featuring husbands – Mansploitation

The Dairyman

Bart Dazzle is at it again, this time touring Vermont for big-bodied alphas! His target today is a buttery dairy farmer with a physique so massive you could, and he might, worship it for days! Angus Butterman has got manhood, manmeat and dairy cows in equal abundance, and he has a need that only Bart Dazzle can satisfy!

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Read the whole thing here!

Them city-folk stay useless, Angus Butterman thought to himself. He got no surprise in him to see the strange out-of-towner approach the farm only when it was too late to matter. All the smarts in the world won’t help if you’re too late to do anything.
Angus was a towering bull of a man, at well over six feet tall and as hefty as a heifer and a half. He was burly and bristly like a barrel full of push-brooms, and his big round face was windswept and dour, like a cow that outgrew its pasture. He wore only his overalls now — he took off his shirt because the sleeves were soaked with cow blood, but he had worn an apron that protected the overalls, so they were dirty only with dust and mud and dried-on whatever, not fresh cow blood. His big muscle-bulging arms flapped as he washed his hands. That was the last of the blood.
He stood by the well near the green barn as the out-of-towner approached, looking frightened of the farm, Angus thought. Scared of work, of getting his hands dirty. He probably had never seen an animal get slaughtered for food, had no idea how much work went into putting a meal on this spindly girlish man’s plate.
All that was more or less true. The out-of-towner was named Bart, and he was indeed from well out of town. Bart was here in Vermont because the governor, Hartfield Merriment, was a delicious ball of flab and machismo that Bart had wanted to worship.
Governor Merriment had turned out to be just as much fun as Bart had hoped. He was jolly and jiggly and roly-poly and he tasted like apple cider vinegar. Bart loved it. But he had gained access to the Governor’s Mansion by purporting to have great knowledge in agricultural policy. He bullshitted his way in, only to find that little lie snowballed, and Bart had to spend weeks reading up on the matter or he was gonna look like an ass and would not get to taste Governor Merriment’s man-meat. He ended up proposing a policy that had to do with calf births. It was so obscure and stupid he figured they’d just ignore it, and indeed, they did. It was a real policy, it’s how they do it in England. It was plausible anyway. Not that Bart actually wanted it implemented, it was just a way in.
That led to Bart sticking around in Montpelier to taste the roly-poly meat of the fire chief, the police chief and this short-order cook with a body like a melted brickwork, and all the while he was trading himself off as an expert in calfbirthing.
In fact, everyone in the Vermont state government in Montpelier called Bart “The Professor” because he had said he studied at Oxford in England. That was why the Mayor came to get Bart when he heard the beloved cow Daisy Sue, in a small farming town nearby, was having a bloody and dangerous labor — she gave birth first to a deformed and dead calf, then continued with a live one.
From Bart’s perspective, that was a disaster. He did not know anything about calfbirthing, and he was going to look like an idiot if he pretended.
He was dreading it the whole way, but he felt an obligation to at least try, and he hoped he looked confident as he came into the Butterman Dairy. Angus Butterman met him by the green barn, where they had planned to meet up. The birthing cow was in there.
He hoped he didn’t mess this up too badly. The worst he could do was not help, right? Just look confident and don’t do anything important. Ask for hot water. Say reassuring nothings. Clean and sanitize. Ideally without touching anything, because Bart saw a human birth once and it was disgusting. So many body fluids of every color going in every direction, and cows were way bigger than a woman. Dear god, that was going to be awful. Shoulda worn a hazmat suit.
It was probably all over and done with anyway. How long could a calfbirth take?
Cows know how to give birth in the wild. Surely they can just figure it out. It can’t be that hard for a cow to give birth to a calf. That’s like all a cow does in its life.
But as Bart approached the farm, he saw Angus Butterman standing there like an imposing statue, and Bart’s heart skipped a beat. Angus was handsome. He stood heavy and plodding, his belly substantial but not fat — he was strong enough to heft a year-old calf like it was a sac of potatoes, and he could lift a sac of potatoes like it was just a single spud. His whole body was thick all over, and Bart could already taste his hairy flesh on his tongue.
“Hmmmm…”
“Hayuh, stranger,” said Angus Butterman. He shook Bart’s hand. It was a weak, lily-livered handshake. Angus rolled his eyes.
“Hi, I’m Bart, I was sent here by the Mayor, I heard… — I heard you were having problems with a calf-“
“No. I fixed it. It’s fine. Daisy Sue is fine.” His voice was flat and rumbly like a dormant volcano. He had his thumbs hooked into the straps of his overalls, which pulled the fabric forward and made his pale, powerful chest partially visible. He was just as hairy as Bart had hoped.
“Oh. Well, thank god, cuz I don’t really know jack about calves!” Bart said. Then he blushed — Angus frowned like he didn’t appreciate Bart’s blasphemy. Bart cleared his throat. “I know more about humans, I’m not actually a veterinarian.”
“Hmm.” Angus paused. “Perhaps you could make yourself helpful and bathe me.” He snortled. He thought that would show this uppity doctor from the city — he assumed Bart would never agree to bathe someone, especially not a rural farmer with a broad body and chunky ass. It would be too humiliating.
But Bart’s eyes opened wide. “Sure! Okay. I mean… yeah. Yes. Sure. I’ll help you bathe,” he said. He smiled bashfully. “I mean… that might be a good idea. I could check you for, uh… wounds, and…” He paused for a long time, nearly drooling at the prospect of manhandling this mountain of a man. “Uh… other… issues. Anatomical… irregularities.”
Angus frowned. Bart spoke in a way he found most unfamiliar, his accent being neither New England nor New York nor Canadian — the only accents Angus was familiar with. It was vaguely British but not convincingly so. He didn’t think he was from the South either. Angus’s accent, on the other hand, delighted Bart. His baritone voice had a trace of holler and a hefty dose of yip, but it was long and low like an elegant moo. It sent a frisson of desire up Angus’s spine.
Angus cleared his throat. “Come,” he said.
He was surprised that Bart would agree to bathe, but Angus wasn’t going to turn him down. He was a big enough man that he found it difficult to bathe himself. That was more laziness than anything else, but he usually had his wife at least scrub his back.
“You have a beautiful farm,” Bart said as Angus led him into a barn. Bart’s smile faltered when he saw the “bathing” facility — there was no showerhead at all, just a hunk of steel that was an old-fashioned tank heater, attached to a hose that led to a copper tub. It looked like a torture device from a steampunk movie, Bart thought. Where on earth would Angus get such a thing?
The copper tub filled with hot water as Angus, ignoring Bart completely, drained the tank. The water steamed and sizzled, but it rapidly cooled when out of the heater. Then Angus stood and removed his overalls. The water was very hot — nearly boiling, Bart suspected, when it first came out of the tank.
Those overalls slipped to the ground, and Angus’s wide ass flapped free. It was broad and fleshy and firm and jiggly when he stepped into the tub. Bart couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was glad to see Angus had a giant dick too. It hung between his legs as thick as a calf’s thigh. It was uncircumcized and veiny, and it made Bart lick his lips in anticipation.
Angus tottered when he lifted his leg to get in the tub. He grunted and heaved, asscheeks squeezing, cock flopping and Bart blushed with hot desire.
“Hmmm… So, Mr. Butterman, is there something I can do for you? Needs you could use satisfaction on?”
“Get the soap and the brush.” He pointed to a table by the wall.
“Sure, sure, but that’s not what I meant.” Bart got the soap and the long-handled brush. The soap was foul-smelling and astringent, and the brush was wiry like a toilet brush. Bart wasn’t sure what the normal procedure was, but he just got his hands wet and worked up a bunch of suds with the soap. “I mean other than this.” He clasped his hands on Angus’s legs and began massaging vigorously.
“You… are not using the brush?”
“If I encounter a part of you that is too dirty to clean with my hands, I will use the brush,” Bart said. “But I don’t mind doing the work by hand. I do like to get my hands dirty, you know. Not all out of towners are ineffectual weaklings.”
“Hmmph.” Angus narrowed his eyes to slits, but he did not argue the point. he sighed as he leaned back in the water, and he allowed Bart’s slim hands to knead the tight, sore flesh of his back. Angus’s back muscles rippled beneath his touch. Angus let out a long low moan.
Not even Angus’s wife rubbed his back so vigorously. Angus licked his teeth to avoid accidentally smiling. Even with Bart not facing him, Angus didn’t want to smile. It simply wasn’t proper. He nodded and harrumphed, spreading his legs so Bart could more easily get all around his thighs. Bart’s delicate hands brushed up against his balls and his shaft, while Bart’s head was right behind one fleshy asscheek.
The stranger’s hands were soft and warm. They’d be good milking hands. A cow could tolerate those easy. Angus had big rough hands from a lifetime of work. He could milk a cow when he had to, but that was largely automated these days. In fact, his milking machine was on its last legs. Angus spent his time supervising the farm and the production of milk, cream, sour cream, cottage cheese and Honduran-style crema. The Butterman Dairy filled orders for companies throughout New England and in Ontario and Quebec.
Angus snorted. Bart’s massaging hands went from Angus’s thighs to his chest — he avoided the private areas for the moment. His hands caressed that barrel-shaped body, and he even planted his lips on the side. He slurped up the bathwater that clung to his now-clean skin. Angus furrowed his brow like he didn’t understand.
“So, you didn’t answer me,” Bart said. “What can I do for you? Not something medical.”
“What?”
“There must be something you want.”
Angus chuckled, his big chest shifting up and down when he did. His deep voice echoed in the high-raftered barn. “There’s a new milkin’ machine on the market. Costs a pretty penny though-“
“I’ll buy it for you.”
Angus looked down at him. “Pardon?”
“I’ll buy it for you if you do something for me,” Bart said. He blushed at Angus’s intense, sour-faced stare. His giant body loomed overhead like an idol. Bart looked down, then hugged his torso. “Will you… lay with me? Treat me like a woman. Stick your dick in me.”
Nearly toppling over, Angus jumped with a start. He was not accepting that. Jacking off was taboo in Angus’s household. He was a god-fearing man.
But in his view, obscenity was worse than some minor, harmless masturbatory indiscretions. As long as he didn’t touch another man in such a manner, Angus didn’t see it as a grave sin. He could allow the mincing stranger to service him. It was not motivated by lust, after all, nor even greed.
But Angus just nodded — he thought he would lose his farm if he didn’t get that milking-machine sooner or later — the other dairies in the area already had it, and they were able to produce twice as much milk from the same number of cows, and with fewer workers. He still stood there, ignoring Bart as though he didn’t understand what Bart had offered.
“So, that’s a yes?”
“You had better actually buy me the machine,” Angus said flatly. His hand formed a fist. “I will have you lynched, mister.”
Bart shivered in fear. Angus had said that so nonchalantly that Bart assumed it could only be a real threat. “Don’t worry, I’ll follow through,” Bart said.
The idea of jacking off with a man wasn’t entirely alien to Angus Butterman. He’d done it before. There was a worker on his dairy farm who had the silhouette of a woman in the right light, and he enjoyed servicing the meats of men with stubborn stiffies. Angus had gone to see him on many a night when his wife wanted nothing to do with him. She said Angus was too big, like trying to lay beneath a buffalo, and so their marital bed was only visited a few times a year. Angus found alternative means to satisfy his urges, in an entirely Christian way.
Bart kissed his cocktip, which made it tremble and shake. Angus smelled strongly of sweat in his crotch because Bart hadn’t scrubbed him yet, just rinsed and massaged him, and he didn’t intend to. He loved a stinky man. Angus could scrub later.
He stroked his dick while slurping on just the tip. He had a feeling it would get magnificently big and he was right — it grew from merely impressive to a full twelve-inch long monster that made Bart shiver again with both terror and anticipation. That was going to hurt in all the best ways, he thought.
“Put your mouth on it, deeper,” Angus said, reaching down to shove Bart into the position he wanted. He seemed to think Bart didn’t know how to do it. Bart didn’t correct him because he enjoyed a pushy alpha — Angus thought he was the worldly expert!
He wrapped Bart’s lips around his cock and began to pivot his hips, forcing more and more of his giant dick into Bart’s throat. The taste was salty and warm and a little bitter from the soap that had dripped into his crotch. Bart had to lean over the lip of the tub to get deep in there, which he did with his hands clasped on Angus’s trunk-like thighs.
“Ah, my…” Angus bit his lip to avoid taking the Lord’s name in vain. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. His dick was so wet it dripped — and not with bathing water either. Bart drooled over it, desiring to have every inch of it throbbing in his throat.
Angus was as hard as pig-iron now, his dick pulsating in Bart’s mouth. His massive dairyman body rippled with each wave of pleasure to wrack his frame. His biceps and thunderous thighs all flexed and relaxed in sync with the cavernous moans that came from his chest. He gripped Bart’s head and held on tight, so he could deeply hump his manhood in Bart’s mouth. His entire foot-long manhood stabbed into Bart’s throat and stayed there before he began to rock back and forth.
“Ah, yes, yes…” Angus’s baritone voice gurgled moistly. His sweaty balls slapped against Bart’s chin.
It was one of the best cockshafts Bart had ever tasted. He thought maybe rural people had better dicks. There was something tastier about their manhoods, more pleasing in the way they plowed into his throat. They acted more on instinct maybe, less self-conscious, more primal and bestial. Whatever it was, Bart adored it, and he savored the sour flavor of Angus’s manhood.
Despite his lungs crying out for oxygen, Bart opened his throat wide and let Angus take charge of it. Plowing back and forth, Angus used and abused his throat, as more moans escaped his chest, and precum coated Bart’s tongue.
Then Angus let go just long enough to step out of the tub, while Bart took a hoarse gasping breath. Angus rammed his dick back in before Bart could even get his breath back. Bart kneeled before his awe-striking body.
“C’mon, boy, take the whole thing, good, good… You’re no doctor… Are you a con artist? That Governor Merriment is a fool…” Angus said as though that was a well-known fact.
When Angus finally let him take another breath, Bart rolled away and gasped. He grinned as he wiped spit and salty precum off his lips. “You wanna cornhole me? In the ass?”
By the standards of a rural farm community like this little town outside of Montpelier, that was a very obscene way to put it. Angus flared his nostrils. Bart had no idea how offensive Angus found his words, but Angus had that New England taciturnity, and he did not say anything about it. He just grumbled inwardly about rude city-folk. He really needed that milking machine.
If that’s how people in New York talk, I’ll be glad to never see another one, Angus thought. Nobody had told him Bart was from New York, it was just where Angus assumed all out of towners were from. Maybe Canadian actually, Angus thought now, that might explain the accent.
In any case, Angus wasn’t going to turn down a chance to blow a nut, plus get a milking machine out of it. In fact, he was glad to spoil such a foul-mouthed man’s bottom, he thought. He would never have done it to someone he thought of as clean and good-hearted.
“Bend ovaah,” he said with an angry snort.
When Bart didn’t move quick enough, Angus bent him over the copper tub. He bade Bart to stick his ass high. It was an awkward position for Bart, who had to keep his face above the water, which now steamed lightly as Angus’s bodily dirt and grease floated on the surface.
“Hmmm… Spread ‘em, stranguh,” Angus said with a thick-voiced chuckle. He had to stand on his toes and lean forward in order to line his cock up with Bart’s ass. He used his other hand to separate the cheeks and then wedged his dick in.
“Oh god, damn…” Bart said, having no idea that blasphemy spurred Angus on to treat him even crueler.
Angus kneaded the soft flesh of Bart’s delicate asscheeks. He slipped his dick in and Bart cried out as a burst of pain hit his backside hard. His eyes opened wide and his face dipped into the water that stank of Angus’s sweaty body. The pain quickly melted away, leaving behind a slowly simmering sense of bliss.
The moan that escaped from Bart’s lips was an intense chest-rattle that made Angus think he was in blinding pain. That seemed right anyway. Angus had no idea that Bart genuinely thought he was handsome — people simply didn’t talk about men in that manner in rural Vermont. So Angus assumed Bart was mentally defective in some way, like a hobo or a mental patient, and that he enjoyed the pain. It was no skin off Angus’s nose.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Bart favored the physiques of big men, and he loved big cocks, and he was good enough at taking on massive manhoods that the pain lasted only a few seconds. Even the pressure was not unbearable. It was made more intense by the heavy body resting upon Bart’s thin back.
“You are… a most low man,” Angus said dourly, chewing on his lip as he struggled to ram his dick all the way in.
Finally Bart took a deep breath and took in every inch of Angus’s dick, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He again doused his face in the now-lukewarm tub of water, which exhilarated him. “Yes, Angus, get deep in me!”
Angus frowned but did so. It was also rude, he thought, to call a stranger by his given name. But if he got one of those modern milking machines, it would all be worth it.
And besides that, Angus decided, this felt good enough to do it even without the milking machine — it was just plain good. His wife never let him plow into her like this. She didn’t want to do it unless they were planning on having another child. Angus accepted that even if he disliked it.
But Bart, it seemed, would take anything — Angus had no idea Bart had a minimum weight — so Angus could plow in as hard as he was capable of. He made Bart grip the far edges of the copper tub, which rocked as Bart was rollicked back and forth by the intense feel of Angus’s heavy cock.
“Oh god, shit… I— oh fuck-!” An orgasm ripped through Bart’s body.
Angus gripped Bart by the hair hard. “Do not curse, little man, and do not take the Lord’s name in vain-” He too cut himself off, his voice breaking as he orgasmed at the same time.
Bart blushed, his mind whirring as he realized he had been blaspheming for several minutes. He was nearly bent all the way over the tub now, his head on the far side of it, so his own cock sprayed its wad into the water.
“Oh — oh-!” Bart couldn’t think of any non-curse word — was ‘crap’ offensive? He had no idea. All he did was howl and scream as his prostate sent wave after wave of pleasure through his body, which was painfully pinned in place by Angus’s powerful body pressing down on him.
Then, all in one fumbling motion, Angus went to the floor and dragged Bart with him. They were both on their sides, writhing and undulating, Angus’s strong limbs flapping around. Bart was swallowed up by his bigness and covered in the water that still clung to his barrel-shaped torso.
“Aaaaaaaah…” Angus moaned and snorted, sniffling, getting himself a nose-full of Bart’s sweat from the back of his head. But it was Bart who got more sweat in his face, with Angus’s body all around him. Everywhere Bart looked was frenzied male flesh rolling and flexing. He slurped every bit of it clean, unable to resist even as his ass cried out for mercy.
Then, it was over. Angus backed off, and his dick slid out.
“Shit…” Bart said again, then clasped his hands over his mouth. “Sorry. That’s a bad habit.”
“I should think so,” Angus said with a judgmental snort. He slapped his own belly, making his muscles ripple. Bart leaved over and kissed his hairy chest.
“I’m really sorry,” Bart said. “Maybe I could hang around your farm for a couple days and keep you satisfied.” Bart suspected there were farmworkers around too, which might give him plenty enough variety to be entertained.
“That would be acceptable. It will take you some time to arrange for that milking-machine as well.”
“Oh, right, sure,” Bart said. “Is it okay if I stay here? In this barn?”
“Here? This is where all the men come to bathe- Oh.” Angus realized that was precisely why Bart liked it. Angus smirked and stood. He waved his dick around above Bart’s face, making a few drops of either sweat or cum or both — Bart couldn’t tell — plop onto his lips. Bart swallowed them up. They were sweet and salty and delicious. “Fine,” Angus said.
He waddled away, putting on his overalls only just before he stepped outside. That left Bart in the barn alone, to work out a plan to seduce as many farmworkers as he could find!

The Private

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

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read it here!

