featuring mechanics – Mansploitation

The Fat Mechanic

Bart loves living above an auto repair garage because that means he gets to see the giant stud/studly giant Robby McCardle, a blue-collar hick with a whole lot of meat both upstairs and downstairs! Can Bart tighten his torque to a satisfactory degree?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Bart Dazzle pulled into the spot across from his building. He wished he didn’t have to park here, but there weren’t many actual parking spots, so usually he had to pull in across the street. That was annoying because of the bird shit — the trees on the other side of the road were apparently full of birds with digestive problems. Whenever Bart parked there, he came out to a car covered in bird shit in the morning.
He didn’t want to complain, because his apartment was great, and very cheap, plus he got a discount on car repairs. Not many people wanted to live in a rickety, drafty apartment above a used car dealership and auto repair shop. It was loud and cold and a mouse magically appeared in his kitchen every time he left some crumbs out even for an hour. That was presumably because of the huge open garage area right underneath his apartment, which must have been crawling with mice. The only saving grace was that he had seen at least two snakes recently. Bart liked snakes, so he didn’t mind and hoped they would eat some of the mice.
The other reason he liked his apartment was Robby McCardle. He was a mechanic at the shop. When Bart got out of his car, Robby was coming out of the garage with a set of keys in his hand.
He was short and squat, powerfully built underneath a massive layer of blubber. He was hairy all over, even onto his back — that was obvious because he wore a sleeveless shirt, and the furry black hairs covering his shoulder poked out from the strap of fabric there. A nest of coarser black hair spilled out of both armpits.
There was a tattoo of a Confederate flag over his chest, plainly visible in the sleeveless camo shirt he wore. More tattoos, including American flags, a recreation of the Iwo Jima landing, the words ‘NECK LIFE, a silhouette of an old woman, several silhouettes of sexy women and a fat but sex Statue of Liberty, all dotted his chest and expansive belly. His fatness jiggled when he moved, and Bart could see the powerful musculature beneath the heft shift along with it.
“I tol’ you I’s gettin’ desperate, sure as shit stinks on Sunday!” Robby said, guffawing at the other mechanics. “When you grow up on a farm, you gotta get in whatever hole-” He stopped because they laughed too hard at him to hear. Robby pumped his hips as though plowing into the air.
“Baah! Baah! Baah!” One of the other mechanics baahed like a sheep.
“Is yo’ mama a sheep?”
“Not no sheep! Nobody fuck a sheep, man, they all covered in wool! I’s talkin’ ‘bout goats, homeboy!” Robby yelled to be heard over the other mechanics. Robby blushed but smiled like he wasn’t bothered. He grabbed his dick through his filthy jeans and wagged it towards the garage. Then he turned around.
He saw Bart and stopped short. He furrowed his bull-like brow.
Bart nodded at him. “Hey. How you doin’?”
Robby bit his lip, making his cheeks jiggle. “Howdy, suh.” He headed over to a Toyota, got in the driver’s seat and backed it into the garage. The mechanics made sounds that were supposed to be a goat getting plowed into by a fat hick, but they didn’t seem to really know what that would sound like. Not that Bart knew what it sounded like either, but he didn’t suppose it was that sort of pornographic grunt-moan that they did loud enough to be audible through the floor when Bart went upstairs to his apartment.
Now Bart was thinking about dicks. In his bathroom, he could hear everything going on below. Normally that was just the radio, switching between country and urban pop stations. But today he heard laughing and more baahing — they seemed to have gone back to sheep-sounds since it was easier to make.
“Damn, that ya female, Fiddle? She is fine-“
“She don’t like white meat, ‘specially not fatback pork!”
“She got ass for days-“
“She ain’t got time for yo’ thickest-hick ass, Robby! She don’t need that tiny cock-“
“Ah shit, you awakened the beast-“
Bart couldn’t make out any more words, but he could tell from the way Fiddle’s voice trailed off that he hadn’t meant to make that tiny-cock joke, and then there were scandalized shouts. Then Fiddle said something about not flashing his girlfriend — obviously they had had this discussion before, and Fiddle had learned Robby’s dick was not tiny at all. He had forgotten, hence the joke.
That made Bart’s heart skipped a beat. Had Robby whipped his dick out to prove it was big?
“He got meat, nigga! That ain’t-“
“It ain’t nothin’, man, quit lookin’ at it-“
“Put ya goddamn dick away, motherfucker! No one wanna see that.”
“That artsy fellah upstairs do…”
“Swear to god, man, you confused a big dick wit’ a big belly. This is a big dick!”
There was another outpouring of scandalized shouts. Bart was beginning to get hard just picturing it. All of those mechanics were at least kind of hot. That was Fiddle who just took his dick out — he was too skinny for Bart’s preference, but he was handsome in his way, and Bart wouldn’t have turned down a roll in the hay with him. It would have been a bony, angular roll, he thought, like making out with a coatrack, but a roll nonetheless.
“…. Circlejerk! … …”
“Ha! Do it!”
“That’s some nasty-ass shit-“
“Bend him over, Fiddle!”
“Don’t touch my motherfuckin’ dick!”
It sounded like possibly more than two had taken their dicks out now, and were they jousting? Or chasing after each other as though they might start jousting, just as a prank? That was what Bart suspected based on the sounds he heard, but he enjoyed imagining them circlejerking.
It all ended unfortunately quickly though. Fiddle’s girlfriend came into the office attached to the garage, and they all politely shut up. There was some scattered laughter, but no one wanted a girl to know they’d been wagging dicks at each other. That’s how rumors get started. Someone must have whispered something funny, because Bart heard snorting and muffled giggling.
After that the radio turned on, and they started doing work again. Bart was annoyed. That had been almost enough to get him hard, then he was blue-balled.
Bart had long wanted to jack off with Robby. He had a great love for doing it with gigantic men like him. But he had never propositioned Robby because he didn’t want to cause an awkward situation with his landlord. If Robby complained, they might evict Bart — Robby could even threaten a lawsuit claiming Bart caused an unsafe working environment.
But now that he had heard Robby complain of being horny — apparently horny enough to (presumably jokingly) imply he would fuck a goat — Bart wondered if he had a better chance than he had thought. If he would jokingly fuck a goat, maybe he would get off wth Bart in the real world.
So Bart went downstairs and told the nice lady behind the counter that his car was making a funny noise. That was accurate. It was a sort of a thwackity-thwackity sound. Bart just didn’t much care, this car was on its last legs anyway.
But the reason he said that was so she would send Robby out to go on a drive with Bart. The shop was almost closed, but Robby said he wanted to find out what the car needed so he could start right away in the morning.
Bart drove off, heading down the country road instead of the highway. He wanted to drive slowly. He pointed out the thwackity-thwackity sound and turned down the radio so it was audible.
“Hmm… I dunno what that might be. Prolly just a loose hose. You gettin’ overheated ever?”
“All the time, man, I get — oh wait, you mean the car? No, the car never gets overheated,” Bart said with a flirtatious laugh. He glanced over at Robby to make sure he wasn’t reacting badly. You never know who’s Christian these days.
Robby had a deep, throaty chuckle, and it made his hefty body shake in the seat he didn’t quite fit in. His arms were well past his own seat and the fleshy thickness of his upper arm rubbed on Bart’s shoulder.
“Well, then it prolly ain’t the coolant system,” Robby said. He lifted up his shirt and scratched his belly, which bared its bigness and the brownish hair that ran in a trail down the center of it.
“Hmmmm…. Are you still seeing that girl?” Bart asked. He hadn’t really seen Robby with any girl, but Robby didn’t know that.
“Who? Elise? Nah? She dumped me. She’s fuckin’ crazy, man.”
“Oh, that sucks,” Bart said. He sighed. “You must be lonely now.”
Robby scoffed. “Whatevuh. I put my dangle out there.”
“Well, you must at least get horny from time to time. Horny enough to fuck a goat.”
Robby blushed and laughed so hard it echoed deafeningly. “Ha! You heard that shit? Can you hear us up in ya place?”
“Mostly I just hear the radio,” Bart said. “You guys love Lynyrd Skynyrd.”
“Yeah we can all agree on them, whenever we argue about the radio we put on Lynyrd Skynyrd and everyone’s happy,” Robby said. “Shit, man, I ain’t really fuck a goat on the farm, okay? There was lots of rumors, y’know, ‘bout this one farmhand we had, and there was this Mexican on the other side of the county, e’ryone said he got caught fuckin’ a piglet.”
“A piglet? That’s like child-rape and bestiality-“
“I know, right?! I don’t think that’s true though. It’s just a rumor. Ain’t no pig farms out there anyways,” Robby said. “I ain’t nevuh fuck a goat, I swear, not one time. I don’t get that drunk.”
“Well, you can get your rocks off more easily than that anyway,” Bart said. He paused as Robby’s mind whirred. Then Bart said, “There’s, y’know… options even without women.”
“Oh, jacking off? Yeah-“
“Yeah, but, uh… with a friend.”
Robby paused. “Oooooooohhh…. Yeah. That… on the farm, y’know… I don’t mess with that shit, but y’know, some of them farmhands… My momma once caught ‘em in a barn doin’ something she wouldn’t tell me about.”
Bart giggled. “It’s fun to imagine…”
“It sound nasty.” His scraggly beard hairs shook as he gruffly grunted and looked away.
Bart cleared his throat. “So… I’d be glad to help you out, y’know.”
“What?”
“If you ever get horny enough, come on upstairs. I’m in the last apartment on the right if you come up the front stairs,” Bart said. “I’ll jack you off with my mouth if you want. You can stick me in the ass, whatever you want.”
“Man, no way. You is into that?” Robby pursed his lips and glared at Bart. “That is… That’s fuckin’ nasty.” He paused. “Man… I ain’t into that nasty shit, nothing personal.”
“Sure, sure, no problem,” Bart said. “Feel free to say no.”
“No.”
“I’ll give you two hundred dollars.”
Robby didn’t answer. He looked out the window. “Man… That’s nasty. I…”
“I’ll swallow your dick so good. I swallow cum too.” Bart paused to lick his lips and run his eyes up and Robby’s expansive frame. “Okay, I can tell you’re wondering — I love your fat. I’m into fat guys. I would love to lick your belly, and I wanna feel it flopping on my head while I get you off-“
“Three hundred bucks.”
