Humiliated by a Scammer

Zion has no idea his family was targeted by a scammer who took everything they owned, and now it’s Zion’s turn to experience the ultimate in alpha male dominance! Can he submit to the superior man?

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“Look here, Zion, boy, I’m gonna be real upfront wit’cha,” said Uncle Nelson. Zion had trouble concentrating on his words because Uncle Nelson was so intimidating. He was tall, broad shouldered and thick-bodied. He had a dense bristly mustache. He had come over without Zion’s grandmother — who had married Uncle Nelson just a few months ago. He had never come to Zion’s apartment above the family restaurant without her. “I came into ya grandmama’s life wit’ an ulterior motive.”
“Where is she-?”
Nelson slapped him. “Don’t you interrupt me. I put her in a home.”
“What?” Zion’s heart sank. “Where? What?”
He slapped Zion hard. “Make me say it again, nigga! Make me say it again! Shut yo’ mouth!”
Despite his huge size, Uncle Nelson had always been incredibly kind until today. Zion was much smaller and weaker, so he had been scared from the moment his grandmom brought Nelson home from church one day. He was new to the area then, and he had fallen in love with her right away. Nelson was broad and muscular, so strong it looked painful, like he must struggle to carry around all those muscles.
“Now yo’ grandmama signed this whole building over to me,” Nelson said. He paused to see if Zion would interrupt him again, but he didn’t. Zion trembled in front of him. Nelson lightly slapped his cheek again. “Listen Zion boy, you know what liquidate means? Course you don’t, you a dummy. It means when you take somethin’ that ain’t worth much and you take it apart and you use all the parts some other way. Like when a store goin’ outta business, they liquidate it. You feel me, Zion boy?”
“Yeah, man, but where’s my dad-?”
“Yo’ daddy’s in jail, but I’m comin’ to that.” He smiled. “I ain’t a nice nigga, Zion boy. I know I been actin’ nice, but I ain’t nice at all. Yo’ family was not wise to trust me.” He undid his belt and let his pants plop heavily to the floor, then he took his dick out. Zion yelped in surprise — and fear, because it was more than a foot long, veiny and dark, and it smelled vaguely of sweat and pussyjuice — and he tried to stand up, but Nelson pushed him back down. “Lemme just be real frank wit’cha. Yo grandmama married me and signed e’rything over to me. So I own yo’ family’s house and yo’ family’s store and I even own yo’ car, nigga, which by the way, you may not use.”
“You can’t do that-!”
“Already done, nigga. Yo’ daddy’s in jail cuz I tol’ him I put yo’ sister out on the street as a ho if he ain’t sign this murder confession — there was a killin’ I had weighin’ me down, nigga. Not no more,” he said. He carefully folded his pants and put them on the table next to him. Then he picked up his dick as though to display it for Zion’s benefit. He held it in one hand, and Zion was unable to look away from it. It jiggled when Nelson spoke. “Now yo’ sister was a little old to start hoin’, but I’m gonna make it work. She can make me a pretty penny.”
“Wait, what?!”
“I am liquidatin’ yo’ family, nigga. Y’all is a bunch of rank-ass pussies, and I am takin’ ya out,” he said. He thwacked his limp dick over Zion’s face. “You might wanna start lickin”, befo’ I get real mad, Zion boy.”
“My dad is in jail? He-“
But Nelson’s cock pushed into Zion’s mouth, and Nelson chuckled as Zion gagged. His dick was limp and rubbery at first, tasting of salty sweat. Tears welled up in Zion’s eyes. That fat cock rested on his tongue, and when he tried to push it off, Nelson slapped his hands away. He didn’t do anything with his dick, it just rested there, like Zion’s mouth was its new natural home.
Then Nelson swayed, making his limp dick jiggle and jump around, roping over Zion’s face. It was so thick, much thicker than Zion’s, and it smelled like a locker room in a low-cost gym. Zion’s stomach churned.
His mind kept replaying the things Nelson had said. None of that made sense, what did he mean? Zion’s sister was not a prostitute. His father was not a murderer, none of this made sense. Why was Nelson acting like this? But Zion couldn’t formulate any words because he was entranced by the rod of throbbing hot dickfat smearing Nelson’s body odor over every inch of Zion’s face.
“Ah, yeah, this is the part I love,” Nelson said. “No teeth. No hands. No regrets.” He moaned without breaking eye contact with Zion, who felt a flush of embarrassment and looked away. Nelson dug his nails into Zion’s cheeks and forced his eyes back to Nelson’s. “Lookit me when I’s plowin’ you, boy. You mine now, nigga. You should thinka yo’self as a slave, even if the law ain’t allow slaves no more.”
“But, Uncle Nelson, I-“
He laughed, forcing his cock back into Zion’s throat. It was so huge that it didn’t feel real to Zion, who had never seen a cock so big. A few drops of precum hit his tongue, and the electrifyingly salty flavor made Zion gag.
“You still callin’ me uncle, boy? I ain’t yo’ family.” He wrapped his hands around the back of Zion’s head, and began to slowly grind his dick lower and lower in Zion’s throat. “I let you be a busboy in the restaurant. I ain’t gonna pay you a damn dime, but I let ya eat scraps and shit. You may not find any of the waitresses sexy.”