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

The Married Cop

When Avery is robbed, he meets up with a cop with a wife and a physique Avery could… and just might worship for days! Officer Heartley is a bull-headed macho cop who needs to get a little relief, and Avery is all too happy to help out!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was furious about his hotel room being robbed. It was only eighty dollars, but still — having security to prevent this sort of thing was exactly why Avery was loyal to the chain. He had explained this to the manager in no uncertain terms, and he had gotten a refund as well as a free day in the room. That was worth more than what he had lost.
There was nothing to do now, however, but wait and pace. The police were on their way, supposedly. Avery knew the police wouldn’t do anything for eighty dollars, but he wanted to make his statement. This was an annoying distraction when he was trying to be more productive in his life. He wanted to hurry up and file his complaint so he could get back to work.
When the cops arrived, however, Avery was at a loss for words. His blood ran hot and his cock twitched in his pants, his annoyance at the robbery having vanished. One of the officers was a skinny young woman, but the other was a sturdy older man. He was Officer Malcolm Heartley, and he had a square jaw like a superhero.
“Sorry to hear about ya troubles, sir,” Officer Heartley said with the most delightfully full-bodied voice, all baritone echoes emanating from beneath his scruffy throat, a somewhat awkward tremble to it — he was one of those delightfully strong men who weren’t swaggerous and cocky. Avery thought a note of unconfidence made him even more handsome. “So you sure there ain’t nothin’ else missin’?”
“Yeah, that’s it, thanks,” Avery said. He blushed a little because he could feel Officer Heartley looking at him. He wished he could come up with a reason to make Officer Heartley stay.
“Alright, thank you for callin’ it in,” Officer Heartley said. Avery could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t think they would find the money. The woman cop said they would keep looking for the culprit, but Avery didn’t find her very convincing. It was only eighty dollars, after all, Avery thought, surely there were more important crimes in this city.
“Thank you for your help, officer,” Avery said. He clasped Officer Heartley’s well-muscled arm in hand. He shook the woman’s hand too, but he was so blinded by Officer Heartley’s strength and the body heat radiating off him that he shook her hand in an automaton trance.
And that was that, Avery’s distemper was gone, and the hotel-room robbery seemed like a memory from his distant past. Avery loved older men with fantastic physiques, and Officer Heartley was a perfect one. He was dark-skinned, thick and jowly, but not fat, just muscle and meat all over, you could tell he was used to home-cooked meals in a warm home. His face had a few wrinkles under the eyes, and his beard hairs were flecked with gray.
“We’ll call you if we learn anything,” said the perky blonde cop. She was hot too, beautiful really, Avery thought, but he had no interest in her. She was lost in the alluring aura emanating from Officer Heartley.
But he couldn’t stick around. The florist trade-show was over. It was time to go back home. He checked out of his room.
He sat down in the hotel lounge to work on the novel he had promised himself he’d finish a rough draft of on this trip. It took a few hours to get his focus back. He took several breaks, and drank a ton of coffee in a coffeeshop next to the hotel.
He finally got a little writing done around eight o’clock, and he went down to the hotel bar to celebrate afterwards. He was just about to sit when he realized he shouldn’t reward the hotel for letting someone steal from his room. He should go to a different bar.
He had no sooner walked outside, however, when he saw a police car pull into the parking lot. It was Officer Heartley, and he rolled down his window. “Hey, there you are. We caught the guy who had your cash, we can give it back if you come with me. You gotta fill out some forms.”
Avery got in. “Really? You caught him?”
“Yeah, I’m as surprised as you. But he hit a couple hotels in the area, apparently he hacked a swipe card that works in any of them. One of the hotels caught him on camera,” Officer Heartley said as he drove away and Avery buckled his seat-belt.
“Where’s your partner?”
“Oh, we’re off now. She’s out with her hot new boyfriend.”
“Oh, you’re off-duty?! That’s so sweet of you to come get me!” Avery said.
“Well, you know… I don’t like out-of-towners gettin’ the wrong impression ‘bout my town,” Officer Heartley said. “You single?”
“Yes I am,” Avery said. He cleared his throat. “What about you?” He made sure to speak in a slow, seductive tone. Officer Heartley had to know what that meant.
“I’m separated. My wife left me.”
“Oh you poor baby, it must have been a long time since you’ve been with a woman,” Avery said. He patted Officer Heartley’s well-muscled forearm.
He nodded.
“Well you know, I have a magical power,” Avery said. “I can make guys forget about their wives. Who’s got a mouth, an ass and a need to please? This guy!” Avery pointed to himself.
“That’s… I don’t do that, no thank you, sir,” Officer Heartley said, but with a nervous tremble to his voice. Avery could tell he wanted to do it. He was responding to Avery’s flirtatious tone. But a lot of guys did that because they liked the attention, it didn’t mean they were interested. Especially once they were married, many guys were desperate for someone to call them handsome.
“Hmm… That’s unfortunate. Tell your wife I’m going to steal every inch of her husband.”
After a long pause, Officer Heartley said, “I’m not going to tell her that.”
They pulled into the police station then. Avery went in with him, filled out the requisite paperwork and saw the skeezy-looking guy who had been caught. He was sitting there in a hallway in handcuffs. Avery didn’t know that’s who it was until Officer Heartley pointed him out.
When he had his eighty dollars back, Avery headed out to the parking lot. Officer Heartley brought him to the police car. Then he sat behind the steering wheel and didn’t say anything. It looked like he was waiting.
“Officer Heartley?” Avery wondered if he had done something wrong. “Hey, uh… are you okay? You don’t have to take me back to the hotel, I can afford a cab. Or an uber. Or I can walk, it’s like five blocks.”
“Shush…” Officer Heartley said with a desperate gulp. He opened the door for Avery to get in. “I ain’t pervy.”
A long pause ensued. Avery wanted to say fine, but he had just been shushed, so Avery didn’t say anything.
Finally Officer Heartley spoke again. “You, uh… My wife… My wife used to be so different, y’know. I don’t think I changed that much since we got married. We used to go out and she wanted to, y’know…” He glanced at Avery. “Like… she wanted to suck me off, y’know, in the bathroom.”
“What?”
He blushed. “No, I mean, she don’t have a bathroom-fetish, I just mean we’d go out somewhere and she’d wanna bang in like a closet or bathroom or something. She’d wanna suck my dick.” He paused. “But now, she just like… She don’t even wanna look at me. She got kinda fat and her hair is always a mess and she don’t shave her pussy no more, she barely even shaves her armpits, and if I mention it at all, she freaks out, but she is always calling me a fat-ass and when I fart she calls me a nasty shit.” Then he whispered hoarsely. “It makes me feel bad.”
“Oh, you poor baby…” Avery said. He patted Officer Heartley’s belly. He wasn’t fat, but he had a belly there. He looked like he probably had a six-pack back when he met his wife, so any amount of fat might have seemed like a beer-gut to her. Officer Heartley’s muscles rippled beneath his uniform shirt. “You can tell her how you feel. Tell her it hurts your feelings.”
He rolled his eyes. “I, y’know… I can’t say that.”
“You said it to me.”
“Yeah, but you’re… you know.”
“So you can tell a guy you barely know, but not your wife?”
He shrugged. “She won’t care. She’s…” He whispered again. “She’s such a bitch.”
“Do you want me to-?”
“Shush. Don’t say it,” he said. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest of his squad car. It was parked in a row of other squad cars. No one was behind them, just a solid fence with barbed-wire atop it, so they couldn’t be surprised. In the main part of the parking lot, officers currently on-duty met with their partners and sipped coffee before getting in their own squad cars and driving off.
Officer Heartley unzipped his slacks and pulled his cock out. It was big and fleshy, and Avery thought you could tell just by looking at it that no one had been treating it right in a long time. He bet Officer Heartley’s wife even got mad if he jacked off to Internet porn, so Heartley was probably in a world of frustration.
Sure enough, it twitched as soon as Avery touched it. “Oh, it’s so big! Your wife must have loved taking it in her ass when you two were just dating!” Avery smiled at the frustrated look on Officer Heartley’s face. He suspected that, if he kept bringing up anal sex, Officer Heartley would be unable to resist. “I know I couldn’t resist begging for it in my tight asshole if we dating and I was a girl. I would crave this cock all up in me. What was her pussy like?”
His dick twitched beneath Avery’s fingers. Officer Heartley moaned. “Ah, shit, man, it was velvety and smooth and… damn, I want that again. Shit…”
Avery breathed heavily, and he tried to sound as girlish as he could. Officer Heartley’s eyes were closed, his great cavernous chest heaving as he breathed and Avery stroked his dick, slowly and unctuously at first, sliding his hand up and down. He paused to spit onto his palm, which made Heartley moan again when Avery resumed stroking.
“Were you a cop when you met her?”
He shook his head. “I wanted to be. I told her that on our first date,” he said. His voice sounded croaky and tense, his eyes still scrunched shut tightly. “But I was just a painter then.”
“Oh?!” Avery snaked his other hand into Officer Heartley’s pants, from which his cock stuck out through the fly. He handled his sweaty balls.
“Shit, man, that feels so good…” Officer Heartley said. He settled back in his seat like he was ready for this to last a long time.
“I know. I think you’re really handsome in that uniform. And I bet you’d be just as handsome in anything else,” Avery said. He unbuttoned the bottom of Officer Heartley’s uniform shirt, making his undershirt-clad belly visible. He bent over and kissed his belly, blowing a raspberry as though it was a baby’s hairy belly. Officer Heartley laughed and his dick twitched in Avery’s hand. “You’re so manly, your wife is stupid if she doesn’t suck you off all the time.”
Officer Heartley glanced at him, his eyes open now. He watched his cock pulsate, a few drops of precum leaking out and lubricated Avery’s fingers. “Man… I dunno.”
“Nothin’ wrong with men makin’ each other feel good. You just close your eyes and let me make you feel good. Is it okay if I put my mouth on it, sweetie?”
He grunted and gritted his teeth as though being called sweetie turned him on. He shook his head. “Wait… I mean…” His pecs bounced beneath his shirt. “I mean…”
Avery could tell he was wavering. Avery moaned right in his ear. “Oh, sweetie… Your dick needs to get wet, I can tell. It’s so dry. Your balls are so full they’re going to burst, you poor baby.” He unbuttoned his uniform shirt the rest of the way. “What if I just put the tip in my mouth? Okay? Just the tip? I won’t do nothin’ else until you tell me it’s okay.”
His voice was breathless and jagged. “Yeah. Just the tip, okay. Okay.” He put one meaty hand on the back of Avery’s head and guided him down to his cock. Avery opened up and put his cocktip on his tongue, then slurped exuberantly. He spat up plenty of spit that ran down Officer Heartley’s shaft and soaked his crotch.
Now that he was so close to Officer Heartley’s body, he could smell his unwashed clothes — was he in trouble with his wife? Staying in a motel? Possibly, Avery thought.
“Just the tip, okay?” Officer Heartley said, his voice a low throaty rumble.
Avery made eye contact with him, but Officer Heartley immediately closed his eyes. Flopping his hard dick over his face, Avery let out a long cooing moan and called Heartley his baby again. “My sweet little baby… Ooh… Your dick tastes like candy, baby, I wanna make love to your cock.”
“Just the tip.” His voice sounded like he wanted to be firm and confident, but it came out as weak and wavery.
“‘Course, baby, just the tip,” Avery said, trying to hide his disappointment. He used one hand to stroke his shaft, while he kept his mouth on just the tip, suckling loudly, moistly. He had to cram his head in between Officer Heartley’s massive body and the steering wheel.
“Hey! Alan! You in there?”
“I’ll go see, he probably knows where it is.”
Avery heard that, but he couldn’t see because his head was in Officer Heartley’s crotch — and he didn’t even know Heartley’s first name was ‘Alan’. He assumed it was other cops getting into a patrol car. But when he heard their voices getting closer, he lifted his head.
Luckily, the sun shined into the windshield; it would have been blinding, but these patrol cars had glare-canceling windshields. It did make it impossible for anyone outside to see into the car from this angle, however, which was good because Avery saw a pair of uniformed officers some thirty feet away. If it weren’t for that glare, they would have seen Officer Heartley leaning back and then seen Avery’s head pop up from his crotch.
“Shit! Someone’s coming,” Avery said.
Officer Heartley opened his eyes, roared in frustration and jumped into action. He forced Avery’s head back down where it couldn’t be seen, his hard dick still leaking precum onto Avery’s face. He turned the engine on and rammed the car into drive.
“Shit!” Officer Heartley grunted, his voice desperate and plaintive, dick leaking precum over Avery’s cheeks. He drove to the right — which was not the way out of the parking lot, but did mean the officers would be on the driver’s side, so they wouldn’t see Avery without coming very close to the car.
“Where are you going, Alan?”
“Hey, did you see that memo from the DA? We wanted to ask if you knew about the plea forms, how does that work? Sheila said she never heard of them.”
Officer Heartley’s face was ruddy. He rolled down his window and waved as though this was normal, and nothing was wrong. “Hey guys,” he said. His mind whirred, his cocktip now back in Avery’s mouth. “Uh… Yeah… Plea forms are the same thing as those D9s. Just tell Sheila that, you need D9s.”
The other two cops exchanged glances that were both confused and enlightened — that was a helpful answer to their question, they were simply confused because Officer Heartley had a tense, pained expression on his face. But they just assumed he wasn’t feeling well, or had gotten in a fight with his soon-to-be ex-wife on the phone — perhaps, they thought, that was why he had been sitting in his car in this parking lot for a long time.
They just watched the squad car drive all the way around the parking lot, finally leaving onto Poplar Avenue and nearly going the wrong way on it until Heartley realized what he was going. He drove south into downtown.
“You still got your hotel?”
“No, I checked out,” Avery said.
He barely even noticed his hand pressing down on Avery’s head. He didn’t really intend to get deep-throated. That was an uncomfortably pervy idea to him. But he had an instinctual urge to push Avery all the way down on his shaft, plus he wanted Avery to keep his head down. So he did it without thinking about it, without even noticing until he realized Avery’s nose was in his pubic hair.
“Oh god…” Officer Heartley moaned.
His cock tasted amazing: salty and warm and musky, Avery crooned and sucked it all down. He didn’t care about his own throat crying out for oxygen and relief. He wanted to taste Officer Heartley until he had had enough and couldn’t take it anymore.
He drove to the most rundown motel in the bad part of town, a motel that was well-known as the epicenter of the city’s red light district. That was where all the hos brought their johns. Officer Heartley felt disgusted with himself going there at all for non-law-enforcement purposes, but it was where he had driven without thinking about it.
“I’ll get us a room,” he said. He took a deep breath. His cock ached. He wanted to get go at it all night like his wife used to do. He wanted to have so many orgasms it made up for the years his wife had been ignoring him.
But first, he had to awkwardly put his dick back in his uniform slacks and get out of the patrol car. It must have been obvious he had an erection, and he was pretty sure there was even a wet spot on his crotch — he was too excited and exhilarated and mind-bogglingly horny to even look down.
He raced into the front lobby and virtually tossed some cash at the dour-faced man behind the counter. “I need a room!”
“How many hours? Officer?” the man asked. He looked at Officer Heartley as though he thought he was catching him doing something wrong. He probably assumed a cop would only be here because he was getting free services from a prostitute. But Officer Heartley was too horny to stop and explain that he was just jacking off.
“Uh…” He had no idea what was normal. “Overnight.”
“You’re thirty bucks short,” the man said.
Officer Heartley cursed and scowled and handed over his credit card. That hardon wasn’t going away, it just kept throbbing painfully in his clothes.
It took forever, but finally Heartley got his key. He darted out into the parking lot again, and motioned for Avery to come to him. They scampered to the room, Officer Heartley’s pants already coming off even before he opened the door.
He dove onto the bed on his belly — which caused intense pain in his still-erect cock — then he rolled over onto his back. In seconds, his dick was out the fly and in Avery’s mouth. He let out a long, low sigh.
It took a few seconds for either of them to notice that the door was still open. Avery had barely gotten the fresh taste of precum in his mouth before he got up to slam the door shut. He returned to swallowing Heartley’s shaft.
“Oh god, yes…” Officer Heartley held onto Avery by the back of his head, fucking his throat deeply.
It was all over in seconds now. Officer Heartley’s balls crawled up in his sac, and his veiny shaft pulsated in Avery’s throat. Hot, creamy cum coated his mouth and slicked down to his belly. It was thick and warm, and it sat hotly in his stomach.
He tasted salty and sour and a bit sweet, with a strongly musky taste that Avery adored. There were flavors of steel and copper and unwashed fabric, cocoa butter and cheap deodorant. Avery guzzled down every drop, smiling at the sight of Officer Heartley writhing violently beneath him.
Then at last he pulled off, grinning at Officer Heartley’s shocked expression. “That was not just the tip,” Avery said coyly. He stroked his limp dick.
“Yeah, well… I changed my mind.” Officer Heartley groaned. “I paid for this room all night and I busted a nut in about five seconds.”
Avery giggled. “You didn’t think this was all over already, did you? I’m going to stroke your dick until it falls off. And then I’ll find another penis to attach, and I’ll stroke on that till it falls off.” He playfully groped Officer Heartley’s chest beneath his uniform shirt.
“You got spare penises?” He chuckled dryly. He was about to speak again, when there was a loud moan in the hotel room next door.
They both blushed and smiled. This motel rented rooms by the hour to prostitutes, and it seemed there was one such transaction going on right next-door. Officer Heartley sighed and stood up. The moaning from next-door was not too loud — they could only hear the man, whose deep voice was easily audible. Avery could hear a woman’s practiced heavy breathing only when he pressed his ears against the wall.
He yelped and stepped away when a woman let out a little yelp. “I said not to pull my hair,” she said. “Quit it, get off me.” There was a loud thump, it sounded like she had pushed the man off her and he fell off the bed.
“You bitch! I paid for an hour, you best believe I am getting all sixty minutes! I swear I’ll call Bernard-“
“He says no one can pull my hair, not for no amount of money, cuz my hair could fall out-“
“I wasn’t gonna pull ya hair out, you fuckin’ cunt! I just needed somethin’ to grab onto. Ya tiny-ass titties ain’t enough-“
“Oh, you’re complainin’ ‘bout my size? I thought you stuck your nipple in my pussy until I opened my eyes!”
Avery listened to the argument with wide eyes and baited breath. Should he call the police? He realized he didn’t need to just as Officer Heartley was redoing his belt and running out the door. “Stay here,” Heartley said.
Avery didn’t want to get in the way, so he followed orders. He stayed with his ear to the wall so he could hear. Both the man and Officer Heartley shouted at once, as Officer Heartley pounded on the door. Then when it was opened, there was more shouting, with the woman joining in this time.
“Shut the fuck up! You don’t know what was going on here!”
“I do know! I could hear every word-“
“Oh? What were you doing in this place? Huh?”
“Not any bit of your business, motherfucker, it was totally legal,” Officer Heartley said.
Avery poked his head out the door and was shocked to see that the man being led away in cuffs was another cop. Officer Heartley had arrested a state trooper. The woman in the hotel room glanced at Avery without noticing him.
Then Avery just sat and waited in the hotel room. He was glad to have the chance to recover. After a few minutes, he went over and talked to the prostitute. He helped her fix her hair and makeup. She said she didn’t want to file any report about the cop who had attacked her, but Avery talked her into doing it. Some other officers arrived then — Heartley had shown up at the police station, his uniform shirt still unbuttoned and askew, his hair a mess, so he had endured great ribbing and later got written up for dress code violations.
He told them about the state policeman, so others came out take a statement from the prostitute.
Finally the door opened, and Officer Heartley returned to the hotel room. He had fixed his uniform and his hair only to realize he had waited until too late — by the time he came out of the station men’s room looking like a professional, he was no longer needed. He was off-duty again. So he had gotten scrubbed up just to come back to Avery.
“Goddamn,” Officer Heartley said when he saw Avery sitting there on the bed. Avery immediately dropped to his knees and grabbed for Heartley’s crotch as though he was in desperate need for more cock. He didn’t even let him drop his pants, he just undid the fly and started slurping on it until Officer Heartley made him stop long enough to take his pants off.
“Do you wanna stick me in the ass?” Avery asked. He shook his ass towards Officer Heartley. “Please? I want to feel your cock inside me… You can ramrod me so hard, harder than your wife ever let you, I bet. I’ll never make you stop. And you can cum inside me, okay? You can drown me in cum…”
“Shit, boy, don’t talk like that, you’re gonna make me nut…” Officer Heartley closed his eyes again. He stood there, impatiently waiting as Avery took his pants off.
Then, at last, Avery got to back up on his dick. Like a lot of guys, Officer Heartley didn’t really know how to plow a man in the ass, so Avery had to take charge. Heartley just stood there by the bed while Avery lifted his ass up.
He ground his ass against Officer Heartley’s cock, letting it rub against his asshole. He clenched his hole too, making Heartley grunt and writhe. Avery reached behind himself and guided it into his ass.
“Oh, god, it’s so big!” Avery exclaimed. That was not a lie — it was big — but Avery only said it to puff up Officer Heartley’s ego. Besides that, he knew the position he wanted and it might take some effort to talk him into it. “Oh… I don’t know if I can do this,” Avery said.
“You said you could take it no matter what-“
“I didn’t know it was gonna be so big… You’re gonna ruin my ass, it’ll feel so good I never wanna do it again,” Avery said with a plaintive wail. “Hmm… Here, give me your arm.” He backed himself up farther, making Officer Heartley’s whole body shake as his dick sank deeper onto Avery’s ass. Avery took Officer Heartley’s well-muscled arm and wrapped it around himself, in a loose chokehold. That both provided more support and allowed Avery to lick and kiss every inch of Officer Heartley’s arm. “There you go, you’re so strong… I’m sure I can take your dick as long as I feel your strong arms around me, sweetie. That way I’ll know you’re keeping me safe.”
“Hmmm…” Officer Heartley grunted and bucked. His voice broke in Avery’s ear.
Avery loved getting plowed by older men like him. Officer Heartley was so handsome and macho and desperately horny. He craved affection — his wife was mean to him, and his fellow officers always gave him shit, and the civilians he interacted with almost universally hated him — so when Avery moaned and begged for more cock, that was nearly enough to make him cum all by itself.
“Oh god, get it deep in me!” Avery cried out. He wondered if there was anyone else in the motel who could hear that. That made him giggle, burying himself back on Officer Heartley’s cock.
He was all the way in now. Officer Heartley’s ex-wife had never taken it in the ass like this. She’d let him put it in her butt when they were dating, but only a few times, and only until it started to hurt — with a cock like that, it hurt right away. So he’d never had anal sex to completion, never got his entire shaft in her ass.
But Avery took it easily, with just a bit of struggle. Avery exaggerated it over and over to puff up Heartley’s ego. “It’s so big!” He even bit down on Heartley’s forearm, prompting a grunt from Officer Heartley’s lips.
Then they both went down to the bed, Avery squashed by Heartley’s massive bear-like body. Heartley finally began plowing without Avery needing to take charge. He pounded away, sticking his entire foot-long dick in, then pulling out and marveling at Avery’s asshole twinkling, begging for more.
“I’m gonna nut…” He grunted right into Avery’s ear. His wife used to like it when he said that. It was enough to trigger her orgasm, as it triggered Avery’s right now. But now she thought it was gross when he said it, or when he said anything else during sex, or anything at all about sex any other time.
Cum flowed into Avery’s ass. Even though he had already shot his wad once, he shot a huge load again — he must have had a lot built-up in his balls, Avery thought. It dripped out Avery’s ass and onto the motel mattress.
Finally he was done. Avery pulled off him. He had shot his own wad onto the mattress too, and it was now soaked.
Avery wrapped one arm around Officer Heartley’s meaty belly. “We made a big mess, and we’ve still got all night.”
Officer Heartley kissed him chastely on the cheek. “I’ll rent another room, baby. You’re worth it.”
Avery sighed and kissed each of Officer Heartley’s hairy asscheeks. “Let’s make this one filthier first.”