“Deal,” Bart said. He pulled back into the shop, where there was a spot now available, so he didn’t have to park across the street. Robby was surprised — he had been so focused on Bart’s offer that he didn’t notice they were heading back. Bart cleared his throat. “You wanna come up to my place?”
“You crazy? Wait till after five. Once them asshats is gone, I’ll sneak up the back stairs,” Robby said. His fat ass heaved out of the car and into the garage without waiting for an answer.
Bart didn’t mind waiting. He got his apartment a little cleaner and queued up some porn on the computer — he made it hardcore interracial gangbang stuff with lots of big black dicks rubbing against each other, because he knew Robby wouldn’t like that.
Sure enough, he scoffed at the sight of it when he finally strode in an hour later. “Man, you ain’t put that shit on for me, didya?”
“Sorry, I don’t know what you like,” Bart said.
Robby pushed past him to type in chicks hardcore and found a video he liked. He bristled when he felt Bart’s hands on his meaty, hairy shoulders. Robby cleared his throat. “I prolly stink like a ferret, man. You want me to shower first?”
“No!” Bart blurted out. “Sorry, I mean… no. Don’t shower. I like ‘em dirty.”
“That’s nasty.”
“That’s nasty?” He pointed to one of the vaginas onscreen. “That’s where babies come from. You stick your dick in there. That’s nasty. You like plowing into a baby factory.”
“A pussy ain’t like a baby factory!” Robby said with a laugh. “You know there’s no baby in there, right?”
“Yeah, I know there’s no baby, literally, I’m just saying… If your kink was fucking women in a toy store surrounded by dolls and pacifiers and shit, people would say that was nasty-“
“It ain’t the same thing!”
Bart giggled. He had gotten Robby so worked up he had barely noticed Bart stroking his dick through his jeans. Now his cock twitched, and he couldn’t help but notice. His eyes opened wide, and his cock throbbed in Bart’s grasp. Bart dropped to his knees, and Robby aimed the computer chair away from the desk so Bart could get his head between those massive thighs.
He stank like the garage downstairs, like cold steel and warm engines rumbling, with the acridity of the oil and fluids that had stained his jeans many times over. The smell brought tears to Bart’s eyes even before he had unzipped them and let Robby’s fat cock flop out.
A lot of fat men have small cocks because most of their shafts’s lengths gets subsumed by the fatty tissue’s growth in their crotch. But Robby didn’t have that body type, or maybe his cock was simply so huge that it still looked big even with much of it swallowed up by his heft. Regardless, a ten-inch slab of thick, veiny, greasy dickmeat flopped out over Bart’s face.
Robby jumped as though it hurt him. His eyes were intently trained on the computer screen, but kept peeking down at his crotch. It was weird, cold, ticklish when Bart’s tongue snaked out.
“Hmmmmm….” Bart let out a moan, then swallowed Robby’s cocktip. He suckled on it loudly, and Robby shook. Bart deep-throated him. Robby leaned back, his face turning red. His hands flailed and his heavy belly shook.
“Goddamn, man… Ah, shit…” Robby hyperventilated like he couldn’t take this. His dick wasn’t even hard yet — though it was rapidly firming up — and he already found himself enjoying this. He had thought he wouldn’t be able to, that he’d be so turned off by the knowledge it was a man’s mouth on his dick that he’d struggle to get hard.
That hadn’t happened at all. His cock throbbed, pulsating in Bart’s throat. Moisture coated his shaft. Bart’s nose nuzzled his fat crotch, that entire girthy dick stretching his throat.
“Shit, man, shit!” Robby opened his eyes wide. He squirmed. He licked his lips. He remembered Bart saying he liked the idea of Robby’s belly flopping over his face, so Robby did so. His girlfriends always made him shower and wash his balls before they’d even think about touching him. It was fun to watch his belly slap Robby’s forehead, leaving a layer of greasy sweat there.
Just as Robby had lost enough of his inhibitions to touch Bart’s forehead and plow down his throat, Bart pulled off and licked his belly. Robby looked at him grossly, but he lifted his shirt up to make it easy. He watched Bart slather his belly with spit, then suck on his manboobs and nipples.
“Ew…” Robby grimaced. He wasn’t ashamed of his body. He was happy and comfortable in his own skin. However, it was a little weird and gross to see a man licking his hairy fatpad, and even slurping the sweat out of his stale armpit hair.
“I wanna taste your fat balls…” Bart whispered right into Robby’s ear, which startled him. He yelped, and his dick twitched in Bart’s hand.
His cock and balls were moist, dripping with saliva and precum. The whole area smelled rank, like a jizz-sock, Bart thought. He loved that. He slurped up as many fluids as he could find, then lowered his head until he could take in Robby’s heavy sac. He swallowed it down, gurgling on the sweaty balls.
The taste was exquisitely raunchy. It tasted like pure dirt, and it was gritty with salt and who-knew-what-else. Robby’s ballsac was so moist with sweat it was like swallowing a mouthful of sweat, like downing a shot of it and gargling on it so it overwhelmed Bart’s senses. He moaned moistly, the sound of which made Robby gag because he could almost taste his own balls.
“Ugh… Man…” Robby grunted. He squirmed on his seat. The hot-chicks porno had stopped, and the browser automatically switched back to the interracial gangbang video again. Robby noticed, but his hands were busy flailing around — he wanted to touch Bart’s head to guide him back to his cock, but that felt too weird; the texture of Bart’s hair made it obvious he was a man, and Robby couldn’t pretend it was a female on his cock.
Finally Bart pulled away from Robby’s balls. He giggled at the shocked look on his face, and he pulled a pubic hair off his lip. “You ready to stick it in me?”
Robby bristled. His machismo wouldn’t let him say no, of course, but he would have rather continued getting jacked off.
That changed when Bart actually turned around and bent over. Robby’s first thought was what were you nervous for? His ass looks like a perfect female- He cut his own thought off because that was horrid to him — Robby was raised to be very religious and to think any masturbation was a sin. His mother would be scandalized if she knew he jacked off even alone, much less with another man (his father wouldn’t, Robby suspected, but only if he knew Robby had been paid — his father resolutely believed men should do whatever it took to avoid going “on the dole”, so he forgave any man for being motivated by poverty to do something immoral — his father would also approve better if Robby lied that he robbed Bart rather than accept the money that had been agreed upon — not that Robby was going to tell either parent about this).
Bart’s ass was smooth and perky like a porno-star. Robby had daydreamed about plowing into asses just like this one. His hole winked like it was begging Robby to do it. In real life, Robby couldn’t get trim girls to look at him, much less offer up their tight little asshole. Robby occasionally got girls as thick as him, and he once had gotten a female to give up the ass — he lied about how often that happened, but it had actually only ever been once, and she had been a nasty fat-ass who stank like a fetid pond.
This was nice, Robby thought but would never admit. He didn’t have to worry about his fat-ass turning the girl off, or about accidentally getting so sweaty she made him stop and shower a second time (which had happened before). He stood up and bent his knees, ramming his dick into Bart’s ass without hesitation — he thought it would be easier if he just did it quickly, like ripping a band-aid off.
At first it was awkward and unpleasant. Robby grunted. Then a surge of pleasure ran up from his cock as it was swallowed up — was Bart pulling it into his ass? Was that possible? Or was Robby’s body working on instinct to get deep in there? — and Bart howled.
He sucked in his breath. “Damn, you got one tight ass…”
“Hmmm… You can ramrod me hard, and let your belly crush me, okay? I wanna feel you on top of me…” Bart whimpered as Robby slowly weighed down on him.
It kept feeling like he was going to really crush Bart, that he’d be turned into a pancake. He was so tiny, and his back was so clean and smooth. Robby felt like he was corrupting something pure as he slipped his cock in, and his hairy belly left a layer of grease and spit on his back.
Robby chuckled. He was going to say something about Bart liking it nasty, but his dick had slid the rest of the way in, his balls slapping against Bart’s asscrack. It felt so good Robby couldn’t quite concentrate enough to say anything.
So he just let out a long low moan. He slapped Bart’s asscheeks because that made him squirm and clench. Robby licked his lips, leaning down with both arms to pin Bart in place as he used all of his weight to slam in and out of Bart’s ass. Pangs of intense pleasure ran up his body.
But the pleasure was even greater for Robby, who writhed in exquisite agony. Wave after wave of prostate orgasm hit him like a truck. He cried out loud, and he was glad there was no one left downstairs because they would have definitely heard.
Bart’s hands turned into claws that dug into the carpet beneath him. The pressure was intense, and still Robby’s cock slammed in and out, shooting load after creamy load of hot cum that coated his insides. Still there was more coming, as though Robby had built up cum he needed to get rid of, and he sprayed it all deep into Bart’s ass.
A little of Robby’s fatty flesh spilled over the side of Bart’s face, so he could turn his head and slurp all the sweat and spit there. It was deliciously flabby, hairy, greasy.
Bart shot his own wad on the carpet. He was laid out flat, squashed by Robby’s hefty body, which still plopped over and over on him even as Robby’s cock fell limp inside him.
“Ah, man, come on….” Robby bit his lip, grabbed Bart by the back of the head and rolled over, so Robby was on his back, his limp dick still in Bart’s ass. Bart struggled stay in position, riding him and massaging his fat belly.
At last, Bart couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled away, but kept slurping Robby’s fat until Robby’s moist dick finally flopped out. That plump load plopped out too as Bart squatted over Robby’s crotch. Robby gagged at the sight of a huge wad of santorum and cum coat his limp dick.
“Shit, man… That’s nasty, you made a big mess…”
Bart giggled and blushed. “I’m sorry. I think you made the mess though.”
Robby belched. “I think I should take a shower.”
“Okay, go ahead,” Bart said. “But I get to watch.”
Robby grumbled but agreed and went in the bathroom. Bart settled down there on the edge of the tub, chasing Robby’s hairy asscheek with his tongue. Robby tried his best to ignore him as he showered, then eventually thwacked his limp dick over Bart’s face a few times.
Bart smiled. He had gotten what he wanted, and he had a feeling he might get it again before too long. Robby was a lot less reluctant now than he had been when they started.
Bart couldn’t wait.

