featuring brothers – Mansploitation

Three Generations of Honkies

Avery goes with a friend to an awkward family event, only to find himself enchanted by her father, brother and oldest nephew! They’re a trio of hunky studs who just might let Avery swing on their alpha honky meat… as long as the other two don’t know about it!

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Avery lay awoke most of the night. He was dreading tomorrow — it was Thanksgiving, and he planned on spending it with his friend Lenore. That would have been fine on its own. But her family would be there too, and that promised to be awkward. The prospect of meeting who-even-knows how many new people made the whole thing seem like an obligation. It seemed like no big deal when she asked last month if he wanted to come. Her family might be fun, he thought.
And now he had to spend all day with them.
Lenore had not had a relationship with her family until earlier this year, due to an acrimonious divorce that led to her brother siding with her father and Lenore siding with her mother. That was why she had practically begged Avery to come along: Lenore didn’t want to be alone. So he tried not to sulk as he trundled off to her car early in the morning on Thanksgiving. He was sleepy, and he already he was failing to come up with any smalltalk.
He remained quiet the entire way to Citrus Heights, California. Lenore was quiet too, either nervous or just listening to the jazz on the radio. He was half-asleep anyway. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, however, Avery was already starting to brighten up.
Lenore’s mother had passed away a few years ago, and her father, Woody, had reverted to his bachelor ways after his divorce. He was an ex-Army officer with a tattoo of his unit on his belly — a fact that Avery saw when Lenore opened the door and Woody stood there in his boxers, hand at his crotch, scratching his balls. His arms flexed and his pecs rippled as though scratching his nutsack through his raggedy-ass boxer shorts took all of his muscles.
That was how the Thanksgiving began: Lenore screeching, and Woody blearily-eyed glaring at his daughter as his dick flopped out through the fly of his boxers. It was meaty and thick, and it flopped like an uncooked sausage. Woody was a barrel-chested man, his fuzzy fur tinged with gray, his head bald but shaved as well — shaved haphazardly, obviously without the use of a mirror, with slightly longer patches here and there around the sides of his scalp. A mustard stain on his boxers accentuated the bulge of his cock after he casually tucked it away again.
“Dad! Ohmigod, you are humiliating me! Ohmigod! Is this what you do? You hang out in your underpants?! Was Mom the only reason you ever put on pants?”
“Mornin’, sweetcake.”
“Go put some clothes on, Dad!”
He just rolled his eyes and hugged her, much to her chagrin. He shook Avery’s hand. Woody had thick fingers and a muscular grip. He squeezed Avery confidently. He winked too.
Avery blushed, and he looked Woody’s chest up and down. He was furry and broad and strapping, and he smelled a little of sweat, like he had been working out recently, or had simply not showered. Or both. Avery didn’t mind. He appreciated the male aroma.
“Dad, I can tell you cleaned up, but you should have done the baseboards-“
“Sweetcake,” Woody grunted. “It looks fine-“
“I know, but I’ll just get a sponge-“
Again, Woody rolled his eyes. His ass swayed in his boxers as he followed after his daughter, arguing. Avery stayed there at the door to watching his shoulder muscles flex. Again, Avery got the impression he shook his ass for Avery’s benefit. His cheeks were full to bursting out of those paper-thin boxer shorts. The mustard stain looked to have harmed the already cheap fabric, that may be why his cock slipped out.
Where do alphas even find that kind of boxer shorts? So thin you can almost see through them like wet tissue paper. Avery’s dick twitched. He wondered if Lenore had told him she was bringing a friend. He hadn’t seemed surprised to see a stranger.
The rest of the family would be coming soon, and the house was not ready. Avery chuckled under his breath at the sound of Lenore squealing at the realization that her father had still not put on any pants.
“Of course you have to baste it, Dad! Nigella Lawson said it!” She came back into the living room. Avery busied himself by putting the cords, remote controls and DVDs out by the TV all into a stack. That was productive and helpful, he thought; he only wished Lenore had seen him do it. She stormed past with a sponge and an all-purpose cleaner. “Dad! Go put pants on! You have to wear pants to Thanksgiving!”
“You’re as bad as your mother,” he said with a grin. His eyes glanced to Avery, then up the stairs. He scratched his chest casually, but his hand lingered over his nipple, and his pecs bounced.
“Did you need some help picking out an outfit, Mister Myrtle?” Avery asked. He was now certain Woody was hot to trot.
She was awfully insistent I come up here. I bet she knew her dad wanted a piece of male tail on the side. Oh she’s a sly hag… Avery stared daggers at her as he followed Woody up the stairs. He didn’t mind her bringing him as a sort of a toy to keep her father satisfied, but Avery wished she had told him. What if Woody had been fat? That would have been awkward.
“Call me Woody, hoss. Yeah, uh, what color ain’t ya supposed to wear after Labor Day?” Woody asked as they ascended the stairs.
“That’s white, darling,” Avery said. “Nobody wears white to Thanksgiving.” They were up the stairs now. He pulled down Woody’s white boxers to reveal a chunky hairy ass, all muscle and meat and fur. Woody chuckled and stepped out of his boxers without missing a beat. Avery kissed one of his cheeks there in the hall at the top of the stairs. Myrtle fussed over some dumb girlish shit downstairs.
“Damn, boy, did she bring you just to keep me from getting too ornery?”
“A hostess should provide someone to service macho military guys at family gatherings. That’s in Emily Post. Your daughter is a thoughtful girl,” Avery said. “You get jacked off by guys a lot?”
He grunted. “You a take-a-shower-before kinda fruitcake or a take-a-shower-after fruitcake?”
“After.” Avery blushed and laughed. Obviously, he thought, that was a yes: guys who weren’t jacked off by other dudes often would never have known there were those who preferred both showered and unshowered men.
“Gotcha.” He went into the bedroom and flopped onto his bed, which was covered in dirty socks and tee shirts with sweat stains. The bed was unmade, but Avery thought no one actually slept here — Woody probably slept on the couch downstairs most nights. He looked like the drift-off-to-sleep-drunk-on-the-couch kind of divorced man. He flopped his limp dick between his fingers. “Man, in boot camp there was this fellah right off base who’d jack off any soldier who needed it. They just be lining up outside his condo, twirlin’ they dicks in they hands.”
“I bet.”
“But I ain’t mess around with him. The female tail was plentiful back then. It wasn’t till I got assigned to this base in central Alaska, then there wasn’t no females around except this one swishy Indian fella with lips like silk — what are you waiting for?” He snorted and chuckled. “My daughter is gonna come in anytime, demanding I alphabetize my potatoes or something, calling my spice rack racist. So let’s get this done, we might not have much time.” He slapped Avery in the cheek with his dick as Avery leaned over the bed to put it in his mouth. He groaned and scooted closer to the edge.
The doorbell rang. Avery heard more family coming in, and Lenore talking a mile a minute, seemingly apologizing for the state of the house. He slathered Woody’s dick with spit, as it firmed up in his mouth.
“You wanna hit it deep, baby?” Avery asked when it was hard. He rubbed Woody’s cock against his cheeks and chased it with his tongue, teasing Woody by blowing on the wetness on his shaft and making Woody’s whole body shake.
“Ah, man… if a woman asked me that, swear to God, I’d propose to her on the spot,” Woody said with a sigh. He closed his eyes, gripped Avery by the ear and slammed his dick all the way down. “Ah, shit…” Woody moaned.
Normally Avery would try to slow down something like this. Alphas tried to be slow and gentle with women because women demanded it, and men (sometimes) wanted a long-term relationship with them. But that didn’t apply to Avery. So it was up to him to slow his men down or else they’d just dagger his throat like jackrabbits and be done in mere moments.
Today, however, Avery didn’t want to slow down. He sometimes enjoyed letting men really have free reign over his throat, letting them plow into him deeply and letting their balls slap against his chin. He adjusted and loosened his neck to allow every inch of Woody’s cock in there.
“Goddamn, man, hell yeah…” Woody’s throaty voice rang out in Avery’s ear. He held on tight to Avery’s head, but he didn’t sodomize his throat in an aggressive or mean way like some guys. He ground his cock deeply, shaking it, moving his hips and ass in little circles like he needed to make love to every inch of Avery’s spasming throat.
When loud gurgling and sputtering sounds came from Avery’s mouth, Woody warmly shushed him. “Sssssh, it’s okay, boy, I’m cummin’ now, just keep it open for a minute more. You gonna get a good taste in just a sec…” His voice degenerated into a baritone rumble as an orgasm rippled over his hairy chest. He held his breath, keeping Avery’s head impaled on his cock, which spasmed and pulsated in Avery’s neck. Avery’s tongue throbbed against the veiny underside of his dick, where Avery could feel the juices flowing from his balls.
Cum flowed down Avery’s throat. It was creamy and warm and delicious, and he guzzled every drop. He maintained eye contact with Woody the whole time too. Most straight guys closed their eyes when they came in a man’s mouth, so Avery enjoyed Woody’s shocked expression as he orgasmed.
“Shit, boy, goddamn! If I had you back in boot camp, I’d have never bothered hooking up wit’ females,” Woody said with a laugh, shaking his ass beneath Avery’s grasp to make the last few drops of cum slide down Avery’s gullet.
Then, when it was over, Avery sat back and grinned, wiping his face off. Woody’s jaw hung open and he licked his lips. He chuckled, a throaty laugh like a moist mummy, and he wiped his hand through his chest hair. Avery smacked his lips and played with the sensitive, limpening shaft of Woody’s cock.
“Hmmm… Thanks,” Avery said.
“I should be thankin’ you.” He had a low throaty chuckle. “Thank you.” He wiped his dick off with some paper towels. “My son and grandsons are downstairs. And daughter-in-law.” He sighed like he wished his daughter-in-law wasn’t here. “Make sure you don’t let on what we done up here. The younger generations don’t get it.”
Avery mimed zipping his lips shut, then Woody took a quick shower while Avery chose an outfit for him. His cleanest pants were camo, but Avery found a tolerable pair of khakis. They were dirt-colored anyway, so the dirt stains didn’t show. Avery heard the family greeting each other downstairs. A child was in the mix. That was good, he thought, an excellent distraction.
Sure enough, the child — Jason — Woody’s youngest grandson — occupied everyone’s attention. Avery went downstairs met Lenore’s brother Mack, his wife Vanessa and their adult sons Rowan and Shaw, along with, of course, the young one, Mack’s and Vanessa’s five year old Jason. They all watched Jason play with trucks and lose counting games on his mother’s iPad.
Soon, however, conversation became stilted. Everyone watched Jason play like he was a panda at the zoo. Avery tried to make a few jokes, but no one seemed interested in laughing. The dull as drainage Thanksgiving was only ended with a fight breaking out among the brothers.
“You shouldn’t let Jason use the iPad so much,” said Rowan, instantly starting off an argument between him and his brother Shaw. They were both late teens, Rowan just eighteen but Shaw nearly twenty. They both hovered over their nephew, who ignored them, deeply hypnotized by the iPad in his grubby little mitts.
“Just let him play, you loser-“
“It’s bad for him.”
“You’re such a pretentious twat-” Shaw smacked Rowan, who smacked him back.
As Woody came down the stairs in a button-down shirt and dirt-colored khakis, he said, “Hey, you boys knock it off-!”
“Get outta my way!”
“He’s been beggin’ for this for years, I’m gonna kick the moron right out of his brain!”
Avery wanted nothing to do with what was soon to be a fistfight. He did like the men. Woody, his son Mack and Mack’s adult sons Shaw and Rowan. He appreciated the male form, and all four of the Myrtle men had admirable physiques in their own ways. Shaw was handsome and sort of squarish, broad and ox-like, yet clean-cut and dimpled like a new golf ball. Rowan was cute in a skinny basement-dwelling nerd way, not unattractive, as he was a soccer player in good shape, you could just tell he spent most of his non-soccer time playing Minecraft or something dumb like that.
“You piece of shit! Car thief!”
“Oh, now you’re bringing up the Toyota again?! Just get over it, Rowan!”
Shaw was tall and wide-shouldered, with deep dimples and charming green eyes. He was outgoing, with the smarmy charisma of a third-rate politician. After the fight with his brother, he went into the kitchen, where Lenore ignored the fighting and focused on basting the turkey in the oven. When she stood up to explain why her father’s favorite spice blend’s brand and mascot were racist, Shaw belched.
“Oh my god, that was so disgusting, get out of here!” She scowled at her nephew, and he instantly returned to the living room, where Rowan was still fuming about the car Shaw had “stolen”. As Avery settled in with a glass of cider (sadly, it was soft cider), Rowan and Shaw resumed their earlier fight, which was itself a resumption of a previous fight. Little Jason watched and aimlessly banged his trucks together.
“Fight back, pussy!” Shaw and Rowan bumped chests.
“Lay off!” Rowan pushed him to the ground.
“C’mon, fight me! You know you can’t!”
They both wrestled, knocking over the coat-rack by the door and a lamp. Avery backed up out of the way, putting him close to Mack, who picked up Jason and put him on the stairs so he wouldn’t be trampled. Avery felt Mack’s body heat. Mack ignored him, dourly watching his sons fight. He had ceased trying to stop it.
Avery caught Mack’s eye and beckoned as though he needed help with something private. He sort of swept Mack up to nudge him to come along. Mack went with him, and the roar of the battle in the living room went quiet when they went into the garage and shut the door.