The Custodian

Turner Coop is a recovering crackhead and a custodian at the local college, and he’s got a physique Avery craves. When they run into each other one day, Avery is willing and ready to service every inch of Turner’s manhood. Can Turner accept?

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Read the whole thing here!

Avery stood by the door to his English classroom, waiting. He always ended up here a few minutes before class let out — he was in the next class, Advanced Poetry-Writing Techniques with Frau Klomp. He had been looking forward to that class all last semester, and it had proven as rewarding as he hoped. He only had time on Sundays, so it was a special Sunday-only summer class.
But Frau Klomp didn’t really follow a schedule very closely. Her previous class was supposed to let out at eleven o’clock, but she usually didn’t dismiss until eleven-fifteen, sometimes even later. Avery could tolerate this inconsistency, though many of his fellow students hated it — they had other classes, work schedules, girlfriends and boyfriends, etc., that made it difficult to accept an unpredictable ending to the class. And today was Father’s Day, so most likely a lot of people had plans.
Avery, however, didn’t much care about Frau Klomp’s inconsistent schedule, except that it was annoying to show up early and have to wait in the hall.
“Howdy, fella, glory be to God,” said Turner the custodian. He jawed and jived, smiling charismatically at the college students as they streamed past him in the halls. “You there, nice to see ya again. You still got the Lord’s joy in ya heart, I feel that! Heck yes!” It wasn’t clear he was actually talking to anyone specific. He was just generally saying things, aiming them at whoever happened to be within his field of vision at the time.
Avery’s heart skipped a beat. He’d had a crush on Turner for a long time. He didn’t even get why exactly. Turner wasn’t some handsome sex-god — he was a weird Christian custodian. He was dirty blond with a mustache like a 70s porn star, a great thick one that ran down the sides of his mouth, like he was trying to grow a goattee and but the lower part could only grow by dripping off his upper lip. He was a bodybuilder, but he didn’t have an excellent body — it was fine, adorable in Avery’s eyes — Avery didn’t much like that vascular bodybuildery look — because he had (supposedly) spent forty years as a homeless crackhead. Considering his age, that suggested Turner had been a homeless crackhead when he was a teenager back in the early days of crack — Avery thought that was very possible, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. In any case, he had become a born-again Christian who “sculpted God’s temple” in the gym every day just a few years ago.
So his wiry-hobo frame had gradually filled out, until he was bulging all over with thickness and firm muscle. He looked like his body didn’t quite fit on him, like he had combined a thin man’s body with a hefty man’s muscles.
But the mustache was what really drew Avery in. He did admire a man with a proper ‘stache.
“You still prayin’, Jay-Bay?!” Turner slapped palms with a fat black football player who laughed politely (and who made a face like his name was not anything similar to Jay-Bay). “The good lord loves ya!”
“Yeah…”
Turner pushed his mop bucket through the halls. He whistled loudly. He attracted a lot of attention, both for his dirty mullet and his mustache, as well as his frequent exhortations to pray. He’d been nearly fired for it twice because students complained about his proselytizing. It did not look like any of those actions resulted in him stopping.
“Who’s got the love in they heart? Do you, huh? Li’l fella, huh?” He tried to slap palms with a short young man walking by, but he nervously shuddered and quickened his pace. Turner watched him go. “Don’t worry, God loves ya just the same, boy!”
He got to work mopping the side corridor, the foreign language hallway, which didn’t have much activity on Sundays. Turner nodded at Avery who was still standing there by the door.
“How you doin’, God’s son?”
“Uh…” Avery had never actually spoken to Turner. He blushed. “I’m… cool.”
“It’s a glorious day, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, yeah-“
“A glorious day fo’ the Lord! Hallelujah!”
“Hmm-hmm.” Avery was interrupted by the arrival of a woman.
She pushed in front of Avery, ignoring him completely, and said, “There you are! I need the keys.”
“What for?”
“I gots to drive, baby,” she said as though he should have known that.
It was obvious this was Turner’s wife. Avery had noticed the wedding ring, but he had never seen her before. Another factor that made it obvious she was his wife was that she looked, like Turner, like she had been smoking crack for decades and quit recently. Her hair was thin and straw-like, her skin yellowed, her body portly and lumpy in all the wrong ways.
Somewhat less obviously, Avery thought she was on crack again. There was a trace of herky-jerky in her movements, her voice had a warble-grunting tone to it, and her eyes had that cloudy look of a crackhead. Avery was no expert, but she looked like a current-day crackhead.
Judging from the disappointed, betrayed look on Turner’s face, he knew it too. Turner’s mustache quivered. A long silence lay between them like a coffin, and Turner was, for the first time since Avery had seen him, speechless. She fluttered and jittered like she didn’t notice the penetrating stare from her husband.
He looked down his nose at her, kindness in his eyes and sternness in his voice. “Baby, remembuh the decisions you wanna make, remembuh the life you chosen to lead, glorifying our God above-“
“Just gimme the damn keys, Turner,” she snapped. Then she added, “I gots a doctor’s appointment.”
Turner sighed and took the keys out of his pocket. He handed them over to her. Avery kept his head down, pretending he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t believe Frau Klomp hadn’t yet dismissed her class. She was still deep in the throes of a lecture, it looked like through the little window in the door. Did schedules mean nothing to her? Not everybody has the free-wheeling, haphazard lifestyle of a college English professor. She probably has literally no deadlines that matter. Avery did.
“See you, baby, I love you and God loves you and-“
“Same to you.” She virtually sprinted away from him.
Turner watched her go. He hung his head and shook it. He glanced up at Avery and frowned. “I ain’t nevuh gonna see that car again,” he said. He took a deep breath. “You ain’t looking to sell a car on the cheap, is ya?” He chuckled.
“Actually…” Avery had an idea. He could handle skipping one poetry class. “I do have a car I want to get rid of. It’s a Geo Metro, it works just fine but it’s not worth that much money anymore, it’s all beat-up. No one will buy it. It runs, no problem.”
“Really? How much? I can fix it up, yessuh, I can make it run good as new, I know all ’bout cars. The good Lord give me a mind that works like that, ya see-” He pointed to his head. “I got that mechanical brain, ya feel me? Spark plugs and that. Transmission. Mufflers. Carburatuhs. They don’t make cars with carboratuhs no more, but you know, I knows about ’em.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said. “I’ll-“
“Startuh! I can fix a startuh, no problem.”
“Okay that’s great. I’ll give you the car for free, if you do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Stick it in me.”
For the second time in a long time — possibly the second time since he quit smoking crack — Turner was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to speak but only grunted. His eyes opened wide. “The car?”
“No, I mean, I want to jack you off, and I want to lick your dick, and I want you to stick me in the ass. I know it isn’t Christian and-“
“Yeah.” Turner grabbed Avery by the head and led him forcefully — not aggressively, but firmly — into the walk-in supply closet in the foreign-language hallway. Turner’s mustache quivered on his upper lip like he was upset. His powerful arms exuded heat, and the smell of his deodorant-clad armpits assaulted Avery’s nostrils.
Avery wondered if he had miscalculated. Was Turner going to beat him up? Was he being brought into the closet just for that purpose?
“What’s ya name, son?”
“Avery.”
“You Christian, Avery?” Turner asked, and Avery nodded. Turner shook his hand in the tiny closet. “Oh that’s a good fella. I got nothin’ against no kinda folks, just so’s ya know. I loves ’em Islam’slims, with the-” He pantomimed a turban or some other head-covering. Avery just smiled and nodded as the door to the closet closed. Turner went on to make more gestures that apparently referred to Muslims, but it was dark in the closet, so all Avery could sense was some quick furtive hand movements. Then Turner turned on the single bare lightbulb, bathing the closet in light.
“Oh, I-” Avery blushed as Turner took his shirt off. His bare chest muscles rippled as though he had to use every single one to take his shirt off.
“Hmm-hmmm…” Turner let out a little moan even though nothing had happened yet. Avery hadn’t even touched him.
That was because Turner believed strongly that fornication was wrong — also that any ejaculation outside the confines of a marriage was wrong or at least less than ideal. He thought that accepting money for jacking off — or a car, in this case — was sinful. But he also believed that God forgave anything, especially sins that were inspired by momentary lust and an inability to overcome God’s urges. Besides that, Turner had long ago decided that the greatest sin was destroying his body with crack. Anything that wasn’t that was a minor sin in comparison — he wasn’t hurting anyone, except his wife — and that marriage, he thought, was all but over — and he was only doing it because he was overwhelmed by need and want and desire.
So the sooner he could make himself feel like he was “overwhelmed”, the sooner Turner could abandon his inhibitions. God would forgive anything if Turner was too aroused to control himself, and so that is exactly how aroused Turner endeavored to be.
“Hmmmm….” This time his voice was a low, throaty growl that made Avery shiver. Turner’s hand slipped onto Avery’s shoulder. Turner leaned in and kissed Avery right on the lips. His mustache scratched at Avery’s upper lip. His tongue plunged into Avery’s mouth, and the dusty, sun-choked flavor of his mouth hit Avery’s senses. Avery swooned, and his arms fluttered around Tommy, then wrapped around his shoulders and held on. Turner’s muscles rippled as he kissed Avery passionately — awkwardly at first, then passionately, so it felt like Turner forgot partway through that he was kissing a man. It felt like how he might have kissed his wife, at least back before she stole his car a few minutes ago.
When jacking men off and swallowing their loads, getting them to ramrod him like a prisoner, Avery found they were rarely willing to kiss. They were more likely to give him a reacharound than lock lips with him. He didn’t mind so much. Kissing was optional as far as he was concerned, but he did enjoy it.
So he was shocked that Turner kissed him without even a trace of hesitance. Avery hadn’t even asked him to. He stood there limply for a moment, letting Turner’s tongue explore his mouth. Then Avery’s hands gripped Turner’s chest through his coveralls.
“Boy, you makin’ me forget my religion, and on Father’s Dady!” Turner said softly, his throaty voice echoing in Avery’s ear. “Get on ya knees. You got nice soft, silky lips. Lemme feel ’em, okay? I wanna feel ’em all nice and moist on my dick. Lemme feel it.”
Avery was going to say yes, but Turner kept talking — just like he usually did, except he talked about Avery jacking him off instead of his love for God. Avery didn’t want to interrupt him, so he simply sunk to his knees without another word. Turner ran his fingers through his tangled mullet and gently pushed down on Avery’s shoulders until he was in position.
The closet filled with the scent of cleaning fluids and bleach, which clung to Turner’s bleack-speckled coveralls. Avery’s dick rocketed to attention even before he had gotten to his knees, as the smell of Turner’s manly body and his heavenly crotch got Avery’s blood flowing. He unzipped the fly of Turner’s ratty old coveralls and reached in.
“Hmmm, boy, yeah, you got nice fingers too… You makin’ me forget ’bout sin, yessuh, you makin’ me forget!” Turner said with a whoop and a slap of one palm on his thigh. Avery hadn’t even touched his dick yet, and it was one hundred percent limp still, but Turner was acting like it felt really good. Avery inhaled the zesty must of his unwashed crotch.
And then Avery finally did get his fingers on Turner’s cock, squeezing through the fly and into the humid jungle of his groin. It was hot in there, and Turner’s shaft was greasy and throbbing, veiny even though Avery only barely touched it with his fingertips. The darkened, moistened crevice of his crotch smelled strong, the scent leaking out through the open fly of his coveralls. It was funky and sour, sweet like baking bread, the warmth and humidity of it wafting out onto Avery’s face even before he had gotten the zipper fully down.
His dick was slippery with sweat, and it pulsated beneath Avery’s touch. Turner’s whole body shook from that barest of touches. He leaned back and rested his hefty arms on the shelves of the supply closet. That put his crotch at a perfect height for Avery to nuzzle. His cock slipped into Avery’s mouth.
“Take it out, boy, take it out and make it wet, make it nice and wet…” Turner closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. “Dang, boy… Dang, I say!”
Avery was surprised at how big it was. He had had no reason to think it wouldn’t be big, he just generally assumed that men with huge dicks talked about it a lot and found reasons to bring it up. But Turner, it seemed, was too Christian for that. Turner was short and skinny, tautly muscled but skinny, so it seemed like all his body parts should be small.
But his cock was well over ten inches long and so thick Avery struggled to swallow it. Avery battered it with his tongue, and he held it with two hands while he aggressively worked the tip. He hocked up a mountain of spit that ran down the veiny shaft and soaked into Tommy’s off-black, off-blond, off-gray pubic hair.
When he was fully erect, Turner slapped Avery over the face with his rod — that was something Turner remembered being done to him in his crackhead days. Or had he just witnessed it in prison? He couldn’t remember now. All that seemed like distant memories. Everything from when he was smoking crack was just filed into one confused bucket, and Turner couldn’t get anything coherent out of that bucket.
“Aaaaah…” Turner recalled now. Back when he was living on the streets, man stuff was something that just sort of happened — he’d wake up sixty-nining a man and have no idea why or when he started. Not just men, mind you, he’d participated in some massive orgies, spent hours licking tight pussies and generally just gotten laid way more often than you might think a hobo did.
It had happened a lot less since he quit the drugs, and even less since he got married. He couldn’t even remember the last time he got jacked off by a man. There weren’t nothing wrong with it, as he saw back before he became a Christian. Nowadays, of course… everything that ain’t Christ-full is a sin, and Christ was nowhere to be found in this funk-stinky closet. Turner moaned and gripped Avery’s head, drilling back and forth as he slid his dick down Avery’s throat.
“C’mon, boy, get it down deep…” His voice was hot, gruff, urban and throaty, and Avery wanted to tease him so he’d keep talking and making demands. So Avery just licked his shaft instead of jacking on it. That was hot enough to get Turner hard, but he still found it frustrating. “C’mon, boy, what’choo doin’? You just playin’? Ain’t ya? You ain’t takin’ nothin’ seriously, I see that. You wanted to jack on it, so put it in ya mouth, son, and swallow.”
“Hmmm… Okay,” Avery said with a flirty giggle that made Turner grunt. Avery deep-throated his shaft in one smooth motion. Turner grunted again, and his whole body shook.
“Damn…” Turner couldn’t remember if he’d ever been jacked off this good by a male. His cock throbbed at full erection, and it rubbed in Avery’s throat, which squeezed the shaft and sent wave after wave of pleasure through Turner’s body.
He stood on his toes and threw his head back so hard his mullet slammed into a shelf, and Turner groaned in pain. He lifted his hands up, unsure if he should hold Avery’s head or not — would that be too gross? Would Avery dislike it? Would it make Avery go slower or worse? Turner didn’t want to do anything that would interrupt the mind-blowing pleasure suddenly flowing through his veins.
“You ready… to smash?” Avery asked with another flirty laugh. He recognized that Turner liked that feminine sound, so he did it again and again as he turned around and bent over.
“Hmm-hmm…” Turner couldn’t believe how much like a female Avery’s ass felt. It was plump and smooth and round and had a very feminine shape. He turned out the light, bathing the closet in darkness and making it almost impossible to tell that Avery was not a woman. Turner murmured a brief prayer begging for forgiveness, but he reminded God that he had merely fallen prey to a victimless (nearly-so) sin because he was so uncontrollably horny since his wife no longer jacked him off.
Should I divorce her?
That thought sent a chill up Turner’s spine. He didn’t want to divorce her. His church didn’t even allow it. He couldn’t even ponder that. He’d have to find a way to make the marriage work.
The nice thing about cornholing males, Turner thought but didn’t say, was that anal was “allowed” — not really “allowed”, of course, but anal wasn’t especially prohibited if it was with a man. Turner hadn’t cornholed his wife in the ass because that was a sin (and because she said no). Jacking off with a man was already lust, and that’s a sin in the Bible, so what did it matter in which hole it occurred?
Turner grinned, glad that it was too dark in here for Avery to see how excited he was. He hadn’t cornholed anyone in the ass in years, and he didn’t do anal sex with his wife because it was forbidden in the Bible, or so Turner did believe. He spread Avery’s cheeks and slipped his dick in, awkwardly at first because it was dark and he was unpracticed — and he didn’t want to touch Avery’s ass any more than absolutely necessary.
“Damn!” Avery bit his lip as a jolt of pain hit him. His asshole stretched. Once the tip got in though, he accommodated Turner’s cock the best he could, and he was able to allow more and more of that massive slab of manhood to fill him up.
“Shit, boy, take it…” Turner murmured, his voice soft because people could be heard walking by the supply closet. It wasn’t lockable. Someone could come in any time. That seemed unlikely, simply because nobody here had any reason to open the supply closet, except for Turner himself.
Avery’s head hit the door, making it rattle. He gasped and tried to squirm away, but Turner was oblivious — and didn’t care that much about being caught — and just kept cornholing. Avery let out a howl of desire, which he covered up by biting his lip. The door would have rattled loudly on its hinges, but Avery instead pressed it hard, forcing it to sit tautly in its threshold rather than loosely moving with Avery’s writhing. Vast pleasure wracked Avery’s body, making him writhe and twist in Turner’s grasp. Avery panted and begged for more.
Turner moaned. It was a loud sound, but it didn’t carry well and its origin wasn’t obvious to the few students walking past the closet. They looked around, but assumed it was someone making a joke. Avery would have screamed if he could, but the pleasure that exploded throughout his body was so intense it was all he could do to breathe heavily.
“Shit…” Avery whispered. He jutted his ass back to meet Turner’s dick, until his smooth cheeks rubbed against Turner’s coarse pubic hair. Turner’s balls slapped against his asscheeks.
“Here I go, boy, take it, you gonna take e’ry drop, right? I don’t wanna pull out. Don’t make me spill my seed-“
“No, don’t pull out. Cum inside me, please, please…” Avery said breathlessly. He leaned against the door, just inches from the people filing by in the hallway.
Cum sprayed into him, great creamy torrents of it. His semen was thick and warm, the heat seeping into Avery’s flesh in waves. Turner kept going — he’d been trying not to masturbate lately, and his wife hadn’t been putting out — because he was so horny it hurt. His balls felt over-full, like he was a young man again, and all he could think about was creaming Avery’s ass with his load.
It kept flowing, wad after creamy wad jetting into Avery’s guts. Avery jacked himself off onto the door itself, but Turner didn’t even notice that. He was entirely focused on his own desire. A part of him did notice his cell phone beep, but he ignored it. He just gripped Avery’s asscheeks and held on tight.
“”Hell yeah, boy…” Turner moaned. He stayed in, even as his dick limpened. He didn’t pull it out. He just watched it throb in Avery’s clenching ass.
Eventually, however, Avery had had enough. He pulled off Turner’s cock and sighed. He grabbed some paper towels from one of the shelves and cleaned his ass off, and Turner’s cock too. When he touched the shaft, Turner’s whole body shook and his muscles flexed all together.
“Damn, Turner, that was good,” Avery said with a giggle. “I’m glad you decided to sin with me.”
“Will you go to church with me on Sunday?” Turner asked even before his breathing had recovered. He wiped sweat off his forehead.
“Uh…”
“I done somethin’ wit’ you, you should do somethin’ wit’ me,” Turner said. “I tell you what: I meet you early, okay? You pick me up in the car you about to give me. You can touch me up all kinda ways. Once we get there, I gonna be recommittin’ myself to a life of virtue, and so will you, I hope, wit’ God’s love. We both gonna be seekin’ forgiveness, and we gonna get it, son.”
“Oh, uh, well… Okay,” Avery said. He sighed. Had he really just agreed to go to church? At least, he thought, he’d get to mess around beforehand. He’d have never agreed if he was foggy with post-nut brain.
Turner finally remembered his cell phone beeped. He took it out of his pocket and scowled. “Car’s gone. She said it got stolen.”
“You don’t believe her.”
“She done sold it, I know that. She got a big ol’ bag of crack. I bet I won’t see he for a couple days, she gonna be talkin’ ’bout she at her sister’s,” Turner said. He sighed. “Guess I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Yeah, see you then,” Avery said. “I can’t wait to make you forget about her.”

