He was a tall, thick-bodied black man with a mustache like a 70s porn star, bushier than Rob thought possible. He had a dour, no-nonsense look. He wore dickeys, in which he had tucked in a wrinkled black shirt, which seemed small for his broad shoulders. It was apparent that he kept the shirt around only to talk to people like Rob; he probably wore some sort of workshirt most days… Ezra McClintock gave off the vibe that he was in charge (even if Rob was his boss) and it was tough for Rob to focus on his words when he watched his upper-body stretch the confines of that shirt. He had a deep rumbly voice and a fantastically declarative way of speaking… He came to stand next to Rob, whose heart thumped. He was so close Rob could feel his pants rubbing against Rob’s arm. His crotch was right at Rob’s face-height, so he turned to see the large bulge pushing against the fabric of Mr. McClintock’s workpants. That bulge was huge, and Rob could tell the fabric was threadbare there around his fly — he must have had these pants for a long time and had zipped and unzipped them numerous times… He unzipped Mr. McClintock’s pants and his big black dick popped right out. It smelled of work and sawdust and extruded plastic, and it reeked of ball-sweat — which Rob loved. He inhaled deeply of the scent.
Lee dreaded his Tuesday-night dinners with his mother nowadays. That was because of her “boyfriend”, Ezra McClintock. He was there every week, ruining everything, making Lee feel as small as a shrunken sponge. He wore khakhis and a polo shirt tonight, like a banker at a golf course, and his thick biceps strained the fabric. He had tattoos. When Lee was a boy, Mom told him to never trust anybody with tattoos. Now she was dating one. A black man — not that Lee minded that part, of course — with tattoos, probably “gangland tats”. Lee had drawn the tattoos on Ezra’s arms and the side of his neck the best he could, and he looked them up on the Internet, reveling in a fantasy wherein he discovered that Ezra was an escaped serial killer based on his distinctive tattoos. But none of what Lee saw was that distinctive. A Bible verse, a crucifix, a king of spades, a pair of crossed tools of a sort that Lee didn’t recognize and a woman’s name — Eleanor. None of them were apparent gangland tattoos. The crossed tools looked like a symbol of something, but all that came up on Google was a vaguely similar white-supremacist symbol. This was different, and Ezra was as dark-skinned as Professor Mbutu, so he was obviously not a white supremacist. Ezra was so tall and so powerfully built, his big barrel chest radiating heat, that Lee found it difficult to think clearly around him. And he wore a zesty, musty deodorant, which combined with his menthol cigarettes and coppery hair to make him smell like a homeless mummy. The odor distracted Lee.
The Factory Foreman: Lee hankers to become more manly, and he’s found an intriguing way to do it — by dallying on the downlow with big, tough, muscular men! That includes his mother’s new boyfriend, a big black factory foreman, Ezra McClintock. Does Lee see the hardcore gains he was hoping for? Find out in this down and dirty illustrated, interracial, trashy-hobo noncon adventure in man-on-man action!
Mr. McClintock the Foreman: Rob is at it again! He’s managing a factory, and that means he can get the foreman, Mr. McClintock, to do whatever he wants — even playing with his manly meat! Plus Rob gets to have fun with the other workers, especially the dirty, filthy ones with muscles and manhoods he can savor for hours…Can Rob save his factory… and his men?!
Jeb the Farmboy: Jeb is a farmboy starting a career as a roughneck in Alaska, and he’s not ready for the big wide outside world. This preacher’s son is sheltered and naive, but he’s about to learn some hard, throbbing lessons! With his new friend Buck, Jeb discovers some new ways to jack off and to pass the time without women. Can he handle Buck’s slovenly ways and the down and dirty man-on-man action that roughnecks are known for?!
Lem is a roughneck and, allegedly, the world’s greatest uncle.
Description
Lem sported salt-and-pepper cornrows on his dark brown scalp, yellowed eyes and teeth, and long lanky limbs brimming with muscle. He was wiry like a stack of weasels.
Buck placed one foot on Lem’s cornrows. His scalp was palpable and smooth beneath the coarse rows of silver-and-black hair. “Old black men with cornrows look ridiculous, Lem, you know that, right?” “Shut the fuck up. What do you know about black hair?” Lem glared at the foot resting on his scalp, but he didn’t push it off. Buck’s balls dangled between his legs in front of Lem’s face. “I know it ain’t nevuh been cool to got cornrows lookin’ like graverows. Ya scalp look like the cemetery you ’bout to move into, Lem-” He put both feet on Lem’s shoulders.
He that dumbass nasty trashy old homeboy who stink like a dirty doorknob.
Lem’s whole body felt like layers of salty sandpaper, and he was too bony. Buck wouldn’t wanna fuck a woman Lem’s shape. He might buy her a hot meal and a bus ticket home, but he wouldn’t fuck her… Anyway, Lem got a face like a crackhead who got crowned king of all the hobos.
Anyways, Lem held his own in gen-pop that first weekend. Shit always kicked off on weekends cuz there was less guards then. Lem got cracked upside his head, as he was a hard worker and a passionate lover and also the world’s greatest uncle at that time but not a fighter. He wasn’t gonna make it in gen-pop forever. There was more crackheads with shivs there than Lem had muscles… His prison work ain’t pay enough, and Lem got nobody sending him dollars in his commissary — supparently being the world’s greatest uncle, Christmas, 1977, don’t get a nigga no funds. Lem still got the tee shirt to prove it if any fat-nose hillbilly wanna call him on that.
Lem was swaying like a wiggley inflatable tube thing like they got advertising car dealerships along the highway, like he was dancing to two different songs at once. Lem was old — only some fifteen years older than Steel, not that much really, but he seemed old for real to Steel, old as a turtle. He was wiry too, all muscle and sinew, like a frown came to life. Lem’s whole body was hard as iron raisins.
Lem was just as skinny then as he was nowadays — back then he wasn’t “skinny”, he was “ripped”, six-packed, handsome, but his same body shape now was “ropy“, “wiry” and “raisiny” — that was how Steel did describe him. Anyway, Lem was a young whoopty nigga then, and Big Eddie was the same age.
Mason knew Lem back when he drank, and Lem drank a lot. He quit last year. Mason thought Lem’s eccentric behavior and wild tangents were due to his drinking, but after a year of sobriety, Lem was just as off the wall as ever. Maybe even more so. Maybe the liquor had kept him calm back before.
As Buck lay upon his back, done with his workout and catching his breath, Lem stood up, then stepped his gnarly old feet upon Buck’s belly. He was dry like tree bark, and Buck was slick with sweat, his chest hair matted to his skin.
Before Lem could finish fixing the cardboard, Buck pulled down his briefs and let his dick hang free. He thwacked his dick against the small of Lem’s back. In the dim light of their space, for about a half-second, Buck thought it felt like a woman’s skin. But then he felt coarse hairs, and Lem’s firm muscle, and his old-head wrinkles, and the puckered scar of a bullet wound. He left it resting there on the sweaty skin of Lem’s back.
His scalp was palpable and smooth beneath the coarse rows of silver-and-black hair. “Old black men with cornrows look ridiculous, Lem, you know that, right?” “Shut the fuck up. What do you know about black hair?” Lem glared at the foot resting on his scalp, but he didn’t push it off. Buck’s balls dangled between his legs in front of Lem’s face. “I know it ain’t nevuh been cool to got cornrows lookin’ like graverows. Ya scalp look like the cemetery you ’bout to move into, Lem-” He put both feet on Lem’s shoulders. With both of Buck’s feet on his shoulders, his cock and balls were right in front of Lem’s face.
Lem was skinny-muscled, like he was made of stretched raisins, so’s he got cold easy and wore long johns, sweatpants and a heavy shirt to the shower… Lem was a elbow-mad homeboy with ashy knees,brown skin and black hair. He was pushing past fifty, Buck reckoned, but he got taut muscles. He was wiry though, not bulky like Buck. Plus Buck was well o’er six and a half feet tall, while Lem was short as sugar.
Lem drank and smoked constantly when he was off-duty (and more subtly when he was on-duty), so Buck did likewise. Lem had been working on rigs most of his life. Specifically, he’d done a couple contracts for Mr. Chow, so he knew his way around the rig already.
Nobody wanna taste Lem’s “nasty old black pecker” (Buck’s words), and Lem’s body was rough and not big and squishy like Buck’s. Lem was a “sandpapery chimney of a homeboy” (also Buck’s words). In fact, Mason didn’t mind Lem being too taut for it to feel proper, as Buck described it. Lem’s body was wiry, like he was naturally skinny but forced by a hard life to cram muscles on. His thighs were firm and corded-muscle, and his cock was soft as he swaggered over to Mason.
Buck the Roughneck: Buck is off to a rig to make a little dough… and maybe a friend!He’s bunking up with an older black fellah named Lem, and the two are gonna get into some crazy shenanigans, both on the rig and on leave. They’re ain’t no females around most of the time, so Buck and Lem are gonna have to satisfy their needs one way or another.That means they’re in for a world of gloryholes, roughhousing, horseplay and hot, throbbing manhood!
Steel the Roughneck: Steel is off to work on an oil rig, which means he’s surrounded by men without any women to tame them! Him and Lem are the only two American black men on board, and they need to get their rocks off one way or another. That’s a recipe for hardcore man-on-man action, which Steel just might have to endure…Can Steel get through his stint as a roughneck?
Buck on the Oil Rig:Buck Sampson is working on an oil rig once more, and without women around, the hard-edged roughnecks there get their rocks off through whatever means necessary! Buck’s bunking down with Lem, an old black feller with dick for days and muscles to match, and when the two of them have leave, they really do get down and dirty!Can Buck make it through his contract with his booty intact? Can Lem?
He opened his mouth to say more but caught eye of Buck’s club-like dick resting on the floor between Buck’s legs — Buck was sitting splay-legged to air out his balls, which was disgusting.
At least that prison cell ain’t got no honkies at that time.
Couple honkies did come later, and naturally they be stirring up all kinda conflict, as a honky do, Lord have mercy!
One them said he was from Abba-dabba-doo, and that was from the fucking Flinstones. Lem know when a A-rab is pulling his leg, cuz it’s attached to this nigga brain.
“Which one you lookin’ at?” Lem turned the magazine around, so now Steel was looking at the female Lem was looking at a second ago and vice versa. Lem sucked on his teeth. “This bitch got a played-out pussy. You can tell.”
Kareem blushed and tried to cover himself again with both hands, but he was shivering so bad it hurt, and his teeth chattered so hard he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t stand still. Lem batted his hands away. Buck burst into uproarious laughter when he saw.
Buck immediately took off his sandals and briefs, and he sat on the bench in the center of the locker area. Lem undressed more slowly, as he continued a long story that had begun before they entered the corridor.
He opened his mouth to say more but caught eye of Buck’s club-like dick resting on the floor between Buck’s legs — Buck was sitting splay-legged to air out his balls, which was disgusting.
That’s called ‘frotting’. Kax don’t know it had a name, and he was surprised Buck knewed sump’in he don’t. Buck don’t got a reputation as a smarty-pants.
In prison, Steel saw a documentary, and it turned out lizards drink mad water, like desert lizards when it floods, they be guzzling that! Lizards is wise motherfuckers. Drink when it floods, nigga!
