heat – Mansploitation

The Dwarven Blacksmith’s Feet

Goldforge has the filthiest feet in all the realms! Can Miles convince him to let him service every inch of them?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Miles stood obediently near the forge, waiting for Goldforge to finish. He watched intensely, dick stiffening up in his pants. Miles sucked in his breath at the sight of Goldforge’s bare arms, which were as thick as Miles’s head and covered with curly black hairs.
“Hmmmmm….” Miles didn’t intend to moan, but he did. He couldn’t quite control his own desires in situations like this. His eyes were opened wide, taking in every inch of Goldforge Axetosser’s stout frame.
Goldforge was a dwarf, a member of the Grimdigger Clan, though he was far from the Grimdiggers’s natural homeland of Mount Lumpnut. Goldforge lived in the human city of Dewandleheim, where he was one of two blacksmiths. The other blacksmith was a human, but Goldforge was more experienced and stronger. He hammered out the plow in front of him on the anvil, only barely aware of the human, Miles, watching from the street.
When he smithed, Goldforge ignored everything but the task in front of him. That was part of why he liked it so much. When he did it, the world seemed to narrow, and nothing was important save for hammering this piece of metal into the shape it was meant to be. He could see the shape in the metal, begging to be released.
He wore a black apron made of thick leather. He didn’t wear a shirt underneath it, so his hefty body spilled out through the straps that ran over his back and shoulders to keep the apron in place. His back was hairy like his chest, the dense, coarse fur covering him and turning outrageously thick in the small of his back. He wore britches that ended at the knee, and covered his ass and thighs, but Miles could tell his ass was just as hairy.
He would be considered fat by human standards, but Miles didn’t see it that way. Goldforge had a bodybuilder’s body, it was just covered up by the natural dwarven padding — supposedly evolved by generations of mining and needing the cushion for falling down mineshafts. Miles could see the muscle under all the heft, and he didn’t mind the belly or the big ass — which was perfectly plump, and, Miles suspected and hoped, greasy with the day’s sweat.
The forge was so hot it was liable to make anything flammable burst into flames if it came too near. That was why Miles had stayed out of the forge, so he didn’t accidentally light anything on fire.
Finally the plow appeared to be done. Miles still waited because Goldforge inspected it carefully, bending over to look at every part of it. His practiced eye ran over the plow, unaware that Miles looked so intently on.
A river of sweat ran down Goldforge’s back, extending from his neck and running through the mat of coarse hair underneath one of the straps of the apron. Miles followed it with eyes and imagined himself sucking all that sweat off him.
“Oh god…”
But Goldforge’s sweaty, hairy body was not why Miles had come to Dewandleheim — he’d traveled all the way from the real world for something incredible: the most glorious dwarven blacksmith’s feet.
Unfortunately, Goldforge’s feet were covered. He wore boots made of fur with a leather covering. They looked uncomfortably hot, especially near a forge. Miles was unsure why Goldforge would wear something like that. Surely his feet weren’t cold in the forge.
But as he watched, he realized exactly why — the forge generated tons of little sparks that could scorch anything they touched. Everything on the floor got covered in sparks from time to time, and only the treated leather of those boots protected the fur from igniting and burning his feet. So it made sense, even if the boots looked uncomfortable. Miles wanted to suck all the sweat out of them — he bet they were utterly rank. He could watch the sweat sliding down Goldforge’s muscled calves and soaking into the fabric and leather.
He did clean the boots, it looked like. There was a marked skin of linden oil with a stiff brush next to it. But it must have been awhile. The leather was worked and worn, and you could tell it would be gritty with crystals from evaporated sweat. Miles wanted to ram his nose in there and inhale from it like a bouquet of roses.
But he didn’t do that. Not yet. He simply watched Goldforge’s great arms work up and down, biceps flexing, chest jiggling, limbs arching, sweat dribbling down his neck from his beard to soak into his sweat. When his arms lifted the hammer all the way up, for just a moment, his armpits were bare and the furry fullness of the hair there was visible. Miles caught a whiff of his body odor, which sent a frisson of desire up Miles’s spine.