“Thanks so for much for your help,” Avery said. He had manipulated Mack with body language and confidence, so Mack realized as he walked into the garage that he didn’t know why he was here.
“What did you need help with?”
“Oh… nothing too difficult,” Avery said. He grinned. “I have a feeling you’d like to get a nut off. Is that right?”
“Shit, hoss, always!” Mack said with a cackle and a whoop.
“So how about I bend over and you plow my ass hard?”
Get off me, Shaw! I’ll kick your ass!
“Oh, damn… Oh…” Mack’s cocky demeanor vanished. He was momentarily nervous. Then he took a deep breath. “Hot damn. Uh, okay…” He paused. “You can’t tell my dad. He’d kick my ass.”
Avery rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.
Mack took a deep breath. “Man… It’s no big deal, just so you know. You’re not my first.” He blushed until his cheeks were the color of cherries. “I, uh… Back in college, my frat had this scavenger hunt thing I had to do, and uh…” He chuckled and blushed. “I was just… It was on my list, and I had to do it, that’s all-“
“You don’t need to explain,” Avery said. He smiled. “Come on, let’s go. If you wanna stick it in me, you gotta stop talking.”
Pulling his own pants down, Mack sat sideways on a riding lawnmower, so he faced Avery. A big dick popped out of his underwear. Avery went for it with his mouth. He planted his lips right on it, and there was a twitch immediately as it flickered into life.
A gasp escaped from Mack’s lips, though he tried to look confident. He was also excessively concerned about noise — his sons still fought in the house, which was much too loud for anyone to hear Mack’s heavy breathing from the garage. But he jumped every time there was a noise, like when Shaw and Rowan knocked stuff over in the living room.
“Hey! That’s enough!” Woody was getting involved now, and Mack pursed his lips shut tightly because the house was suddenly silent. He threw his head back and let out a soundless moan, his open mouth hanging agape, tongue lolling out.
Soon Mack’s dick was hard, and it throbbed as it leaked precum down Avery’s throat. Avery licked the shaft, tracing the trail of the vein that ran up and down the underside of it. Mack let out a long, low-rumbling moan.
“You’re gonna stick it in me too, right?” Avery said because it looked like Mack was planning on cumming like this.
Mack chortled. He removed his baseball cap, ran his fingers through his hair, then put it back. “I dunno, hoss…”
Avery said. “That’s what you agreed to. You wanna back out?”
“No! I just… Just keep your voice down,” Mack said, even though he was the one who was loud.
Avery just kissed Mack on the cocktip, slathering spit on his shaft. “Are you ready ?” Before he gave Mack a chance to answer, Avery got down on his knees and sucked the sweat off Mack’s balls.
Mack gasped and writhed. His muscles all flexed, and he wanted to let out a shout but couldn’t because the family in the living room was being quiet now. They’d hear.
His balls were heavy and full, and Avery loved savoring them. Ballsacs always had such an intense flavor that brought tears to Avery’s eyes as he gurgled and choked on them. That was loud, but only in the immediate vicinity of the lawnmower on which Mack still sat. Mack remained paranoid though, alternating between shushing Avery and loudly gasping nervously.
“I can’t believe this is gonna be my first time putting it up the butt,” Mack said, his voice quavering as Avery pulled off his balls and stroked his dick with one hand. Avery turned around and aimed his ass for Mack’s crotch. Mack sighed. “Girls always say it’s gross. Chicks are all cockteases.”
“Yeah. You should totally stick your dick in dudes instead,” Avery said as he lowered himself onto Mack’s cock.
“You’re not really an unbiased advisor…” Mack said with a chuckle. He leaned way back, like he didn’t want to touch Avery’s body any more than necessary.
That meant it was up to Avery to do most of the actual movement here. He backed his ass up, grimacing at the intense pressure that ate up his focus. He grunted and gritted his teeth. This was especially awkward because Mack just sat there on the lawnmower, watching as Avery struggled to keep his ass in position — he had to kneel over and raise his ass as high as he could make it go.
Avery was just about to tell Mack they needed to try a different position when his ass finally loosened. A loud sigh emanated from deep in Avery’s precum-lubed throat. Mack sighed too, in shock as a surge of pleasure shot up his spine.
“Goddamn, man… Remember my dad can’t find out,” Mack said, his voice wavering like he was on the verge of tears. He whispered even though the TV was on in the living room, drowning out all other potential sounds. There was no way anyone in there could hear unless they stood with their ears literally on the garage door.
Mack’s fingers gingerly gripped Avery’s hips. Mack’s eyes opened wide, and his mouth was agape once more. He couldn’t believe how good this felt. He had hoped it might feel like a woman’s pussy, but he was shocked that it felt so much better. Mack blushed and writhed beneath Avery’s body.
He was so impassioned and aroused that he grabbed Avery’s hips, forgetting that he was trying not to touch Avery any more than absolutely necessary. He held onto Avery’s body and guided him up and down, even as his mind told him not to, that this was too weird.
Mack sighed. If his buddies ever found out about this, he’d never hear the end of it. And if his father found out? As Mack reached a potent orgasm, he was filled with terror that his dad would come in right now and see him — he’d tease Mack about it forever.
But Mack couldn’t help but respond as an incredible orgasm flowed through him. He’d never felt like this. He pounded on his muscular chest and threw his head back with such force that his backwards baseball cap fell off, landing on the lawnmower beneath him.
“Shit, man!” Mack shouted, finally loud enough that people in the living room could have heard it.
Cum flowed into Avery’s ass, great gobs of it that filled him up. Since he was on top, it ran out and down his leg onto the floor of the garage. Avery shot his own wad, but most of it ended up in the body of the lawnmower.
Their orgasm continued for what felt like forever. Mack had never experienced anything like this, but it was old hat for Avery. He let out a long, cringing moan, then leaned back and rubbed his face against Mack’s well-muscled chest.
“Hmmm…” Avery murmured into Mack’s muscular arms, which wrapped around him as both men finished their climaxes and cum seeped out of Avery’s ass onto the floor of the garage and the side of the lawnmower.
They both fell back, limp and exhausted. Avery stretched his weary legs. He didn’t want to leave just yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time before their absences were noted. Avery pulled his pants up and kissed Mack on the neck.
“Thanks,” Mack said. Avery gave him the two hundred dollars he had promised.
“You’re welcome,” Avery said.
Avery went back out to the living room — leaving Mack to breathe heavily and recover in the garage — where he watched little Jason be cute for awhile with the other males. But they were mostly watching a football game, not the kid. Avery quickly lost interest because he hated football. The only part of football he considered exciting was the men — sometimes you could catch a glimpse of their jockstraps. But he wasn’t having much luck with that today, and the menfolk were boring, silently watching the game. The fight between Rowan and Shaw seemed to have ended. They now sat next to each other quietly, meanmugging.
So Avery went into the kitchen to see how Thanksgiving dinner was progressing.
It was, except for the turkey being undercooked and then accidentally dropped on the floor, done.
The women — Lenore and Vanessa, Mack’s wife (and therefore Lenore’s sister-in-law) — had knocked it off the table when a fight began mere seconds before Avery walked in the door. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment, watching the fight and struggling to process what he saw. He’d known Lenore for a long time, and she had never been the type to get into a slapfight.
“Don’t you dare talk about my son!”
“You filthy bitch, you turned my brother into a douche, and you’re trying to raise my nephews to be just as bad!”
“You’re not even a mother, you don’t get to criticize how I raise my son!”
They both tried to hit each other. A loud smacking sound rang out, but Avery couldn’t tell who had made a good hit and who hadn’t. Both women erupted in shouting and insults. Avery was still too shocked to respond right away.
Finally, Avery grabbed Vanessa and pulled her off Lenore just as the kitchen filled with the rest of the menfolk. They were all dumbfounded by the eruption of anger, and even Jason stayed silent and still, hugging his father’s leg.
“You elitist whore!” Lenore screamed. “Just because you’re so vain and self-obsessed as to spend nine hundred dollars on shoes, doesn’t mean I have to!”
“Oh I’m sorry, I don’t steal my shoes from the funerals of obese spinsters,” Vanessa said with a haughty glance at Lenore’s clunky brown shoes.
“You sticky-cunted bitch!”
“I’ll rip your goddamn eyes out!”
Mack stepped forward to intervene. He left his son behind to stand between the two. He put his hands up and said something that Avery couldn’t hear because of the loud shouting of the women.
Avery thought he was being the only responsible one in the room by grabbing little Jason by the hand and taking him out. Woody had the same idea at the same time though, and he scooped Jason up in his arms.
“Grandpa! What are they saying?”
“Nevermind them, they ain’t actin’ like adults,” Woody said. He and Avery went with Jason out to the backyard. Once the door was closed and they couldn’t hear the fight anymore, Avery felt a lot better. He was just about ready for this Thanksgiving to be over.
“No one fights like family,” Avery said, a little awkwardly — he didn’t know what else to say. Jason stood among a bucket of toy cars he had brought to the house. He was outside, and he seemed to realize he was supposed to play with those toys. But he didn’t know how or was too stressed by the fight to do so. Avery cleared his throat as he sat down with Jason and his toys, getting him started. “The turkey is not edible.”
“Yeah… I’ll do something about it.” Woody said. He called in an order for pizza, and then poked his head back inside. “”Hey y’all, hey! Hey! Shut the fuck up for a second! Hey! I ordered a pizza since you dicks have ruined everything. Y’all better pay, and you better give a good tip cuz it’s a holiday.” He slammed the door shut before anyone could respond. He looked at Avery. “It has been a hell of a day.”
“Gotta love your family…” Avery with a wry grin. Now that the fight was over and Avery had played with Jason’s toy cars, Jason had lost his inhibitions — he showed Avery how he was “doing it wrong”, then started playing on his own. Soon the fight faded to a dull roar, and Jason seemed to have forgotten about it.
He thought he was alone, but at some point, Shaw came into the living room.
“Look…” Shaw leaned in and whispered in Avery’s ear. “I need some booty, man… I’ll… give you a reacharound if you let me take you in the garage and plow into you until your asshole falls off.”
Avery sighed and squirmed as Shaw’s hand roamed over his back lightly. Then they both hurried — without walking quickly because people in the house could have been looking — to the garage. Once they got in without being seen, Shaw groaned.
“I knew I ain’t wanna have no Thanksgiving, what a pain! And we won’t even get to eat none of that turkey,” Shaw said as he dropped his pants. He scoffed. “Only pizza place open today is shitty as hell. Vonelli’s, man, fuckin’ awful.” He flopped his limp dick between his legs. “C’mon, hurry up. I’ve been waitin’ for food all day, and I am not missing that pizza.”
It all only took a minute or two for Avery to have his pants around his ankles and for Shaw to jam his still-limp dick into Avery’s ass. He stiffened up, rubbing his cock between his asscheeks. It all happened so quickly that Avery still wasn’t quite ready. His knees remained sore from getting plowed — right here in this garage, on the lawnmower against which Shaw leaned now — earlier, and this was all happening so fast.
“Damn, you’re… in a hurry,” Avery said with a chuckle. Then he bit his lip. Shaw’s cock slammed into him, and he grunted loudly. Avery squirmed and gasped. “Shit!”
“Shush…” Shaw snorted and sighed moistly, the sound resonating in Avery’s ears as he worked himself back on Shaw’s dick. Shaw’s hands roamed over his torso and shoulders, holding Avery in place. He drilled his dick in bit by bit.
“Shit, don’t let my dad or grandpa know about this,” Shaw said. He inhaled deeply of the scent of Avery’s face. “And especially not this.” He gripped Avery’s dick.
Avery was so shocked he couldn’t respond as pangs of pleasure shot through him — he would have never thought someone like Shaw would give him a reacharound. He was pinned between Shaw and the wall, which he clawed at and gasped into.
His hand fumbled with Avery’s cock crudely. It was obvious he had little experience with this. In Shaw’s fraternity, there had been a “rule” that was oft-mentioned: you can cornhole your assigned pledge, but you have to give him a reacharound. Having been on both sides of that equation, Shaw had few inhibitions about it now. Jacking Avery off didn’t even feel any different than jacking himself off, except that he got to plow into Avery’s tight ass at the same time.
An orgasm hit Avery first. He writhed beneath Shaw’s arms and cried out. The most exquisite bliss flowed through his veins as cum flowed into his ass and Shaw sighed into his ear.
“Shit, goddamn,” Shaw said with a sigh. “Thanks, man, I needed that.” The last few drops of cum filled up Avery’s ass.
“Yeah, me too,” Avery said. Shaw kept going, moaning right into Avery’s ear, which he nibbled on too as he gyrated his hips. That turned his cumload into a big frothy mess that dripped down Avery’s legs.
“Hey Grandpa! Pizza’s here! Where’s your wallet?”
“Shaw, c’mon! Pizza!”
“Where’s Avery?”
Shaw moaned, his voice breaking. He swore and slapped Avery’s asscheek as he pulled out. His last few jets of jizz spurted over Avery’s back. “Fuckin’ hell,” he said.
“Shaw!”
“I’m coming!” he shouted, then he laughed. He spoke more quietly. “Or rather… I just came.”
Avery sighed and sat on the cold cement floor of the garage. “You go ahead. I gotta recover. Thanks for lettin’ me come to your house for Thanksgiving,” he said with a bashful smile. He wiped his ass clean with a rag from the garage. “Your family has been gracious hosts.”