Reacharound From a Stepfather

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

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Read the whole thing here!

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

Sharing a Bed With a Baseball Jock

Avery drives the team bus when he gets a chance to share a bed with a hunky basketball jock. Trent Wyatt’s girlfriend won’t let him go near another woman, but she won’t mind him getting his needs met another way…

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“My woman said she gonna cut my nuts off if I talk to another female,” Trent Wyatt said in a press conference. That caused a huge controversy that attracted Avery’s attention. Unlike everyone in the media, Avery was not worried because he said “nuts” nor because he used the term “my woman” nor because he used the word “female” in a dismissive manner nor because he accused his girlfriend of threatening assault. That was all silly nitpicking from Avery’s point-of-view.
It seemed the media was very thin-skinned these days.
Avery was interested because Trent Wyatt had specified — and repeated a few times in interviews since — that his girlfriend had warned him off other “females”. She hadn’t said anything about males.
That gave Avery an idea. He managed to pull a few favors within the GHU athletic department, which got Avery a gig driving the team bus for a game between the GHU Titans and Montana State. It was far enough away that they would have to spend a night in a hotel room.
Trent Wyatt was handsome like a movie star, and Avery had a plan to get a swing on his tasty basketball-jock meat. Trent was tall and lean, ropy-muscled with long legs and a sculpted face with dimples and cheekbones and all that jazz. He had only one tattoo — that was another thing that made him unusual in the American College Basketball Association — but it was a colorful doozy, a full-arm sleeve depicting the whole of US African American history, ending in the ornately decorated face of his grandmother near his wrist.
There had been so many reports on that goddamn tattoo last year. Avery had gotten sick of them. He watched a lot of them because Trent Wyatt was well-sculpted, and they showed tons of shirtless pictures of him to display the tattoo — Avery was ninety-percent sure that the reason Trent tried so hard to get the media to pay attention to the tattoo was to show off his chest.
And Avery had wanted him the entire time. He never even recalled what Trent said about the stuff on the tattoo because Avery was mesmerized by those dimples and those deep, dark eyes.
So he was giddy when the Titans climbed onto the team bus. Avery smiled politely but didn’t say much. The players mostly ignored him. They were huge — basketball players always seemed skinny on average to Avery, because they were never barrel-chested or bulky, but when he saw them in person, he could see how heavily stacked most of them really were. Their muscles were compact, pulled taut, so tight it almost looked painful, Avery thought, Trent especially. He looked like a three-hundred pound bodybuilder crammed into a hundred-eighty-pound body.
“Alright, gentlemen, I gotta read the required safety standards,” Avery said when they were all settled in. “Is anyone here a child under eighty pounds?”
“Yeah, me,” said Jashwan Mitchell. “I’m only seventy-four pounds.”
“Then you have to sit either in a child-seat or on my lap,” Avery said. “I choose my lap.”
They all laughed at Jashwan, who laughed too, a little too aggressively, like he wanted everyone to know it could only be a joke, that he’d never actually sit on Avery’s lap. Avery went through the rest of the required safety standards, then he got behind the wheel and set off. Avery got his caffeine pills out and kept them on the dashboard to take when he got tired, and he’d avoided caffeine for the last week to be sure it had a strong effect on him. He’d be driving until midnight. He could probably drive longer, but he wasn’t allowed to, and they should arrive at the hotel but midnight. Not just any hotel either, Avery planned this trip to be sure they stopped at the hotel whose setup was conducive to his plans.
Avery expected lots of rowdy behavior on the bus. They were athletes after all, and he had gone on the football team’s bus once back in high school. The guys then had been loud and rambunctious, and the bus driver had had to pull over twice to tell them to settle down. He was expecting horseplay, off-color jokes, crude gestures aimed at other drivers on the road and aggressive fight songs.
But the ride didn’t turn out like that at all. Maybe basketball and football players behaved differently on bus rides. The loudest they got was a debate over keto versus paleo diets. There was some snickering that Avery was pretty sure came from ogling over pictures on someone’s phone — presumably someone’s girlfriend in a bikini — but other than that, it was very quiet.
“Hey, man, is there gonna be a bar or somethin’ at this place?” Jashwan Mitchell asked when they got close to the night’s hotel.
“A bar at the hotel, yeah, I think so,” Avery said. He had actually chosen this hotel precisely because it had a nice bar and because the bar’s regular patrons included a number of women of loose repute. The basketball players were sure to get laid.
But he let the players discover that on their own. When they pulled in at the hotel, Avery parked and let them all out. He waited in the bus for a few minutes. The players all hurried into their rooms.
Avery came out when he saw the players beginning to head out to the bar. Few of them drank, but there were women galore in the bar, and that was what they were interested in. They all had a game tomorrow, that was why nobody wanted to get drunk. Once he had parked the bus and made sure all the players were checked in, Avery went to the main desk at the hotel to get his own room key.
“I’m sorry sir, there are no vacancies,” the clerk said.
“Are you sure? I was told there was always a room available for the bus driver.” Avery kept arguing with the clerk as he waited for Trent Wyatt to come out of his room. Finally it happened. He was hesitant, smoothing his fine, ironed shirt and fiddling with the gold chain around his neck.
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do.”
“So I have to sleep on the bus?!” Avery threw his hands in the air. He hoped this was coming out believable — Avery in fact knew he needed to call ahead to register a room. Avery used to be a clerk in a motel, he knew exactly how this worked.
But he also knew that, if he couldn’t get a room of his own, he’d end up sharing a room and hopefully a bed with one of the players. He had exactly which player in mind.
“Hey, man, you need a room?” Trent said when he saw the fracas at the front desk.
Avery turned to face him and nodded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I needed to reserve a room. That’s not how most hotels around here work.”
The clerk was about to correct him, but Avery walked away with Trent before he could open his mouth. Avery patted Trent on the back, which was firm like a barrel of packed sand. Trent had taken a shower, and his skin exuded warmth still, a few beads of moisture still dotting his nape. His hair remained slightly moist, glistening in the brilliant light of the hotel lobby.
“That sucks, man…” Trent’s voice trailed off. There was an intense pressure in the air. It was obvious Trent felt he should invite Avery to stay in his room, but he wasn’t going to do that. Avery wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t expected it to happen quite like this. He just wanted to put the thought in Trent’s head. He’d let it bounce around in Trent’s mind for awhile.
“Oh, it’s not a big deal. I’ll just sleep in the bus, it’s comfortable enough,” Avery said. “I can rough it.”
“Huh, yeah.” Trent chuckled dryly.
“Thanks, sugar,” Avery said. He patted Trent on the six-packed belly. “Are you going to the bar? Don’t let those women lead you astray — you got a girlfriend at home, right? Stay with her, man. Do what she says, y’know…”
“Yeah…” Trent glanced at the bar, which was crowded and filled with hollering. Word had spread that most of an ABA team was hanging out in this bar, so it had filled up with skanks and hangers-on. One of those skanks was sucking off Jashwan Mitchell right when Trent walked in and nearly walked into his friend’s cock.
Avery watched. He wasn’t a voyeur, but he did enjoy seeing Jashwan’s veiny cock throb in the trashy woman’s mouth, and he enjoyed the bartender’s pained, desperate attempts to get them to stop without calling the police. It all happened too fast for the cops to get involved though. The whole blowjob took maybe three minutes, and then the slut ran off with a mouthful of basketball star cream.
That was hot. Avery licked his lips. He preferred to watch men fuck than to participate, and he’d found driving sports teams really gave him opportunities to watch.
Avery went out to the bus to wait. He thought he had about an eighty percent chance of getting Trent tonight. Avery had a sixth sense about that kind of thing. He spent the time looking on his phone to verify that quote — Trent had definitely specified that he wasn’t allowed to be with “females”, and Avery had definitely reminded him that he was not a female.
He googled Trent on some forums he knew of, to see if there were any rumors about Trent’s sexual history. He may have gotten sucked off by a stripper in Boise, Idaho — a woman claimed as much in a basketball forum, just days before Trent started specifying to reporters that he never got frisky on the road. Avery felt sure that was what had prompted Trent’s girlfriend to make him promise to stop. The stripper had probably contacted her.
That had only been six months ago. If he was really trying to be faithful now, Avery thought, he was probably desperately horny. He hadn’t been back to his house, and his girlfriend, in almost a month, after all. Avery didn’t think it was fair for women to expect their men to be faithful away from home, but Avery did enjoy it — it was one of the things that made it so easy for Avery to find the alpha males he enjoyed.
Back in the hotel, Trent Wyatt hadn’t stopped thinking about Avery.
He’d never messed around with a male. Back in the neighborhood Trent grew up in, it was considered acceptable, more or less, for men to mess around on the downlow. But Trent had never done so. Mainly that was for guys who couldn’t get laid by females. There was a flamboyant man in his neighborhood who would jerk off any eighteen-year-old if he wasn’t fat or addicted to drugs. Trent always had a bevy of females after him, so he would never do anything like that. He’d teased all the guys who did. He ignored it when they said that males throated dick better than any female. He didn’t believe it.
But the older he got, the more he could believe it. He still hadn’t done it. Somehow sex had gotten more complicated, even though he was married and an international sex symbol. His girlfriend rarely wanted to have sex anymore, and she didn’t even suck his dick except on his birthday.
That flamboyant bus driver was outside, waiting. He hadn’t explicitly said he would jack off Trent’s dick.
But Trent had a feeling it would happen if he went out there. He could get sucked off by one of these chicks too, no doubt. But she would likely want his phone number, she’d tell TMZ he was an asshole, she’d brag to her gal-pals, and his girlfriend would eventually find out. Plus, perhaps most importantly, Trent thought he’d be unable to avoid looking guilty if he went back to his girlfriend after fucking with another woman.
You can always bust a nut in a sissy. Feels just like a woman cuz they got the right equipment. They know how it all works.
That was what some of the older guys in Trent’s neighborhood said. Trent had thought it was a joke. They didn’t really believe it, right?
But now that Trent had a woman, he couldn’t help but believe it. It made sense, didn’t it? It wasn’t like Trent would ever leave his girlfriend to jack off with some white man. And he wasn’t even going to do something with Avery that he would do with his girlfriend — she rarely sucked his dick and never did anal.
Trent found himself walking out there without making the decision to go through with it. But he second-guessed himself when the cool night air hit his face. He scratched his balls through his jeans and discovered his dick was so hard it hurt. The women in the bar were so easy, and Trent’s girlfriend was so far away.
I gotta do something. Trent winced. He had an idea that would make it seem like less of a big deal, he thought, plus it’d make him look like a nice guy.
He went out to the bus and told the bus driver he could share his room. “I’m goin’ to sleep now, but you can come with me if you want,” Trent said. “We gonna have to share the bed.”
“Oh, thank you so much!” Avery said, squealing and hugging Trent’s chest. Avery could see the telltale bulge of his hardon, but he didn’t bring it up. He just followed Trent to the hotel room. “I thought my back was going to get sore from sleeping in there.”
“Uh-huh.” Trent bit his lip. He remained tense in the hotel room as he took off his shirt. He liked it when anyone, even men, complimented his chest and his six-pack abs. Avery giggled at the sight.
“Damn, you must work out all the time.”
“Yeah. Pretty much,” Trent said. He posed. He flexed his biceps so Avery could squeeze them, and he even made his pecs bounce. He felt like a stripper. He was awkward at first, but when Avery’s infectious smile caught on, Trent smiled proudly and relaxed.
“Do you normally watch TV to go to sleep?” Avery asked as they settled in.
“Sometimes. My girlfriend don’t like it though.”
“Well she’s not here, so let’s do something she wouldn’t let you do normally,” Avery said. He added with a knowing wink, “You might prefer to have something to look at. You can always turn it off later.” He put the remote on the nightstand on Trent’s side of the bed.
It was softcore porn. Avery had put it on a video of a woman fingering herself, a pretty blonde with tits like sandcastles. Trent’s eyes were drawn to her. Avery winked at Trent, whose half-hard dick twitched in his boxers, but it didn’t seem Trent noticed. The sound was almost off, so all Trent could hear was the woman’s feminine moaning.
Only when the camera moved away from that woman and her tits that Trent noticed Avery watching him. Trent bristled, his muscles all flexing, though he pretended not to notice.
He’s definitely planning on tastin’ my dick… Trent gulped nervously. He couldn’t wait. His dick still throbbed mightily in his boxers.
Avery crawled under the covers and patted the mattress for Trent to join him. Trent grimaced and did so. That sexy babe on TV was hard to tear his eyes away from.
“Hmm… Just relax,” Avery said. “I bet that tonight, you’re going to sleep better than you have in a long time.” He whispered once Trent had settled under the covers, and Avery scooted closer to him. “Do you think so? Is there anything I can do to make you fall asleep better?”
“Uh, well…”
“Shush, you don’t have to say anything,” Avery said. He moved so close his breath condensed on Trent’s ear, and Avery’s hand crept over Trent’s chest. “I’ll just slip under the covers and you can put my hand and my mouth and… other parts… wherever you want them to be.”
Trent sucked in his breath. His dick was hard now, that woman onscreen drawing him in. Avery’s soft fingers caressed Trent’s flat belly. His touch made Trent’s muscles ripple and his pecs bounce, and Avery felt his heartbeat quicken.
It was so easy to believe those fingers belonged to that sexy woman on the TV, Trent thought, especially in the dark, under the covers. That was what her fingers would feel like, Trent was sure. He could picture it in his mind.
“Ssssshhh…” Avery licked Trent’s earlobe. “You can pretend you’re asleep…”His hand slid over Trent’s six-pack to his cock, reaching into his boxers. He gripped his dick and gave it a stroke, bringing it the rest of the way to full erection.
Trent moaned. “My girlfriend…”
“Ssssssssh…. You’re asleep, it’s okay, your girlfriend can’t be mad at you for things your body does when it’s asleep, and anyway, you won’t remember any of this,” Avery said. “Everybody needs a little release…”
“I’m not drunk, I don’t drink-“
“I know, shush…” Avery kissed him on the cheek and lowered his head beneath the covers. He sucked some of the sweat that beaded in the valley between Trent’s pecs. It was salty and warm, and it made Avery’s whole body surge with desire.
At last Avery made it to that cock. He’d freeze-framed on a video of Trent playing basketball in his shorts, cock plainly outlined by the fabric. He had that pic on his phone right now. So he’d been daydreaming about this moment for a long time. He was giddy that he finally got to taste the great Trent Wyatt’s cock.
It was even bigger than he had thought it’d be. He popped the tip in his mouth, making Trent’s whole body shake. His muscles flexed. Avery giggled. His soft limps caressed the rock-hard shaft, which throbbed beneath his touch.
“Oh god….-” Trent cut his moan off because Avery shushed him again. His dick pulsated in Avery’s mouth, rapidly firming up even though Avery hadn’t done much with it.
As Trent’s whole body undulated, Avery pushed his head up and down the shaft, deep-throating it, then pulling all the way off to take a sweat-scented breath of air, then deep-throating it again. Every time his nose hit Trent’s pubes, a moan came out of Trent. Avery murmured, “Shush, you’re asleep, remember? You can tell your girlfriend nothing happened, because you don’t remember it.”
Trent did feel like sleeping. He wasn’t asleep. But this was dark, and he couldn’t see Avery at all. With his eyes closed, he didn’t even see the TV, but he heard the moist, feminine sounds of emanating from the woman on TV.
The sour-salty taste of precum hit Avery’s tongue, and he slurped down every drop. Avery loved precum. He suckled on the tip of Trent’s dick, then throated him deeply until Trent gasped and cried out.
Trent wrapped his hands around Avery’s scalp and held on. He pumped his hips, humping Avery’s mouth as aggressively as anyone ever had.
He was on the verge of blowing his wad when Avery pulled off him. Trent let out a roar of frustration, followed by a desperate little mewling sound. His cock was ready to explode. He had never been this horny. The thought of not blowing his load right away made Avery pained.
He needn’t have worried. Before he could think, Trent felt Avery climb atop his body. Avery carefully kept the covers over him the best he could — the room was dark, so it didn’t hardly matter, but he knew from personal experience that men considered that sexy. It was easy to pretend he was a woman if they couldn’t see him.
Avery gripped Trent’s cock and slid down on it. He bit his lip at first, as intense, uncomfortable pressure flooded his ass. Trent’s dick stretched his tight hole, sending a few twinges of pain through his body. He kneaded the smooth, hard flesh of Trent’s muscled chest as he slid lower and rode him.
At last he was all the way down. His ass squeezed around Trent’s manhood, which pulsated inside him, throbbing so Avery could feel Trent’s heartbeat throughout his body.
He leaned his head down and kissed Trent’s grizzled chin — he was normally clean-shaved, but he hadn’t shaved yet on this road trip. Avery moaned into Trent’s ear. Pleasure exploded in Avery’s veins.
“Goddamn, man,” Trent said. He slowly lost his inhibitions and wrapped his hands around Avery’s waist. He guided him up and down on his cock.
The sheets and blankets fell off Avery’s body, but the room was dark enough that Trent still didn’t see him. Avery shivered a little in the sudden chill of the air-conditioned room.
Avery’s ass clenched. He moaned, his desire to sound like a woman momentarily fading as he shot his own load into his hand. His prostate exploded in intense pleasure that rocked through his body. He leaned his head back and would have howled but he didn’t want the hotel staff to tell them keep it down, so he muffled the sound and instead undulated intensely atop Trent’s crotch.
“Holy shit!” Trent didn’t worry about being loud. He was having the most potent orgasm he’d felt in a very long time. He filled Avery with his creamy seed, each gyration of his hips sending a new wave of pleasure that ratcheted his sensations up to a new level.
Trent couldn’t believe good that felt. His voice broke and he caressed Avery’s chest as though he might find breasts there if he looked hard enough. His body went from smooth and clean to drenched in sweat in mere moments.
Then he felt limp and fell back onto the bedspread. Still, he squirmed there as though it hurt because Avery remained on top of his dick, which still throbbed, exquisitely sensitive in Avery’s tight ass. It felt so good that Trent grunted with pain.
Finally, Avery slid off him, his entire body moist and slathered in fluids. Avery let out a long moan that filled the still hotel room.
The comfortable silence was interrupted moments later by a knock on the door. Trent’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest and he jumped out of bed.
“Uh… Hello?”
Trent’s eyes opened wide. “Hello?! What?!”
“Uh, sir… could you… We have received a complaint, sir. Can you keep it down in there?” the clerk said, his voice wavering, especially when Trent virtually ripped the door open. He hadn’t meant to come across as angry or intimidating, but he did, especially since he was so tall, muscular and stark-naked, massive dick dangling and gleaming with moisture between his legs. A few drops of cum still clung to the tip, and Trent hoped the clerk didn’t see it. It was dark, so probably it wasn’t visible.
Trent hadn’t meant to flash his cockmeat at the clerk. So he just grunted. “Uh-huh. Later.” He slammed the door shut.
Well, he thought, that clerk was definitely going to post about it on the ESPN forums. At least it wasn’t obvious he was in here with a man, or so Trent hoped.
He scooted back into bed besides Avery, who had cleaned up. Avery cuddled up next to Trent, who sighed and let him do so, even when he felt Avery’s dick touching his thigh.
“I’m glad I’m your driver,” Avery said. He kissed Trent’s neck. “Do you want me to wake you up in the morning, sweetie?”
“Hell yeah, babe. Keep ya head under the covers though, since there’ll be light in the room. And don’t make no noise if my girlfriend calls me in the morning. She prolly will.”