Finally, Goldforge put the plow down and glanced up at Miles. “G’d day, good sir. What do you ken, sir?” His deep voice was gruff, aloof since he was still more focused on the plow than anything else. It was cool enough now he could touch it and test how it felt. It was still hot enough to burn most people, but Goldforge had thick calluses on his hands, which protected him even from metal as hot as this.
That was why he didn’t notice Miles taking in his stature and his musculature or the flush coming over Miles’s face.
“I, uh… I was looking for a blacksmith,” Miles said. His voice was lilting, fresh and flamboyant, in stark contrast to the baritone boom of Goldforge’s dwarven accent.
“Ah.” Goldforge grunted, looking up at Miles for the first time to get a good look at him. Goldforge snorted. “Well, you have found a blacksmith. I am Goldforge Axetosser, son of Ramblelore Axetosser the Hammer-Bound, son of Humpert Axetosser the Grand, son of Swordslice Axetosser the Fat of Foot, son of Oretight Axetosser-“
“Your great-grandfather was called ‘Fat of Foot’? What was he like-?” Miles’s eyes lit up — that sounded interesting, whatever it was.
“He was pridefully deformed in an accident as a boy, giving him a wide, fat foot,” Goldforge said. “Among my people, you see, being disfigured in a work accident is a good thing. We do not pity our disabled, we glorify them! You petty little humans act as though it is shameful to be harmed in the course of your work-“
“Okay, okay, Goldforge, I get it-“
“But there is no more glorious way to be injured!” Goldforge bellowed, attracting attention from the other townsfolk. He glared at them. “Bugger off, you munknuts! I am conducting business!” He shook Miles’s hand. “Why do you ask about my great-grandfather?”
“I was just curious,” Miles said. “It’s no biggie, that’s not why I came here. I was looking for a blacksmith. I’m going to need ten horseshoes.” He smiled. This was his plan to get a taste of Goldforge’s magnificent cock — and feet — to offer him some business.
“Ten? Why do you need ten horseshoes?”
Miles was at a loss at first. He was from the modern-day real world, so he was only vaguely familiar with equestrian matters. A horseshoe seemed like the first, most obvious thing to buy from a blacksmith that wouldn’t attract any questions. It took him a few moments to realize that horseshoes were presumably purchased either one or four at a time. “I, uh… I mean twelve.”
“That is an important distinction,” he said. “What sort of beast are these for?”
Again, Miles didn’t know. He wanted to say “horse”, but that was silly, wasn’t it obvious? What other animal would a horseshoe be for? He should have learned more about horseshoes before trying this plan. Was he looking for like “mare” or “stallion”? Was Miles supposed to say something measured in “hands”? All of a sudden, Miles wished he could remember what a “palomino” was.
A foal?
He could only stammer, mouth agape like a shocked fish. “Uh… I need… horseshoes, for the… hooves… of a horse. Of three horses. Three horses worth of hooves.” Miles paused. “Right? Hooves?” They did call horse’s feet hooves, right? Now that he was saying it out loud, it sounded wrong. He looked like an idiot, and he blushed bright red.
“Who is your stableboy? I will ask him,” Goldforge said with a frown.
“Uh…” Miles blushed. This had become more difficult than he expected. “I don’t have one.”
“You have no stableboy? Who is tending to your three horses?” Goldforge’s big beard shook. He furrowed his hairy brow. Miles was entranced by the beads of sweat on Goldforge’s cheeks, sliding into his beard which was bushy enough to almost entirely cover his face.
“Uh… My friend,” Miles said. “I mean…! I, uh… I just need to buy horseshoes.” He paused. “No questions, just… can you make them?”
Goldforge sighed. “Yes, fine, certainly. You have come to the right place. Do not go to Gransome Mildew. He’s the only other blacksmith in town. He is an incompetent buffoon.”
“I’m not sure about Gransome,” Miles said with a big grin. He stepped into the forge. “He’s very strong. He-“
“I’m stronger!”