The Mover

When Rob hires the Garmon brothers as movers, he knew about their legendary physiques… but not about their legendary uncle!

That means Rob is in for a wild ride of ebony DILF action, and he just might have the most successful move-in of his life!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery felt like he wanted to throw up. Nothing was wrong with him, really, it was just the stress of moving in. He had purchased a new home and only now, after months of paperwork and last-minute snafus, he was moving in.
The only thing that distracted him from his anxiety was the movers. They were the Garmon Brothers Moving Company. When they showed up, Avery was floored — they had incredible physiques, like action heroes — but it wasn’t until a few minutes later that he recalled that was precisely why he had hired them in the first place. Months ago some friends recommended them and mentioned their outrageous physiques and the fact that they were usually shirtless. Avery chose them then but forgot why until they showed up, stripped off their shirts and got to work.
By the time the Garmon brothers were done, Avery felt a little better, if only because he had been staring at them instead of at his awkwardly empty house — he didn’t really own much furniture. He had never lived in a house, just apartments, and he barely had enough stuff to fill the living room. Aside from the mattress and bedframe, all of his things fit in one corner of the living room. The costs of moving in filled his mind, making it hard to think about anything else — Avery needed to set up cable service, a home security system; he needed to buy a wireless router, a couch, a couple chairs — how many chairs were normal? He had no idea, how many people should he assume might be here at one time? — and a lawnmower — how do you mow a lawn? He had never done it. What about a hot water heater? Did he need to buy one of those? His landlord had always taken care of that stuff.
The Garmon brothers were black, dark-skinned, all of them with the same barrel-shaped chests and huge biceps, built like the weightlifters they presumably were. They looked similar, with identical short haircuts and even the same tattoo (of their mother) on their chest above their heart, though they each had an array of other tattoos as well. It wasn’t even clear which of them was eldest, they all looked the same to Avery. Could they be quadruplets?
Seemed unlikely. But Jamid, Lashaun, Treyvon and Riddle Garmon looked shockingly similar.
They distracted Avery from his anxiety over the move. He paced uselessly around the house, alternating between staring at empty rooms and watching their sweat-dappled muscles tense and flex. When they didn’t see Avery for a little while, they started teasing each other, apparently playing some sort of game involving slapping each other’s asscheeks while carrying heavy things (apparently to make them drop stuff? The point of the game wasn’t clear to Avery, but he enjoyed watching).
There was one older one in the five-man Garmon crew, whom they just called Uncle. The Garmon brothers were young and virile and bull-headed, while Uncle was experienced, wizened and dripping with so much swagger it hurt to watch him.
He was tall, lankier than the others but still thick-bodied. He had ropy, well-used muscles, and just one tattoo, a Bible verse printed above his heart. He had a scruffy beard streaked with gray, though the hair on his head featured just one or two gray hairs. His muscles were taut and tight, like he had as much power as his nephews, just crammed into physically smaller muscles.
Avery liked older men like Uncle, who was a dilf if he ever saw one. He didn’t mind the younger boys too, with their six-packed abs and clean-shaved faces, but they paled in sheer power and swagger to their older uncle. He introduced himself as “Uncle” too, like that was his name. Maybe it was. Uncle Garmon. Probably not though.
When the four younger Garmons began loudly discussing a group sexual encounter recently, it was Uncle who snapped at them. He glared sourly and narrowed his eyes to slits.
Lashaun told the story of a gangbang gone wrong. “Man, I thought her thong was on my balls and then I remembered she took her drawers off, she threw ‘em on my face, nigga, I remembered that, so what the fuck is on my balls? So I reach around her and-“
“You was strokin’ my nuts, nigga, I thought it was her fingers, that was fuckin’ nasty-“
“You ain’t s’posed to slap yo’ balls on mine, Treyvon! That ain’t how you do-“
“Yo’ fingers prolly still smell like my nutsweat, you whiny bitch motherfucker!”
“Hey!” Uncle barked. He came into the living room in time to see their argument. Avery kept himself just around the corner, so he could see their shirtless chests heaving as they laughed and argued with each other, but Uncle didn’t see him. “Y’all niggas shut up. No ‘ffensive dialog. We can’t be gettin’ more complaints against us.”
The brothers scoffed and talked all at once. Uncle barked at them to shut up. Then Jamid, who was the oldest of the four Garmon brothers, spoke up. “He’s cool, Uncle. Don’t worry.”
“You don’t know that.” Uncle put his hands on his waist and frowned at his nephews.
“He one them muscle-admirers, Uncle.”
“Yeah, he, he like that.” Riddle might have put out a limp wrist, Avery couldn’t see from this angle, but he did something that made his brothers snicker.
“Bet he’ll like it if I flex my biceps.”
Uncle growled. “You pups best behave-“
“You ain’t in charge, Uncle-“
“Shut the fuck up!” Uncle eyed his nephews suspiciously. “Yo’ daddy said I was in charge-“
“He ain’t say that, he said we gotta give you a job, Uncle.”
“We know how to handle the client, Uncle. He be tippin’ me, man,” Riddle said, flexing his biceps and showing off his six-pack.
“Nuh-uh, you ain’t even seen how he lookin’ at my ass,” Jamid said. “You don’t even know. He gonna eat a BLT outta my ass. I bet I can talk him into givin’ me a grand to touch me, like that one freak, remembuh?”
“No way, he’s movin’, he won’t pay that much,” Treyvon said. He had a cocky grin on his face. “You know he’s gonna pick me. I’m the sexy one.”
“You the cute one, nigga, that ain’t the same thing. Girls like cute,” Lashaun said.
Uncle’s deep gravelly voice filled the air. He wasn’t as loud or as boisterous as the others, but his voice brimmed with authority that made it hard to ignore him. His nephews fell silent whenever he spoke. “What the fuck is you niggas talkin’ ‘bout?”
The Garmon brothers laughed nervously. None of them spoke at first. Then Jamid answered. “Uh… It ain’t, like… Lotta guys, you know… They been hirin’ us for a long time. I think they, like, trade our business cards or some shit. Like in certain clubs-“
“We got a reputation, Uncle. It don’t involve you. They like young boys, not old niggas.”
“They sometimes… you know-“
“All the time.”
“They always pay, like… extra, Uncle.”
Uncle furrowed his brow. “For what?”
“For dick.” Treyvon chortled and grabbed his dick through his jeans. He bit his lip and looked away. He and his brothers chuckled. They exchanged knowing glances, and they glanced behind themselves to see if Avery could hear. Avery was in the other room though, they couldn’t tell that he was around.
Uncle frowned. “What?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Uncle, just go wait in the van.”
“Yeah-” They laughed and shoved each other’s half-naked bodies. Then they all hushed up because Uncle barked aggressively.
“What?!” He glared at the four of them. “Say that again. You tellin’ me to go wait outside? Like I’m some fuckin’ disobedient dog? Huh? Whatchoo-?”
“Relax, Uncle.”
“No one’s disrespectin’ you. This is just-“
“Chill out, Uncle. We know you ain’t wanna get involved in this, man-“
“Cuz it’s that rentboy shit? Huh? Yo’ daddy know ‘bout it? Huh?”
They laughed at him. “It ain’t like that, Uncle. He just gonna jerk some nigga off. It ain’t no thing. Chill out, Uncle.”
Uncle crossed his arms over his chest. He looked sourly on at his nephews, who smiled sheepishly. They rolled their eyes and exchanged eye contact.
Avery stepped into the living room then. The Garmon brothers straightened their backs. Treyvon fixed his pants to make them sag a little lower, so Avery could just see the shadow of his pubic hair extending above his waistline. Uncle was the only one who looked hostile, the others making faces they intended to be smooth and seductive (Avery thought they looked more like they were all holding in a fart at once, but still, he thought it was cute that they tried).
“Thanks for all your hard work today, boys,” Avery said. He pulled out his wallet. “Why don’t I give you each a fifty dollar tip?” He accentuated the word tip, then dropped his wallet on the floor. With exaggerated delicacy, Avery grabbed Jamid’s muscled forearm to support himself as he bent over. “Oops,” he said. He picked up the wallet. “But you still have an opportunity to earn more. There’s more work to be done.”
“What’choo need, suh?”
“I can do anythin you want,” Riddle said. He nonchalantly grabbed at his dick through his jeans. “You want a taste, right? I can see it in yo’ eyes.”
His brothers scoffed, and Jamid threw his hands up. Jamid had been trying to get his brothers to stop volunteering because it undercut their bargaining position. Jamid thought they should pretend they had never done it and that they hated it, so they would only do it for a large amount of money. No one could convince Avery he needed to pay a lot now, since Riddle had made it obvious that he was comfortable with this and had done it before.
But Jamid’s brothers were too rambunctious and headstrong for that. They didn’t like beating around the bush, and they definitely didn’t like pretended to be inexperienced. As soon as any client even hinted at wanting to swing on some big black dick, they started to making offers. Jamid had to join in or the clients would never choose him.
“Riddle don’t know how to treat ya right, boy!”
“For a hundred bucks, I’ll rock yo’ world, no problem! Just bend over and grab ya ankles!”
“Bam!” Lashaun simply pointed to his perfect six-pack abs, which Avery had to admit was remarkable. He would have enjoyed licking Lashaun’s hard body from head to toe.
Jamid seemed to think he was already a shoe-in because Avery had touched his forearm, which Avery did again as he thought. Jamid didn’t respond. His strong, noble jaw remained still. Avery smiled and licked his chest from nipple to shoulder, making Jamid shuffle awkwardly. He laughed to cover up his anxiety.
“You four have great physiques,” Avery said. He giggled. “I’d love to get rammed by all four of you.”
“Hell yeah-“
“Hundred bucks, whiteboy! I’ll rock yo’ world!”
“You want this meat, huh?!”
“I know you like my biceps, weirdo,” Jamid said, flexing his arm in front of Avery’s face. Avery licked up a little more sweat there.
Uncle cleared his throat. “All y’all niggas is nasty-ass suckers. I’m tellin’ yo’ daddy you rentboys fo’ a pervuht.” He nodded at Avery.
The other four all fell silent, unsure if Uncle had offended Avery. Uncle glared dourly at them all.
“Shut up, ol’ nigga. You don’t know nothin’.”
“A mouth is a mouth, and an ass is an ass. Pops knows that. As long as you do it on top, you know, as long as you ain’t the one gettin’ penetrated like a female, its okay. Pops do it too, Uncle. He ain’t a bitch.”
Uncle snarled. “My brother don’t do that! He-“
He stopped yelling because Avery approached him. Avery smiled as he heard the other four brothers chuckle. Then Avery pulled out a one hundred dollar bill and displayed it for Uncle. He tucked it in his shirt pocket as he sunk to his knees.
“I like my meat finely aged,” Avery said. He licked his teeth.