Massaging the Mechanic

Duncan Walsh is an alpha male mechanic with a pain in his knee, for which he has to see a masseur… and he never thought he’d have some muscle-bound long-haired stud like Johan. Can Duncan submit to Johan’s specialized brand of manly healing?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Duncan Walsh went to the massage parlor kind of hoping that nothing gonna happen. He never wanted to come here. This did not look like his kind of place. It was ornately decorated, sumptuous with dense carpets, incense burning and colorful tapestries. There was a statue of Buddha, fat and jolly and wise, made of gleaming brass with stone inlays.
He shifted nervously on his feet. Duncan had never in his life gotten a massage, not even informally from a girlfriend or anything like that. He wondered if he was supposed to get naked. Was he too dirty? Was he supposed to take a shower first? No one told him that.
In this rundown corner of the state, most people looked more like Duncan than the fey Asian man at the desk inside. Duncan was tall, broad-shouldered, clad in heavy workboots, with a grizzled jaw that was painfully square and so tan it was indistinguishable from dirty. He wore a knee brace atop his black jeans, and he walked with a limp in his right leg.
That’s why he was here. His insurance company wanted him to get a massage before they paid for more expensive treatments. Duncan did not like the idea of some stranger pawing over his body.
He didn’t visit prostitutes, but he would rather have gotten an awkward handjob from some skeezy lady than get a real massage from one of these thin Asian men. A scowl plastered itself on Duncan’s face. Fortunately, this was not a prostitution kind of massage parlor, he knew that. He’d made that clear to the insurance company bitch on the phone. He told that man, in no uncertain terms, that if his insurance was gonna make him go get a happy ending, he’d be fighting that shit in court, you best believe it. Duncan would see that insurance bitch in hell before he sees him at a happy ending massage parlor.
Duncan Walsh was a Christian man.
The masseur he was seeing was named Johan, and he was a certified medical professional. That was why Duncan’s insurance company sent him here. He was the only qualified masseur in this town, where Duncan worked as a mechanic at a local garage.
What kind of an Asian name was Johan anyway? It didn’t really sound Chinese or Japanese, he thought. Korean? Vietnamese? There were pictures of snow-capped mountains in the massage room he waited in and pictures of a man skiing. There was a flag too. It wasn’t Japanese, but Duncan couldn’t place it (Japan was the only Asian country whose flag he could picture off the top of his head).
The door opened, and Johan walked in. Duncan’s heart sank.
Johan was not a slim Asian man at all. He was taller than Duncan, and at least as muscular. His shoulders were broad, his chest strapping. He was arguably in better shape than Duncan, which made Duncan furrow his brow. Duncan was strong but meaty, not a six-packed handsome stud like Johan. Johan had long blond hair like a man from the cover of a romance novel. He glanced at Duncan and smiled. He spoke with an odd, singsong accent — Swedish — and introduced himself. He discussed Duncan’s pain and had him take his clothes off. Duncan hesitated but did so. He left his underwear on.
He definitely felt dirty. There were smudges of grease on his legs. He had come straight from work. Johan was very clean, and he smelled like soap. That annoyed Duncan. Swedes were a clean people, right? Johan was probably thinking badly of Duncan, like he was some trashy American redneck, Johan was sophisticated and European, probably a nobleman or something. Duncan wrinkled his nose at that thought.
Obviously that was a silly thing to think. Johan may have a noble nose like an emperor and a strong jawline, but he was just a masseur. Hardly a, whatever, a grand duke or something.
He lifted Duncan’s leg, which caused agonizing pain, and Duncan sucked in his breath. But then Johan massaged the meat above and below Duncan’s leg. Duncan nearly stopped him because the pain grew so bad, and he writhed on the massage table.
“Oh, hey… Oh oh, shit, oooooh, shit, are you… is it…. Oooh shit…”
But Johan just ignored him and kept massaging. After a minute or two, the pain in Duncan’s knee let up substantially. His jagged grunts of pain turned to a sigh of relief, as Johan’s firm hands moved down to his calf. Duncan closed his eyes and tried to relax.
“You have much tension in you, yes,” Johan said. He sounded like the Swedish Chef, Duncan thought, but with one of those very deep voices that rattled your bones. A lot of people said Duncan had a voice like that, but his was softer, raspier, gentler — Johan was taller, so his voice was achingly baritone.
“Yeah.” Duncan didn’t think he could relax while he was being pawed by this great big Swede. He gasped and sighed — was this almost over? He didn’t think he could take it.
And then a great sense of please overtook him. He relaxed almost instantly, and his knee felt so much better he had to look down to see if something was wrong. But no, the massage had just worked extremely well, at least for the moment.
“Wow, that feels… a lot better,” Duncan said. He looked around as though to find a way out of the massage room. He kind of wished this didn’t help. He was annoyed by Johan’s handsomeness. He can’t be both handsome and competent. That wasn’t fair. Duncan looked at Johan with hostility in his eyes, which Johan either didn’t notice or didn’t care about.
“That is good for certain, yes,” Johan said with a baritone grunt. “I must use oil now.” He grabbed a bottle of sweet-smelling massage oil and squirted it onto his hands. He worked it into Duncan’s thighs. Duncan didn’t want to smell like flowers, but he didn’t complain.
Duncan realized he had an erection only moments before Johan grabbed onto it with his lubed-up hand. Every fiber of Duncan’s being told him to stop Johan, but it felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He just looked at it like a gory scene in a horror movie, one that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.
“You will be better. You are tension too much,” Johan said with a grin. “It is okay. Do not have a worry.”
“Uh-huh.” Duncan’s teeth were gritted shut. He lifted his weight off his ass, jutting his hips upward.
His cock throbbed in Johan’s hand. Duncan couldn’t believe how good it felt. The massage oil sent a wave of warmth and arousal through his body, and that feeling made him moan like a seduced girl. He blushed.
Then Duncan’s dick disappeared into the burly Swede’s mouth. Duncan threw his head back and bit a lip. He was both humiliated and so turned-on he wanted to bust. His dick felt like it was going to explode.
This was the first time Duncan had ever jacked off with a man. Once he and his buddies had been in the city for a weekend, and they all got a blowjob from a slut in an alley. That was the first time Duncan had ever touched cocks with another man — one of his fellow mechanics insisted on jousting with him because Duncan had a legendarily huge cock (that they had all seen in the work showers) and he thought it would be funny to “touch tips on a bitch”.
And he was right, it was kind of funny.
Johan’s broad, muscular back rippled in front of Duncan’s face. Johan was built like a fieldhand. Duncan hadn’t wanted to get jacked off by anyone but himself, much less a man. If he had been forced into it, however, he would have preferred one of the fey Asian men. That would have been a lot like getting sucked off by a woman.
But this was nothing like a woman. It was, Duncan realized, the thought making him blush intently, far better.
Johan licked like a man, like he had a job to do and needed to do it the best he could. It wasn’t exactly erotic, though it did turn Duncan on and make his dick spew precum. Johan sucked on Duncan’s shaft deep, to the root, nose nestling in Duncan’s unkempt pubic hair. He throated like it was an attack, like he was violently annexing Duncan’s cock to his throat.
“Oh, god, Johan!” Duncan moaned. He writhed as though the pleasure emanating from his cock was actually pain. He touched Johan’s back, not deliberately, just as part of his flailing, and he shuddered at the sensation of his muscles writhing beneath Duncan’s fingers.
But he didn’t move his hand away. His mind screamed at him to stop, to let go of Johan’s back — there was sweat there too, clinging to Duncan’s skin where he touched it — yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. It was like clutching a barrel of rope. Duncan was strong, but he was not muscular like that, he had never had a six-pack. He had always had a thin layer of pudge over his powerful body. He had never had muscle-upon-muscle just beneath his taut skin, with seemingly not a drop of fat anywhere on him. Duncan was jealous (sort of — guys with bodies like that got made fun of, in Duncan’s experience, everyone loved teasing prettyboys and making them dirty).
He wasn’t used to being the small guy in the room. Duncan had hit six feet tall in the tenth grade, and he had only gotten taller since then. He was a baritone-voiced beast in most communities — only in this town was Duncan seen as normal or even small-sized in comparison to the average local.
A chill ran up Duncan’s spine. He realized his hand on Johan’s back had roamed lower. He didn’t mean to, but somehow his hand rested on Johan’s ass. This was all feeling too good. Duncan wished he had gone to another massage parlor.
He had never touched a male ass (aside from some male bonding and horseplay on his baseball team) until now. He gulped nervously. Still his mind wanted him to stop even as his body refused to comply. His hand gripped the firmness of Johan’s asscheeks.
Why am I doing this? Duncan felt like running away. His finger slipped into Johan’s asscrack. Was Johan manipulating him deliberately? Was it possible he had been hypnotized? Duncan knew that was ridiculous, but he couldn’t understand why his body failed to feel the same revulsion his mind did.
His finger slipped into Johan’s ass. Duncan had never even done that with a woman. Duncan had lied to his coworkers about that. They talked about giving girls “The Shocker” — a sex move where you put two fingers in a girl’s pussy and one in her asshole — during a late-night jaw session, and Duncan had felt left out, so he pretended he had done it. He wasn’t even sure it was a real thing, not just a joke. But everyone else reacted as though sticking a finger in a girl’s ass was normal, and Duncan had pretended the same thing.
In truth, Duncan was not very experienced with women. He was bold and confident when it came to his muscles, to work, to sports and to violence — he had been a high school wrestler and briefly, an amateur boxer — but he was completely lacking in confidence with girls. He’d only had sex with three women in his lifetime (he told his fellow roughnecks seven), and he’d only screwed one of them more than one time. He’d gotten his dick in that girl’s ass once, but she said it was too big and it hurt too much, so he had barely gotten started before she called it off.