The Dad

Avery is after a studly baseball coach for a kids’s team, and he just might land his man! Once the game is done, Avery’s favorite dad-coach Gordon is in need of a little release and some affection, which Avery is eager to provide!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was at the baseball game at Dirkfield Park, but not to watch the baseball, or the kids, or even the parents in the bleachers. The strongest dad was always the team coach, Avery had learned that a long time ago.
The pattern held true today too. He was Gordon, mid-forties, rustic, bearded, thick-bodied and flat-bellied but not skinny, he bulged all over, like his body didn’t realize how muscular he was. He was good with kids. Judging from the callused fingers and the scuffed workboots in place of athletic shoes, he was some kind of blue-collar worker, but Avery didn’t know what he actually did for a living.
The impatience was clear on Gordon’s face. The third-graders were not capable of playing baseball to any significant degree. Not a single real hit had been had all night. Gordon shouted encouragement when they got close, and he futzed with the pitch-machine every few minutes, growing increasingly exasperated with it. He seemed to hold out hope that they would play some real baseball at some point, but that hope was eternally dashed.
“Okay, Jakey, run! Jakey, take your base! Jakey, we’re counting that as a hit! You have to run! Jakey! Jakey! Jakey!”
“Austin! You can’t sit down in the outfield, bud! Stand up!”
“Watch the game! Where is right-field, bud?”
“Throw it to second-base! J’waun! Second-base! That’s not second-base! J’waun! J’waun! You have to pay attention — J’waun, I’m sorry, I’m not yelling at you. Just… It’s hard to get your attention sometimes. Please watch the game… No, don’t throw the ball to me!” Gordon hung his head and took a deep breath. “Okay, J’waun. That was a good throw. But it also matters that you throw it to the right place.”
“No, I’ve told you a million times, no phones in the outfield! You’re supposed to be watching the game! Playing! You’re supposed to be playing the game! Watch for the ball! You might have to catch it!”
“Fox! Fox! Fox! Fox! The ball, Fox! Look at the ball! Fox! Don’t close your eyes! Fox!”
It didn’t help that it was a hot, humid night. It didn’t even cool down once the sun set. Even in the darkness, the humidity was like a swollen woolen blanket that filled the air and refused to let any heat dissipate. Avery handed Gordon a bottle of water from the vending machine between innings. Gordon took a long swig from it, some of the water slipping out onto his scruffy cheeks.
“Thanks, man,” Gordon said with a nod. His voice was croaky and crass, hoarse like he chain-smoked, or used to. There was a southern twinge to his voice, though Avery didn’t think he was from the south. He sighed.
“Good game, boys, you’re doin’ great.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “You’re doin’ real great.”
Avery thought Gordon was great, the way he milled about dumpily in his ill-fitting clothes (which occasionally bared a flash of his hairy belly or well-muscled back), his uncaring swagger and focus on the game, the work-built muscles — you could tell he didn’t go to a gym, at least not regularly enough to matter, but he must have worked his muscles all day every day. The one thing that annoyed him was that Gordon’s wife was there in the bleachers too. She was a shrill harridan with dark hair and thin lips. She looked drunk too, Avery could tell. She sipped from a thermos in a way that seemed more suggestive of wine than water.
Avery thought it was adorable how good he was with the kids. He was patient and supportive and he always remained positive even when the kids made error after error after error. He kept that wan, well-practiced smile on his face no matter what.
“Okay, Fox, that was… Remember throwing? We practiced throwing. You can’t run the ball back to first, you have to throw it. Remember your hands! Remember your hands! Remember your HANDS! Good hustle, J’waun!”
It wasn’t until the next inning switch that the wife went to Gordon with a look of fury on her face. She ignored her own son, and she murmured intensely with Gordon. Gordon looked hurt, his square jaw quivering. She wagged her finger at him.
Avery felt instinctively protective of Gordon. He wanted to help. But Gordon didn’t say anything at all, at least not that Avery could tell. This was a one-sided argument.
“Well, fuck you, Gordon! I don’t need you, and I don’t need this shit!” she shouted. The kids and parents all stopped talking. Everyone looked over there as Gordon blushed. His wife was drunkenly bold though, and seemed uncaring of being the center of attention. The parents looked away, but not the kids, who were halfway on the field and halfway off it.
Gordon said something softly.
“Oh go fuck yourself! I’ll make a scene! I’ll make a real big scene! I’m a drunk, everybody! I’m a drunken hag, and I’ve ruined Gordon’s life! He woulda been a contendah!” She cackled. “You’re shit! You know that? You’re a big pile of hairy redneck shit, and you can’t blame me for that.”
“At least he’s not a drunk moron shouting profanity at a little league game!” Avery said. He stood up and went to Gordon’s side. “Ma’am, I thought it was inappropriate when you tried to score coke off me earlier, but I didn’t want to make a scene. Since we’re past that point now-“
“Wha-?” She cocked her head to the side as though ransacking her memory. (That hadn’t happened, she hadn’t tried to score coke. Avery just wanted to change the terms of the debate. The other parents all clucked their tongue and looked at her with cross eyes.)
“If you want to go snort coke, go do that but don’t corrupt the rest of our children,” Avery said as the crowd of parents murmured their approval. “They don’t need to see you off your mind on Peruvian marching powder.” Avery had to suppress a giggle. Nobody here, he guessed, knew anything about cocaine or that ‘Peruvian marching powder’ was not real slang for it. They all nodded and furrowed their brows at her.
A few people hollered at her to leave. She blushed and looked around as though trying to remember if she had actually tried to buy cocaine off Avery. It seemed she couldn’t rule out the possibility that she had done so and then forgotten. Avery guessed she probably used coke — she looked like the type — and he was glad to have guessed correctly. Avery smiled, clutching Gordon’s side and feeling the coarse hairs on his belly through his shirt. “I really think you should go so the kids can enjoy the rest of their game without you bringing down the tone,” Avery said.
There was a long, awkward pause. Finally she belched. “Whatever.” She looked at Gordon and scoffed. Then she tottered away. She had only just gotten off the field when she turned around. “Martin, sweetie! Call Mommy when the game is over!” Their boy, Martin, blushed and looked away like he might be able to pretend she wasn’t his mom (he wasn’t even standing in the direction she waved; she was too drunk to actually find him in the crowd of children).
Gordon took a deep breath. “Thanks, uh…” He paused.
“No problem,” Avery said. “I’m Avery.” He addressed the silent bleachers. “Okay, play ball. And someone call the cops to report a drunk woman leaving the park.” He looked at Gordon. “What does she drive?”
“Blue hatchback with Delaware tags.”
“Oh a Delaware bitch? Never marry a Delaware bitch, Gordon. That’s Rule One,” Avery said softly. He laughed and clutched Gordon’s bicep. “She’s remarkably stable and nice for a Delaware bitch.”
Gordon snorted. “Where were you eight years ago?” He clapped his hands and looked back at the players. “Okay, play ball!” He said it in a much more masculine and authoritative way than Avery had, so the kids erupted in activity right away.
After that, Gordon’s team, the Lammerdale Lions, was at-bat, so Gordon had less to do. One of his assistant coaches hung out by the pitcher’s mound to remind the children how to hold the bat, while Gordon stayed in the dugout with the other kids. That gave Avery plenty of opportunity to sneak peeks at his ass.
“Are you okay?” Avery asked. It was blatant how the other parents kept sneaking judgmental glances at Gordon, as though it was his fault his soon-to-be ex-wife was a drunken bitch.
Gordon shrugged. “She always been a bitch, hoss. Don’t worry.” He paused and cleared his throat.
Avery smiled. “The game is almost over. If you send your kid home with someone else, you could stay and clean up with me.”
“Why can’t my kid be there for that?”
Avery shrugged. “You never know what else we might do. I could help you forget about your ex-wife. I have a couple tricks that are very effective at that…” He licked his lips, loudly and moistly smacking them.
Gordon turned to face him and his eyes opened wide. “I ain’t down with that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Avery was disappointed, but he hadn’t given up. A lot of guys said no right away. That didn’t mean the answer would be no forever. It just meant they needed to prove to themselves that they weren’t too eager. Plus, he thought, it was easy to say no when it was just a theoretical option. When Avery was actually on his knees ready to swallow, Gordon might reconsider. There was still five and a half innings left (though the game would be called two hours after it began no matter what, so it really only had about twenty minutes). That was enough time for Gordon to change his mind.
“Yeah, good hit, Jakey! You got deep on that one!” Gordon shouted when one of the players actually hit the ball. It wasn’t even a foul, it was the first real, actual hit of the night. Jakey waddled straight for the bleachers to tell his parents. “No, Jakey! Run to first! Jakey! Jakey! Stay on the field! We practiced this!” But Jakey ignored Gordon and tried to get his parents to congratulate him, even as the entirety of the crowd shouted for him to run for first. Everyone wanted to see an actual baseball play occur.
Jakey got tagged out before he made it to first-base, which was impressive because the first baseman failed to catch the ball and then spent two whole minutes struggling to pick it up with his mitt. So all in all, that play took more than five minutes from when Jakey picked up the bat to when he finally made it back into the dugout. Five minutes for nothing to happen, one-quarter of the remaining game-time.
Baseball, Avery thought, was interminably boring. If it didn’t exist and somebody invented it, everyone would say “that’s not a real sport, it’s statistically indistinguishable from doing nothing”. Avery really did not like baseball. But he had to watch a couple games as part of his idiotic P.E. class — he couldn’t graduate without it.
Not that he really wanted to graduate anyway.
He entertained himself by watching Gordon’s ass in his tight baseball pants. They were wrinkled and unironed, a light gray with a green stain on the left ass. Avery drooled at the sight of his plump ass, and was he aiming it towards Avery? As he leaned over the dugout wall, it kind of looked like he was.
Gordon loved baseball. Unlike Avery, he not only thought it was a good sport, he considered it exciting. He spent hours at the batting cages nearly every weekend; he watched every Orioles game and nearly every other major league game; he even watched the Japanese, Mexican and minor-league teams (he had favorite teams in every league). He owned all the gear and could recite all the stats for his favorite players. He knew every World Series victory, the points and the plays — he could give you the play by play of every World Series game, and he could name every player and their vital stats too.
So he did get very frustrated watching the children play, dropping the ball over and over, failing repeatedly to swing the bat and generally just making more errors than Gordon had ever thought possible. But on those rare occasions when a kid did do it well, when it all worked — when his boy had caught the ball and dived for second-base to successfully tag a runner out — it seemed like a magical sport. Gordon thought less of anyone who considered baseball boring. It was the most elegant sport in the world.
When it worked, it was like ballet, he thought, not that he’d ever say that out loud.
It was hard to remember its elegance when the children were literally tripping over each other in their haste to run away from the ball. Gordon also found it distracting right now because this sissy was visibly checking him out.
But he soon realized no one was looking at him — the parents mostly just watched their own kids. People generally assumed Avery was Gordon’s weird little brother. They didn’t notice Avery staring at Gordon’s deliciously unkempt ass, thigh muscles fairly bursting from those tight baseball pants.
Eventually the inning was over, and Gordon went back out to be first-base coach. Avery had to sit by himself and wait. He was bored and didn’t have a very good eyeline of Gordon’s ass anymore. He did have a bulge in his crotch too, Avery could see that, but it stopped being exciting after a minute or two (a minute or two of absolutely, totally nothing happening whatsoever — Avery didn’t see why sports needed to have times when nothing happened. That was so boring it made the technically exciting parts of the game more boring by contagion).
But before Avery found a place to sit where he could see the game — and Gordon’s ass — easily, it was called. The two-hour mark was reached. In the end, no one could remember if the score was 9-2 Lions or 7-4 Pirates. So the Lions told their kids they won, and the Pirates told their kids they won, and everyone was happy.
When the dust had settled and the kids were all gone, it was just Avery sitting there in the dugout, while Gordon collected the bats and balls scattered around the field. Gordon had sent his boy home with a friend.
Avery picked up some of the empty soda bottles left behind in the bleachers. He tossed them in the recycling bin. Then he came up behind Gordon and whistled at his bent-over ass. “Damn… If your ass was a Chinese restaurant, I’d have the pu-pu platter.”
Gordon stood and blushed. “I ain’t into that.”
“I know. But I bet you could use a nut,” Avery said. “Come on… I’ll pay for all your team’s pizza parties.”
“What?”
“You guys have a pizza party after every game, right? Why not let me pay for it?” Avery said.
Gordon’s eyes opened wide. “You serious?” He came into the dugout. “Man…” He hesitated, then came closer, to where Avery sat on a bench. He didn’t say anything, but he got close enough for Avery to touch his dick through his baseball pants. Gordon closed his eyes.
“You ever done this before?”
Gordon scoffed like that was ridiculous. His dick twitched in his pants. Avery pulled them down, revealing an overstuffed jockstrap with pubic hair bristling out of it. Gordon closed his eyes. “Not sober.”
“Hmmm… What’s that mean? You do it drunk?”
“Don’t talk so much, man,” Gordon said. “If you’re gonna do it, do it.”
“You get drunk and do it a lot, huh?” Avery grinned. He lowered Gordon’s jockstrap, revealing a thick, meaty dick. It was already beginning to get hard, making Avery think Gordon must be exceptionally horny.
“No!” Gordon rolled his eyes. He flopped his cock over Avery’s face. When he had first hooked up with the woman he later married — that bitch who made a big drunken mess of herself in front of everyone — she used to suck his dick all the time. Gordon loved it. He acted it out now out of habit — he gripped Avery’s head and drilled his dick in until Avery gagged. Gordon blushed. He didn’t know why he loved it so much when she used to gag on his dick. That sound just made him so horny.
So when it was clear that Avery wasn’t going to complain about that, Gordon smirked and slipped his cock in deeper and deeper. Sure enough, Avery’s moist sputtering and choking was clearly enthusiastic in a way his wife had never been. She did it because she wanted to land a man, and she thought that was what Gordon required.
But Avery wanted to do it. He did it because he loved the feel of a man’s cock sliding down his throat, despite Avery’s instinctual urge to choke on it. Avery actually loved the feeling of his throat constricting around a man’s cock, and he loved the wave of pleasure he could see run up Gordon’s barrel-shaped chest.
Slobbering all over it, Avery murmured and cooed. He made a big mess with all the sticky precum coming out of the tip of Gordon’s cock. “Hmmm… You taste so good… Your wife is a dumbass for leaving you…”
“Yeah she is.” Gordon’s scruffy beard hairs quivered.
“Is the divorce final yet?”
“Nah. She’s just livin’ with her sister,” Gordon said. “Quit talkin’ so much, man. Or if you gotta talk, sound like a girl.”
Avery used his high-pitched feminine voice, acting as flamboyant as possible. “Hmmm… How’s this? I wish I had titties so you could lick ’em clean… or whatever boys do with boobs, I don’t know. Can I suck on a finger, Ralphie-poo? I wanna taste every part of you.”
Gordon grunted and groaned. No one had talked to him like that in a long time. His wife used to some, but even more than her, an old girlfriend did it; she used to talk dirty, beg him to let her suck his cock, request that he not shower so she could taste his unadulterated flavor. It felt like no one would ever talk to Gordon like that anymore.
Somehow being a blue-collar redneck had gone from stud to ugly tubby lardass even though his appearance hadn’t changed that much — women just interpreted it differently now that he was older and still had a blue-collar career and his thick body didn’t have that almost-six-pack he’d always had. He’d gained about fifteen pounds on his high school body, but it seemed like so much more.
He let Avery suck on his middle-finger, which was dusty and warm, while his dick jabbed Avery in the face. Every time it touched his skin, Gordon gasped and turned a little redder. He couldn’t believe how horny he was.
And Avery just teased him. Avery chased his dick with his tongue, giggling when he got a good taste and it twitched, and just that tiny moment of tongue-to-cock contact made Gordon’s whole hefty body shake.
“Hmmm… Will you let me lick your balls? Please….” Avery asked as though that was a debate — no one ever said no. He smiled as Gordon plopped his hairy sac onto Avery’s tongue.
“Goddamn…” Gordon moaned. He was already on the verge of orgasm, so it was nice to get his balls licked for a moment. That felt good but it also delayed his cock, so he wouldn’t cum too quickly. He figured if he looked like he enjoyed this too much, Avery would keep following him around and begging for more.
“Lemme hit that ass,” Gordon said. He blushed. He hadn’t meant to request that, he just thought it and his mind was too horny to censor himself. His cock throbbed though, and all he could think about was pounding it into some tight hole. He wished he had let Avery beg — he might have been able to get some more money out of it. Gordon grunted. He leaned forward and slapped Avery’s smooth ass.
“Hmmm… Will your dick hurt? Will you be gentle with me?”
“No.” Gordon grunted, his country-boy accent getting more intense as he lost his inhibitions. He was actually from Boston, but the longer he worked as a small-town plumber, the more of a country accent he acquired. He touched Avery’s ass again. It was so plump and round, like a woman’s but not like his wife’s, like a different, better woman, not even like his wife had been when she was younger.
Gordon slammed his dick in. He hadn’t intended to take his shirt off. But once he felt that tight ass clenching around his cock, Gordon saw that his shirt was just going to get in the way. Gordon didn’t want to do anything that made this less intense.
“Ah, shit, man…”
So he dropped his shirt on the dusty ground and plowed in deeper. His wife had given up the ass a couple times before they got married, but never once afterwards.
His belly jiggled and he sighed. For the last couple years — for most of their marriage — she had never fucked him without complaining. She complained when he didn’t initiate it. She complained when he did. She complained when he hadn’t showered. She made him shower and brush his teeth and shave before fucking (shave both his chin, his chest and his crotch). She made him lick her pussy, which she never once shaved after their marriage. She made him do extra chores. He used to do them and then initiate sex, but she’d just add additional chores at the last minute, no matter what, so he stopped doing any work until she put it on a list before sex. He didn’t put forth a lick of effort unless he got some sex out of it.
But jacking off was so easy now; it didn’t take any effort. He didn’t need to do anything but focus on ramming his dick all the way into Avery’s ass. He didn’t make Gordon stop to brush his teeth again; he didn’t answer emails on his phone, he didn’t complain to his sister that Gordon’s balls were “too wrinkly”. He just bent over and took it.
Gordon sighed grandly. “Damn, man, you feel good, shit…” He bit his lip as an orgasm exploded within him, not even noticing that Avery was already shooting his own wad onto the ground. “Sorry, almost done,” Gordon said, his voice breaking and strained as he came. He didn’t even get why Avery squirmed, orgasming beneath him. He was shocked because his wife had never responded like that. Avery felt so good he screamed into the night air.
Hot cum flowed into Avery’s ass. The feeling was melty and warm, and it was sticky, coating his flesh with creamy goodness. Avery let out a long, low howl that echoed in the stone dugout.
It had been a long time since Gordon blew a nut. He jacked off often enough, but that didn’t keep his balls from exploding now with years of pent-up cum. Even when he and his wife had had awkward, tense sex before she moved out, it had been so difficult it never really felt right, like he got blueballs even though he did fuck her.
But now, this time, it made Gordon’s whole body tense and shake. Sweat trickled down his broad back and into the crack of his hairy ass.
“Shit…” Gordon let his cock slowly flop out. He sighed and leaned back against the cold stone wall of the dugout. “That was awesome.”
Avery smiled. “I know. You do that real good.” He stood up, hands still exploring Gordon’s bare chest. “Lemme know when you’re ready for me to pay for a pizza party.”
“Okay. You ain’t gonna give me the money now?”
Avery giggled as he put his clothes back on. “If I gave you the money now, how would I incentivize you to come see me again?” He walked away. “Just gimme a call. I’ll come over and make you forget about her any time you want.” He paused. “Anytime I don’t have class.” He paused again. “No, anytime. I don’t care about class.”
Gordon looked down at his dick, gleaming with remnants of Avery’s ass. “Cool,” he said. “I’ll definitely call you.” He paused. “Wait, I mean… We got an afternoon game next Sunday. I’ll, uh…” He realized he probably sounded desperate and nasty, but he didn’t care. He needed to do this again. Avery’s ass was mesmerizing until he got his pants up and Gordon could finally look away. “I’ll call you then.”