Rob was expecting Lindsey Wilds to be a woman. He thought he was being all progressive and shit by calling the lady-electrician — something about Lindsey Wilds’ website made that seem like a good idea — Wilds Electric Work had good reviews on Yelp but not suspiciously good, and the website said they did work on weekends. Rob was pretty sure he had never seen a female electrician in person, nor in TV or movies, so it felt like a blow for female empowerment to hire Wilds Electric. He had been without electricity for a camping trip for a weekend, and then came home to a house without electricity and a refrigerator full of rotten food. The whole place stank of fish because of the freezer going out — it actually didn’t smell bad until Rob opened up the fridge and freezer doors, and now nothing would make the smell go away. So he had called Lindsey Wilds, expecting some rough-edged blue-collar woman. Rob cleaned his kitchen the best he could despite the smell and got ready to mop the floor before he was interrupted by the service van pulling into his driveway — Rob was staying at a female vacation property with no servants, so he had to do all the work himself. Rob went to his window expecting to see the Yelp-recommended female electrician. But Yelp had not pointed out that Lindsey was a man, and it certainly didn’t inform Rob he was handsome. So Rob’s knees went weak when he saw him climb out of the service van. Rob had been assuming Lindsey was a woman for so long he continued to think this man was some sort of assistant. Even after the handsome man came to the door and Rob saw the name-tag sewn on his jumpsuit, Rob thought that they had switched jumpsuits as a joke. And then, all at once, while Lindsey examined the fuse-box and the circuit breaker, Rob remembered that Lindsey was a gender-neutral name. He groaned at his mistake but also grinned: If he had known how handsome Lindsey Wilds was, he’d have hired him for sure. Rob loved rough trade, the rougher the better. Lindsey seemed like an excellent, reachable target. He had that “will do anything” vibe that Rob had become an expert in identifying. “The problem is that you got a bad barnhouse fuse, that’s what you call this right here. These old houses in the woods usually have them.” Lindsey kept going, explaining what he had found, but Rob zoned out. He was entranced by Lindsey’s strong jaw and luxurious black hair, which extended well past his shoulders. He was Native American, Rob was fairly certain. Lindsey had dusky skin that was immaculately smooth, with deep-set eyes and broad shoulders. Rob wanted him so bad he could taste it. Lindsey’s jaw was strong and high, totally hairless, as was the part of his chest that Rob could see under the tight tee shirt he wore beneath his jumpsuit. “Uh-huh.” “So I’ll have to replace that. The barnhouse fuse’ll be four hundred dollars. The labor to replace it, that’ll be maybe another…” Lindsey paused and took a quick, sneaky look around the house. “Another four hundred, so like eight hundred total-“ “I have homeowner’s insurance,” Rob said. “They’ll cover it.” He grinned. It was obvious Lindsey had looked at Rob’s furnishings and decided to charge him a lot. Rob wasn’t surprised — he was, in fact, very wealthy. But that was why his dad had homeowner’s insurance. When you were rich, every plumber, electrician and handyman upped his rates to compensate. Rob didn’t have the time or wherewithal to negotiate with them, so his dad paid a homeowner’s insurance company to do it instead. Lindsey furrowed his brow. “Fine. I will call them,” he said. Rob gave him his insurance card, and Lindsey stepped away to make a call. He returned quickly to say that they would call him back with an approval or not. Rob cleared his throat. “Maybe we could pass the time somehow,” Rob said with a seductive smile. That bulge in Lindsey’s jumpsuit attracted his eye and made him giggle winsomely. “I was thinking… I could pay you an extra five hundred dollars for something-“ Lindsey’s face was dour, looking down on Rob as though he thought Rob should know how to do this stuff. “Your homeowner’s insurance will probably cover it, you don’t need to pay. They might not pay for the nice replacement barnhouse fuse, so it’ll probably blow out again in a year or so. You could pay the difference. You really get what you pay for, either a really cheap Mexican-made one that’ll last you a year or a nicer one made in Germany that’ll last a lifetime. You won’t need to pay five hundred dollars though, the difference between them is like a hundred bucks-“ “There’s no… American-made option?” Rob asked. He thought his seductive tone should be obvious, but Lindsey just shrugged like he didn’t notice. Rob’s eyes roamed up and down his body, checking out the bulge of his crotch in that electrician’s jumpsuit. He had a nice plump ass too, and his hands were just a bit gnarled and callused, with some scars perhaps from being shocked — Rob loved a nice pair of blue-collar hands, especially in this case because they were a stark contrast to the pristine look of Lindsey’s face and his unblemished skin everywhere other than his hands. Rob batted his eyes at Lindsey. “I was hoping for something American and solid and-“ Lindsey shrugged and went to the fusebox to point it out. “No, there’s no American manufacturer. The people who built this house used the Mexican kind, see? It says ‘Made in Mexico’-“ “No, I was offering you five hundred dollars to do-“ Lindsey pointed into the fusebox, his finger glancingly touching a bit of exposed wire with the end of his fingernail. An explosion of sparks filled the air. Rob was just inches from Lindsey’s body, smelling the cheap deodorant covering up his masculine scent, and his heart nearly leapt into his throat. For just a moment, he thought Lindsey was so handsome he had exploded. And then he realized it was the fuse-box. Lindsey collapsed to the ground and grunted, while sparks rained upon the carpet of Rob’s basement. “Oh… Oh shit!” Rob ran to Lindsey, stopping himself at the last second so he didn’t touch him — he wasn’t sure if he was conducting electricity; Rob didn’t want to electrocute himself. Then Rob saw the sparks on the carpet triggering smoldering and flames. This house is about to burn down. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh… Shit… Fuck! Fire! Fire!” Rob yelled as though there were firemen within earshot. Stop panicking and do something! This was all happening so fast, he thought, he couldn’t decide what to do. Help Lindsey and risk getting shocked? Put the fire out somehow? How could he put the fire out? Lindsey groaned and moved, so Rob knew he was still alive. Rob darted into the bathroom, and, unable to find any other container, he grabbed the mop-bucket he had gotten ready with heavy-duty cleaning solvents in order to get that smell out of the kitchen. He wheeled it out into the den. He dumped the water over the floor, and it sizzled, putting out the fire before it got out of control. Lindsey staggered to his feet. He looked dizzy, and his hair was frizzy, no longer laying perfectly straight behind him. The carpet now stank of mopwater — the water had been clean and soapy, in preparation for mopping upstairs, but the bucket itself stank of stale mopwater. So the entire basement reeked of soil and whatever muck clung to the mop-bucket. “Oh god…” “Are you okay?” Rob asked. It occurred to him only now that there was a fire-extinguisher on the patio, right outside, by the barbecue — that would have been quicker than the mop-bucket. He felt like an idiot; he went to all the trouble of buying a fire-extinguisher and then forgot about it when he needed it. Lindsey nodded. He held up his hand to show that the fingers he had touched the fusebox with were scorched black. His arms and legs jittered. “I think… there is something else wrong besides the barnhouse fuse.” His cell phone chirped and he turned off the ringer. “That was your homeowner’s insurance, but the quote I asked them for no longer applies. I’m going to need to turn the electricity off here at the circuit breaker.” “Yeah, sure, yeah,” Rob said. “Yeah. Cool.” He was still too exhilarated from the electrocution and near-fire to think about anything else, even Lindsey’s body. “You were offering to hire me for something else before I touched the fusebox?” Lindsey said. He wrinkled his nose, the mop-bucket smell growing more intense by the moment. “Yeah, stick me,” Rob said with a sigh. He looked at the carpet. “I’m going to have to get new carpet down here. This is nasty, it smells like a burnt dog-“ “Stick you?” Rob nodded. “I could shampoo it, but that won’t get the scorch marks out. It was a nasty carpet to begin with.” “You want to hire me to stick you?” Rob looked up. He hadn’t mean to be so abrupt about it. He was so focused on what had just happened that it had all slipped out without thinking about it. “Yeah, uh… Sorry, I was… I just wanted to offer you five hundred dollars to cornhole me. Sorry. I usually am, uh… Sorry, I’m unfocused right now.” Lindsey was silent for a long time. His face was expressionless except for the furrowing of his eyebrows. “You want to… cornhole me?” “No! No, I’m a bottom, I want you to cornhole me.” “Oh.” Lindsey shook his head. “No way. I’m not a pervert. I…” He sighed. “No.” “Okay, cool, no problem, no biggie,” Rob said. He was disappointed, but rejection came with being into rough trade. Lindsey didn’t even look like he might haggle, so Rob didn’t offer more money. This day had turned out to be too stressful to worry much about that anyway, and Rob could always go to the biker bar if he got really horny; there was always someone there with a slab of meat Rob could swing on. Lindsey just turned off the electricity for a few hours, and Rob played on his cell phone upstairs since he couldn’t really do much else without power. He had re-stocked the refrigerator and freezer, and now, he thought, it was all going to go bad again. Around five o’clock, the electricity turned back on, Lindsey came upstairs and said he had fixed it — he hadn’t gotten to the barnhouse fuse, but he had fixed the main circuit breaker, and that meant the house could have working electricity for now. It would probably break within a week again, but by then, he’d have fixed the fuse so the circuit breaker didn’t get overloaded again. Lindsey left, leaving Rob in the living room to watch his ass shake as he got in his van and drove off. Rob was disappointed, but that near-disaster earlier today had left him so shook up he didn’t think about it too much. Today could have gone much worse than simply not getting laid. Rob even thought about going out to one of his regular haunts — he could go to the biker bar, for example, where there was always some one up for a bit of fun. He just didn’t feel like it though. That was another reason he hadn’t offered Lindsey more money. He had been reminded of his own mortality, and Rob couldn’t stop thinking of what it would be like to die from fire, electrocution or smoke. So he just stayed in for the night. Tomorrow, he thought, he’d find an electrician he could jack off. If not Lindsey, than someone else. It was nearly midnight when he heard a knock on the door. Rob saw through the window that it was Lindsey, his tall, stately body tottering on unsteady legs. He was obviously drunk. He looked bleary-eyed and half-asleep. “Hey, hi, Lindsey, what’s up? Are you okay?” “I…” Lindsey burped and swayed as though the burp had knocked him off-balance. “I… I wh-whi-lllllll do it.” “What?” “I’ll… I’ll lll lll lll ll lll…” He laughed at his own torrent of L-sounds. “Lllllllllllluh…” “Lindsey, I-?” “I’ll do it!” He blurted out. “The whole… uh…thing. Doin’ it. That… thing.” He pointed to his own crotch. “That.” “Yeah, okay, I get it, but uh… you’re very drunk.” He nodded. Then he launched into a long, incomprehensible drunken monologue. “Thass all I was… wassssh all at the… … sssssshump all ovuh…. … … There I ahhhhm! What issssssh it? I will do… what I, I am in the nnnnnnnnnnight, at that… Where I am.” He belched again and took a deep breath. He scrunched his eyes up. Then he over-enunciated with all the effort he could muster. “I. Am. Drunk. Enoughffffffff. Right. Now. To. Do. It. Diiiiick. Diiiiick.” He laughed at the word. “Diiiiiiiiiick.” “Uh… no,” Rob said. “You’re way too drunk. You’d probably puke on me.” “What? You — You — You — You — You offffffffffered, man, you sssshaid it, you-“ “Lindsey, I never said I’d do it any time no matter what. You’re much too drunk. Did you drive here?” He looked at the van, which had been parked slightly off the driveway, one wheel crushing Rob’s begonias. “Damn it, you are way too drunk to drive. You killed my begonias.” “No I ammm… ammmmm… I am not!” he shouted triumphantly but then tripped over his own foot and leaned against the house for support. “You’re too drunk to stand, you obviously can’t drive. Or anything else,” Rob said. Then he realized there was little point in trying to be polite and convince him of anything — he was too drunk to think and wouldn’t remember this tomorrow anyway. “Do you want to come in?” “You willlllll… get me off?” “No,” Rob said, but he motioned for Lindsey to come in. Lindsey frowned and arduously stepped up into the house. He grunted and roared in frustration. “You ssssshaid you would!” “No, I — Nevermind, just go lay down on the couch. I’ll jack you off in a minute,” Rob said. Lindsey flopped onto the couch, sighed, tried to undo his jeans but just fumbled for a few seconds before quitting. He murmured something about Rob taking his pants off, and then he was asleep. He snored loudly. Rob sighed and took Lindsey’s shoes off, but nothing else — he didn’t want Lindsey to think Rob had touched him during the night. Rob then laid out a glass of water, some aspirin and a bowl to vomit in, before he went to bed by himself. The house was quiet all night, Lindsey passed out cold and Rob sleeping soundly. Rob awoke late, to the sound of water running in the kitchen. He crept out to see if Lindsey was alright. He must have undressed in the night, Rob thought, because he wore nothing but a pair of boxer shorts now. His muscular torso gleamed. He was rinsing out that vomit bowl, and his hair was wet like he had taken a shower. A few drops of moisture remained on his golden-bronze back, which was broad, gleaming, curving as he flexed his shoulders muscles wiping out the bowl. “You should not have let me in,” Lindsey said without turning around. Rob blushed. Had it been obvious he was looking at Lindsey’s ass from behind? “I would have been fine sleeping on the ground outside,” Lindsey said. “Oh, well… Yeah, I guess that’d be fine,” Rob said. He shrugged. “Are you feeling okay?” Lindsey nodded. “I do not get hungover.” “Cool, cool,” Rob said with a nervous laugh. “Are you…?” “Still going to cornhole you for money? Yes,” Lindsey said. He turned around and sighed. He dropped his boxer shorts, revealing a big uncut cock that he thwacked against his palm. “Five hundred dollars.” Rob nodded and blushed. “Are you still going to fix the fusebox today too?” “Yes. Hurry up and I will get to it today,” Lindsey said with a dramatic sigh like this was a big imposition for him. He scowled and Rob sunk to his knees in front of him. Lindsey grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the counter and lit one, pointedly glaring at Rob as though daring him to object. Rob didn’t mind that bad — the house already reeked of rotten food, mopwater and scorched carpet, so he could hardly complain about a little cigarette smoke. Though Lindsey himself smelled clean, his cock was deliciously filthy. It reeked of cigarettes and beer — Rob suspected he had spilled beer on himself last night, or someone else did, and Lindsey’s shower today had been hungover, quick and focused more on his head and hair than on getting his whole body genuinely clean.