It had felt amazing though. For those first few seconds when he had the first inch or so of his dick inside her tight, virginal asshole, he had nearly cum right there. Now he couldn’t even wait to do that again. Damn did he love that! Now that he was jacking off with the masseur, Duncan felt hornier than ever. The anxiety over the situation had morphed into a desire to bust a fat nut, which was exactly what he was about to do, he thought, pleasure coursing through his veins. Johan’s throat was hot and moist, and it squeezed his dick just right. Duncan gasped and bit his lip.
His finger slipped into Johan’s tight asshole. He was presumably not intact like that girl had been, but Duncan was still shocked at how tight his ass was. Did the masseur take dick in his ass? Maybe this was as strange for him as it was for Duncan. Duncan’s pinkie finger struggled in. Duncan gurgled and bucked at shock that he would do such a thing.
Johan grunted around the cock in his throat. He licked the shaft, slathering spit up and down it. Duncan couldn’t tear his eyes away from his finger plugged into Johan’s bubble-butt. Copious saliva dripped down his oil-slicked thigh.
“Oh god,” Duncan gasped as Johan finally pulled off his cock. Duncan sat up, but Johan just pushed him onto his back again on the massage table. “Uh… So, uh…”
“Shush,” Johan said. “Do not talk. It is not needed. I will give you relaxation and take away any of it, the tension that is inside of you, yes?”
“Oh, uh…”
“Yes, excellent, good, very good,” Johan said. “You will do.” He stroked Duncan’s dick, the waves of pleasure his hand sent up Duncan’s spine distracted him enough that all he could do was sputter and mumble.
“Hm, oh, I see. Okay then, well, I uh… Okay, I see… Ah-hah, ah… Okay, well, that is, oh…” Duncan threw his head back. He couldn’t watch. He knew what was coming and he didn’t want to stop it — but even if he didn’t much like it, he definitely didn’t want to see it.
Johan’s huge body didn’t prevent him from being quick and graceful as he climbed up onto the massage table. He gripped the sides of it with his feet like a chimpanzee, barely fitting his hulking body atop the massage table, which didn’t seem strong enough to support two huge men.
But the massage table did hold.
“Oh god…” Duncan turned his head to the side so he didn’t have to see.
Johan sank down on his cock. Duncan sighed and Johan twitched as Duncan’s cock slipped into his tight ass. Johan stopped moving with his plump butt atop Duncan’s manhood. He took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes. He groaned and ground his hips from side to side, moving his ass over Duncan’s cock.
“You are good, yes, okay?” Johan said. He leaned forward and massaged the meat of Duncan’s pecs. Duncan wasn’t used to being manhandled by someone so strong; it felt almost violent and painful, the way Johan rubbed his skin, like he wanted to rub Duncan’s pecs all the way off and get access to his innards that way. Duncan bristled and lifted his head up.
Duncan kept his hands up. He fleetingly touched Johan’s back, but it felt too real to touch his spasming muscles now. His shoulders were so firm, his back toned. Duncan wanted to look away, but there was nowhere else to look in the tiny massage room. He wondered if he could feel his own cock through Johan’s body, when his hands briefly touched Johan’s ass. Definitely not, he decided, since Johan was such a huge thickbody. A thin, delicate woman, maybe? Or one of those fey Asian men.
Oh how Duncan wished one of those Asian men might have come on to him. He would have refused that. It was ironic because, if he had given in and cornholed one of the Asian men, he would have felt more comfortable with it. But his more comfortable feelings also would have meant he just said no. It would be easy to say no to some minicing Asian man who probably weighed like a hundred and ten pounds.
Johan, however, had surprised him. Now Duncan wanted to keep going more than anything and could do little more than keep his hands above his head, watching his dick slide haltingly into Johan’s broad ass. Johan struggled and bit his lip as he lowered himself. He used his thighs to control his descent, making it slow and even, inch by inch. Duncan watched his cock disappear like he was being led to his own execution, which felt good for some strange morbid reason.
He tried to close his eyes, thinking it would be easier if he didn’t have to watch himself cornhole a man, but that was not easier. At least watching, he could watch Johan’s back writhing, and he could see that his cock was safe.
“Oh god, oh, god, oh god, yeah, yeah!” Duncan grimaced. He was definitely not gonna tell anyone he knew that he had done this.
All of a sudden Duncan recalled that a lot of roughnecks came to this massage parlor. Some of them surely knew Johan. Some of them probably got jacked off by Johan in precisely this way, he realized. That was disconcerting. Maybe they all knew this was going to happen and were laughing about it.
Or maybe Johan didn’t normally do this. Maybe they’d all call Duncan a freak if they knew.
“Your knee is feeling much better in your leg, yes, no?” Johan asked when his ass was all the way down on Duncan’s cock. He acted like that hardly mattered, like he hadn’t struggled to take it all. He rocked back and forth on Duncan’s cock as he leaned forward and rubbed Duncan’s knee again. “Does it have healing?”
His accent was not too hard to understand, but it was hard enough that Duncan had to stop and concentrate. He nodded and bit his lip. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his cock. “Uh-huh.”
“Good, that is for excellency. That is healing, I am certain,” he said. “Do you have access to sauna?”
“Uh-huh.” Duncan didn’t really listen to the question. There was, of course, no sauna back at the garage at Screw Tight Auto Repair, but there was a shared showering area and next to it a little showering nook — technically it was the women’s shower, but there were no women, so it was mainly unused — that was sometimes adapted into a sauna. The vents were closed or blocked, and the showerheads were turned on, with all but one on the hottest possible setting. The men sat in there, naked in the dark since the fluorescent lightbulbs had never been replaced and no longer worked. The five hot showerheads and one cold one combined to fill the room with steam. Duncan and his friends would sit there and drink beer (kept cold in a cooler just outside the shower). He enjoyed that, in large part because he got the comfort of nudity without having to see or be seen due to the darkness.
“You should have use for sauna. It is Swedish, and it is very good for Swedes. It will enact many benefits for your knee,” Johan said.
“Ah. Okay.” Duncan sharply inhaled. He could not even think about his knee right now. His heart was about to pound out of his chest, and he wanted more than anything for Johan to move. But the giant Swede just stayed still with his ass full of Duncan’s cock. It squeezed and sent spasms of pleasure to wrack Duncan’s body, and Duncan sucked in his breath.
“The steam is doing much good, it is certain, for sure,” Johan said. “You can also do steam bath. That is a thing, yes, it is, right?”
“Uh-huh. Yep,” Duncan said. He had no idea what a steam bath was. His voice wavered and broke, which it continued doing even as he stopped talking and it was just his breathing that wavered and broke like a little boy’s voice.
“Excellent, it will do much to promote your healing, yes,” Johan said. “You will cum in me now.”
He took a deep breath and lifted his ass, at last moving it atop Duncan’s cock. Duncan gasped. Johan seemed practiced and proficient at this position, though it seemed very awkward for Duncan. Johan gripped the edges of the massage table with his toes and used his feet for leverage. He lifted himself almost all the way up off Duncan’s cock, so Duncan saw his entire pulsating, veiny shaft, then Johan lowered himself all the way back down.
When he planted himself on Duncan’s dick, it sent a wave of pleasure up Duncan’s spine. It was uncontrollably intense, mind-melting, and it made Duncan moan like no woman had ever caused — he was normally so shy and reserved during sex he barely made a peep.
But this was already so incredible and stressful that he could do nothing more than submit to it. He certainly couldn’t filter his reactions or feel shyness. He just submitted to the almighty power of Johan’s tight ass.
The orgasm that erupted within him was so powerful he thought his shaking would break the table. Duncan fully expected to plummet to the floor with that giant Swede on top of him — would that shatter my pelvis? He tried not to rock the table too much, but the feelings flowing through him were too potent not to move and shake.
“Oh god, yes!” Duncan screamed, the first time he had ever done anything more than grunt when he came.
An orgasm ripped through his body, as Johan did the same, spraying his wad onto the floor of his massage room. Duncan spurted his cum into Johan’s tight ass, sending jet after jet of his juices up inside Johan. Some of it ran right back down Duncan’s shaft, coating his manhood in it and soaking his pubic hair.
Johan sighed. Duncan grunted and gasped, feeling a mixture of relief, fear and pleasure. His hands gripped Johan’s ass again, despite his misgivings, and his fingers tightened into claws that held onto him tightly. Duncan gulped and bit his tongue as the last aftershocks of his orgasm wracked his body.
At last he was done. Duncan’s limbs fell limp, arms dangling off the sides of the massage table. Johan slowly, awkwardly lifted himself off Duncan’s cock. When his ass finally plopped off, both men sighed grandly. Intense relief flooded Duncan. His dick was painfully sensitive at first, and the cold air made him gasp again.
“You are very good, you are nice man,” Johan said. He stretched his legs and his arms. He smiled broadly. He pulled his long blond hair back.
“Uh-huh.”
He grabbed some tissues from the box on his counter. He wiped off Duncan’s cock and his own ass. Then he helped Duncan up. “You are complete now. You can be going. I will massage you again in two weeks, yes?”
“Uh… Yeah,” Duncan said. Once more, his mind told him to never return here again. His body wasn’t sure it could wait two whole weeks.
“Your insurance will cover two massages every time every month, every two weeks is appropriate, yes?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Excellent, good. I will do your dick too. It is good for you. Come back to see me,” he said.
“Oh, okay,” Duncan said as he hurriedly put his clothes back on.
Johan placed one thick, meaty hand on Duncan’s shoulder while Duncan laced up his heavy workboots. Duncan bristled but didn’t make him move. He just grabbed his shirt — it felt too confrontational to put it on while Johan caressed his bare back — and stood.
“Uh, thanks,” Duncan said. He turned around and walked out, shirt in hand. He could feel Johan’s eyes watching his ass shake in his faded dirt-caked jeans.
It was only as he walked out into the bright light of a warm summer day that Duncan knew what his decision was: yes. He’d spend the next two weeks listing all the reasons he shouldn’t come back. He was so focused on that he didn’t even notice how good his knee felt.
But at the end of it all, at the end of that last, was the only factor that really mattered: Duncan really wanted to do it again. He couldn’t wait to come back. Just so long as he didn’t have to tell anyone about it.