The Cuckolder

Avery runs across a handsome young black man fleeing the husband of his latest conquest, and since Tyrell seems to be in desperate need of a ride, Avery makes him an offer…

Then before he knows it, Avery is in for an incredible new adventure in man-on-man rough trade!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery Flowers sat in his car, waiting for his stupid brother-in-law to send him a stupid text message. His sister had asked him to help out with something: giving her no-good husband a ride to his boss’s house to beg for his job back. Avery didn’t like his brother-in-law Dayton, but he did love his sister. So he agreed, and now he had to sit out here in his car and wait for the all-clear to leave.
He was about to drive off regardless. If his stupid brother-in-law wanted to get picked up again, he could damn well call and ask for another favor.
Finally a text message appeared on his phone: nvrmind, thx Avary, all good. That meant Avery’s brother-in-law presumably had his job back again. Avery was glad for him, even if he did strongly dislike the man. He didn’t get why anyone would give him a second chance. He was especially annoyed that, after years in the family, his brother-in-law still didn’t know how to spell Avery’s name. What a dick.
That was when Avery saw a naked man, climbing out of the top floor of a three-story building. The man was tall and muscular, tattooed, dark-skinned, with short hair and an intensely masculine face. A very handsome face, like a movie star or a well-bred stallion. He was broad as an ox and powerfully built, stacked with muscles that he used to climb down the fire escape in the alley across the street from where Avery was parked.
He also had a huge cock. Avery could tell from here. Looked like a cricket bat dangling between his legs.
“You fuckin’ piece of shit! I’ll kill you!” A lanky middle-aged white man stuck his head out a window on the top floor and screamed down to the alley. Then he disappeared back into the apartment.
The black man was Tyrell Brickley, and he had one hand over his flopping cock and low-hanging balls as he descended the fire escape into the alley below. He assumed that would be enough to get away from the white man — husband to Tyrell’s latest conquest, whose name was Karen or Carol or something like that, some white-lady name. Not that Tyrell got anything against white ladies. He do savor them indeed.
The husband, Mr. Karen or whatever, must have come out the front door of the building, and he caught up with Tyrell around the block.
“Shit!” Tyrell turned to flee the other way. “This honky fast!”
This husband was more limber than he seemed. He had long legs and wasn’t fat like most of the husbands whose wives Tyrell seduced. Tyrell had strong legs, but he was heavy, and he was hampered by his bare feet. He wished he had managed to at least grab his shoes. The pavement here was covered in sharp stones and bits of garbage.
Reaching the next cross-street, Tyrell looked left and right, not sure where to go. Where to get clothes? Tyrell had no solution to his current predicament. His phone, his wallet, everything was back in that lady’s apartment.
Which was also the apartment of the man chasing him, which meant the husband had or would soon have Tyrell’s wallet and phone. “Shit!” Tyrell said with every step.
The sunny part of the asphalt was scorching hot on his feet, and Tyrell ran to a cooler, shaded spot. A squad car drove past, but luckily the cop behind the wheel didn’t notice Tyrell standing there in an alley. Tyrell frowned.
No cell phone, no cash, no car, no plan.
“Shit!” Tyrell snapped. “Shiiiiit!”
“Hey, man, need a ride?” Avery’s voice called out from his car, which pulled to a stop near Tyrell. He waved to get Tyrell’s attention. “Hey, man, need a ride?”
“Ah, shit, thanks, I on the wing, yoh,” Tyrell said. He darted into Avery’s car just as the husband came around the corner, peeping his head left and right like an angry meerkat. His face was red and squinty-eyed. Tyrell slammed his door shut. “Go!” Avery peeled away in a hurry, and Tyrell breathed a sigh of relief.
That sense of relief didn’t last long, however, before Tyrell realized he had gotten into a complete stranger’s car. He was naked, so he wouldn’t be robbed — he had nothing to steal. But that hardly made this safe. He had been so worried about getting away from that husband that he hadn’t made sure his sudden escape route was safe.
He looked out the car window in time to see the husband shake his fist at the car driving away. Tyrell smirked. He glanced over at the slim man behind the wheel.
“My name is Avery,” the driver said, with a feminine lilt to his voice.
“Tyrell.” Tyrell sighed and rolled his eyes. “Thanks foh the ride, Avery.” He flashed a handsome grin in Avery’s direction. Tyrell carried himself like he knew he was handsome, which made him less handsome. A lot of people would think of him as arrogant, or seemingly arrogant at least. Avery wouldn’t dispute that. But he had a fantastic body. Plenty of reason to be arrogant. Avery didn’t mind. He appreciated the male form.
Avery’s hand clasped Tyrell’s leg, giving it a squeeze. Tyrell rolled his eyes and grunted in a disagreeable way. His upper lip quivered. He acquiesced as Avery’s hand roamed up his well-muscled thigh, then ascended his chest. His muscles were firm like rocks, and his pecs flexed when Avery touched them. But he said, “Nah, man…”
“Hmm-hmm.” Avery dropped his hand back to grope Tyrell’s thigh, which he squeezed hard. “Where do you want to go?”
“Ummm… the’uh’s this place out in Crandwell,” Tyrell said, his voice lightly stawky with a trace of a drawl. It was the only place he could think of to go. His muscles flexed wherever Avery touched him. He cleared his throat. “I between places right now. I ain’t homeless or nothin’. The’uh’s this chick out in Crandwell who let me keep sum shit the’uh. I got clothes I can wear — get ya hand offa muh dick, man.”
Avery frowned. Tyrell’s cock was moist and thick, sticking to his leg. Avery had just barely brushed one hand over it to gauge Tyrell’s reaction. “Sorry. Can I touch your dick?”
“No.”
“Can you flex a bicep? You have great arms.” Avery let go of his dick.
“No.”
Avery clucked his tongue and stroked Tyrell’s bicep, which was rock-hard and bulging even though he didn’t flex it. Avery’s hand moved lower and tweaked Tyrell’s nipple. “I helped you back there, I didn’t have to. You should let me touch you…” Avery whispered. “I love your physique. You must work out a lot.”
Touching his nipple made Tyrell’s dick twitch. Tyrell assumed that Avery saw it, though Avery was actually watching the road as he got on the highway. Tyrell sighed. “Don’t read nothin’ into that, muh dick ain’t gettin’ hard, I ain’t geekin’. I just like it when girls touch muh nipples, y’know.” He chuckled throatily.
“Hmm-hmm. You’re really handsome.” Avery was annoyed that he didn’t get to grope Tyrell’s dick. He had a nice body though, and that felt great beneath Avery’s hand — even that was disappointing because Avery had to watch the road and couldn’t really see Tyrell’s frame or his flexing muscles. He could feel their firmness though, and he could sense the simmering body heat, the furnace powering his broad body.
“Yeah, whatevuh, man.” Tyrell looked out the window, ignoring Avery’s hand over his chest. “Can I use yo’ phone? Shit, nah… I donno nobody’s numbers.”
“How about… if you let me jack you off right now, I’ll let you use my phone, you can message your friends if you want, and I’ll even buy you a new phone if you can’t get your old one back,” Avery said.
“What, no shit?” Tyrell scoffed and nodded. “Hell yeah, man!”
It was only a handjob, after all, Tyrell thought. He pretended it was fine. It was fine, he assured himself over and over. There was a dude in the barbershop near where he grew up in Baltimore who used to jerk off any eighteen-year-old who wanted to bust a nut. He had been legendary, and he throated Tyrell so good Tyrell thought he broke his cock. He went all the way down! All the way!
But Tyrell was young and horny then, plus drunk. He’d only ever been with two women at that point. He had been desperately horny, and all his friends did it too. They lined up outside the man’s door one night, coming in one by one until the neighbors complained. It would have been weird to not do it at the time. He was drunk enough that it barely mattered, he didn’t even think about it at that moment, and it had only taken about two minutes (to cum, plus like twenty minutes in line).
But he had plenty of sex these days. Literally like ten minutes ago. He don’t need none that DL shit. With some freaky-ass white man who got a girl’s name.
But Tyrell did need a phone and he don’t want Avery to kick him outta the car, so he just closed his eyes and leaned his head back. His dick was soft and spongy because he had fucked that woman a couple times last night and again this morning, and his manhood was still recovering. He grinned at the thought of that tight middle-aged pussy. He loved fucking a pussy some other man thought was his.
“You fuck with a lot of married women?” Avery asked.
Tyrell scoffed. “Yo don’t even know, you don’t own a pussy, y’know, ya gotta earn it, you gotta keep earnin’ it e’ry day. Man, white men gotta have money, ya know, but they don’t realize they females is still out fuckin’ wit’ nigga dick, ya feel me?”
“Hmm-hmm…” Avery murmured. Tyrell’s dick was slow to firm up in his hand, especially since it was awkward to jack him off in a moving car while Avery drove. He put it on cruise control though, now that they were on the highway.
“You ever let a guy jack you off before?”
Tyrell nodded. “Once. I was younguh then, don’t even try nuhhin’ now,” he said. “I don’t like messin’ wiff white dudes. That other nigga got me off real gud. But the’uh was this white dude who usedta look at me all the time, man. Yo be hangin’ out in the shower ‘nd’shit, rubbin’ muh back. I know he wanted muh dick. I don’t let some white man have that over me, y’know, runnin’ around tellin’ all his little white buddies ‘bout the time he got sum nigga-dick in his mouth. Nah. No way, nigga, that ain’t how I play.”
“It sounds like you have a problem with white men,” Avery said. Tyrell’s dick was rock-hard now, veinily throbbing in Avery’s hand. A few drops of precum slipped out, lubricating him, and Tyrell sighed. His dick was exquisitely sensitive.
“I ain’t lettin’ you mouf me off neithuh,” Tyrell said because he could see Avery’s eyes flittering back again and again to stare at his dick — he knew Avery was going to try to throat it sooner or later. “Nah, I ain’t into that. Nuhhin’ personal.”
“No offense taken.”
Tyrell grabbed Avery’s hand as it stroked his dick, and he guided it up and down more quickly. “Like that, good, like that, stroke that jawn fast, dawg.” He sighed. Tyrell’s hips pumped, so he humped Avery’s hand just as much as Avery’s hand stroked him.
He was surprised at how good the handjob really was. He’d never enjoyed a handjob this much. He grunted and bit his lip. His breathing sped up as he tried to hump Avery’s hand harder, lifting his hips off the seat.
“Damn, nigga-” He choked off his own words as pre-orgasmic pleasure surged through him. He gasped.
Avery teased him by stopping, squeezing his dick but not moving his hand again — Tyrell was on the edge of his orgasm, so that made him writhe in frustration and use both of his hands to again force Avery’s hand to move once more. Avery smiled and did so, as Tyrell’s dick erupted in a torrent of cum.
“Oh fuck-!”
It sprayed all over his bare chest, coating his smooth brown skin in creamy goodness. It just kept on coming, even though he’d fucked not too long ago, he just had big dangling balls that were chock-full of creamy cum.
His wad clung to his muscles and dripped from his pecs. “Ah, shit!” Tyrell said through gritted teeth. A few beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He couldn’t believe a simple handjob felt this good, and he hoped Avery didn’t get the wrong idea about him because of it. “Ah, nice, nigga, keep strokin’… Hmmm…” He licked his lips. “Don’t leggo-” He grunted. “Stroke it real slow now, real slow…” Tyrell’s whole body undulated and he moaned, jetting out one final flow of jizz.
Avery’s hand got coated in cum, and Tyrell’s dick soon was soft again. Tyrell’s whole body trembled as Avery kept on stroking until Tyrell couldn’t take it any more and pushed his hand away.
“Good timing,” Avery said. He sucked the cum off his finger, the sound of which made Tyrell gag — girls were never that enthusiastic about cum. He pulled off the highway into Crandwell. “We’re almost there.”
“Yeah, cool,” Tyrell said. He chuckled, trying to recover his breath without looking impressed. It was just a handjob, a mandingo-nigga like himself couldn’t get excited over a handjob without blowing his rep. He heaved for breath as casually as he could manage. “Cool. You bettuh buy me that phone, yoh.”
“I will. Where’s this house you can get clothes at?”
Tyrell gave him directions to a tony neighborhood a ways off the highway. There he pulled up to a house with a pool out back. “Don’t worry, I fuck wit’ this divorced lady, she don’t needta hide nuhhin’.” He got out, wrapping a jacket around his waist so he could walk to the front door without flashing the neighborhood.
He had no sooner stepped out, however, when a slightly haggard woman came out of the front door. “No way, Tyrell! Get outta here! My husband’s back!”
“Wudd?”
“My husband’s back! You gotta go-“
A burly middle-aged white man came out from behind the house. He saw Tyrell’s mostly naked body. “What’s going on? Who are you?”
Tyrell was crestfallen for a couple reasons. Most importantly, he was shocked that she had chosen her husband over him. She’d been bad-mouthing her husband for more than a year. She said over and over that Tyrell was younger, sexier, bigger-cocked, better-in-bed and just plain more charming. He was better in every way than her ex-husband.
So what, Tyrell thought, was wrong with him? Why had she chosen the husband over him?
“Huh? Whatchoo doin’, man? You best get outta here!” The man’s face turned ruddy, and he came closer. “You tryin’-a mess wit’ my wife?”
Tyrell was used to messing around with nerdy white guys’s wives, not big men like him. He didn’t like retreating, but he had few options. He took a step back then darted into Avery’s car. Avery saw all that occur, but he was unsure what it meant.
“Drive.”
“What’s happening?” Avery was confused by the large white man approaching the open driver’s side window of Avery’s car.
“What the fuck is going on?” said the white man, lowering his head to bark at Tyrell in the passenger seat. “You coming at my wife, boy?”
“Nah.”
“Who are you?”
“Just drive!”
Avery ripped the car into reverse and floored it out of the driveway. Luckily no one was coming on the street or Avery might have backed right into them. He peeled away back to the highway.
“Shit,” Tyrell said. He sighed. “Well, fuck.”
“You wanna go get that phone now then?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Tyrell said. He looked out the window.
“Do you… want to stay with me?” Avery asked. He got the feeling from Tyrell’s silence that he now needed a place to stay.
Tyrell shrugged. “Do, I, uh… gotta… pay rent?”
“Sort of,” Avery said with a chuckle. “I only have one bed.”
There was a long awkward silence in the car. Tyrell wrinkled his nose. “Fine. But you gotta buy me stuff. Not just the phone. Like I need sum clothes ‘nd’shit, and, uh… a toothbrush.”
“Sure.”
“And…” There was so much going on that Tyrell struggled to think of something nice he could demand. “Uh… nice clothes. Like real nice clothes.”
“Yeah, cool.”
Avery drove to the All-Mart. Since Tyrell couldn’t go in without any clothes, he stayed out in the car, while Avery went in to buy a cheap phone, some clothes, shoes and a few odds and ends. He was relieved to come out and find Tyrell hadn’t hotwired his car.
“These clothes’ll have to do for now,” Avery said. “I’ll buy you some nicer stuff online, okay?”
“Fine.”
Tyrell felt better when he had some clothes on, and he quickly got to work on his phone. So he was involved in that and didn’t talk much or even pay any attention to Avery’s groping of his biceps and limp cock, until they pulled into the driveway of Avery’s house. Avery led him inside.
In the house, Avery was disappointed to see Tyrell in clothes. They both kept to themselves for awhile. Tyrell needed to get his life back in order — canceling his old phone, getting in touch with one nigga who was at work at the Burger Barn and could give him numbers of some other niggas, sending desperate messages to that married woman (until she blocked him), bragging to his niggas about the white chick he had boned (which made him feel better).
Avery made spaghetti — he had plenty of pasta and jarred sauce, and he figured Tyrell would like to have a big meal that was not quite home-cooked, but still plenty damn good. It was the good jarred sauce anyway.
“So do I gotta… you know, perform foh muh dinner?” Tyrell asked.
Avery clucked his tongue. “No. I’m not gonna starve you, Tyrell. You can ram me later tonight, once you’ve eaten.”
Tyrell was relieved but also wrinkled his nose. He didn’t realize Avery wanted ass. Tyrell wasn’t a booty bandit.
He could do it, of course. This nigga got meat. This nigga pounds.
But it wasn’t something he looked forward to. Tyrell hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he saw the food. He slurped down the noodles and the leftover Italian sausage Avery had added. Tyrell felt much better once he had eaten. He went in and took a long hot shower, which felt good too.
Then he came out before bed, in time to see Avery putting on a silky bathrobe. Tyrell followed him into his bedroom, his heart pounding.
He’d never plowed a man in the ass before. Tyrell fucked mainly with middle-aged white women, and while he liked to brag that he got them to give up the booty, that wasn’t really true. He’d only ever had anal sex with four women, and three of them made him quit before he even got his whole dick in there.
Tyrell closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He could do this. It would be easier, he thought, if he just pretended he was with a woman. He leaned in slowly, like women liked, and wrapped his muscles around Avery. He wrinkled his nose when Avery planted his lips on Tyrell’s, but Tyrell submitted as Avery’s tongue invaded his mouth.
Avery erupted in moans, stroking Tyrell’s powerful chest, which was moist with shower water. Avery figured Tyrell would feel most comfortable if Avery acted like a woman in love with him, being seduced. Avery giggled girlishly as Tyrell kissed him on the lips and the neck, then Avery slowly lowered himself to his knees.
“Alright, then, man, go ahead and put yuh mouf ouwn it,” Tyrell said with a grunt.
Avery pulled off Tyrell’s towel, revealing that big floppy cock. If he was with a woman, he’d be hard already. Tyrell tried not to show his feelings about this on his face. He took a deep breath, and his cock popped into Avery’s mouth. Avery smiled around it — it was clean and meaty and he could tell it was well-used too, like a muscle exhausted after a long day of work.
Tyrell fucked so many women that he got hard quickly, once he got into it, even though he’d cum a couple times today already. It had been hours, after all, which was plenty of time for him. He put his hands on his hips, watching his dick slide down Avery’s throat. At first it was just awkward and moist but cold and unappealing, like thwacking his limp dick on a plate of raw fish.
But then all at once, a jolt of pleasure made it twitch, and Tyrell narrowed his eyes to slits. His pecs rippled. His cock throbbed, and again, Tyrell felt the warm moisture of Avery’s tongue battering his sensitive cockshaft. He murmured soft nothings, and he submitted to Avery’s hands reaching up to play with his rippling chest muscles.
Not enough women were impressed by muscles, Tyrell thought, not really. Not like Avery obviously was.
“Yeah, swallow it, boi, swallow it deep…” Tyrell could get into this, he thought. He wondered if Avery would keep him paying him for his dick. That could be a regular arrangement.
It was rock-hard and throbbing soon enough, and the salty taste of precum hit Avery’s lips. Avery smiled up at him, his hands roaming over Tyrell’s muscular chest.
When he was ready, Avery turned around, leaned over the bed and jutted his ass up. Tyrell tried to cover up his lack of confidence, but Avery could tell how nervous he was. Tyrell wondered how much like a woman’s ass this would feel.
It’s good to do this once, Tyrell tried to tell himself. Lotta niggas ram once or twice. It’s better to do it wit’ a clean guy outside of prison. Then if I ever go to prison, it won’t be my first time.
One of Tyrell’s big hands spread Avery’s asscheeks, and he teased his knob at Avery’s hole. Then he closed his eyes and gyrated his hips, forcing it in as deep as it could go with one thrust. Avery gritted his teeth as a jolt of pain hit him. Tyrell had a big dick, so even with lube, there was agony as that first inch or two of cockmeat pushed into him. Avery struggled, and Tyrell grunted.
“Damn, boi,” Tyrell said. He’d never really worked through this kind of anal resistance. He was ginger, reluctant at first. Tyrell slowly worked his cock in, centimeter by centimeter. His hands instinctively touched Avery’s ass, then he pulled away because he didn’t want to touch a man.
Then a surge of pleasure hit him, and Tyrell moaned despite his anxiety. His eyes fluttered, and he gripped Avery’s flesh tight. He found his fingers on Avery’s pert ass — which, he thought, looked and felt very much like a girl’s — spreading the cheeks. When Tyrell kinda sculpted Avery’s assflesh with his hands, he could give it a vaguely feminine outline.
“Damn, man…” Tyrell grunted. His cock slid the rest of the way in, and they both moaned in sync. “Oh god… Damn, nigga!”
Tyrell didn’t know a man’s booty could be like this. Avery was tight and strong and experienced, and he could take every inch of dickmeat like few women could. He wasn’t loose either, he didn’t feel like a slut. He felt amazing, and Tyrell couldn’t believe it.
This, he thought, was better than any of the female asses he’d ever been in, not that Tyrell was going to admit that.
He pounded away, soon losing all of his inhibitions. He didn’t even mind his chest touching Avery’s back as he rammed his dick in harder and harder.
“Take it, nigga, damn!”
Soon he had Avery pinned on the bed, squirming beneath Tyrell’s massive body. Tyrell slammed his dick in and out, having lost his gingerness as he now realized Avery could take any amount of ramming. He forced his dick all the way in and out, and it was so thick every thrust of his hips brought Avery to new heights of orgasmic climax.
“Shit yeah!” Tyrell gripped his cheeks and moaned out his orgasm, surprised to see that Avery shot his own load at the same time. His body was wracked with bliss so intense it nearly hurt. He cried out loud, and his hands clawed for something to grip onto.
The smell of cum filled the air, and Tyrell sprayed his giant wad within Avery’s ass. It just kept on flowing, overflowing, dripping down and coating Avery’s thighs with creamy goodness.
More and more kept flowing, each one accompanying a long-dicking thrust into Avery’s ass The pleasure continued that whole time, Avery’s orgasm never quite ending. Tyrell’s cock had found a magic button to prolong it, it seemed.
At last, it was over, and Tyrell pulled out amid a storm of shudders through both men’s bodies. He grinned, wiping sweat off his chest. “Damn, boi… Hmm, you got ass fo’ real…”
“Hmmm…” Avery wanted to say something flirtatious, but he was too overwhelmed by the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm he had felt in a long time. He curled up on the bed and motioned for Tyrell to lay next to him.
Tyrell did so. He was tired now, having barely slept the night before. He didn’t even mind letting Avery paw all over him as they settled into bed together.
When I tell people about this — if I ever do — I’ll definitely tell them I made Avery sleep on the couch.

The Tennis Pro

Rob helps a handsome tennis pro sneak around with a married woman, and in exchange Rob gets to swing on his throbbing alpha-male meat! Can Rob get away with this scheme and with a taste of this muscular ladysman’s masculine musk?