Uncle snarled and hissed, but he didn’t say anything. He glared at his nephews as though this was their fault. “Man…”
“You like ‘em old?”
“That ain’t how it’s s’posed to work.”
“He got a gray old dick, man-” Treyvon said with a laugh
Uncle smacked Treyvon right in the face. Treyvon’s face tensed like he was going to fight back, but then he didn’t. “Shut yo’ mouth, nigga.”
Treyvon looked down at Avery, who was on his knees in front of Uncle. Treyvon frowned. “He ain’t, y’know… He don’t do that, you gotta-“
“Shut yo’ mouth, nigga,” Uncle said again. He smacked Treyvon in the back of the head. “I ain’t say no.” He furrowed his brow and started at Avery. “Hundred bucks?” He snorted, chuckling as he unzipped his jeans and let a massive dick pop out. He took the hundred dollar bill out of Avery’s pocket before letting Avery get to work.
The situation was tense, but that just made it more arousing for Avery. He sucked on just the tip at first, making enough noise and moisture that it filled the dead air in the mostly-empty house. He slathered spit all over Uncle’s cocktip.
As he got hard, his massive dick turning veiny and throbbing in Avery’s mouth, Uncle ignored his nephew’s annoyed glances. Uncle grimaced and his hands formed fists at his side because he didn’t want to touch Avery’s head — he knew if he did, he’d start forcefully throating him down and Uncle wasn’t sure Avery wanted that.
“Uncle, I thought you ain’t like this-“
“Shut up,” Uncle said with a snarl. He began pumping his hips back and forth, letting his dick rub on Avery’s tongue and his lips.
His nephews chuckled to each other. They all looked away from Uncle’s dick sliding in and out of Avery’s mouth. The Garmon brothers flared their nostrils, annoyed that they hadn’t been picked. They each regarded it as almost a betrayal — they had thought they were going to make that hundred bucks, not Uncle. It seemed unfair since, as far as they were concerned, they had better bodies than Uncle. They didn’t get that it wasn’t all about youth and perfect bodies.
“Uncle…”
“You is one fuckin’ hypocrite, you was givin’ us shit just cuz you ain’t think he was gonna pick you.”
“You goin’ booty bandit now, Uncle? Why’d you try so hard to get out of prison then? Huh? Wasn’t you already where you wanna be-?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Uncle barked. He sniffled. “I only did this cuz I ain’t wanna deprive this little fairy, he deserve what he-“
“Then why’d you act like we was fucked up for doin’ the same thing?”
“You was gonna tell on us to Pops, Uncle! You was gonna tattle like a little boy.”
Uncle ignored them, watching his dick slip in and out of Avery’s mouth. “Get outta here, or I’ll tell ya daddy you was tryin’ to watch me fuck my bitch.” He paused and whispered to Avery — loud enough for everyone to hear — “don’t worry, boy, I don’t mean nothin’ by callin’ you a bitch.”
Avery nodded. He was getting annoyed by all the talking, so he grabbed Uncle’s hands and guided them to his head, hoping to distract Uncle from his nephews. Uncle was reluctant at first — he was used to throating his bottoms in prison, not on the outside. It was soon apparent that Avery wanted him to ram as hard as he could, which was not an invitation oft-extended in prison.
So Uncle crossed his arms at the wrist and gripped Avery’s scalp with both hands. He held on tightly as he drilled his dick in, ignoring the instinctual resistance that welled up from Avery’s throat. It squeezed around Uncle’s fat dick.
“Damn, he goin’ at it!”
“I knew you messed wit’ boys in prison, Uncle. You said you never did it-“
Uncle flared his nostrils. “I ain’t do it in prison wit’ no boy.”
“So this is ya first time?” The brothers snickered with each other. It was obvious none of them believed that this was Uncle’s first time. Avery had to admit that Uncle didn’t seem like a first-timer.
“Shut up.” Uncle moaned as his dick leaked precum. The salty-sour flavor assaulted Avery’s senses, while he struggled to hoarsely breathe. He clasped Uncle’s plump asscheeks, which were round and hairy, bare because his pants were around his ankles — that made him look silly, his nephews thought, because real gangstas either took their pants all the way off or only lowered them just enough to get their dicks out. Uncle looked like an idiot, they decided, shuffling around with his pants around his ankles.
His balls slapped against Avery’s chin. Avery was delirious, blinded by tears that had welled up in his eyes as his lungs cried out for oxygen. He reached up with his hands to massage Uncle’s barrel-chest and the grayish hairs plastered to his skin there with sweat from the day’s work.
As he continued to plow at Avery’s throat, holding onto his head while the precum flowed, Uncle dragged Avery to the corner of the living room where most of Avery’s boxes were. He had to shuffle because his pants were still around his ankles.
“Alright, boy, we gonna get deep in that ass now. You ready to bend over this box?”
Avery nodded, looking up at Uncle, whose deep dark eyes stared down at him judgmentally.
“You wrong. You ain’t ready. Finger yaself,” Uncle said. “Don’t stop it wit’cha mouf.”
Avery slipped a finger into his ass. He kneeled by one of the boxes, which had his bathroom stuff in it. He managed to find his tube of lube and smeared some in his ass, all without letting Uncle’s dick pop out of his mouth again. He slobbered all over that pulsating shaft, making Uncle grunt and groan.
“Uncle, we know you done it before-“
“Shut up.”
“Uncle, c’mon, man, you can admit it. It don’t even count in prison. It ain’t-“
“Shut the fuck up!” Uncle’s rough, gravelly voice rang out. He roughly pulled away from Avery, grabbed his shoulders and lifted him up just enough to toss him over the box. Avery was still desperate for air because his throat had been full of salty dickmeat. Uncle either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
He rammed his dick in right away and gripped Avery by the shoulder. Avery cried out. The pain wasn’t that intense, really — he had pre-lubed and fingered himself, which helped quite a bit — but it was awkward and difficult. Uncle didn’t take Avery’s feelings into consideration at all. He simply bent Avery over the box of bathroom supplies and rammed the tip of his dick right in.
Avery howled and bit his lip. Uncle’s nephews fell grim and silent, wincing because Avery looked to be in agonizing pain at first. That lasted only a moment, however, before Avery’s ass began to loosen and his prostate came alive. Uncle slammed into it again and again. He knew exactly what he was doing, Avery could tell, he had plenty of experience with this. His big callused fingers roamed all over Avery’s smooth both.
Uncle didn’t seem to much care about the pleasure wracking Avery’s body, making him shimmy and shudder like an electric snake. Uncle’s manhood rammed at every corner of Avery’s insides. He slapped Avery’s asscheek whenever he felt resistance, and he pounded away, getting a little more of his massive dick in with every thrust of his hips. He held Avery’s head down with one hand, while his other spread Avery’s asscheeks.
“Damn, Uncle…”
“He hittin’ that ass hard!”
A wet moan escaped from Uncle’s mouth, and he followed Avery to the ground as his entire cock shifted into him, pushing past the final remnants of resistance in Avery’s throat. Uncle’s powerful body tensed and flexed from top to bottom, pecs flexing, legs straightening. His dick throbbed in Avery’s ass, each throb intensifying the sensation, while Avery’s hands clawed at his iron-like thickness. Avery couldn’t breathe or think or move, all he could do was experience the incredible sensations arising from his ass. He had never taken such a big dick in his ass, and it seemed to get bigger with every passing moment. Uncle moved his cock as though he was an expert in teasing prostates, and he made Avery squirm with pleasure.
Uncle knew a lot more than he let on about ramrodding men. He didn’t see it in the same way as his nephews did because he was older and he was raised differently — as Uncle saw it, he hadn’t rammed any men in prison, he’d fucked “females”. They may not have been female biologically speaking, but in the prison hierarchy, that’s what they were. As far as he was concerned, the best part about booty-ramming was when the bottom orgasmed. He slowed himself down to be sure he didn’t finish before that happened.
So he was relieved when he felt Avery’s ass clench around his dick. The smell of cum filled the air. Uncle rather liked that smell — to him, it smelled like passion and love and excitement. That smell made everything bearable, and Uncle wished he could have brought Avery’s tight ass with him into prison. A long howl of ecstasy came outta Uncle’s mouth, and when he thought that might sound too passionate, he turned into a raspy-voiced chuckle. He sneered at his nephews.
“Fill ‘im up, Uncle!”
“Destroy that ass!”
Uncle’s nephews’ bravado had diminished though. They were less than thrilled about seeing their older uncle naked, and they were each upset (not that they would ever admit it) that Avery hadn’t picked them. They sucked on their tongues and lifted up their shirts to show off their six-packs even though nobody was looking in their direction.
Avery experienced the most intense orgasm of his life. He had never taken it up the ass this good. He couldn’t even guess how long it had taken — had it been a few minutes? A couple hours? He guessed it couldn’t have been too long or Uncle’s nephews would have gotten bored and left. But it felt like a lifetime.
At last Uncle sprayed cum into Avery’s ass, a thick and bountiful load that filled him up. Uncle’s entire body pressed onto Avery’s back, smearing him with frenzy-soaked sweat and condensation from his hot breath. Avery couldn’t breathe at all, not that he wanted to, he wanted to lay there and submit, allowing Uncle to spurt gallons of cum into him.
“Ah, goddamn…” Uncle moaned into Avery’s ear, making him shudder and shake. More jets of cream spurted into Avery’s insides, and he exulted in the sticky, warming goopiness of it. It was all over his insides, like he melted into Uncle’s muscles.
“Okay, Uncle, you done. You can quit now.”
“Yeah, you gonna cuddle wit’ ‘im?”
“You two could make out all night long if you want, but we leavin’ wit’ the truck.”
Uncle snorted. He lifted his head, his dick still limpening inside Avery. He grabbed Avery’s wallet and pulled out another twenty-dollar bill. He twitched his dick, reawakening Avery’s orgasm and making him moan. Uncle smiled for the first time since this had begun. “I’m takin’ twenty more bucks, boy. That’s yo’ payment for me doin’ you extra-good.”
Avery was too tired and full-up to complain. He would have given over the twenty if Uncle had bargained with him to begin with, so it didn’t seem like a big deal to let Uncle just take it.
Then Uncle’s dick finally plopped out, covered in creamy white cum. He let it rest there for a moment, wiggling it around and wiping some of his load off on Avery’s ass.
He tucked his cock away and stood up. “Alright, there you go, suh.”
A long awkward silence filled the room. Avery was exhausted enough he didn’t care, but the Garmons all exchanged unsure glances, except for Uncle himself who just pulled his pants up and ignored everyone else.
“Thanks,” Avery said breathlessly. He gasped, whole body still thrumming with aftershocks of his climax. He gingerly wiped his ass clean. “I’ll be sure to recommend you to my friends.”

The Tijuana Alpha

Anthony is not really a cholo, but his brothers are, and that means he needs a bodyguard, Messimo. When he finds out Messimo was a bottom in prison, Anthony realizes that means this hardcore vato is ready for a little twink on top… whether he wants it or not!