The Mechanic

Teddy is getting his car repaired at the legendary Screw Tight auto garage, and that means he gets a ride on the studly mechanic of his choice. He chooses the outrageously muscled redneck Duncan Walsh, who had no idea what kind of man-on-man experience he was in for. Can Teddy satisfy his man and get his muffler fixed?

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Teddy moseyed down the street. He was just killing time until class started again. This was such a college town that when school was out, the streets were deserted. Teddy stayed on campus through Thanksgiving by himself. It had been nice to be alone for awhile. Campus was ordinarily so crowded.
When his car had broken down, Teddy finally felt trapped. He hadn’t wanted to leave town, but now that he couldn’t, he felt a need to go somewhere, anywhere.
He knew very well that Mr. Jackson was an old, fat, greasy man, and he was a serious, non-nonsense Christian church-goer, so he would probably not allow Teddy to service his mechanics instead of paying the bill in cash. Mr. Jackson owned the Screw Tight Auto Repair Garage mechanic shop, which was where Teddy’s car sat waiting for him. He was always nervous picking his car up after repairs. He didn’t know enough about cars to know if the mechanics were screwing him over (in a bad way).
But it all went perfectly. Teddy paid for his car — it needed a couple new spark plugs — and then signed documents in front of the pretty blonde girl who worked there. The name on her ample bosom said her name was ‘Sally’. His eyes were drawn to the macho mechanics in the repair shop, which he could see through a window separating the office from the garage.
“Howdy,” said Mr. Jackson, who walked into the front office with a clipboard in hand. He handed it to the pretty blonde. Then he smiled at Teddy. “You got a nice ride out there. Could use a little work on the muffler, you know. It’s probably lowerin’ yer gas mileage, a good ten percent. Whatchoo think?”
Teddy smiled. “Maybe in a few weeks. Money is pretty tight right now. I can’t afford anything that isn’t absolutely required,” he said with a sigh. It wouldn’t be a visit to the auto mechanic without a bunch of vague claims of nonspecific faults that need to be fixed.
“If’n you agree to it right now,” he said, “We can do it for just four hundred dollars. That’s a right nice deal. Normally like eight hundred, but we gonna need a re-carburetor to get it done and we ain’t gotta order one at this moment, it’s sittin’ right there in the garage-” he pointed through the window, at his mechanics, “-next to Duncan there. So I ain’t gotta charge you fo’ that.”
“Uh… Still though, four hundred dollars is a lot of money.” Teddy was distracted by Duncan, the redneck mechanic with a body like a Marine and tattoos like a biker. He was grizzled and broad-shoulder, with a handsome face and a powerful body. Teddy was a keen admirer of the male form, so Mr. Duncan Walsh attracted his attention and wouldn’t let it go. It was possible Mr. Jackson said more about his proposal. He nattered on about something.
But Teddy remained noncommital.
“I understand. We can get it done while you wait,” Mr. Jackson said. He followed Teddy’s gaze into the repair shop. It looked like an argument had developed, and Duncan’s face screwed up tight as he screamed something at the black mechanic with the face like a bar of melted chocolate and a voice like his throat was coated in bark and splinters. The black mechanic Bunker screamed right back at the white mechanic Duncan. Mr. Jackson scowled at them both through the window, then said, “‘Scuze me for a second, suh.” Mr. Jackson opened the door into the garage. The sound of the two men arguing filled the air.
“Fuck you then! You think I can’t kick yo’ ass again!?”
“You redneck shit! I’ll pop yo’ goddamn face off! Don’t think I won’t!” Bunker Fiddle put his fists up. “I’ll beat a whiteboy down any day of the week!”
“Hey!” Mr. Jackson bellowed. His big belly shook, and his face turned red. “You two shit-fucks shut yer fuck-shittin’ mouths or I will fuck your shit up so bad yer mama don’t recognize yer shit… Fuck!”
There was a long silence. Then the two mechanics rolled their eyes and nodded.
“Yessuh.”
“Sorry, Mistuh Jackson.”
Mr. Jackson glanced at Teddy and shrugged. He looked back at the mechanics. “Hug it out, boys!”
“What?”
“No fightin’! Hug it out! Nice long hug, boys, pretend you like each other,” Mr. Jackson said. Their flesh was taut, shiny with engine oil and dried sweat. One was white and the other was black, but both had very similar skin color — the white one, Duncan, was so tan and dusky-skinned, not to mention smudged with black grease, that he was barely lighter than the black one, who was fairly light-skinned to begin with. Teddy hadn’t intended to leer at the hugging men, but he realized he had done so when Mr. Jackson chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.
Duncan shook his head. “Sorry, uh, Mistah Jackson. I-“
“Shush.” Mr. Jackson turned to Teddy. “I think I know what you need to get that muffler fixed,” Mr. Jackson said. “How ’bout you pay four hundred dollars, and one of ’em there fixes it while you… wait.” It sounded like he didn’t mean wait exactly, but Teddy wasn’t sure what he did mean.
It was hard to think about much when Teddy could see that Duncan Walsh’s powerful arms bare in his sleeveless shirt. He had a very admirable physique, and Teddy was eager to admire it in person. That made it hard to pay attention to what an old fuddy-duddy like Mr. Jackson had to say.
“Uh… Well…”
“Which one you like better?” Mr. Jackson asked. His mustache moved up and down when he spoke, and his greasy belly jiggled under his shirt. “Either one of ’em can fix the muffler. You take the one you like best. The othuh one can fix it fer you, wit’ a quickness.”
Teddy smiled. “Take ’em… and do what?”
“Whatevuh you want,” he said with a shrug. “So long as you don’t make ’em-” He paused and looked to the pretty blonde girl behind the desk. “Sally, why don’t you take yer lunch break? This is man-talk.”
She giggled and blushed. She nodded knowingly as though she was aware of exactly what was going on, but she didn’t want to admit that because a nice Southern gal shouldn’t know about this stuff. She grabbed her purse and hurried out the door. You could just tell her lunch was gonna be a twelve-dollar “coffee” that was mostly whipped cream, that she’d buy because a liquid felt lighter than a solid meal, even if the liquid had copious added sugar.
Or maybe Teddy was just being judgemental today.
Once the door slammed shut, Mr. Jackson frowned. “I don’t ‘pprove of this nonsense, by the way. A man should subdue his lusts, not exercise ’em,” he said. “But you can take a swing on whichever piece of meat strikes yer fancy. They ain’t gonna let you in they backdoor, mind you, I ain’t gonna order ’em to do nothin’. Don’t you try and stick ’em.”
“No, sir,” Teddy said. He blushed. “That’s not what I’m into.”
“I ain’t think so,” he said. He sniffled. “Which one you like?”
“Duncan. The white one,” Teddy said.
“Really? I thought you was leanin’ towards that dark meat. Mosta the swishy sorts do prefer a colored feller,” Mr. Jackson said. Then he said, cautiously, “African American.” He waited to see if Teddy was going to lecture him, and when he didn’t, Mr. Jackson nodded dourly. “Wait here.” He went into the garage. He talked to the two mechanics for a few minutes, then they both burst into laughter.
Mr. Jackson turned around and motioned for Teddy, who came into the garage. It smelled like grease and gasoline, and below that was a fainter melange of human scents: sweat, piss, spit, cum. Teddy was already starting to get hard. He always thought these sorts of handyman blue-collar repair-type places were arousing. So much better than a strip club, he thought.
He handed the key to his car over to the black mechanic Bunker Fiddle, who ran out to get it and start work on the muffler. He opened the garage door on his way out.
Duncan’s swarthy face was bright red beneath the layer of dirt that darkened his skin, and his pecs kept rippling whenever he snorted or licked his teeth, as his eyes roamed up and down Teddy’s body. Duncan flared his nostrils. He blanched and looked away when Teddy walked to him. His bulky chest didn’t fit in his filthy overalls, and his massive pecs spilled out — he didn’t wear a shirt underneath, so his chest was bare beneath his overall-straps, aside from the smudges of dirt, faded tattoos, dense hairs and twisted scars.
“You ready to go, Duncan?” Mr. Jackson said with a laugh. His big meaty hand grabbed Duncan’s crotch through his overalls.
“Yessuh,” he said, bristling at Mr. Jackson’s touch. He stood on his toes, his massive cock plainly visible in his overalls and framed by Mr. Jackson’s hand. Though his eyes flittered around, Duncan avoided looking at Teddy.
Teddy sunk to his knees, his dick rock-hard already in his pants, in front of Duncan and behind a counter that was all that blocked Teddy from view of anybody happening past. Teddy’s heart sped up. He wasn’t expecting to get to taste a throbbing slab of alpha-male mechanic meat when he brought his car in today.
With Teddy’s hands sliding up Duncan’s body and groping his powerful chest, Duncan licked his lower lip. He looked like he was eager to get his dick wet but didn’t want to look too eager. He sneered in Teddy’s direction without looking at him.
“You want me to do this here?” Duncan asked, aiming the question at Mr. Jackson.
Mr. Jackson shrugged. “I don’t care. Just don’t make a mess,” he said. Then he looked down to Teddy and said it again. “Don’t make a mess. You swallow e’rything he give you.” He walked back into the office. “Be done before Sally gets back. If she sees you, I’ll beat both yer asses.”
“Yessuh.”
“Yes, sir,” Teddy chimed in. He grabbed Duncan’s cock through his filthy workjeans and rubbed the shaft, making Duncan bristle and shift his weight between his feat.
The garage door opened and Teddy’s car slowly drove in. A loud house music beat pounded from the speakers, the entire car shaking. The music resonated in the garage, and the black mechanic driving it danced behind the steering wheel, laughing. The beat was pulsating, eminently danceable and not at all something a black redneck would listen to, so the sight of Bunker Fiddle dancing to it in the driver’s seat made Teddy laugh.
“Yee-haw, Duncan! You gonna blow a nut prison-style, toot-sweet!” The black mechanic shouted. He turned off the car once it was in place, and the music stopped. He got out of the car and activated the lift so he could get under it.
At last, Teddy unzipped the fly of Duncan’s overalls. He smiled up at him, but Duncan kept his eyes straight ahead. His fat, uncut cock popped out. It was long, greasy with dried-on sweat, and it smelled like the most potent scents in the garage, all distilled into a delicious juicy sheen from which Teddy inhaled deeply.
He stuck his tongue out, licking the shaft from tip to root. That made Duncan chuckle and shift his weight on his feet once more. He snorted. He covered his eyes with his meaty forearm. His cheeks were red, though he kept up a nonchalant face for Bunker Fiddle’s benefit.