It was musty too, and it stayed semi-limp in Rob’s mouth for a couple minutes, presumably because Lindsey had been so drunk last night. He had beer-dick at first. Then Lindsey’s motionless body twitched, and he shifted his weight on his feet. His cock finally popped into full erection and throbbed in Rob’s throat. Lindsey acted as though he wasn’t allowed to touch Rob’s head; his hands flailed and moving around at his side, while he pistoned his hips back and forth. Rob didn’t use his hands either, so he focused entirely on loosening up his throat. That way Lindsey could plow in and out, treating Rob’s throat as a tight pussy, without any need for hands.
“Ah, yes…” Lindsey closed his eyes. His broad chest muscles rippled, and then flexed all at once when Rob reached up to touch them — Lindsey was surprised; the girls he was with rarely did anything like that. This, he thought, was much better than he had predicted. It wasn’t awkward at all, once he got past his initial inhibitions. Pleasure shot up his spine, and he forgot about the lingering pain in his hand from when he had been shocked. He put his arms behind his back, enjoying the challenge of ramming his cock down Rob’s throat completely hands-free. “Are you ready to cornhole me?” Rob asked when he finally pulled off. He tasted precum on his tongue, salty and sunny, and a little beery too. It was strongly flavored but copious and watered, again presumably because of all the heavy-drinking last night. “Yes,” Lindsey said. He tried to look nonchalant. He ran his fingers through his long hair, which shimmered — it was cleaner than it had been for awhile because he washed it very well in the shower this morning. He still felt just a bit queasy, but the more he did, the more his post-drunk mind cleared up. He was glad Rob had refused him last night. Lindsey would have felt like a jerk if he had woken up today having passed out all over Rob’s bed. Plus, last night he would have been sloppy and probably wouldn’t even remember it today. This felt good enough he didn’t want to forget. His eyes lit up at the sight of Rob’s bare ass. He had psyched himself up last night as he drank by thinking he could get through cornholing a man despite his ass being big and hairy and gross — but that had always been a worst-case scenario. Lindsey had known even before he started drinking that Rob was kind of girlish, almost as hairless as Lindsey, and not at all gross. He had simply prepared himself so much for the worst-case scenario that he had forgotten that was not the scenario he was in. Rob’s ass was tight, his cheeks plump, pure white and unblemished like porcelain. Lindsey kneaded his flesh with one hand as he rubbed his dick in Rob’s asscrack. He just humped his hole at first, waiting for Rob to buckle and moan with desire. “Oh god, stick it in me!” Rob panted, his ass tingling and begging. He needed it inside him. He couldn’t think about anything else. He lowered his head, lifted his ass and rammed it right back on Lindsey’s crotch, with one hand craned behind himself to guide it in. Lindsey smirked. It felt good to not have to use his hands once again. He could just stand there and wait for his orgasm to come — it barely even counted, he thought, he was just standing here with an erection, and he was only here, he could always claim later, to fix the fusebox. But as his orgasm approached, Lindsey found he didn’t want to stand there anymore, letting Rob do all the work. He wanted to plow. He let out a simmering growl, bent his knees a bit and grabbed ahold of Rob’s side roughly. Rob winced and moaned with desire. Lindsey gripped him on both sides and rammed his ass back hard. “Shit!” Rob cried out as pain and bliss flowed through him in equal measure. His ass rubbed against Lindsey’s crotch, and Lindsey started plowing into him repeatedly, using all his might to get deep in his ass. Lindsey swayed his hips back and forth. He threw his head back, long wet hair dangling behind him. His chest muscles rippled and the veins in his neck popped against the surface. “Ah, goddamn…” For a moment, Lindsey thought, it was like Rob disappeared, leaving behind just a tight hole that Lindsey could do with as he pleasure. He could demolish his ass, which was so moist and drippy that it was like sticking his dick in an ocean. Lindsey didn’t even realize he was already cumming — it felt so good he wasn’t aware of his own orgasm until it hit him like a punch to the head. He howled and slapped Rob’s cheeks, the rippling of his flesh sending Lindsey to new heights of pleasure. He wasn’t even aware of Rob jacking himself off, onto the kitchen floor, at the same time. It was like nothing mattered but the intense pleasure coursing through Lindsey’s veins, little sparks of orgasmic energy flying across his field of vision. He had never experienced anything like it. “Goddamn,” was all he said as he fell limp, flopping onto the ground on his ass. I wish women let me plow like that. He snorted and wiped sweat off his forehead. He had just showered, and now, he thought, he felt dirty again. Rob was sprawled out on the floor. He had rarely been ramrodded so hard, and it was especially surprising in this case because Lindsey began so withdrawn and reserved. He had even refused first — Rob didn’t often experience a second-chance that went well. Rob stood on sore legs as the phone on the counter buzzed. He glanced at it and handed it to Lindsey. Lindsey listened to a voice-mail, frowning, still sprawled out on the floor, his chest dappled with sweat. “Bah,” Lindsey said, “Your homeowner’s insurance won’t cover anything to do with the barnhouse fuse. They want their own electrician to make sure you’ve been maintaining it. Which you haven’t been, so your insurance won’t cover it.” “What maintenance?” Rob asked. He knew he was annoyed, he felt that annoyance in the back of his mind — what had been the point of buying homeowner’s insurance?!?!?! — but it all seemed distant and unimportant. “You’re supposed to flip the circuit breaker on and off once a year. I could tell you never did it. No one ever does. These old houses with-“ “That’s bullshit…” Rob sighed. It was hard to get worked up about stuff when basking in post-orgasmic glow. He shrugged. “Fine. I’ll just pay for it. Will it take you all day?” Lindsey smirked and nodded. “I might have to come back tomorrow,” he said. “And do even more work for you.” Rob blushed before agreeing. “Well,” Rob said with a chuckle. “Go ahead and get started.”
Rob was bored. He felt like crying as he sat there and endured the world’s most hideous presentation. He considered prying his eyelids open. It was so boring it hurt. He couldn’t even think of anything exciting to do, like this presentation was so boring it made other things less exciting through contagion, like it crowded out the part of Rob’s brain that could experience excitement. What was an exciting thing? Planes… Explosions… Movies? The only movie Rob could remember was Nanook of the North, which he had watched in film class. And that Andy Warhol movie that was just a twelve-hour video of a skyscraper. Excitement was a real thing, wasn’t it? Rob felt like prying his eyelids off. It was a presentation about the relative popularity of the costs of implementing various water purification strategies in certain parts of rural Colorado. The presenter was a dour-faced black woman who was probably chosen as a presenter because she was beautiful. Rob didn’t care about her. He only came here because he wanted to humiliate his father yet again. But there were no good opportunities. He could just rip all his clothes off in the middle of the meeting — that would certainly add some excitement — but he’d done that before. People just assumed he had a psychotic break or an alcohol problem, something like that. Rob was a billionaire’s son, so everyone found it easy to believe there was something wrong with him. No, if he was going to humiliate his father today, it would have to be something else. His father periodically set him up with companies to manage, in the hopes of pushing him towards a more responsible future. But Rob hated his father with a fiery passion, so he always ran those companies into the ground (or just ignored them). Today he was in Colorado, taking control of a county government services company. Rob was supposed to help them expand into state and federal government contracts. A woman came into the meeting. She meekly apologized for interrupting it. She needed Mr. Jameson, the CEO, to sign something. Mr. Jameson scowled a little like he was annoyed, not at being interrupted, but at the thing he needed to sign. “Another one? Tell him to keep it in his pants, for Ch-f-sh…” It sounded like he was going to say for Christ’s sake, then for fuck’s sake, then for shit’s shake but didn’t want to curse because Rob was here, so he just stammered and said nothing. “He’s going to be a slave sooner or later.” Mr. Jameson suddenly blushed intensely. He coughed like he hadn’t meant to say that. He glanced at Mrs. Molene, the presenter, the only black person in the room. She was on the other side of the conference table so it didn’t seem that she heard what he said. Rob’s eyes opened. This, he thought, was a thing. He didn’t know what, but there was clearly something happening here. He excused himself and made his way out into the hall after the woman, who hurried towards the door marked Human Resources at the end of the hall. She glanced at Rob. “The bathrooms are down that way, sir-“ “That’s not why I came out,” Rob said. He glanced at the clipboard. “Is that…?” The human resources lady did not know that Rob was not a businessman. She assumed he was given this company because he wanted to, and knew how to, run it. So she assumed that he asked to see the paperwork because it was relevant to his business, which indeed it was. That simply wasn’t why Rob wanted to see it. It was a court order, demanding that the company garnish the wages of Jaekwan Malcolm Brown. One hundred and seventy-eight dollars were to be taken from his paychecks and sent to a child-support-payments processing company. “It’s just a garnishment order, sir,” she said. She blushed. “It’s okay, we know how to do it. Mr. Brown has… other garnishments on his file.” Rob made a serious face like his father would have. “Well, ma’am,” he said, “I’m going to have to investigate this. Where do I find Mr. Brown?” “He works in the warehouse,” she said. She watched him walk away like she was nervous, like she was supposed to stop him — which was technically true, since human resources matters were supposed to be confidential. But Rob didn’t care. The more rules he broke, the more embarrassed his father would be, and then Rob wouldn’t have to run any more companies into the ground for a little while. He went down to the warehouse on the first floor. About twenty guys worked there shipping and receiving supplies. A huge part of the warehouse was filled with blue recycling bins. The warehouse guys didn’t know who Rob was, and he didn’t really carry himself like an executive, so they didn’t react to him. He asked where Jaekwan was and they said only that he was around here somewhere. Rob soon found him among the stacks of blue recycling bins. He didn’t know that’s who it was at first. That’s because he didn’t see him right away. He heard him first. It sounded like someone trying to lift something heavy. There was a girl there too. Rob smiled when he realized it was the sound of sex. It was him. Jaekwan wore the blue pants and polo shirt of the warehouse workers, but he had pulled the pants down and lifted the shirt over his head. He had a tight grip on a thick woman’s hair as he pounded into her. She was Debra, and she was the married receptionist at the pool services company next door. She was thick and not especially attractive, Rob thought. Jaekwan, however, was perfect. He was young and tall and ropy-muscled, not exactly thick but not skinny by any means. He had cornrows and deep, dark skin inked with blueish tattoos. He let out a growl as he filled Debra’s pussy with his seed. Rob watched cum drip down onto the floor. “Damn, girl, you treat me right,” he said. He grinned, showing off his deep dimples. His massive dick flopped out of her body limply. Debra blushed and whispered something to him. Jaekwan bent over and kissed her on the forehead. “Nah, baby, I can’t kiss you on the lips. You sucked my dick earlier. That’s nasty.” “Jaekwan! I’m leaving my husband for you!” She looked down at her feet as she pulled her panties up. “Don’t. I tol’ you not to, baby,” he said. He already had his phone out and was texting someone, his pants still around his ankles, cock bobbing around and dripping a few remnants of cum and pussyjuice onto the warehouse floor. “Come on…” “No.” He pulled his pants up and scowled at her. “That ain’t the kinda nigga I am. You best get back to yo’ office, baby.” He walked away with a noticeable pimp lean. He didn’t pull his shirt back down, so his sweat-dappled chest was bare. Rob had a feeling he did that because it would imply to his fellow workers that he had had sex in the stacks of recycling bins. Sure enough, he heard their deep-throated greetings, slapping hands and macho boasting. It all erupted at once so he couldn’t hear exactly what was said, but the meaning was clear. They must have known he was here fucking a woman. Rob tried to make his way back to the main part of the warehouse without being seen, but he made slow progress. He heard Jaekwan become upset about something. He shouted curses about lawyers and judges, which Rob took to mean he found out his paycheck had been garnished yet again. Soon the warehouse guys filtered out. Rob’s cell phone blew up with text messages from the executives upstairs — they didn’t know where he went, and they needed him to make a decision on some issue that bored Rob so much he couldn’t possibly choose. So he turned his cell phone off. Jaekwan worked later than the others because it was his turn to clean up. That meant he had to sweep and double-check that all of the heavy machinery was turned off and unplugged, so he was to leave some half an hour after the others. He was supposed to verify that the office was empty, lock the warehouse door and close the gate too. That gave Rob an idea. He went around Jaekwan — who swept with earbuds in, so it was easy to sneak around him — and went upstairs. He wrote Hey Jaekwan, you wanna