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Anthony wasn’t told about things that didn’t concern him or his life. That was almost everything that happened. As the youngest of seven brothers, Anthony was used to being the small, weak one, especially since his family ran the Latin Kings here in Tijuana. His brothers and father had built the cartel out of nothing and had created a multibillion dollar empire with operations in seven countries.
Even though Anthony had never had the machismo or the knowhow to get involved, he still lived on the cartel’s compound. Nowhere else was safe. He admitted that even if he hated it. He wanted more than anything to have a normal life. He didn’t like it here. The men here were tough, muscular cholos who never smiled or danced. Anthony was allowed to go out, as long as he went to safe places (not nightclubs) and brought his bodyguards with him. He couldn’t live like a normal person.
Anthony did not like having bodyguards or limitations on his travel. He had to admit it was justified though. The one time he ditched his bodyguards for a night of fun had ended up being disastrous — he was kidnapped and had to be rescued after being tortured for hours. The compound did get shot up, attacked by helicopter even this one time. Men who worked for the cartel were kidnapped or murdered on the street by rivals. Not the streets of Tijuana, but elsewhere in Mexico.
So he left the compound increasingly rarely.
These days, he was getting frustrated and angry, and he frequently shouted at his brothers for minor complaints. They treated him like a yapping dog they weren’t allowed to punish. He knew he was being picayune, that his world had shrunk but Anthony’s problems hadn’t. He became fixated on trivialities like the sheets on his bed being less than top notch. They could afford nice sheets, and Anthony couldn’t buy them on his own. But his brothers were slobs, they didn’t care.
“You need to get laid, hermano,” was the sum total of their response to his outbursts. They seemed to think all problems could be solved by pussy.
Since the compound was safe, Anthony’s bodyguards were not always right near him when he was home. They hung around and followed when he left the compound. So when he got a new bodyguard, he didn’t always know it right away; he just noticed a new large man hanging around and refusing to go away.
Méssimo was one such bodyguard. He’d been around for a couple days before Anthony realized he was his bodyguard.
He was tall, burly, broad-shouldered, hairy, more of a rough-and-ugly type than most of the bookish cartelistos who made it onto the compound — Anthony’s brothers only needed people at the compound for things like accounting and distribution. He didn’t want thugs.
Except for the security team, of course. For bodyguards, big and brutish were the ideal traits. Méssimo was ideal by those criteria, with plenty of swagger, a barrel-shaped chest and hair covering his body.
Anthony changed into his bathrobe in his bedroom, then sat down to pretend to read in his room. Méssimo was by the door, not technically in the room but right beside it. Anthony checked him out from behind — Méssimo was facing the window that looked out into the cartel’s courtyard and the Mexican desert beyond. His ass filled out his low-hanging khakhi pants, and it made Anthony’s mouth water. He had a meaty pair of asscheeks, cradled by tight drawers.
The male form had always intrigued and allured Anthony.
“Méssimo, did you ramrod Morales?”
Méssimo winced at the question. He turned around and made eye contact with Anthony, but he didn’t answer. His muscles roiled, and he frowned. He came closer.
Morales was a smuggler who had lost a few pounds of coke. Or maybe a lotta pounds, Anthony didn’t know, they don’t tell him those kinds of things. But he did learn through the grapevine that Morales had gotten ramrodded by “like a thousand cholos”. That was an exaggeration, obviously, but it must have been a substantial number.
And nobody thought to tell Anthony about it at the time!
Anyway, Anthony didn’t even know who Morales was. Someone said he was fat. So maybe he hadn’t missed out on much. Group ramming was how Latin Kings punished those whose incompetence harmed the entire organization. Anthony wished his brothers would tell him about it beforehand so he could join or even watch, but even though they always promised to do so, they never did. They put it in the same category as smuggling, that was why. They don’t want Anthony involved in anything unsavory, which obviously includes ramrodding.
Méssimo nodded. His tattooed face aimed down at his feet. He had tear-shaped roses tattooed leading down from his eyes, except one of the rose-tears was replaced with a red skull. Anthony was pretty sure that meant Méssimo killed a cop.
“What did you do to Morales? Did you plow him in the ass or the mouth?” Anthony asked.
“Both,” Méssimo said, his voice a low, rumbling growl. He grabbed at his crotch, then grunted. His cock was briefly outlined by the fabric.
“Come closer,” Anthony said. Méssimo did so.
Anthony unzipped Méssimo’s khakhis, giggling at his growl, which was equal parts displeased and horny. It sounded like he was glad to get some dome, and he just wanted to pretend he had to be pushed into it — not that Anthony planned on stopping there. Méssimo would do whatever he said, and Anthony intended to say a lot.
Méssimo’s hips flexed just slightly as though he fought off an instinctual urge to hump Anthony’s hand as soon as he gripped it in those sweat-jungle khakhis. He had a fat cock, limp but throbbing already and twinging with the power of an imminent erection. He pulled out Méssimo’s big uncut cock, which had a rooster tattooed on the shaft. It stuck out his fly like an oversized sausage.
“Quiquiriquí,” Anthony said with a laugh.
Méssimo was stiff and wooden, showing no reaction, even when Anthony repeated himself while clucking like a chicken. His brothers always laughed at that.
Not Méssimo, whose cock was the only part of his body that wasn’t hard like iron — he must have been nervous, Anthony decided. His biceps flexed, and his pecs rippled beneath his shirt. Anthony stroked Méssimo’s dick with both hands like a lovable length of rope.
“Are you uno pasivo, señor?” Méssimo asked with a nervous frown. He narrowed his eyes to slits as he checked out Anthony’s body.
Anthony knew what that meant. In cartel culture, men were either hombres or pasivos. An hombre like Méssimo might plow a pasivo but would never be penetrated by one willingly. Anthony was normally uno pasivo, but today, he didn’t give an answer. He wanted to leave Méssimo unsure of himself.
“Señor?”
Keeping his own face stoic, Anthony stood up. Méssimo stood next to the mattress with his hard brown cock sticking out the fly of his chinos. Anthony took his own dick out of his bathrobe and thwacked it together with Méssimo’s.
“Uh, señor, are you uno pasivo? That is okay…” He repeated himself and took a deep breath, like he desperately wanted Anthony to say yes. Méssimo’s voice trailed off as he submitted to the jousting. When he looked down and saw his dick throbbing next to Anthony’s, he winced and blanched. He straightened his shoulders and kept his hands clenched in fists at his side, as though if he moved them at all he’d be overcome by passion and start jacking Anthony off himself.
“You work for me, when you are assigned to me,” Anthony said with a smile. “So you will have to do as I say.” He stroked both dicks together, holding back a moan as his body was overcome by pleasure. He loved the feel of Méssimo’s hot, half-hard meat throbbing against his own.
Méssimo shook his head. “I work in sound of obedience, esé. I will do as I am told.”
“Good,” Anthony said. “Take off your shirt.”
Méssimo hesitated, then undid the top button (the only closed button) of his shirt. Under that he had on a wifebeater, which he also took off. He had a broad, strapping chest, lined with tattoos and scars. His chest was tight and stiff with anxiety right now, and he breathed shallowly. His dick began to get harder and harder with every motion Anthony made on his meat.
“Where did you get this one?” Anthony asked, using his precum-leaking cocktip to gesture to a broad, x-shaped scar on the side of his belly. Méssimo winced when Anthony’s dick touched his skin — Anthony had to get on his toes to reach.
“I was stabbed. When I was in the metal can,” he said.
“Ooh, did you have a bitch?” Anthony asked with a grin. “Did you have a puta?” The thought of Méssimo holding some man down as he plowed him made Anthony shudder with desire. A part of him wanted Méssimo to plow him like that, but Anthony had other plans as well. He could get Méssimo to top him pretty much any time, that was easy. He leaned against Méssimo’s chest — he was much shorter than Méssimo, but since he stood on the bed, his crotch was right between Méssimo’s mountainous pecs. He humped Méssimo’s tense, quivering muscles. “Don’t look down, look at me. Ignore what I’m doing and answer my questions.”
His pecs rippled, as Anthony’s cock left its first few drops of prejizz. It dripped down Méssimo’s tattooed chest. He ignored it even when Anthony’s dick poked him in this chin.
“Umm… I was… I had a boyfriend… I was smaller then,” Méssimo said, trying to look down without looking down.
The smell of funk filled the air. Méssimo couldn’t tear his eyes away from his own chest, where Anthony’s dick slid over a puddle of sticky precum. Méssimo kept his mouth open, either out of a shock or because a tiny corner of his mind wanted to taste Anthony’s cock.
“Smaller.”
Méssimo nodded. “I was young.” He added a sound effect suggesting he was weaker then, that he could not defend himself. He looked behind himself as though hoping for a rescue.
“Oh, you were on the bottom?”
Méssimo nodded. “I am not ashamed. I was smaller then, and I was showing respect to a cholo was bigger and tougher than me. That was… right, honorable for me. He saved my life, many times. It was right for him to be my hombre. I am not embarrassed. But do not tell anyone.”
Anthony kissed him on the lips, his tongue exploring the inside of Méssimo’s big mouth. Their tongues touched, and for a moment, Méssimo kissed him back. But that was instinctual, and it only lasted a few seconds before Méssimo’s callused fingers caressed Anthony’s smooth chest, reminding him that Anthony was not a girl. Méssimo was both surprised and repulsed by the kiss. He pulled away after a few seconds.
“Sorry,” Anthony said. “So you’ve bottomed before?”
Méssimo nodded. “Do not tell your brothers, señor. Please.”
“I won’t,” Anthony said. He kissed Méssimo, and this time, Méssimo endured it. He didn’t kiss back. His hands remained squarishly at his side. Anthony felt the heat radiating off Méssimo’s powerful chest.
“What, uh…. What do you want me to do now?” He had a resigned, hangdog look.
Anthony placed one tiny hand on Méssimo’s broad shoulders. He pushed down, keeping a sympathetic smile on his face. Méssimo didn’t resist. He lowered himself to his knees and opened his mouth. “You don’t have to do anything, Méssimo. I won’t tell my brothers anything. But I bet I look like more of a girl than your hombre was in the metal can, right?”
He nodded and trembled as he sunk to the ground. When Anthony’s dick pushed past his lips, Méssimo responded both like he wanted to vomit and like he was finally doing what he had wanted to all along. His eyes scrunched up and he gagged, but he also enthusiastically, loudly suckled on it, choking up spit that frothed up and covered his tattooed chin and neck. His tongue slathered spit on Anthony’s hard shaft.