His dick stiffened up in Teddy’s mouth. He was slow to get hard, but once his dick twitched one time, it quickly turned form as stone. Duncan’s pecs flexed, and Teddy could see the moment when Duncan realized how good this felt, when his anxieties over the situation diminished enough that he could really enjoy it.
For the first time since this had begun, Duncan looked down at Teddy. Then he frowned and turned his face away again. He sniffled. “Dang…”
“You ‘njoyin’ that, Duncan?” The black mechanic Bunker called out as he banged and rattled on Teddy’s car. He hooted and whistled in between examining the bad muffler, getting it ready for the repair.
“Hell yeah,” Duncan said with a grunt. His dick was fully hard now, throbbing in Teddy’s mouth, as Teddy slurped on the entire length of it.
“I bet. You look like you ‘njoyin’ yo’self pretty much,” said the black mechanic Bunker Fiddle. He was quiet a bit older than Duncan, and he dripped with swagger and had a delicious ropy-muscled body. Bunker clapped his hands. “You lookin’ like a piggie. Skin all pink and greasy like a hog. I wanna smoke and cure yo’ bacon, whiteboy!” He cackled up Duncan.
“You ain’t gotta keep talkin’ to me,” Duncan muttered.
“Oh, that make you uncomfortable, big boy?” The black mechanic Bunker Fiddle whistled again, like he was watching a stripper dance. “Shake yo’ ass, big boy! Lemme see it move!”
Teddy interrupted Duncan before he could respond by ramming his head all the way down onto Duncan’s cockshaft. Duncan reacted as though he had never been deep-throated, which was very possible true — his dick was so big few women would even try to swallow the whole thing. Not Teddy. Teddy prided himself on the accommodating nature of his throat, and he didn’t care how much his lungs cried out for oxygen. It felt so good for Duncan that he let out a little moan. His knees buckled and his hefty body shook, his barrel chest flexing. He groaned and grumbled.
As the smell of engine grease was replaced with man-sweat in Teddy’s nostrils, his hands patted Duncan’s ass though his overalls, and those massive plump asscheeks trembled. That made the black mechanic laugh and yell.
“Shake it some mo’, big boy! Lemme see ya move!” Bunker Fiddle walked by with a dirty rag in hand. He peered behind Duncan’s strapping body, whistled at his asscheeks shaking beneath Teddy’s fingertips. He laughed and slapped those cheeks again.
“Okay, man, it’s just an ass, shut up ’bout it…” Duncan muttered.
“Why you teasin’, huh? Take them overalls off.” The black mechanic Bunker made a kissy face, then ripped the clasps on the back of Duncan’s overalls. They would have fallen to the ground but were held aloft by Duncan’s cock sticking out through the fly. Teddy pulled the overalls down the rest of the way over his erection, and Duncan’s tattered white boxers beneath that. The black mechanic cackled at the sight of his bare ass. He slapped those cheeks again, making a porno-strip club soundtrack, whock-whock-whock as he watched Duncan’s hairy orbs bounce beneath his hand.
“Hey! One of you gotta work. I don’t care which is which, but get to it!”
“Sorry, Mistuh Jackson,” said the black man as he resumed working on the muffler. He activated the lift to raise Teddy’s car. The machinery was overwhelmingly loud for a moment, drowning out the sound of Teddy’s moist suckling on Duncan’s cock.
When it stopped whirring and making the entire garage shake, Teddy lowered his head and plopped both of Duncan’s balls in his mouth. Duncan bristled and shook like he was shocked, and a torrent of salty, funky sweat poured down Teddy’s throat. He loved the musk of a man’s underball; it made Teddy’s cock stiffen up in his own hand.
“Will you stick me in the ass?” Teddy asked. It looked like Duncan was about to say no, so before he could, Teddy dropped his pants all the way down and displayed his plump, smooth ass. “I just shaved it, so it looks just like a girl’s ass.” He shook his cheeks in front of Duncan. Teddy did not mention that he was just going to ask Mr. Jackson if Duncan said no. Mr. Jackson would probably tell him to do it.
He let out a low grunt and glanced towards the black mechanic, who had gotten deeply involved in the actual repairwork. “You is one nasty sissy,” Duncan said with a sigh as he spat on his cockshaft for lube. “My dick is dirty as hell.”
“Good. I love the dirt,” Teddy said. “That’s the best part.” He lifted his ass and winked his hole. He pushed back, trying to penetrate himself with Duncan’s cock.
But Duncan was having none of that. He smacked Teddy’s cheeks and dragged him into the perfect position, ass high in the air, head low to the ground, so Duncan could ram him without looking at anything but the ladylike curves of his pale, smooth ass.
He pushed his dick in with all his might, like he wanted to get this over with, which he very much did. Teddy moaned. Pain exploded in his ass, followed within moments by a surge of pleasure as his prostate came alive. A howl came out of Teddy, while Duncan’s grunts turned into a surprised groan.
Just like with his dick in Teddy’s mouth, Duncan was nervous and thought it would be gross, that he’d lose his hardon, right up until it happened and it felt so good Duncan wanted to beg for more. He might have done so if Bunker weren’t right over there.
Pleasure arising from deep within Teddy, it sent tendrils of sensations through every corner of his body, pleasure that mounted with each thrust of Duncan’s hips at Teddy’s ass. Teddy tried to jack himself off as he got it up the booty, but Duncan pistoned his waist more and more relentlessly, and Teddy found it difficult to keep stroking his own self off. His cock strained and begged for release.
But all he could do was submit to Duncan’s powerful rutting. His hefty body trembled as he slammed into and out of Teddy’s ass, grunting whenever it made Teddy wince and clench his ass. He grumbled.
“Fuck, Duncan! Whatchoo doin’ over there?! Mistuh Jackson ain’t say to do that!”
“He ain’t say not to,” Duncan said. He wiped sweat off his face and smacked Teddy’s ass.
The black mechanic bunker Fiddle returned to watching Duncan ram. He had a disgusted sneer on his face like he didn’t want to be here, but he watched with grave interest. After a few moments, he even got down on his knees and peered at Duncan’s cock sliding into Teddy’s ass.
“Squeal like a piggie, Duncan! Oink! Oink!” He pushed his nose back like a hog and squealed. He laughed like that was the funniest joke in the world. “You would do well in prison,” he said. It wasn’t clear if he was talking to Teddy or Duncan, but neither of them asked.
Duncan roared — more like a bear than a hog — and he pushed the other mechanic Bunker away. He grabbed Teddy’s hair with one hand and lifted his head up.
The change in position sent a wave of arousal through Teddy’s body, as well as a twinge of pain. He grunted too, almost as loud as Duncan but with a much more lilting, feminine sound to it. That made the black mechanic laugh.
“You likin’ this, boi?” he asked, peering into Teddy’s intent face.
“Yessuh,” Teddy said.
He smiled. “Oh, I like it when whiteboys call me sir,” he said, “‘ceptin’ cops and prison guards. Don’t like that one bit. You wanna taste my dick too? Don’t tell the missus.”
“Yessuh,” Teddy said. He wanted to make it sound seductive, but he was getting it up the ass so hard he couldn’t concentrate. He barely got the words out at all.
“Course you do. E’ry whiteboy love black meat, that’s just a fac’,” he said. He snorted and pulled a long black cock out from the fly of his jeans. It was not as thick as Duncan’s, but it was longer, which Teddy was fine with because he could deep-throat it even at almost a foot long.
So that was precisely what he did. He lowered his head on that salty cock, already half-hard — he must have been trying to find a way to join in for some time. He had a firm-muscled body, less meaty than Duncan’s but just as admirable, from Teddy’s perspective. Within seconds the sour-salty flavor of precum hit Teddy’s senses as his dick leaked juices all over Teddy’s tongue.
“Hey! What the fuck did I tell you idiots?!” Mr. Jackson came right into the garage. His face was redm and his nostrils flared.
“I’s done, suh!” the black mechanic Bunker Fiddle turned his head to look at Mr. Jackson, but he didn’t stop plowing into Teddy’s throat even as he did it. He scoffed. “I’s finished! It’s just up on the lift, suh!” He hesitated like he hadn’t meant to be so rude to his boss. “And this limp-wrist done ask me for a taste of my meat, suh. I ain’t wanna say no, on ‘ccount of that customer service shit, y’know. Goin’ the extra mile.” He snorted and spat on the ground. He sighed, his cock throbbing as it spewed precum down Teddy’s gullet. “Sorry, suh, I can tells him no if’n ya want-“
“Shut up,” Mr. Jackson said. “Just… Just shut up, okay? In the future, take the car off the lift when you’re done.”
“Yessuh, sorry, suh.”
“And hurry the fuck up, both of you,” Mr. Jackson bristled and straightened his tie. He lit a cigarette.
It looked like was about to say something else, but all three men started to make more noise at the same time. They each neared orgasm simultaneously. Teddy was the first to cum. He shot a thick load right onto the floor and in his hand.
The pleasure of his climax made Teddy’s mouth open wider and his ass clench tighter, which was what sent both men into the throes of their own orgasm. Teddy was overwhelmed at first by the spray of hot cum inside his ass, great gobs of it seeping into his flesh. He could feel its sticky, creamy texture soaking into him, and it made him moan.
That was followed within seconds by the black mechanic Bunker’s cock shooting his own smoky, thick load right down his throat. The creamy texture tasted strong and brought tears to Teddy’s eyes, but he suckled deeply, making sure to swallow every drop — Mr. Jackson had forbade him from making a mess, after all, and Teddy did not want to disappoint.
At last, it was all over. Teddy kept going for as long as he could, but once their dicks fell limp, both men were eager to get away from him. Bunker Fiddle just tucked his dick away and went right back to work, but Duncan looked at his cum-dripping cock with disgust. He wiped it off with some paper towels on a worktable nearby.
“The muffler is fixed?” Mr. Jackson asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Muffler is fixed,” said Bunker Fiddle.
“Thanks,” Teddy said, watching his car descend on the lift. He took out his phone and quickly paid the bill. He was too tired now to do anything more than take the car and go.
“Here’s a comment card,” Mr. Jackson said as he took the check and handed back Teddy’s keys. “If’n you got any comments ’bout the customer service you received here today, I’d appreciate it if you write ’em in here.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“And Sally gonna read this card, boy. She a nice girl. Don’t give her no education she don’t need,” he said. He winked at Teddy and walked away.
Teddy took the keys and smiled. He walked to his car, watching Duncan shuffle, naked, into the bathroom to give his dick a more thorough wipe. He waved at Duncan, who blushed, flexed his biceps and then shot him a middle finger. Teddy sighed and backed out.
This, he thought, was the best mechanic shop ever.