Having been in shock since this began, Zion hadn’t really fought back. But as his throat heaved and his lungs cried out for oxygen, he realized he could fight. He clawed at Nelson’s muscle-bound body and squirmed. His whole body tensed up, but Zion was skinny and lanky, not solid like Nelson.
“Ah, there it is, there you go,” Nelson said. He held tightly onto Zion’s head. “You fightin’ now, huh? That’s normal, that’ll pass. I’m gonna break you, boy. See it used to be that the rule of law weren’t so strong, and weak-kneed motherfuckers like you and yo’ whole family just get took up by some strong motherfucker like me, someone who can make sure you reach yo’ maximum potential. For you…” Nelson laughed, smearing tendrils of spit over Zion’s face as he watched him choke on his massive cock. “Yo’ maximum potential is a busboy who occasionally gets to eat my asshole. Yo’ whole family was garbage, Zion boy. Yo’ granddaddy was worth a damn, but he dead now. You’d have just run this company into the ground. I’m takin’ it.”
Zion squealed and tried to crawl away, but Nelson = punched him again. Pain erupted in Zion’s side, and he collapsed onto the floor. Zion rolled onto his back. Nelson slowly lowered his hefty, broad ass right on Zion’s face. His crack was choked with dark kinky black hairs, which scratched Zion’s skin.
“Lick it up, Zion boy, get ya tongue in there.” When Zion didn’t comply right away, Nelson punched him in the belly. Zion groaned. “Get yo’ tongue inside my asshole now, bitch.”
Zion still wanted to fight, but he was so weak and skinny. His body submitted even as his mind wanted to fight back. His tongue slipped into Nelson’s asshole. The taste of man-funk flooded his senses.
It was so rank, so foul, the flavor overwhelming all of Zion’s other senses. Utter humiliation wracked his body. Only an absolute fool would let another man do this, he thought.
Nelson loudly moaned. His ass-sweat trickled into Zion’s mouth, and Zion gagged so violently his stomach hurt. Nelson sat on his face, all of his weight pressing down on Zion’s head. He was big man, and it felt like Zion’s head was going to cave in. He couldn’t focus on anything but squirming beneath Nelson’s giant body.
“Move ya tongue around some more. How’s my ass taste, boy?”
“Please… stop-” Zion had to shout to be heard through the meat of Nelson’s ass. That made Nelson laugh and pound on Zion’s belly some more.
“Nah, this is yo’ life now, Zion boy, it’s already done. Get used to it.” Nelson rubbed his asshole over Zion’s face, leaving a layer of funk. Zion’s nose dug into his asscrack from top to bottom. “From now on, e’ry time I come into my restaurant, or up here — anytime you see me, basically — I want you to lick my asshole, okay?”
“No!”
Nelson stood up and punched Zion in the belly. Zion screamed and gagged as the rush of fresh air made the assy taste on his tongue even more rancid. He writhed, but Nelson made him stay on his back. “What’d I say? You my slave, bitch. You can leave any time, but I own ya ass. I own this building and I own ya car and I own ya job and I own e’rything here in this apartment. I got ya daddy in jail and ya grandmom in care and ya sister out hoin’. I can decide to drop any one of ’em loose anytime,” he said.
Through his tears, Zion grunted. “I can… do…-“
“You can leave, wit’ nothin’. I will take the shoes off ya feet. I just might break all the bones in yo’ feet too, just to make sure you nevuh work again. You will work for me, Zion, for the rest of your life. Or I will make your whole family’s life hell. Ya feel me?”
“Y…. Yes.”
“Good. Now say ‘I will lick yo’ asshole, Nelson’.”
A sob escaped from Zion’s lips. “I… I will lick ya asshole, Nelson.” Zion’s tears were squashed by Nelson plopping down on his face again.
This time, Zion had no choice but to lap at that funky hole as tears streamed down his cheeks. The filthy, gritty feeling was almost, but not quite, enough to make him forget his sobbing. Nelson guided Zion’s hands around his body to his cock. Zion’s tongue ran up his guys and tasted his sweat, while his hands stroked from the root to the tip of Nelson’s fat throbbing dick.
“Stroke me off, boy. That’s how you do a rimjob. Tongue in deeper. Tongue deeper, boy!” He punched Zion in the belly again, and when Zion cried out, he grabbed his tongue. He pulled it out until Zion squealed. “See this? You got a good five inches of tongue here, boy. I wanna feel all five inches in my ass, or I swear to Christ I will shove my foot up your ass, and I am not playin’, I can show you the evidence I did it before.”
He nearly lifted Zion from his knees by his tongue but instead lowered his ass to meet his face, so he reached underneath himself to shove Zion’s tongue into his asshole. He did it so forcefully his own finger penetrated his own ass at the same time, while Zion sobbed into the filthy asscrack of the superior man above him.
Zion tried to look away, but each time Nelson slapped him and forced him to look him in the eye. He was so intimidating that Zion couldn’t think of any plan besides squirming and begging whenever he could catch a breath. Nelson’s burly mustache shook as he sneered.
“You are one pitiful li’l bitch. You a sissy?” He raised his eyebrows and looked down at them.
“No! No, come on!”
“You should be
The fact that Nelson was not a thug made him scarier to Zion. He looked like a church deacon — he was, in fact, a church deacon — and he spoke like a Hollywood hero (or villain). He had a slightly stawk-heavy East Coast accent, sounding like he was from maybe Philadelphia or someplace like that. New Jersey, maybe. His words rang out like a prophecy in Zion’s ears.
