featuring bikers – Mansploitation

The Fat Hillbilly

When Bart is invited to a rural spot in the woods, he didn’t realize he’d be servicing the hairiest, fattest and filthiest fillbilly in the state! His name is Piggie, and he loves to get/be/stay as filthy as possible. That’s just fine with Bart, who’s in for another incredible adventure in satisfying plus-size alpha males!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Bart couldn’t believe where this day was taking him. He had only wanted to buy weed, and now here he was, worshiping the physique of one of the filthiest men he had ever met. His delicate little fingers dug into the hair-choked back muscles of Piggie Clyde, whose long greasy hair flopped onto Bart’s face.
“Oh, boy, yeah, squeeze down on it, boy, yee-haw!” Piggie inhaled deeply of Bart’s breath. He stuck out his tongue as though going to put it in Bart’s mouth, but then he just slowly licked a trail up from Bart’s jaw to his eye. Piggie’s scruffy beard scratched at Bart’s face.
This had all begun when Bart went to his weed dealer, Chapman, a thuggish heavily-tattooed trailer park denizen with a rude demeanor and a gun in his waistband. He had been scary the first few times Bart bought weed off him, but it soon became apparent he was all bark, no bite.
But today, Bart had come over to Smashwood Trailer Park and seen an excited leer in Chapman’s eyes when he came into his trailer to buy weed.
“Hey, yo’, hey, hi, oh shit, hey, you’re like… weird, right?” He spoke quickly, like he couldn’t quite form words fast enough.
“Uh… Yeah.” Bart handed over the hundred dollars and Chapman gave him two baggies, an eighth of an ounce each.
“Hell yeah, hell yeah, hell yeah,” Chapman said, drumming on his thighs like he heard music. He licked his lips nervously. “So, uh… are you like… a… I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, I just need to know… Are you like… down?”
“What?”
“I mean are you picky?”
“Uh, well…” Bart shrugged. Chapman was rather lean and hairless for Bart’s taste. Bart liked his men meaty, big and furry. “Chapman, just say what you want. You’re beating around the bush like a woman,” Bart said with his hands on his hips. “You’re handsome and all..”
“Not me! Will you let my friend cornhole you?”
“Oh,” Bart straightened up. “Who’s your friend?”
“His name is Piggie,” Chapman said. He smirked. “I mean, that ain’t his name. We just calls him that on ‘ccount of he’s real ugly.”
“You’re not tantalizing me, Chapman.”
“I mean, he ain’t ugly, ‘xactly. But he ain’t handsome. He kinda tubby. We brought him a couple whores for him and his boys, and man, she run screamin’ from ‘im. Say he got too much hair. On his back and all!” Chapman said with an exasperated cringe, as though a hairy back was unheard of. He threw his hands in the air. “He big, he work out all the time, boy, swear to God. I ain’t got no photos. He just hairy like a nasty motherfucker, got a face like a retarded hog.”
“A hairy back?”
“Yeah,” Chapman said with a sigh. “He refuses to shave it, man. He’s nasty. Sweats all the fucking time. Don’t worry, I ain’t expect you was gonna want his dick, he just wanted me to ask-“
“I didn’t say no,” Bart said. He licked his lips. Bart thought Chapman’s heftier, hairier and sweatier friend would be really arousing, and he blushed. But he also gave Chapman a look that said the real answer was yes.
“Hot damn!” Chapman said. He quickly made a phone call, bundled Bart up into his car and drove off.
Bart had to wear a blindfold. Not only was Piggie a hairy, muscle-bound, sweat-dripping hillbilly, he was a bad boy — he grew weed. He was Chapman’s supplier.
By the time they got there — wherever there was — Bart was getting carsick, so he was glad to feel the car roll to a stop. He took his blindfold off. They had been driving on dirt roads for the last mile or two. It looked like there wasn’t even a dirt road leading here; the road behind the truck was just a trail wide enough, more or less, for a truck to get through.
There was a small wooden shack with a chimney belching smoke, next to a rundown old trailer. There was a greenhouse behind that, tucked away among the trees. Bart stretched his legs and followed Chapman to the front door.
When the door opened, Bart had trouble following the conversation — Piggie was more alluring and arousing than he could have ever imagined. Chapman had described him as “ugly”, and that wasn’t exactly wrong: Piggie was not handsome by any means. He had a squat, round face with a big goofy grin, long stringy hair and a tangled beard. No women would ever describe him as handsome, but if he cut his hair (all of it) showered and cleaned up, Bart thought, a lot of women would fall for him. His face was a little crooked, like a boxer’s, with a flattened nose and cauliflower ear. He was missing one front tooth.
“Hot diggity, you brought a toy!” Piggie bellowed when Chapman explained. His sweat-dripping chest was bare, big clumps of hair plastered to his skin, and broad, strapping, chunky torso rippling with every motion he made. He wiped his fingers off on his belly, which had a substantial paunch. He had been eating something greasy, so the fat twinkled and glimmered on his skin. Piggie looked at Bart like a hungry man looks at dinner, and Bart shivered. Piggie wrinkled his nose, licked his lips and growled. “Oh shit, he move like he ready.”
“Piggie-“
“Shut up, Chapman,” Piggie said through gritted teeth.
“What’s goin’ on out there? Who is that? If it’s Mitchum, tell him to go fuck hisself.” A voice called out from the shack.
“Ain’t Mitchum,” Piggie called out, keeping his eyes trained at Bart.
“Hi, uh… Piggie,” Bart said. His voice had never sounded so weak and frail.
“Oh he got a girlish voice too. Say somethin’ else, boy.”
“I’m Bart,” Bart said, blushing. He was so nervous he thought he might faint. “It’s nice to meet you.” He held out his hand for Piggie to shake it.
Piggie lowered himself to his one knee like he was going to propose. He took Bart’s hand in his and kissed the back of it. Then he took Bart’s middle finger and swallowed it all the way down.
Chapman howled. “Ah, shit, man, he’s gettin’ romantic! He seducin’ ‘im! Damn!” He walked towards the main area of the shack, where the other men’s voices came from. His words brought those other men to the front to see what was happening however, and when they saw Piggie licking Bart’s finger, they hollered as well.
“Piggie, whatchoo doin’?”
“You ain’t say you was gonna do that!”
Bart blushed a beet-red. Piggie just kept his eyes trained on Bart, ignoring the others screaming and laughing nervously.
“Look here, boy, I don’t get a lotta girls, but lucky for me,” Piggie said, raising his deep, raspy voice to be heard over the others, “I ain’t picky. You so purtty and delicate like a girl, I can pretend you a female. I wanna make you dirty and nasty.”
“Yes. Please do, yes,” Bart said.
“Good. We gonna get real nasty.” Piggie scooped Bart up in his arms. He kissed Bart on the lips while the deep-throated hollers of the other hillbillies in the shack filled the air. “Let’s go to the greenhouse, get some privacy.”
The others didn’t follow, which Bart was glad for. He didn’t need a heckling squad while he got plowed into. When they were outside and away from the others, Piggie sighed and sniffed deeply of the woodsy air.
“Boy, it’s a nice day, I’mma stick ya out here,” Piggie said. He brought Bart to a thick log on the forest floor. He let go of Bart, who immediately planted his lips on Piggie’s chest.
The sweat flavor was intense and acrid. It brought tears to Bart’s eyes and made his dick stiffen up in his pants. Piggie must not bathe often — there was no shower here, but the other men weren’t that dirty, so Bart assumed there must have been a hose or some way to clean themselves. Or maybe, he thought, there was nothing of the sort and Piggie was dirty because he alone never left, so he never bathed.
Bart didn’t much care why though. He simply liked the filth. He licked every drop of sweat off Piggie’s chest. His tongue teased Piggie’s matted kinky hairs and slobbered over his muscles.
“How nasty is you, boy?” Piggie spat into the palm of his hand. It was a big wet load, thick and sticky. He held it in front of Bart’s face. Bart obediently sucked it right up, gargled with it and showed his full mouth to Piggie. He blushed when Piggie howled his approval. “Hot doggie, nice, boy, I swear to God, I hope you and me go to prison together sometime. We would come up wit’ all kinda ways to pass the time. We could get through a hundred life sentences in an afternoon.” Piggie whistled like a cowboy.
Bart knew he was expected to swallow his mouthful of spit, but he wanted to show Piggie that he was just as raunchy as Piggie was. So Bart dove his face between Piggie’s right arm and his chest. He plunged his mouth and his nose into Piggie’s armpit.
Piggie was confused for a moment — he was, it seemed, new to pit worship — but he then raised his arm. The fresh and fragrantly sour smell of his armpit hit Bart’s senses. It was so strong it cut through the fog and excitement of the situation, and it made Bart moan.
He lapped at the funky bundle of hair in Piggie’s armpit. There was no clear divider between his hair there and the hair on his chest. Then Bart moved to the other armpit, where he got a new fresh faceful of sweat.
“You taste clean,” Piggie said appreciatively — he rubbed his fingers over Bart’s smooth back, then sucked whatever flavor he could get off his hand. He moaned and dropped his pants to reveal a thick, uncut cock with a cheesy foreskin. The smell of his unwashed balls made Bart’s eyes water all over again. Piggie moaned. “Gonna make you taste so dirty yo’ mama don’t wanna touch you evuh again, boy.”
“Okay,” Bart said with a giggle. His tongue moved from Piggie’s left armpit around to his hairy back, and the sight of that made Bart’s dick twitch. He knew there weren’t a lot of hairback lovers out there, but he was dedicated and passionate about it. He sucked on each hair as though trying to suck it right off Piggie’s body. He left hickeys over Piggie’s meaty back muscles and he sucked the pool of sweat that had collected on the small of his back.
Piggie’s back was not just a little hairy, it was covered in hair, very nearly as much as his chest. That was just fine with Bart. The more he sucked it clean, the more aroused he was, and the more Piggie shuffled and howled. Piggie lowered himself so Bart could reach.
Eventually Piggie had lowered himself to all fours, his funky hair-choked ass sticking up high in the air. Bart knew he was going to give Piggie the nastiest rimjob ever, but he didn’t want to rush through things, so he leaned over Piggie’s hairy ass to lick the rest of his back.
That placed Bart’s bare cock over Piggie’s bare ass. Bart first angled himself to avoid actual contact because Bart didn’t want to make him so uncomfortable he stopped this rutting. But Piggie didn’t complain, not even when Bart’s dick brushed up against his hairy ass.
“Oink! Oink!” Piggie roared like a hog when he heard tittering laughter from the other hillbillies. They weren’t watching, but it looked like they kept pushing each other out the back door, trying to make each other come watch. They laughed at Piggie, who oinked and writhed like a real pig.
Soon Bart had mounted Piggie’s body to lick him all over. Piggie didn’t complain, and even moaned when he felt Bart’s cock rub over his asshole. He didn’t even make Bart get off him when the others seemed to notice that Bart’s naked body had mounted Piggie from behind, even though it must have looked like Bart was about to sodomize Piggie instead of the other way around. They laughed, then went back inside.
“I bet you know where to lick next,” Piggie said as he lifted his head, making Bart slide down his chunky back.
Bart giggled and stuck his tongue out. He planted it right on Piggie’s back, over his spine, and kept it there as he lowered himself down Piggie’s back. He landed on his knees right in front of Piggie’s ass and rammed his head in there, between those awe-inspiring cheeks.
They were big and plump and juicy and round and covered with dense, kinky hairs. The taste was foul, the sweat cloying, the skin moist and filthy, and Bart loved every bit of it. He groaned and moaned as he slathered spit all over each cheek, then rammed his face into Piggie’s crack.
“Oh fuck yeah, get ya tongue in there, boy, deep in there…” Piggie groaned.
Bart lapped at his asshole. He loved giving rimjobs to hairy men, and Piggie was one of the hairiest. Bart had to push through a dense forest of hair to get to his tight hole, and the taste was so musky it made Bart gag — not in a bad way, he loved it. He savored the salty, sour, biting flavor and let it fill his mouth.
“Get ya face up here, boi, lemme paint it,” Piggie said. He didn’t wait for Bart to do so, he turned himself around and spat again on Bart’s face, a big stinky wad of saliva. Then he sat on Bart’s face, rubbing his hairy ass all over. “Get covered in it, boy, hell yeah, you turn me on so much it hurts…”
The fresh spit awakened the flavor of Piggie’s ass, which spread to cover Bart’s face. Bart plunged his tongue right into Piggie’s tight hole, which tasted funky and potent. He sputtered. He flickered his tongue within Piggie’s body, making Piggie’s entire meaty frame shake. Every motion he made caused his asshole to tighten around Bart’s tongue.
Soon Piggie lifted himself up and lowered himself again, plowing into himself with Bart’s tongue. Bart had always been good at rimjobs because he had a preternaturally long tongue, which he used to good effect inside Piggie’s body. He teased Piggie’s prostate, making his face turn red and his muscles all tense at once.
“Ah, yeah, you gonna make me oink, boy!” Piggie said with a roar. He did oink, though Bart would have never realized he intended for it to sound like an oink if Piggie hadn’t said so. It was more of a eurwh sound, as Piggie’s muscles writhed and his asshole clenched around Bart’s tongue.
The tastes and scents of Piggie’s ass were so overwhelming that Bart was dizzy. He was groggy and only barely aware when Piggie finally pulled away, and bright light hit Bart’s eyes.
“Oh yeah, you look good and nasty,” Piggie said. Mud dripped from his elbows where he had been leaning in the dirt. He leaned down and licked Bart’s cheek, slurping up all the assjuice and spit that dripped down his skin. Piggie shuddered and gagged, but smacked his lips like he loved the taste. He licked Bart again and again, lapping at his face.
Then, all in one smooth motion, he jabbed his dick into Bart’s mouth. Bart’s throat spread open as Piggie ignored his resistance and slammed his manhood all the way down. Piggie pounded on his chest and again let out that moist oink-like sound.
“Gonna get all up in ya belly, boy… Gonna go at ya till you can’t take it…”
All Bart could do was choke and submit. He grasped Piggie’s plump asscheeks, then fingered Piggie’s ass — Piggie didn’t complain even when Bart rammed two fingers in there. Piggie grunted and twisted like it hurt, but he also gasped, moaning, groaning and writhing with the pleasure roiling his muscles. He gripped Bart’s head with both hands, plowing into Bart’s throat and making him cough up saliva and precum in big clumps.
Lack of oxygen made Bart remain dizzy as he endured Piggie’s passionate throat-humping. Every few seconds, Piggie pulled out of Bart’s mouth, kissed him on the lips and licked all the mess up off his face before resuming.
“Ah, boy, you make a nice cumsponge, I reckon you was built fo’ that,” Piggie said. “I know it ain’t in the Bible, but that’s my theory.” He groaned and held onto Bart’s head, his dick all the way in Bart’s throat. Bart squirmed and gagged, choking up big gobs of spit which he caught in the palm of one hand.
Piggie saw the spit and precum that collected in Bart’s hand. He removed his dick long enough to let Bart take one hoarse, loud breath while Piggie bent down to suck all the messy soup off Bart’s hand. He showed off that mouthful of fluids and let it run down his grimy chin.
“I love nastiness,” Piggie said as he chewed on the mouthful of fluids. It made him gag and spill out over his chin, where his skin was dirty enough that the juices left a trail of seemingly-clean flesh. “And, boy, you got all the right kinda nasty.” His voice was moist and hard to understand, but Bart picked up every word.
Bart bent down to kiss Piggie’s feet. They were covered in mud and clumps of dirt, and his feet were hairy like a hobbit’s. Bart giggled as he sucked on each toe. Piggie loomed over him like a Greek god — a filthy, muddy, rut-scented hillbilly Greek god — and lifted up his feet to let Bart get them clean all up and down.
Both men were on the verge of orgasm by the time Bart bent back over that rotting log, which had partially collapsed due to the weight of both Piggie and Bart weighing it down. He lowered his head to near the dirt, and lifted his ass high in the air.
“Boy, you look good in that position. Now you make a sound like this as I stick ya,” Piggie said. He made that loud soo-eee farmer’s call and laughed when Bart’s lilting feminine voice made the same sound. Piggie slapped Bart’s asscheek. “Gonna make you so nasty, boy, shit…”
“Ram it in me… Soo-Eee!” Bart grunted as Piggie jammed his dick in his ass. Just like in his throat, Piggie was crude and merciless — exactly how Bart liked it. Pain bloomed in his tight ass, but only for a few seconds.
Then Bart’s prostate came alive and tingled, sending waves of pleasure up Bart’s spine. Bart tensed up, which made Piggie laugh and lower his chest onto Bart’s back. He pinned Bart against the rotting log beneath him.
“You feel me in you, boy? Huh? Lemme hear ya voice,” Piggie said. His chest rumbled against Bart’s spine, his chest hairs scratching at Bart’s smooth skin. His deep voice echoed, aimed directly into Bart’s ear, making him writhe, which in turn caused Piggie to laugh. “I see you movin’. That’s cuz I make ya feel good, right? Say it. Say it, boy, lemme hear you say it.”
“You make me feel good…” Bart said, but his voice was very weak because his mind was focused on the intense array of sensations emanating up from his asshole. Piggie didn’t stop to listen to anything Bart said anyway, he just kept plowing and talking directly into Bart’s ear.
“You gon’ be real nasty, you gonna be like a pig in slop when I’s through wit’cha. You ain’t nevuh gonna be clean again. Is it worth it?”
“Yes…” A few tears rolled down Bart’s cheek. He wasn’t crying from any emotion, just from the potency of the feelings that wracked his body.
“Girls don’t evuh lemme treat ‘em like this,” Piggie said. “They wanna be princesses. I want to start ‘em out like princesses, and then grind ‘em into the dirt. Then they be a princess of raunch. You like that? You wanna be my raunch princess?”
“Yes!”
“Good, you nasty, you real nasty. You wanna taste how nasty you is?”
“Yes!”
Piggie didn’t stop plowing, but he did lower one of his hands to rub his own cockshaft. As it slid in and out, he got his hand full of Bart’s assjuice and Piggie’s own nearly-orgasmic precum. Grimy, gritty fluids dripped from his callused hand, which he placed in front of Bart’s face.
It tasted so foul Bart wanted to gag — he couldn’t do anything more than sputter because Piggie’s sweat-soaked body pressed down on his back — but Bart tried to lick every corner of Piggie’s hand. Piggie licked it too, and their tongues combined over the gooey filth that dripped over Bart’s face. Piggie licked that off too.
“Shit, boy, I wish I could fill a tank wit’ my nastiness and we could go swimmin’ in it… I could just dip you in there e’ry day.”
As they both neared orgasm, Piggie wrapped both of his arms around Bart’s delicate frame. He rolled over like they were wrestling, and he laid on his back. The movement and the bouncing when Bart landed on Piggie sent sharp stabbing pains through Bart’s asshole.
But that lasted only a moment. With Bart on top now, he was in control of the plowing, and he rammed his own body up and down. He was so focused on that that he barely noticed Piggie gripping Bart’s dick and stroking it off as they both plowed into there.
“Fillin’ you up now, boi, fillin’ you up wit’ my babies… Gonna get yo’ ass pregnant…” He laughed as his orgasm ripped through him.
Cum sprayed into Bart’s asshole, a bit and creamy hot load that filled Bart’s body. Bart sighed. He leaned his head back and sucked moisture off Piggie’s hairy chest, while he endured what felt like an endless orgasm within him.
His prostate sang and exploded, as Piggie’s dick teased him, spurting out wad after wad of thick cum, which slipped out and down Bart’s cheeks. Bart came too, Piggie’s hands stroking him off until he had covered his chest and belly with juice.
“Ah shit, yeah, hell fuck!” Piggie screamed. He desperately held onto Bart as though any motion might ruin the orgasm. He breathed through gritted teeth. Bart was utterly motionless, the pleasure wafting through him gradually shifting to pain as his body adjusted. Piggie growled. “I bet you know what to do. Get yaself nasty, boy.”
Bart giggled. He slid off Piggie’s cock and sighed as a wave of tremendous relief hit him. His asshole was tender and sore, but it still sent twinges of bliss through his body. Bart didn’t gag when he tasted his own ass on Piggie’s cock. He slapped himself over the face with that limp slab of meat, and he covered himself in remnants of Piggie’s cum.
“I like how you look wit’ juice all over ya face…”
He didn’t stop there. Bart licked all the way up Piggie’s crotch to his belly, and he licked up every drop of sweat and juices there. He used his hand to wipe his own load off his chest, and smeared it over his face.
“Wait, lemme see that,” Piggie said when Bart was done. He smiled sickly as he looked at Bart’s face, which was covered in layers of sweat, spit, cum and assjuice.
A loud retching sound and some hushed laughter filled the air. Chapman and the others had crept forward to watch. They had been blushing and daring each other to come closer for some time, but Bart had been so overwhelmed he didn’t notice. They all gagged and cheered at the same time when Piggie stuck his tongue out and licked all those juices off Bart’s face.
“Damn, Piggie, you nasty!”
“No wonder that whore wouldn’t fuck you, Jesus Christ, you are gross!”
But Piggie just laughed and leaned back in the mud. He hugged Bart close to his burly barrel chest, which Bart rested his head on. This had been such an incredible and exciting experience that he was exhausted as soon as it was over, even with those men laughing loudly.
Soon Bart was sound asleep, curled up on the broad hairy chest of Piggie, who frowned but didn’t remove Bart. He just got Chapman to bring him a joint to smoke, and he laid there while Bart slept. The funk of Piggie’s body made Bart’s eyes water while he slumbered, but he didn’t mind at all.
The smell just made him horny, so when he woke up, he was ready to go again. By then Chapman had left. So had the other hillbillies, and Piggie had carried Bart into the shack so gently Bart didn’t wake up.
“It’s just you and me, boy,” Piggie said. He stuffed pork cracklings into his mouth. He smiled. “We gonna have a little honeymoon. Not honey, that ain’t right. We gonna have a dirtmoon. You like that?”
“Yeah.” Bart said. “I can’t wait.”

The Biker

When Lance wins a motorcycle race against a handsome biker, he’s in for a wild ride on some alpha male meat! He gets to swing on every part of the legendary biker Banner Wilde!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