The Redneck

Avery is working as a florist when a hunky redneck comes in late on Mother’s Day. There’s not many bouquets available anymore, but Avery is willing to do him a special deal… in exchange for a ride on his alpha male meat!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery counted down the minutes until he could close the shop and go home. The day had been long and crowded with customers because of the holiday — Mother’s Day. He now worked at a florist’s shop here in Sacramento, and it was only a few minutes until closing time.
There was one bouquet sitting on the counter waiting. Avery had made that one for himself. If he rang it up at full price, it would cost more close to two hundred dollars. But Avery used cast-off flowers and other bits that nobody would notice was gone, stuff that would have otherwise simply been thrown away. Then he just charged himself for a discount bouquet, and with his employee discount and a loyalty card, it barely cost a thing.
Now that bouquet of rhododendrums, roses and tulips beckoned. Avery needed to take them to his mom later, since today was Mother’s Day. The shop had been busy all day, because Mother’s Day was the single biggest day of the year for florists. This was the only part of the year where the shop made an actual profit. The rest of the year it barely broke even.
The bell above the door tinkled, just as Avery headed over to lock it. Outside, the sun was going down, but a few rays of light still extended over the street. A man walked in from the shadowy sidewalk. He stood awkwardly in the doorway.
Avery’s first thought was that he was annoyed someone would come in literally one minute before the shop closed. His second thought was oh my god, he’s handsome!
His name was Duncan Walsh, judging from the nametag sewn onto his overalls. He was dressed in gray, smeared with black oil and grease, a few drops of white paint on his ankles and some pale bleach-stains over his belly. He had a grizzled chin, square jaw and an iron cross tattoo on his neck, which was sun-stained to a permant rosy glow.
“Howdy,” he said in a thick Southern drawl. “You still open, right?”
If he hadn’t been so handsome, Avery would have said no. It’s not like he made commission, he had no reason to care about making this sale.
But he didn’t want to make Duncan leave. Avery greatly appreciated the male form, and Duncan’s was an excellent one.
So Avery smiled and nodded, pretending he wasn’t annoyed to get a customer two minutes before close. “You look like you just got off work,” Avery said. “You must have rushed right over here. I couldn’t close on you. What can I do for you?”
Duncan blushed and looked down at his feet. “Well… honestly, suh, I don’t wanna lie or nothin’… I ain’t just now get off work. I know it look like it, but, uh… I lost track of time” He blushed. “I gots an organization problem, for real, man, and there ain’t no clocks or calendars in the garage. I’s a mechanic, see?”
“Uh-huh.” Avery was entranced by the man’s muscles, which flexed beneath his overalls. He was big enough that he didn’t easily fit in his overalls. His biceps bulged out of the too-small tee-shirt he wore under the overalls — he wasn’t bodybuildery, but his arms were thick and fleshy, gleaming with day-long sweat. Avery could see a few armpit hairs peeking out from the armhole. Avery shivered with desire.
“Well, uh… I need a bouquet. It’s Mother’s Day.” He blushed intensely, like he didn’t want to come across as a mama’s boy, though he pretty clearly was. His muscles rippled under his tight clothes. “I was s’posed to be there an hour ago. I missed dinner at the restaurant, but I can still get the flowers and meet my mama at her house.”
“Oh, okay, well, we have a couple bouquets available. It’s the end of the day so we don’t have a lot of options. There’s a lovely bouquet for teachers over there — your mom’s not a teacher, is she?” Avery asked.
“Nah, she ain’t a teacher,” Duncan said, his thick drawl shining through. He looked at a shelf of lily-based bouquets. “Those is nice.”
“I see. Well, those are for funerals, don’t bring lilies for Mother’s Day,” Avery said. He looked around behind the counter. “Let me see what I have that looks lively and mother-ish. Your mom’s not a chrysanthemum lady, is she?”
“I dunno what that is. What about that one?” he pointed to the one Avery had made for himself, sitting on the counter.
“Oh, well… That one’s not exactly for sale,” Avery said. “I made that for myself.”
Duncan looked around the shop. “I want that one, man. C’mon, that’s a roodie, right? My mom loves ’em.”
“Roodie? You mean rhodie? That’s a rhododendron, yeah,” Avery said. “You know flowers?”
“My mom’s into ’em,” he said. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “She’s like… crazy into flowers. She be puttin’ ’em in books, you know?” He pantomimed closing a book. He made a face like books were preposterous.
“You mean she dries them in books?”
“Yeah! She crazy,” he said. He cocked his head to the side. “Wait, is that a thing?”
“Putting flowers in books to dry them? Yeah. It preserves their color and shape, albeit in two-dimensional form. You can make-“
“Shit, man, I always thought that was some weird bullshit she did. Like scrapbookin’, man? She’s into scrapbookin’.”
“She didn’t make that up either, Duncan,” Avery said.
“I know, I know, she just crazy ’bout it,” he said. “So come on, ya mama don’t need that bouquet, right? She must get alotta flowers from you.”
“I don’t know…” Avery said. He smiled as he had an idea. He hurried behind Duncan to close and lock the door, then he shut the blinds. He came back to the counter. “I could, maybe, be persuaded to give the flowers up.”
“Sweet.”
“But, uh, you gotta pay for ’em.”
“Well, yeah, I was gonna pay, man. I know how a store works,” Duncan said. He got out his wallet.
“Not in money,” Avery said. “Are you a believer in the ‘it’s-okay-if-you’re-on-top’ theory?”
Duncan’s eyes opened wide. “Oh! Well, uh… I mean… Yeah, sorta, technically, I mean… I know, uh… Uh, I don’t do that none, so you know… uh… I was a Marine. I know how to get my dick wet.” The more he stumbled over his words, the more his dirt-streaked face turned reddish and sweaty. His redneck drawl grew stronger too.
“Why don’t I just get started on extracting payment,” Avery said. He dropped to his knees. “If you’d rather buy one of those bouquets off the shelf instead, you can pay cash money and leave. If you want that special bouquet I made just for myself, you can pay in services rendered.”
He grunted. His dick twitched in his gray overalls. He closed his eyes. “Ah, man… You best believe I ain’t kissin’ you or nothin’, man. Not a bit, I swear. Don’t you even try it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Avery smiled. He had had a feeling Duncan would be gettable. He just seemed like the type who had such a big dick that needed so much attention he’d be willing to do anything to get his nut off. Avery suspected he could have gotten this for a lot less than that bouquet — Duncan seemed nervous, but not like he was considering saying no.
And he was a Marine. They’ll stick their dick in anything. That, Avery thought, was the best of a Marine.
Avery was glad to see a huge cock pop out through the fly of his nasty old overalls. They stank of sweat and engine grease, which made Avery swoon — he loved blue-collar guys, and raunchy, musky action. That was exactly what Duncan smelled like. He had that cool foresty scent that redneck men always have, he smelled like a hunting trip, like a farmer’s clothes, like hay rotting in a barn. His crotch was hairy, his dick big and veiny and throbbing from the moment Avery planted his lips on it. Duncan smelled like he had been unwashed for some time — that wasn’t true, it was a scent that lingered on his overalls, not his flesh. But Avery inhaled deeply of it just the same.
Duncan’s eyes bulged out. This was all happening very fast. His dick was wet now, sitting in Avery’s mouth. Duncan’s heart leapt into his chest as he realized it was possible he’d be unable to get hard.
Then he felt a surge of electric energy and pleasure shoot up his spine. He breathed a sigh of relief, and he let out a horsey sigh — even his sighs had a redneck accent to them. His dick firmed up a little in Avery’s mouth, and he sniffled, crossing his arms over his chest, which accentuated the size of his pecs.
Duncan had virtually grown up in a garage. His father was a mechanic and also owned several cars. Duncan had been working on them since he was big enough to pick up a wrench. Throughout that time, his coworkers had been making jokes about how they would (or in some cases, have) cornholed a man in prison, or gotten jacked off by a man when they were drunk — there was a biker bar outside of town that was notorious for that. Duncan had never gone there, but his motorcycle-loving coworkers swore that weird dudes hung around in the bathroom jacking off anyone who came in. Most of them insisted that it was fine as long as you were on top. Of course, most of them also teased each other about it and accused them of not being on top.
But Duncan had begun to feel like he didn’t fit in because he hadn’t done it. He had never really ruled out the possibility of doing it, but he didn’t typically get that drunk or spend time in prison.
Now he wondered if he could even tell the guys about this. Would he seem like a manwhore? Like a street hustler? Would they even believe him?
He watched his dick get hard in Avery’s mouth, and Duncan both sucked in his breath in excitement and sighed in relief that he wasn’t embarrassing himself. He was fully hard now, his dick squeezing into Avery’s mouth, and the soft warmth of his throat sent waves of pleasure to wrack Duncan’s body. He wasn’t expecting it to feel this good.
“Awright, awright, awright…” Duncan said. He would have kept on babbling, but he blushed and forced himself to stop. It really feels like a girl but even better. Avery deep-throated him like no girl ever had.
There was a black man who worked with Duncan — Bunker Fiddle was his name — and he always said there was a dude who paid him to jack him off under the impression that it would make his dick bigger — he had also insisted over and over that men swallowed cum better than women. Nobody ever believed him. Or maybe they did believe him but preferred to pretend otherwise.
Was that weird? Paying for a present for your mom’s birthday with jacking off? It wasn’t like it made the flowers worse, Duncan thought. She’d never know.
“Ah, sheeit, man, you swallow as deep as a well, boy,” Duncan said with a loud cackling laugh. “Yee-haw!” He hadn’t really meant for it to be that loud, he was just reacting to a shiver of pleasure that ran through his veins.
He grabbed ahold of Avery’s head and held on tight. That made it difficult because, even with his eyes closed, Duncan could tell he was with a man — he could feel the short hair. And even beyond that, Duncan thought he could tell it was a man’s scalp and a man’s lips encircling his rod. There was something distinctly unfeminine about it, even though Avery himself was effeminate.
Goddamn, I’ll be pissed if I do this and Mama is still salty wit’ me. I’ll tell her I had to stay late at work to suck up to Mr. Jackson. She’ll understand that. It’s sort of true anyway.