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“The profit predictions for the Canal Street location aren’t as good, that’s the only reason I was hesitant,” said Clement. “But let me show you what the business analyst said about Garraty Avenue. It’s got real potential. There’s no gas stations within four miles, and it gets plenty of traffic. It’s near the community college.”
“Oh, that’s fascinating,” Rob lied. He disliked Clement quite a bit, but that wasn’t really a problem for him — he didn’t want to spend time with him at all. He was just doing this because it helped him reach his ultimate goal: Gabe Willcaster. Rob could already smell the stink of Gabe’s tennis gear.
Not literally. Rob was nowhere’s near Gabe Willcaster. He was in a cheesy “Pennsylvania Dutch” restaurant in Connecticut with the portly banker Clement Tale.
“Have you given any thought to per-gallon tolling versus sunk tanks?” Clement said. “Because sunk tanks are a better way to go in the long-term. We can get you a great deal on a building company too. It takes longer, but that’s just early time, you can get that back on less maintenance over the life of your gas station.”
“Tell me more,” Rob said. It took all of his concentration to avoid rolling his eyes.
But he couldn’t do that because Clement Tale had to think that Rob was for real. Rob was pretending to be interested in opening a gas station here in Orchard Range, Connecticut. He had no desire to do that. It seemed like a stupid idea. But Clement was trying to talk him into it because he was a banker, and that was what bankers did.
And anyway, Rob’s father was strongly encouraging him — requiring him — yelling at him repeatedly about it and sending him nasty emails — to start a business. He wanted to encourage an entrepreneurial spirit.
“How many employees were you going to hire?” Clement asked, and he really seemed like he wanted to know.
Rob thought he might fall asleep any moment now. This was so boring. How do people fall in love with boring fucks like Clement Tale?
Someone had fallen in love with him. Her name was Jessica, and Rob knew her well. She had genuinely loved her husband for a long time, and he had given her five wonderful children, all of them now grown. Clement had been cheating on her for years, and his mistress loved him too. Women were mystifying. What on earth could they have seen in him? He was sorta vaguely handsome in a generic older man sort of way. Not sexy certainly. Stately. Elegantly pleasant to look at.
He was rich. Was that really all women cared about? They stopped listening after they heard the word ‘banker’.
Who knows the ways of women? Not Rob. In any case, Clement had a wife who loved him and a mistress who loved him and actually a couple of spurned lovers who still loved him too. Mystifying but true. Jessica — that’s the wife — knew about the mistresses. Rob had encouraged her to sleep around too. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose.
So Jessica was having an affair with a tennis pro named Gabe, and that was where Rob came in.
Rob had been lusting for Gabe for years. When he finished with his silly distraction — that meeting with Clement was just to distract him so Gabe could go out on a date with the man’s wife — Rob went right back to the tennis club. By then, Jessica would be gone, and Gabe would have some free time before his next lesson.
He was a dark-haired, swarthy young man with a head of curly brown hair, sterling cheekbones and dimples that went out to here. He had a thick voice too, like his throat had been marinated in sherry. He was broad-chested and strong without being muscular, and smooth yet furry, charming, and he had a reputation — among the staff at the Rockhard Country Club — for seducing women.
Especially upper-class women.
That was why Gabe was dating both Jessica and — unknown to either of them — her daughter, Karen. Not to mention Mrs. Fletcher. And he had never broken up with Mrs. O’Connor either, he thought with a grin.
Gabe was exhausted after his date with Jessica. He spent hours with her, speaking sweetly, kissing her on the neck. She paid for dinner, of course — Gabe didn’t make much money — and she had bought him a shirt he liked, and she had even paid for his health insurance — she primly declared that it was a charitable donation and would be written off on her taxes. Gabe was pretty sure Jessica had no idea what that meant or how to do it. Her husband was a banker, of course he would be the one to do their taxes, or more likely hires an accountant.
She ran her fingers through his hair, and she swooned in his arms. Gabe loved making women feel like that, so he could them purring with contentment in his arms. He loved that he could make Jessica feel like that, and her daughter Karen — who was going out with him tomorrow night — and a bevy of other women.
Gabe whistled on his way back to the country club. He had met Jessica there, because he didn’t want to go to her house and be seen by her neighbors, family or butler, and she didn’t want to come to his house for the same reason — silly delicate Jessica actually thought Gabe was wealthy enough to have a butler and neighbors who gave a crap about whether or not Gabe was seeing a married woman.
Since he hadn’t gone home since finishing work, Gabe was still dressed for tennis, and his things were in his cabana. He wore short white shorts and a polo shirt that showed off the smattering of hair on his chest. The country club assigned him the cabana for “work” — he had put the bed in it himself, and he had wired it to play romantic tango music and he had even installed a little vibrating machine on the bed.
“Hey,” said Rob, sidling up next to him as Gabe unlocked his cabana. Gabe had to put down the tennis racket to get his key in the lock.
“Oh shit, there you are, hey, Rob,” Gabe said with a nervous chuckle. He sucked in his breath. He was both eager to get this over with and a little reluctant to do it right now — he’d been hoping to get in Jessica’s panties all night. That didn’t happen, it was just a date at a discrete restaurant.
“How’d it go?”
“Ah… It was a bust. Thanks for distracting Clement though,” Gabe said with a sigh. He went into his cabana and let Rob in behind him. The night was chilly, but the cabana was warm and stuffy, humid, like a blanket that smelled a little of male sweat, a little of sex and a whole lot of cologne.
Gabe wrinkled his nose and lit a scented candle, making the whole cabana smell of “elderberry sunshine” instead. He sighed.
“Oh no shit, she wouldn’t bang you?”
“You don’t have to be crude,” Gabe said with a leering grin, like he really enjoyed Rob being crude but didn’t want to admit it, just in case one of his female companions happened to overhear. He even looked around the empty cabana to check. The walls were those faux-reeds, somple plain mats that weren’t much of a soundproofing technology. Gabe’s cabana was set back to give him some privacy, but anyone who suspected him — like Jessica’s husband and/or daughter and/or any of a bevy of other jealous men, spurned lovers and private investigators.
There wasn’t much furniture in here either, aside from the bed itself. Tennis gear lay all around the room, shoes and rackets and pieces to the tennis ball machine that had broken last year. Rob sniffed the horny sweat from Gabe’s armpit.
“She wouldn’t allow you to make sweet, languorous love to her lovely lady-parts?”
“She wasn’t feelin’ it,” Gabe said. He sat on his bed and spread his legs. He knew what Rob was going to try next.
“I’m feelin’ it…” Rob said with a giggle. He came closer and stretched out on the bed next to Gabe. “You poor baby… You want a backrub?”
“Oh Yeah, yeah, I need that,” Gabe said. He sighed. This wouldn’t be bad. He had agreed to let Rob jerk him off. He spent a lot of time eating women out, and they rarely treated him like his own pleasure was worth considering at all.
Gabe lifted off his polo shirt, revealing a supple, taut chest with a gorgeous six-pack. He had a thin layer of fuzz right over his sternum, just enough to be visible. He used to shave himself as smooth as a seal, but he found women liked it better when he had a bit of chest hair.
He was sprawled out on the bed, and Rob climbed up onto him, mounting his ass so he could rub his shoulders. He cooed softly. Rob was eager to get started, but he didn’t want to push. He had been hoping to get a taste of Gabe’s hot body for a long time.
So it had been worth it to spend hours talking about gas stations with a stuffy fifty-something banker. Utterly boring.
He kneaded the well-muscled back of Gabe’s body, and Gabe let out a seductive moan. Rob leaned down and kissed his smooth skin. Gabe was strong with well-developed shoulders from the years he had spent playing tennis, but he didn’t have a bulky bodybuilderish body. He had stacks of meaty muscle overtop his shoulders, aand his shoulders flexed beautifully when Rob gently sucked on his soft skin.
His hair was immaculate too. Rob didn’t know how he could do it living by himself, because he always kept his hair at the same length, the same level of curliness, the same tapered ending above his neck, so there was never even a single stray hair on his back.
He went lower along Gabe’s spine, plastering his skin with kisses. A few hairs did finally appear there, over the small of his back, just above his ass. He wore white shorts now, above tennis shoes and short socks. Rob slowly untied his shoes.
Gabe stiffened up a bit. He’d never been with a man. It had seemed simple when he agreed to it — he often messed with females he didn’t especially find attractive. It would be nice, he thought, to get dome for the first time in a long time, to get to ram without regard for seducing women or maintaining a good image for the country club.
But it was hard to relax. He remained intimately aware that it was a man caressing his body, not a woman.
“Roll over,” Rob said softly, and Gabe did so. He lifted his ass so Rob could pull his shorts down, and his hefty cock — not obscenely huge, but big — popped out.
It was just slightly hard at the moment, far from erect, but still some lingering firmness from when he nearly got to fuck Jessica and a bit of a reawakening after that from Rob’s hands all over Gabe’s back. Gabe closed his eyes and sprawled out, arms and legs akimbo. He felt an urge to wiggle like a little boy, but he managed to resist, even though he was nervously ticklish to Rob’s petite fingers dancing over his skin.
“Hmmm… You taste real good,” Rob said with a throaty murmur. His hands kneaded Gabe’s chest and his tight, taut little pecs, which flexed beneath his touch. Rob kept giving his dick a half-hearted stroke, teasing Gabe to get him interested.
Soon enough Gabe’s eyes fluttered open and he lifted his head, supporting himself on his elbows. He watched his dick flop beneath Rob’s hand. “Hey did Clement say anything about Jessica?”
“Not really. He said his wife plays tennis,” Rob murmured softly. His attention was on Gabe’s dick.
“Cool.” Gabe couldn’t tear his eyes away from his cock. He cleared his throat. “It’ll get hard if you get it wet.”
“You can’t get hard from a handjob?”
Gabe blushed. “I… I mean…I can… I just-“
“Is it because I’m a man?”
Gabe nodded. “I mean, it’s cool, it’s just… weird.”
Rob giggled and smiled. He knew Gabe wouldn’t get hard like this. Rob was just teasing him, playing with his half-hard dick and massaging his muscles. He bent over and sucked off the sweat that was collecting in the forested valley between his pecs. It was warm enough in here — and plenty humid enough — to make him sweat just a bit.
Gabe smiled back to conceal his growing frustration — he just wanted to get hard and jerked off so he could go home. Or, he thought, he could just stay here. He had never slept all night in the cabana by himself. He’d shared the bed with women; he’d napped there during the day; he’d slept part of the night by himself after his woman of the week up and left during the night, but he’d never just slept in the bed.
It would feel so good to sleep alone. Tomorrow was Tuesday, when the country club didn’t open until ten o’clock, so no staff showed up until nine. He’d have plenty of time to sleep in.
Why do I want to sleep in? Oh god am I old? Do I need to settle down? I sound like Granddad, always talking about sleeping in until nine as though it was some special event to be celebrated and remembered forever! Oh god! I need to find a wife and settle down-
But Gabe’s anxiety vanished the moment his cocktip slid into Rob’s warm mouth. Gabe let out a long, low sigh as his dick rocketed into full erection. He’d been on the verge for so long it took little time to make it happen.
“Hmmmm….” Rob moaned, the sound blending in with the crippeting chorus outside.
His dick tasted clean, of coconut-scent soap and crisp night-time air — it tasted like the air outside of the cabana, away from the stale and humid, chlorine-soaked air. It tasted like a sleeping forest, Rob thought, but beneath that there was a certain funkiness, a little manly musk that made Rob croon and his knees go weak. It was the taste of tennis-jock, and it overwhelmed Rob with desire.
He slathered it with spit. He soon recognized that Gabe was desperate for some genuine affection, even if he would never admit it. He wanted someone to want to make him feel good, instead of just expecting him to lick their clitorises to orgasm again and again.
Gabe moaned out loud, more fully and more passionately than he had moaned with any woman recently. He gripped Rob’s head tightly, holding on as he rode him up and down. Grinding his dick deep into Rob’s throat, he made love to his mouth, plunging in and out, coating his tongue in creamy precum.
“Do you wanna ram me?” Rob asked, wiping spit off his lips. He smiled. Gabe was pale, wide-eyed and stammering. He looked like he was on the verge of orgasm already.
“Uh… I… I guess… I… I didn’t, uh… I want…”
“Just say yes or no,” Rob said. He rubbed Gabe’s dick against his face, slowly so he wouldn’t make him cum too quickly. He wanted to slow Gabe down so he could experience this for as long as possible.
“Yes.” Gabe gulped.
Rob smiled and laid down on his back. Gabe stood, standing at the foot of the bed, where Rob scooted until his feet could be in the air resting on Gabe’s broad shoulders. A lot of guys loved getting in behind men in this position because it looked and felt like fucking a woman. Of course, a lot of them disliked it because it put the bottom’s cock and balls squarely in front of the top’s eyes. Gabe couldn’t help but watch Rob jack off.
For some men, it was too difficult to stay hard while watching a man jack off. Gabe thought that might be him, but he instinctively refused to say it — he didn’t want to be less seductive; he didn’t want to turn away a conquest; he had a reputation to uphold, at least in his mind.
Besides, he told himself, you don’t have to look down.
Despite that, he did look down as he wedged his dick between Rob’s cheeks and slid in. He sucked in his breath because the side of his hand came tantalizingly close to touching Rob’s ballsac — he might have come into contact with a few curly hairs, but he managed to convince himself that didn’t happen.
His cocktip filled up Rob’s ass, and Rob immediately clenched. He struggled to take it in, not because it was so big but because Gabe was used to being extra-gentle. He stopped whenever he felt even a faint twinge of resistance from Rob’s body.
“Oh god, stick it in me, Gabe,” Rob said with a moan to get him going harder. He reached for Gabe’s cock, guiding it into his ass and holding it firmly. He tried to pull it, shoving it in, hoping to hurry Gabe along into him.
“Are you okay?”
“Ramming men in the ass is different from fucking women. Women have clitorises, it feels best-” Rob winced as a shiver of pain hit him hard. But he didn’t let that slow him down any. “They want you to focus on that, right there on the surface. But men have prostates, way down deep in there. You gotta go all the way in.”
Gabe grimaced and blushed but did so. The tension was too great to speak. He couldn’t decide if this felt amazing or gross — it was a bit of both at once, and both sensations coursed through his veins.
Amazing.
All of a sudden, Gabe’s dick rammed in the rest of the way as his inhibitions melted and Rob managed to suck him in. A grand wave of pleasure ran into Gabe like a truck, and he groaned loudly. He first tried to muffle the sound, then remembered that there was no one outside — the country club had been closed for hours, and even the night janitors were gone.
So he could be as loud as he wanted. Men like Rob didn’t even get upset if he acted barbarically too — so Gabe could growl and grunt, paw at Rob’s body and ram into him as hard as he could. He didn’t have to be seductive.
All he had to do was ram as hard as he could. He plowed into Rob over and over, back and forth. He hadn’t been able to really go to town on anyone’s tight hole in a long time. It felt good to act without regard for anything but his own pleasure and without a face shiny with old-lady pussyjuice.
Gabe laughed meanly for the first time in a long time, as an orgasm overwhelmed him and he sighed. His hot breath condensed on Rob’s face, Gabe leaning over when his knees weakened.
Pleasure exploded within Rob’s ass, and he shot his own wad all over his chest and belly. It coated him in a layer of creamy warmth. But even then, Gabe kept at it.
His dick slammed into Rob, and Gabe sucked in his breath. For just a moment — though it seemed to last forever — both men orgasmed at once. Gabe sometimes managed to do that, but it had never felt as real or as vibrant as it did now.
The most intense orgasm of his life, or at least his most intense since he started working here and banging married old broads, wracked Gabe’s body and made him shake from head to toe. He howled and screamed, pounding away at Rob’s ass with more force than he had ever thought someone could take.
At last, it was over. Gabe let out a long chest-rattling sigh, and wiped sweat off his chest. Rob sighed too, and bit his lip. His orgasm dwindled away to tense soreness because Gabe’s dick still throbbed as it limpened inside Rob’s ass.
“Goddamn, that was nice…” Rob said. He blushed. He giggled and slid away, moaning and blinking his eyes as exhilaration flowed through him and his ass emptied.
Gabe smiled and blushed. “I-“
The door opened. In stormed Clement Tale, the banker Rob had distracted earlier, the cuckolded husband of Gabe’s current women (or one of them, anyway) and father of one of Gabe’s other current conquests. Clement looked at the bed with his mouth agape as though it didn’t quite compute.
Clement had assumed he’d walk in on Gabe the tennis pro fucking his wife. He’d grown suspicious of the handsome tennis pro — why did his wife need years of tennis lessons anyway? She barely played! — and then doubly suspicious when Rob had seemed unserious at their meeting. He recalled Jessica’s odd tone when talking about her plans for this afternoon and evening, and Clement had been struck with the certainty that she was fucking that smarmy-faced prick Gabe.
His blood already boiled with rage over the adultery he thought he was walking in, and he couldn’t quite process that that wasn’t what he was seeing. “You manwhore! You wife-stealing bastard! How dare you seduce my…”
“Mr. Tale?!” Gabe shouted. He backed away from the bed, cock dangling between his legs. “I… It’s not what it looks like. This is my… cousin… He’s… staying here, and uh-“
Rob slid out of bed. Clement Tale looked at him curiously, head cocked to the side. It seemed like quite a coincidence that the flamboyant young man who had expressed interest in a gas station just a few hours ago was now apparently here in the room of the tennis pro Mr. Tale had been sure was stupping his wife until a few seconds ago.
Clement couldn’t figure out what it meant or in what way it might be an attack on him. Maybe the flamboyant young man was a con artist? But the plan was for him to invest. He was talking about buying a gas station. He wasn’t asking for money. And why would the tennis pro be involved?
Now Mr. Tale wasn’t sure of anything. “You… you… ingrate!” Mr. Tale shouted. He couldn’t think of what to accuse either man of.
“What are you doing here?” Gabe asked.
“I-I… I’m sorry to disturb you.” Clement backed out of the cabana, into the dark night. He still felt sure there was something he wasn’t understanding. But he had assuaged his concerns, or at least he was satisfied that Jessica was not at this very moment fucking her tennis pro. He couldn’t rule out any other moments. That mollified Clement as much as he was capable of being mollified in this moment, and he walked back to his car in stunned silence. Back in the cabana, Rob kissed Gabe again and again until Gabe signaled for him to stop.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Rob asked, still basking in the heat and the comfortable solidity of Gabe’s frame.
Gabe shrugged. He didn’t want to admit he was eager to make that happen. If he got to ram Rob again and again all night long, he would sleep so good. He allowed Rob to kiss and suck his chest clean, then they both laid down on the bed.
Now, Gabe was glad he wasn’t sleeping alone.
Rob sighed. He was going to sleep with Gabe all night in the bed, it seemed, in this cabana that reeked of Gabe’s lust. He nuzzled Gabe’s now slightly scruffy chin and wrapped one hand around his well-muscled chest.
“Hmmmm… Thanks, Rob,” Gabe said. “I really needed this.”

Mafia Punishment

Tedi is an effeminate twink who never thought the Mafia would come to him to help dole out punishment. But when one of the Caprinelli family’s enforcers is proven to have snitched, Tedi is all too eager to get down and dirty teaching that uomo a lesson!

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Or read the whole thing here!