As soon as Lance set off, he knew he had won. He timed it just right, to roar off as soon as the pretty girl in the short dress dropped her flag. Lance’s motorcycle darted into the darkness of the spring night.
Banner Wilde was the other biker, the one who was now behind Lance, his face increasingly ashen as the crowd stampeded and caterwauled behind him. He was lanky for a biker, well-built but ropy and wiry, not bulky. That was probably a benefit for him, since he was lightweight on the motorcycle. Lance wasn’t much bigger. But Banner had a solid, squarish face like a brick, while Lance was more leanly muscled.
The wind roared through Lance’s hair, and little pinpricks of pain erupted where pebbles pecked his face. He lifted his head up like a kid standing on a bike’s pedals. He was a few feet ahead of Banner, breezing ahead of the crowd of young people cheering, jeering and whooping.
He was already planning how to celebrate his victory — aside from the obvious — before he even zoomed past the finish line.
He virtually jumped off the motorcycle, pumping his fists. “Hell yeah! Fuck yeah!” He blushed a little. It wouldn’t do to look like a sore winner, especially since he didn’t have any friends here. For now, at least, he didn’t care. He just wanted Banner’s cock.
Lance took a few steps back, exulting in the whoops and glories coming from the crowd. They clasped him on the back and complimented the motorcycle, all that kinda stuff, and Lance aite it up with a spoon. Lance was not a biker, he was a mere accountant. Banner was the biker.
And he had lost.
Banner get off his bike too, looking downcast, suddenly his face seemed much tanner than it had before the race. His flashy brown eyes flitted over the crowd, all of whom ignored him. Everyone likes a winner. Banner looked at Lance and nodded faintly as though to say ‘good job’. Then he was mobbed by the other bikers from the Jagged Right bar where Banner and Lance had met.
That was Banner’s motorcycle club. Lance’s too, sort of. Lance wasn’t a biker, but he had a motorcycle and money and the Jagged Right were willing to humor him. Banner’s loss was not an example of humoring him though, Banner had been cocky that he would win, and he was ashen-faced now as his fellow Jagged Right bikers mobbed him. Banner tried very hard to win.
But Lance’s motorcycle had come out on top. He liked to think that was skill, and of course there was skill involved. But Lance had the money to buy, upgrade and maintain a top of the line motorcycle. That was really all it was. Motorycle racing was all about the engines and the tires and that sort of thing, not the human rider’s athleticism.
That wasn’t how people treated it though.
Lance didn’t interrupt Banner, who endured his friends laughed and jeered at him. There was no need for Lance to say ‘told you so’ when Banner’s own friends did it for him. Banner flared his nostrils and ignored them.
“You had better not back out-“
“Oh, he won’t, he’s no welcher, I knew his pa!”
Banner wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like it when people compared him to his father. He didn’t like that at all. But if he complained now, he’d look like a sensitive little snowflake.
He wasn’t going to welch. Banner was going to do it. It was vital, however, that he pretend it was no big deal, like there was not really any reason he’d never done it before, like the only reason he wasn’t ramrodding dudes all the time was that he was too busy swimming in pussy.
That wasn’t even wrong. He didn’t think it was a big deal. Losing was a big deal, but he chalked that up to his weakened gasket. He had misjudged the sissy biker and his Korean-made motorcycle. That, he thought, was the part that annoyed him the most — how did a Harley Davidson lose to a Korean motorcycle?
Fucking Koreans!
“Awright, man, you beat me, you got a helluva bike,” Banner said. He clasped Lance on the shoulder. He had to raise his voice to be heard over his jeering friends.
“Fuck him-“
“You’ll never look at pussy the same way again, Banner!”
“Banner gonna take it in the aaaaaaaa-ss!
Soon, however, they made it to Lance’s RV. Banner was glad to be away from the rest of the bikers. Some of his friends were making fun of him now despite not having been around during the initial incident — they didn’t even know what was going on.
This all started just last week…
But Lance had been acting the fool in the bar, attracting attention and generally making himself look like an idiot. The hairy machos who filled up the bar were always looking for something to tease him about. Lance had taken it all in stride. Until Banner said that Lance’s little pea-snapper bike couldn’t hold a candle to Banner’s Harley. Lance had taken him up on that implied offer of a race, with a twist:
Lance wanted Banner to ram him. If Lance won, Banner agreed to ram him inside the RV. If Banner won, Lance would have painted the words this bike got beat by an American motorcycle on his bike’s body and on the back of the leather jacket he normally wore when riding. That wouldn’t have been embarrassing to Lance. He bought the Korean bike because it had the best stats for the best price. If it lost, it would only mean Banner’s Harley was better. Lance was not a patriotic Korean and had no desire to boost the Korean reputation for motorcycle manufacture.
But he agreed because he thought he’d win the bet and get to ramrod Banner, which turned out to be exactly what happened. Lance was confident that he would win because he had just tuned his bike up and it was a state-of-the-art, precision-engineered beast of mechanicry, whereas Banner’s Harley was a mud-splattered repairberg that drifted down the highway like a rattling, meth-addled beggar. Lance could tell that Banner’s Harley was weak, just from the dismal sputtering tone to its engine noises. He could hear the weakened gasket in it.
Once they got in the RV, Lance sighed and smiled. The other bikers began to scatter. Banner was glad to be in private. He didn’t much want to do this with all his buddies outside asking if he was having trouble getting hard yet. The sound of the assembled Jagged Right bikers was muffled by the trailer, and now that Banner was out of sight, a lot of them lost interest in teasing him.
“So I’m glad it turned out okay, even if this wasn’t the bar I had been told it was,” Lance said, finishing a story that Banner hadn’t been paying attention to — Lance was explaining how he went to the wrong bar at first.
Banner didn’t care why Lance had come to the Jagged Right bar in particular, so he ignored the story. Lance poured himself a glass of water — his mouth had gotten dusty and dry in the race — and then passed one to Banner, who looked suddenly very thirsty. Banner wished he had started drinking in the bar prior to all this happening. He probably would have won the race if he’d been drunk, he thought.
“Yeah, the butch all-women biker bar is The Velvet Log,” Banner said, chewing on one ragged fingernail. “Don’t go in there, those bitches’ll rip your heads off if you look at ’em wrong.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s… Well, you gotta look at butch women in better ways, Banner. Improve your looking,” Lance said with a smile.
He was raven, with a thick mane of jet hair, scraggly and poorly trimmed, like he had had a beautiful amber head of hair like a Viking god but then fell to Earth and doused his head in brambles and mud, giving him a torn and tattered half-curled mop of dinge highlighted with brown and tan and a few strands of gray. His forehead was lightning-bolted with an ugly rill of scar tissue, his left eye droopy underneath it like it had been damaged in whatever incident left his eyebrow slashed. His front tooth was chipped too, and he ran his tongue over the jagged tip of it as he looked down Lance’s body.
Banner was powerfully built and strong without being heavy or bulky. He had that pseudo-nice face, like if he had lived a clean and wholesome life he’d be a leading man with a charismatic pair of dimples, but since he was craggy and worn all over, those dimples gave him an almost menacing aura, like he was trying to trick you by looking so handsome despite being as “ugly as a pile of dirt”, as his ex-wife had said.
“Do you want me to get drunk first?” Banner asked. He kind of hoped the answer would be yes. That was both because he had fewer inhibitions when he was drunk and because he simply wanted to be drunk. Banner usually wished he was drunker than he was.
“No. Unless you want to,” Lance said.
Once he was drunk, he’d gladly let Lance jerk him off seven ways to Sunday. That wouldn’t be a problem at all. Lance could probably do it without even asking and Banner would have been too wasted to complain. He would have said that was the only way he’d do it and make Lance wait for him to get drunk, but Lance might cornhole him when he was passed out. He’d rather do it sober so he could call it off if he wanted.
But also, he didn’t want to take the time to get drunk before doing this — his friends would notice it taking so much time, and they’d accuse him of being unable to get hard. It was better to just get it over with.
“Nevermind, I don’t needta be drunk,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s get this over with.” He stood with a loud, moist snort. He saw little reason to act seductive, so he let out a loud belch. Maybe, he thought, that would make Lance back out, and Banner would look so manly he was too much even for the sissies.
But Lance didn’t mind that at all. He looked up at Banner with big doe eyes and smirked. “Well, come on, take those pants off.”
Banner rolled his eyes and came closer. He didn’t like being treated like a piece of meat — which was ironic because he loved it when women treated him like that. But he wasn’t going to look hesitant, or even reluctant, so Banner snarled, “Man, shit, boy, goddamn…” and unzipped his jeans. They were encrusted with old mud and a splatter of stains — blood, engine oil, food, unidentifiable fluids combining like an abstract painting — and they reeked of sour, spoiled fruit, like bad wine.
Lance enjoyed every note of that scent. He liked ’em dirty, and the more Banner snortled and chortled like an annoyed pig, the more aroused Lance became. He was a keen appreciator of the male form.
“C’mon, get to slurpin’ hoss, let’s see that shit get wet!” Banner bellowed loud enough that his fellow Jagged Right bikers outside could hear. They cheered in response. He unzipped his pants, and Lance fished his meat out.
He had a nice hefty dick that slipped through the fly of his jeans. Lance loved jerking men off like that, through the fly. It gave them a sort of mystery, he thought, like you didn’t know what might be on the other side of that fabric. He blushed as he got to work on Banner’s shaft.
He stroked it with one hand, thwacking it over his face. It was thick and fatty like a low-quality sausage, and it jiggled as it roped around on Lance’s face. Banner sneered down at him. Back in prison, Banner thought, nobody would willingly let a man’s limp dick jab around on his face like that, it would be humiliating. But out here, a wussy-ass lawyer could do that and not lose face.
Well, not lose too much face. Many bikers definitely had less respect for Lance knowing he jacked off men. To Lance, this reputation was not a problem.
Banner crossed his arms over his chest, his leather sleeveless vest moving with it to accentuate his bare arms. The tattoos on his muscles were bluish, but faded, giving him that dirty look that fully-tattooed light-skinned people ended up with when their tattoos faded to nothing but a smear of geometric smudge. His muscular arms rippled, and his pecs bounced. His dick was slightly hard now, more from the excitement of the situation than from stimulation, since Lance hadn’t really done anything yet. He was just playing with it.
But then, when it was at least firm enough to swallow it, Lance did precisely that. Banner’s eyes opened wide as his cock slid down Lance’s mouth. A wave of pleasure wracked his body, as Banner’s cock slammed all the way to a full erection in seconds. Banner sucked in his breath and stood on his toes.
“Aaaah, damn…”
He loved the feeling of his cock getting squeezed by his bitch’s moist, warm hole, and he didn’t even have to look down. He didn’t have to see any of this. It was nicer than a blowjob from a woman in a way, Banner thought. No need to be polite, no need to woo, no need to impress the bitch. All he had to do was take his dick out and let it happen.
And lose a race. But Banner was trying not to think about that.
With waves of sensation wafting up from his cock, Banner looked out the window — the curtains were closed, but he peered out the side. He was glad to see that the other bikers were off getting drunk, seemingly having forgotten about the race and the bet and what was going on in here. Out of sight, out of mind.
He was distracted and surprised when a powerful bolt of pleasure ran up his spine. Am I hard? He hadn’t realized he was getting hard. It really was totally physical, he thought, not nerve-wracking or off-putting at all once he got started. His uncle had once said that — that getting throated by a man didn’t mean anything, that it felt objectively the same as getting sucked off by a woman. Banner hadn’t believed him.
But now he knew that his uncle was right, or maybe had even underestimated the sensation — this felt better than any blowjob he’d had. Lance went deeper and held it longer than any woman. He didn’t seem to need oxygen. His hands clasped Banner’s well-muscled thighs, and he signaled when he needed a break by tapping Banner on his meaty asscheeks.
Banner’s knees buckled and he bent back, a moan of desire escaping from his lips. His eyes opened wider than ever. He wasn’t expecting it to feel this good. He bit his lip and moaned again, hoping he didn’t sound weak.
His cock was rock-hard now, throbbing, pulsating. He gripped Lance’s head and held on tight, giving him easy access to Lance’s throat, which he plowed down like it was a field and Banner’s cock a tractor. He pushed his dick lower and lower, marveling at how Lance didn’t make him stop, not even when his throat let out a gag and a choke.
“Oh god…” Banner didn’t want to seem like a teenager getting a nut off for the first time, so he grunted, swallowing up his moans with a manly snort. He tried to sound nonplussed by it all, like he was doing Lance a favor.
Which he was, in a way. Lance was the one who wanted this.
It felt so good though, that he didn’t even notice right away when Lance pulled off him — pleasure still coursed through his veins and wracked his body. Then Lance’s hands slipped under Banner’s tattered sleeveless shirt and badge-covered vest.
He didn’t have a perfect body. Lance liked that, he appreciated men’s physiques and not just six-packed Hollywood-bikers with clean, combed hair. He liked his men meaty and rough-hewn. Banner was exactly that, all thick where it counted and firm everywhere, covered in stinky coarse hairs that tasted of motorcycle engines and group showers. His hair was a dense mop, perpetually uncombed, indeed it seemed likely Banner had never combed it, certainly not since his mother stopped forcing him to.
He lifted the shirt and vest off. Banner groaned. He hadn’t really wanted to take his shirt off, but it seemed rude to insist on it. He wasn’t ashamed, it just felt almost romantic. He stood there unmoving as Lance licked and sucked every inch of his chest, more enthusiastically than any woman had ever done, even back when Banner had a six-pack and a smooth chest. He didn’t react because he still had that immature nagging worry that anything he did might be interpreted as a secret signal for Lance to ramrod him. He just stood there, not even breathing while Lance sucked his pecs and his shoulders, one hand stroking Banner’s cock idly as he did. It throbbed in Lance’s grip.
The precum flowed down Lance’s wrist before he grabbed a tube of lubricant and smeared some on his ass, using the precum for a little additional lubiness. Then he turned around and jutted his ass back, ramming it into Banner’s unkempt pubic bush.
That was one thing he liked about bikers — they never trimmed their pubes. A lot of men did that these days, and Lance did not approve. Banner had a big bush that concealed his cockroot, but his dick was big enough that that didn’t matter. That was why so many men did trim their pubes these days, Lance thought, they thought it made their dicks look bigger. Banner both wasn’t concerned about that and had a big enough dick it didn’t matter. It was close to a foot long, maybe even past it, and it was so thick Lance could barely get his hand wrapped all the way around it. When he did, that veiny shaft pulsated like a beast, and Lance traced a vein running from the glans to the root with his tongue.
“You want me to stick it in?” Banner grunted.
“Hell yeah,” Lance murmured. He had to reach behind himself to guide Banner’s cock into his ass. Banner still wore those nasty old jeans, which hung heavily beneath Lance’s hand, Banner’s prick jutting forth from the fly. Lance couldn’t bring himself to let go until it was ready to go up his ass.
“I’s goin’ for it, hoss, get ready. Hope it don’t hurt too bad,” Banner said. That wasn’t true though. It would help his reputation if Lance told everyone his dick was too big to take up the ass.
“Aaaaah…” Lance sucked in his breath as when tip slipped in. He was tense, his lips pursed, face turning pale. There was an intense pressure that was mind-numbing and almost, but not quite, painful.
He took a deep breath and shook his head, focusing, getting rid of the second thoughts dancing in his mind. He gritted his teeth and pushed back even farther.
At last, his ass opened, and Banner let out a shocked, chest-rattling roar. His cock slid in deeper and deeper, inch after inch, as though Lance’s ass was sucking it in and slurping the shaft down. Lance felt it filling him up, inch after inch rubbing over his prostate and sending waves of bliss through him.
“Goddamn-” Banner’s deep voice carried, rattling the RV and drawing attention outside. Banner was too deeply engrossed to notice the snickering and laughter begin again from outside the trailer. The other bikers must have heard Biker’s moans.
Lance murmured incomprehensibly and sucked in his breath at the sound of men outside.
“Ah, fuck… Are they back out there?” Banner paused fucking for a moment with his dick deep in Lance, who gritted his teeth and moaned, his whole body spasming as pleasure rocked his frame. Banner peered out the window — from that angle, he couldn’t see the largest mass of guys, just a few milling about near the parked motorcycles. Someone made some comments about titties, and soon the parking lot filled again with half-drunk men from the bar.
“Hey, that’s Banner in there, with that lawyer dude-“
“Oh, hell! That’s hilarious!”
They laughed and rocked the RV, making mock orgasm-sounds and even pretending to hump each other. One was so drunk nobody could tell what he shouted, and a few others pretended to piss on Banner’s motorcycle.
“Goddamn it…” Banner wrinkled his nose as he realized some people were trying to peer in the windows. He made sure the curtains were all shut.
He lost his inhibitions, hoping to at least put on a good show if they did look in around the corners of the curtains. He gripped Lance’s ass — which was very smooth and clean, more feminine than many of the women Banner had been with — and he rammed in.
He had been so nervous about doing this he was surprised to feel a soft, silken ass squeezing his dick. This felt better than it had any right to. He tried to keep it down at first, then thought that might work against him.
Instead he hooted and hollered. “Yeah, baby, bitch, take that shit! Fuck yeah!” He smacked Lance’s asscheek, watching it rattle and shake as it clenched around his cock. “Damn, he’s bendin’ over just fine, boys!”
“Fuck! Awwwww…” Lance didn’t want to be left behind in putting on a good show, so he shouted too, though his voice wasn’t as deep so it didn’t carry as well. The guys outside just heard his wordless whinnying like an impassioned pony, and they imitated the sound as they laughed and pretend-humped each other.
Finally, an orgasm rocked both men’s bodies. Lance’s began first by a bit, his own cock exploding in his hand and spraying ropy jets of cum all over the floor of the RV. It was followed by a deep, abiding prostate orgasm that rocked his body and made him shake. Lance’s face turned ruddy and tense, sweat dappling his body and matting his chest hair to his filthy chest.
The smell of sex and dirty ass santorum filled the air. Lance took a deep, bracing breath as the pressure in his ass grew greater and greater. Still Banner fucked, unwilling to stop until he was fully done. He jammed his dick in and out, competing to make the RV rock so much the Jagged Right bikers outside laughed.
“Shit…” Eventually, Banner couldn’t take it anymore. His dick was sensitive, not to mention filthy since he had kept on plowing until his cumwad was a big frothy mess. He fully intended to let everyone see that. He hoped they all looked and gagged and laughed at him.
When it came to this sort of thing, it was best to lean into it, he thought.
He grabbed a beer out of the fridge even before his dickshaft had fully flopped out. It was grimy and greasy, laying there on the small of Lance’s back like an uncooked sausage. Banner grunted and belched once more. Jizz dribbled into Lance’s asscrack.
Then he came to the RV door with his sloppy dick dangling out of his pants, cum still sticking to his pubic hair and dripping down his thighs.
“Aw, nasty!”
“Shit, man, lookit that!”
“Holy fuck!”
Banner blushed, but he was tan enough that that wasn’t real obvious. He was glad to walk around with his cock out because it was a warm night, and he had just fucked, so his dick was as big and impressive-looking as it would ever be.
“You really did it, man??
Banner scoffed. “Of course I did it. I made a bet, didn’t I? A Jagged Right man don’t never welch on a bet. I ruined his ass though, he was begging me to give him a break.”

Reacharound From a Stepfather

Fletcher doesn’t like his new stepdad, who’s a biker. But when Fletcher comes home from college for spring break, he has to spend time… and a bed with him, which means Fletcher’s about to see his stepdad Sagan in a whole new light. Can he handle what Sagan has in store for him?

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Read the whole thing here!

Fletcher didn’t like his new stepfather, and the more time they spent together, the less he liked him. He knew it made him seem like a whiny kid instead of the young adult college student he actually was, but he couldn’t help it.
Until last year, his mother had always been a liberal, educated woman with a professional career as a paralegal. Then she met Sagan. He was a biker, a redneck and a mechanic, a rough, hairy and tattooed thug, walking with a pimp lean even though he’s white, muscles like a baseball player… They fell in love, and Sagan convinced her it was wrong for a woman to work outside the home.
And so that was that, she quit her job. She began speaking in a Southern accent and reminded people all the time that she was “Alabama-born” — that was technically true, but she had been born in Alabama while her parents passed through on the way to their home in Dover. She was really a Delawarean.
Luckily Fletcher was in college by then. He didn’t have to see Sagan very often, but when he did, he became annoyed by his redneck antics every time. Tonight he was home for spring break, he’d be leaving tomorrow to go on a trip with his friends, so he only had to get through one night with Sagan in the house.
He went to bed early, while Sagan and his friends were still outside smoking cigarettes in the dark and talking about motorcycles. Sagan knew everything about bikes and made sure everyone was aware of it. Fletcher really hated him and his stupid redneck voice. That holler in his accent made this whole house feel like a trailer park.
This family used to be nice. Back when his biological father was here, it wasn’t like this. Mom was sophisticated, smart, professional. The house was clean, and there were never motorcycles revving outside over and over. Why did they have to be so loud?
Fletcher pulled his pillow over his face, and he groaned into it. Outside, the rednecks drawled on and on like youtube videos.
“Them Jap bikes ain’t that bad. I wouldn’t nevuh buy one, but they ain’t as shitty as they used to be.”
“Don’t ever ask me when I’m sober cuz I’ll deny it, but I’d love to buy a Mitsuhama.”
“Chicks dig them bikes, they think they’s sexy. And quiet, girls don’t like loud bikes.”
“If my bitch ever said she ain’t like a bike cuz it’s too loud, I’d bend her over the revving engine and fuck some sense into her. She’ll either go deaf or get smart with a quickness.”
That last voice was Sagan, or so Fletcher suspected. They all sounded the same to him, that same drawling redneck accent. He had told his mother before about the terrible, misogynistic things he said, but she didn’t care. “That’s just his way, sweetie,” was what she said. “He don’t mean it. He just talk rough. He spent time in prison, y’know.”
Fletcher didn’t care why Sagan talked like that. He didn’t like anyone talking about his mother like she was some common slut. But there was nothing he could do, so he just huddled under his covers, trying to pretend the noise wasn’t keeping him awake.
Did they all realize how loud they were being? It wasn’t normal in any neighborhood, was it? To be this loud at night? Who revs engines in the middle of the night?!
“Lemme head in there, guys. I’ll be back. I got some… one to do.”
“You gonna fuck the missus? We’ll help you out if’n you want.”
Sagan must have made some kind of face, because Fletcher didn’t hear him say anything, but the other men laughed. He hoped he wasn’t going to have to hear Sagan and Mom having sex. That would be awful. Fletcher would have to move out.
The front door opened. Sagan snorted and spat on the ground before entering. That was another habit Fletcher found revolting — Sagan spat often, like a baseball player.
After the front door slammed shut, Fletcher heard his stepfather come into the hall. There, he stopped for what seemed like a long time. Fletcher stayed as motionless and silent as possible, buried under his blankets.
Sagan’s heavy footsteps resumed, walking down the hall, but they stopped in front of Fletcher’s room.
“Stick it in her, Sagan! Stick it in her good!”
“Ooh, Sagan, I love you!”
“I love you too, babuh. Hmm-hmm.” They all laughed at that impression of Sagan. Did they think he sounded like Elvis? It sounded like an Elvis impression.
Fletcher rolled over. He pretended to be asleep when Sagan opened the door to his room. The smell of cigarette smoke, engine oil and sweat filled the air, and Sagan’s broad chest heaved with his breathing, like he was out of breath even though he wasn’t.
“Hey, Fletcher,” Sagan said quietly, a leer deep in his voice. “You awake?”
Pretending to be groggy, Fletcher rolled back over and faced him. “Kinda.”
Sagan sat on the edge of the bed, which weighed down the mattress and forced Fletcher to move closer to him. His body pressed against Sagan’s muscular ass right where he sat. Fletcher scooted further away, but the angle of the mattress forced him closer.
In truth, he kind of liked it next to Sagan’s powerful body. Fletcher didn’t like him, but he did appreciate Sagan’s muscular frame. Fletcher found the male form pleasing, at least when it was muscular and well-formed like Sagan. In the light, Sagan’s body was pockmarked with scars and faded prison tats, but in the darkness, he was just a masculine silhouette whose shape made Fletcher’s eyes open wide.
His smell was strong too in the darkness. That aroma, combining manliness and motorcycle and cigarette smoke, was intoxicating and heady, and it made Fletcher dizzy. He inhaled deeply of it.
“I know you don’t like me,” Sagan said.
Fletcher shrugged. “I don’t hate you.”
“That’s nice,” Sagan said. He placed one hand on Fletcher’s shoulder. “I love yer mama. You might not believe it, but I really do. I got s’r’uss feelin’s for her. You believe me?”
Fletcher didn’t respond. It hadn’t occurred to him to even have an opinion on that. He didn’t like his stepfather, he didn’t want the relationship to continue, he didn’t want Sagan to love his mother.
But Fletcher hadn’t considered whether it was true or not. His mother had her own history and goals and secret longings, and Sagan did too. For a moment, it felt like running into a teacher out in the community, it was surprising to learn, or rather to feel viscerally, that they were real people with their own lives, inner feelings, hopes and fears. His mother too, she wanted love, she believed Sagan loved her, and until this very moment, Fletcher had never considered this relationship in any way other than how it affected him.
Did he believe Sagan loved his mother? Well… It couldn’t be a scam, right? Mom didn’t have any money. Why else would Sagan marry her?
But that didn’t mean it was real love. Just because they both believed they were in love didn’t mean they were true loves, in the Disney, Hallmark, romcom kind of way. Or did it? What made some loves true and others not? Permanence? Is there no way to know if love is real except to wait a couple decades and see if it remains? No other emotion is defined that way.
But Fletcher didn’t say any of those things out loud.
Sagan sighed and stripped off his leather jacket. He carefully draped it over the chair by the bed. Then he took off his stained t-shirt and the torn wifebeater he wore under that. His powerful chest, brimming with tattoos, was barely visible in the dim light of night.
“I ain’t hear no moanin’ yet, Sagan!”
“Oooh, ooh, Sagan, I love your tiny dick-!”
“I wantchoo to fill me with every single millimeter! That’s right, both millimeters, all the way in!”
“You havin’ trouble gettin’ hard, Sagan?”
“You can ignore them,” Sagan said. “Sorry they so loud. They’s a bunch of assholes.”
“Yeah, they are.”
A long pause followed as Sagan’s grease-stained, callused fingers caressed Fletcher’s shoulder. It made Fletcher shudder and scoot closer to Sagan. “You don’t got a girlfriend, huh? You never did, right?” he said.
Fletcher shook his head and blushed, glad that Sagan couldn’t see how red his face was. In the darkness of his unlit room, he found himself inexorably drawn to Sagan’s visible asscrack as he pondered how to respond. Sagan had probably never been eighteen years old and single. He was probably fucking mad chicks back then. And now. Or at least until he got married. And maybe he still was fucking around outside of his marriage.
“Yer mama is still gonna love you,” Sagan said. “She loves you more than me, y’know. You might not think it, but she do. She told me that last week. I been telling her how to think and how to dress and how to vote and she just accept it. Then I tell her you’re a bit of a whiner, and she slapped me. She said she love you more than me and if I ever say somethin’ not nice about you again, she’ll leave me. She said she ain’t gonna put out for a month to punish me.”
“Really?”
“Fer real, man,” Sagan said. “I ain’t even mean to insult you or nuttin’. I was just annoyed you got all whiny about me treading in mud and engine grease on the floor.” He snorted again and spat in the trash can. Fletcher was grossed out but also intensely aroused. He found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Sagan’s muscular back, which writhed when he hocked a loogie and spat.
“Okay.”
Sagan bent over and began undoing his heavy black boots. Since he was leaning forward, his bare back stretched and his asscrack was visible above the waist of his scuffed jeans. “You can play wit’ it, if you want.”
“What?”
“My ass. I can feel you lookin’ at it,” Sagan said, still facing down to his feet as he untied his boots. “Go ahead. I was in prison, remember? I ain’t gonna freak out at a man touchin’ me.”
“Oh.”
“Go on ‘n touch me.”
Fletcher got past his anxiety and stuck a finger down Sagan’s pants, right in his hairy, sweaty crack. A shudder ran down Fletcher’s spine. His eyes opened wide, and he moved close enough that his nose touched the firmness of Sagan’s back.
That asscrack was hot and hairy and sweaty, and it made Fletcher’s dick stand up under the covers. His finger crept lower and lower until his entire hand was wedged between Sagan’s ass and his dirty jeans.
Fletcher’s finger stopped when it reached the tangle of hair over Sagan’s asshole. Then he pushed through and touched that tight warm ring. He didn’t go in, sensing that Sagan wouldn’t permit that, he just hugged the rim while Sagan pulled off his boots and socks.
“Yee-haw! Make her scream, Sagan!”
Someone outside loudly revved the engine to their motorcycle, and the others laughed.
“She likin’ this sound yet or what?” He revved it again, cackling as he asked over and over whether she liked the sound.
Then Sagan stood without warning. At first Fletcher thought he was mad, that this would be it and Sagan was going to beat him up. But instead he simply dropped his pants and his dingy white boxers. His thick cock dangled, half-hard already. He stood there as though waiting for something.
“You can touch it, if you want,” Sagan said softly.
Fletcher did so, trembling as he wrapped one hand around Sagan’s thick cock. There was a tattoo of a skull-and-crossbones on it, Fletcher could just barely see it in the dark. That was weird. Who tattooed their cockshaft? Fletcher pictured Sagan taking his dick out in a tattoo parlor and the tattooist touching it, holding it still as he worked on it. Must have hurt, Fletcher thought.
His heart pounding, Fletcher hefted up that slab of meat and inhaled deeply of its musty scent. Sagan chuckled. His limp cock throbbed in Fletcher’s grip.
Without giving it another thought, Fletcher swallowed it down, as deep as he could get on it. He drooled as an explosion of masculine flavor hit his tongue, and Sagan moaned. There was a faintly surprised tenor in his voice, as though he didn’t think Fletcher’s unpracticed throat would be smooth and welcoming
“C’mon, Sagan, you put it in her ass yet?”
“I gonna drink all yer beer if you don’t get out here!”
“If you ain’t get hard yet, it ain’t gonna happen!”
Soon Sagan was rock-hard, grunting as he bucked his hips, pushing his dick deeper and deeper down Fletcher’s throat. He held onto the back of Fletcher’s head as though going to throat him down, but didn’t. He just gently worked his dick as far as it would go.
“Yeah…” Sagan voice melted away as his dick spasmed in Fletcher’s mouth.
The taste of precum hit him, and Fletcher gurgled merrily. It was salty and sweet, savory and sour, it tasted like exactly what he had been looking for. He forced himself to deep-throat even more of it.
He continued until his nose was buried in Sagan’s unkempt pubic hair, which stood out from his crotch like a shrub. His dick was even bigger than it had first seemed because the first few inches were concealed by hair, which smelled of metal and stale semen.
Fletcher’s fingers crept up Sagan’s body to his muscular chest. He didn’t have a six-pack, but his barrel-shaped torso was bulging with muscles and the power of his frame emanated from him in his body heat, which enveloped Fletcher. Fletcher withdrew his fingers when he realized that probably seemed too weird to Sagan.
But Sagan shook his head, grabbed his hands and brought them back up to his nipples. “Go on and feel whatever you wanna feel, boy,” Sagan said. He flexed his pecs beneath Fletcher’s grasp. “You wanna stick a finger in my ass? Go on, I’s a prison-man, ‘member? You ain’t gonna shock me.”
Fletcher, however, was shocked. He kept one of his hands on those rock-hard pecs and erect nipples, while his other hand crept to Sagan’s plump ass. He pushed his finger back through the tangled nest of asshair and plunged hesitantly into Sagan’s butthole.
It was warm and tight, and every time he moved his finger even the slightest, it made Sagan grunt and shake. Fletcher smiled as he watched his stepfather writhe beneath his touch. His spongy prostate felt good beneath Fletcher’s fingertip.
“I’m-a ram you in the ass now, boy,” Sagan murmured. He hurried under the blankets as though this was a race, wrapped his muscular body around Fletcher and rammed the tip of his dick right in. Fletcher bucked and tensed as pain shot through him. Sagan stopped moving. “Hey, sorry, I ain’t nevuh ram a man outside of prison. I ain’t used to doin’ it nice,” he said. He sounded genuinely apologetic as he stroked Fletcher’s spasming back. “But I’ll do somethin’ fer you I only ever done on my prison bitch’s birthday and Christmas.” He reached one hand around Fletcher’s body and grabbed his cock, which was already hard.
Then he began working his dick in and out slowly. The motion sent sparks of sensation through Fletcher’s body, and he gasped and moaned and writhed, as the pressure in his ass grew and grew even as it morphed into spams of pleasure that wracked Fletcher’s body. Every minute or two, Sagan seemed to forget that he was trying to be gentle, and he’d hump his hips hard until Fletcher squealed and squirmed. Then he apologized and slowed down again.
“Sorry, boy, you squirm real nice-like…” He kissed Fletcher on the nape. His hands squeezed Fletcher’s cock, one hand holding firmly onto the cockroot while the other spit-lubed hand stroked the shaft.
He kept chewing on his lips and snorting, emitting almost a snore-like sound. He even paused every few minutes and spat a loogie into the trash can by the bed. Each time he did, his belly and his powerful chest writhed above Fletcher’s body.
The thick, bristly hair of his chest and arms scratched at Fletcher’s back. He arched his spine as the sensations grew more and more intense, to the point where he wasn’t sure he could stand it. Fletcher couldn’t even tell if it was so intensely painful or pleasurable, it was just too much of everything, and it made him squirm in his stepafather’s powerful arms.
“If it hurts, you can bite my arm, son,” Sagan said softly, his voice sending a shudder up Fletcher’s spine. He put the meaty part of his forearm in front of Fletcher’s face, like a chokehold almost, but not tight.
Fletcher was glad to have the opportunity for a little relief, as the sensations roiling within were so intense it felt like he was going to explode. He bit down hard on the firm muscles of Sagan’s forearm, which made Sagan moan as though he loved being bitten. His forearm was brimming with muscle so big it seemed to barely fit beneath his skin, and his coarse body hairs rubbed against Fletcher’s teeth and lips. There were tattoos there on his skin, but Fletcher couldn’t see them in the dark and his mind was too distracted by the cock in his ass to remember what they were.
“You makin’ babies tonight, Sagan?!”
“Don’t pull out, man!”
“Whoop, whoop!”
He chuckled into Fletcher’s ear. “I ain’t gonna pull out. I’m gonna cum inside you, boy. You like that? You wanna feel me shoot a nut in you?”
“Yeah…”
“Good. I don’t like pullin’ out. Does it still hurt?”
“A little.”
“Good. It should hurt a bit,” Sagan said. “Is it alright if’n I come see you at night every once in a while?”
“Yeah.”
After another long pause, Sagan said, “Every night?”
“Yeah,” Fletcher said. “You’ll do this again, right?”
“Hell yeah. Try and stop me,” Sagan said. He kissed Fletcher on the cheek.
“Hmmm…” Fletcher’s voice broke as a fresh wave of pleasure hit his prostate and rumbled its way up his body. His open mouth gnawed at Sagan’s meaty forearm, but he couldn’t summon the wherewithal to actually bite down anymore. All he could do was writhe amid the tangle of Sagan’s sweat-matted hair and contorting muscles.
The motorcycles outside revved loudly. Sagan grunted, annoyed, waited for the engines to quiet down again, then screamed loud enough that everyone outside could hear. “You quit makin’ that racket, Cooter! I’ll come cornhole you instead, motherfucker, bend you right over that bike and ram you up the backside! You know I will too!”
They all laughed — presumably all except Cooter — and teased each other about who would like it the best if Sagan did ramrod them. Fletcher moaned at the thought of it, his mind picturing Cooter (or at least, the biker he suspected was Cooter, since Fletcher didn’t know who was who out there) bent over as he was sodomized by Sagan’s big tattooed meat.
Fletcher wondered if Sagan actually did that kind of thing. Did he cornhole the other bikers?
“You like that, huh? I did ramrod that Cooter once. He bet he could beat me in a race. I beat his ass down,” Sagan said. “Next time I do that, I let you watch, boy. Maybe you can join in, if you want to. You like that idea?”
“Yes, dad…” Fletcher moaned in ecstasy, as Sagan’s cock rammed all the way in and all the way out with each powerful thrust of Chooper’s body. It made Fletcher’s bed shake under them.
“Good. Now here comes my nut. You ready fer it? Lemme hear you say it.”
“I’m ready for your nut,” Fletcher said, struggling to get the words out.
“Alright, this’ll hurt a bit,” he said, then rammed his dick all the way in. It did send a shiver of pain up Fletcher’s spine, but more prominently it sent Fletcher to new heights of ecstasy as well. His prostate burned with stimulation as his mind reeled.
When Sagan’s orgasm actually came, Fletcher felt it through the quiver of his muscles and the loud rumbling in his throat. Fletcher gasped as his own climax began building at that moment, when he felt Sagan’s manhood spasming deep within him.
“He’e it is, boy, take it, take every drop…” His voice was low and slow. “Lemme hear you say it. Say when you feel it and when you don’t no mo’.”
Cum sprayed into Fletcher’s body, as Sagan’s muscles all tensed. He yelped and squealed directly into Fletcher’s ear and even licked his earlobe as pleasure shot through them both.
“I feel it, daddy,” Fletcher said, his voice weak and small as pleasure overran him. “I feel your cum inside me.” Once the semen flowed into him, it stuck to his innards and Fletcher felt nothing but creamy warmth. It was only after a few full minutes that Fletcher realized he was definitely done, as he kept feeling trickling jizz inside him until then. “That’s it, I think. I don’t feel it anymore,” he said through gritted teeth.
Then Sagan pulled out, laid Fletcher on his back and used both hands to stroke Fletcher off. Fletcher writhed, the intense pleasure overwhelming him. He clutched Sagan’s powerful chest and broad shoulders. Sagan smiled as though he enjoyed the sight of Fletcher’s delicate fingers clutching his muscles and his kinky chest hair.
“I ain’t nevuh done this, boy,” Sagan said before bending his head over and taking Fletcher’s dick in his mouth. He moved all in one smooth motion, as though if he stopped to think about it, he’d back out.
By that time, Fletcher was already beginning to nut. His orgasm overwhelmed him as soon as he felt that warm moisture on his dick. Sagan’s tongue had no sooner touched Fletcher’s manhood when cum sprayed into Sagan’s mouth. He gagged but didn’t stop.
A plentiful load flowed into Sagan’s throat, and though he screwed up his face in disgust, he swallowed every drop. Fletcher had never felt pleasure so intense — he had masturbated, of course, but it had never felt like this. He shot what felt like a massive load, which drained down Sagan’s tattooed neck.
When Fletcher was done, Sagan lifted his head up, wiped his lips off with a tissue and gagged again. He patted Fletcher on the cheek, kissed him chastely there and got out of bed.
“Damn, Sagan, you tryin’-a give her an orgasm tonight? Tryin’ somethin’ new?”
“Lemme tell you a secret, boy,” Sagan said, standing next to the bed. He rubbed Fletcher’s back and asscheeks with one hand. “I been in prison a couple times. I, uh… I mean… I did have a prison bitch. A couple of ’em. But, uh… I also been the prison bitch a few times, and I uh… I had a prison wife for awhile. I ain’t mind swallowin’ that man’s dick. I don’t mind swallowin’ your’n neither. Don’t tell yer mama.”
“Okay,” Fletcher said, too exhausted to process that information.
“Now you just playin’ wit’ it, Sagan!”
Sagan slowly put his clothes on. He smiled at Fletcher and patted him on the head. “Go on, go to sleep, boy, and have a good trip tomorrow. I’ll make those fuckheads shut up.”
“Okay. Thanks, Sagan.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. He paused at the doorway. “I don’t expect you to say this back to me, Fletcher… But I love you, son.”
Fletcher waited until he was gone to say it back, but he had a feeling Sagan knew he had said it. Just seconds later, Sagan barked at his friends outside.
“Shut yer goddamn mouths and turn your engines off, fuckheads! The family I love is tryin’-a sleep!”