Zion felt filthy and worthless. Zion sobbed in Nelson’s plump ass, while Nelson rubbed his hole over Zion’s tongue like a dog with infected anal glands. Every time Zion’s tongue stopped moving for even a second, Nelson hit him or pinched him hard until Zion resumed lapping at his grimy prostate.
Nelson let out a long, low whistle. His cock throbbed in Zion’s hands. “Hell yeah, there ya go. Fuck yeah. You got it. This is how you do a rimjob, Zion. All of ya tongue in there, hands on my dick… You gonna make me nut, boy, I swear… I was gonna wreck ya asshole today, but maybe I wait.”
A fluid hit Zion’s tongue. It was rancid and sour, and it tasted like farts, but Zion was pretty sure it was spit, cuz Nelson was spitting on his face, it seemed. Through his sobs and retches, Zion heard him calmly hocking up loogey after loogey. Zion squirmed, sobbing in pain and disgust. Nelson punched him in the belly over and over again.
“Keep ya tongue up in there, boy, and move it around some,” Nelson said. He groaned. “Yeah, nigga… Hell yeah…” His muscles all flexed at once, and a hot spray of cum shot over his flat belly. He shot a huge flow that seemed to go on for minutes, real honest-to-god minutes of continuous flow, coating his muscular chest in a sheen of jizz, which immediately ran down to his balls and his taint and then at last onto Zion’s tongue in his ass.
Zion was only barely aware of his own hands on Nelson’s dick. He didn’t really move them, he just held on, while Nelson ground his ass over Zion’s face, the movement making Zion give him a handjob as he licked his asshole. It must have felt good, the handjob or maybe the tongue, because Nelson let out a long simmering murmur that rattled the walls of Zion’s apartment.
A loud gag escaped from Zion’s throat, the sound swallowed by Nelson’s hefty body. Zion cringed as sticky fluids ran down his throat, coating his tongue. He thought for sure he’d never make that taste go away.
“Yeah, nigga… Ah shit, I am gonna like keepin’ you ’round as a rimjob-bitch. Get used to this,” he said with another whistle. He rubbed his butt over Zion’s face, sending fresh new waves of disgusting flavor onto Zion’s tongue. “Keep ya tongue out, boy.”
He grabbed Zion’s tongue as he lifted himself up. Zion yelped because Nelson really squeezed on his tongue with his fingers. Then Nelson kneeled next to Zion, put his nose right in front of Zion’s tongue and inhaled deeply.
“You smell like pure submission, bitch.” He hocked up another big loogie and spat it onto Zion’s tongue. It was grimy and sour, and Zion squirmed all over again. Drool spilled out of his mouth as he gagged over and over. Nelson had a disgusted sneer on his face, holding Zion by the tongue. He spat again and again.
Then he pointed to the cum he had sprayed over his own chest and flat stomach. It looked like a huge load, great puddles of it that ran in rivulets down his chest. It was so thick, like sour cream, it made Zion’s own jizz seem watery and pitiful. He had spurted a huge load, and a few drops continued plopping out one by one into Nelson’s crotch hair. “Lick my cum off me. I’m gonna make ya tongue so nasty you wanna cut it off.” He licked his lips, as he pulled Zion’s face over the puddles of jizz that coated his pectoral muscles.
Keeping a grip on Zion’s tongue while he rubbed it over his chest was difficult and awkward for Nelson because he was so much bigger than Zion. He had to scrunch in to make it work. But he didn’t let Zion control his own tongue — despite telling him to lick, Nelson didn’t allow it, he instead used Zion’s tongue like a rag to clean the cum off his chest.
The salty bitterness of cum cut through Zion’s pain and humiliation, making him sob all over again. Licking his chest reminded Zion how much stronger Nelson was than him. He felt like a warm marble statue. Zion didn’t want to caress his shoulder muscles like a girl being seduced, but his hands flailed and that’s what they did, embarrassing him even further.
“Now sit there. Look me in the eye.” Nelson pointed to a spot on the floor. “Don’t get up, don’t wipe your face off. You may swallow the nastiness on your tongue. If you spit, I will beat you. I wanna watch you swallow that. I wanna see it go down yo’ throat, cuz that’ll be you agreein’ to be my rimjob-bitch-slave. That’s yo’ willing agreement.” He held onto Zion’s throat with one of his massive hands.
Zion didn’t want to swallow. Every part of him rebelled against the concept.
But he knew Nelson wasn’t kidding about beating him if he spit, so he tried to hold the soup of filth in his mouth. Its creamy thickness sloshed around, viscous, and he imagined he could feel Nelson’s sperms swimming around on his gums and his tongue. That was ridiculous, right? You can’t feel sperm.
But it sure seemed like he could. He sobbed, and he felt the tears running down his cheeks. He felt that for sure. Just like he felt the sperm swimming, looking for something to impregnate on his tongue.
A moist sniffle came outta his nose, and Nelson looked down him like a pititful pile of dogshit. Zion wanted to come up with a plan, to gin up the courage to attack Nelson, or at least to call the police when he left. None of those options sounded optionable though. Nelson was a gangster, that was clear now, and looking back on it, maybe Zion should have always known that was true. It did seem weird that a man like that would marry his grandmother.