make a thousand dollars by demolishing some ass? on a whiteboard, with an arrow pointing into the CEO’s office. Rob went in there and bent over with his bare ass high in the air. He covered himself in lube. Finally he heard Jaekwan come upstairs. He opened the door from the stairwell and called out, “Hey! Any motherfucker here?” He sounded angry. Rob paused, waiting for him to come in here. He was supposed to check that no one was in the office. The company’s insurance required him to look in each room. But he didn’t. Rob hadn’t even considered the possibility that Jaekwan might not actually do it. Rob hurried out into the hall once he heard the doors slam shut. Am I gonna be locked in? He made his way to the stairwell. Jaekwan was down on the first floor. “Hey Jaekwan! Hey!” But his earbuds were still in. Jaekwan danced a little as he went down the steps, murmuring along with the song. He had a bitter, angry look because he was still mad about the garnishment order. He was pretty sure that kid wasn’t his anyway. Rob made it into the warehouse behind Jaekwan. He shouted and even knocked over a recycling bin to try to get his attention. Jaekwan opened the bay doors. He stood there waiting for them to open. Then he stepped out and pushed the button to close them. He only turned around and saw Rob sprinting through the warehouse towards him as the bay door slid shut in front of him. “Hey!” “Yo! Hey! Was someone in there?!” There was a moment’s silence. Rob kept running even as the lights flicked off. He was plunged into pitch-blackness and rammed face-first into the bay door just as it began raising once again. Pain exploded in his nose. “Ow, fuck!” “Hello? Mister? Who in there?” Jaekwan sneered when the door opened. He took the earbuds out of his ear. Rob was out of breath. “Hey. Sorry. Hey. I’m… I’m Rob.” “Rob? Do you work here?” “Sorta… I… own… it.” “You own it? Own what?” Rob gestured all around him. “This.” It looked like Jaekwan either didn’t understand or didn’t believe him. He scowled. “What?” “I own this place. I’m Rob Winthrop.” “Oh.” His eyes lit up. “Oh! You’re that guy?!” “Yeah. That’s me.” He paused, then forced a smile on his face. “Yo. Uh, hey! Hey… Nice to meet’cha, sir.” He shook Rob’s hand. “Don’t…” Rob wanted to tell him not to be so polite, to not treat him like a boss. But he was still out of breath. It had been exciting, he thought, after a day of boring work, he had had to race or be locked in overnight. “Don’t what?” “Sorry, uh…” Rob said. He leaned against the wall. He took a deep breath. “We’re not at work anymore. You don’t have to call me sir. I mean, you can call me Rob even at work, but now you should really call me Rob.” He took a deep breath. “Oh. Okay, Rob. I’m Jaekwan.” He grinned. “Sorry I was in a bad mood earlier. I, uh… I’m kinda upset-“ “I know. I heard. You got your wages garnished.” He nodded. “Man, I can’t get ahead. It ain’t fair. Court fees got me down. Costs so damn much…” He paused and spat on the ground. “You alright? Did you fall asleep in there or what?” “No, not that,” Rob said. He took a deep breath. “I wrote something upstairs — we should…” He chuckled. “Nevermind. It’ll be a surprise tomorrow.” He paused. “I was hoping to talk to you.” “Me?” “I would be willing to help you with your court fees and child support,” Rob said. “But you gotta do something for me.” “Hmm?” “Cornhole me.” His eyes opened wide. “What?” “I want you to cornhole me. I’ll get you hard-“ “Okay.” He paused. Then he paused and bristled a little. He looked around, shutting the bay door behind himself. “I mean… how much? I don’t do that pervert shit. You gotta pay-“ “Jaekwan, it would be more effective if you negotiated before you said okay.” “I ain’t mean to say okay. I was…” He smiled like he had been caught in a lie. “You gotta pay a lot. I don’t do this. It’s, y’know… You gotta pay me a lotta money. Twenty grand.” Rob choked. “Shit, are you serious?” “Twenty grand.” “Jaekwan…” “What, man?!” “I’m not paying you twenty grand.” “Why not? I got good nigga dick!” He grabbed his cock through his crotch and snorted. “Bam!” “That’s not happening, Jaekwan. I’m not paying twenty grand,” Rob said. “I was gonna offer two hundred dollars.” “Man…” He sucked on his teeth. “Five hundred dollars.” “Fine.” Rob shook his hand and giggled. “Did you really think I was gonna pay twenty grand?” He opened the door to the warehouse and led Rob in. “Man, you should pay that. I’m good, man. I swear. I can stick you so good-“ “There is no way you do it twenty-grand good. Unless your jizz is Apple stock, it can’t be that valuable.” He sniffled. He stepped into the warehouse, leaned against a wall and lifted his shirt over his head again. “I’m worth twenty grand, man.” “Well, prove it,” Rob said as he dropped to his knees.
He unzipped his jeans and let a thick black cock flop out over Rob’s face. He laughed and slapped Rob on the cheek with it. “You like nigga dick, huh?” Rob giggled, blushed and nodded. That wasn’t exactly true — Rob loved all kinds of men. One funny thing about them was that they always assumed he had a fetish for their type. He didn’t have a special love for black guys, but whenever he jerked one off, they assumed he had a black-men fetish. Whenever he jerked off a Texan, they thought he had a fetish for Texans. When he jerked off plumbers or Mexicans or stuntmen or bus drivers or Native Americans, they always assumed he had sought them out for their identity. He didn’t bother to explain that because he knew from personal experience that Jaekwan would just think he was lying anyway.
“Uh-huh…” Rob licked his dick from tip to root. It twitched and got hard in his hand. He kept licking, not sucking until it was fully hard and throbbing where it lay against his face. “Why ain’t white boys offer money more? Huh?” Rob went right to throating it. He didn’t really understand what Jaekwan was asking, and Rob was too focused on his cock to consider it. He slurped up all the day’s sweat off Jaekwan’s dick, while his hands roamed up to Jaekwan’s perfectly flat belly. “Huh? Man?” He grabbed Rob by the ears and pulled him off his dick. “What’choo think? My daddy always said-“ “Lemme get-” Rob stuck his tongue out. He managed to tease the tip of Jaekwan’s dick, but Jaekwan wouldn’t let him go back to it. Rob pushed against his hand with his tongue out. Jaekwan’s dick, which still stank of that fat girl’s pussy, throbbed half-hard, tantalizingly close to Rob’s face. “My daddy used to say that you could get white boys to pay you for dick, to make they dick better. Like if’n you swallow some big nigga dick, it make yo’ dick bigger. He say he got this white man who pay a thousand dollars to jack ‘im off. He got all these rules-“ “C’mon…” Rob managed to break free and taste his dick for a few seconds, his mouth plunging deep on Jaekwan’s shaft, but Jaekwan pulled him off without missing a beat. “He got rules, like you can go behind a swanky nightclub and they’s always gonna be there, givin’ cats dome. But I done that and ain’t no one there but some swishy sissy passed out cold. Ain’t even have no money in his wallet.” He paused. “Well, answer it, man.” Rob rolled his eyes. “You didn’t ask a question.” He really wanted to get back to Jaekwan’s dick. He had one hand on the base, stroking it slowly, hoping to get Jaekwan hard enough he’d get on with it. He furrowed his brow. “What up with that?” “That’s… I don’t know, uh… I mean… Your dad, uh… sounds like he’s full of shit.” He threw his hands in the air. “I know, right?!” “Maybe it used to be true. Maybe when he was growing up, there were guys offering money behind a nightclub. That’s not, like, a tradition though,” Rob said. “Can I get back to your dick now?” “Yeah, man, go for it.” He wrinkled his nose like he hadn’t made Rob stop. He moaned as Rob immediately throated him deeply. He leaned against the wall. “Shit, man…” He paused. “We should set up some regular thing, man. Like… I can come over, and you can pay me-“ “No.” Rob smiled. “Sorry. I don’t do that.” “Man-“ “Do you have a girlfriend?” “What?” “Do you have a serious girlfriend?” Rob stroked his dick and teased it, tracing the veins that ran up and down the shaft with his tongue. Jaekwan scoffed. “Nah. I don’t do that. I got bitches I fuck wit’.” “Well, I only got dudes I mess with,” Rob said. “I’m not going to be sticking around here. I’ll call you up when I’m in the area.” “Like a bootycall?” “If you like.” He frowned. He watched his dick disappear down Rob’s throat. “Yo, man, you prolly know lots of pervs, right?” Rob nodded without taking his dick out of his throat. “You should give ’em my number. Tell ’em I got good nigga dick. Tell ’em five hundred dollars but I can negotiate. No, wait, tell ’em I don’t negotiate, but like… hint that I might. But don’t hint toward any rich ones. You know rich folk? Don’t give ’em an amount. I’ll say-“ “Jaekwan, shush,” Rob said. He slurped up the precum starting to leak out of Jaekwan’s piss-slit, despite the fact that Jaekwan was seemingly not paying attention to what Rob was doing. “Man…” Jaekwan sucked on his teeth. “I don’t know any one who would pay you-“ “You know girls who pay for sex? I’ll be a gigolo. I’ll fuck fat chicks, no problem. Old chicks too, I don’t care. I’ll do it. Hundred bucks. Plus expenses, if they want me to take ’em out to dinner or somethin’.” He beamed like this was an act of charity he should be commended for. “I eat pussy real good too. See?” Rob sighed. He kept stroking Jaekwan’s dick with one hand, while Jaekwan pulled out his cell phone. He played a video for Rob, showing Jaekwan eating some woman’s pussy. Jaekwan was holding the camera as it recorded and as he licked her vagina, so it was a blurry, poorly-shot video. It was held so close it looked like some alien creature giving birth to a man but his tongue got stuck. “See? Look, man, I eat pussy so good.” Rob rolled his eyes. “Jaekwan, quit it. I don’t know any girls who will pay you for sex.” “I’ll give ’em the first time for free,” he said. Rob just ignored him though. Rob decided to move on. He turned around, dropped his pants and bent over. He stuck his ass high in the air. Jaekwan’s voice trailed off as he looked at Rob’s tight bottom. “Shit…” “You ready?” He wedged his thick dick between Rob’s cheeks. There was a moment of merciful silence, which seemed spookily sepulchral in the high-ceilinged warehouse. The tip of his dick slid in, and Rob grunted. “Oh!” Jaekwan slapped Rob’s asscheek. “I got an idea. You like nigga dick, right? I know all kinda niggas. You gimme a hundred bucks per nigga, I can send you like a million of ’em. You gonna be drownin’ in nut-“ “Jaekwan, stop-“ “I could send you like twenty of ’em tonight. Like all them warehouse dudes-“ “I don’t have a black-guy fetish.” “What?” “I won’t just mess with any black guy,” Rob said. “I think you are desirable. You, personally. None of the other warehouse guys.” He looked taken aback, like he hadn’t thought Rob was capable of showing discretion. He stood there with just the first half-an-inch of his dick in Rob’s ass. “Oh. Well, what kinda black guys you like? I can send you ’em. You want big dicks? I’ll measure dicks, I don’t care. I can do that. Shit, us warehouse niggas all gangbanged this chick last year. I saw most of they dicks then, and Jerome Nicklebee accidentally shot most of his nut on my shoulder-“ “I don’t like them!” Rob shouted. “C’mon, Jaekwan, you gotta cornhole me. I don’t like the other warehouse guys.” “Not even Malik Jumper? He got a six-pack, swear to God-“ “No!” Rob had no idea if he had seen Malik before, but he didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Jaekwan grumbled. “Man… you ain’t nice. I know all kinda niggas.” He drilled his dick in a little deeper. “I can hook you up wit’ any nigga you want. We can go drivin’, you pick someone out, on Center Street, there’s always tons of niggas there, most of ’em shirtless in summertime. I don’t know ’em all, but you gimme two hundred bucks, I’ll find ’em. Don’t tell them how much you payin’ me, cuz I’ll only give them fifty bucks-“ “Jaekwan, stop it. I’m not giving you any money for anything besides cornholing me right now. That means you gotta stop talking about other stuff. You gotta focus on cornholing me. You gotta earn your money.” Jaekwan let out an annoyed growl. “Fine.” He pumped his hips, gradually shoving more of his dick in. At first it hurt — he was in a bad mood and didn’t try to make it feel good, then he remembered he was being paid and he made long, slow, smooth motions with his hips. “That feel good, baby?” His voice was seductive, like he was talking to a girl. “Hmm… Yeah…” Rob backed his ass up until he felt Jaekwan’s pubic hair and crotch on his ass. He moaned, which made Jaekwan laugh like a cocky bastard. Jaekwan wrapped one arm around Rob’s face. His father had told him that you should put men in a chokehold when you cornhole them, so that was what he did. It was a little gross because he was so sweaty — the air conditioning was off, so it was getting hot in the warehouse — but Jaekwan didn’t mind the sweat. He went down to the ground with Rob. His shirt was over his head, his pants around his ankles. Jaekwan pounded away at Rob’s ass, his bare chest pressing down on Rob’s back. He stopped moving with his cock all the way in Rob. “Hey. Do you smoke weed? You want weed? I can get you great weed. Or coke. Or Ecstasy, man, I do it all. You want pills? I can get oxies, or-“ “No,” Rob said through gritted teeth. “Damn it… I thought rich guys did lots of drugs.” “Jaekwan. If you’re going to cornhole me, please focus on cornholing me,” Rob said. He grunted. The pressure in his ass was intense. It felt good too, but it was hard to have a conversation right now. He was ensconced in Jaekwan’s powerful arms. “Oh. Yeah.” He sounded like he had forgotten his dick was in Rob’s ass. He slammed all the way in and out, grinding his cock deeply into Rob’s tight hole. “Shit, you got a nice ass…” “You have an amazing cock…” Rob said. “I know! You should pay me more, man, that’s what-“ “Shut up,” Rob said through gritted teeth. Jaekwan sighed and kept plowing. He grumbled a little too himself as he went, and he tightened his grip on Rob’s arm. The one nice thing about sticking men, he thought, was that they didn’t complain about going at them too hard. A girl would have made him slow down by now. He was about to ask if Rob needed any work done on his car — Jaekwan