The Biker Bottoms

Avery filed a noise complaint about some bikers, so they come over to tell him off… or maybe they have something else in mind. That means Avery just might get seven minutes in heaven with a studly biker who’s got no choice but to bend over and take what Avery dishes out!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

When one of the bikers walked towards the campsite late in the afternoon, Avery felt a surge of dread. His friends pushed him to meet the biker, a burly middle-aged type with a beer belly and long, scraggly hair tinged with silver.
You see, last night, the bikers in the next campground over had been so loud that no one in Avery’s campsite could sleep. Avery and his buddies had been talking about going camping together for a long time. It was Avery’s first spring-break that wasn’t drunken and debauched — he felt so mature. They were disappointed to have the trip ruined by a bunch of biker jerks.
So Avery had gone over there and told them to shut up. They laughed at him and threw empty cans of beer, cheered on by one dark-haired biker who wore a thick leather jacket. That man had been an utter drunken jerk. Avery didn’t get mad though — he knew exactly how to proceed. He filed a complaint with the park rangers, and he told them about the littering.
Rangers didn’t care too much about noise, but they cared about littering empty cans of beer. The bikers quieted down after a visit from the rangers late in the night. Avery had been treated like a conquering hero by his fellow college students.
The bikers slept late this morning, then went off hunting or drinking or whatever they did during the day, Avery had no idea (riding bikes presumably, though he hadn’t heard their engines revving). It was now nearly five pm when the older biker approached.
He brought along with him a younger biker, one who attracted Avery’s interest. He was a big burly bear of a man in his early thirties, with thick dark hair and a scraggly beard. He had broad shoulders and a colorful dragon tattoo covering his chest, which was mostly bare, and a snake on his neck. He had a square jaw, and he chewed on his upper lip as the older biker introduced himself. Was this the man who had teased him last night? Quite possibly, but it was hard to be sure; he was in the dark last night, wearing bulky clothes.
“My name Math,” said the older biker, the Southern drawl so thick in his voice that Avery could cut it with a knife. “This here my brother-in-law, Python.”
“Math, Python, nice to meet you,” Avery said. “I’m Avery.”
Math smiled in his avuncular way, but Python just grunted an acknowledgement. He looked at Avery like he was a stack of displeasing medical test results. He straightened the flaps of the leather vest that was all he wore above the waist. His hairy, roughly tattooed chest rested, bare and broad, in the shadows of his vest.
“Be nice, Python,” Math said. When Python didn’t respond, Math slapped him in the back of the head. “Say hello. Use your words, numbskull.”
Python glared at his brother-in-law, and then at Avery. “Hello, Avery.” He spoke with an angry sneer. “You ain’t needta call the fucking rangers on us! You goddamn snitch, you come to us like a man, if you got a problem-“
“Python!”
He bit his lip and looked down at his heavy-booted feet. He shifted some dirt around with one boot. “I’m sorry you had a bout of extreme pansiness, which I see was actually a permanent condition-“
“Python!”
“It is, man, look at him! I ain’t gonna apologize to a lavender lollipop! No offense, sissy,” Python said. He refused to make eye contact with Avery, who snickered at the phrase ‘lavender lollipop’. That was a pretty good burn for a biker.
“Don’t make it seem like you’s too good for that,” Math said. He whispered in Python’s ear, and Python blanched. He looked at Avery then with wide eyes. He gripped Python’s greasy hair and pulled, just hard enough to make Python grunt and flail, though he didn’t try to fight back. Math turned to Avery. “I apologize on his behalf. He gonna play a game wit’ you now. That’ll be his way of sayin’ sorry, since he’s too proud to say it hisself. Come on wit’ us.”
Avery followed, even as his mind screamed not to. He didn’t trust these two bikers. Avery’s friends made plaintive faces as he left — they clearly agreed with Avery’s mind that he shouldn’t go. But Avery went because he was interested and because Python had an amazing body, full of hair and engine grease and scars and tattoos. He wanted to watch the rippling flesh of his back as he walked in front of Avery in pain, with his brother-in-law pulling his hair, dragging him like a caveman back to the bikers’s campground.
As they walked, Math looked behind himself and smiled at Avery. “Don’t worry about Python. He ain’t gonna hurt ya. He’s been clipped. He got two strikes against him. He can’t get in any trouble with the law. That’s why he shut down last night when them rangers came a-callin’.”
“Oh, okay.” That was not entirely reassuring to Avery.
Python’s deep voice rang out. “You ain’t needta tell the rangers-“
“Shut up, you done said that,” Math snapped at him. He threw him into an open tent on the edges of the bikers’s campground. The other bikers looked at Math with quizzical expressions. Math looked to Avery and gestured for him to enter the tent. “Python jerked me off, and he took it in the ass from me.”
Python roared and cursed from inside the tent. “Fuck you, old man! I oughta rip yer dick off-“
Math just smiled. “He did it. Everyone here did it. That’s our initiation. Some gangs do ‘blood-in, blood-out’, but that’s legally risky and there ain’t always someone available who needs killin’. We do ‘cum-in, cum-out’. Well, not ‘out’ cuz no one ever leaves.”
“Really? You guys cornhole… as like, a hazing thing?”
Math nodded. “So I gave Python a choice between saying sorry to you — sorry in a polite, respectful way — or playin’ a little game wit’ you. He chose the game,” Math said. “Seven Minutes in Heaven. You know what that is?” When Avery didn’t respond right away, out of shock, Math explained. “It means you get seven minutes in that tent with Python. He’ll do anything you want in there for seven minutes. You can cornhole the pride right outta his ass, if that’s what you want.”
“Really?!”
Python called out from inside the tent. “Fuck you, old man!”
“So whatchoo think, Avery?”
“Uh… Fuck! Okay,” Avery said.
“You’ll forgive us for makin’ noise last night?”
“Hell yeah!” Avery said. The other bikers laughed at his enthusiasm, which made Avery blush. He crawled into the tent as the other bikers crowded around cheering. It sounded like they rather disliked Python, who had been the loudest one last night — he had been the one who teased Avery and got the others involved. They had all been too drunk to care about being loud (Math must have already been asleep), but it was Python who had gotten mad, and, it seemed, stayed mad.
Avery quickly stripped off his own clothes. Python still wore his pants and leather vest. When Avery started to take the vest off him, he didn’t cooperate. His arms remained at his sides, and Avery struggled to get the vest off. Then he kissed Python on his back, which had just a slight covering of peach fuzz above an iron cross tattooed on the meat of his shoulder.
“Make ‘im moan, Avery!”
When his fingers began caressing Python’s muscles, Python twitched as though it hurt. He hung his head. Avery would have enjoyed giving him a massage, but he only had seven minutes and he wanted to use his time effectively.
So Avery stood as best he could in the tent. He wasn’t tall, so he only had to stoop a little bit. His fat pale dick was already rock-hard. He took Python’s callused hand — with the words FUCK and COPS tattooed on his knuckles — and wrapped it around Avery’s dick. Python shuddered, looked away and began stroking.
Avery flopped his dick against Python’s face, and he jerked and twitched. For a moment, Avery thought Python would attack him. But he held back, just flailing for a moment as though Avery’s dick was painful.
“You fightin’ back in there, Python? You know you can still apologize. You could be a man and own up to yer mistakes.”
But it seemed Python would rather do anything than apologize. Instead he cracked his mouth open. His square jaw trembled like he had to force his muscles to do it. His handsome face was tense, turning red and beading up with sweat.
“Oh, that won’t do. You’ll have to open wider than that,” Avery said, loud enough that the bikers outside could hear. They laughed and Avery forced Python’s jaw to separate — it wasn’t much “force”, of course, since Avery was about a third of Python’s size, and Python was already as agape as he could be. Avery just wanted to embarrass him by saying out loud that Python should open wider.
Then Avery pushed the tip of his dick into Python’s mouth. Python loudly choked and gagged, which again made the bikers outside the tent chortle. Someone banged on the side of the tent, the surprise of which triggered the burst of pleasure that coursed through Avery’s body. Python’s warm mouth lapped at his erection, and every time Python gagged, it sent a new wave of sensations up Avery’s spine.
“There it goes, I reco’nize that sound, fo’ sho’!”
“He gaggin’ on it!”
“Make him swaller ya cum, boy!”
The man’s throat was moist and tight, the hairy grizzle on the sides of his chin scratching at Avery’s smooth thighs as he humped his dick in. The positioning was very awkward given the size disparity and the short ceiling of the tent. Python had to really work at it to get his head low enough to get his mouth on Avery’s meat, while Avery had to stay stooped over.
Avery was already hard even before they started, but it didn’t take long before his dick throbbed in Python’s throat, precum leaking down his gullet. Python kept one tattooed forearm over his belly as though forcing his body not to reject the cock in his mouth.
“Move your tongue around some more,” Avery said, giggling nervously.
Python gurgled angrily but did as he was told. He slathered spit on Avery’s cock, sending waves of pleasure through Avery’s body. Avery was so aroused his knees went weak, and he clutched Python’s head for support, while Python’s muscles all tensed and rippled through him holding back violent gags.
“Sounds like you got a good start in there, Avery. Let me know when I should start timing this!” Math called out with a cackling laugh, slapping one hand on the tent to make it rattle and flap.
Python made a loud retching sound as Avery and the others all laughed. Avery kept his dick in Python’s mouth until Python forced him away. Python coughed and spat pubic hairs on the floor of the tent.
“Damn it, Math! You ain’t been timin’?”
“Nah, I ain’t know you started yet. I-“
“You s’posed to start as soon as he gets in the tent!”
“That ain’t how it works, son. You tell me when you’s ready.”
“I’m fuckin’ ready!”
“Alright, I’ll start countin’ when the second hand reaches the twelve. Go fo’ it, Avery.”
“You ain’t gotta worry about the time then, Avery, cuz Python don’t know how to tell time on one of them circle-clocks.”
The bikers all laughed as though this was an inside joke. Python blushed.
“Get on your knees,” Avery said. He called out to the bikers. “You guys got any lube?”
A bunch of them cackled and volunteered their own supply. As Python sighed and got on all fours, they ran back to their tents and bikes. By the time Avery had worked those leather pants down to Python’s ankles, baring his big hairy ass and a thick cock, someone had unzipped the door to the tent just far enough to throw a tube of lube in. That was followed by about a dozen more half-full tubes.
“That enough?” Somebody called out from outside the rent.
“That’ll get us started,” Avery said. They all laughed again, banging on the side of the tent, which once more made the walls shake like an earthquake.
Python was on all fours, which was a less convenient position than it normally would be because Python was so much bigger than Avery. His ass lined up with Avery’s bellybutton, not his crotch. His asscheeks were much wider than Avery’s entire body, but they were plump, juicy cheeks, not at all flabby or fat. Avery’s hands spread Python’s buttcheeks to each side, baring his tight hole.
Slapping Python’s ass and marveling at its jiggling, Avery made a lot of noise for the benefit of the bikers outside the tent. Python blushed a bright red.
“Lower your hips some,” Avery said after wedging his dick between those hairy, sweaty asscheeks. Python grumbled but did as he was told. He lowered his ass until he was lined up with Avery’s crotch.
They both grunted when the tip of Avery’s dick pushed into Python’s guts. Avery’s grunt was a feminine lilting exhalation, while Python let out a loud oomph that made his biker-buddies chant and clap. Python gasped and clenched down hard. Avery was unable to get any more of his dick in.
“He ain’t lettin’ me in, Math! He’s squeezing me out!” Avery called out. Python shook his head as though Avery was snitching on him to the rangers again.
“Python!”
“Shut up, Math! I’m tryin’! He ain’t got a small dick, man…” Python barked, but he did loosen his ass a bit. “Y’know, if I told Lisa what you made me do, she’d be furious. She’d tell me to tell you to fuck off-“
Someone tossed a cell phone into the tent. It landed on the ground near Python’s face.
“Call her anytime you want.”
“I ain’t gotta do this!” Python yelled. He hung his head as he grunted, hyperventilating to relax his ass. It was not entirely effective, but Avery enjoyed forcing himself into that tight hole.
“No, you ain’t gotta! You could say you sorry. You could decide to stop actin’ like a piece of shit!”
“Nuh-uh, Math, that’s genetic. His daddy was a piece of shit, making Python half-shit himself.”
“He’s proud of his shit heritage.”
“If he ever has some kids, Math, your grandbabies is gonna be one-quarter shits.”
Math murmured something disapproving — Python’s sister was Math’s wife, so Python’s daddy was Math’s father-in-law. But Avery couldn’t hear what he said.
“Don’t you motherfuckers talk about my daddy!” Python roared.
“Do somethin’ ’bout it! Oh wait, you can’t cuz there’s a dick in yer ass.”
But Python just submitted, even as he roared in rage. He lowered his face to the ground, sticking his ass in the air. His cheeks and chest were bright red, and Avery noticed that his dick was hard. Avery reached around to his crotch and stroked it. Python jerked and spasmed like it hurt, but he angled his body to give Avery easier access.
“Fight me then, Python! Come on out here and throw down!”
From the attitude of the other bikers, Avery gathered that they all thought Python was a pussy at heart. They kept challenging him to fights as though they knew he’d never do it.
His broad back was dappled with sweat, muscles rippling beneath his thick flesh. Avery caressed his skin and licked that sweat off where he could reach, which, given Python’s bent-over position, was only about halfway up his back.
As he plowed harder and harder, Avery moved his body further up Python’s frame. Soon Avery had to angle his dick downward, jabbing it in as Python grunted and groaned in pain, and pleasure.
“Ah, shit, damn…”
Then Python’s knees buckled. Avery could feel the pleasure rolling through his body, and Avery knew that Python would never admit that was why he couldn’t support himself any more — the pleasure was too intense.
Python sunk slowly to the ground. He muttered at Math, but it was too quiet for even Avery to hear, much less anyone outside of the tent. Python splayed on the ground of the tent, fingers and toes curling as Avery inexorably humped.
One of his hands remained on Python’s cock, but since Python was on his belly on the ground, it wasn’t easy to stroke him. His dick throbbed in Avery’s fingers anyway, while Avery’s other hand explored Python’s thick-bodied chest and belly. Python winced as he did, like he was ticklish and trying to hide it.
“Hey,” Python whispered as the air filled the sound of revving engines — the bikers were riding in circles around the tent now. Python blushed, and Avery leaned forward as far as he could. Python bit his lip and whispered, “Uh… Don’t tell them motherfuckers I got hard… okay? Tell ’em I couldn’t get hard. You cornholed me, whatever, just don’t tell ’em I got hard wit’ a dick in my ass. I’d never live it down.”
A part of Avery wanted to be mean and vicious, and tell them right now. But of course he couldn’t really, because of the loud engines, and he wasn’t that cruel. Python was submitting gamely, that was enough for Avery. He nodded as Python settled on his side, giving Avery enough space to keep giving him a reacharound.
The zipper flap in the front of the tent was forced lower from outside again, and a long fat cock dangled into the tent. It was thick and tattooed with a smoking bong on the shaft. Outside someone — not Math, a different voice — guffawed.
“You want a taste of that one too, Python?”
“Make him swallow it, Avery, you still got him for three minutes-“
“Now hold up there, that ain’t how this game works. He ain’t a slave.”
“Ah, Math, come on-“
“Nah. You ain’t gotta taste no jizz dick, Python. Unless’n you want to.”
Python roared. He reached up and swatted the dick away, hitting it hard enough that the biker outside roared in pain and withdrew the cock.
“Where his dick at now, Python? Inside ya?”
“Show us on the doll where his dick is at?”
“Shut up, man!” Python screamed. His voice was thready and stilted, as he gasped from both pain and pleasure.
“Answer it,” Avery said with a grin. Python clenched in embarrassment, bit his lip and roared as his friends laughed and cheered him on. Avery shuddered as Python’s ass squeezed his dick, which throbbed, rubbing in and out.
“Where’s his dick at, Python?”
“His dick is… in my ass!” Python yelled. His face was bright red now, his muscles spasming beneath Avery’s touch while Avery’s other hand brought his cock to orgasm.
“Nah, come on, be more specific. Where’s his dick at, Python? You know the anatomy of yer asshole? You got the sphincter — that’s the opening itself, the actual hole — then the anus. That’s the first inch or two. After that, it’s called yer rectum. Is he in yer rectum?”
“Has he hit the prostate yet?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Python screamed out of the tent, so angry now his face was a bright red and he spat on the ground. His voice was hoarse and clipped. His vitriol was interrupted by a climax, which was so sudden it surprised Avery.
Python’s massive body tightened all at once, clenching down on Avery’s dick again. Cum sprayed over Python’s chest and belly, so much it dripped and matted his chest hair to his skin. Python gasped, biting down on the floor of the tent to muffle the sound of his moan.
Avery smiled. He gripped the sides of Python’s belly, rolling him over onto his belly. Python grunted and groaned but didn’t resist, even as his face and chest splashed into the puddle of his own cum that collected there. He gagged, causing a rolling undulation of his muscles beneath Avery’s grip, culminating in his asshole squeezing so tight around Avery’s cock it was like he didn’t want to let Avery go.
But Avery was relentless. He was a good bottom himself, and he knew well how to make sure Python’s body accepted his drilling. Avery pounded his dick as hard as he could, making Python grunt with each thrust of his hips. His balls made a loud slapping sound where they hit Python’s skin.
“You got one minute left, Avery. That enough time? I could give you a timeout if you need it…”
“That’ll do, Math, thanks!” Avery called out. He could already feel his orgasm coming on him.
Speeding up his humping, Avery violently plundered Python’s ass. Python moaned, trying to make it sound like a moan of agony. Python lifted his feet off the ground as he submitted to Avery’s cock.
The most intense orgasm of his life shot through Avery’s body. He squealed like a piggie, which made the bikers laugh as Avery knew it would. He sprayed cum inside Python’s ass, giggling while Python harrumphed like he had no idea that was going to happen. Pleasure shot up and down Avery’s spine, and he threw his head back, digging his nails into Python’s back.
At last it was over. Avery took a deep breath and sighed. He kept his dick in Python’s ass, squirming and making sure it touched every corner of his guts. Python clenched down with his feet and hands, tearing at the floor of the tent as though trying to dig into the dirt.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven!”
Avery wiped up all the cum he could find on Python’s chest. He rubbed his hand all over Python’s face, leaving a slick of cum there. His brownish skin and scarred body gleamed with the layer of semen coating his flesh. He gagged at the scent, and Avery inserted one of his own cum-streaked fingers into Python’s mouth.
“Six, five, four!”
“Aren’t you done?”
“I still got a few seconds,” Avery giggled. He wiggled his dick in Python’s ass, sending shockwaves of pain and post-orgasmic pleasure up Python’s spine.
“Three! Two! One!”
As soon as they reached one, they unzipped the tent and ripped the flap open. Everyone jeered at the sight of Avery’s tiny, smooth body on top of Python’s hairy back. Python crawled towards the door.
Avery really hadn’t intended to remain attached to Python’s ass even after the seven minutes were up, but it all happened so fast. He held on for support as Python climbed out of the tent, stark naked, pushing past his leather-clad biker buddies.
It was only when Python was out and standing up near the tent that Avery let himself slide off Python’s back. His dick plopped out of Python’s ass, making Python sigh in relief. He still blushed though as his friends laughed at him, and someone kept handing him a battered old teddy bear, telling him to point to the spot on the doll where Avery touched him.
Python just stalked away, screaming invective at his friends, promising to tell his sister about it, though it wasn’t clear what good that would do. He headed towards the showering facility on the other side of the campsite. He didn’t seem to care that he was naked, cock swinging in the breeze; the cum drying on his face wasn’t so obvious, since his entire body glistened with sweat. Avery, meanwhile, got dressed.
The bikers didn’t follow Python. Math urged them not to. “You gotta give him a chance to regain his pride, folks. Just leave him alone for a bit.”
“What’d you think?” asked another biker — the one who had put his dick in the tent, Avery guessed based on the voice.
“That was… nice,” Avery said, blushing. “You guys can make noise anytime you want, if that’s how you say sorry.”
“You really enjoyed that, huh?”
“It was definitely seven minutes in heaven…” Avery said with a grin.