But old people were weird, Zion couldn’t understand why they did what they did.
And now it was too late anyway. He couldn’t go to the police, Nelson would punish him. All he could do was submit. He couldn’t avoid his instinct to swallow though, and he gagged violently as it went down his throat. He imagined he could feel Nelson’s sperm swimming in his belly.
Nelson spat on him again. “Don’t move from that spot. Don’t wipe ya face off, not until I walk out the door.”
He began to very slowly get dressed. His slacks were wrinkleless, perfectly flat — ironed, obviously — because he had folded them when he took them off. His shoes were fine leather too. Halfway through, as he pulled up his pants, he stopped, turned around and farted right in front of Zion’s face. The stench of spit-flavored fart hit Zion’s nostrils and he gagged. He wept continuously.
“If you do what I say, Zion boy, everything’ll be fine.” He went into Zion’s kitchen. “You got enough food in here to last a couple weeks. You tell me when you run out, I’ll give you more.”
Zion cried, sitting there. Nelson didn’t let him move yet, so he had to sit there with a mask of cum, spit and assjuice on his face. Nelson took some stuff out of his kitchen and placed it by the door. It was all the nice things, the meat from the freezer, a fancy bottle of olive oil, that kind of thing, plus a stack of fine china. He carefully arranged it all in a pile he could carry in one hand.
“I’m takin’ some of ya shit. You ain’t worth none of this, boy. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna let ya starve to death. You know how to cook beans, right?”
“Yeah.” Zion croaked. He gurgled and gagged all over again. Nelson chuckled.
“Good. Beans is cheap, I gonna give you mostly beans and rice.” Nelson walked past where Zion sat. He undid his belt, plopped his plump asscheeks in front of Zion again and farted on his face. He wrinkled his nose. “You is one worthless piece of shit, man, you know that?”
“Yes.” Zion’s voice had never felt so weak and wavery. He felt nothing but submission towards this man, who’d ruined his life and even despite that, Zion was going to do everything he said. He was like a God to Zion.
“Did you like eatin’ my ass?” He paused, then, just as Zion was about to answer, he snapped, “Say yes, bitch, or I’ll throw you out the window.”
Zion hesitated. “Yes.” When Nelson motioned for him to stretch that out, he winced and moaned. Nelson slapped him. Zion cringed. “I… I enjoyed eating your ass.”
Nelson’s phone rang. He looked at it, and his mustache wriggled. “It’s one of my bitches.” He answered it. “Hey, baby. Yeah. I be ovuh later. Uh-huh. Yeah cook me up somethin’. That sounds good. I’s just doin’ a little work.” He chuckled. He glanced at Zion. “Ain’t that kinda work. You ain’t gotta lick my doodoo-hole tonight though, baby, on ‘ccount of what I’s doin’ at work.” He laughed. “Nah, it ain’t a girl. This nigga displeased me. Nah, don’t worry, my princess, you ain’t gotta be jealous. Oh yeah? Oh shit… Alright, alright.” He looked at Zion. “Go sit in the bathtub, nigga.”
Zion retched as he got up, but Nelson kicked him in the belly.
“Crawl! When you in fronta me, bitch, you crawl!” Nelson chuckled into the phone. “Yeah, he my slave. Yeah, sure. He come clean ya house e’ry weekend.” He licked his lips. “Damn, baby, you got a evil side. I like that.” He knocked Zion over with his foot, then kicked him in the belly until Zion gasped and cried out. He heard a cruel female voice laughing through the phone. “Get in there, bitch!”
Nelson allowed him to crawl on his hands and knees into the bathroom. Zion was too exhausted and scared to fight back, or even to think about what was going on.
“Yeah, baby. You can do whatever you want to him. I’m-a do it now, I gotta put the video on.” He started recording. He took his dick out through the fly of his pants. “Open up ya mouth, boy, and start singing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’.”
The girl laughed hysterically as Zion tried to sing through his tears, and the sound of her guffaws carried tinnily from the phone in Nelson’s hand. The melody of the song was interrupted by hot, bitter piss flowing over his face, so it ended up just being the sound of him choking to the tune of the woman’s laughter. Zion sobbed and gagged, his stomach twisting in knots when urine streamed down his throat.
He pissed so much there was a little puddle around Zion’s bare ass on the floor of the bathtub. He cried and cried as Nelson put his dick away.
“Uncle Nelson… Please-“
“You still callin’ me uncle?” Nelson gathered up everything else in the apartment that he wanted — or that he judged to be too nice for a slave to have. He got it all up in a couple boxes, which he carted out to his Mercedes one by one. Before he left, Nelson stood over Zion and glared down at him. That mask of filth was still on his face, and Zion trembled, unable to think about anything but his desperate desire to be free of it.
Without another word, Nelson pursed his lips, hocked up a massive loogey and spat it out onto Zion’s face. It splatted and covered him in stinking saliva from his forehead to his nose, and it coated his eyes too, so it was in everything he saw.
Then, at last, Nelson turned around and walked out the door. Zion was relieved to be able to clean his face off and cry, alone.

The Debt Collector

Leif owes a gambling debt he’s gotta pay off, and that means paying the debt collector… who just might have a secret motivation of his own!