“Hmmm…” Miles felt a surge of desire as he touched Goldforge’s fleshy bicep, which firmed up. Goldforge flexed both of his arms, revealing a pair of massive biceps.
“Gransome Mildew is inattentive to detail, my fine human friend,” bellowed Goldforge as though hoping Gransome would hear him from across the village. Those arms were so big Miles planted his lips on one without thinking about it, and he slathered spit along the curve of his bicep while Miles’s hands carressed the hair-dappled flesh of his arm. Goldforge grunted but didn’t complain, he just assumed it was how people checked a man’s strength in Miles’s homeland. Many people have strange customs, and Goldforge Axetosser did not judge.
Well, that was not true. But he kept his opinion of foreign cultures to himself.
Well, that was also not true, but he did not tell a foreigner what he thought of his customs until after taking his money. So he let the petite human slurp the sweat off his biceps.
When he had had his fill of Goldforge’s arm-sweat, Miles realized how carefully he was being scrutinized, and he blushed. Then he said, “Take off your boots. I think the real measure of a man is his feet.”
Goldforge did so. He was glad to get those boots off because they were so hot. His wide feet were hairy — as all dwarven feet were — and thick, drenched with the day’s sweat. His feet were more muscled than a human man’s, more gnarled and of course hairy, with the tops covered in the coarse black hairs just like those on his leg and arms. “Indeed. Your people have marvelous views on judging a man, I always say. What are you looking for in feet? Size?”
“Size helps… But if I only looked for size, I’d hire ogres for everything,” Miles said as Goldforge unlaced his boots. The leather was soft and pliable, the horsehair laces frayed, and a long sigh chambered out of Goldforge’s broad chest when the boot was loosened enough to come away from his feet.
The skin of his feet prickled when exposed to the dry air of the forge. Goldforge pulled first one boot off, then the other.
As soon as he removed his boot, the most fragrantly funky odor Miles had ever smelled filled the air. He was dizzy, swooning, and he gripped Goldforge’s broad shoulders for support. He cried out. Goldforge looked at him, confused, standing still like a statue while Miles held onto those awe-inspiring shoulders. It was hard to support himself like that because Goldforge was so sweaty. His skin was slick and slippery.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Miles said, blushing. “I feel faint…” He kept clawing at Goldforge’s big, broad body as he slipped down him. Goldforge grunted and gripped Miles’s side to help him stay up. Miles said, “I’d like to do something with you, Goldforge… Do you have a door?”
The forge had no door, just a doorway, which opened right onto the street. Goldforge explained that as he stepped away fom Miles, whose hands glistened with a layer of sweat from Goldforge’s body. “I have a curtain. That will have to do for your human notions of propriety,” Goldforge said. “We do not worry about such things in dwarven kingdoms. A man at work is never an ugly sight.”, He attached a curtain to a rod running over the doorway, which gave some privacy to the forge. Instantly the hustle of the street faded from Miles’s consciousness, and the humid texture and overwhelming odor in the air from Goldforge’s feet and armpits grew stronger and stronger as the air grew staler and more fragrant with his manhood.
Miles rolled his eyes. “So… is it okay with you, if I, uh… do some stuff to your body?”
“What?”
“Nothing bad! It’ll feel good,” Miles said. “I’d like to lick your feet and maybe the rest of you a bit, and I’d like to taste your dick and I wanna swallow your cum.”
Goldforge was silent. He chewed on his lower lip. “This is… how you test that I am strong enough? Why does the taste of my feet matter? ‘Tis disgusting, I assure you. My feet are often stinky and-“
“I know, I know… honestly, no, this isn’t how I’m going to test you, I’m already going to hire you, Goldforge. This is just a bonus for fun. Don’t you have foot-lovers in your land?”
“Not in the Grimdigger Clan.” Goldforge crossed his arms over his chest. “I… I am not that sort of man. I thought your type liked hairless young humans and elves with willowy bodies and-“
“No, no, not me,” Miles said. “I like ’em big and hairy and stinky.”