The Bouncer

Rob is eager to service the bouncer at the biker bar, and he just might have his chance! He hangs out in the alley by the dumpster where the legendary bouncer Banner drops off the scumbags he kicks out of the Clever Pipe, and when Rob makes him an offer too good to pass out, Banner is all too happy to treat Rob exactly the way he wants it!

Can Rob handle the punishment he’s begging for?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob Winthrop headed down the alley behind the club. He smoked a cigarette to make it look like he was waiting for someone to leave out the back. Every few minutes some drunkard did leave out the back, but Rob ignored everyone. He wasn’t here for any of them.
He was here for the bouncer out front.
He had a plan to get him too, but he needed to wait for him to come into the alley. The bouncer was named Banner. He was square-jawed and rugged, with a dense network of scars on his fingers. He said that was from getting angry and punching his fist through glass windows on several occasions. He was a bouncer at the Clever Pipe, a tough bar on the outskirts of town.
Finally the back door flew open, and a drunk man was shoved out of it. Banner followed him, pushing him every few feet and barking out challenges and questions. “Get out. Come at me, brah. Come at me then. You wanna fight? You wanna show off fo’ ya girl? Here’s ya chance, come at me. Lemme see it.” Banner had a handsome face with a noble jaw and a crooked nose, with a flatness to his voice like he had a phonograph in his throat. Even when he spat invective at the drunk man he was kicking out, he didn’t really sound like he meant it. He sounded like a bad actor reading his lines for the first time. He had thick boots like a factory worker. Already tonight a few drops of blood blotted the black leather of his boots. Rob didn’t know if it was Banner’s, the drunk man’s or someone else’s.
Banner pushed the drunk man until he tottered in a garbagey puddle near the dumpster. Then he cackled and kicked the man in the side. The man yelped and squirmed. He tried to crawl away.
A drunk girl came out the back, sloshing through the doorway like a spilled cosmo. She tried to push Banner into the wall — which was ridiculous, because Banner was like a mountain compared to her drunk, wavering twig of a body — but he just moved out of the way. She smacked into the brick wall then stumbled to her boyfriend.
“You fucking pussy!” she said. She sounded so drunk she was about to pass out.
“You’re a slut!” the drunk man bellowed from the ground.
Banner watched with a sneer. The two drunkards argued there in the garbage. Banner lit a cigarette. He flexed his biceps, which were visible beneath the white wifebeater he wore — it looked like it had been brand new at the start of his shift, but now had sweat stains around the shoulders, spilled beer soaked into it and a few drops of dried blood over his heart..
He saw Rob there and nodded. Banner licked his teeth. “I’s the bouncer.” He paused like he was waiting for an order.
Rob came forward. “It’s a dirty job but somebody’s gotta do it.”
The drunk couple headed out of the alley, staggering forward as they shouted at each other. Banner took a deep drag on his cigarette. “You waitin’ for somebody?”
Rob nodded. “But I don’t think they’re coming. They might have gone home with somebody else.”
Banner nodded. Rob made sure to accentuate his feminine side to put Banner at ease. Banner bristled and wrinkled his nose. “Uh-huh.”
“You’re Banner, right? I’m Rob.” They had actually “met”, or at least interacted briefly, last weekend; but Banner didn’t remember that.
Banner grunted and threw his eyebrows back. He wasn’t used to being polite to bargoers. Being a bouncer at a club like this was one of the few professions where being mean to the customers was expected. Banner was not graded on customer service, which was good because most everyone found him chilling. He put a damper on the club every time he worked. He had that grim-eyed stare that made the waitresses trade shifts to get away from him.
But the owner, Math, liked that he kicked ass. Banner never lost a fight. At a bar like the Clever Pipe, that was a frequently useful skill, and it was more important than the comfort of the waitresses.
“I’ll give you fifty bucks to take your shirt off and put me in a headlock,” Rob said. As soon as he said it, he squealed and blushed. He handed Banner the money before Banner even responded.
He took the fifty dollar bill. He stared at it, then sighed and chuckled. He took off his wifebeater. He grimaced at the sight of Rob’s leering eyes. His pecs flexed — not in a deliberate, seductive way, but like he was imagining punching Rob and his muscles were dreaming about it.
But then he put Rob in a headlock. He wrapped his right arm around Rob’s neck, holding him tightly. Rob was squashed between his arm and his chest. His other arm pulled Rob’s body close to Banner’s, whose bare muscles writhed like a barrel of snakes against Rob’s skin.
Sweat dripped onto Rob’s lips and coated his face. The scent of Banner’s unwashed machismo was alluring, and Rob groaned. He smelled cheap deodorant too, but it had already been overpowered by Banner’s sweaty night in the overcrowded nightclub.
“Do you ever make guys jack you off?”
“What?”
“I’ve heard some bouncers sometimes take drunk guys they kick out, and y’know… make ‘em jack them off,” Rob said.
“No.”
“Would you? I mean, if I paid you?” Rob struggled to speak through the headlock. He planted his lips on Banner’s rock-hard bicep and kissed loudly.
Banner groaned and looked away. He gamely kept Rob in the headlock, though he could have dropped him. He blushed. “What, man? You wanna pay me to make some dude jack me off?”
“No, me. I want to pay you to make me jerk you off.”
“No way. I don’t-“
“A thousand dollars.”
A long, empty silence filled the alley. Banner held his cigarette in his hand. He narrowed his eyebrows to slits.
“You gonna pay me a grand to jack me off?”
“No. I’m gonna pay you a grand for you to make me jack you off,” Rob said. He writhed in the headlock, and rubbed his ass against Banner’s crotch. “I’ll pay you another grand to cornhole me in the ass.”
“Nope. No way. I don’t do that.” Banner said. He sighed. He pushed Rob away from him. His serious face screwed up like he was sucking on a lemon. “I won’t do that. No way.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “Three grand. Three grand, man. No. Nevermind. I can’t.”
“Oh-“
“Okay, yeah. Three grand. I can do it. Thirty five hundred. I’ll do it for thirty five hundred,” he said. He sighed and leaned over the railing. His big plump ass stood up. It was cradled by tight basketball shorts beneath his scruffy jeans. The top of his asscrack was just barely visible. Sweat collected there. “No, I mean… Yeah. I can do it. Four grand. I want four grand.”
“I better get started before the price keeps going up,” Rob said. He dropped to his knees and in one smooth motion planted his tongue in that spot of asscrack visible above Banner’s sagging jeans.
“Ah shit, man,” Banner squirmed. He looked behind himself at Rob licking his asscrack. “You ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout licking my ass. You ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout that.”
“If I’m paying four grand, I’m lickin’ your ass. Don’t get cheap now,” Rob said. “I promise I won’t put anything in there, not even a finger. Okay, my tongue. I’ll put my tongue in there.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. He turned back around and grabbed Rob by the chin. “Boy… if you even think about putting a finger in my ass, I will kill you. You understand me? I will not try to hide the evidence. I will go to prison with my head held high, bitch. You dig me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir.”
“Okay, uh, Banner.”
He snorted and laughed nervously. He paused and smoked his cigarette. He blew smoke into Rob’s face. Rob coughed.
“You imaginin’ ya finger in my ass?”
“No, Banner. I promise. I swear. I don’t do that,” Rob said.
“Ya dick?”
“No. I only ever bottom,” Rob said. His heart skipped a beat. Like most bouncers, Banner was very good at intimidating people. He stared Rob down, then spat on his face. “I just want to suck your asshole, that’s all.”
“Fuckin’ freak.”
Banner undid the belt of his jeans and pulled down his shorts to reveal a pale, trembling pair of beautifully plump asscheeks. There was a big nasty twisted scar on one cheek. He only pulled down his pants on his backside, taking care to make sure he didn’t bare his cock and balls.
Rob separated those cheeks and inhaled deeply of the scent. The sound of him sniffing made Banner chuckle, his whole body shaking. Rob leaned his head in and slipped his tongue into Banner’s tight hole.
“What’s this scar?” Rob asked as he kissed all up and down the crack of Banner’s ass.
“I got shot,” Banner said. His voice was pinched, as though it hurt to have his asshole licked. He squirmed and groaned. His hole clenched around Rob’s tongue.
Rob tickled the gunshot-wound scar on his ass. One of his hands roamed between Banner’s legs, massaging the taint there. He suckled loudly and moistly on Banner’s asshole. He slurped out all the stank, salty sweat he could get to.
“Who shot you?”
“This guy. There was a disagreement,” Banner said. ‘Bout who owned this girl.”
Rob giggled into Banner’s ass. “I hope you were on the side of ‘nobody owned her’.”
Banner bristled and bit his lip. He didn’t answer at first. Then he murmured, “I ain’t a rapist or a pimp or nothin’.”
“Uh-huh-“
“Ah, damn!” Banner laughed. “I gots an idea.” He clapped his hands and fished his phone out of his pants pocket. That turned out to be difficult to do in this position, so he wordlessly pushed Rob onto the cold, moist ground on his back. Banner lowered his ass, squatting over Rob’s face. That was perfect for Rob, because it forcibly separated Banner’s cheeks, giving him perfect access to his hole. It was easier for Banner to get into his own pants pocket this way.
Rob flickered his tongue all the way in to Banner’s hole, far enough in that Banner shuddered and groaned. He nearly dropped his cell phone as he dialed. Finally he got it to ring and held it to his ear.
“Yo, nigga. Guess what? Remember that thing you said only niggas can ever talk someone into? I got this bitch lickin’ at my hole right now-” Banner paused and groaned. “Nigga nigga nigga, I say it when I want, man. I ain’t even have to talk this bitch into it. Uh-huh. Got that tongue all up in my guts right now, cleanin’ me out, uh-huh. Gonna rub it like a dog now.” He moved his ass back and forth, squeezing over Rob’s tongue. “Yeah, it’s real nasty.” He paused. “Alright, yeah. I meet you tomorrow at noon. Get up early then, and don’t try and pass off schwag, I will kick yo’ ass again. Bullshit. I beat yo’ ass like a cop behind bars, nigga. I destroyed you. I’m just sayin’ it to piss you off now. That’s my right. That’s my First Amendment right as an American.” He paused and grunted. “Hell yeah. But I am takin’ her ass, man — no! No! You can’t call it like that, that ain’t fair. I fuck her in the ass. Yeah, you take the pussy. If our balls touch, I will punch you. If our balls touch, it will be yo’ fault, I guarantee that.” He squirmed atop Rob’s tongue. “God damn, man, you ain’t say ya tongue gonna feel like that. Okay, nigga. Nigga please. Nigga you don’t even- Uh-huh, my nigga. You my nigga, dawg. I swear-” He put the phone down. He snorted. “Hung up. Fuckin’ asshole.” He stood up and grabbed Rob by the neck. “You ready to swallow some dick, deadbeat?”
“Yeah,” Rob said. The only sound he could make right now was a weak squeak.
Banner spat on his face. He laughed and clapped his hands. “Alright, goddamn. This is kinda fun.” He pushed Rob onto his knees. He had a massive cock, already half-hard and throbbing in his hands. He pried Rob’s mouth apart and fed it in. He shuddered, then smiled. “My dad was a bouncer — I only met him a few times in person, he been in jail since I was little — and he always say this is what it used to be like. Police used to be on ya side, you know? If some deadbeat raised a fuckin’ stink, you could raise a fuckin’ stink on his face, dig?” He sighed as he slammed his dick all the way into Rob’s throat.
Rob struggled to accept it all. He gagged violently. His hands tightened into claws that grabbed at Banner’s plump asscheeks, which were still wet from Rob’s licking.
“Man… My dad used to come home late, and he’d drink with my uncle Tony — he lived wit’ us then — and he’d tell Tony about the shit he did to the boys who raised too much hell in his bar. I ain’t understand half of what he said,” Banner said. “Like usin’ a bum as an ashtray.” He made sure Rob’s eyes were open wide, then ground his cigarette out on Rob’s forehead.
The scorching pain on his flesh made Rob squirm. His mouth struggled to avoid biting down, but he didn’t have any leverage anyway, so he probably couldn’t have bit if he wanted to. All he could do was hock up a ball of saliva that dripped down Banner’s shaft.
“Alright, deadbeat,” Banner said. He sounded absent-minded, like he was acting out something he recalled his father saying. “Now here comes the big finale. I’m gonna turn your ass into my woman, a woman I don’t think much of. It’s gonna hurt, and you gonna cry, but eventually it’ll be over. Then you be a flappy-butted loser.” He bent Rob over the railing near the landing by the back door to the club.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Banner had his cock in Rob’s ass — he just jammed it in as though the more he thought about it, the more he might be unable to perform. He sighed once the first inch or so was in. Rob squealed and gasped.
“That hurt? It should. You want something to bite on?” Banner said. He put his corded-muscle forearm in front of Rob’s mouth. “You can bite my arm, bitch. I won’t be mad.”
Rob didn’t want to bite, though the pressure in his ass was intense. He kissed. He sucked on the firm muscle of Banner’s forearm, nibbling a bit only when the sensations in his ass became too incredible to avoid.
“Say ‘I’m a bitch’.”
“I’m a bitch!”
“Say it louder. Be proud of ya bitchitude. Bitch.”
“I’m a bitch! I’m such a bitch! I’m Banner’s bitch! I’ll do anything he wants!” Rob screamed into the darkened alley.
“Ha, now I get it, I know why my dad was-” Banner chuckled dryly, interrupted when his cell phone rang. “That’s prolly that nigga again, tellin’ me he run out of weed or some shit. I swear to God- Oh, nevermind, it’s my boss. Shush.” He stopped moving with his cock all the way in Rob’s ass.
There was a long silence. It took all of Rob’s concentration to avoid crying out. Banner stopped moving, but he stopped with his entire cock throbbing in Rob’s ass.
“Yes, sir. Uh-huh. Uh, yeah, Math, I’m just, uh, takin’ care of- Right. Yes, sir. I’ll be there in a moment.” He hung up the phone and barked. He punched Rob in the back, then roared and backed away. Blessed relief flooded Rob as his ass was emptied. “I swear to Christ, I will rip this bitch’s throat out.” He pulled his pants up. “You hear me? I will kill- Sorry ‘bout punching you, man. I ain’t mean to hurtcha.”
“No worries, I’m not hurt-“
“I will lay down some law like a lawyer, boy. You best believe it,” he said. He went back into the club, still shirtless, his cock and his ass moist. His dick was still as hard as iron, and if the club weren’t so dark, the bulge in his jeans would have been obvious.
Rob pulled his pants up, just in case more people came out the back. He kept the door open too, watching. But the club was crowded and dark and smoky and loud, and Rob got only a vague impression of what was happening in there.
A glass-shattering crash. Gasps. What the fuck?! A crack. More gasping. Some laughter. Angry words spat out too quietly to hear. A moist sound that Rob couldn’t identify. You still feelin’ grabby, my man? A shriek of terror. Shut the fuck up! You gonna walk out like a man or you gonna get yaself thrown out like a bitch?
Then Rob saw a blurry mix of limbs and muscle come his way. He stepped away from the door just in time to see Banner dragging a thrashing man out into the alley. The man was drunk, crying, red-faced, blood streaming from his nostrils.
The man staggered to his feet in the puddle of dumpster water he landed in. “Fuck you!” he screamed. He drunkenly, slowly put his fists up. “Come at me, bro. Come at me. Try me, huh?”
Banner laughed. “Don’t make me. I would come over there and kick ya ass, bro. I would do it. But you happened to interrupt me when I was punishin’ the last deadbeat who raised up a fuss and I don’t wanna stop.”
“Come at me!” The drunk man kept repeating that, staggering around the alley. He didn’t seem to notice at first when Banner dropped his jeans again.
Banner’s cock was not totally hard anymore, but he had only lost a bit of his erection. He rammed it into Rob’s ass and sighed as though he was scratching an itch he had been unable to reach for a long time. He slipped his entire cock in, and Rob squealed — he had to make it very loud to get the drunk’s attention.
The drunk stepped closer like he didn’t understand what he was seeing. He screwed up his eyes and wrinkled his nose. “You’re cornholin’ that man’.”
“You earnin’ yo’ identifyin’-nasty-shit merit badge, man?” Banner said. “Cuz you got it. You earned that.”
There was a long pause. “That’s nasty.”
“Go home, fuckwit! Ain’t you figure this out yet? When I’m done cornholin’ this deadbeat, I’m gonna come over there and cornhole you, ya dig? I’m gonna cornhole you till yo’ eyes bleed. I’m gonna cornhole you even though my dick gonna be limp cuz I just cornhole him, I’ll just shove it in ya ass anyway and watch porn on my phone till I get hard again. So you had better run the fuck away befo’ I finish.”
The drunk man covered his mouth like he had to suppress a shout. Then he turned tail and fled. He ran down the alley, swaying from side to side so badly he bumped into the wall and knocked over a trash can.
One of Banner’s hands grabbed Rob’s hair, holding his head in place. He groaned and moaned. Rob stroked himself off.
But first, before he reached orgasm, Rob pulled out his own cell phone. He handed it to Banner and said, “Here. Will you call my dad?”
“Call yo’ daddy?”
“Yeah. Tell him you’re cornholin’ me. I want to humiliate him. He doesn’t like the idea of me being dirty at all, and he would hate it if he knew I let a bouncer in me. No offense,” Rob said. “I’ll give you an extra hundred bucks. His name is Eugene.”
Banner grabbed the phone and muttered. “Fine.” He snorted and cleared his throat as it rang. “Yo. Hey. You, uh, Eugene? That’s right, I got ya boy’s cell phone. He can’t talk right now, on ‘ccount of he’s bein’ bitched out. Uh-huh. I’s a bouncer at the Clever Pipe, that’s that discount burlesque club, ya boy is here right now jackin’ dudes off for a quarter — yeah, he just drainin’ they balls so they ain’t gotta spend as much on lapdances. If you ever been to the Clever Pipe, you know they got some nasty-ass females. But only scumbags ever come here, so it works out for them. Anyway, I was callin’ you to give you an update on ya boy and see if you wanna buy this car I got — it ain’t stolen, I swear, but I do gotta get rid of it tonight and it’s got Massachusetts tags you should prolly take off right away. You can pay in money or in meth. Uh-huh. Sorry, I’s havin’ trouble hearin’ ya over the sound of ya boy swallowin’ nutsacks. You teach him to do that? You teach him good.” He stopped and shrugged. “He hung up. Ya daddy sound like a judge. He a judge?”
“No.”
“Good. Cuz I might have kick ya ass for real if yo’ daddy was a judge. He sound like the fuckhead who put my brother away,” Banner said. “Now hush up, I’m gonna cum.” He put his cell phone on Rob’s back, and the tinny sound of hetero porn filled the air.
Once he got it started, however, Banner didn’t seem to spend much focus looking at the screen. He closed his eyes and moaned, tweaking his own nipples. He groaned in disgust when Rob orgasmed and sprayed his wad over the alley ground, but he didn’t say anything.
“Aw, fuck, aw fuck, aw fuck…” Banner grunted. He pushed on Rob’s head and gripped his ass tightly in position.
A wash of hot cum spurted into Rob, followed by a long torrent of semen. It was thick and creamy, and it seeped into his flesh. Banner stopped moving while he came. He closed his eyes tightly as though watching a horror movie. His cock spasmed and the cum flowed until it was dripping out of Rob’s ass and onto the trashy ground beneath him.
“God damn, bitch. God damn,” Banner said. He smacked Rob’s ass without removing his cock, chuckling when that made Rob yelp and squirm. Banner swayed his hips and twitched his dick, causing a bubbly frothy load of cum to slip out. It coated Rob’s ass and dripped in clumps onto the ground.
“Wow, thanks-“
“Pay me, bitch,” Banner said with a growl like a jaguar. It sent a chill up Rob’s spine. “You best not cheat me. And clean my cock off wit’ yo’ clothes.”
“Yes, Banner,” Rob said. He used his shirt to wipe off Banner’s cock, then brought out his own smartphone. They used the app that Rob’s father had invented — PayUp — to transfer four thousand, one hundred and fifty dollars into Banner’s account. Rob didn’t tell Banner that it was his father’s app. Rob knew better than to spread that kind of personal info around.
Banner put his sweaty wifebeater back on. “Alright, you done.”
Rob didn’t respond right away. He was all cleaned up and dressed, ready to go, but he wanted to watch Banner’s muscle-bound body for as long as possible. Banner stayed there at the door, scowling at him.
“Okay, man, you get away,” Banner said. He spat on the ground. “Or I will kick yo’ ass for real.”
When Banner formed a fist with one hand and reared back ready to strike, Rob turned tail and fled into the night.

The Hustler

Rob stumbles across an alpha male biker in need of cash, a place to stay and a chance to get a nut off, which are all problems Rob is eager to help solve. That means Rob is in for a night of raunchy action, dominance and a mind-blowing orgasm.

Can Rob handle the firm hand of his new friend?