Can Leif get out of his gambling debt intact?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“Come in!” barked a deep, gruff voice. Whoever it was sounded annoyed, as though it was obvious that Leif should just come right in to the Broad Avenue traphouse.
Leif gulped and pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked, or even shut all the way. He tried to look as tough as possible. He was a short white hipster with a beard like a fashionable goat and long hair done back in a taut man-bun. He tried to carry himself like he belonged because, as far as Leif was concerned, being seen as not belonging was the worst possible fate. This was a ramshackle building in an all-black neighborhood of Las Vegas — he had not seen a single non-black person for several blocks before arriving here. So no matter how he carried himself, he wasn’t gonna fit in.
Still, he hoped he didn’t look like some punk-ass white boy. A black guy called him that once, and it was humiliating. He kept his shoulders back, head on a swivel, eyes open. Leif Spurling was nobody’s fool.
Well, maybe Nelson Turnbottom’s. But hopefully none of these black people knew that.
He wandered through the run-down squat. Leif had never smelled crack, but when he caught a whiff of that metallic odor, he knew that’s what it was. He had enough sense to know he shouldn’t go asking around for Nelson Turnbottom — judging from the reaction to his knocking on the front door, it was expected for him to just enter and find the person he was looking for. He didn’t wanna fail to fit in.
He went upstairs, because that seemed to be the thing to do. The ground floor was full of hobos. That wasn’t who Leif was looking. There was a baby bottle laying on the steps, along with discarded syringes and filthy underwear. There was a bloodstain on the wall, a big splatter like someone had gotten shot there. It was old though, faded.
“Uh… Nelson Turnbottom?” he said, not too loud.
“In here,” came a very deep, gravelly voice. That must be Nelson Turnbottom. His voice was so rough and sandpapery that Leif wondered if there was something wrong with him.
But Nelson was just big, and he smoked a lot of cigarettes, especially since he left prison. Nelson was in the room at the end of the hall, doing pull-ups on the battered remnants of a bicycle he had set up as a make-shift workout bar. He pulled up his massive body, his broad chest dripping with sweat, counting off.
“Twenty-two. Twenty-three.” He kept going as Leif approached the room.
He was nervous, but he tried not to appear quake. Leif cleared his throat and waited for Nelson to finish his pull-ups. Leif owed money to a white man named Mickey Garelli, and he needed to finish whatever Nelson wanted him to do in order to get his debt paid off. Nelson had work for him or was a debt collector or something.
Leif had agreed back when he thought he had a choice in the matter. Mickey made it clear that this was the way Leif was going to repay his debt, and it did not matter that it seemed skeezy to meet his “boss” or debt collector or whatever in a ghetto crackhouse.
Crackhouse in a deprived area, sorry.
A few drops of sweat splashed off Nelson’s body and landed on Leif’s face, making him pucker and close his eyes. His well-worked upper body arched as he lifted his hugeness up and down, accompanying each pull-up with a deep grunt.
Leif couldn’t believe he had let himself get sucked in this deep. He had never considered the perils of gambling. Honestly he had only started betting on baseball games because it was illicit and dangerous and none of the other hipsters he knew did it back where he came from in Brooklyn. It was scary and authentic and a little weird, so Leif did it.
He only bet small amounts at first, but it turned out he was pretty good at it, and it got him lots of attention. He was the guy who had a bookie — and his bookie — Mickey — was even the old-fashioned kind, an indeterminately ethnic New Yawker, wearing a wifebeater and suspenders and he walked around eating cold-cut subs and collecting money. Leif was deliberately late repaying him a couple times just so Mickey would come around when Leif’s friends were over. He’d pay him off, and Mickey would act like some small-time gangster from a classic movie. His friends thought he was the coolest guy in Vegas.
But somehow he had bet two grand on a Lakers game at the bookie’s in Charles Town, entirely on a whim, because Mickey himself had said he was not sure he set the right odds. He did it without thinking about it, and now he owed that money — Mickey had let him place the bet without any cash upfront.
No problem, Mickey had said, I don’t wanna break your knees or something. I ain’t some small-time gangster from a classic movie. I know this guy, he might have some work for you.
Leif assumed he would have to do something backbreaking, some hard labor that was going to be worth two grand. That was why he had worn sweatpants and a t-shirt. He hadn’t realized he was going into the ghetto, that the address Mickey gave him was a traphouse, or that Nelson was a thug.
But here he was, stammering as he said, “I’m, uh… Mickey sent me…”
Nelson had finished doing his pull-ups. He glowered at Leif as though he hated him, looking him up and down. He squeezed Leif’s biceps and snickered. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a rag. His bare chest gleamed, dark tattoos barely visible against his dark skin.
“You’re Leif?”
Leif nodded.
“What kinda name is that?”
“Uh… It’s Scandinavian,” he said.
“What?” Nelson barked like that was the wrong answer. He didn’t wait for Leif to respond again though. “Shut that door.”
Leif shut the door to the tiny bedroom, which had little more than a mattress on the floor and a trash bag full of clothes scattered around. Nelson leaned the battered bicycle-frame against the wall. His broad, sweaty chest gleamed in the bright light that flowed through the cracked window.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I’m a good worker,” Leif said as he sat. He blushed. He knew he sounded like an idiot. It hadn’t occurred to him that the work Mickey had in mind was illegal in nature, but now that seemed obvious. He wasn’t going to be told to kill someone, was he? That must cost more than two grand, he decided, and hoped. He couldn’t rob someone, right? He wouldn’t know.