was a pretty good mechanic — when an orgasm erupted deep within him. Jaekwan slapped Rob’s ass and pounded him into the ground. He didn’t even notice Rob shoot his own load all over the concrete floor. Cum sprayed into Rob’s ass. Jaekwan, even though he had just fucked a couple hours ago, shot a massive wad of cum. It just kept flowing, filling Rob’s ass up, until hot, creamy cum had seeped into every corner of his flesh. “Goddamn…” Jaekwan said. He took a deep breath. Aftershocks of his orgasm ran through him. “Yo, man… You got a car?” Rob heard his question but was too overwhelmed by his own climax to answer. He just shuddered and moaned. Gradually Jaekwan pulled out of his ass, asking the same question again and again. “You got a car, man? Huh? I can fix it. I can do anything, man, swear to God. I’m good with cars,” he said. He pulled out and Rob sighed. Jaekwan stayed on top of him, his dick leaking a few more drops of cum onto Rob’s asscheeks. He whispered into Rob’s ear. “Huh? How’s your car?” “It’s fine. I don’t need any work,” Rob said. Then he smiled. “I’ll give you an extra hundred bucks if you kiss me. With tongue.” Jaekwan made a face like he would never do that. But then, without another word, he turned his head to the side and kissed Rob right on the lips. His tongue plunged in. It was rather awkward and unpracticed; Jaekwan felt a few stray mustache hairs on Rob’s mostly smooth face, and that made it difficult for Jaekwan to forget he was with a man. Finally he was done. Jaekwan sniffled like it was no big deal. He got up and wiped his dick off. “You best pay me, man.” Rob nodded. He got out his smart phone and arranged a direct transfer into Jaekwan’s bank account. “Hey, you like Mexicans? I can hook you up with this cholo I know. He’ll rob you, so don’t bring no cash. But he’ll cornhole you first,” Jaekwan said as Rob got dressed. “I’ll tell him not to beat you up. I know buncha Mexicans. Most of ’em got tiny dicks though.” Rob ignored him. He just went to his car. There were only two cars in the parking lot, so it was obvious which one was Jaekwan’s. Jaekwan frowned at him. “Come on, man. He’s great, you’ll like him,” Jaekwan said. “Hey. You think about it. Call me, man.” “See you later, Jaekwan.” Rob got in his car. “Yeah! You can lick my asshole!” Jaekwan called out as Rob pulled away. “Uh… Six hundred dollars.” He saw Rob laughing through the driver’s side window, so Jaekwan thought he had guessed wrong. “Twenty bucks!” The last thing he did was pull his sagging jeans down and display his bare brown ass for Rob in the rear-view mirror. Rob watched his ass get smaller as he drove away. He giggled. He didn’t normally mess around with guys more than once, but Jaekwan was very handsome. He thought he couldn’t resist. He might wait to run this company into the ground until he had gotten everything he could out of it.
Avery waited in the McDonnell’s with his computer open, though he didn’t do anything with it. He wasn’t here to use to his computer, that was just a ruse. Instead, he waited. A half-dozen guys came in wearing yellow reflective vests. One was young and skinny, and he had a cold. Avery didn’t like him that much, so he waited. He sipped his coffee, which was cold by then. Finally, another group of workers came in. The van they had parked outside read Jambone Construction. There was a plump redneck with shaggy blond hair, and another, leaner redneck with a vaguely Nazi look to his shaved head. There was a trio of rotund Mexicans. There was a middle-aged black man with wild eyes and a fat belly. The last one was Gambo, a black man with a powerful body and a scruffy beard. He didn’t have a six-pack, but he had a flat belly and thick ass. Gambo looked groggy, like he had just woken up. “Yo, you best call Mr. Lillen,” said the other black guy. Gambo rolled his eyes and nodded. “Man, I need a break.” “You’re on break,” the other black said with a scoff. He got into line to place his order at the McDonnell’s counter. “I mean… like a real break, y’know,” Gambo said, though no one listened to him except Avery who pretended not to see him.
Gambo stalked off into the bathroom, already sneaking sips from his flask. Avery timed himself perfectly to get up a few seconds later and follow him in there. He slipped in the door quickly, pushing past Gambo, who was shocked — this was a small McDonnell’s with individual bathrooms, not stalls. Gambo was too surprised to stop Avery from going in with him.
They were both in a dingy room that stank of piss. There was a filthy toilet and an even filthier urinal there. The sink was clogged with paper towels and the trash can overflowed. “Hey.” “Uh… I was in here first, man,” Gambo said. He looked at Avery dourly as the door slammed shut. “I’ll give you a break.” “What?” Avery reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. “I’ll give you this if you let me swallow your dick.” After a long pause, Gambo chewed on his lip and said, “I could just take it.” Then he did so, plucking the fifty out of Avery’s fingers. Avery smiled. “You could.” He sunk slowly to his knees, maintaining eye contact with Gambo. “I gotta take a piss.” He grunted. “Damn it, you was talkin’ ’bout gettin’ me off, now I gotta piss but I got a hardon.” He paused. “Fuck… When we done, you best stay in here, I don’t want them out there seein’ you come outta here at the same time as me.” “Okay.” Avery undid Gambo’s fly. He liked dirty men, so he didn’t take Gambo’s pants off all the way — they were filthy. His jeans were caked with mud, which you could tell was from yesterday; he must have taken his jeans off outside, probably sitting around his traphouse room in his drawers all night. His jeans stank of unwashed clothing, and the musk of his massive brown cock made Avery moan with desire. Gambo leaned back. “You ain’t my first, motherfucker. Don’t think that, I been jerked off by males before.” Avery swallowed the tip of his cock and looked up at him. Gambo’s eyes were closed, scrunched shut, and his lips were pursed. Avery couldn’t decide if Gambo was lying or not. He looked nervous like he had never done this before. It didn’t much matter to Avery though, so he didn’t call him on it. He nuzzled his nose deeply into Gambo’s hairy crotch. The smell of ball-sweat and mud and precum flooded Avery’s senses. He slobbered spit up until it soaked Gambo’s jeans. Gambo hadn’t noticed yet, but it made Avery giggle — his coworkers might notice that and make fun of him for it. His cock was rock-hard and throbbing in Avery’s mouth. Avery moaned, slathering spit all up and down the shaft. As he pulled Gambo’s heavy balls out, his fingers reached up under his tattered tee shirt and the yellow reflective vest he wore. Gambo wasn’t muscular, but he was ropy-muscled and leanly powerful. Avery couldn’t quite reach his pecs because Gambo was so tall, but he teased his nipples, which made Gambo’s pecs bounce. There was a loud banging on the door. Avery and Gambo both jumped. A loud booming laugh rang out from outside the bathroom. “Shit-Shock! Shit-Shock! A shit, Gambo, you ain’t do it right!” “Fuck you, Cooter! I ain’t shittin’!” Gambo snarled. He pounded on the door again. “Then whatchoo doin’ in there?!” The plump redneck outside laughed and pounded on the door. “Nothin’!” Gambo bucked like he was going to fight the door itself. His cock throbbed in Avery’s mouth, while Avery’s heart raced. He loved jerking off men. Gambo pulled out his cell phone and pretended to be making a call. “Yeah, baby, it’s just that redneck-bitch bein’ a shit. I’m still comin’ to see you later.” “You talkin’ to ya female in the shitter?” “Shut the fuck up, Cooter! I don’t play that nasty Shit-Shock game!” Gambo said. He snarled and rolled his eyes as Cooter walked away with the other workers. Gambo gasped — pleasure enveloping him now that the distraction had gone. The “Shit-Shock” game was that no one on the crew was supposed to lock the door when they took a shit, either here or in the office or in the Port-a-Potty at the worksite; if someone realized you were in there taking a shit, they were “allowed” to burst in and throw a cup of ice-water on you. It was a stupid and disgusting game that Gambo saw as too low-brow for him (that didn’t stop him from thinking it was funny when it didn’t involve him).
Realizing that he needed to hurry up, Gambo gripped the back of Avery’s head. His whole body undulated and his knees went weak. He held onto the handicapped-bar with one hand while he slammed his dick all the way down Avery’s throat.
“Damn, boy, shit… Not many girls deep-throat like that,” Gambo said. He let out a little gasp but tried not to let on that this was the best, nastiest blowjob he ever had. “You know that site on Cherry Hill? We’re buildin’ an elementary school. You should come there, man, tell ’em you gotta verify a delivery. They’ll get me.” His voice broke. Avery nodded. He opened his throat as wide as possible as he felt Gambo’s balls crawl up in his sac where it rested against Avery’s chin. Then cum sprayed down his gullet, coating his belly in creamy warmth. Gambo had heavy balls that shot a giant load, more and more continually flowing into him until Avery thought he couldn’t possibly swallow anymore. “Goddamn…” Gambo stayed in position right there above Avery’s head, gripping his scalp. Outside, his coworkers launched into a rowdy round of laughter, and Gambo scrunched his eyes shut tight. Avery pulled off and grinned. “Thanks,” he said as he wiped his lips off. “You have a nice dick.” Gambo sniffled. “I know.” Avery stood, stretching his legs. “You can go, I’ll wait a few minutes then leave by myself.” Gambo nodded. “Okay. Don’t forget, keep comin’ by the worksite. Bring fifty bucks, I’ll let you jerk me off every day.” “Oh… I’m not that kinda guy,” Avery said. “I might come by and see you again sometime. But not every day.” “Why not? Ain’t I got a good dick?” “You do,” Avery said. He stroked Gambo’s limp dick before Gambo shoved it back in his pants and redid his fly. Avery giggled. “But so do lots of other guys. I’ve gotta service ’em all.”
Rob was smoking a ciggie near the CentreLink on Bulumbaga Road. It was a bright and sunny day, but the gray squat building in front of Rob made the whole area dismal and bleak; it exuded an aura of dull-edged banality. Craggy bogans bustled in and out of CentreLink, interspersed with a few elderly schmucks and a disabled man accompanied by a nurse. There must have been a separate employee entrance and exit, Rob thought, because he didn’t see anyone who worked here. He was just waiting for the bus anyway. He had ended up missing it by two minutes, so now he had most of an hour to wait for the next one. That’s when he heard a fight break out. It was down in the car park. First, he heard a bunch of gruff macho shouting, vowels extending broadly like sunbeams, consonants clipped — he couldn’t make out the words, but he could make out the accent. They were bogans, fighting. “You bloody tosser, get off me!” “Razza, you prick-“ “Where’d you go last night, huh, mate?” “Why’d you hit me-?” He made out the names Keith and Razza before he snuck down there to take a peek. Razza was the shirtless one, wearing a bushranger hat. He was shorter than his brother, Keith, but thicker-built, and heavily tattooed all over like a bikie — he wasn’t a bikie, though he used to own a motorcycle, he just had bikie-like tattoos because his bikie dad was also his tattoo artist. Keith only had one tattoo, of Uluru, on his shoulderblade — he didn’t get along with dad — and he had terrible teeth and a greasy mullet. They shouted and heaved as their sweat-glistening bodies tore into each other. The fight seemed half-real and half-playful, with punches interspersed with more casual smacks and winking slaps. They both wore short black shorts that showed off their powerful thighs, and Rob lost himself trying to see up those shorts to see if the boys wore grundies or not. “Don’t pull my hair, mate, that makes you a bitch-“ “Get off me, you little ratbag, Razza! I’ll smash your teeth in!” Razza’s superior thickness and powerful arms gave him an advantage though, and his shortness wasn’t much of a hindrance. He finally landed a powerful blow to Keith’s belly, knocking him to the ground. “Who’s the petrol-sniffing ratbag now?!” Razza took off one of his thongs and slapped his brother in the face. He laughed like this was all a big prank — he had looked serious moments ago, but now that he was the winner, he joked and smacked his brother with his thong. Keith slapped the thong out of his face. “Get your fuckin’ thong off me, you abo bastard-“ “You better pay me for that fuckin’ petrol!” Razza said, having to pause for a moment to remember what this fight was even about. He had loaned Keith his car, a vintage Holden he’d been restoring for years, to drive to his job last night. That should have been a five-kilometer trip in total. But an entire tank of petrol had gone missing, a fact that Razza only realized when he had come here to CentreLink to see his case manager. His Holden had barely puttered into the car park. Keith had come later in the day to see his own case manager as well, and Razza was here waiting for him. Keith backed away, ripping his shirt off, ready to have a go at Razza, because it had been obvious from the beginning that Razza was looking for a fight. That happened a lot. The Histexile brothers were known throughout their suburb for fighting each other, and anyone else available. Razza pumped his fists after beating his brother down and didn’t even notice Rob there watching. Razza was glad to win because his brother had called him a racial slur — an Abo. Though Keith and Razza were brothers, Razza claimed to be Aboriginal (1/32 Gadigal clan) and Keith claimed to be descended from convict stock. Both found each other’s claims spurious and worth brawling over. “Come hit me then, fight me like a man-“ “I just whooped your ass!” Razza shouted, feinting forward, his broad chest greasy with old sweat. “Remember? Like two seconds ago?” “You hit me with your thong, that’s not whooping-“ “Bullshit, you little fucker, I’ll do it again-“
“You are such a moron!” Keith gestured towards the CentreLink building, where people had stopped to watch. One person — Rob — came close enough to hear. Keith and Razza were both momentarily self-conscious, then smiled broadly and stamped their feet. Keith wiped the trickle of blood off his nose.