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Rob sat in his coffeeshop, looking at the novel he had just finished writing. He had finished it too recently to edit it now. It was tough to edit something right after you wrote it. But his deadline was tomorrow, so Rob was trying to gin up the energy to do it anyway.
He didn’t really have to meet the deadline. Most freelance writers were so flaky, he was seen as “on-time and ultra-efficient” if he was less than a week late. That would give Rob a few days to decompress, then look over the novel with a fresh pair of eyes.
He just didn’t want to have this Mafia romance hanging over his head any longer.
He idly googled the Mafia. There needed to be some fact specific to the Mafia that worked into the plot. Right now, it was just a story with criminals in it — that they were Mafia was mentioned in the prose, but not demonstrated through an action. They were just generic criminals so far. Rob needed to add a tidbit that directly related to some Mafia word like omertà or consigliere. But not as hokey or well-known as those, it needed to be something else.
A goombah was a man’s mistress. That could be something, Rob thought, but women might find it offensive, even if it was only a villainous kidnapper’s woman.
He kept scrolling through lists of Mafia slang. Most of them had the same twenty or so words.
Who’s that? Someone caught Rob’s gaze.
There was a man outside, hanging out near the motorcycle shop on the street. He caught Rob’s eye. He looked vaguely bikerish, but Rob didn’t get the impression he had any intention of going into the motorcycle shop next-door. He just milled about near the practice-lot for new motorcyclists and smoked a cigarette.
The man was medium-height but well-muscled, his broad shoulders showed off by a sleeveless shirt. He had a scruffy mustache and a scruffier beard, and dark eyes, with long black hair that was tangled and greasy.
He threw his cigarette on the ground. Then he curled his lip at a young black man walking by. They both nodded at each other as though they knew each other — there was hostility though, like they had fought once. When the black guy went past, the biker licked his teeth and watched him go. He exhaled a long plume of smoke.
As soon as he snubbed out his cigarette, the white man with the black hair lit another one. Was he waiting for someone? Rob sensed an opportunity for rough trade.
He paid for his coffee and put his laptop away before heading out to his car. He knew from personal experience that the best way to get a hustler off the street was with a car. That would signal that Rob had some money, and it would get the hustler somewhere more private.
He pulled to a stop in front of the bike shop. “Hey, man, what’s up?”
The hustler scowled and looked in the passenger side window. Cars streamed past Rob on the street. “What?” he barked into the window.
“Hey, how you doin’? You know cars? I could use someone who knows cars. My car’s making this noise, it’s sort of a thwump-thwump-“
“You lookin’ for a mechanic?”
“Bah, you know, they’re all crooks. They’ll cheat me, I know it. They always do. I usually just look around for someone who might know what they’re talking about. You’re into motorcycles, right? You must know about cars.” Rob gestured towards the motorcycle shop.
“You payin’?”
“Yeah. Of course. I’ll treat you right, I swear.”
The hustler shrugged and nodded. He got in the passenger seat. “Yeah. I know cars. I mean, sort of.”
“Cool, sweet.” Rob cleared his throat. “I’m Rob.”
“Glasser.”
“Cool, Glasser, sweet,” Rob said. “So-“
“What sound is ya car makin’? I don’t hear nothin’.”
“Oh, not this car,” Rob said. “It’s my other car, back at my place. I’ll take you there. Where do you live, Glasser?”
He shrugged. “Around.” He let out a shiver. Now that he was out of the cold air and the light drizzle, he found it more difficult to keep himself from shivering.
“You got a girlfriend?”
Glasser scoffed like that was absurd. “I got females I mess wit’.”
“Uh-huh. Sweet. Cool.” Rob smiled at him as he got on the highway. “So, uh… you horny?”
“Always.” Glasser crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window. That position accentuated his pecs, which pressed against his too small tee shirt. His biceps gleamed with either sweat or rain or both.
“You wanna… y’know… do somethin’ ‘bout that?” Rob asked. Glasser ignored him, just staring out the window. Rob gingerly touched Glasser’s left bicep. Glasser still ignored him. Rob squeezed his arm and caressed it, his fingers slipping under Glasser’s sleeveless shirt to his shoulder. That made Glasser’s muscles all twitch at once. With one hand still on the steering wheel, Rob massaged Glasser’s back with his other hand. “Can you take your dick out?”
Glasser sighed like that was a huge imposition. His mustache quivered. He unzipped his dirty camo pants and took his dick out — again, he looked back out the window, avoiding Rob’s gaze. He had a hefty dick, plenty thick and tanned a dark brown, just a shade darker than his skin.
He just took it out and let it flop against the fabric of his rain-soaked pants. He didn’t play with it or anything. It just lay there like an abandoned sausage.
“You have a nice cock. I really do have a car at home that makes a thwump-thwump sound. I think something’s loose in the undercarriage,” he said. “I’ll give you fifty bucks if you can fix it tonight.”
After a long, pregnant pause, Glasser said, “I might need tools.” His dickfat jiggled when he spoke. He exhaled another plume from that ever-present cigarette.
“I’ve got some tools. If there’s something you can’t do tonight, then we’ll work something else out,” Rob said. He grabbed Glasser’s limp cock with one hand. He didn’t sroke it, he just held on like a handle, gauging Glasser’s reaction. Rob faced the road, so he couldn’t see his face, but he sensed only a blankness from him.
He crossed his arms over his chest, staring out the window intently like he might see something interesting if he looked hard enough. It was dark out though. There was nothing to see but the streetlights and the other cars whizzing by on the highway. His dick throbbed and jostled in Rob’s grip.
“Okay, cool, thanks,” Rob said. He gave Glasser’s cock a squeeze and a stroke, and still Glasser ignored it.
Glasser ignored Rob’s finger as it moved in a little circle over the spot on the underside of his cock, right where the glans met the shaft. His dick was heavy and thick. Rob stroked it with just one finger at first. He rubbed that finger from tip to root and back, while Glasser sighed.
At last, Glasser looked away from the window and watched Rob stroke his dick. He didn’t say anything.
“You let guys jack you off a lot?”
“No.”
” I’ll pay you. Hundred bucks, if you let me swallow your cum. Plus fifty to fix my car,” Rob said. “You need a place to stay?”
Glasser didn’t answer, but he grunted in a way that made the answer clear — yes. He watched his cockshaft as it flopped limply in Rob’s hand. Rob stroked slowly. He made no effort to get it hard, he was just playing with it the best he could while still driving the car with the other hand.
“You want a drink?”
Glasser glowered for a moment, then said, “Can’t. Gots a parole officer who gonna test my piss tomorrow.”
“Oh, that sucks,” Rob said. He kept stroking. Glasser’s limp dick was hot and moist with sweat. Rob was pretty sure he was trying hard not to get an erection yet. Was that to hold out for more money? Just plain anxiety? Did he drink enough he actually had trouble getting an erection? Or did he just want to prove he couldn’t get hard for a man too easily?
Pulling off the highway, Rob slowed down the car but sped up his stroking. He squeezed a bit too. That made Glasser grunt.
His cock pulsated and twitched. It began to firm up in Rob’s mind. Glasser returned to looking intently out the window. At least now there were things out there — a gas station, a dog running along the side of the road, a woman parking.
“I wanna swallow your cum.”
Glasser chuckled throatily — it was a dim, minimal chuckle, but still, it was the strongest emotion he had shown yet. “That’s nasty.” He paused. “Don’t show me ya mouth. Some perverts do that, they jerk a man off and swallow and then open up so I can see — that’s fuckin’ disgusting. Don’t do — I mean, I ain’t sayin’ I let fellers jerk me off. I don’t do that, no sir, not on the regular. I just…”
“You don’t have to explain yourself.”
“I used to, alright? When I was doin’ drugs, I mean, I used to let all kinda boys handle my meat,” Glasser said. “That’s all. I ain’t doin’ it no more.” He sniffled. “After tonight.”
“Okay. Cool. I get to be your last, huh?” Rob said with a laugh. He pulled into his driveway and put the car in park in front of his garage. Then he lowered his head to Glasser’s crotch and deep-throated him to the root, all in one smooth motion.
“Shit…” Glasser said. His eyes opened wide — not that Rob could see it — and he had to hold back a gasp. He didn’t know it would feel this good right away. He sucked in on his cigarette then coughed, which rammed his cock deep into Rob’s throat.
Rob grinned as he choked. Even though he couldn’t see Glasser’s face, he knew what was happening. Glasser was shocked at how good this felt but he was trying to hide it. He could sense it in Glasser’s feet curling and lifting off the car floor, in the tensing of his thigh muscles and the sudden explosive erection — his dick got noticeably more erect just in the moments it took Rob to go from playing with it to swallowing the whole foot-long shaft.
Betcha no women swallow him that deep, Rob thought… He would have said it out loud if his mouth weren’t full.
Glasser growled, a low rumbling sound that bounced out of his mouth through his gritted teeth. He lifted his ass off the seat and grabbed Rob’s head with both hands.
“Take it, man, swallow it, swallow that shit, sissy, c’mon…” Glasser said. His swarthy face turned reddish. He grunted loudly, like an angry hog, and he gripped Rob’s scalp tightly. “Don’t stop, man, I’m gonna nut.”
Rob wasn’t expecting him to cum so quickly, especially since it had taken Glasser awhile to get hard. But Rob didn’t mind — he thought he could get another load out of Glasser tonight. Hot streams of jizz poured down Rob’s throat, and he choked loudly even as he managed to get every drop down his gullet.
His lungs cried out for oxygen, but Rob managed to avoid spitting out the cum that flowed deep into his throat. Glasser held him tightly, all the way down on that massive dick, which tasted of rain and dirty clothes. His cum, on the other hand, was bright and warm and sunny, creamy like… well, cream, and salty in a good way. Rob savored the taste as it pumped down his gullet.
“You’s makin’ a sloppy mess, sissy,” Glasser said, heaving for air as he orgasmed in Rob’s mouth. He frowned, gripping Rob’s hair even more tightly. He bucked his hips, forcing his dick all the way in once more for the last few wads of cum. It coated Rob’s throat and sat hotly in his belly. “Goddamn…”
When he could resist no longer, Rob sputtered, unable to avoid making a big mess of cum that spewed out and soaked into Glasser’s pubic hair. It coated the surface of his jeans too. Even when he thought ht was done spitting up, Rob moved his head just an inch, which triggered both another explosion of pleasure in Glasser and a gag that roiled Rob’s body. Rob retched up a mouthload, while Glasser let out an involuntary moan that turned into a stonefacing grunt. He kept Rob’s dick in place, forcing him to choke up again and against, the sensation massaging Glasser’s sensitive shaft.
At last, Rob pulled off completely, forcing his head away from Glasser’s cock cuz Glasser held on tight like he was never gonna let him take a breath. Rob grabbed a coarse lungful of air, while Glasser sighed. Then Rob moved to kiss him on the lips, an instinctual move he didn’t think Glasser would accept. Glasser gently pushed and then rudely slapped his cum-dripping face.
“Don’chu dare kiss me.” He coughed, making his dickfat jiggle once more as it rapidly limpened up. “You nothin’ special, pansy.” Glasser wasn’t about to admit that that was an especially good dome — he would never admit that because it sounded too queer to say out loud. But it was obvious from his breathless reaction and the way his whole body went limp at once as he let go of Rob’s head. Rob at last pulled off and took a big, deep breath, which made a hoarse sound that filled the tiny cabin of the car.
“Hmmm… Damn, you… got dick… for days,” Rob said. He gave Glasser’s cock another stroke, which made Glasser gasp and his whole body squirm.
Glasser smacked Rob — not as hard as he could but hard enough to hurt. Glasser hadn’t wanted to squirm like that, it made him feel weak. “I ain’t say you could swallow it.”
“Oh, sorry, okay,” Rob said. He wiped his face off. “You wanna come in-?”
“Pay me, bitch.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Rob pulled out the hundred dollars he had promised and handed it over. He pointed to the garage. “Did you want to work on the car tonight? You could sleep tonight instead and do it tomorrow-“
“You got electricity in ya garage?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll work tonight.” Glasser got out of the car — only then putting his dick away and realizing how much cum had gotten on his pants. He went out to stand in the rain to “wash” the stain off some. “Just go to bed, sissy. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight and finish the car tomorrow.”
“Oh. I…” Rob wanted to ask if Glasser was going to ram him in the ass. He had hoped to do more than just play with his dick for about three minutes. But he sensed that the more he pushed right now, the less cooperative Glasser would be. “Okay.”
Rob went inside. He first made himself some food — just pasta with a bunch of leftovers mixed in, but he made sure to pan-fry some onions and garlic in butter — no one, he thought, could resist that smell. He knew it was smellable out in the garage too.
But Glasser still didn’t come in. When Rob went out there to check on him, he was pretty sure Glasser hadn’t been doing any work until Rob came to the garage door. Then he slid under the car and pretended to be doing something.
It soon became obvious that the car was fixed. Glasser wasn’t going to come in the house until Rob was in bed. Rob just shrugged — a lot of men will do what they have to for money, but not sleep with men, or kiss them, or even hug them in some cases. Obviously Glasser was one of those kind of guys.
Rob put a pillow and blanket out by the couch, plus a bowl of food in the kitchen. He thought he’d get Glasser later tonight or very early tomorrow morning — he’d be horny again then, and he’d probably want money to go out drinking after meeting with his parole officer.
Then Rob turned out the lights and went to bed. Sure enough, he heard Glasser come in about twenty minutes later. Rob didn’t go out. If Glasser was homeless — which now seemed like a real possibility — he probably wanted a chance to be in a home, by himself, to relax. He heard Glasser turn the TV on — that took some fumbling with the remote, but Rob didn’t go out there to help. He let Glasser figure it out on his own.
Rob was just about asleep when the door to his bedroom opened up. His ears twitched. Glasser’s baritone burp filled the air (it smelled like the leftover pasta Rob had left out for him).
“Hey. I’m gonna ram you. Don’t say nothin’,” Glasser said. He pulled the covers off Rob and dragged his shorts down. Glasser was already naked, his dick already hard because he had found some hip-hop videos on the TV, which were thinly disguised softcore pornography. He slid his dick between Rob’s cheeks and climbed into the bed with him.
Rob wanted to ask a bunch of questions — did Glasser want a ride to his parole officer tomorrow? Did he want to use a condom? Did he want the lights on? Did he want Rob to get on all fours? That was the position men seemed to want the most often — because it didn’t require them to look at Rob’s face, his breastless chest or his cock and balls. From behind, Rob looked very feminine except for the short haircut. But then, it was dark in here anyway, so Glasser could have easily pretended Rob was female in any position.
In any case, Glasser didn’t seem too concerned about that. His hairy chest scratched at Rob’s smooth back, as Glasser humped his dick between Rob’s cheeks.
“Shush…” Glasser said after he let out a groan. He kept on shushing Rob, even though Rob barely peeped. It was Glasser who kept grunting and clucking his tongue against his teeth whenever Rob didn’t move in the direction he wanted.
Glasser brought the covers back up as though he wanted to cover this up, so no one could see what was happening. He lifted his hips up to give himself some leverage, then aimed his dick for Rob’s asshole.
“Open that ass, punk, lemme in,” Glasser said, whispering breathlessly into Rob’s ear. He slapped one of Rob’s cheeks just as his dick pushed in.
Rob grunted. At last, he finally made a sound, and Glasser erupted in a torrent of hushing. Rob squirmed as pressure hit his ass, an intense pushing sensation that was hard to take at first — this was all going so fast. After waiting for hours, Rob was finally getting rammed by his favorite hustler yet, he just needed a moment to adjust.
But Glasser wasn’t waiting a moment. He gritted his teeth and pumped his hips once more, forcing more of his dick down and into Rob’s ass. He was relentless.
He pushed Rob’s face into the mattress. “Lift ya asshole up.” He lifted his own body up as he rammed all the way in and out now. Rob had to raise his hips to meet Glasser’s cock, and soon Rob was knelt over instead of on all fours. He cried out and groaned, but Glasser again shushed him. “Quiet, keep it real quiet…”
Glasser had gotten into the habit of plowing men on the downlow, in the darkness and quiet, during his first stay in jail. Back then, he had been in a small local jail with a sheriff who strictly forbade premarital sex and even circlejerking — that was what Glasser’s biker gang traditionally did when they got arrested, to “christen” their new cell. So Glasser had started ramrodding his cellmate with the lights off, as quietly as possible, and with blankets covering him.
That was why now, even though the positioning made it awkward, Glasser tried to keep the blankets covering up his crotch and Rob’s ass. He had to use one hand on that so he could only use one hand to hold Rob in position. He pressed down on Rob’s head, which meant he couldn’t hold onto Rob’s ass — instead, every time Rob moved too much, Glasser growled to signal he should keep his ass high. And when Rob’s motion made the blanket fall away, Glasser smacked his asscheek.
“Shush, I’m gonna nut now, I’m gonna nut…” As Glasser felt his orgasm approach, he collapsed onto the bed. This felt good. It was like making love to a woman. He pulled the covers over Rob all the way up to the neck. That made it easy, especially in the dark, to pretend Rob was a woman — Glasser wasn’t pretending that, but he felt he needed to leave the option open, so he could, and so he could tell others later (not that he would tell anyone about this) that he had had to pretend Rob was a woman in order to ram him.
But actually, Glasser didn’t pretend that at all. He just wanted to bust a nut. He slid onto his side, and wrapped both hands all the way around Rob’s chest. He even kissed Rob’s cheek and nuzzled his neck as he orgasmed.
“Ah, goddamn, yeah, keep ya asshole open, keep it open…” Glasser moaned right into Rob’s ear. His breath condensed on his cheek. “Keep it open, pansy, lemme fill you up…”
Rob sprayed his own wad onto his belly and into his hands, just as he felt Glasser’s muscles spasm against his back. The petrichorian smell that clung to his unwashed body was overpowering now that it was trapped by the sheet, and since Rob was smaller than Glasser, he was buried in the scent of Glasser’s chest hair and armpit sweat.
Cum flew into Rob’s ass. Glasser was one of those who stayed still as he came, his dick all the way in, spurting wad after wad of white-hot cum. It was creamy and thick, sticky, seeping into Rob’s flesh. He felt it flowing within him.
Glasser was motionless for what felt like forever, as liquid orgasm coursed through his veins. He hadn’t blown a nut this good since prison. He attributed that to Rob having a nicer ass than most of the common prostitutes he hooked up with on the street. Being able to mess around in a bed instead of behind a dumpster helped a lot too. And Rob was clean enough to kiss, not that he intended to do any kissing.
After one final spurt of jizz up Rob’s guts, Glasser began humping again, very slowly, just grinding, sliding his half-hard dick around within Rob’s ass. He grunted along with Rob when the pain grew more intense, and Rob clenched, sending a wave of pleasure through Glasser’s post-orgasmic body.
“Shit…” Glasser said. He sighed, and for just a moment, he stayed there, breathing heavily, dick sliding moistly out of Rob’s ass. He kissed Rob’s cheek. It was affectionate and intimate, and Glasser loved it.
But he couldn’t let himself continue that. He rolled over and off Rob’s back. Rob took a deep breath.
“Thanks,” Rob said.
Glasser stood and lit a cigarette — mainly because he knew Rob didn’t allow smoking in the house and he wanted to show he did whatever he wanted, that he wasn’t letting some man be the boss of him. The smell of tobacco filled the air. Glasser smoked quietly, standing near enough to the bed that Rob could hug his hairy thighs and clean his dick off with a tissue.
Then Glasser grunted and walked out of the bedroom. “I’ll sleep on the couch, asshole,” he said. “You owe me fifty bucks for the car and two hundred for plowing you in the ass.” He paused. “Get me up at nine o’clock and drive me to the parole office. You better buy me breakfast too. Not Burger King.”
“Okay.”
Glasser went back into the other room to sleep on the couch. Last thing he did before going to sleep was sliding Rob’s ipad into the backpack he brought over here. No punk, he thought, deserves to go without being robbed.

Rednecks in the Dark

Jacob and Ransom never thought inviting the weird old biker Cooter to their camping trip to ride dirtbikes in the woods would lead to a hardcore stretch of man-on-man redneck action! But this camping trip just turn into their most intense weekend ever!

Can they handle this much hardcore alpha male action?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