He could get two grand from his parents if he absolutely had to. Selling the bicycle would get him close to a thousand. The vinyl and Magic cards were maybe five hundred. Leif was in this deeper than he ever meant to be.
“What?”
“I, uh… I’m a good worker. I can work hard.”
Nelson glared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Mickey said I had to come work for you,” Leif said. “I’m a good worker. I can do — I can do lots of things. I can cook, I can bake pretty good, and I’m a good driver, and I know some, uh… … I worked as a house painter, I mean. Painting. I know about painting. Punk music.”
“Shut up, you little bitch,” he said. “You do gotta work. You gonna work real hard. Do you drink?”
Leif nodded.
“Good. You should drink,” he said. He produced a bottle of cheap vodka and poured two cups full. It was lukewarm, and it smelled like nail polish. Leif sipped it politely. Nelson looked him up and down again, as though undressing him with his eyes. Leif shuddered and Nelson smiled. “You intact, right?”
“What?”
Nelson narrowed his eyes to slits. “I mean in yo’ ass. You been ruint in yo’ butthole?”
“Oh… What? You mean… have I been ruined in the ass…?” Leif said. “Uh… no. I dunno what that means-“
“Mickey ain’t ask you dat?”
“No…”
“He was s’posed to. Oughta kick his ass. I paid for intact,” Nelson said. He sat down on the mattress next to Leif. It was scuzzy and felt slightly soggy. It made Leif sick. “I thought Mickey was gonna ax you. He was s’posed to tell you the plan.”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m gonna cornhole you, boi.”
“Oh… Uh, what?”
“I said I am gonna cornhole you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You evuh done that? You ever take it up the ass.”
“No. I don’t know what-“
“Sssshhh… I love cornholin’ whitebois. It’s a hobby I picked up in prison. No one squirms like an intact whiteboi,” Nelson said. He took a big drink of vodka, then put his cup down. His massive chest muscles ripple, and he bent over so he could slowly untied his shoes. “It’s okay to cry,” Nelson said. “Whiteboi tears make good lube. I oughta bottle that shit, sell it in prison commissary. Make a fuckin’ fortune.”
“So you, uh…?”
“You owe Mickey money, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well he turnin’ you out fo’ money. He gonna get paid. He did get paid, technically. I paid him. Mickey always get paid, boi,” Nelson said. “No matter what. He stay gettin’ paid. If it weren’t this, he’d prolly sell yo’ fuckin’ kidney, so you should be thankful I tol’ him to let me know when some pretty whiteboi with a cherry butt needed cash.” He dropped his baggy jeans and his boxers. A fat cock popped out, bigger than any Leif had ever seen. His stomach dropped. Was this really happening to him?
“Wait, can’t we do something else?”
“Nope.” Nelson flopped his limp dick over Leif’s face, and he chuckled when Leif gagged. “You ain’t even start lickin’ yet, you already gaggin’. Open up.” When Leif didn’t immediately respond, Nelson slapped him across the cheek.
Leif opened up to argue and scream, but Nelson pushed his rubbery cockshaft in regardless. Leif choked and Nelson began to grind his hips. He swayed like he was dancing, low-hanging balls swinging and bouncing against Leif’s chin. He even sang softly to himself, mumbling the words to some R&B song that Leif didn’t recognize.
Finally Nelson’s dick hardened up, until it was like a steel rod jamming into Leif’s throat. He gagged over and over, spitting up huge gobs of saliva that soaked his shirt. It tasted like sweat and piss and old cum, and it got even worse when precum started to flow.
It was snotty and sticky, and Nelson made sure it spread all over Leif’s face, which shone once it was covered in precum. He chuckled at Leif’s gagging.
“Whatchoo think?” He flopped his cock over Leif’s face to let him speak.
He let out a long coarse breath. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Ain’t I tell you that already? I like wreckin’ whitebois in they booty. It make me feel good,” he said. “Now tell me whose cock this is?”
“What?”
He slapped Leif over the face, first with the open palm of one hand and then with a meaty thwack of his cock. “I say tell me whose cock this is?”
“Uh… Yours-“
“Say my name, bitch.” He didn’t give Leif a chance to respond. “Say my name, bitch!” He said again and slapped Leif once more.
“Please-!”
“Say my name, bitch!”
“Nelson Turnbottom!”
“Whose cock is this?!”
“Nelson Turnbottom’s cock!” Leif screamed. He repeated it then a few more times, Nelson ramming his precummy cock in each time.
At last he’d had enough of that. He made Leif lay down on the floor with a pillow beneath his upper back, so that his head was upside down and at an angle. “This is the proper position for a good throating. You ready?”
“Nelson, please!”
Leif gagged again as Nelson waited, in position like he was going to do a pushup and Leif’s head just happened to be in the way. His erect cock danced at Leif’s lips. The smell of saliva and slimy precum assaulted Leif’s nostrils.
“Beg me some more, bitch.”
“Please, don’t do this, I can’t swallow any more of your dick. It’s, uh, it’s too big!”
“Well, don’t worry ’bout that, lil bitch. This position mean you won’t have a choice. Imma plow ya throat now. Take a deep breath, cuz you ain’t gonna be breathin’ again fo’ a minute.”