He tried not to think about that. He couldn’t help but worry that his mom would know that he hadn’t gotten these flowers through normal, morally-upright means. But how could she know?
It shouldn’t feel this good, he thought, cuz it felt amazing, better even than any blowjob from a woman. Avery swallowed his dick to the root, and his throat massaged the sensitive shaft of Duncan’s cock. Duncan groaned, his knees growing weak, and his hands fluttered then gripped Avery’s head again then let go once more.
Duncan gulped. Thi should be more like a job I have to work at. This guido who used to work with Duncan said that whenever he got drunk and there was no girl around, he would plow into his weak middle-aged neighbor. He always made it seem, when telling the story later, that he struggled, that he only did it because his massive Italian balls were on overdrive and because his neighbor was too weak to resist. Duncan had assumed he was just exaggerating — Italians like him bragged constantly about their dick, their balls, their skills in sex and in seduction. It was all bullshit.
This certainly didn’t feel like Duncan had to work at it, he thought. Even knowing he was with a man, totally sober, and feeling his male haircut as he got head, Duncan was so aroused it felt like his cock might explode. He grumbled and sucked in his breath, standing on his toes as Avery massaged pleasure into his cock.
Avery’s hands cupped his balls too, giving them a gentle squeeze. That felt good too, and it was s surprise because Duncan was used to women treating his sweaty ballsac as gross and untouchable. But Avery not only played with the sac, he even pulled off Duncan’s cock long enough to slurp the sweat off his scrotum. That felt almost ticklish, not really sexy but arousing. Avery moved right back to his cocktip, which he worked on good, choking up mouthfuls of spit that ran down Duncan’s shaft.
Then Avery pulled off him. He giggled. “You taste real good,” Avery said. He again licked a trail up and down Duncan’s dick, following a blue vein, and he slurped up then spat out all the saliva he’d hocked up to coat Duncan’s shaft. Duncan groaned, his eyes fluttering. This felt so good he wanted to shout, but he managed to subdue the urge. Avery grinned. “But I wanna feel you inside me. You know how to ramrod a man, right?”
Duncan gasped. He hadn’t expected to do this stranger up the ass, but he supposed it shouldn’t be surprising. That Bunker Fiddle told him they all do it, the limp-wristed types. They like to take it up the ass. Duncan hadn’t been sure he believed that, but he damn well believed it now.
His dick leaked precum onto the floor, even with no one touching it. Duncan just watched with baited breath and eyes open wide. His dick was so sensitive a gentle breeze on it made him moan with desire.
He had only had anal sex with one girl ever in his life. He had often bragged about it with his buddies in the garage, but he had only actually done it a few times with that one woman, and she hadn’t taken his whole dick in her tight ass. He told his fellow mechanics that she did, but she said his cock was too big.
He closed his eyes, praying that he got through this without embarrassing himself. When I tells this story, assuming I do tells folks ’bout it, he thought, I’ll say my dick was too big for him. He tried to take it, but it hurt too bad. All of a sudden, Duncan remembered how that braggy black mechanic Bunker Fiddle bragged about ramming men in the ass in the biker bar, and he often claimed his dick was too big for their asses. Was Bunker lying just like Duncan intended to?
His dick was big, but Avery didn’t care. He loved that. He didn’t mind the challenge of accepting Duncan’s thick shaft up his ass. With a grin aimed up at Duncan’s shocked face, Avery smeared plenty of lube on his ass and laid on his back over the counter.
At first, Duncan just looked at him like he didn’t know what was going on. He touched hsi dick with one hand, then let it go, and his broad redneck shoulders tensed. He moved the bouquet Avery had made off the counter, placing it gently on a table nearby. Then he came closer.
Sensing that he needed to take charge, Avery took Duncan’s cock in hand. He gave it a few strokes, and his manhood must have been very sensitive because that made his knees weak and Duncan let out a moan that turned into a grunt.
When he guided Duncan’s dick in, there was a jolt of pain in his backside. Avery gulped.
But he didn’t stop. The pain, he thought, made the pleasure better. Duncan had still not taken those filthy overalls off. He just approached the counter with his dick out, and he leaned forward so he could plow it into Avery’s ass. Avery rested his feet on Duncan’s sunburnt shoulders.
“Oh god…” Duncan muttered to himself. He wasn’t aware that he had said it out loud, so he blushed when he realized Avery had heard it. His cocktip barely fit in Avery’s ass. Duncan groaned. His eyes opened wide, as Avery screwed up his face with pain. Duncan stopped pushing his cock in deeper. “Ah, shit, man, are you… okay?”
Avery grunted. “Gimme a sec.” He took a deep breath, and his ass loosened. The pressure diminished, replacing with a burgeoning bliss that grew and grew until it consumed Avery’s senses.
At first, it was awkward for Duncan. He moved gingerly until a spark of pleasure made him suck in his breath. His dick twitched and slid in a little more. He groaned and pushed in more. He thought he was hurting Avery, it sure seemed like it should hurt, but Avery looked like he was exactly where he wanted to be. Avery gasped.
“Hmm, keep going…” Avery moaned exquisitely, Duncan’s cock reaching his prostate and triggering a spasm of pleasure that ran through Avery’s whole body.
“Really? Hmm-hmmm… yee-haw!” Duncan blushed, still trying to force his entire dickshaft in there. But the more he pushed in, the more intense the sensations that exploded up from his cock. That slowed him down, but it didn’t stop him.
At last, Duncan was entirely inside him — even the girl he had ass-fucked never quite took him in as deep as all this. It got easier then. Avery was wide open, and Duncan gripped his legs in place.
Soon, both he and Duncan inhaled together. Duncan clutched Avery’s legs, holding his ass in place, as he began pistoning his hips. He worked his manhood back and forth.
The most surprising thing, Duncan thought was how easy it was now that he had gotten over his initial discomfort. He would have thought that knowing he was with a man, seeing his flat chest and even his dick would make it difficult to stay hard. But it didn’t, it felt even better than with a girl because he wasn’t so worried about messing things up — plus, of course, Avery took every inch of his throbbing mechanic cock and begged him to pound as hard as he could. No woman ever begged for anything like that.
Duncan bit hit lip and jacked in his breath. It felt so good it hurt. Every centimeter of dickshaft that slid into Avery’s ass sent a new wave of pleasure through Duncan’s body. He couldn’t believe it felt this good. It hadn’t felt this good with that girl, he thought, or with anyone else ever.
Obviously, he thought, I can’t tell anyone it felt this good. I’ll tell them it was okay. I’ll tell them he couldn’t take it in the ass cuz it was too big, so he jacked me off and it was a sloppy nut and oh god this feels so good!
He moaned loudly, checking the door over and over to be sure they weren’t interrupted. He slammed his cock the rest of the way in, glad to be with a man for a moment at least — no woman, he thought, would let him pound her this hard. But Avery didn’t seem to have any compunctions about it.
Avery’s ass was loose enough now that Duncan could plow back and forth with abandon. Every thrust increased the exquisite bliss flowing through Avery’s veins and Duncan’s too.
The pain in Avery’s ass was still there, and it had grown in intensity. But it had diminished in Avery’s mind, turning into a tiny little afterthought overwhelmed by the sheer volume of pleasure arising from his prostate. Duncan’s manhood slid in and out past it, cornholing Avery so good he writhed and screamed.
He clutched the counter beneath his back, his toes curling up against Duncan’s tattooed neck. Duncan closed his eyes and groaned. His muscles all flexed beneath his stained overalls.
For a moment, neither man moved. It seemed to last an eternity, Avery thought. All he felt, every sense in his body attuned to it, was the bliss pumping into his ass.
Cum filled him up. Duncan began humping again once it flowed, and Avery shot his own wad over his belly and chest. He clawed at Duncan’s broad chest but could barely reach it Great creamy wads coated his insides and sent a wave of warmth to waft through his body. Duncan howled and grunted, while Avery clenched his mouth shut, hands kneading Duncan’s powerful pecs beneath the overalls he had never taken off.
The orgasm that rocked Avery’s body was so intense it hurt. He writhed and squirmed beneath Duncan, whose face turned ruddy as he climaxed too. His deep baritone grunting harmonized with Avery’s more flamboyant yelping. More and more jizz spurted into him, the creamy texture of it seeping into Avery’s body. Avery cringed and moaned and begged for more.
Duncan cornholed Avery’s cummy hole so much and so hard that most of his cumload slipped out, making a big frothy mess on the counter. It spread over the glass, and still Duncan shot more and more cum.
Finally, it was done. Duncan was again motionless for a moment, his cock throbbing inside Avery’s sensitive ass. Avery felt such exquisite pleasure it was all he could do to rub his head against the counter beneath him, gasping and heaving for air. The tense pressure in his ass grew, keeping his orgasm going for what felt like eons.
And then, at last, Duncan pulled out. He grimaced and smiled at the sight of his gooey, cum-covered dick. He gulped, taking a deep breath. He grabbed some tissues from the counter and cleaned his cock off.
“Well, sheeit, man, yee-haw! That was… I mean… that was-“
“Was it a good deal for a bouquet?”
“Yeah,” Duncan said. Then he startled. “Shit, I gotta run, man, or I gonna be even later.” He grabbed the bouquet and took a step towards the door. “Oh, I guess I should put my dick away.” He tucked it back into his overalls.
“Hey, what garage do you work at?” Avery asked.
Duncan paused. Would he get made fun of if Avery came to the garage?
“I just might need some work done on my car,” Avery said. “And maybe I could give you a tip… by taking your tip in my mouth?”
Duncan blurted out, “Screw Tight Auto Repair.” He paused. “Don’t say, y’know… uh… Just come on weekends, okay? That’ll be better.”
“I’ll see you then. Tell your mom happy Mother’s Day.”

Anything for a Sale

Rob is ready to buy a car, but the hunky salesman is desperate to get him to yes, which gives Rob the power to demand a taste of his manhood. When the dealership’s burly mechanic joins in, all bets are off, and Rob puts these company reps to the test!

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The Hustler

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

Can Rob handle the firm hand of his new friend?

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

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