When Jacob and Ransom went camping, they always brought their dirtbike along. Only it was never really their dirtbike, it was Jacob’s brother’s, and this week Jacob’s brother had had to sell it to make bail money for his girlfriend. So they had no dirtbike for this weekend’s camping trip.
“No dirtbike? You li’l ingrates, shit!” Cooter said when they told him. His anger made his big bushy beard jiggle. He scowled at them both.
“It’s not my fault!” Jacob said. “If you don’t want to go camping, that’s fine-“
“Nah, nah, I’ll still come,” Cooter said. His scowl turned into a shrug like he wasn’t angry a moment ago. “We’ll just get drunk. That’s usually all I do campin’. Tha’ss the whole point, reckon.” He clucked his tongue and winked at them. “See you boys later.”
He went off then, presumably to get his things for the camping trip. Jacob and Ransom exchanged knowing looks. The whole point of inviting Cooter was to ride dirtbikes. They were trying to impress him. What would they even talk about with a middle-aged man all weekend?
Ransom sighed. “Aw man, I kinda wish he wasn’t coming now.” Josh nodded his agreement. They were both ambivalent because Cooter was scary. The good kind of scary. Or at least not the really bad kind. Jacob and Ransom would never admit that, it’d make them look weak, but it was true. Cooter was a middle-aged biker — his license was suspended, his motorcycle in police custody, so he was only a biker in a cultural sense — who was active in the Jagged Right, a badass motorcycle gang who controlled the underground in this neck of the woods, that neck being Martinsburg, West Virginia. Cooter had an old-timey beardy like a gold prospector, with a broad burly body and a perpetual scowl. He was stacked like a rugby player despite being fortyish (or maybe older, he seemed positively ancient to Jacob, but he never complained of sore knees, so maybe not that old, it was hard to tell, he’s the kind of guy you can’t imagine ever looking young). They’d been trying to get him to go dirtbike riding with them for months. Both Jacob and Ransom wanted to be badasses like Cooter, and they hoped to get in with the Jagged Right through him.
Their spot was in the Crambighter Woods Campground. That was a low-budget spot near the highway, somewhere between a campground and a homeless encampment. It was a semi-legal encampment of semi-homeless men, a little splat of tents and trailers, a splat that was hoping to grow up into a trailer park one day. Anyway, the campsites were spread over a two-mile-long road that looped back on itself, but you were allowed to go deeper into the woods to set up your own site. A few of those informal campsites were well-maintainted, and one of them was where Jacob and Ransom always went. They considered it their campsite.
So it was unfortunate that they had to go camping this weekend with no dirtbike. Cooter was shooting them dirty looks as they got to the campground and set up for the night. That at least was something Jacob and Ransom could do in their sleep, which was good because they got there late, just as the sun was going down.
“We’re sorry, Cooter,” Jacob finally said. “It was my brother, he’s such a dumbass! He was driving the dirtbike on the highway! The Interstate! I told him, he’s gonna get arrested.”
Cooter was quiet at first. “That’s pretty badass. Bet he caused a traffic jam though.”
“It was like three in the morning. And he was drunk. And on probation. And he had two green downers in his pocket,” Jacob said. “They’re auctioning off the dirtbike, cuz he owes like twelve grand in fees and shit.” A grim silence spread around the campfire, which Cooter was waving to get it going. He wasn’t doing a very good job, but the other two didn’t point it out to him. When Cooter finally let out a chuckle, then another one. Jacob and Ransom followed, and before long all three were laughing out loud.
“I got you boys a surprise too,” Cooter said when the laughter died down. “I think he’s comin’ now.”
“Who?”
“You brought someone else?” Ransom bit his lip. If it was anyone other than Cooter, he’d have been pissed they invited some stranger.
It turned out not to be a stranger though.
It was Yancey Garraty, the sissy at the trailer park they all came from. Yancey was a slim thirty-something man with a limp wrist and a high-pitched voice like a girl. He was always vaguely creepy, like he had extra eyes hidden somewhere. Jacob and Ransom wrinkled their nose when they heard the sound of Yancey approaching, which was the sound of a dirtbike.
Yancey brought a brand-new dirtbike with him, as he followed the trail from Crambighter Woods that Cooter directed him to. Yancey drove it at slow speed to the campsite where Cooter, Ransom and Jacob sat around a fire. Ransom was tall and fresh-faced, with a big confident chest and broad shoulders. He had a deep voice, ruddy cheeks and dark hair. Jacob was the youngest, at barely twenty-one. He was thin and lanky, deeply-bearded, and he wore camo pants as if they were his uniform.
Cooter stood up when Yancey parked the dirtbike near their campsite. The other two stood as well, but Cooter came closer. Jacob and Ransom stayed behind, wary — they assumed at first that Yancey was here to attack them or challenge them in some way. Cooter hadn’t told his friends what was going on.
“Who’re you, man?!”
“Hey! This is our campsite. Whatchoo doin’?”
Cooter held one hand up for silence. His dark face was in shadows cast by the campfire. Jacob and Ransom both fell silent. Cooter didn’t look at the other two, he just came closer to Yancey and shook his hand. He inspected the dirtbike, which was sparkling clean, having only been purchased earlier today.
“Cooter, what’s going on? Hey.”
“Hey boys,” Yancey said with a flounce and a smirk in their direction, then he blushed and fell silent. He licked his lips.
Cooter nodded that he was satisfied. He looked at his friends. “You boys know Yancey, right?” He wagged his finger at them. “You call him Mistah Yancey, show him respec’.” They hadn’t disrespected him, but they both looked down as if chagrined anyway. Yancey wasn’t even his last name, which it wasn’t clear Cooter understood, but neither Jacob nor Ransom pointed that out. Cooter glared at them. “He a straight-up sissy, boys and we gonna ram the ever-lovin’ shit outta him tonight. He gonna give us the dirtbike.”
They looked at each other, then at Cooter, then at Yancey, then back at each other again with wide eyes and a series of stammers.
“What?”
“Yo, what? We ain’t like that, dawg. We ain’t… We ain’t, y’know, booty bandits like you-“
“You for real?”
“Ah, shit, Yancey…” Ransom shook his head, not like he was refusing, like he was mourning.
Cooter growled. “Shut up, both you fuckwits,” he said. He straightened his back. “Once you been locked up, you need the booty, boys, you know that.”
“You know that, Cooter.” Ransom chuckled, his jaw-droppingly deep voice echoing in the forest. “You say that all the time. But we ain’t been in prison-“
“I’ll do it,” Jacob blurted out. He tried to sound cocky. Usually Ransom came off as the badass leader of the two of them — and their little friend group — so Jacob was eager to show that he could ball. He chugged the rest of the can of beer he had opened, and he belched. “No problem.”
“Hell yeah!” Cooter clapped his hands once, then clasped Jacob on the book. “You gonna like this, you the shit, Jacob.” He winked at Jacob, and he grabbed another beer for himself and one for Jacob.
“Yeah, cool,” Ransom chimed in, as if this wasn’t a reversal of positions for himself. He couldn’t be shown up by his friend. He only thought about what he was agreeing to — sticking his dick in Yancey’s butthole — after he said it.
Cooter had been in prison for years, and everybody knew he was a booty bandit. He had a “girlfriend” in there, and he said all the time that only a wuss jacks himself off. Real men have girlfriends or they swing on the downlow. Jacob and Ransom had never disputed that because they didn’t want to admit they were scared to do anything more than jack off next to each other and both were sort of still virgins. Neither would admit that to each other or to Cooter.
“If you don’t cornhole him, this ain’t ya dirtbike,” Cooter said. He had a deep, glowery voice, like he was simmeringly angry all the time. “Whoever do it get to share it. It’s ours.”
“Wait, he bought us a dirtbike?” Jacob asked.
“Hell yeah,” Ransom said. His big-boy voice boomed. “No problem. You should know I’m gonna plow like a stallion, man, I swear, I might break you into little lavender pieces, boy. You okay wit’ that?” He was nervous, but he felt he had to lean into it. No looking like a wuss in front of Cooter. “When I fuck women, I’ll go slow and gentle, but if’n you gonna bend ovuh for me, you best not back out.” He chugged his beer just like the others, then grabbed another and chugged that. He really wanted to be good and drunk for this.
“Yes, sir,” Yancey said. He giggled and sashayed towards the campfire. He went to Ransom, whose massive chest puffed out like he was being threatened by tiny little Yancey. Yancey was shorter and thinner than Ransom, looking like a child’s doll next to him. He stuck one hand under Ransom’s shirt and tweaked his nipples. Ransom’s chest rippled and he gasped. He almost pushed Yancey away instinctively, but then didn’t. He just sniffled and looked away.
“Aw, man, aw, man, aw, man,” Ransom said with a laugh. His big dumb face turned deep, dark red. He was one of those people that laughed when he was nervous, and his big hairy body shook. He suddenly became very ticklish. Yancey’s fingers got his armpits, and Ransom flexed his muscles and smiled to cover up his ticklish laughter.
“Take off your shirt,” Yancey said. That was the only reason he agreed to this: Ransom was the handsome one with the splendid chest. He groped every inch of his torso. Cooter had his alpha-male allure, Yancey thought, but he could have Cooter’s dick anytime for free. Jacob was cute like a puppy or a sad refugee, but he wasn’t worth a dirtbike.
Yancey wanted Ransom.
Ransom took his shirt off, laughing so hard he was nearly hyperventilating. “Aw, man, this is crazy, you know, you know, okay, okay, no big deal, but like, you know, shit, that’s crazy,” Ransom’s eyes bugged out. “Like whatever, it’s cool.” He had grown up on a farm, and he looked like it — he had a thickly padded body filled with muscles. Yancey licked a trail down his muscles and pulled down his loose-fitting jeans to reveal a plump cock.
Cooter was already naked. He wrinkled his nose as he stroked his dick, looking at that tight asshole he was about to ram. Jacob was a few feet away, getting undressed more slowly. Cooter got naked a lot. Ever since his time in prison, he had no shame about taking his clothes off. Jacob tried to have the same confidence; he had a big barrel chest like Cooter.
But no matter what Jacob did, it was always obvious that Cooter was stronger, tougher and had a bigger cock. His foot-long horse-cock always made Jacob feel small. Ransom too had a huge dick, though not quite as long as Jacob’s. They all showered together cuz their trailer park only had hot water in the communal showerhouse, but Jacob and Ransom had never seen Cooter’s leviathan erect before.
They were both bugging out at sight of it, but they played it cool. Cooter’s hairy body gleamed in the campfirelight.
“C’mon, stick that ass up, boy,” Cooter said. He spat on the palm of his hand and wiped into into Yancey’s ass. That was for lube, but Jacob and Ransom silently thought that was crazy. Cooter just casually stuck his finger in Yancey’s ass, and Yancey let out a moan like he liked it. then he grabbed Ransom’s cock and put the whole thing in his mouth — it was big but soft and seemed shrunken in the cool night air. Ransom sucked in his breath.
“Yeah, shit, get it wet, man, shit…” Ransom was suddenly stricken with fear that he wouldn’t get hard. He didn’t show it though, and after a few seconds, a pleasurable tingle did arise at the root of his cock. Yancey’s warm mouth encircled his whole shaft, which his tongue battered as he choked up mouthloads of spit that soaked Ransom’s ballsac.
Jacob watched, heart beating fast. He was the only one not involved right now. Did he look like a pussy? He felt he needed to assert his masculinity, so he touched Yancey’s asscheek with one hand. He grunted like he was satisfied with how plump it was, while inside his heart did flips because he realized he was touching Cooter’s pubic hair, as Cooter was sliding his dick into Yancey’s ass.
“Yeah, spread his cheeks, man, come on,” Cooter murmured as his cock slid deeper into Yancey’s ass. He snarled when Yancey moved to handle his cock again, and Cooter slammed his fists on Yancey’s back to keep him still. “Don’t let ‘im move, Jacob. I’m-a make him squeal like a piggie.”
Jacob gulped. He hadn’t mean to be this involved. He had to use both hands to separate Yancey’s asscheeks, feeling both Yancey’s soft fuzz and Cooter’s kinky dark pubic hairs. Jacob had to suppress a gag. If he was going to be as hardcore as Cooter, he thought, he needed to be willing to do what Cooter did.
And Cooter just plunged right in, like it was nothing, like he did it all the time! Which he presumably did, Jacob and Ransom were just surprised to see it.
Cooter closed his eyes and moaned while his cock slid in and out of Yancey’s ass. His big sweaty redneck muscles glistened. When Yancey squirmed, Cooter smacked his back, sending a wave of pleasure up Yancey’s spine
“Oh, he got a nice tight hole…”
Unable to focus on his mouth while he endured Cooter’s intense penetration, Yancey pulled Ransom’s cock out of his mouth. He thwacked it over his face. Every time he did, Ransom jumped up and blushed a little brighter.
“Damn, boy,” Ransom said with a barrel-throated laugh, “You been swallowin’ my cock like you got somethin’ to prove. You should give lessons to females, hell.” His dick was already leaking precum, and he had an embarrassed grin on his face. He was genuinely getting into this now, his anxiety vanishing. It was better than a blowjob from a woman, he thought, because Yancey swallowed him all the way to the root, and he didn’t even complain when Ransom began forcing his dick in and out of Yancey’s throat. He fucked it like a pussy, and Yancey barely gagged.
Felt good as anything! Ransom wasn’t about to admit that though. He was definitely gonna hafta say later on, in the tent, that he would rather have a blowjob, even from an ugly woman.
Yancey moaned through a mouthload of cock, but the pain and pleasure of the foot-long meat sliding into him made it too hard to think. When he lifted his head, Cooter growled and grabbed his hair.
“Who’s cock is in ya, princess?”
“Cooter…” Yancey said softly, moaning. Pangs of pleasure shot up his spine as Cooter’s manhood tickled his prostate.
“Nah, you say that loud, boy. Say it loud and proud.” Cooter smacked Yancey’s ass hard, reawakening the pain deep inside him. Yancey grunted, his face turning red.
“Cooter!”
“You say my full name, princess. Jethro Wilde. Say that.”
“Jethro Wilde’s cock is in my ass! I’m his bitch! He can do with me-“
He smacked Yancey’s ass again. “I ain’t tell you to say none of that. Yeah, you my bitch. ‘Course you my bitch.” He paused and roared like an angry tiger. He growled at Jacob, who quaked back, “Keep his cheeks separated, man.”
Jacob grunted. He was trying hard to avoid looking like he was uncomfortable. He had been trying to establish himself as a hardcore thug for a long time — he thought he could get Cooter to invite him in on some criminal shit, most likely making meth (that was Jacob’s guess as to what Cooter did when he disappeared every couple days). So Jacob wanted to look like he knew how to do this. Cooter had told him that, in prison, it was normal to give a man a few puffs on a cigarette in exchange for helping to spread his prison bitch’s cheeks and maybe even guide his cock in by hand. Jacob found that difficult to stomach. He only needed to do it once though, he figured, then he could refuse to do it again and no one could say he was too much of a pussy to do it at all.
“Your turn, boy,” Cooter said with a sick smile. He pulled out of Yancey’s ass, wiping his massive cock off on Yancey’s cheeks. There was some brief glancing contact with Jacob’s hand, making Jacob jump back and bite his lip. It was clear that Cooter didn’t think it was such a big deal, however, so Jacob tried to shrug it off.
He wished he could just do oral like Ransom. Jacob enjoyed plowing girls in the ass, but this was a stressful situation. What if he lost his erection and couldn’t get it back?
“You evuh ram a man in the ass?” Cooter asked.
Jacob gulped and shook his head as he wedged his dick into Yancey’s tight hole. Cooter spread his cheeks. He had no compunctions about getting close — he watched Jacob’s dick slide in like it was a science experiment he was deeply interested in. He even grabbed Jacob’s dick and made sure it went in when Jacob felt resistance.
“Damn, man, you touchin’ his dick, you touchin’ it, it’s crazy, you lettin’ that freak do it, I, shit, I am, shit…” Ransom sounded like he was about to burst into hyperventilating laughter again. “Aww, man, shit!” He was closest to the campfire, so the heat from it — and the stress of the situation — made him sweaty and ruddy. His sweat trickled down his body and into Yancey’s mouth.
Cooter grumbled. “Shut up, idiot. I’s just helpin’ his dick in.” But still, his fingers on Jacob’s cock made Jacob feel self-conscious. He grunted, avoiding eye contact with Ransom because he knew Ransom would get him to smile or laugh or something like that. Jacob closed his eyes and tried to focus on the physical sensations of Yancey’s tight ass.
“You can plow me harder,” Yancey said like a sassy bitch. He stuck his tongue out, licking Ransom’s throbbing veiny cockshaft. He slurped up the precum that ran down the side.
“I don’t know if he can,” Cooter said. “Let me at it again, boy, you ain’t doin’ it right.”
“Cooter, I can-“
“Shut up and move,” Cooter said with a snarl. He pushed Jacob out of the way, and for a moment, Yancey’s ass was empty. Then Cooter rammed his dick right back in.
This time Yancey was more used to getting rammed, and his asshole stretched to accommodate Cooter’s cock easily. He moaned. He managed to keep Ransom’s cocktip in his mouth, tasting the precum and enjoying the shocked, beet-red look on Ransom’s big round face.
“See, you gotta ram him hard, man, you gotsta destroy his ass. He ain’t a girl you makin’ love to, see, he a girlyboy you gonna demolish. That’s what they there for,” Cooter said. He dragged Jacob’s head close once more, so Jacob had to once again pretend he wasn’t upset by the taste of Cooter’s hairy chest-sweat trickling into his mouth because his face was jammed up against Cooter’s belly. He could smell Yancey’s ass getting rammed, and he could feel little droplets of what he very much hoped was sweat splashing onto his face. Cooter’s dick was inches from Jacob’s face. “See? Watch it, boy!”
“Yeah, okay,” Jacob said. “You gotta gimme a chance, Cooter. I was gonna ram him plenty hard-“
“Why ain’t you do it?”
Jacob gulped. “I was just… I dunno, man, you surprised me, I was bangin’ that ass pretty hard you know, and I was — I only just got started. I was, you know… rampin’ up-“
“A real man don’t need to ramp up,” Cooter said. He frowned and wiped sweat off his forehead. “Let’s see you do it again. You wanna be ass brothers?”
“What…?” Jacob didn’t know what that was, but he knew he probably didn’t want it. He nodded though, ignoring his own body’s cry to just hurry up and cum so he could quit this.
But it turned out that “ass-brothers” — which Jacob suspected Cooter made up or was just a silly joke that no one took seriously in prison — meant that Jacob kneeled behind Yancey to ram him, while Cooter mounted Yancey from behind and above. That meant Jacob couldn’t even see the person he was plowing, all he could see was Cooter’s big hairy ass in front of his face. When he stuck his dick in, Cooter’s balls touched his shaft, and he could feel Cooter’s precum clinging to his shaft.
They took turns. That’s what being “ass brothers” was. Jacob pushed his dick into Yancey’s hole, then Cooter did, they were supposed to get a rhythm going, but that was more difficult than it might seem.
“See? Now we like brothers,” Cooter said with a laugh. It was a deep, throaty chuckle. Cooter didn’t laugh often, so that was about the most animated laughter Jacob had ever seen from him.
Having nowhere else to put his hands, Jacob kept touching Cooter’s thighs or the side of his asscheeks. He gulped. His skin was hairy and sweaty, and it reminded Jacob what he was doing right now. It was easy to forget that Yancey was a man because he was slim and delicate and smooth, but now Jacob could barely even see him. He just kept getting facefulls of Cooter’s plump and hairy ass.
Cooter let out a loud grunt. He slammed his dick all the way in — he was still taking turns with Jacob, and it was Jacob’s turn, so Cooter rubbed his throbbing, mid-orgasm cock right over Jacob’s shaft — and rammed Yancey one last time. Jacob was glad at first, then saw Cooter pull his dick out just in time to spray his wad right on Jacob’s dick.
“Aw, man, what?!” Jacob groaned. He felt sick looking at cum dripping off his dick. Cooter shot what appeared to be a huge load that just kept on getting bigger, his massive balls spraying more and more until it covered Jacob’s cock. “Ewww, man, Cooter…”
Cooter grunted and wiped his dick off on Yancey’s asscheeks. He laughed and playfully smacked Jacob’s biceps. “What’s wrong, princess? You don’t like gettin’ dirty? You can go make love to some pretty girl anytime you want — assuming you know a pretty girl, which I know you don’t — but if you gonna get down and dirty wit’ me, we gonna do it my way,” Cooter said. “Now that’s called prison-lube, boy, and it’s the best kinda lube there is.”
“Yeah, I mean… I know, sure…” Jacob said. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about the creamy cum clinging to his cockshaft. “It’s just… Okay, no problem. Yeah. Yeah. It’s prolly good lube. For sure.”
But he had only barely got his dick back in Yancey’s tight hole when there was a burst of cummy scent. Ransom got his first jet of cum right on Yancey’s face. Ransom was blushing still, and his eyes were closed. He looked surprised that he was cumming already.
“Don’t waste that, Ransom!” Cooter grunted. He grabbed Ransom’s dick and aimed it right for Jacob’s crotch.
Jacob gulped, gagged and squirmed. Cooter manhandled Ransom’s cock in the middle of his orgasm, making Ransom writhe as his load joined Cooter’s on Jacob’s cockshaft. Jacob felt like shouting, running away, running off to clean his dick off.
No, he told himself, you’re gonna fit in. You gotta do what Cooter does. “Ransom, don’t act like a fuckin’ pussy,” Jacob said. “It’s no big deal.” He rammed his dick all the way into Yancey’s tight ass.
It was much easier this time, since he no longer had Cooter’s big hairy body in front of his face. Jacob watched Yancey’s feminine ass shake as he rammed harder and harder. He had to admit the cum was an effective lubricant, and Jacob managed to slip his dick in and out easily.
He was worried he wouldn’t be able to cum due to stress and anxiety, but that wasn’t an issue — he had been so turned off previously that the lack of other cocks and hairy muscles all around made it easier now. He groaned as his balls crawled up in his sac.
A hot, creamy load sprayed into Yancey’s ass. Yancey moaned. He had been jacking himself off for some time, and he finally allowed himself to shoot his own load onto the forest floor. None of the rednecks noticed. Powerful pangs of climactic bliss shot up Yancey’s spine as Jacob pounded away at his cum-soaked prostate, each thrust of his hips sending a new wave of pleasure through Yancey’s body.
Cooter clapped and hooted a little like an appreciative audience. He clasped Jacob on the shoulder, which smeared his sweat on Jacob’s skin. The biggest load of Jacob’s life filled Yancey’s ass with his seed, so much that it dripped out and onto the forest floor. He could do nothing more than squirm, impaled on Jacob’s dick.
“God damn,” Jacob said with a sigh as he pulled out.
Yancey squirmed and sighed. He collapsed onto the floor. He was a sticky, cummy mess, exactly how he liked to be. He lay there limply, then rolled over and smiled. The three rednecks were all lighting cigarettes and looking over the dirtbike, limp cocks dangling — none of them wanted to be the self-conscious one, so they had all eschewed re-dressing. Yancey didn’t mind that at all.
He went to them, touched Ransom’s plump, jiggling ass and giggled when he yelped. “Hope you boys enjoy the dirtbike,” Yancey said, blushing as he stroked Ransom’s hairy ass. “I hope you enjoy using it as much I enjoyed you paying for it.”
They blushed and mumbled responses. Now that all that was over, they didn’t really want to have anything to do with Yancey. They just wanted to play with their dirtbike and ignore him, and then not ever think about this again.

The Alpha in a Black Leather Jacket

When bikers fill up Avery’s town, he isn’t sure how to react. Then one studly alpha catches his eye, and before Avery knows it, he’s made an offer the biker is too horny to turn down!

Can Avery get that macho biker to stop scaring the customers away from his store?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Avery sighed as motorcycles whizzed past outside his flower shop. He wasn’t even sure he should bother to be open today — there was a biker festival just down the street, so Avery’s hometown was temporarily home to thousands of bikers. They roared by, engines rumbling like dragons.
He didn’t think they were likely to buy very many flowers. But as long as they were around, not many people were out on the street, and no one was out shopping for things like flowers. So it had killed his business for the day.
Oh no, there’s one right outside… Avery’s heart fluttered for a couple reasons. Firstly, the biker milling about had an incredible physique, and he sent Avery’s blood into overdrive. Second, he was scary, and he made Avery want to run and hide. Third, he was intimidating and his presence would guarantee that no customers came into the shop today.
But Avery couldn’t decide whether to run in fear or call the police or ask to jerk him off. This biker looked like he might consider it with the right persuasion.
He was swarthy-skinned, with an old-fashioned mustache that was well-groomed atop a beard that was scruffy and poorly-groomed. He wore a series of black clothes — they blended in, in layers, so much that it was hard to tell how many shirts, vests and patches he wore. But above it all was a sterling black leather jacket, under which his chest was broad. His hair was long and curly, in a jet-black mullet that piled up behind his neck.
Was he dangerous? He certainly didn’t look safe. But Avery would feel like an asshole if he called the police on some random man who wasn’t a threat. He’d look like a fool too — this town was full of bikers; the cop would tell Avery that a lot of people are going to look rough today and he should try to relax, it would be patronizing and humiliating.
But Avery didn’t want him hanging out in front of the store. There was no way anyone would come in to buy flowers if they had to go past this biker. Sure enough, as though intending to demonstrate it, the biker scowled at two nice ladies walking past.
“Smile, lady, c’mon,” said the biker, his voice a low throaty growl. “You’d be prettier if ya smiled.”
The women just quickened their pace and kept going. The biker watched and lit a cigarette.
Avery took a deep breath. He thought he needed to go out there and do something. He didn’t know what, but it needed to be something.
He went out there without a second thought. The biker turned to look at him.
“Hey, uh, so, I got-“
The biker grunted. “I ain’t stayin’.”
A long pause filled the air, and Avery blushed. This biker was thickly built, and he reeked of engine oil and stale sweat — not like he was sweaty, but more like it had soaked into the black leather of his biker jacket.
“I’m sorry?”
“You came out here to stay I can’t hang out in front of ya store, right?” The biker peered inside the window. He scoffed. “Fuckin’ flowers… You know there’s an Internet, right? You can buy flowers online. Probably.”
“Some people like buying flowers in stores.”
The biker rolled his eyes. “Well, I ain’t stayin’ so don’t worry. My bike gots a pro’lem and it ain’t runnin’, boy.” He pointed to a motorcycle parked on the side of the road. “Waitin’ for my buddy to show up wit’ some tools.”
“Oh, uh, well, do you have to wait right here in front of my door?”
“You want me to buy somethin’? I ain’t got shit for cash, man. I got ‘bout five bucks to my name, not countin’ what I needs for gas to get home, and beer — you best believe I ain’t goin’ wit’out beer at the festival, boy, swear to God, I’ll box ya goddamn ears.”
“Oh, well… I dunno, I don’t, uh… my flowers are all more expensive, uh, than…” Avery’s voice trailed off because the biker glared at him, eyes drilling into his soul. Avery cleared his throat.
“Whatchoo want? Why you still talkin’ to me?”
“I, uh…” Avery cleared his throat. “I thought… uh… maybe-“
“Get it out, boy,” the biker said. He grabbed Avery by the chin, his callused fingers rubbing over Avery’s smooth skin.
Avery went pale. “I wanted, uh-“
“I ain’t a pervert,” the biker said, chewing on his lip as he forced Avery to look him in the eye. His hot breath condensed on Avery’s lips — it was virtually a kiss. Avery instinctively reached out and touched the man’s chest for support, holding onto his powerful body. He sensed curly chest hairs underneath those layers of biker gear.
“Good…” Avery’s voice was a mousy squeak.
The biker laughed, a harsh and guttural sound. It didn’t sound like a real laugh, more like he wanted Avery to think he was laughing at him. Still he was so close they nearly kissed.
Then, they did.
The biker pecked Avery right on the lips. He tasted of cigarettes and smog, and he guffawed at the shocked look on Avery’s face. He shoved Avery against the wall in front of his door.
“Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll be gone toot-sweet, my dear,” the biker said. “Just as soon as my buddy shows up wit’ his tools.”
Avery blushed and went back into his shop. His hands were clenched into fists as a torrent of confusing emotions enveloped him — he was angry, humiliated, aroused, mollified, eager, offended and frightened all at once.
But it was his hard dick that made him struggle the most to keep focus. He tried to do his inventory — he’d be meaning to do that anyway, and it was easier now that no one was in the shop. But he kept finding himself looking out the window at the biker.
It was during such a moment, when Avery lifted his face, that he saw the biker leaning casually against the parking meter in front of the shop. He had raised his ass up — cradled by mud-splattered black jeans which were speckled with pale bleach spots — and shook it subtly. He turned around and guffawed again, looking in the dark window.
It was impossible to see in past the display case in the window, because Avery had purchased very dark glass (he hated glare). The biker had been performing like that for some time, laughing at what he imagined Avery was doing. He turned around and grabbed his dick through his jeans, showing off its size and heft and aiming it towards the window.
For the first time, Avery wondered if this biker actually wanted something from him. He was so used to needing to make the first move on a fresh slice of rough trade, he didn’t always think of the possibility that they wanted to do it too, that they were trying to make him do it.
They wouldn’t just ask.
The biker paced in front of the shop. After awhile, he stopped teasing Avery through the window. He stroked his scraggly beard hairs and alternated between leaning on his motorcycle, catcalling at women and mean-mugging men.
Finally, the biker checked his phone, threw his hands in the air and came in. He looked at Avery as though trying to gauge whether or not he had noticed what he did out there. Avery kept his face stony and expressionless.
“My battery’s dead. I don’t think my buddy’s coming,” the biker said. He growled. “You got a outlet?” He looked around until he found an outlet, then plugged his phone charger in before Avery could answer.
“Uh… So…-“
“You don’t talk much, huh?”
“Hmmm… No.” Avery blushed. “I, uh.. Well, maybe, I like… Sometimes, I talk more… I’m not exactly shy, but-“
“Uh-huh, yeah.” The biker waited for something he didn’t say out loud. His dark eyes looked Avery over. “What’s ya name, boy?”
“Avery.”
“I’m Cooter.” He absent-mindedly rifled through some flowers by the counter. “You, uh… you got work? I gotta get my bike fixed. I ain’t, y’know… a flower-buyin’ kinda guy. But I got, y’know… skills, in like… other shit.”
“Hmmm… Like what?” Avery asked. He was now more confident that Cooter wanted to get paid to let Avery jerk him off. Avery had been around long enough to sense it radiating off him.
“Well… I learned how to cook in prison. I know you ain’t a restaurant or nothin’, but you know…” Cooter laughed that dry, throaty laugh. “I can’t really cook. I can cook spaghetti for like six hundred guys, but I always fuck it up cooking for just me.” He bit his lip. “I ain’t got no skills, ‘kay? Least, not no legal ones. You want me to cook up some meth?”
Avery blushed. “No…”
“You scared of me, huh, boy? Don’t let me bein’ in prison scare you neither, I ain’t never stab no one who ain’t deserve it.” He paused. “I mean, that ain’t strictly true, lemme be honest wit’ ya, I gotta be honest under God’s watchful eye, right? Lemme be honest, I did done stab this one bitch on account of he was lookin’ at me wrong, but he turned out to be a child molester anyhow. I ain’t know that then, so, y’know… it’s questionable, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
“Right… Uh… cool…” Avery was finding it very hard to concentrate. He was positive Cooter wanted to be paid for a swing on his dick. He even grabbed his cock through his jeans. Avery was overwhelmed by fear and desire, and the scent of his asphalt-reeking leather jacket — he had fallen off his motorcycle enough that the blacktop had been ground into the leather. His limbs even vibrated a little like he still imagined himself atop his motorcycle.
“You lookin’ like you wanna say somethin’ but you too scared. Huh? You scared, boy?” He spoke more softly and touched Avery’s cheek, pinching it like a grandmother. Though he seemed to be trying to be less intimidating, it only came across as even more frightening.
“Umm… Yeah.”
Cooter rolled his eyes. “Man, I ain’t a prideful fella.” He got down on his knees and lowered his eyes. “See? Now you taller ‘an me, and you ain’t gotta look me in the eye. So whatchoo think? You know a way I can earn some money? Maybe I got some skills I learn in prison you might enjoy.”
“Well… Maybe. I, uh… I was kind of hoping, that, uh… maybe-” Avery caught a glimpse of Cooter’s eyes when he glanced up, and Avery blushed. “I…”
“Ah, man, I done scare you, huh? You wanna punch me? You might feel better ‘bout it if you punched me?” Cooter reached up and touched Avery’s lips. He pulled his tongue out of his mouth. “What’s wrong? I know you got words on ya tongue. You prolly got all kinda… remnants on ya tongue. You got remnants of different activities on there? I bet you do all kinda things with that tongue. That’s a nice, big, wet tongue. I could come up wit’ lots of activities you could do wit’ that if we shared a cell.” He chuckled. “But we don’t. So you gotta come up wit’ them activities, and you gots to pay, boy. You ready to pay?” He leaned back and shrugged off his jacket. “Go’n, punch me, it’ll make you feel better.”
“I, uh… I don’t want to.” Avery felt weak and tinny.
“Then what do you want to do?” Cooter closed his eyes. “You just lemme know.” He pursed his lips like he was kissing the air. “Or you can just do it.”
Avery couldn’t resist it. He planted his lips on Cooter’s. Just like the kiss out on the sidewalk, it lasted only a moment, and it was chaste and dry. As soon as Avery’s tongue tried to enter Cooter’s mouth, Cooter pushed him away.
“I ain’t kissin’ a feller,” Cooter said. “So use ya words and make me an offer.”
“I’ll… I’d like you to cornhole me,” Avery said with a blush.
“How much?”
“One hundred dollars-“
Cooter stood and went to the cash register. He shook it open and counted out more than three hundred dollars from the till — including the twenties and fifties that were under the drawer. “It just so happens, boy, that my price for that is exactly three hundred twenty-seven dollars. That is a mighty coincidence on account of that’s the amount you got in the till.” He paused. “And get me some flowers.”
“What?”
“I need flowers. Somethin’ classy, for an old lady. For my great-aunt. Her birthday is Monday.”
“Oh, uh… Well, we have this one, it’s very nice-“
“Just gimme the goddamn flowers, asshole,” he said with a snarl. He grabbed the bouquet out of Avery’s hand. He didn’t even look at it, he just set the bouquet down by the door. “Alright.” He stood there by the shop counter. “Well? You gonna start jerkin’ or what? Don’t even try to make me take no dick, lemme tell you. I don’t do that shit.”
“I… Can we go up to my apartment?” Avery asked. He locked the store door.
“Fine.” Cooter sighed. “Let’s go.”
Avery brought him into the back of the shop, which led to a stairwell. It was narrow and humid here, with spiderwebs in each corner of the ceiling. The dust was visible in the rays of late afternoon sunlight that filled the air.
Cooter placed one hand on Avery’s ass. He gripped his jeans by the waistband and held on, preventing Avery from taking the next step up the staircase. He let out a growl and grinned when Avery turned around.
Avery’s heart raced. Was he going to punch him? Was he going to rob him? (More than he already sort of had?)
“Lotta folks think that, in prison, you ramrod a man in the shower, or you ramrod a man in ya cell, or whatever, ya feel me?” He passed Avery, standing higher than him on the stairs, and when Avery was too engrossed to respond — overwhelmed still by the awkward situation — he took Avery’s hand and placed it on his belly. His muscles rippled. “Ya feel me now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But in fact, there’s guards in the shower, and there’s cameras in ya cell, and you ain’t allowed to ram, boy, they’ll stop you on account of it’s a law. So when the pressure get too much and you gots to ram, you do it somewhere else. Like in a hallway, or in the stairwell or some shit,” Cooter said. “So I wanna do it here.” He put both hands on Avery’s head and pushed him to his knees.
Avery was too short to reach Cooter’s crotch like this. Cooter was a few steps higher than Avery, so he had to sit on the stairs and spread his legs wide. He unceremoniously unzipped his jeans and let a darkly tan cock flop out.
It was thick and meaty, still limp but Avery could tell when he got close that it had been half-hard recently, maybe even fully erect. Cooter had definitely been trying to get a nut off for awhile.
“Hey…” He grabbed Avery by the hair, just at the moment Avery wrapped his lips around the tip of his funky cock. “A man’s gotta take whatever affection he can get.” Cooter pulled Avery’s head up, kissed him on the lips and rammed his tongue into his mouth.
Avery squealed and squirmed in surprise. His hands clawed at Cooter’s chest, which was hard like iron beneath his leather clothes. Avery’s tongue tasted like cigarettes and steel, and it was huge, so it filled up Avery’s mouth. Avery’s hands wrapped around Cooter’s shoulders, and for a moment, they made intense, passionate love with their mouths.
Just a moment though. Once Avery got over his shock and awe, and started kissing Cooter back, Cooter let go and pushed him back down to his crotch.
“Jerk me off, boy,” Cooter said. “And don’t try to kiss me no more. I don’t kiss boys.”
“Oh… … Uh… Sorry,” Avery said. He lowered his head to his crotch, while Cooter lit another cigarette and took his shirts off. Avery suckled on his cocktip — he had gotten fully erect while being kissed — and looked up at his face and his bare chest.
Cooter was covered in tattoos, and a few scars. There was a bullet wound on his belly, and an oddly-shaped dragon over his heart — Avery soon realized it was oddly-shaped because it covered up a swastika that had been carved into his chest.
His dick tasted like sweat and industrial soap, and it was firm, veiny, throbbing like a motorcycle engine as it rubbed against Avery’s tongue. Cooter gripped Avery by the ears, dragging his head up and down on his shaft.
“Open wide, boy…”
Soon, Cooter stood, still using both hands on Avery’s ears and his lips to keep the lit cigarette in his mouth. He swayed his hips, grinding his dick in deep. He didn’t ram Avery’s throat in an aggressive or mean way, not like a lot of alphas did — Avery wouldn’t have minded — he made sweet love to his throat. He didn’t stop when Avery choked, but he wasn’t violent about it either. He just clucked his tongue and kept on plowing.
Soon his balls smacked and rubbed against Avery’s chin. Cooter took a deep drag on his cigarette. He let go of Avery’s head, watching him slide up and down on his moistened shaft.
“Hmmm… You want me to stick you, boy?”
Avery nodded without taking Cooter’s dick out of his mouth. He suckled moistly, slurping down every drop of salty precum he could find. He kept slurping even as Cooter tried to pull his head off. Avery giggled — he liked the frustrated look on Cooter’s face.
Cooter snarled and bent Avery over on the stairs. Since they faced opposite directions, Cooter had to go over Avery to be lower than him on the narrow staircase. He could have stepped around Avery’s body to get beneath him, but instead he sat on his back and rubbed his hairy ass — laughing the whole way — until he was lower on the staircase.
“You like my ass-slide, boy,” Cooter said. He chuckled. “Now, I am guessin’ this is prolly implied, but lemme be totally clear, son, when we are done here, you ain’t gonna never tell no one ‘bout it. Not the police, not ya priest, ya rabbi, not some other biker you might jerk off a couple hours from now, or a couple decades from now. If’n you ever even think ‘bout tellin’ folks what’s ‘bout to happen, I will bury you in wet cement and I’ll send ya mama a rude limerick describin’ how you died, ya feel me?”
“I won’t tell, I would never-“
“Good.” Cooter didn’t wait for a second. He jammed his dick in, just the tip at first. He grabbed Avery by the hair and held his head in place as Avery howled in pain. Cooter waited for him to stop, with just the first inch or so of his dick in Avery’s ass. “You ready?”
“Yeah. Just go slow.”
Cooter wrapped one of his well-muscled arms around Avery’s throat. Again, he didn’t choke him, but he held on firmly enough he did slightly restrict his breathing. As he did, he pistoned his dick in farther, ignoring Avery’s intense writhing.
“Goddamn!” Avery cried out.
“Hmmm… You ready to get started?” Cooter asked, whispering in his ears. “Here’s the skills I learned in prison, boy. Don’t you nevuh let no one know.” He kissed Avery again, and he rammed his tongue into his mouth. Meanwhile his other hand roamed lower and lower on Avery’s chest, then his belly, then to his crotch.
He held onto Avery’s cock with one hand, while his other kept Avery’s head upright. It took all of Avery’s concentration just to balance on the stairs, even with Cooter holding him in place.
“Good boy, good boy, keep that ass high, keep it up there, I’m goin’ deep now!” Cooter called out and moaned. He whooped like a cowboy. “You feel me? Huh? You like that? Say somethin’.”
“Yeah… Fill me up.” Avery couldn’t say much. He gasped. If he had been jacking himself off, he’d have cum already. But Cooter’s hand was callused and he stroked in a disrhythmic way, somewhat uncomfortable, more like a farmer masturbating his livestock than someone who genuinely wanted to give a reacharound, though the medley of moans and grunts that moistly emanated from his mouth sounded authentically desirous.
“You gonna nut? Tell me when you nut, I wanna hear it. Lemme hear you say it. Use my name, okay? Say ‘Cooter is makin’ me nut cuz he so handsome’, okay? Say that.”
“Cooter… is making… me nut cuz… he’s so… handsome…” Avery moaned and squirmed. He would have collapsed onto his belly but Cooter held him tightly in position.
“Good… I can feel ya nut, don’t worry, I don’t mind you nuttin’ on my hand, ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ that,” he said. He kept on stroking as Avery’s face turned red. Then, just before cum actually sprayed from Avery’s dick, Cooter again kissed him on the lips from behind.
He rammed hard then. He had waited for that — he loved plowing men who orgasmed with his cock in their ass. He could feel that orgasm in how Avery clenched around his dick, and in the gasping that was swallowed up by Cooter’s bicep.
His tongue slathered spit over Avery’s lips and cheeks, as Cooter reached his own orgasm and couldn’t quite kiss anymore — it felt so good he shuddered and shook, and his tongue lolled over Avery’s face. Cooter loved having his bottom all wrapped up in his arms so he could keep him right at the perfect level, swallowing up his dick and every drop of cum.
His balls crawled up in his sac as he filled Avery with his creamy load. It was thick and hot, and it seeped in Avery’s flesh. It trickled through his body more and more with each thrust of Cooter’s manhood into him.
“You okay, boy? Say you okay, and I’ll take my dick out. Tell me whatchoo think,” Cooter said.
“I… I loved that,” Avery said through gritted teeth. The moist pressure was intense in his ass, and it made him buck in Cooter’s arms.
“Okay, when I pull out, remember, nothing happened here today. No strokin’, no reachin’ around nobody’s delicate body that could be so easily smashed to pieces. No talking ‘bout nothin’ nasty, okay? Rammin’ ain’t a topic of conversation. It’s somethin’ that only happened as long as we’re in this stairwell. When we’re done… I robbed you. If any bikers asked, I grabbed the money outta ya cash register. If any cops ask, you smash ‘em in the face with a whiskey bottle and don’t say a goddamn word. Ya understand?”
Avery nodded. “I, uh… if a cop — ah-” He sighed as Cooter finally pulled his cock out. “If a cop asks, I won’t hit him, I mean…” He sighed again and collapsed on the stairs. “I won’t tell him either, I just, I don’t feel comfortable attacking a cop-“
“Shut up, boy. I was kiddin’.” Cooter wiped his dick off on Avery’s asscheeks, then tucked it back in his pants. He put his clothes on and walked out of the stairwell. “Hey, gimme yo’ phone number, boy.”
“Okay…”
Cooter smiled that harsh, intimidating smile. His mustache quivered. “If’n I don’t find a female who gonna give up the booty tonight, I’ll come over and Avery you again. Have some cash ready.”
“Okay.” Avery was breathless, eyes wide as he watched Cooter leave. Cooter grabbed his pack with the flower for his great-aunt in it and his phone from the outlet, then walked out the door. Avery breathed a sigh of relief.
And he turned over the “open” sign to read “closed”.