The wedding was a nerve-wracking affair, even for Tedi, and it wasn’t even his wedding. He was a long-time friend of the family, but the family in question was the family — the Cavollos. They were the most powerful Mafia clan in New Jersey. The Cavollos themselves had never acknowledged it, except for Sonny, and he only obliquely referred to it on a few occasions when he was drunk.
Tedi had grown up as Sonny’s best friend, and stayed with him in college and ever since. They had drifted apart only slightly as they each developed an independent life. But when Sonny got married, there was no one to be best man and compare d’anello except for Tedi.
The wedding was held in St. Michael’s Cathedral on Staten Island. It was a beautiful affair, and everything went exactly according to plan — with one exception: a groomsmen who was missing.
There were five groomsmen (il testimoni) who had come to the wedding rehearsal. They weren’t exactly friends of Sonny’s, but they were closest thing Sonny had to a friend besides Tedi — made mafia men simply didn’t have close friends. Tedi was an exception because he had been friends with Sonny for a long time, he was not in the mafia or otherwise involved in any kind of crime, and he was small, delicate and weak. Nobody treated him like a serious rival.
The five groomsmen were Francesco Lancinelli, Frankie di Pietro, Joey Rizzoli, Baldo Bianchi and Demetrio Collera.
Tedi enjoyed jerking them off once, along with the groom himself, during the bachelor party — they had sworn an oath to god not to fuck any stripper or whore. So they let Tedi jerk them off while a stripper ground her feminine wiles on their bodies. That had been a good night for Tedi, even if it ended with an argument (apparently there was a leak in their organization, and Francesco disagreed on who it likely was).
It was Francesco who had disappeared before the wedding.
The weirdest thing about that was that no one mentioned it. Tedi’s nervous mind noticed it just before the wedding began — he counted only four groomsmen. But he assumed the fifth was around somewhere, and he was so anxious about the ceremony that he couldn’t even focus enough to figure out who was missing.
Once the I dos were said, Tedi stood there in his lavender suit, just a few feet from the four burly Mafioso. He realized it was Francesco who was missing.
Francesco Lancinelli was the biggest, the least handsome and the toughest of the five groomsmen, and he had the most massive cock. Tedi loved jerking him off. He had a crude caveman-like face, with rough-hewn jawlines and perpetually stubbled chin, his beard hair always uneven due to a network of scars crisscrossing his neck and face. He had the kind of domineering personality and massive muscles that repelled women. Tedi felt sorry for him, but was also hopeful that he’d come calling to Tedi to ask for more dome in the future.
But now where was he? And why had no one noticed? His name was even listed in the program for the wedding, but no one remarked on his absence. It was only as the reception began that the horrifying thought he could be dead assaulted Tedi’s mind. Was that possible?
No, of course not. The Mafia was a lot of things, but they were not clinical and detached. If a groomsman had died between the wedding rehearsal and the wedding, it would have been announced; they would have mourned him at the start of the wedding; Sonny would have worn a black armband or something like that. They wouldn’t just proceed with the wedding like nothing had happened.
“Hey, Tedi, come on,” Sonny said once he had finished his traditional dance with his new wife. His voice sounded distant even though he was right next to Tedi. He had to scream to be heard over the crowd. He grabbed Tedi by the arm and pulled him away.
“Where are we going?” Tedi asked, but his weak voice was lost in the din.
He followed Sonny, whose body shuffled thickly — he had been putting on weight since he got engaged — in his tight tuxedo, which was plainly uncomfortable for him. He had loosened his tie, which hung around his neck. Much to Tedi’s surprise, he led Tedi out of the church and into the Italian-American community center next door.
Then he breathed a sigh of relief that he was away from the crowd. Sonny stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. He leaned against the wall. The bulge in his pants suggested he was going to ask Tedi for dome — that was probably why he had left the church, Tedi decided, to get do it somewhere other than sacred ground.
But why did he want dome just hours before he’d be able to be with his wife in lawfully-wedded bliss? Was he really that horny? Maybe it was the stress, Tedi decided. He grabbed the bulge and smiled at Sonny. Tedi had long been jerking his friend off.
“No,” Sonny said. “That ain’t what I brought ya here fo’, man.”
“Oh?”
Sonny shook his head. He gulped nervously. “Come on.” He opened the door to a deep storage closet, piled high with boxes and athletic equipment. There was a crowd of men in tuxedos. Since they all wore the same clothes and had the same slicked-back black hair, Tedi didn’t quite recognize them right away in the dim light of the closet.
Then he saw that they were the four groomsmen. Frankie, Joey, Baldo and Demetrio all stood there, clustered around another tuxedo-clad man who was slumped over a chair sideways, so the arms of the rickety wooden chair supported his belly and chest.
After a few seconds, Tedi realized that the man who was slumped over was fully conscious, that he was Francesco and that he was tied up and gagged. His hair was slicked back like all the others, but his tuxedo was ruffled, torn in a few spots, and he had a fresh black eye.
“Hey, guys. What’s going on? What happened to Francesco? Is he okay?”
“No, he ain’t,” Sonny said with a chuckle. He stepped forward, pushing past Tedi in the tiny closet. He slapped Francesco on the ass through his tuxedo pants. “Francesco… He fucked up, Tedi. He’s the snitch. He’s been leakin’ like an old man’s dick.”
“What?”
Sonny laughed cockily. “I ain’t know a simpler way to say that, Tedi. He’s a snitch. He’s a person who snitches. He has snitched. You want me to translate into Italian?”
“Oh, I mean… Oh…” Tedi didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Sonny never really discussed Mafia business. He sometimes talked about the “import/export” business in ways that made it clear what he was really talking about, but he was rarely so blatant and open about it.
“We’re gonna punish him. We would do it ourselves, but…” Sonny said with a dry chuckle. “We ain’t want to. It’s my wedding day. My giorno sacro…”
“And I think it’s gross,” Joey said. He was the handsome one, the one who always had a girl hanging off his arm. He had deep dimples and smooth skin. “Francesco here is hairy come un barbaro, and if you think I’m shaving his ass, you got another thing coming.”
“Wait, so… You want me to…?” Tedi’s heart started pounding as he realized they wanted him to ram Francesco.
As if he had only just figured it out as well, Francesco squealed through the gag in his mouth. His muscles struggled against the bindings keeping him on the chair, and he fought so hard the chair itself nearly fell over. Sonny and the others laughed.
“So, how about it, Tedi?” Sonny asked. “You wanna wreck this snitchin’ rat?”
“Uh… Well… fuck, yeah!” Tedi said. He blushed as they all cheered. Francesco bleated, screaming profanity the best he could with what appeared to be underwear shoved in his mouth.
Sonny removed a pocketknife from his tuxedo slacks. For a moment, it looked like he was going to stab Francesco in the asshole. But he just sliced through the man’s pants, leaving a shadowy hole in front of his ass.
That wasn’t enough for Tedi. He liked ass, and he wanted to see it. He pulled on either end of the tear in the slacks, trying to rip the entire bottom off. But he blushed — the fabric was too tough, and Tedi was too weak. He strained for a minute or two before Baldo, the strongest one here aside from Francesco himself, grabbed the fabric from him. He ripped the entire ass of the slacks off.
Francesco had a beautifully thick ass, brimming with plump muscle and coarse black hairs. There was a big splat of scar tissue, vaguely circular or spiral-shaped, but distended by time, on his right asscheek.
“You want him to swallow your cum too?” Sonny asked. “Or are you just gonna go straight for the ramrodding?”
Tedi shrugged. “I… I mean, won’t he just bite down?”
“We got a plan for that,” he said. “He won’t bite.”
A part of Tedi didn’t feel confident in that. But he rarely got the chance to ram a man in the ass, especially not a big hairy macho like Francesco.
“I, uh… I just want his ass, honestly. I’d love to see him swallow some dick though. Would you guys ram his throat?”
They all looked around like no one wanted to do it but no one wanted to say no. Tedi blushed. Francesco heaved and screamed the best he could through his gag.
Demetrio laughed. “Ain’t you required to give yo’ friends favors on your wedding day, Sonny?” They all laughed along with him.
Sonny shook his head even as he said yes. “We, uh… Yeah. I guess we might as well. We’re gonna ram you in the throat, you little snitchin’ bitch.” Francesco struggled against the gag in his mouth, which Sonny pulled off. Francesco gasped for air, but Sonny spat on his face and barked for him to be silent. “I’m gonna give you a choice for how this ends, motherfucker. You can jerk us off and take it from Tedi, do everything he says, no matter how gross. You got that? Repeat it for me, Francesco, so I know you understand.”
“Sonny, I ain’t sellin’ secrets to the Caprinelli family-“
“You shut up! We found that book in your house, Francesco. We saw it. We got records from Tranquillo Caprinelli. We got a mole too, rat, and I ain’t tell you word one about it.”
“Sonny-“
“You know how I told you we was gonna hit the Caprinelli house on Saturday?” Sonny asked. “Well, they was waiting there with guns ready. They knew we was coming. Only we wasn’t coming, Francesco. We wasn’t coming at all. I told Demetrio we was doing it on Friday. I told Joey on Tuesday. Baldovino on Thursday, and Francesco the Saturday before that. But we ain’t hit them any day. I just waited to see when they thought we was coming. That was yo’ day, Francesco. What made them think we was gonna hit them on Saturday?”
“Sonny… We used to be friends…”
“Huh? You was gonna let me walk into a trap, motherfucker. They was gonna blow my brains out,” Sonny said. “So don’t you talk to me about friendship, or loyalty. Sputo sul vostro onore!” Sonny spat on his face again, and the others joined in. Tedi enjoyed watching Francesco’s moist, craggy face scrunch up and beg; he wrinkled his nose at the saliva dripping from his cheeks. His muscles were tense — at the moment, Tedi couldn’t have stuck anything in Francesco’s ass, which was shut tight with terror. But he wasn’t trying to. He caressed those plump cheeks and fingered the rim of his puckering asshole.
“Now I was tryin’ to explain your two options befo’ you in’rrupted me, Francesco,” Sonny said. “I’m gonna let you choose. Option One begins with you taking it in the ass from Tedi — and you better thank yo’ hairy culo di una scimmia that the rest of us won’t touch it, cuz that’s nasty — and jerking on dicks. You gonna swallow a mountain of cum. You ain’t nevuh gonna be a real man ever again, you’ll be a frocio zoccola. And then I’ll buy you a bus ticket to Las Vegas. You can sell your body or whatever, just drink yourself to death there. I don’t care what you do. That’s Option One, Francesco, questo è Opzione Uno. Can you tell me that in yo’ own words so I know you unn’erstand it?”
Sonny often spoke like this to the men under his command. Tedi didn’t usually get to witness it, but he knew it — Sonny wanted to make sure the pig-headed brutes who worked for him understood their mission, so he always made them put it in their own words. Sonny was arrogant and patronizing, so Tedi wasn’t surprised that most of the men who worked for him hated him.
“Sonny…” Francesco hung his head over the side of the chair. Sonny slapped him. Francesco sputtered. “I… I can… submit, and uh, let yo’ friend cornhole me. And jerk all you off. That’s Option One. You’ll let me go to Las Vegas afterwards.”
“You make it sound like a vacation. It’s more of an exile,” Sonny said. “But you’ll be alive. Opzione Due is less pleasant, but more final. Tedi here is gonna cornhole you hard. I just might order Joey to do it too, even if he don’t want to-” Sonny said with a laugh suggesting that wasn’t serious — Joey’s eyes opened wide and he turned slightly greenish; he was a handsome, cleanliness-oriented and organized man, deeply religious but with a bevy of loose women following him around every night, so he was the last one who would likely deign to ram Francesco’s hairy asshole. Sonny smacked Francesco’s ass, which quivered and twitched.
It also opened up. Since Tedi’s finger was waiting there at the entrance, he slipped it in. It was just his pinkie for the moment, and just down to the first knuckle. But Francesco’s face turned bright red and he let out an agonized roar. His muscles flexed against the ropes tying him to the chair. His asshole clenched on Tedi’s finger.
“You got a finger in che culo, paisano?”
“Yeah, Sonny. Just one finger for now,” Tedi said.
“Option Two, Francesco, has got one major benefit. We ain’t gonna plow you in the mouth if you ain’t gonna swear you won’t bite down. So you won’t have to swallow any Italian dicks,” Sonny said. “But we is gonna sell yo’ ass to the Bloods.” He cackled as Francesco squirmed and struggled against his bindings. He slapped Francesco’s face. “And you know what those moolies are gonna do… They gonna plow you with big black dicks. They gonna let some crackheads plow you, just to watch you squirm and collect diseases. They hate Italians, and they hate disloyal rats, so you is gonna wish you was dead. Then you will be dead. They’ll just toss you in the ghetto with black cum all over your face, maybe a crack pipe in your ass. They’ll make sure the cops put it in the papers that you was just a hobo killed by the moolie hobos you was jerkin’ off for pennies. Yo’ mama gonna curse yer name, Francesco.”
“Sonny-!”
“You can choose now, Francesco,” Sonny said. “Which one is it gonna be?”
Francesco let out a sob, then bit his lip. As he acknowledged his submission and finally gave up the struggle, knowing how this would turn out, his ass unclenched long enough for Tedi to get a second finger in there. Francesco yelped like a puppy in pain.
This time, Tedi didn’t just stick his fingers in to the first knuckle and stopped. He seriously fingered Francesco, ramming his fingers in until he felt resistance, and then just a little bit farther. He liked watching every muscle on Francesco’s body shake and tremble with each thrust of Tedi’s fingers.
“I’ll… take Option One,” Francesco said. “I swear… I’ll do it. I’ll jerk you off.”
“You swear an oath on yo mama’s name?”
“Yes. I swear… on my mother’s name,” Francesco said. “I’ll jerk you all off. I won’t bite down. Just… let me go. Let me move to Vegas.”
“You fuckin’ pansy,” Sonny said.
They all took their dicks out. A part of Tedi wished he’d get to jerk them all off, but he would rather ram Francesco. He had to move a box off the shelf to use as a stool in order to get his crotch lined up with Francesco’s ass. As he did, the other five jabbed their limp dicks into Francesco’s mouth, one after another.
Francesco gagged and retched so loudly Tedi wondered if it was audible outside this closet. He choked, sputtering as he spat onto the ground. Each of them had thick, long uncut cocks, which they seemed to have trouble getting hard at first.
They flopped their dicks against his face, like kids who had never gotten dome. But as they took turns forcing their dicks down his spasming throat, jousting nervously atop his face, they became more and more confident, and they egged each other on.
La bocca è la mia figa!
Tedi had no such difficulty, his dick was already hard even though he hadn’t touched it yet. He rammed his two fingers in and out of Francesco’s ass, while his free hand stroked the writhing muscles of his back through his tuxedo. Then he rammed a third finger in, ignoring the resistance he felt.
A ear-piercing scream rang out, and Francesco’s body burst out with sweat all at once. Tedi laughed along with the other mafioso, who looked away as their dicks got hard. They had all gangbanged whores before, and they all knew they had each let Tedi jerk them off, but they had never had their dicks out like this, with each other and without a woman in the room.
With Francesco bent awkwardly over the plain wooden chair — which loudly rocked as he struggled — Tedi had to climb on top of him to really get his dick in. He pulled his three fingers out and plunged in, his toes gripping the side of the chair as he crouched over Francesco’s bare ass.
The position was awkward for Tedi (and, of course, Francesco), but that didn’t detract from the arousal he felt. He even used Baldo’s shaved head for support as Baldo waited for his turn on Francesco’s mouth.
Costringerlo a soffocare, Baldo!
Tedi shuddered as intense pleasure rolled through him. The curly black hairs of Francesco’s ass were a tangle he had to push through, and he felt a few hairs rip out as he went. That must have sent another layer of pain through Francesco’s body which rippled as he struggled.
Frankie was a heavily tattooed thug, who normally wore his pants slung low and a backwards baseball cap, speaking in a black accent. He was Italian but he didn’t always act that way, which was something the others made fun of him for. But now he spoke Italian as he violently throated Francesco. It was he who came first, pistoning his dick deep into Francesco’s throat and laughing when he choked up copious spit and bile onto the closet floor.
Take it bitch, you fuckin’ snitch! Choke on that shit! Here, open that mouth up so I can spit in it some more…
The smell of cum filled the air before Tedi realized Frankie was actually finishing. Then he saw the pearly white stuff dripping from Francesco’s mouth, collecting in a puddle on the floor. Some of it splashed on Joey’s fine dress shoes, which he made Francesco lick clean. Frankie sighed breathed heavily, wiping his cummy cockshaft off on Francesco’s face.
“Lick that nut off my shoes, bitch,” Joey said. He smiled as Francesco gagged but did as he was told. His tongue haltingly caressed the expensive Italian leather shoes Joey wore, and he managed, with great difficulty, to force himself to lick the entirety of both shoes.
Mi permetta di usare quella gola, paisano!
As the others continued taking turns on Francesco’s throat, Tedi borrowed the knife from Sonny. He wanted to see Francesco’s bare muscular back, so he sliced through the tuxedo jacket, shirt and the dingy wifebeater he wore underneath.
“You couldn’t even put on a clean t-shirt for my wedding?” Sonny asked when he saw the undershirt. “You worthless sac of shit!” He slapped Francesco’s spit and cum-covered face, uncaring of the fact that he got his friends’ fluids on his hands. He just wiped his fingers off on Francesco’s face.
The more violently they went after Francesco’s throat, the more Francesco choked, the more they made each other laugh and the more comfortable they got shoving their dicks against each other. They tried to make him jerk all five dicks at one — which was obviously impossible, but they tried, ignoring the semeny residue that smeared between all five cocks.
Sonny was the one who rammed Francesco’s mouth most delicately. He didn’t want to get stains on his nice slacks, so he angled his body away the best he could. He gripped Francesco’s hair as he reached his own orgasm.
Tedi’s fingers massaged Francesco’s broad shoulder muscles. He had a Jesus tattoo over his left shoulder and an Italian flag beneath that. Tedi kissed them both as he pounded his dick into Francesco’s ass. The size difference between them meant that Tedi had to really hold on tight or slip off, especially as Francesco became so sweaty his back and ass were slippery. Tedi clutched and clawed at his beefy back.
When he shot his load, Sonny held onto Francesco by the ear. He slammed his dick in and out quickly, laughing as Francesco choked on each thrust. His choking turned into loud retching when Sonny shot a load right down his throat.
Assaggiare il mio sperma! Does it taste like yo’ mama’s pussy?
Tedi’s own orgasm was coming quickly, but he wanted to wait until the others were done. He loved watching their potent muscles ripple beneath their tuxedos, sweat beading on their tense faces as their orgasms rolled over their bodies. He could sense their nervous anxiety — none of them had ever cum like this; they all talked about how they would take a bitch if they were in prison, that had come up during the bachelor party, but this was the first time they actually had to perform without women around. Tedi could tell they were glad they hadn’t been impotent or small-cocked or unable to cum. He slowed down his gyrations, burying his face in Francesco’s back muscles as he flexed his hips, grinding so he hit the sensitive sides of Francesco’s asshole.
Then came Joey, who as usual was too squeamish to really get in there like the others — he hated filth and seemed to very much want to back out. He grumbled, jacking himself off. His face turned red when he finally came, and he stepped forward at just the last moment to spray his load right onto Francesco’s quivering tongue.
Questo è sporco…
Tedi watched as Francesco squealed loudly, his whole body palpably rejected the snotty cumload on his tongue. He sputtered and spat, but most of it clung to his mouth. Before he even could spit or swallow, Baldo pushed his dickhead in.
Baldo had a shaved head. He was short, but thick-bodied, built like a bull, complete with a squashed nose and cauliflower ears, both remnants from his former career as a boxer. Though his head was bald, he was the hairiest one there, and his chest hair poked out from under his tuxedo.
He didn’t seem to care about the cum still stuck to Francesco’s tongue and lips. Baldo plunged his dick in there, watching as his buddies’ cum stuck to the shaft. Baldo smiled and let out a low growl that made the hair on Tedi’s neck stand on edge. He felt Francesco’s asshole clench too, in that moment. It was a menacing growl, Baldo being the only one of the five who really seemed to enjoy Francesco’s mouth.
Tu sei il mio sperma grondaia…
That only left Demetrio, who was nearly done as Baldo pulled away. But first Demetrio made Francesco swallow all the cum in his mouth. He opened his mouth to show its emptiness to Demetrio, who cackled as he shoved his spasming dick in.
Mi permetta di vedere la tua bocca vuota, voglio vedere voi ingoiare tutto!
Francesco’s ass clenched again when Demetrio’s dick spewed cum down his throat. Francesco sputtered, his face turning brighter red as lack of oxygen joined the humiliation that already ruddened his features. His asshole remained clenched tightly as all five guys flopped their limp dicks on his face, making him smell their balls and lick the remnants of cum from their piss-slits.
It was the sight of that that sent Tedi over the edge. He lay atop Francesco’s sweat-covered body, clutching his muscles, his hair and the remnants of his tuxedo. He flexed his hips over and over, rejoicing in the tightness of Francesco’s ass, which he knew he was wrecking — if Francesco had relaxed his asshole, it would have hurt less, but Tedi knew from experience that his involuntary clenching made the pain worse, made the ache last for days afterward and ruined his sphincter. Francesco was always going to feel like a loose slut if anyone ever touched his asshole again.
Francesco sobbed, begging his former friends to believe his innocence, though he didn’t sound totally credible — even Tedi, who didn’t really know what was happening, thought he sounded like he knew he was caught. Tedi sighed, nibbling on the Italian flag tattoo over Francesco’s back, as his orgasm rocketed up his spine. It was an incredible climax, and it made Tedi shake back and forth like he was having a seizure. He grunted, losing his twinky delicacy.
He jabbed his dick in and held it there while the first wads of cum sprayed inside Francesco, who screamed and squirmed. There was a loud shattering sound, and then pain erupted in Tedi.
He was on the ground. It all happened so fast that Tedi had no idea what was going on at first. He lay there as he drained his nuts into Francesco’s straining ass, and Tedi realized that the chair had broken — Francesco was strong enough he had pulled hard and shattered the wooden legs of the chair.
When he fell, Francesco’s arms were beneath his chest, and his limbs were still tied to each other. So all he could do was writhe painfully on the rubble, while Tedi clung to his back and filled him up with his seed. He nibbled on Francesco’s back flesh.
Damn, Tedi, ti sei scopato lui così forte che lo ha rotto!
He lay there, enjoying the undulations of Francesco’s muscles and the clenching of his ass as Tedi’s dick grew limp inside him. Francesco roared his frustration anew, as though he thought he should be able to escape now that he had broken the chair. But he was still tied up, and now he was in pain because had fallen as well as because he had a dick in his ass.
His asshole quivered when Tedi finally pulled out. The others tucked their dicks away in their tuxedo pants, and Sonny lightly smacked Francesco on the cheeks. Francesco blubbered an apology — he wasn’t making clear words, but it sounded like he was finally admitting he was guilty.
“Thank you for being honest, finally,” Sonny said. He put the nasty old pair of briefs back in Francesco’s mouth, leaving him there on the floor with a bare ass and back, his body and mouth covered in cum. “We’re gonna go finish out this reception. I gotta see my beautiful bride. There’s a bus to Las Vegas at midnight. These guys’ll make sure you’re on it, Francesco,” Sonny said. He spat another big ball of spit onto Francesco’s face. “If we ever see you in New York again, I’ll wreck you myself, hairy ass or no, and then I let the blacks kill you. Got it?”
“Yes, Sonny.”
“Thank me for letting you do all this instead of just killing you, which is what my father wanted, by the way,” Sonny said.
“Thank you, Sonny,” Francesco said through his tears. His massive muscles were loose and slack now, like he had lost his manhood and could no longer use his strength.
“You’re welcome, rat,” Sonny said.
Tedi let out a cruel smile and a feminine giggle. “Sonny… is it okay if I stay here with him? I’ll… take care of his ass. I promise I won’t untie him.”
Sonny had a disgusted sneer on his face, but he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Do whatever you want with him. Frankie, you stay outside the closet to make sure Francesco doesn’t get away. The rest of you, come with me. We got a reception to finish.”
And they all walked out the door, leaving Tedi alone with a quivering pile of muscle.