“Don’t use your hands,” Anthony said. “Jack yourself off instead.” He pushed Méssimo’s hands away. “Look me in the eye, Méssimo.”
Méssimo winced but did as he was told. His cock was floppy now, not totally soft but having lost most of his erection now that there was a cock in his mouth. He had trouble making eye contact with Anthony, who loved the look of his frantic eyes struggling to stay put as cockmeat slid down his throat. Anthony knew cholos like Méssimo demanded their bitches (male or female) look them in the eye while swallowing their cock, so Anthony figured Méssimo expected that.
Another torrent of gagging hit Méssimo’s mouth with a full spurt of precum. Anthony shuddered and giggled as Méssimo’s big square jaw trembled, and his whole body writhed. His burly, hairy stomach roiled.
A mouthful of spit and a teaspoon of prejizz came from Méssimo, who tried to catch it with one cupped hand. That triggered a second gag, and his cupped hand overflowed.
“Oh, shit, I am sorry, esé,” Méssimo said, racing to blot the saliva up with his shirt. Anthony’s cock got him in the temple, where those tattooed roses ran down from his eyes like tears. Méssimo ignored that, but when Andrew aimed his dicktip for Méssimo’s nose, he upretched all over again. “Sorry, sorry, esé,” he said. “I will not gag-” He paused to gag again. “With my boyfriend, before, in the prison, he — he-” He held his hand over his mouth, biting back a gag. “He did teach me to not gag. I can do it.”
“Swallow the whole thing,” Andrew said as he slowly fed his hardon into Méssimo’s mouth once more. Méssimo’s hands were still trying to blot up the spit that had spilled — not that Anthony cared — even as he was still choking up more spit and trying to catch it.
Anthony thought it was cute that Méssimo was trying so hard to please him by not gagging. Did he have no idea that gagging made it feel better? The gagging was the best part, that was what Anthony always said. He liked to gag when he was on top, and he liked to gag when he was in Méssimo’s position.
Despite his apparent disgust with the flavor, Méssimo only grew more and more aroused as he got into throating Anthony to the root, until Méssimo’s nose was ensconced in Anthony’s pubes. Anthony didn’t need to direct him to deep-throat his dick; he sunk into a familiar groove as though remembering his life in prison. His head bobbed up and down on Anthony’s manhood. His free hand crept up to gently play with Anthony’s balls.
“Ay, god, Méssimo…” Anthony grunted. He had to bite his lip to avoid being too loud, because he didn’t want to attract attention from the other bodyguards and hangers-on who might be outside the room.
His brothers would tell him not to do this kind of thing. He’s allowed to, but it’d be bad for morale or something dumb like that. They’d want Anthony to fuck some trashy whore who could barely stop snorting coke long enough to swallow a dick like Méssimo was doing, and Anthony hadn’t even told him to! He’d definitely learned to serve his hombre under the sound of obedience indeed!
Taking a pause to grab a deep breath, the look on Méssimo’s face flashed between so horny he couldn’t breathe and so disgusted and ashamed he wanted to cry. Anthony humped his squarish face, leaving a trail of spit and precum on his nose and cheeks, his dick jabbing atop Méssimo’s tattoos. Méssimo gagged again even as he stuck his tongue out to lick up Anthony’s ballsweat.
Then Anthony pulled off his face, wanting to go for anal before shooting his load, which he could feel rapidly approaching. Méssimo looked with hungry eyes at Anthony’s dick as Anthony pulled out a bottle of lube. Méssimo winced and laid on his back on the bed, on those insufficently thread-counted sheets that Anthony had complained about. He lifted his trunk-like thighs up.
“I bet you didn’t use lube in prison? This’ll be nicer then.”
Méssimo shook his head. “No, no lube, just spit,” he gulped nervously. Be dulce. You are nicer than him. It is better, you are… more like a girl. Less hairy. Smaller.”
Anthony nodded. He bristled a bit, but he was used to the cholos who surrounded him in this place to think of him as a girl. He was treated as more feminine than some of the actual females who worked here. That was mostly fine with Anthony.
Anthony moaned as his dick entered Méssimo’s ass. It was so tight Anthony had to struggle to get it in, even with copious lube greasing him up. Méssimo was so much bigger than Anthony that he had enormous assflesh, which Anthony separated to bare his bootyhole. Méssimo’s ass tightened and clenched instinctively.
His asscheeks were tattooed too. Prison tats, it looked like. The thought of Méssimo being tattooed naked in prison made Anthony’s eyes bug out.
The eyeballs and bare tits tatted on his ass jiggled when Anthony’s cocktip pushed in. Méssimo grunted and sucked in his breath.
“¡Me duele el culo!” He blushed and bit his lip to keep the sound down. His eyes darted back and forth to make sure no one else had come in the room to see him take it in the culo. Méssimo stifled his moaning and writhed as pain overtook him. He clutched the bed beneath himself. His pecs flexed and stayed tight as Anthony played with his nipples.
For Anthony, it was one of the tightest, best holes he had ever had. As Méssimo adjusted to the meat in his asshole, Anthony stayed still, letting Méssimo handle all the motion. It felt like an odd position, he thought, since he was maybe a third of Méssimo’s weight. It made him feel like a little boy inexplicably plowing a giant. Méssimo gasped and threw his head back, clutching the bedspread as though it would take the pain away.
“Those tats on your ass,” Anthony said. He stopped moving with his cock all the way up Méssimo’s guts, his assflesh jiggling because of Méssimo’s staccato breathing. The tats of Méssimo’s ass included a huge pair of knockers, one on each cheek. They were crudely tatted, definitely prison tats. “Did your boyfriend put those on your ass so he could look at tits when he ramrodded you?”
Méssimo nodded, and he choked in pain or humiliation or maybe even arousal, or more likely a mixture of all three. Anthony’s cock throbbed in his ass.
Then, without Anthony’s prompting, Méssimo began stroking his own cock. He seemed to enjoy the prostate action, and his dick was leaking precum even before Anthony managed to get a smooth rhythm going. Méssimo’s ass was too tight still, but it loosened with every strugglesome pump of Anthony’s hips.
It was obvious that Méssimo was in pain, but he was also enjoying himself. He closed his eyes and grunted. It was like there were two parts of Méssimo, Anthony thought, the lower half was ready to shoot his load right now, while the upper half was humiliated and in terrible pain. Lucky for Anthony, the upper half had the upper hand right now, and Méssimo’s dick only throbbed and leaked precum into his grip.
He breathed shallowly while Anthony began plowing harder and harder, making Méssimo let out pained mewling sounds. He lowered his head to the mattress.
Anthony’s balls slapped against Méssimo’s hairy thick asscheeks. Both of his hands caressed Méssimo’s body, and his left hand slowly moved upward until he gripped Méssimo’s neck. He didn’t squeeze, but he liked to hold onto it — Méssimo was so muscular he didn’t have much of a neck, but Anthony managed to get a grip on it just the same. He didn’t squeeze, but he held on tight, tight enough to make it hard for Méssimo to take a deep breath.
The cholos like Méssimo sometimes competed over how hard they could fuck their females. The females who lived here loved it, no matter how their cholos tried to smash their pussies, or at least they pretended they did. Méssimo presumably fucked them, they all did.
But if they could fuck a woman like that, Anthony could damn well ramrod Méssimo in the same way. So Anthony decided to imitate that the best he could. Of course, since he was smaller than Méssimo, he couldn’t do much more than slam against Méssimo’s plump asscheeks. But he liked the way Méssimo’s flesh jiggled as he pumped his dick in as deep as he could manage, and he moaned when Méssimo’s mewling turned plaintive.
“Tell me you want it,” Anthony said. That was another thing the cartelistos would say when fucking their women.
Rather than answering, Méssimo grunted and sprayed cum over his tattooed torso, his words turning into an intense moan of desire. His dick spasmed in his fingers, that parlor-done rooster tattoo rippling as semen poured through it. He blushed like he hadn’t meant to blow his nut with a cock in his ass, that made him seem less like of a natural hombre.
“I said tell me you want it,” Anthony said, his own voice wavering as he reached his own climax, his dick deep in Méssimo’s ass.
“Ah, plow, damn my culo, fuckin’ puta!” His voice was tight and clipped, pinched, like he wanted to shout but couldn’t because the pressure and pain was too great. He turned his head and whispered, his underhushing too indistinct for Anthony to make out. Anthony could still tell what he was saying though: please don’t tell anyone I blew my load while getting ramrodded, because true hombres don’t do that; only pasivos get hard with a dick in their ass.
But Anthony wasn’t about to tease him for it or tell anyone — he was beginning to think this could be a regular event, since Méssimo would do anything to be sure nobody knew he came with a cock in his ass. An orgasm rolled over Anthony’s body, and a tight, clenching pleasure washed over his frame.
A fat wad of cum spurted into Méssimo’s cavernous guts, and Méssimo let out a howl, his own orgasm just now ending. Méssimo contorted when he felt it, and the writhing of his muscles made it seem like Anthony could see his cumwad spraying over Méssimo’s insides.
Méssimo gasped and hyperventilated. Anthony had never shot such a huge load, it just kept coming and coming, and Méssimo threw his head back. His eyes rolled in their sockets as cum coated Méssimo’s hot, spongy prostate.
“Ah, si, si, si,” Méssimo said, quietly, as though a little embarrassed by his own excitement, as he writhed and moaned. His limp dick and balls jiggled massively afront Anthony’s own crotch, which was daggering as Anthony turned his own cumwad into a big frothy mess.
At last Anthony pulled out. He scooped up all the cum on Méssimo’s belly, intending to swallow it himself. But when he saw Méssimo’s eyes — which he had just opened, looking on with wonder like he was shocked he had allowed this to happen — Anthony knew what to do.
He brought his hand up to Méssimo’s mouth. Méssimo opened despite his humiliation, and Anthony waited for him to take the plunge. After waiting a few seconds, Méssimo grabbed Anthony’s hand and dumped the cum into his mouth.
He gagged and spat, but licked up what coated his face, even as his whole body spasmed and his muscles contorted. Anthony caressed his belly and neck until he was still, cum-streaked face tense. Anthony climbed onto his chest and kissed him on the lips, tasting remnants of semen in his mouth.
Anthony’s limp, juice-dripping cock rested in the sweat-dappled chest hair on Méssimo’s torso, as Anthony licked every drop of cum off the big cholo’s face.
“I’m glad you’re my bodyguard, Méssimo,” he said with a giggle. “If I ever get locked up, I’m bringing you with me.”
“I can’t wait, señor…”