Breaking Alpha

Madhu is cooking meth for a biker gang, who supply him with a bodyguard. That’s Knuckle, a terrifying brute of a man who just might have a softer side, one that Madhu is excited to explore.

Will Madhu survive alongside Knuckle’s brand of massive masculinity?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Madhu Sharma was always nervous when he came to “work”. He was only just starting to see it as a job at all, but that’s what it was. He certainly didn’t enjoy doing it, and he only did it for the money. He was in desperate need of cash.
It sure felt like a job. It was only missing an obnoxious HR person to make him go on team-building workshops.
Madhu had started cooking meth because he needed money. It wasn’t his plan to make money that way. He had simply graduated with a degree in chemistry and no way to make money with it. The only people hiring a chemist were drug dealers.
He had also had nowhere to live, and the Jagged Right — a biker gang here in Smashwood Trailer Park — provided a solution to both of his problems. They gave Madhu a trailer to live in, and they paid him a weekly, tax-free stipend to make meth. He was doing better than most of the people he went to college with; they struggled to find jobs with major multinationals, while Madhu was rolling in the dough from the beginning.
It was easy, really. There was a lot to the process, but Madhu was well-practiced at it.
So Madhu was always nervous when he came to work. That simply entailed leaving his trailer and walking to the trailer next door. The trailer park was closed to outsiders, with bikers sitting by the gate to alert when visitors arrived — uninvited visitors were treated with extreme suspicion.
When Knuckle arrived, Madhu was terrified. Even as Math (the head biker in charge around here) explained, Madhu couldn’t pay attention because his heart fluttered. Knuckle was a giant, nearly seven feet tall, and built like a linebacker. He had a mean, craggy face that made him look older than he was, and his tanned skin was marked with what looked like prison tats.
“Knuckle here is gonna be your bodyguard. Don’t go nowhere without him,” Math had said, and that was it. That was the only explanation Madhu was given.
Knuckle grunted. He ignored Madhu. He went to the door to the trailer and stood there, unmoving, like a statue. He remained motionless for a few minutes, but eventually he walked around the perimeter of the trailer. He tried each of the windows, which had been sealed shut already.
Only then did he come in and speak. “What is the opening on the roof?” His voice was deep and gravelly. He was so big, with cavernous lungs, that he was hard to understand, his voice resonating and bouncing around in his body.
He wore only a sleeveless shirt, revealing a crude network of colorful tattoos. It wasn’t an “arm-sleeve”, it was more haphazard than that, but it coated his left arm and much of his right, and more tattoos — including what appeared to be a couple of weasels humping — were visible on his chest. He even had a network of camouflage designs on the side of his neck, which was so short and thick it was barely visible. He pointed up at the roof of the trailer.
“Uh… That? The ventilation system?” Madhu pointed upwards. His heart skipped a beat. “It’s, uh… ventilation.”
“It ain’t secure. Someone could get in.”
Madhu blushed. “Uh, well, maybe, but we need ventilation. These chemicals put out toxic fumes. This trailer would be a lethal gas chamber in an hour or two if you made it airtight.”
He frowned. He was quiet for a long time. He looked Madhu up and down. Knuckle furrowed his brow.
“Fine.” He frowned. “I will fix it.”
Madhu’s heart skipped a beat. Knuckle was so scary it hurt. He had an amazing body though — oh god those muscles, Madhu had to suppress a leer and a lick of his teeth. Madhu wondered if Knuckle understood that the ventilation system was absolutely required. He seemed to think Madhu was making that up, that the chemicals weren’t really poisonous.
This was not some debatable liberal agenda though, Madhu thought. If made airtight, this trailer could be used as a gas chamber to execute inmates; it was highly toxic; it would make his lungs melt if the concentration got high enough. The whole trailer could explode too. Madhu didn’t think Knuckle got that.
Sure enough, soon, Knuckle was up on the roof banging away. Madhu stepped outside. Should I confront him? Am I allowed to? Should I go to Math and complain? If he blocks up the ventilation, I’m going to die.
“Uh, Knuckle… what, uh… what are you doing?”
Knuckle came to the edge of the roof of the trailer and looked down. He scowled, then jumped to the ground. He grabbed Madhu and dragged him back into the trailer.
Knuckle grunted. He tossed Madhu into the trailer. Madhu was shocked because that had happened so fast, and because he was more than a little turned on by the feel of Knuckle’s muscles. He felt like his body was filled with writhing snakes, Madhu thought, and his sweat tasted salty and clean and delicious.
“What-?”
“You gotta stay in here, man. It ain’t secure for you to be off wanderin’ around,” Knuckle said. “When you on duty, you gotta stay in here.”
“Oh, uh… okay.” Madhu thought he should argue or leave or go get Math, but he didn’t. He was worried he’d get in trouble. He could always talk to Math about it later. Did he really even need security? He hadn’t needed this kind of security up until now.
Knuckle nodded. He again paused to look Madhu up and down, and he even licked his lips. He almost looked like he was aroused, but Madhu assumed that wasn’t it. Knuckle left the trailer and went back to the roof.
Madhu returned to his lab. The day was almost done anyway, and then he’d need to leave the reaction to catalyze all night. He was about to leave the trailer when the door opened and Knuckle walked in.
“I installed a lock. It can still ventilate,” Knuckle said, “But no one can break in.”
“Oh. Cool, okay,” Madhu said. He blushed.
“I do not want anyone to hurt you.” He glowered, sucking on his teeth and chewing his lower lip.
“Right. Thanks.” Madhu cringed, the situation suddenly too intense for him to think. Knuckle peered deep into his eyes. The aroma of his unwashed scent turned Madhu on.
He had no way of knowing that Knuckle was thinking similar things. He found his eyes drawn to Madhu’s perky young body all day. He had a delightfully feminine shape to his ass, and though his voice wasn’t obviously girlish, it was flamboyant and lilting and it made Knuckle’s dick twitch.
Madhu smiled nervously, and Knuckle’s eyes opened wide. He wanted him bad.
I could just pretend this is prison. This trailer is about the size of a prison cell. Knuckle refused to let himself consider that. Yet when he looked down at his feet, he saw that his dick was out. Did I take that out? Knuckle didn’t remember doing so, but he surely would have noticed if Madhu unzipped his pants.
“Didja take my dick out?”
Madhu gasped. “No!” He thought he might cry. What was he even being accused of? “You took your dick out like two seconds ago!”
Knuckle grunted. He stood there, not sure what he should do next. All he could think about was getting his rocks off. He hadn’t blown a nut off in what felt like forever. The funny thing was he hadn’t been horny until he saw Madhu.
Another grunt escaped from his lips when Madhu wrapped one hand around his cock. Knuckle moaned. Madhu grinned, his anxiety slowly diminishing now that it was more apparent what Knuckle wanted.
Though Madhu would have enjoyed getting rammed, he knew better than to try to push his luck. He still wasn’t even sure Knuckle was comfortable getting a handjob — he hadn’t said no, hadn’t made Madhu stop, and he was the one who took his dick out in the first place, which all seemed like pretty clear signals. But Madhu didn’t want to push his luck by trying to jerk off the brutish giant. Knuckle was terrifyingly massive, and he had that big bull head like an ape. Madhu didn’t want to do anything that might make him uncomfortable.
So he just stroked his cock to full erection — that took only a few seconds because Knuckle was unbelievably horny to begin with. Soon his dick was hard as iron, throbbing like its own living entity. Madhu could feel his heartbeat.
It twitched, and Knuckle moaned. His deep voice rang out. “Why you doin’ that?”
Madhu said softly. “Do you want me to stop?”
Knuckle growled and gripped Madhu’s hand with both of his big meaty paws. He closed his eyes and began to pump his hips, plowing Madhu’s hand with that massive manhood. His balls swayed beneath him and slapped Madhu’s side as he stroked.
It was an exhilarating experience for Madhu, exciting and frightening at the same time, like a poorly-maintained roller coaster. He moved his head closer to the dingy sleeveless shirt, and inhaled deeply of Knuckle’s musky scent. One of his hands crept up, under that shirt, massaging his belly before reaching his chest.
His pectorals twitched and flexed beneath Madhu’s touch, and Knuckle grunted. He rammed Madhu’s hand hard, like he wanted to punish it. Madhu could do little more than squeeze and hold on until Knuckle finally reached his orgasm.
“Ah….” Knuckle bit his lip as pleasure overwhelmed him, and cum sprayed onto Madhu’s leg and hand.
The smell of salty-sour cum filled the air. Knuckle gasped, and his whole hefty body leaned forward. His cock pressed against Madhu’s hip, still pulsating, spraying wad after wad up over Madhu’s shirt and even onto his chin.
“Oh-” Madhu blushed. He kept his hand in position, both of Knuckle’s hands gripping it so firmly it hurt a little. =
Finally, with cum still shooting out of his dick, Knuckle leaned far enough that Madhu couldn’t support him. He leaned against the table, then a chair, and then sunk to the floor. Knuckle grabbed the chair before he fell — which was good because he would have toppled onto Madhu, probably hurt him and possibly knocked over some of the chemicals.
“Damn…” Knuckle said. He stood, dick limpening as it still dripped a few droplets of creamy cum onto Madhu’s face.
“Hmmm…” Madhu blushed and sat up. “That was…-“
“Shut up.” Knuckle grunted. “You seduced me. That ain’t right. I ain’t into that poervert nonsense. I don’t do that. Don’t seduce me no more.”
Then he turned around and walked out of the trailer, leaving Madhu there to clean up and savor the sweet scent of Knuckle’s alpha male body. Madhu sighed.
Maybe, he thought, this job won’t be as bad as I had thought.
Madhu assumed that the handjob was going to be kept secret. Something like this could only be on the downlow, he thought. That just seemed like a reasonable guess. He didn’t even think about it. It wasn’t like he socialized with the trailer trash of Smashwood Trailer Park anyway.
But the next morning, he saw grimy rednecks — the shirtless swastika-ed perpetual drunks who spent their days searching for smokeable cigarette butts in city ashtrays — laughing at him, and making murmured jokes about Knuckle. Knuckle ignored them but wrinkled his nose a little. He remained standing at the entrance to the trailer, eyeing the addicts and dealer that came through to buy meth. He wore the same clothes as yesterday.
Since Madhu knew he hadn’t told anyone, it could only have been Knuckle.
“Freak! Ugly-ass Knuckle…”
“Who you gonna ramrod today, booty bandit?!”
The grimy rednecks (who were constantly around though Madhu wasn’t aware of any purpose here) laughed at Knuckle, but he didn’t respond in the slightest. He grimaced, his squat neck turning ruddy at first before he relaxed.
But he didn’t say anything to Madhu all day. He didn’t even look at him. It was a lonely day — the only person Madhu talked to was the clerk at the drug store where he went, Knuckle in tow, to buy more cough medicine.
Knuckle got drunk on Saturday. That was Knuckle’s day off, and Madhu’s too. Madhu spent the day in his trailer as he normally did, reading, trying not to think about his life. He heard Knuckle getting drunk all day outside. He could hear the men laughing at Knuckle too.
Knuckle’s low voice rumbled, his words slurred. But Madhu couldn’t make out his words, just the other’s response.
Madhu tried not to listen. He felt a little bad for Knuckle, but Knuckle didn’t seem to mind. He hadn’t even attempted to keep it a secret.
He was just about to go to bed when Knuckle drunkenly stumbled into his trailer. Knuckle belched loudly, his sweat-soaked body gleaming. Blood trickled from his crooked nose.
“Jzzzheeerkk meee offf.” Knuckle pulled his camo pants down, waving his dick in front of Madhu’s face. He stepped forward but toppled to the floor so hard Madhu yelped and ran to him.
“Are you okay?”
Knuckle rolled over. His massive dick was soft, blood now pouring from his nose. Madhu sighed and stopped the bleeding, while Knuckle drunkenly squirmed. He kept demanding Madhu jerk him off, but he didn’t make any effort to force Madhu’s head down.
“I’m not giving you dome when you’re this drunk. It’s gross. You’ll probably puke on me. Or pass out on me,” Madhu said. He wasn’t sure Knuckle heard or accepted that, but he didn’t argue — or if he did, he was too drunk to be clear.
It took ten minutes for Knuckle’s nose to stop bleeding — he still had a big nasty bruise on his cheek from the fall though — and then another hour and a half for Madhu to get Knuckle up into bed. By then, Madhu was exhausted. He put a glass of water on the bed next to Knuckle and climbed in on the other side.
Knuckle was out cold, like sleeping next to a big warm stone. Madhu fell asleep nuzzling his bicep, one hand resting on his meaty chest.
It was the most satisfying sleep Madhu had had in years, since before he graduated college. He didn’t wake up until early the next morning, when Knuckle slid back into bed — Madhu hadn’t awoken when he left the bed, but he did when he came back.
Knuckle was sober now. His head hurt, but he wasn’t hungover. He had never been a big drinker, and spending time behind bars meant his tolerance had gone down, so it didn’t take too much for Knuckle to pass out last night. He then showered, drank some water and ate dry bread in Madhu’s kitchen. He wasn’t drunk anymore, just a little queasy.
Now as he slid under the covers again, Madhu’s smooth fingers clutching his belly, Knuckle felt well again. He shushed Madhu — even though he hadn’t said anything — and gripped the back of his head.
“Good mornin’-“
“Shush, I said.” Knuckle guided Madhu’s head, gently but firmly, to his crotch. His dick was limp, and it smelled of spilled beer and man-sweat. Madhu inhaled deeply of it.
He picked up the shaft and kissed Knuckle’s cocktip before driving it into his mouth. He suckled on the tip. He began to get the idea of what Knuckle wanted — he wanted Madhu to resist a little. He wanted to be in charge, overcoming Madhu’s reluctance.
So Madhu pretended to have difficulty with the size of Knuckle’s cock — he didn’t have to pretend much, because it was big and extremely girthy, but Madhu had handled enough big cocks to deep-throat it. He choked and hesitated, and Knuckle clucked his tongue, pushing his head down deeper.
He covered Madhu with a sheet. It felt like he was with his prison wife again, Knuckle thought, since he couldn’t see anything but that sheet and Madhu’s writhing body beneath it, all that mattered was Knuckle and the potent pleasure coursing through his veins. He raised his hips, firmly plowing his meat down Madhu’s throat.
Despite the size of Knuckle’s cock, it didn’t hurt a bit, and Madhu even moaned around the cock as it filled his throat. Madhu tried to jack himself off, but found that he needed to use both hands to stroke Knuckle’s dick. Madhu’s own cock rubbed over Knuckle’s leg, and when Knuckle didn’t complain, Madhu began dry-humping him.
“Ugh….” Knuckle grunted and his whole body twitched. He used both hands on Madhu’s head, holding him in place as wad after wad of sweet cum flowed down Madhu’s throat.
Madhu shot his own load right onto Knuckle’s leg — Knuckle barely noticed — while guzzling down every drop of Knuckle’s own juices. It coated his belly and its body heat seeped into his flesh. Madhu gurgled, choking on the intense flow of cum down his throat.
At last, they were both done. Madhu fell limp and slid off Knuckle’s cock. He curled up next to him on the bed, kissed him on the neck and cuddled up with him.
“Thanks-“
“Shush.” Knuckle turned his head. He placed one hand over Madhu’s mouth. “No talking. I’m going back to sleep.”
The next morning, Madhu awoke happy and content. Knuckle was already awake, just waiting for Madhu to disentangle himself from his arms. Then Knuckle yawned and went to the trailer door.
That was where the officers of the Northern Florida Methamphetamine Task Force were waiting.
They streamed into the trailer, putting Knuckle in handcuffs and roughing him up. Madhu didn’t look like such a thug, so they treated him a little better, but still, he was marched out of the trailer park in handcuffs and driven away, in a different van than Knuckle was in.
So that was the end of Madhu’s foray into drug manufacture. He didn’t last very long. He would have been better off hustling for multinational jobs like his pharmacy school classmates.
Maybe it was always fated to end like this. Madhu did his part though, he cooperated with the cops arrested him, but he didn’t tell them anything. He let his lawyer do the talking. He already planned on pleading guilty. His lawyer said he’d do okay because he didn’t have a record like all the others. He would look like a nice man who had been forced into manufacturing meth.
That was small comfort to Madhu, who couldn’t hold his own in prison like the other Jagged Right could. He thought they would protect him — they said they would — but then the bikers and rednecks were all transferred from jail to prison, whereas Madhu was not seen as enough of a risk to bother. So Madhu stayed there there in jail, with no one to protect him from the legion of drunks, thugs and ruffians who came through.
His first week was bad. Madhu considered killing himself. But his lawyer had said he’d be out in a few years. He thought he could handle that. He might even be able to start a new life when he left. He thought about writing a book, maybe he could make some money on the outside as a writer.
But first, he needed to survive.
When his cell door opened and Knuckle walked in, Madhu’s first thought was that Knuckle was here to kill him. Maybe Knuckle thought Madhu would squeal, or maybe he blamed Madhu for the trailer park being busted, or maybe he just wanted to kill.
“What are you doing here-?”
“They said we gotta go on trial together. Cuz we was arrested together.” Knuckle’s gravelly voice filled the cell. The door slammed shut behind him. Knuckle came into the cell and scowled at Madhu. Madhu sat at the little writing desk in the cell, watching as Knuckle moved all of Madhu’s things from the top bunk to the bottom. “I’m taking the top bunk. That’s for real men.”
“Oh, uh… okay.” Madhu thought it was best not to fight about that. “I guess I’m glad I got you as a cellmate. I-“
“Shut up. Why you gotta talk about everything?”
“I guess… That’s just how I am.” Madhu opened his mouth to continue explaining, but he realized Knuckle wouldn’t want that. Madhu just fell quiet.
Then Knuckle began working out. He didn’t tell Madhu to move out of his way, but Madhu got the message anyway. Knuckle was so big he took up all the space in the cell. Madhu could do little more than crouch in his bunk and watch Knuckle’s massive body move.
He did push-ups until he couldn’t anymore, and then he did a series of lunges and lifts, using whatever he could find as a weight. He even made Madhu climb up on his back and hold on while Knuckle did a round of deep-knee squats.
That was what he did when the lights finally flicked out. Madhu was so surprised he almost fell off Knuckle’s back, sliding over his sweat-soaked bare flesh.
“They don’t give any warning before turning out the lights,” Madhu said. “In movies, they always announce it.”
“This ain’t a movie,” Knuckle said. Then he wrapped his big bearish arms around Madhu and plowed his tongue down his throat. He brought Madhu to the floor, his heavy body pinning him down.
Madhu squealed and squirmed out of sheer shock. He had assumed Knuckle would want dome at some point — he’d always said he didn’t do that kind of thing except in prison, which was a lie, but Madhu figured the “except in prison” part was probably not a lie. But he didn’t think Knuckle would kiss him.
“Boy, I been lustin’ for you wit’chu since I first saw you. You got pretty all over, and I wanna taste it.” Knuckle growled, slathering Madhu’s face in kisses. He moved to Madhu’s neck, which was long and slender. It felt so smooth, like porcelain, Knuckle thought. His dick twitched. It was so hard it hurt. “I been waiting for this for a long time.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Waiting to lust fo’ you. I don’t mess wit’ males outside of prison,” Knuckle said. “But in here, wit’ the lights out… That’s where lust is real.” He whispered into Madhu’s ear and sucked his earlobe. “I wanna ram you so bad, boy. Get my dick wet.”
He mounted Madhu’s chest and jabbed his rock-hard dick into Madhu’s mouth with incredible urgency, like his life depended on getting his dick in there as soon as possible. He moaned right away.
Hey keep it down in there! 37A, if you’re plowing, I don’t wanna see it or hear it and I definitely don’t wanna smell it!
“Ssssssssssshhh….” Knuckle chuckled throatily, his shushing disappearing into a baritone growl aimed right in Madhu’s ear. “We gotta be private.” He kept shushing Madhu like that even though, once again, Knuckle was the one making noise.
When Knuckle was good and hard, he slid down behind Madhu. He kissed him on the lips, sucking up all the precum and spit that clung to Madhu’s cheeks.
“Oh god…” Madhu whimpered. The bunk they shared was narrow, barely big enough for one person, much less two. But they both laid on their side, and Knuckle laid with his back flat against the cold concrete wall.
His cock rubbed between Madhu’s cheeks. Knuckle reached up to his own bunk for his sheet and blanket. The cell was cold, so he laid it out on top of both he and Madhu. Madhu snuggled deep in his arms as he finally managed to feel warm.
No fighting! Are you fighting in there?
That was about the only thing the guards would do anything about at night, so Madhu heard them scatter away from the central control area in the cell block. More grunts and bellowing could be heard too. Somone was fighting in another cell.
“I guess we can make a little noise now,” Knuckle said. His deep voice was impossibly loud, echoic in the tiny room, resonating around in Madhu’s ear. Madhu shuddered and rubbed his ass over Knuckle’s pulsating cock.
“Yeah… Will you be gentle?”
“Yes, baby, I be real gentle,” Knuckle said. He kissed Madhu on the back of the head. “I been waitin’ so long to get inside you…”
His dick slipped in, moistened and lubed by Madhu’s spit. There wasn’t a bit of pain, which astonished Madhu — Knuckle’s dick was so thick it seemed there had to be a little pain, but there was only an incredible, overwhelming pleasure.
Either Madhu or Knuckle must have cried out, because inmates in other cells all laughed, but neither were aware — Knuckle grunted and snorted as he drilled his dick in, ignoring the increasingly loud jeers from the other cells.
“I hear some marital bliss over there! Woop-woop!”
“Honeymoon!”
“Who is it? Raymont?”
“Nah, I’m spankin’ it over here, I got that big-butt magazine-!”
They all laughed until they shushed each other. The guards were involved in breaking up the fight, so the inmates in this corner of the cell block were emboldened.
But then Madhu’s pressure grew too great for him to pay attention to their words. It was all a meaningless blur of shouts and profanity, and whistle squeals, but above all that, Madhu was aware of Knuckle’s body covering him, tongue coating his face as his dick rammed in and out. Madhu’s had never been plowed as hard, but somehow he had never been rammed as easily and softly at the same time. He took it all, and his dick throbbed in Knuckle’s hand. Madhu had no way of knowing it but, for Knuckle — based on his previous prison experience — giving a reacharound was the ultimate form of intimacy behind bars. It was akin to a proposal of marriage.
Madhu didn’t know any of that, and his whole body melted in Knuckle’s arms as he reached the most intense orgasm of his life. Cum sprayed into his body, great rivers of it flowing into him. He felt it coating his insides, as Madhu shot his own load onto the floor of the cell.
“Oh god, I been beggin’ for a chance to get in that ass-” Knuckle kept his mouth open, intending to keep talking, but all that came out was a chest-rattling roar. He had never shot so much, not even with his previous prison wife.
At last, Knuckle fell limp, his heavy body resting on Madhu. For a moment, Madhu couldn’t breathe due to his heaviness, then Knuckle rolled back onto his side.
Madhu sighed and clutched him close. “Thanks, Knuckle.”
“No,” Knuckle said. “Thank you.”

