least, it didn’t lie, as Madhu noticed when he reached around Perry’s body to his cock and stroked it, rock-hard despite the meat in his ass. Perry grunted and held his head down.
Madhu felt his orgasm grow and grow, and though he wanted to delay it, this was too arousing to stop himself. He didn’t know how long he humped there, slamming his dick in and out, smiling as Perry grimaced with every thrust of his hips. It could have lasted for a minute, it could have lasted for hours, Madhu would have had no idea.
Perry squeezed and clenched. He grunted heavily as he endured the pain, but his ass remained loose and his cock pulsated in Madhu’s fingers — it was clear that a part of Perry enjoyed this, he just didn’t want to admit it.
“Uh, god, yeah, give it to me, nigga…”
Muscles writhing beneath the colorful suit he had never taken off, Perry’s grunts of agony turned to gasps of pleasure. His dick leaked precum into Madhu’s fingers as those thick veins in the shaft throbbed with sexual desire. Madhu could feel the cum flowing before he actually shot his load.
They both came at nearly the same time, Madhu just a few seconds earlier. He sprayed his load within Perry, coating his insides in creamy goodness. It was the most intense orgasm of his life, wracking Madhu’s body with uncontrollable pleasure. He bit his lip so hard he drew blood.
Then, without taking his dick out of Perry’s ass, Madhu reached both hands around Perry’s hips. He used both hands to stroke him off, faster and faster as Perry panted heavily. He could already feel the cum flowing, and he could sense through his body when Perry’s balls crawled up in his sac.
At last Perry shot his own load, Madhu’s cock still throbbing limply in his clenched ass. Cum spurted out all over Madhu’s hands, dripping down and onto the floor. Perry writhed in that suit, which was now soaked with sweat and matted against his skin in a few spots — hopefully that meant he wouldn’t notice the stains in the crotch of his pants, Madhu thought.
He pulled out and Perry breathed a sigh of relief. Madhu had him roll over on his back, with Madhu’s cum-coated hand still elevated. Perry winced when he saw it, but he reached for it just the same. He knew exactly what Madhu wanted to do.
He and Madhu both licked it clean, Madhu enthusiastically tonguing every drop, while Perry gagged and choked it down. He sucked on Madhu’s fingers and even let Madhu’s cum-filled mouth kiss him on the lips. It was only when Madhu pushed his luck by trying to put his tongue in Perry’s mouth that Perry pulled away. His smile faded to a sneer.
“Nah, no kissing,” he said. He flopped his dick back into his underwear and pulled his pants up. He finished the last of the drink he had poured for himself, then picked up the bottle of bourbon and chugged from that.
“Thanks, Perry, that was amazing,” Madhu said, blushing. He sounded like a fanboy who finally got to be with his idol, he thought to himself. He tried to stand nonchalantly but failed and just looked awkward. “You’ve got an incredible cock and ass and body.” He thought he should try to puff up Perry’s ego a bit before he left, or who knew how he might overcompensate.
“I know, sissy. Every thing I do, no matter what, it’s always amazin’. That’s the Perry guarantee,” he said, slowly regaining his pimpy cockiness. He even danced a little on his feet. He licked his teeth. “I’m takin’ the resta this bourbon. It’s nice.”
“Oh, well, I’ll do whatever you want if you keep comin’ back,” Madhu said.
“So you’ll teach him?” Perry asked. “I’ll keep coming over every month, as long as you’re still tutorin’ him.”
“We have a deal,” Madhu said.
He smiled and put his fedora back on. “See ya next month then, sissy. Buy lube. And more bourbon.”