“You wasted a whole tank of petrol!” “Katie wanted to root, man! I drove to her place in Gagamazoo!” Razza threw another punch. “Why didn’t you pick me up? I’d bone that root-rat, mate! We were gonna do donuts today! We were talking about it — right before you went to work, we decided we were gonna kill a case of goddamn stubbies and do-“ “Hey, guys, you know they’re calling the police?” Rob said. He cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt.” Keith and Razza exchanged glances and rolled their eyes. Razza looked to the white van Keith had come here in — a work van. Keith was a tradie — so was Razza, technically, but he had been suspended for punching his supervisor. Keith went right to the driver’s seat, and Razza to the passenger’s side as though he was going to get in. “No, rack off, mate,” Keith said. “I’m not supposed to have anyone else in the van. It’s a rule-“ “Oh, fuck you!” Razza shouted from the other side of the van. He had one of his thongs in hand, smacking the van on the side of it when Keith drove away. “You stupid asshole, Keith!” Razza stood there, glowering at Rob. “What do you want?” Rob shrugged. “I’ll jack your dick.” “What?” “You need a ride out of here, right? Let me jack your dick. I’ll give you a ride, let you do some donuts in my car and buy you a slab of beer,” Rob said. Razza heard sirens off in the distance. He laughed nervously, covering it up with a macho chuckle as though he got propositioned like this all the time. He shrugged. “Yeah. Where’s your car?” He scoffed when he saw the tiny Kia. “I can barely fit my dick in this thing, mate,” he said as he got in. “Doin’ donuts’ll wreck this car’s suspension to fuck and back. Could blow out the tyres too.” He had to adjust the driver’s seat so he could fit, hurrying when the sirens got closer. Rob sat in the passenger seat. “I don’t care, it’s a rental,” Rob said. He blushed. He knew he sounded like a wealthy jerk — he was going to have to pay to fix the transmission one way or another — but he couldn’t help it. He could afford it. “Well, shit… Let’s do some circlework! I chucked a sicky to blodge off for the day, so me and my brother were gonna hoon all day. I know a great spot, a dirt road you’d never know it’s there unless you knew it was there. We can stop for stubbies on the way,” Razza said. He was hesitant to really go at it in his own Holden — he’d replaced the suspension several times because of doing donuts in it; he could do it again, but it was expensive and time-consuming, so he tried to avoid it. If this weird pervy stranger was willing to wreck a rental, he could do that. Even if it was a Kia. He headed away from CentreLink at top speed before the police could arrive. He sped to the bottle-o a few kilometers away. Rob went in and bought stubbies of Carlton Draught. He was already hot and horny because Razza’s shirtless body had filled the Kia up with his musk. It occurred to Rob only then that he shouldn’t have left Razza out there with the keys and the car. He could drive away anytime. Razza would lose the beer Rob was buying, but he’d gain a rental car he could do donuts in and then sell for parts. Rob’s heart quickened. He peered into the car park. Razza was still there, showing no signs of leaving. Rob paid for the beer. When he got out there, Razza popped the boot, and Rob plopped the stubbies of beer in there. “Later, mate!” That was when Razza stole the car. After Rob put the beer in the boot. He guffawed and slapped his hand on the roof of the Kia. Then Razza sped out of there bottle-o’s car park, and Rob watched the Kia disappear down the road. Razza whooped and hollered like a cowboy, loud enough for Rob to hear from back at the Dan Murphy’s. So Razza did steal the beer after all. Rob had been right to be nervous, he was just off on his timing. Not sure what else to do, Rob just walked away. He could have called the police. He’d have to eventually, or the car-rental place would accuse him of stealing it. But he didn’t feel like dealing with an Australian cop right now — they were all knobs, and dumber than dirt, as useless as a kangaroo’s crib. So he decided to tell them that his cell phone’s battery was dead, which it very nearly was, so that was why he didn’t call them right away. He just walked down the road. He wasn’t even sure where he was going. He didn’t know how to get back to his hotel, or the CentreLink, from here. He saw a dirt road that came right off the main road. It was unmarked. It was indeed, as Razza had said, tucked in amongst some trees such that, if you didn’t know it was there, you’d never see it. It was around the bend of a curve. It sure looked like that was the road Razza had described, and just beyond the copse of trees on the hill where the dirt road met the paved road, there was a big dry dusty spot, like someone had clear-cut the area to build houses and then never built them. That looked right. You could do donuts down there, Rob thought. Razza had said something about “circlework”, which meant doing donuts on dirt in order to create circles on the ground and kick up a circular cloud of dust in the air. Sure enough, when Rob got beyond the trees, he could see down the hill. There was his Kia, doing donuts, dust kicking up in a grand tornado that filled the air, reaching almost all the way to where Rob stood. He wrinkled his nose and walked down the hill. He got almost all the way down when the car stopped. He heard Razza cursing inside the car, swerving all over because he was trying to squash a poisonous spider that had just bit him. When he either killed it or lost track of it, he focused more on the donuts, building up a huge whirlwind of ocher-laden dirt. Rob shouted, “Hey! You mongrel! Get out of there!” Razza opened the door and smiled broadly at him. A smile on his face really accentuated how dirty he was — plus he stood on the threshold to the car before the dust had settled, so a layer of it clung to his sweaty skin, giving him a tan coat. He had tied an Australian flag to his shoulder at some point since stealing the car, and it fluttered in the breeze his circlework had kicked up. “You followed me? Good on ya, mate!” “Okay, fuck you, Razza, for the following reasons,” Rob said. “First, fuck you just because. Second, fuck you for stealing my car. Third, fuck you for stealing my beer. Fourth, fuck you for not letting me jack you off. Fifth, fuck you for being a goddamn cunt-“ “What? You ratbag-?” “Shut the hell up — the only part of our deal you welshed on was the part where your dick has to work. What’s up with that? What’s wrong with your pecker?” “Awwwwww….” Razza groaned. He knew perfectly well that this pervy foreigner was trying to goad him into it. With a sneer, he ate macadamia nuts from a baggie of scroggin. “Americans are a bunch of pansies, mate.” “If you had asked if you could steal the car, I’d have said you could take it. I’d give you a couple hours before I called the police,” Rob said. “You were scared to get jacked off, weren’t you? You don’t know how to root-“ “I am not scared of shit, mate!” Razza was annoyed with himself for giving in. It was obvious that Rob just wanted his dick. But he couldn’t resist pulling it out to prove it worked. He flopped it between his fingers. He was glad it was a warm day because his cock hadn’t shrunk at all. Rob giggled inwardly but got back in the passenger car in a huff. He glared at Razza, who sat back behind the wheel. “I’ve always wanted to jack someone off while they did donuts,” Rob said. “That’s all. So I was pissed you tried to cheat me-“ “Aw, don’t be a shit, mate,” Razza said. “You’re still whinging about that?” He whacked his dick against his palm as he started the engine again. “You’re not gonna bite down if I go spinning or a tyre blows out, will you?” Rob bent over and put the tip of Razza’s dick in his mouth. “No promises. Don’t blow out.” He giggled and jacked it down, slurping down the dust that had settled on his cock. It tasted filthy, but warm, inviting, sunny, and a little coppery. Rob could even taste the gritty bitterness of brick, which presumably came from Razza’s career as a brickie. Rob wondered if he still tasted like that because he hadn’t washed since then, or if the flavor had seeped into his flesh. “Crikey!” Razza said with a whoop and a holler. He put his foot on the accelerator and turned the wheel, struggling to turn it hard enough with Rob’s head in his crotch. It was disconcerting enough that he barely even noticed what his dick felt like at first. He was too focused on the driving and making sure he didn’t jostle Rob so much he bit down. But then, at last, a shiver of pleasure ran up Razza’s spine, and his dick twitched. His hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel. “Aaaaaah, shit!” Razza whooped. He wished his brother was here to see this, but it was too late now. He’d have to tell him about it later. He’d say it had been a female on his cock, of course. Keith wouldn’t believe that, but he wouldn’t be able to disprove it either, since Razza was going to be coming home with stubbies and a shitty old Kia. Keith wouldn’t be able to explain where he got that. His dick was rock-hard now. It was happening very fast. Razza moaned and groaned, slamming his fists on the dashboard. It ended up not being very good circlework because he was distracted, but still, it was exciting enough, and it left him dizzy in a giant cloud of dust all around him. “Oh shit, mate…” Razza’s voice broke, making him laugh with embarrassment. He felt his orgasm coming on and was sure he would run into the ditch he had been avoiding — he was dizzy and distracted and no longer sure where the Kia was in relation to the ditch. It would be too easy for Rob to be startled and bite down if the car slid into the ditch. So he stopped the car, realizing only as he did, placing one hand on Rob’s head to push him deeper, that it had happened — one of the tyres blew out. He was no longer going that fast, so the car just drifted in a wild, careening circle until at last, it came a stop. A full quivering stop, with Razza’s foot slammed onto the brake-pedal. “Aw, mate, goddamn — shit-” He jacked in his breath, now aware that he had been close to orgasm for a few seconds, only delaying it because the situation had been so exciting. He held onto Rob by the back of the head and pistoned his hips up, throating Rob’s face in a way not many girls let him do. It was awkward to do so crammed between the driver’s seat and the steering wheel, especially in this tiny Korean car. But Razza was too close to cumming to let himself be interrupted by stepping out of the car, or even rolling the window down or putting it in park so he could take his foot off the brake. All of his concentration went to jamming his dick all the way down Rob’s choking throat. Rob loved being throat-abused more than anything, and he was good at it, so he swallowed every bit of Razza’s uncut shaft. “Shit, mate, jack it, goddamn!” Razza moaned again, slamming his hand on the dashboard. A few drops of cum spurted into Rob’s mouth and ran down his gullet. “Aw, there I go mate-” He was tense, veins pulsating on the side of his ruddy head and his neck. His orgasm looked almost painful. Finally it came, great gobs of creamy hot cum spurting into Rob’s throat and down to his belly. Razza kept on spewing more and more, and even he looked surprised by the amount. He kept a tight grip on Rob’s head, the scent of his bogan sweat filling the air once more now that the dust was beginning to dissipate. “Aww…” It was salty and warm, intensely flavorful, thick and creamy, coating his throat like a melted milk bar. Rob couldn’t swallow it all because his mouth was filled with raunchy bogan foreskin, and the dust that had settled there made him cloggy and coughy anyway. But he didn’t mind — Rob liked to make a mess. He swallowed what he could, but the rest spilled out and soaked into Razza’s pubic hair. Razza groaned at the mess, but even he had to admit he liked it better that way. A sloppy blowjob was better than a clean one. And anyway, having a wet spot in his crotch was going to make this story seem more believable when he told his brother that it was a woman who gave him a car to suck his dick. “Well, damn, mate, you made a big mess,” Razza said with a chuckle. He patted Rob on the head, and Rob lifted off. “You-“ The Kia jolted forward and slid into a ditch. They were both so startled they yelped and nearly jumped out of the car. But all that had happened was Razza took his foot off the brake, forgetting that it was on a slight incline, leading into that ditch, and that he had never put it in park. So it rolled right in, nose first. “Fuck!” Rob shouted as he bumped into the dashboard. He rolled out into the muddy ditch, covered in cum and dust and now, mud. Razza laughed as he climbed out. He was already dirty, so it was hard to even tell. He looked at the Kia — one tyre blown out, end in the ditch, who-knew-what-else wrong with it. “You were right. I would have totally bit your dick if that happened when it was in my mouth,” Rob said. He blushed. “Car’s totaled.” “Wanna walk with me back to that Dan Murphy? There’s a grocery store there too,” Razza said. “I’m hungry. Buy me some snags and lammingtons.” “Yeah, okay,” Rob said. He shrugged. “I don’t know what those are, but fine.” He wondered if he’d be able to get Razza’s brother before leaving. “Hmmm… I’ll call the car-rental place in awhile.” Rob was not going to enjoy paying whatever they ended up charging him for this. But, he thought, it had all been worth it.