The Abilene Alpha

Lance is an accountant who just bought his first motorcycle, so he’s hanging out at a biker bar. That means when an alpha biker named Banner comes to him with an intriguing offer, Lance is ready to do what he wants.

So Lance is in for another exciting episode of Twink on Top!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Lance was unsure about Lipsweet before he walked in. It had a reputation as a rough joint. Someone was stabbed here a couple months ago, it was in all the papers. Walking into a biker bar — the toughest biker bar in Abilene, he had heard — sounded like a bad idea. When he was a young man, Lance would have done that in a heartbeat. Did do it, and a bunch of similar things. He waltzed into a legendary yakuza bar in Tokyo once. Walked right out when the pinkie-less man with the neck tats said gaijin weren’t allowed.
But middle age was looming nearer and nearer with every passing day for Lance. He was a married man. He still looked young enough, but he was seeing and feeling the signs of his age. There were strands of hair in his sink. He woke up at night to pee sometimes. Many times. All the time. He woke up to pee many times all the time. He started getting sleepy at like nine o’clock. He felt young right up until he realized he had been feeling like an old man for months.
That was why Lance was not interested in playing it safe anymore. The rough-and-tumble biker bar didn’t phase him. He bought a motorcycle on a whim and found that he loved it — once he actually figured out how to ride it. That was why he had come to Lipsweet, the most notorious biker bar in Abilene. The rumbling of the engine beneath his body made him feel young again; it reminded him of when he had first started going to raves, before he met Juliet — his wife — and this bar felt like the perfect place for him, like he had been constructed just for it.
At some point he stopped feeling that way dancing to electronic music, but he kept going. He wasn’t a drug user, which was part of what made him not really fit in at raves. He liked the music, and he liked the dancing, but he didn’t do ny of the increasingly diverse bouquet of drugs the others did. The people he came up with became burnouts and losers, scrounging up dollars for a hit of chemicals with street names like love and ecstasy and oneness. They’re named after the things they don’t provide.
So he bought a motorcycle, and he felt young all over again. It was hot and firm, rumbling, like an extension of his cock, an industrial, gasoline-gulping manhood that sprayed speed and smog in equal measures. He felt bigger and stronger as soon as he sat on that leather seat. Nobody knew he was a mere accountant.
Going to Lipsweet seemed natural when sitting on the bike. Everyone knew it was the biker bar — or one of the major biker bars in Abilene, which was a biker town. Lipsweet was controlled by the Jagged Right. Lance didn’t have any gang connections, but he bought the motorcycle at a Jagged Right-connected dealership. Or maybe that was just a marketing trick, but it worked, and anyway, the salesman had a Jagged Right tattoo.
He felt like a real biker as he actually walked in to Lipsweet, amid a sea of sweaty biceps and tattered black leather jackets, smell of engine oil and gun grease lingering in the air. As the rumble of the motorcycles doing circuits outside faded from his ears, Lance felt weak and insecure all over again, like an old man at a rave he wasn’t invited to.
It was a good thing he didn’t go to raves any more. He’d look like an out-of-place old fool. At least bikers aged without aging out.
“Chug it! Chug it!”
“Double whissshkey, straight up.”
After some initial awkwardness, Lance began to fit in. A few drinks helped, and he gulped them down quick enough to impress anyone watching and quick enough to get tipsy right away. He liked to drink, and that was all the bikers here seemed to care about. They ignored him at first, like they thought he was an undercover cop. But when he didn’t ask anyone for drugs, they gradually warmed up to him, and the alcohol helped loosen Lance up,
Soon enough he was a chatty Cathy with all the bikers, and he started to learn everyone’s name. They were really pretty nice and welcoming once you got to know them. He learned that that salesman he bought the motorcycle from was a real Jagged Right.
Lance was good at chugging, which helped him to fit in. He downed beers like he did it regularly, which he did, years ago. Juliet — Lance’s wife — would not allow him to chug beers now. She wouldn’t even want him drinking beers you could chug. She only bought fancy white wine and occasionally, for Lance, expensive German beer or “bitters” from England. You ever had bitters? It’s like beer but disgusting, truly revolting stuff. Juliet didn’t see any point in doing anything unless it was status-raising, that was the problem.
The blistering hard rock on the jukebox and the chatter filling the air meant a lot of them barely noticed him in the first place. He chugged beers alongside them, and they clapped him on the back. They fell over each other to offer help with his new bike.
But Lance was simply glad to be accepted. His bike was brand-new and didn’t really need anything right now, though he was certainly glad to have made about a dozen new mechanic-friends. Maintaining a motorcycle could get expensive.
“More beer for the new man!”
“Chug it! Chug it!”
He had no sooner finished chugging his latest beer when the bar was distracted by a fight. One leather-clad biker punched another, for reasons unclear to Lance — something to do with a girl, he suspected, which was always a good bet when bikers were fighting. Maybe disrespect, maybe something motorcycle-related. The others immediately chanted for more. Fight! Fight! Fight! Lance felt a twinge of desire at the sight of the two big guys fighting, hefty muscles shaking with each thrust of their fists.
He added his own chant to the melange of voices. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” But by the time his drunken self got into it, the fight was already over, and the two sloppy-drunk bikers were buying each other bourbons.
“Here, lemme buy you a shot,” said the one of the other bikers. His name was Banner — Lance had met him a few minutes ago — and he sported a powerful body and no belly at all, a fact that was obvious because he wore only a tattered wifebeater that had more holes than it had shirt. He was wearing a black leather jacket earlier, but he must have taken it off cuz this bar was like a furnace. Banner didn’t wait for Lance to accept the offer of a shot. The bartender was trying to break up the fight, so Banner reached behind the bar for a bottle of whiskey. He poured two shots (each of which were really doubles, and fat doubles at that). “Come on, let’s do a brüderschaft on this.”
Lance didn’t know what that meant — and the German unnerved him — but he followed along. Banner had Lance’s thin arm interlock with his softball-sized biceps, as though they were chorus line dancers facing in opposite directions. Lance felt another surge of sexual thrill at being so close to Banner’s tattooed biceps. The warmth of his body heat suffused into Lance’s flesh. Then Banner lifted his shot glass to Lance’s lips, and Lance did likewise. With their arms interlocked, they both swallowed each other’s shots, and Banner laughed as the harshness of the straight whiskey made Lance shudder and bug out. It tasted like gasoline.
When they were done, Lance took a deep breath. Tears welled in his eyes from the astringent whiskey, which was cheap — this bar didn’t stock anything fancy. He didn’t often take shots, especially doubles. Banner cleared his throat.
“So… you’re like… cool, right?” Banner had to speak loudly to be heard over the din of the crowd. The fight had died down, and the combatants were engaged in a drinking contest that attracted the attention of most of the bar’s patrons. Though Banner raised his voice, he aimed it directly for Lance, who felt the hot breath condensing on his cheek, and nobody but Lance could hear his words.
“Yeah…” Lance said. He was tantalizingly close to Banner’s heat-exuding muscles, and he couldn’t help but touch the rock-hard bulges of Banner’s biceps.
“Thought so,” he said, giving no notice to Lance’s hands feeling up his arms. “You, uh… wanna plow me?”
Lance just assumed that Banner meant ‘would you like me to plow you?’ So Lance said yes. He might have taken it as a joke, but Banner had a serious look on his tan, craggy face. It didn’t occur to Lance he might have heard the question correctly. The bar was loud, Lance’s mind was hazy with drunkenness, and a huge alpha biker like Banner would never let some accountant plow him up the ass.
Worried that Banner would back out, Lance tripped over himself to agree. He nodded like an overly enthusiastic otter.
Without another word, Banner smiled and put a finger to his lips, motioning for Lance to be discrete — he just motioned ‘down’, and somehow he and Lance were sympatic enough that Lance knew he meant keep it on the downlow.
As casually as he could muster, Lance followed Banner to the bathrooms in the back, pretending they were going to watch the drinking contest that remained the center of attention. Instead they slipped into the back of Lipsweet, and the roar of the drinking contest faded to a dull drone muffled by the wall.
Most of the bikers just pissed outside, so the bathroom was empty when they walked in. Bikers walked back and forth from the bar to the alley using this back corridor though, so they all saw Banner and Lance go into the men’s room. Banner locked the door behind them, stripped off his wifebeater and threw it on the filthy floor.
“Hey, Banner, whatchoo doin’ in there?”
“You know it!”
Banner wasn’t in the least embarrassed about this, it seemed. He opened the door again, stuck his head out and said, “Y’all said I’d never have the balls to do it, but I am gonna plow this sissy into next week! You gonna hear him begging for mercy back here, but don’t none of you try to stop me! You know what my dick’s like — once it gets moving, it’s an uncontrollable freight train!” Banner relocked the door amid the boisterous laughs of his friends.
“You really gonna plow that sissy? Wreck his ass!”
“Relax, man, he ain’t gonna take it in the ass. We know you was in prison too, don’t pretend you never plowed a bitch.”
“If you ain’t in prison, that’s nasty.”
“It ain’t nasty if you’s on top.”
“It ain’t nasty if yo’ balls don’t touch.”
“It ain’t nasty if you don’t make eye contact!”
Lance’s eyes bugged out, as his ears filled with the raspy-voiced boasting of the bikers. This was all happening so fast, it was dizzying.
“I ain’t hear ‘im beggin’ you to take it easy on him.”
“That’s cuz I’m goin’ slow, hoss, relax yo’ shit. You listenin’ at the door? You that turned on by a man gettin’ plowed you gotta jack off and listen?” Banner asked. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You the perverted one then, man. I ain’t touchin’ this man’s dick, and I ain’t gonna listen to his cries… unlike you, apparently.”
Lance was shocked and terrified. Was Banner threatening to ram him? Lance wanted to go through with this, but what if he took it too far? When Lance was younger, he would have loved the idea of being held down and used by the sterling manhoods of any number of bikers. Now he was a little more hesitant.
What would Juliet say?! That thought made Lance bite back a laugh of derision. Juliet wouldn’t go anywhere near a biker bar.
“Don’t worry, I’s just playin’ for the crowd,” Banner said softly. He looked suddenly bashful, and the muscles on his bare chest and belly rippled. He stroked one of Lance’s cheeks, then pulled him closer. “I… ain’t gonna treat you wrong.” He kissed Lance on the lips, and he rammed his tongue into Lance’s mouth.
Lance was so shocked to be kissed that he nearly fell over. He swooned into Banner’s powerful arms. His biceps were hard, inked, ropy like a statue of a man, lined with scars and imperfections that made him feel so very real and much more arousing than all those smooth-bodied, perfect-faced twinks that Lance had been messing with when Juliet was out of town. Banner felt like a motorcycle, brimming with power and uncontrollable heat, rough-edged and hard to manage. But his mere presence and the smell of his unkempt body made Lance hard. Banner’s words from earlier ricocheted within Lance’s head — ‘You wanna plow me?’ — now that they were outside of the roaring crowded bar, Lance knew he hadn’t misheard and that Banner hadn’t misspoken. He wanted to get plowed.
This biker was ready to bottom, and he wanted Lance on top.
“I want you inside me,” Banner said, whispering in that raspy baritone, though there was no chance anyone outside the bathroom would hear unless he yelled as he had before — the bathroom door was thick and muffled all the sounds from outside, except for those men yelling at the wall. His whispers were desperate and plaintive. “Please? Plow me in the ass. I want ya dick, man…”
“Really? You wanna bottom?” Lance asked. He still thought maybe he had misheard, maybe Banner was just testing him, though for what purpose Lance couldn’t imagine. He certainly didn’t want to try to make Banner bend over and take it unless he was sure that’s what Banner wanted.
Banner nodded. “I gotta put on a show for them out there though, I’m gonna make it sound like I’m ramroddin’ you, and you can’t ever tell anyone I’m bottomin’ for you. If you do, I’ll fuck you up for real,” he said, forming a fist with one hand and punching it hard into the palm of the other. His smile vanished, and his menace was so authentic it dripped off his face. Lance shuddered and nodded. He had no problem keeping it a secret.
“Ram ‘im, Banner! Make ‘im squeal like a piggie!”
“Oink, oink!”
“You seen Banner’s cock, right? He gonna mess that accountant up!”
Banner had to get on all fours and drop his jeans because he was so much taller than Lance — if they both stood, Lance’s face was in his torso and his dick in Banner’s thighs. Banner didn’t seem to mind touching the disgusting bathroom floor, which was grimy and stank of feet and homeless men.
The smell was intriguing, even desirable to Lance, who did appreciate the physiques of men, especially men like Banner. Alphas. Masculine, dominant men with pecs and neck tats, bullet-wound scars on their bellies. Banner smelled so funky it got Lance’s dick hard before they even got started.
Lance knelt down, lining his crotch up with Banner’s ass, and pulled his dick out. It was already throbbing hard, ready to go, and the slightest touch sent a twinge of pleasure up his body. He pushed his dicktip between Banner’s thick, hairy asscheeks, which spread open for him like the Red Sea. He sighed, a part of him worried still that Banner would call it off and start bashing him. His heart raced.
“Take it, bitch!” Banner called out. “You gonna take every inch whether you like it or not! I don’t let my bitches take just inches one through eleven, slut! You gonna take all twelve inches, got it? You don’t get to pick and choose which parts of my dick get up in ya!”
Lance forced out a pained cry, and men outside the bathroom laughed. Lance laughed too. They hooted and hollered; it sounded like a bunch of them were clustered near the door. Then Banner cried out for real, biting his lip to avoid making too much noise, that was because Lance’s cocktip finally entered his ass. Lance didn’t mean to stick it in so suddenly, he was just hovering the tip at Banner’s butthole when he let out that performative cry, and the motion made his dicktip slide in.
So Lance leaned into it, and he forced the whole shaft in — Banner took every inch, strongly suggesting this was not his first time. His ass was tight and warm, and instantly Lance had to bite back a howl of ecstasy. He didn’t want the men outside to know who was on top and who was in pain. He turned his cry of pleasure into a grunt of pain, while Banner’s face turned red and taut beneath him.
When he realized that Banner was stroking himself off and having trouble maintaining a rhythm as he submitted to Lance’s plowing back and forth, Lance reached around him, grabbed his cock and began stroking. Banner jerked and spasmed in a combination of pleasure and pain. The sound of him sucking on his clenched teeth seemed plausibly to come from Lance, so the men outside accepted that it was Banner on top.
“Hey, you doin’ some nasty-ass shit in there, Banner!”
“Wreck him! Wreck him! That accountant won’t be able to walk in a straight line ever again!”
“You gonna ramrod him hard enough he’ll forget his numbers!”
Slamming his cock in and out with all his might, Lance felt his orgasm coming only moments before it hit him. He moaned and grunted as he filled Banner with his seed. He gulped, wondering if it was obvious to the men outside that Lance’s moan was a top’s orgasm, not a bottom’s prostate climax. But they cheered as though assuming it was Banner filling Lance with his juice.
He shot so much it dripped out of Banner’s ass, onto that bathroom floor that was already coated with fluids of various kinds. The smell of funk in here was ripe and thick, and Lance inhaled deeply of it as the climax rolled through his body. A huge flood of jizz seeped into Banner’s body, and Banner let out an intense howl. The men outside must have accepted that it was a howl of pleasure — which it was, in a sense.
A whole series of grunts escaped from Banner’s lips, despite his best efforts to muzzle it. His dick spasmed in Lance’s fingers, signifying that his orgasm was imminent as well.
“Take it all, bitch! You gonna swallow every drop! I know my dick is covered in yo’ ass, but you know you love it! You want that filthy nasty in ya mouth, bitch, I can see it in yo’ slutty bitch eyes!”
“Aw, gross!”
“He really doin’ ass-to-mouth, Banner?”
“Ain’t nevuh got a girl to do that, not countin’ whores.”
“Make ‘im gag on his own ass, man!”
Then Lance dropped to his knees in the filthy bathroom, just in time to taste Banner’s dick. He had to stretch his neck to reach Banner’s crotch, opening his mouth wide. Banner’s dick was thick, pulsating, dripping precum so copiously it flowed down Lance’s throat.
Banner pounded on his chest and did a Tarzan yell, causing everyone in the main room to cheer him on. Banner’s tatted chest undulated as he orgasmed in Lance’s mouth, shooting jet after jet of cream to coat Lance’s gullet. He bucked as though the orgasm was painful, and he shot such a big, sour-tasting load that Lance didn’t need to pretend to gag. It hit the back of his throat, making Lance’s stomach gurgle and roil despite his love for hot cum in his mouth.
“Yeah, I can tell, that’s the sound of ass-to-mouth.”
“Bet that pervert is regrettin’ goin’ in there!”
“Banner can make any bitch regret touchin’ him.”
“I can make you regret insultin’ me, man!” Banner called out. “You know I can treat you like a prison bitch. You seen me do it before!” He paused and gasped as he shot another wad right down Lance’s throat. “I don’t even care whose hole I stick it in next — if this sissy ain’t available, I just might take you.” It sounded like Banner wanted to keep shouting through the door, but a wave of orgasmic energy rocketed through him then. His knees buckled and his body writhed. His voice trailed off as he sighed, draining his nuts into Lance’s waiting throat. He chuckled, hollered and banged his fists against the door like he was trying to knock it down.
Hot cum overflowed and dripped down Lance’s lips. He swallowed what was in his mouth, then licked up the rest. It had a wonderfully salty-sweet flavor that made him drool, wishing he could swallow even more — Banner’s load somehow tasted like a motorcycle, Lance thought, reminding him of the smell of gasoline and chrome and leather seats; it vibrated in his mouth like an engine. He traced the veins that ran along the side of Banner’s shaft as he jerked up every drop of cum he could find.
Much to his surprise, Banner knelt down and kissed Lance on the lips. His tongue penetrated Lance’s mouth, then licked up and down the breadth of Lance’s face. Lance was so shocked he just sat there, submitting to it, not even kissing him back, just focusing on the scratchy sensation of Banner’s scruffy chin rubbing against Lance’s skin. Banner let out a long, slow sigh of relief. He smeared the remaining cum over Lance’s cheeks, and smiled.
“Alright…” he said, breathlessly, pulling his pants up. His kind, impassioned face disappeared, replaced by that menacing visage he had briefly flashed before. He know looked more like the biker-thug Lance had expected to meet rather than the easygoing stud he had met earlier. This was the Banner that made Lance’s blood run cold. Banner narrowed his eyebrows and sneered at Lance. “I’m gonna tell them I left you in here covered in cum and crying, wit’ a bloody asshole. I told you to sit there covered in my nut for five minutes, then you could clean yourself off. Alright?”
“Okay.”
“You should come see me at my garage sometime,” he said. “I got a garage on East Street. Tell Sally at the desk that you’s a friend of mine, and she’ll tell me you’re there. I’ll help you with your bike, and you can plow me senseless.”
“… Okay.”
“My other mechanics are gonna want dome, and they’re gonna call you a pervert. That okay with you?”
“Yeah,” Lance said, too tired to pretend he needed to be talked into it. He loved the idea of jerking off an entire garage of dirty blue-collar mechanics.
Leaving his raggedy wifebeater on the piss-covered floor, Banner walked out to the cheers of his friends, who clasped him on his sweaty back. He flexed his biceps and closed the door right behind him, so no one saw Lance, who stayed in a corner — he thought for sure if they saw his face they’d realize he hadn’t been plowed at all. A few men tried to poke their head in but Banner stopped them with a shut door. The last thing he said was, “Lock the door behind me. Five minutes. Pretend ya ass hurts.”
“Okay,” Lance said, glad to have a few minutes to collect his thoughts. Thinking of how to pretend his ass hurt made him realize that Banner clearly was not in pain — he must have been plowed before, probably quite often considering how easily he had take it. He sighed as he began counting down his five minutes to wait.
He was sure happy he had taken a risk, he thought, and he wished he had become a biker a long time ago. He couldn’t wait to check out Banner’s mechanic shop.