The Basketball Coach: Chapter 2

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(back to Chapter One)

CHAPTER TWO
Reginald

Avery had been messing with Professor Thickman for a few weeks, while campus quieted down for finals and in anticipation of winter break. He usually met him back at the industrial arts building again, but he also went to Thickman’s apartment a couple times. He had agreed not to mess with Rayshawn again, but it didn’t come up for awhile because Rayshawn had several girlfriends during that time.
When Rayshawn finally called him next, looking to blow a load one rainy Saturday morning, he groaned and complained of a hangover. “I don’t wanna see none of my bitches right now, I can’t handle that,” he said, his voice gurgly and rancid; you could tell his breath smelled awful even through the phone. “Come over. I need to get my nut off, and I don’t need no bitches prattlin’ on ’bout some stupid shit.”
Avery said, “Oooh, sorry, baby, your basketball coach asked me to stop seeing you, and I agreed-“
“What? Thickman? Is that what he was talkin’ about? That nosy asshole. He oughta mind his own goddamn business-“
“Hmmm, maybe, but… I agreed to do it.” Avery paused. It wasn’t clear it had sunk in to Rayshawn that Avery was saying no. People didn’t often tell Rayshawn no. Avery cleared his throat and repeated himself, “So I have to say no. I’m not going to come jack you off. You can jack yourself off.”
Rayshawn paused and grunted, his voice now awkward and creaky. He wasn’t used to having to beg for it. “Uh… c’mon, man… I won’t tell Thickman. I won’t. I promise, he don’t gotta know, I don’t tell that nigga nothin’. I’ll tell him you said no-“
“Sorry, Rayshawn,” Avery said. “He told me anytime I want a nut, I can go jack him off instead-“
Rayshawn scoffed. “That old nigga? Don’t he taste like mothballs?”
“He tastes marvelous,” Avery said. “Plus he does me in the butt. He doesn’t say it’s too gross. And he doesn’t text his girlfriends when I give him dome.”
Rayshawn seethed audibly through the phone. He didn’t have enough experience being nice to convince anyone of anything. His nostrils flared. “Man… Will you at least write that poem? You gotta do that. You already said you would.”
Avery sighed. “Oh my god, Rayshawn, it’s a twelve-line poem! Just let yourself feel something, and write some words about it. The only rule is you can’t do grammar and punctuation right. You can’t fail at writing a poem. If it takes you over thirty seconds, you’re doing it wrong.”
“I can!” he shouted into the phone, losing his temper and following that up with a barrage of insults and cursing. “You fuckin’ asshole! I can’t — I can’t — I have practice, man! I gotta lift weights and shit!”
“You’re hungover! You don’t have shit to do, you have a hangover-“
“Yeah! A hangover! I can’t write a poem with a hangover!”
“Most good poets are always hungover! It’s twelve lines, Rayshawn! You could have written three in the time it took you to whine to me about it! Just write about racism. If it’s about racism, she’ll always give you an A. That’s what I do,” Avery said.
“I don’t know nothin’ about racism… maaaaan,” Rayshawn said.
Avery paused. “Oh holy shit, you forgot my name, didn’t you?”
“Uh, no, it’s, uh… Jerry?”
“Jerry! JERRY?! You think I’m the kind of slack-jawed fuckwit who would be named Jerry?!” Avery hung up, but he kept muttering on autopilot as though Rayshawn could still hear him. “You’re such a useless shit, Jesus Christ, Rayshawn, get ahold of yourself. Too much pussy makes men dumb.”
But already he was kind of regretting hanging up the phone; Rayshawn might have been a self-absorbed moron, but he did have a tasty dick that got hard so very easily. Once his blood had stopped boiling, and he stopped smirking over Rayshawn’s insistence he couldn’t write a twelve-line poem, Avery really wanted to swing on his dick.
So Avery decided that today was a Professor Thickman day.
He had had about enough of Rayshawn anyway — he was expensive to see (Avery had kind of lied when he said he only ever gave Rayshawn twenty dollars — that was the only cash Avery had ever given him, but he often bought him a hamburger, or a shirt, or a gold chain, or sneakers, or a present to give his girlfriend of the moment, and that stuff added up). And Rayshawn was always a jerk. He farted on Avery’s bed once. He saw a picture of Avery’s mom and said “Who’s that fat old bitch?” He laughed at a blind man eating soup. He didn’t tip well, even with Avery’s money.
But that dick was so fucking craveable… It was all Avery could think about it until he got to Thickman’s neighborhood and had verified he was home.
“Rayshawn called you? That horny bastard,” Thickman said when he opened the door.
“I refused to write him a poem. He was furious. He had like two months to do it, and he doesn’t think he can,” Avery said as he came in. The apartment smelled like a bachelor — specifically, it smelled like a black bachelor, which Avery found alluring. There were scents of coconut butter and sweat and medicinal lotion and sweat-soaked underwear and takeout steak-and-cheese subs without the bun and farty drawers and wrinkled clothes that lived in a hamper and Febreze and unwashed bedsheets that stank of armpits. It was an alluring smell, even if it also made Avery wrinkle his nose.
Thickman did indeed live in a sad little apartment with a living room dominated by a bench press. The first time Avery had come over, Thickman had covered the weights up with a sheet because Avery had called him out on it when they first met, but he had stopped doing so eventually. The bench press was even a little moist today, like Thickman had been using it recently and his backsweat still clung to it. Thickman was shirtless when he opened the door. Avery tweaked his nipple as he walked in, and Thickman ignored it though it made his pecs twitch.
As usual, Avery first cleaned up Thickman’s apartment a little. Avery liked cleaning up after his men; there was something seductive about it. He wiped down the kitchen counter while Thickman looked at him, frustrated, wanting to get right to taking his dick out but not saying so because it would be rude. His broad chest gleamed with the remains of his post-workout shower.
A scowl overtook the wry smile on Thickman’s square jaw. He licked his teeth. “Rayshawn’s a fucking moron. You know he failed the fucking diversity thing?”
“What? He’s black, how can he fail at diversity?”
“Not that, it was a written test. Multiple-fucking-choice. It’s just a bunch of stupid-ass questions, like ‘are transgender people a part of the modern working environment?’ and shit like that, and he ain’t even pay no attention, just colored in the little bubbles like it don’t matter. He said he was gonna make you do it later-“
“Oh my god, that lazy fuck-“
“But I ain’t allowed to do that. It’s set by court order for athletes, on ‘ccount of that tennis team that looked at a waitress a buncha times. I gotta score it right away,” Thickman said. “So he failed. He failed this fucking idiot-class for idiot-athletes. All he had to do was, y’know, promise not do no holocausts, and he wanted to make you do it.”
“He couldn’t pay me enough to do a diversity test. His dick’s not that good,” Avery said with a snort. He finished clearing off the counter. “You’ve got clean dishes in the cabinet! You’re not eating out of the dishwasher? What progress! Hey, is that Chinese place downstairs any good? We should celebrate by eating-“
“Nah, it sucks. And we gotta hurry,” Thickman said. He looked down at his feet sheepishly. “I mean, I’ll cornhole you and shit, y’know, whatever. But I gotta run. It’s almost Christmas.” He shrugged.
“Oh yeah, cool. December’s really going quick this year. You got Christmas shopping to do?”
“Uh… Yeah. Sorta.” Thickman sounded like he was lying. He sighed dramatically. Avery realized something was wrong, but Thickman had said he was in a hurry, so Avery dropped to his knees right there in the kitchen. He stroked Thickman’s cock through his jeans. Thickman wrinkled his nose. “My girl dumped me.”
“Alice? I thought she already did-“
“Nah, for real this time. She dumped me hard,” Thickman said. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as his cock flopped out through the fly of his heavy-denim jeans. “She ain’t even gonna let me lick her pussy no more.” His dick was hefty and soft, jelly-like. Avery let it rub on his face and his nose, and then he flopped it over his lips, while Professor Thickman kept talking. “She been gettin’ mad salty on account of me not like… She don’t like me drinkin’ none, or goin’ to the gentleman’s club. I told her it ain’t no thing, it ain’t — there’s no hos there, it’s classy. It’s real classy. They don’t even show they snatch. Just tits.” He paused and looked down as though he had only now noticed his dick was out and Avery was flopping it over his face. Thickman frowned. “Why you always playin’ wit’ it?”
“Fine, fine, you are in a hurry, huh?” Avery said. Thickman usually enjoyed letting Avery play with his limp dick before and/or after he blew his wad. He had never said that, but he didn’t complain, and Avery had gotten the impression he liked it.
His cock finally disappeared into Avery’s mouth, and the moment it hit his tongue, Avery felt a powerful twitch as it perked up. Thickman threw his head back. His hands fluttered awkwardly at first, as they always did — women complained about his callused hands, so it always took until his dick was fully hard before Thickman could get back in the habit of really gripping onto Avery’s head and going to town on his throat.
Finally it was rock-hard. Avery rammed his own head down as deep as he could go, until his throat closed and a little gag escaped from his chest. Thickman let out a throaty cluck and began rolling his hips, gyrating slowly, humping the back of Avery’s mouth.
His heavy jeans were still on, cock and balls protruding from the fly. They were his workpants, brown spots from wood-stain, pale spots from bleach and an area over the left calf where the fabric was oddly smooth and stiff, due to a spill of some kind of industrial solvent last year.
Precum’s salty taste flooded Avery’s senses as he slurped on Thickman’s cocktip. Thickman let out a little groan that made Avery giggle — it sounded a lot like Rayshawn groaning; Thickman could almost be his uncle. Avery’s hands roamed up to Thickman’s chest, kneading his firm flesh and making his pecs flex again and again.

Then Thickman received a text message. His phone beeped, and he growled with hostility. He grabbed the phone from the counter and looked at it, then he groaned in annoyance this time. He was again ignoring his dick in Avery’s mouth.