This time, Mason sought out Buck, who lived with Lem in that dead end at the end of a corridor on the rig. This rig was built for more workers than there were — lots of the job had been automated in recent years — so whole wings were no longer used. Mr. Chow said they could bed down wherever they wanted. Buck and Lem chose a corridor that dead-ended at a disused room. They claimed everything from the intersection with another corridor to the dead-end, and they used the extra room for storage. The dead-end was curtained off with sheets and done up with extra mattresses, pillows and space heaters. “Knock, knock, guys,” Mason said. He tapped the sheet being used as a curtain. A mat lay right there, like a welcome mat but Mason knew Lem well enough to know it’s real purpose — there were peanut shells under the mat. Lem and Buck stepped over the mat when coming in and out of the dead-end. If anybody snuck in when they were gone, the shells would be smashed under the mat, and they’d know someone had been there without permission. Mason stepped over the mat. “C’m’in!” Buck said. “Unless’n you is Jean or them!” Lem said. His voice was pinched and tense — Lem was always hostile to the other roughnecks, whom he was certain conspired to steal from him at every turn. Back when he drank, he stayed convinced they were stealing his liquor. That was true, they did steal liquor. That was a constant source of conflict on rig. Cigarettes too. Lem was unreasonably paranoid about it though. Mason opened the curtain and came in. The smell of shower sandals and recent soap filled his nostrils. Buck and Lem stood there like Mason had walked in on them doing something wrong. They were swordfighting in the center of their living space. Their soft dicks dangled afront them, but it was clear they had been swinging ’em at each other just a second ago. Both men’s hips were angled towards each other, underwear around their ankles. Wry grins popped up on both Buck and Lem. Both men’s bare asses were still dappled with shower water. Mason stopped short, unable to tear his eyes from their bared crotches. Buck’s cock was huge, and Lem’s was knobbly and darker-skinned than the rest of him. Actually Buck’s was darker than the rest of his skin as well. Lem’s cock was not as big as Buck’s but seemed bigger cuz Lem was rangy and ropy-muscled. His cock was as thick as his biceps, and Lem was dense like he had crammed a more muscular man inside of himself. Lem and Buck both held back laughter when Mason saw them standing there, dicks in hand, mid-thwack upon each other.
They both stood up on their chagrin. Buck’s cheeks turned burgundy underneath his unshaved beard. He chuckled, which made his pecker jiggle and his pecs flex. He was meaty and thick all over, but Lem was dark-skinned and taut from head to toe, his muscles dotted with bluish-gray tatttoos, and he had only a smattering of ebon body hair on his sternum.
Mason chuckled. “Who’s winning the swordfight, gentleman?” “Me!” “Nah, me! Mah hog wrecked his piglet!” That chagrined look remained on both they faces, then Buck grinned at the same time Lem scowled, and the both them slapped dicks at each other at the same moment. Detente broken, the swordfight resumed. Buck and Lem battled dick to dick, both of them leaning their upper halves back and their lower halves forward to get better leverage. It was unclear what the point of the competition was. “Gotcha, Buckums-!” “Ow, don’t hit mah balls!” “Whiteboy, yo’ ugly dick best surrenduh, or I’mma treat it harsh-“ “You narsty, Lem!” “You smell like velveeta, hillbilly!” They both said more, but that was all Mason caught. He grinned, forgetting that he came here to see if Buck had his vaccination records — he was supposed to send it to the company in advance, but Mason got notice that Buck never did. In any case, Mason was distracted by the smell of their muscles and the sight of their dicks smashing into each other. They eventually stopped because Lem got Buck in the balls hard again, and Buck doubled over both laughing and protesting. Lem crossed his arms over his chest. “You hillbillies is weak as water, Buckums,” Lem said. His muscles tensed up when Lem kicked, trying to get Buck in the balls, but Buck dodged. Then Buck tackled Lem — but he didn’t knock him down, he toppled him then caught him and swept him up in his great bearish arms. Lem squealed and squirmed. “Git off me, hillbilly!” It was clear Buck wasn’t gonna let go — Buck told Mason he was a wrestler in high school, and it seemed he wanna wrestle again — but then Lem wriggled, and Buck nearly knocked over a layer of blankets pinned up to the wall. He put Lem down to fix it. “Damn it, Buckums!” Lem said. “You knockin’ shit down again!” He scowled, scratching his naked balls, and watched Buck fix the blanket. Buck’s back muscles looped and arched as he re-tacked the blanket to the wall. The walls and floors were icy cold, so they had covered everything with layers of insulation. When Buck was done, the dead-end had been silent for some time. Buck and Lem both turned to Mason, both of them just now realizing they didn’t know why Mason had come here. Their cocks dangled like disused warclubs between their muscled thighs. Mason said, “I was hoping you had your vaccination records, Buck.” Buck stone-faced. “Mah what?” “Your vaccination records? You were supposed to send them in to the company health director before you got here,” Mason said. “They sent you a letter about it.” Buck made a dismissive hand gesture and sound effect. “Flpppt. Whatevuh, Mason, I don’t got that.” He shrugged. “Reckon mah grammaw prolly got that lettuh. I done been got vaccined, I did. I got all mah shots.” “Okay, well, if you give me your doctor’s name, I can get the records sent up,” Mason said. Buck nodded. “Okay, yeah. I’ll get mah grammaw to call you.” He wagged his dick in Mason’s direction. “Cain I do a complaint? Lem got a dirty dick-“ “Nuh-uh, I cleans it. I’mma do a complaint ’bout Buckums’s dick. Honky-ass whiteboy hillbilly got weak-dick syndrome, I seen that. He fat-“ “Shut ya old fool mouth, Lem, you don’t know nuttin’ ’bout whiteboy dingdong,” Buck said. Then he glanced at Mason. “Sawry, Mason, suh, we’s j’st playin’ ’round.” “I’m not a supervisor,” Mason said. “I’m just the medic. Swordfight as much as you want. As long as you don’t get hurt, it’s none of my business.” But they both sat down sheepishly anyway, and Buck motioned for Mason to do likewise. Their living area was a mess of pillows, blankets and mattresses. Mason sat behind Buck. “You want a massage?” he asked softly, speaking into Buck’s big cauliflowery ear — Buck was an amateur boxer, so his nose was crooked and his ears were fatly exploded. “Hell yeah,” Buck said with a wrinkle of that fisty nose. As Buck and Lem got to talking about their upcoming leave back in town, Mason’s hands spread over Buck’s back. Buck leaned forward. Mason kneaded his powerful muscles, and he leaned in to smell the fading-soap and recent-sweat smell clinging to his skin. Buck was so tall that Mason’s face squashed into the middle of his back, which was dappled with sweat. Mason was glad to taste the salt of his manhood, trickling into Mason’s mouth. “We gonna have enough money to live it large this time, sweah to God,” Lem said. “That lightskin lady at the Manor? I am goin’ aftuh her like you wouldn’t believe — she wanted me — she was into it-” Lem was worked up and stood, holding holey white briefs in one hand like he forgot to put them on. He was excited about leave, which both he and Buck were up for next week. Buck rolled his eyes. Mason was rubbing his back, so he couldn’t see Buck’s face, but he sensed it. Lem was animated as if he was arguing about this with somebody, but nobody had challenged it. He wagged his finger like he was counting off points, but he didn’t count anything. He also seemed to have forgotten he was naked, and his cock gaggled up and down as he gesticulated. “She said I was handsome, she said I looked like that actor Idris Elba, damn you know she want this nigga dick, Buckums! You know it!” He wagged his finger well above Buck’s head. “She woulda gived me a freebie if that madam wasn’t there, she woulda, she said it, and I sensed it,” Lem said. “I got nigga sense on that. She don’t see lotta black American niggas, and you know she don’t want no Haitians, you know that, Buck-“ Buck sighed, making his chamberous chest billow beneath Mason’s grasp. “Shuddup, Lem.” He had a solid layer of muscle beneath his skin, and Mason’s massage made the whole mass move up and down.
Mason had to chuckle. Lem had been ranting about Haitians since back when he drank. Lem got persnickety about Haitians. And Nigerians. And Brazilians, Pakistanis, Lebanese… Lem had notions about every nationality, and he did express them often and vituperously. The video about respecting diversity on rig had obviously not sunk into Lem’s skull, even after rewatching it a hundred times.