Leif took a deep breath and then Nelson pushed his dick in. Leif choked, but as Nelson predicted, his cock slid all the way in anyway. Leif could feel his throat stretching to accommodate Nelson’s massive meat. Nelson murmured his approval, and a ripple of pleasure rolled up his powerful chest.
Soon enough his balls dangled right on Leif’s nose. Nelson swayed his hips back and forth, so his balls slapped against Leif’s nose and eyes. All he could see were those massive brown balls and the sweat glistening on them.
“How’s dat taste, bitch?” He pulled away so Leif could take a breath.
It was a loud, painful retch. He gasped for air, the pain in his stomach agonizing. His eyes watered as his body cried out for oxygen. His hands clawed uselessly at Nelson’s powerful body.
“Huh? How’s dat taste?”
“Bad…”
“Oh, you don’t like it, huh? Well, don’t worry, I won’t let dat slow me down none,” he said. He chuckled and rubbed Leif’s cheek with one thumb. “Hey, you gotta open up dat throat a little more, okay? You still got like a inch of my dick to get in there.”
“I can’t…”
“You can. I gots faith in you, lil bitch,” Nelson said. He clucked his tongue as though he was genuinely caring. He massaged Leif’s neck. “You know what you need? Incentive. I gotta give you a reason to try. You ain’t tryin’ yo’ best cuz I ain’t give you a good reason.”
“No, Nelson, I’m-“
“Sssh…” Nelson slipped the tip of his dick in, and the sour flavor of precum again assaulted Leif’s senses. Translucent precum coated his tongue and his face. He gagged. Nelson gently smacked Leif on the cheek. “If you don’t swallow me so deep my balls rest on yo’ nose, I gonna tell Mickey you ain’t nevuh show up.”
It took Leif a moment to process what Nelson said, but when he did he tried to scream around the cock in his throat. He didn’t think he could open his mouth up anymore. Nelson laughed at his muffled, moist screams and pistoned his hips again. He squeezed Leif’s nostrils shut with two callused fingers. He pinched harder than necessary, like he was trying to rip Leif’s nose off his face.
Pain exploded from Leif’s throat, which felt like it was splitting in half. Snot leaked from his nose. Nelson groaned and ground his dick in deeper and deeper, rolling his hips this way and that like he needed to hit every corner of Leif’s mouth.
At last his balls slapped against Leif’s nose, really laying into his face. Ball-sweat smeared over his nostrils, and if his senses weren’t overwhelmed by the salty precum on his tongue, he would have wanted to vomit from the smell of balls. His throat strained and spasmed. He had been doing pull-ups a few moments ago, so his manfunk was strong, and it of course mixed with the precum and saliva dripping down Nelson’s cockshaft to his scrotum.
“Yo, Nelson, keep it down, nigga,” said some ashy-skinned, dull-eyed crackhead who appeared in the doorway.
“Is we bein’ too loud, nigga? So sorry,” Nelson said.
The crackhead turned around to leave, then stopped. He got down on his knees to watch. He peered deep into Leif’s eyes. He was lean, ropy-muscled, with a scruffy gray-streaked beard, and he was missing most of his teeth.
“Can I piss in his mouth?” the crackhead asked. He had a harsh, rickety voice, and he got up with his dick out before Nelson even said anything. The crackhead an ugly warty dick.
Leif felt himself grow dizzy from lack of oxygen, fear and disgust. He heard Nelson agree and tried to crawl away, but Nelson dragged him back.
Was that a sore on the crackhead’s dick? There was something there, but Leif couldn’t tell if it is was real or a shadow. The crackhead flopped his cock out of the fly of his jeans. He brought the tip to Leif’s mouth before letting it rip. The taste was foul, and Leif fluttered his arms above his chest.
He definitely wished he had simply borrowed the money from his parents now.
Acrid piss filled Leif’s mouth, and he gagged at the intensely sour smell. Something about it was even worse than he thought it would be — it tasted like that metallic smoked-crack smell he had picked up downstairs, and a little like garbage runoff, rainwater and farts.
Most of the piss spilled out past Leif’s lips, coating his face and dripping onto the floor. The crackhead cackled and walked away once he was done, while Nelson stood above Leif and watched him writhe.
“Now I’m gonna destroy that ass,” Nelson said. He didn’t give Leif much time to react. He threw him over the couch and ripped his pants to shreds pulling them down. “Beg me for it.”
“Nelson, I can’t-“
“Nah. That ain’t how you beg,” Nelson said. He wedged his fat, hot cock between Leif’s cheeks. He humped slowly there. He grabbed Leif’s hair with one hand and slammed his face onto the floor. He wiped it there like he was trying to clean the piss off. “Beg me, bitch. Beg me. Beg me.”
At first Leif assumed he was supposed to wait for Nelson to give him a chance to beg. But it soon became apparent that Nelson wasn’t going to wait. He smeared his face all over the grimy crackhouse floor, repeating himself over and over. “Beg me. Beg me. Beg me.”
“Please! Nelson! Please, uh… cornhole me! Your cock is, uh… my boss! Your cock is my master!”
“That’s right, bitch. I know it. You ain’t gotta say,” Nelson said with a cocky laugh. “I like that improvisation though. That’s the kinda thing a nigga don’t do. Only a whiteboy get that broke down.”