“Aw, shit, my sister is bringin’ her husband. Can’t stand that uppity asshole,” he said. He sounded depressive about that. He bit his lip and let out an overly dramatic sigh. “My brother-in-law on my sister’s side are gonna be so fucking bitchy. Every time I’m single, she and him are a bunch of assholes about it, like givin’ me pamphlets on suicide and sayin’ crap, like if I ain’t talk so much shit about Asian people maybe I’d have a girlfriend-“
“You got beef with Asian people?” Avery asked, thwapping his face with Thickman’s shaft.
“Nothin’! I just told ’em ain’t nevuh been one on my basketball team,” Thickman said. “They said that was racist. I was like, if you want Asian dudes to play basketball, you go teach ’em. But they ain’t wanna do that, they too busy calling stuff racist on Facebook.”
Avery rolled his eyes. “They sound like jackasses.”
“Yeah. I hate them. When my mom dies, I’ll prolly never talk to my sister again,” he said. He grumbled and closed his eyes. “Now quit makin’ me think about my family, or I ain’t nevuh gonna nut.” He grabbed Avery’s head and plowed in, his cock sliding down Avery’s throat until Avery’s nose nuzzled his pubic hair.
The taste of his cock — much cleaner this time, with a faint cocoa-scented soap scent — flooded Avery’s senses. He gurgled on it loudly, deeply, sucking up his own spit when it dripped in clumps out of his mouth. Professor Thickman threw his head back and grunted. His orgasm was so loud and animated it looked almost painful.
Cum sprayed over Avery’s tongue, great creamy gobs of it that coated his throat. He suckled on it loudly, ignoring his own lungs crying out for oxygen. It ran down Avery’s chin and Thickman’s shaft, the pale white color contrasting with the deep loamy brown of his skin.
His cheeks turning red, Avery slurped on the intensely flavored jism, making Thickman’s whole body shake with pleasure. His cock was still going, still leaking long jets of cum into Avery’s mouth, which couldn’t contain it all. Big clots of it spilled out and onto the floor of Thickman’s kitchen.
If I don’t clean that, it’ll still be here congealing next time I come… Avery thought with an internal laugh. He kept going, even as Thickman twitched and twisted with every brust of over-sensitive pleasure emanating from his cocktip.
“Aw, shit…” Thickman at last pulled out, his dick flopping over Avery’s face. He chuckled. “Aw… You oughta come wit’ me today, man. You could swallow my dick whenever I get annoyed with ’em. You could get all bitchy wit’ my sister, you’re good at bitchin’.” He chuckled at his joke.
“Okay.” Avery said. Then he looked up at Thickman to see if he was kidding or not.
He was.
Thickman chuckled. “Shit… You could really do your bitchy thing to my in-laws and my sister-“
“Oh my god, yes! That’s such a good idea!” Avery clapped his hands. He already had a paper towel in hand and was cleaning up the cum that had dripped onto Thickman’s kitchen floor. “I’ll come to your Christmas thing. How bitchy do you want me to be? Scale of one to ten.”
“Uh… Like a six. Thanks, man.”
“You never need to thank me for acting bitchy. It’s in my blood,” Avery said. “Am I dressed okay?”
“You’re fine for my mom’s place,” Thickman said. He grabbed a button-down shirt and put it on. It was plain and cheap, and it made him look like he was on his way to a court date, but Avery didn’t say that. He was excited about meeting Thickman’s family — he never got to be a real part of the lives of the men he messed around with.
“How far away is your mom’s house?”
“Just the other side of town.” Thickman cleared his throat. “There is one other thing.”
“Oh?”
“It ain’t Christmas. It’s Kwanzaa. Technically Kwanzaa don’t start for a couple days, but my fucking idiot bitch sister is taking her idiot bitch husband to Ghana for Kwanzaa — after borrowing money from me this summer for rent, she can suddenly afford to go to Ghana. So we doin’ it early this year.”
“You celebrate Kwanzaa?”
“My mom does,” he said. He snorted and looked away. “And my sister. And yeah, me too.”
“I didn’t know anyone actually did that. I thought Kwanzaa was a joke.”
“My mom loves explaining Kwanzaa to white people. Just be interested in it,” he said. He put his shoes on.
“Okay. What is Kwanzaa?”
“Yeah, like that.”
“No, I was asking you — I just didn’t want to look ignorant-“
“Yeah, say shit like that to my mom. She eats that up,” Thickman said. He put his keys in his pocket and headed for the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Avery had to hurry after him; he was still cleaning up the cum on the floor and on his chin, when he hurried out of the apartment. Thickman was often like that, rushing, ignoring that Avery wasn’t keeping up with him. Avery rushed out the door.
Thickman kept on muttering to himself as he led Avery out of the building. “Kwanzaa is so fuckin’ stupid….”
“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.”
Professor Thickman’s family Kwanzaa celebration was at his mother’s ramshackle old house on the outskirts of town. Given its location, it was probably worth a lot of money — the property alone was valuable. But the house was rundown and in dire need of repairs.
But it was a nice, homey kind of home. Avery squealed with delight at the decorations; he had always been good at getting on parents’ good sides. Everything was red, black and green, and candles filled the home with light — and heat. “Oh my god, your home is so beautiful!” he said. He smiled. “I’ve heard Kwanzaa lasts eight days like Hannukah, isn’t that right, ma’am?”
“Oh call me Vera, sweetie,” Vera Thickman said. She was nearly seventy, her hair frazzled and white, her face saggy but sweet. She smiled at Avery. “No, dear, Kwanzaa only lasts seven days. But every day has a different theme. Today is the first day of Kwanzaa, so the theme is unity. Or rather, it’s not the first day of Kwanzaa, but we’re pretending it is,” she said.
Before Avery could say anything else, the rest of the family showed up. Thickman’s sister Marybeth, her husband Jake and their three kids. Avery smiled and greeted them as Marybeth looked at him like he had done something wrong, She looked just as bitchy as her brother had described her — you could just imagine her wrinkling her nose at every little thing, demanding her spineless husband scold waiters, no doubt complaining when the kids touched anything that hadn’t been disinfected.
They made small talk, and Thickman was glad that Avery was outgoing and friendly and dominated the conversation. Thickman never really felt that comfortable around his family, especially his sister. She had always been a striving bitch.
Since Avery was the one who talked about the holiday, the weather, the decor, the dog, the kitchen, etc, Thickman stopped paying attention entirely. That meant his mind wandered, and there was one place his mind always wandered when he let it out: women.
Specifically, one woman he had met last night. He got her number at the bar, but he hadn’t called her yet. She had seemed hot to trot, and she wasn’t the most beautiful woman, but she was available and she was confident he was going to get in her pussy sooner or later.
Not tonight though. He had to sit here with his hardon imprisoned by his jeans — the nicest pair he owned, though now he wished he had bought some new pants — not jeans, slacks — so he would be dressed as well as his brother-in-law, Jake. Or at least almost as well.
But Jake wore a pink tie and skinny slacks like a hipster. They almost looked like a woman’s pantsuit, Thickman thought. He strongly disliked his brother-in-law.
“How’s your team’s record this year, Reginald?” Jake asked.
Thickman — he hated being called Reginald, except by his mother — glowered and said, “Fine. We goin’ to the playoffs, sure as shit-“
“Language!”
“Sorry mama,” Thickman said. He just wanted to get Avery away from his family to get his nut off again. That would make this family get-together a lot more tolerable.
He realized with a start that that wasn’t entirely true — it was true, sort of, but the part of this that he was really enjoying was Avery’s company. Avery’s mouth would be a little bonus.
It had been a long time since Reginald Thickman had enjoyed someone’s company. His girlfriends had long annoyed him. His players were a bunch of mouthy punks. He didn’t trust any of his coworkers. His students were morons. His family spent most of their time borrowing money from him and bitching about his lack of enthusiasm for Afrocentric scrapbooking.
Avery didn’t really want anything from him, except sex, which he was glad to give. He had genuinely enjoyed Avery’s company. Avery didn’t even ask for anything in exchange for coming here today — Thickman’s last girlfriend wouldn’t even do that. She wouldn’t do anything he wanted without making a big ordeal out of it. She treated visiting his mom as just as much a favor as sucking his dick on his birthday.
When they managed to get away for a few minutes later on — while attention was focused on the kids and some ceremony involving corn and candles — Thickman pulled his pants down and let Avery go to town on him. He was in his old bedroom. It felt like old times; he’d been sucked off here by his girlfriends some thirty years ago.
I wonder why girls don’t suck as much dick as they used. Cuz I’m older? Do girls not suck dick anymore? When they had argued when they first met, Avery had said that, when Thickman reached middle-age, girls started seeing his muscles as less sexy and more gross, creepy not handsome, dirty and callused and stinky, not alluring or arousing. Thickman had never realized that.
But it was true. The same muscles that got him laid when he was Avery’s age now made him seem like some undateable man-boy. So he flexed his biceps, standing there with a dour look on his face as though he was annoyed by Avery hanging off his muscles and licking the sweat off his rock-hard biceps.
“Hmmm, your muscles taste so good…” Avery murmured, his mouth moving down to Thickman’s armpit. His bare chest muscles rippled. Thickman’s teenage-bedroom still smelled like a young man, Avery thought, like it hadn’t been cleaned in decades. There were boxes of stuff he had deposited here over the years and never got back — old paperwork, a box of tee shirts, a couple weightlifting trophies, a scrapbook of high-school basketball team — his mom made scrapbooks, and Thickman tried very hard to look interested; he didn’t have the gene that made it possible to have any interest in a scrapbook. He was simply incapable of it. So he kept the scrapbooks she made for him here; that way she knew and appreciated that he hadn’t thrown them away, but they didn’t take up space in his apartment.
Thickman sighed. He wanted to thank Avery for helping him out with this, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t often talk about his feelings. He wanted to say that this was his way of saying thanks, but Avery, he thought, would just get snippy about it again like he had before. Thickman did want it as much as Avery wanted to give it, so he couldn’t really call it a gift by any means.
But he was pretty sure Avery got the appreciation he felt but couldn’t say. Avery smiled as Thickman’s cock again popped out of his fly and disappeared thickly down his throat. Avery gurgled on the warm, sunny taste as it thickened up. His smiled turned to a smirk when Thickman shushed him. His family was far from the bathroom, and the children were being loud, so it wasn’t necessary to be all that quiet. Avery made a loud smacking noise with his lips until Thickman scowled at him.
“Shush, man, my sister is nosy as hell. She love eavesdroppin’, gettin’ the shit on people,” Thickman said softly. He threw his head back and suppressed a moan. His cock was rapidly hardening now. The fact that he couldn’t make any noise somehow made the sensations even more intense. He wanted to tell Avery a story — his sister had once gotten her boss fired simply by listening at his office door every day until she found some dirt on him — but the feelings were too intense.
All he could think about was the pangs of pleasure exploding in his dick, which oozed gooey precum into Avery’s mouth. Avery let out an uncontrollable moan of desire.
“Hmmmm… You taste even better in this room,” Avery said. He blushed and giggled quietly, as Thickman shot him another harsh be-quiet look. He resumed deep-throating, his nose burying itself in Thickman’s crotch. A shiver of bliss shot up Thickman’s spine, and his chest muscles rippled. He grunted and groaned.
He was about to say something when he orgasmed. A grunt escaped from his mouth as the first few drops of cum flew into Avery’s mouth. The sour, salty and sweet taste of semen flooded Avery’s senses.
Then came more, and Thickman grimaced as though it hurt to not make any noise. Great big wads coated Avery’s mouth, more quickly than he could swallow, so a lot of it slipped out past his lips and plopped onto the carpet of Thickman’s old bedroom.
Still more came out, as Thickman leaned back to grab his shirt — he was already getting ready to go back out there, even as his cock kept cumming and his orgasm kept flowing through his veins. His whole body twitched with his shirt in hand.
“Shuuuuussssssh…” he said, though Avery hadn’t made any noise.
Then Thickman shot the last of his load down Avery’s throat and let out a long, chest-rattling sigh. That had been louder than any part of the blowjob, Avery thought but didn’t say. He stroked Thickman’s heavy balls as he drained every last drop of cum out of his shaft.
“Thanks a lot, man.”
“Aw, shucks,” Avery said, wiping lips off. “Thanks for inviting me. And Merry Kwanzaa.”
“You supposed to say ‘Joyous Kwanzaa’,” Thickman said as he tucked his dick away into his workpants. He definitely resolved to buy new pants before he saw his brother-in-law the next time though. Next time would be his sister’s birthday; it would be next month, at her house, and she was definitely going to ask him to wear “a nice pair of paints” as though he was an idiot for not doing that every day. He should have done it a few days ago so he could wear the new pants today and not have to endure her bitching about it later.
They went back out then to wash up for dinner. Thickman was glad to be here for the first time in a long time. He wasn’t just eager to finish eating and leave. Since the focus was on Avery, he could just eat and enjoy his mother’s cooking like he hadn’t really had a chance to do for a long time.
“So, Reginald, how’s that women’s studies program?”
“Huh?” Thickman grunted, a few bits of chicken falling from his mouth.
“Your college? They have that new women’s studies professor?” Marybeth sighed overly dramatically. “It was on Facebook. You know, I really think you could show a little more interest in women’s issues.”
Avery broke in with a polite smile. “Oh, Reginald is very interested — we don’t like to ghettoize women and force them into women’s studies departments. All subjects are women’s studies in a way, don’t you think?” Avery smiled. “So Reginald prefers not to otherize women in that way. He would rather integrate women into regular educations. Plus I think there’s some transgender issues around having ‘women’s issues’. I mean, what are women’s issues, really?
Vera nodded her wizened old head. “So true, so true…” She did look confused though — she didn’t know what transgender meant, but she responded to the seemingly feminist bent to Avery’s words.
Marybeth looked like her head might explode. Nobody had ever challenged her in terms of political correctness at a family event. She glanced at her pasty-white husband as though he might support her, but he was focused on the green beans he had described as fabulous.
Avery smiled sweetly. “So me and Reginald have insisted on the college ensuring that women have equal access to his industrial development courses, and we personally designed all-new letterheads that refer to the Foreperson Training course, not Foreman,” Avery said. “We were going to launch a recruitment program this summer, but then Mr. Moneybags over here had to help a friend with some sort of trip to Ghana. I just hope they’re paying their carbon offsets for that little trip!”
“Hmmmm… Hmm-hm.” Marybeth gritted her teeth and looked down at her food, which she had only barely touched. When she thought Avery wasn’t looking at her anymore, she looked right at him with hate in her eyes.
Vera cleared her throat and looked at her son, who barely concealed his grin as he shoveled food in his face. “How is your art going, Reginald?”
“Aw, mama…” Reginald bit his lip.
“Like he knows anything about art,” Marybeth said with a snort.
“He’s made this amazing sculpture,” Avery said. “It’s black, and it’s got a wonderful shape to it. Thick, solid, very nice.” He looked at Thickman who snorted back laughter. “It makes me think about industry, you know, it makes me feel productivity — isn’t that weird? It’s like economics taken form, but it’s black too, it’s a symbol for our racial coding of work. It’s quite complex, Marybeth, but you sound like an expert on that sort of thing. Are you an artist?”
“I’ve self-published several books of poetry,” she said. “They’re about the patriarchy.” She hesitated like she couldn’t think of any details to add. “And, uh… the, uh… way we respond to… it.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! I think it’s great to have projects to work on without regard for accolades,” Avery said. “Reginald is going to submit his sculpture to the Modern Art Expo this spring. But there’s something really fulfilling about doing art that’s just for you, you know?”
“My poems are about the patriarchy,” she said. She gritted her teeth, still flustered. “Uh… taking it down.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose that doesn’t apply to those kind of poems. There’s no point in writing about taking down the patriarchy if no one ever sees it, since you can’t take it down alone,” Avery said. “I’m sorry, that was dismissive of your work! I apologize so much! I’m sure your poems have an audience, of course! They’re probably an inspiration for plenty of young girls, huh? I bet you get tons of teenage girls reading it. They love self-published poetry.”
“Yes… Of course.” She glowered and frowned at him. She’d barely eaten a thing, she just spent the entire meal staring daggers at Avery.
“I read somewhere that most self-published books of poetry sell a couple thousand copies, you can actually make good money off it. Has that been your experience, Marybeth?” he asked. He cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows.
Her teeth were gritted shut. She managed to murmur a yes and nod her head. Avery smirked at her as her brother got up to clear the table.
Avery pointedly ignored her staring daggers while they all finished clearing the table. He stood next to Thickman when they lit some candles and reminisced about old times after dinner. Vera explained the more Kwanzaa traditions, and Avery followed along in rapt attention.
“Thank you so much for exposing me to your diversity,” Avery said when the evening was finally over. “It was a lovely ceremony and a delicious meal!”
He stood there talking about it with Vera for what felt — to Thickman — like an hour. He didn’t know how people could do that. Polite people took like an hour to say goodbye, he thought, while he just stood there like a big dumb idiot, an overgrown teenage boy who still couldn’t have adult small-talk. Thickman glowered even as he hugged and kissed his mom goodbye. He told her he loved her.
Then at last, he and Avery left. Avery had a little plastic container of leftovers, which he clutched like a magical talisman as he got into Thickman’s truck.
“Your mom’s a real good cook,” Avery said.
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna eat the hell outta that macaroni and cheese when I get drunk later,” Avery said. Thickman backed out of the driveway, and a smile appeared on his face. Avery smiled back at him. “How was I? Just bitchy enough?
“That was awesome, man. She must be be so pissed. I bet she asks me for money for them carbon offsets,” Thickman said. “I ain’t payin’ either. I paid for that goddamn trip to Ghana, they can pay for the carbon offsets.”
“Why do you give her money anyway? She’s such a bitch.”
Thickman shrugged. “My mama would be pissed if I didn’t,” he said. “She thinks family gotta stick together.”
“She should tell your sister that.”
“Yeah.” Thickman cleared his throat. “Thanks for all that. Thanks for being nice to me.”
“Aw, shucks… You’re welcome. Can I play with your dick on the way home?”
“Yeah.” He grunted. “I’m serious though. Thanks for bein’ nice. Not a lotta people are really nice to me. Not like… nice. You know, they want me to do shit for ’em, like my sister got a protest every weekend she want me at, and my momma always want me over fixin’ shit or movin’ furniture, and my players always want me to let ’em outta practice and find ’em easier classes to take, and… You ain’t ask nothin’ from me.”
“Uh, that’s not true. I demand yards of cock! Yards! On demand!”
He chuckled. “Uh, so, like… You make me feel good. Not just my dick. But like… me.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “So thanks, Avery. Thanks a lot for bein’ nice.”

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