“Nobody want Haitians. They’s longskin niggas, longskin, and you can’t trust them none. You know about that, Mason?” “I-” Mason said from around Buck’s back muscles. They were solid and warm, moist with sweat and stretching, flexing beneath his grasp. Fine hair imperceptibly covered most of his back, but the hairs became black and coarse down at the small of his back and up atop his shoulderblades. Buck blurted out. “Wait, nah, don’t say nothing, Mason, don’t get him started-“ “Longskin niggas-“ “Lem don’t like Hayshuns, reckon. He got notions ’bout ’em,” Buck said. He sniffled. “I ain’t had the best ‘xperiences wit’ ’em mahself.” “She was givin’ me looks ’bout it, you know how they do, you know it, Buck, man, Mason, shit, a Haitian was going aftuh her — he had the money, you see, and she gotta go away wit’ him,” Lem said. He paused and whistled. “She was aftuh me, she said we woulda coulda snuck away if her madam stepped out. She touched mah dick anyway. You saw her, Buckums, the chick-“ “Yes, I know, Lem you been goin’ on ’bout her,” Buck said. He leaned back so Mason could reach around him and massage his chest. His hefty pics twitched at the touch of Mason’s fingertips. Mason massaged him gently at first, but Buck was so thick he got more and more vigorous until he sensed that Buck liked the sensation. Buck remained naked, his cock flopping between his thighs. Squashed between Buck and the pillow-clad wall, Mason moved to sit beside him and kneaded the meat of Buck’s torso. Lem got out one of his gentleman’s interest magazines. “Lemme show you, lemme show you, hillbilly, she got tits like you wouldn’t believe!” he whisper-shouted, lest Mr. Chow come tell them to keep it down. Lem acted like somebody had doubted him, as he showed off the pictures of a woman with marvelous tits, the same as that lightskin prostitute working in town. Mason wasn’t particularly interested, but he nodded along anyway. Buck did likewise. Mason’s hands worked up and down Buck’s broad chest. Lem was off on a tear about the woman in the magazine. It was funny, Mason knew Lem back when he drank, and Lem drank a lot. He quit last year. Mason thought Lem’s eccentric behavior and wild tangents were due to his drinking, but after a year of sobriety, Lem was just as off the wall as ever. Maybe even more so. Maybe the liquor had kept him calm back before. He spoke more clearly, that was all, less slurring of his words. Lem remained as Lemmish as ever. “This bitch would fall in love wit’ me if we met, and you know I would put it to her good. She look like she know things, you get me, you can feel it coming outta her,” Lem said vociferously, like he must convince Mason and Buck of what he was saying. Despite that, he didn’t even show the magazine to them, he just kept talking about the woman in it. He seemed to have forgotten that he started talking about her to compare her to the prostitute at the Manor (a brothel in town where the roughnecks got leave) but now was talking about her in her own right. “I wouldn’t settle down wit’ her though. She don’t look like a one-man kinda woman, bet on it. Believe that, Buckums! Mason. She be out flippin’ her pussy at any man with dollahs to spare! Believe that!” “Hey, uh…” Buck blushed under his scruffy beard. Ignoring Lem’s rant, he glanced down at his dick, which twitched like it wanna get hard. He kept his voice low but audible under Lem’s flimsy rant. Buck sucked on his lower lip. “Hey, Mason.” His cheeks bright red beneath his bristly beard, he glanced at Lem, who stopped his jeremiad midway through — or hell, his rants were endless, there was no midway, but he paused it anyway. Buck whispered, “I needta get a nut off.” In any case, Lem heard that and scumbled on a face like he wanna get a nut off too. “You still jack a nigga off, Mason? I could use a nut mahself-“ “Aw, sheeit, I knewed you was gonna suggest that. Don’t do it, Mason, it’s nasty-“ Mason blurted out, “Yes! I mean, okay, I… I’ll do whatever, whatever you guys want.” He blushed, as the both them guffawed. Mason would enjoy jacking off with either or both of them. It wouldn’t be the first time with either of them as well, though he wasn’t sure if either of them knew it — had Buck told Lem he’d been jacking off with Mason in the clinic? Had Lem told Buck he’d done the same with Mason on previous rigs? Neither of them seemed shocked Mason would volunteer. Buck said, “Don’t nevuh agree to nothing from Lem wit’out askin’ what it is, Mason. I tells him no mahself, I do. He don’t feel good. Like humpin’ a coral reef.” Lem had a standing offer — if a man jacked him off one time “wit’ full throat” — swallowed his cum, basically — Lem would let him “hump off” on him bunches — Lem spent years prison, so he knew about all this stuff. “Humping off” was when you rubbed your dick on his back, in the crook of his elbow or between his thighs. That was a new offer from Lem now that he was sober, it seemed, he never offered that on previous rigs. Or maybe he did, just not to Mason. But Buck and everyone else on rig had refused. Nobody wanna taste Lem’s “nasty old black pecker” (Buck’s words), and Lem’s body was rough and not big and squishy like Buck’s. Lem was a “sandpapery chimney of a homeboy” (also Buck’s words). Mason, however, jumped right to it. He blushed. “I get horny a lot, the idea of humping Lem off… I can handle swallowing some cum. I’ll do it.” He blushed harder, as Buck laughed and Lem clapped his hands with glee. Men looked at him weird if he said he swallowed cum willingly, so Mason pretended to be more reluctant about that than he really was. In fact, Mason liked the taste, the consistency and the experience of it, and he was eager to hump off on Lem’s muscles. He didn’t mind Lem being too taut for it to feel proper, as Buck described it. Lem’s body was wiry, like he was naturally skinny but forced by a hard life to cram muscles on. His thighs were firm and corded-muscle, and his cock was soft as he swaggered over to Mason. “Ah hot shit,” Buck said and clapped his hands. “You really gonna swaller nut? Is that a medic’s job? They must pay a lot, hoss!” But before Mason could say no, Lem gripped Mason’s head with one hand and slipped his limpness into his mouth. Lem’s other hand held onto that gentleman’s interest magazine. His cock tasted warm and musty, salty with sweat cuz this dead-end was warm from the space heaters they had put up all over, and the blankets and pillows provided ample insulation. Lem had showered recently, and his body remained moist and vaguely soap-scented. That taste flooded Mason’s mouth, as Buck whooped and hollered, then got interested in peering at the magazine over Lem’s shoulders. “Aaaah, shit, nigga…” Lem let out a moan, though his dick wasn’t even hard yet. Mason’s tongue wrapped around it and explored the soft shaft. Lem’s cock began twitching and firming up, even before Mason swallowed it as deep as he could — that’s cuz Lem’s attention remained on the woman in the magazine. His meat was ready to race to erection, which it did quick once Mason got started. He slathered spit up and down Lem’s throbbing shaft. Lem murmured and grumbled into the magazine above Mason’s head. As Mason slurped on Lem’s knob, he heard Lem and Buck arguing — Buck wanna look at the magazine and get hard, but Lem was focused on a picture of a black woman. Buck could only see the opposite page from his angle, and that was only advertisements, no women at all. That didn’t slow Buck down though. He flopped his massive limpness onto Mason’s face, but Mason stayed focused on Lem’s veiny shaft, so Buck’s dick battered him softly on the nose and cheek. Lem’s pecker was hard as iron now, and it jabbed down Mason’s throat. Lem was harsher about it than Buck, not gentle at all, not that Mason was complaining. Lem treated Mason’s throat like a fleshlight, forcing his cock down until Mason choked on it and gripped Lem’s wiry asscheeks for support. Soon, the precum flowed outta Lem’s dick, and Mason swallowed every drop. It was salty and gooey in a good way. Both Mason’s hands stayed gripped onto Lem’s asscheeks as though he was trying to push Lem away, but he instead held Lem in place, as Lem pounded — gently but firmly — at Mason’s mouth. His balls slapped at Mason’s chin. His sac wasn’t as hairy as Buck’s, and it was clean because he had showered moments ago, but his balls were hefty and swollen like Buck’s. “Damn, Mason…” Lem murmured. His cock pulsated in Mason’s throat, and he now had both hands on the magazine, so he didn’t hold Mason’s head in place. That meant Mason could move up and down on the shaft at his own pace. Because Mason’s hands were on Lem’s asscheeks, he felt Buck sidle up behind him — tired of being unable to see the “purdy ladies” in the magazine, Buck got behind Lem and rubbed his soft dick on Lem’s hard asscheeks. “Eww, Lem, you feel like pavement, sheeit,” Buck murmured with a laugh. His dick rubbed the sweaty crack of Lem’s ass though. Buck kept his eyes trained on the magazine. Though Lem grumbled, he didn’t complain about Buck humping himself hard on Lem’s ass. They did that — before Mason started jerking Buck off, Buck and Lem would hump each other here in the dead-end to get a nut off. They’d worked out a way to do it, Buck laying on his back, Lem “fucking” between his thighs, which made Lem’s wiry torso rub up and down on Buck’s dick. With a magazine held between their heads, they could both get off that way with minimal mess (they had a system of towels in place to catch their cum). It wasn’t too satisfying, but it worked. Now that Buck and Lem were both hard though, Mason could switch back and forth between them both, as Buck let his erect cock ram between Lem’s thighs. Lem’s ballsac rubbed on his dick, which gave it a sour flavor that Mason gobbled down. Lem grumbled about Buck’s position too — Lem do be grumbling — but he ain’t try and stop Buck. Mason swallowed Buck’s dick as deep as he could, then moved back to Lem’s, then back to Buck’s. Since Mason enjoyed it, he wasn’t especially trying to get them both off quickly. But Buck’s younger body got real close quick, and Mason swallowed his hillbilly cock to the root, or as close as Mason could get anyway, as Buck’s meat was too long and too thick. Since Mason was focused on throating deep, he was surprised when a jolt of hot jizz filled his mouth, then overflowed down his chin. “Aww, heckfire!” Buck closed his eyes and let out a long cringing sound, his dick still poking out between Lem’s thighs and into Mason’s mouth. A fat jizzum splurted into Mason’s throat and spilled out down his chin. “No fair, hillbilly,” Lem murmured. He pulled Mason’s head off Buck’s cock, which Mason didn’t resist. Lem moaned when his dick thensank into Mason’s cum-filled mouth. Buck scoffed and moaned as well, still cumming, spewing his nut all over Mason’s face. He stroked himself off with both hands. Great ropy jets of jizz flowed over Mason’s cheeks and shoulders, while Lem gripped his head once more and plowed down his throat. Before Buck was even done cumming, Lem was shooting his load too, his wiry old-man dick spraying a thick wad into Mason’s belly. Mason groaned but swallowed all he could before his need for air caused him to expel Lem’s dick, so Lem’s last couple cumwads joined the soup on Mason’s face. “Hell yeah, whiteboy,” Lem said. Buck chortled behind him. They both sighed, their dicks now limp in front of them. Lem had dropped the gentleman’s interest magazine onto the pillow on the floor, and some of the cum dripped off Mason’s face onto the pages. “Damn! You makin’ a mess, Mason,” Lem said. He picked up the magazine and wiped jizz off the page with the beautiful black woman. Lem got on his knees to put the magazine away, while Mason stood behind him. “He gonna hump ya back now, Lem,” Buck said with a chuckle and a chortle. He delicately wiped his pecker clean with a paper towel. “You gonna get whiteboy spooge all ovah ya head.” “Shuddup, Buck! He ain’t a hillbilly, so it won’t be as nasty as yo’n,” Lem said. He drank from his flask of apple cider — he felt strongly that soft apple cider replaced his desire for alcohol. Drinking from a flask helped, he said. It wasn’t true, but he felt it should be and maybe one day would be, if he thought it often enough. So he drank soft cider as though it forgot to ferment. After smacking his lips, he flexed his arms, which pushed his shoulderblades into making a little valley in the center of his back. “Go fo’ it, Mason. Be quick,” Lem said. Mason slid his dick into that valley, and he humped it up and down, already rock-hard. Lem stayed like that, kneeling with his arms flexed. He ain’t pay much mind to Mason, he simply directed Buck to clean up puddles of cum where it had spilled. Holding back a chest-cringing moan, Mason’s cock firmed up the rest of the way immediately, his dick ramming into the valley of Lem’s shoulders. Mason was already mostly hard, so it didn’t take much to get him going. Lem kneeled there like nothing was happening, he was just flexing his arms for practice. Mason slid his dick back and forth, embarrassed at first cuz both Buck and Lem got quiet, so the only sound was Mason’s slightly panty breaths. Mason’s arms gripped Lem’s taut biceps. Then Buck got to talking about leave — he had his own notions about the women at the brothel in Kaskatuk — and Lem gradually ignored Mason. That meant Mason could focus on the firm muscles of Lem’s back. He’d been a roughneck for decades. Lem worked at every kind of oil rig, work camp, lumber mill and remote mine in North America (he claimed), plus a couple even further abroad. He wasn’t the meaty kind of muscular like Buck, he was more firm and padding-free, solid as petrified wood. Buck’s back would be squishy, but Lem’s was hard, and his shoulders squeezed Mason’s dick. The pearly white prejizz that spewed from Mason’s cock spread over Lem’s back. It followed the natural arcs and curves of Lem’s flexed muscles, and it dripped down to his asscrack. Mason’s fingers spread over the firm mounds of Lem’s biceps. He humped stronger with every pump of his hips, his dick ramming up Lem’s spine and nape to get him in the back of the head. But Lem was copacetic about it. “You shoulda made that deal with Waymond, Buckums,” he said. Buck scoffed and sucked on his teeth. He eyed Lem suspiciously. “I ain’t givin’ up all mah porno, Lem.” “You don’t need porno if you got Mason jerkin’ you off,” Lem said. He and Buck both erupted in chatter about the canceled deal with Waymond — porno for cigarettes, basically, with some side deals about food in the mess hall, potato chips in the barracks, Waymond’s hot sauce and a safety manual that wasn’t technically porno but did have a debatably hot woman washing contaminants off her body while respecting diversity. It was a complicated transaction, which Buck had turned down. Mason wasn’t all that interested by it, but he didn’t mind how it made Lem animated. Lem’s back flexed as he argued with Buck, who waved him off and did pushups in the center of the dead-end. Mason closed his eyes, hands roaming all up and down Lem’s shoulders, arms and his chest. When Mason leaned down to tweak Lem’s nipples, it made Lem’s pecs ripple. That was when Mason shot his wad into the creamy soup already congealing on the back of Lem’s head. Mason gasped, unsure at first if Lem even realized he was cumming, as a fat wad of jizz spurted up to his scalp. Most of it landed in a thick puddle on Lem’s neck and shoulder. “Awwww…” Mason tried not to make a sound, but it felt good to resist, and pleasure coursed through his veins. His knees went weak. “It was a good deal, hillbilly!” Lem snapped at Buck. Cum smeared down his chin and his collarbone, which he ignored. A long chest-rattling moan came outta Mason, as his final cumwad spurted into the puddle he had already made. It dripped down Lem’s back, which remained flexed, his arms up, like he had forgotten why he was doing that. Mason let his erection slip into Lem’s armpit, the coarse hairs of which provided friction and made Mason bite his lip, the sheer bliss overwhelming him and making his whole body shudder. Lem looked crossly down at his bare chest covered in Mason’s jizz and also his fingers. Lem shrugged. “You done, Mason?” Mason nodded. His cheeks turned red, and his soft cock flopped off Lem’s back. Lem grabbed a washcloth to wipe himself off, and Mason tucked his cock away. He immediately resumed lecturing Buck about the deal with Waymond, which Buck shrugged off. Buck was smoking a cigarette and seemed to have eyes for nothing else at the moment. “You guys have fun on your leave,” Mason said, his voice breathless and thready. “And I’ll be here if you renew your contracts. I hope you do.”
Jason is a prison punk, but he doesn’t even know it… until now! That’s because he’s about to find out that his “work” release is worse than he thought, and Jason doesn’t even get to keep the money…
Lee hankers to become more manly, and he’s found an intriguing way to do it — by dallying on the downlow with big, tough, muscular men! That includes his mother’s new boyfriend, a big black factory foreman, Ezra McClintock. Does Lee see the hardcore gains he was hoping for? Find out in this down and dirty illustrated, interracial, trashy-hobo noncon adventure in man-on-man action!