He slammed his dick in so quick Leif didn’t have time to fight back. He squealed and screamed as pain erupted in his ass. It felt like Nelson wrecked every inch of his insides. His cock was enormous, and he gave no mercy to Leif’s squeals of pain. He just clucked his tongue and kept thrusting with those powerful legs.
“What’s yo’ daddy do, whiteboi?”
“What?”
He put Leif’s neck in a chokehold, placing their faces so close that Nelson’s rancid breath condensed on Leif’s face. He didn’t seem to mind that he was close to the crackhead’s piss. He spit on Leif’s face, then used one hand to smear the saliva all over him. Leif gagged.
That massive cock split him open. Leif was in too much pain to say anything. His eyes rolled back in his head. He wondered if his ass was bleeding, but he both couldn’t focus enough to reach behind himself and check, and he was too scared about what he might find. Was Nelson doing real damage to his rectum? It felt like he might be.
“Listen up, whiteboi. I don’t like repeatin’ myself. I asked what yo’ daddy do. For a job.”
“He’s… a prison guard…” Leif said through gritted teeth. After he said that, it occurred to him it might have been better to lie. But Nelson didn’t seem perturbed to find out, almost like he had already known. Leif was too overwhelmed by agony and humiliation to think of a lie anyway.
“You gots any brothers or sisters?”
“One of each.”
“Really? I did not know that. What’s yo’ sister do?” He slammed his dick in the rest of the way, and Leif screamed.
“Uh, she’s. A teacher. Fourth-grade. Teacher.” He gritted his teeth. He hyperventilated, which made the remnants of piss in his mouth taste stronger. He gagged again.
“Yo’ brother?”
“He’s a prison guard too. Nelson, get off me! I-” His complaint was cut off by Nelson tightening the chokehold. He started to move his hips in a circle, like he needed to hit every part of Leif’s insides.
Now that his dick was fully inside Leif, Nelson lifted his upper body. He kept Leif’s head and shoulders flat on the ground, and Nelson used all of his weight to slam his dick in and out. His muscular body rolled and roiled above Leif’s smooth back. Leif clawed at the rancid floor of the crackhouse.
“Huh? Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother… do they work at the same prison?”
“Yeah. A state prison in Texas.”
“They ever ramrod niggas?” His voice was so close its deep, gravelly resonance echoed in Leif’s ear. He shuddered at the sensation, which made the pain in his ass even worse. Nelson pulled tighter on his hair to get his attention, as his dick throbbed mightily in Leif’s sensitive asshole. “Huh? Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother, they ever ramrod niggas?” He paused. “This here, what we’s doin’, in prison, they call it ramroddin’. Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother, do they evuh ramrod niggas?”
“What? No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Well… yeah, pretty sure.” Leif’s voice was wavering, plaintive. He realized there was more than just nosy curiosity behind these questions of Nelson’s.
“You wrong,” Nelson said.
“You mean…?” Leif’s mind reeled. A part of him figured it out right away, but that part of him was overwhelmed by the part that was being viciously ramrodded. He gasped and screamed as Nelson resumed grinding his dick this way and that inside Leif, whose mind whirred. “They ramrodded you?” He asked finally after Nelson growled into his ear.
“That’s right, whiteboi. So if you need someone to blame fo’ this, you find yo’ daddy and yo’ brother,” Nelson said. He laughed and stuck one finger in Leif’s mouth until he gagged, making Leif’s ass clench around his cock. “E’ry single thing I done to you is something they do to niggas all the time in that joint. Even lettin’ a crackhead piss in yo’ mouth just fo’ fun. That’s they specialty.”
“Please, stop… I’ll talk to them, I’ll make them quit it-“
He began pounding away, ramming his dick in as hard as he could. Leif screamed at the top of his lungs, and buried his face in his arms. He couldn’t believe this was happening because of his father and brother — they didn’t even like Leif. They saw him as a stupid liberal hipster. When he told them about this, they’d probably laugh at him, tell him he was an idiot for gambling in the first place.
And the worst part was, they’d be right.
Leif’s face was bright red, tears streaming from his eyes. Nelson groaned and moaned as an orgasm finally ran through his body. His thick tattooed muscles undulated, and he pounded on his chest.
Cum sprayed into Leif’s ass. It was searing hot, thick and creamy, cloying, sticky, seeping into his flesh. Leif writhed in Nelson’s powerful arms.
It lasted for what felt like forever. More and more cum just kept on flowing into him. He could feel its heat and its snotty texture trickling through his body. Nelson sharply gasped into his ear as the orgasm rolled over him.
“Say you love me, whiteboi. Say you’ll follow prison rules from now on. Say you won’t talk back and you gonna line up like a good nigga when it’s time for chow hall,” He said through gritted teeth.
“I love you, Nelson,” he said through his tears. “I’ll follow prison rules from now on. I’ll line up like a good nigga when it’s time for chow hall.”
“Good. You can leave. You can tell yo’ daddy and yo’ brother that Nelson Turnbottom got his revenge,” Nelson said. He took a deep breath as he pulled his dick out with an audible, moist plop. Leif felt incredible relief and intense agony in his sore ass, the pain reawakening now that it was over. He screamed and sobbed into the floor. Nelson patted him on the back of the head. “Say yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”

The Marine Bottoms

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!

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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.