Goldforge’s barrel-shaped voice filled the air. He guffawed. “That is disgusting. But fine.” He paused. “Fine if you buy twenty horseshoes.” His eyes lit up when Miles nodded. Twenty horseshoes would net him more than he made in a month.
Before Goldforge had even finished agreeing, Miles was already on the ground. His dick strained in his trousers. He planted his tongue on the bare top of Goldforge’s left foot, and Miles let out a moan as the taste of footy funk assaulted his senses. Even before his tongue touched the foot, he could taste it and smell it, the freshly sweated scent ramming into him, bringing tears to his eyes.
The sweat had poured over his foot when he wore those boots, and now it was slick all over. Miles slathered every inch with his tongue. He spat up on to the top of the foot and then sucked his spit down, gasping at how deliciously nasty the taste was — it tasted like stale spit and a locker room and a bit of cum.
Miles’s nose pressed into the layer of hair on top of Goldforge’s foot — he had moved onto the fresh right foot, and this time, he didn’t lick the whole thing. He savored it, dragging it out. He just licked the hairy top surface of the foot, getting up all the sweat that was there before he moved onto the toes.
He loved toes. The cracks between the toes was delightful, it was where sweat collected and never went away. So Miles could taste everything Goldforge had done since the last time he bathed — which was weeks ago. He could taste the hours he spent in the forge and the metal he had worked over and over; he tasted scorching sparks and moist, mildewy fur boots, and spilled lager and whiskey.
As he moved on to the bottom of Goldforge’s foot, licking up all the dirt that clung to his skin, Miles’s eyes roamed upward. He had to laugh at the shocked look on Goldforge’s face.
“Zanzibar’s axe!” Goldforge said with an annoyed grunt. He hadn’t expected this to feel good. “You are… You are licking my feet?”
Miles sat back and let Goldforge’s foot flop over his face. He licked it as much as he could, slurping up the spit he had already coated it with. He nodded. “You said I could…”
“Yes, yes… I just… I didn’t realize it would be like this. You are licking… It is dirty, and you like it?”
“You like it too, if I’m not mistaken,” Miles said, his voice muffled by the hairy big toe he sucked on. There was some yellowish dirt trapped under the gnarled toenail there, and Miles tried to suck it out with his mouth.
For the first time, Goldforge smiled a bit. “I am… I am interested in… I do not kive fir feet-“
“Right, right… Can you take your britches off?”
Goldforge raced to do so. His dick was already straining against the fabric. He dropped his britches to the floor, and his ten-inch dick hung free. Since he was shorter than a human, his above-average dick size looked almost comically large, Miles thought, and it would have extended almost to his knees if it weren’t already hard.
It was hard. Goldforge obviously liked getting his foot licked, since he had gotten hard even without touching his dick. His meaty hands gave himself a stroke before grunting and letting go. He closed his eyes and looked away, despite moaning every time Miles’s tongue came back into contact with his foot.
“I think you like it when I lick your feet,” Miles said. “Can you lay down on your back?”
Goldforge did so, blushing. He wasn’t used to letting anyone boss him around sexually — when a woman was willing to let Goldforge fuck her, he always took charge and told her what to do. It would have never occurred to him to ask her to suck his feet, yet Goldforge couldn’t deny that it felt amazing.
When Goldforge laid down, Miles had him put his feet on the ground, knees in the air, legs spread apart. That put his feet very near the sweat-soaked crotch and his bare cock and balls. Miles could go back and forth from sucking his feet to slurping down his cock, his ballsac and the sweaty tangled hair of his magnificent taint.
Miles knew very well that it was playing with his dick that would bring Goldforge to orgasm, which was why Miles did as little of it as he could without disappointing Goldforge. Miles licked his feet and his ankles before moving to his balls and his taint, guzzling down all the sweat he could find there. He choked up more spit that made a big foamy mess in the nest of black hairs beneath Goldforge’s crotch. His hairy belly jiggled.
“I’m gonna jack you off with my foot, okay?” Miles said softly. He made his voice sound feminine, and since his entire head and body was blocked from Goldforge’s view by Goldforge’s belly, Goldforge could pretend Miles was a woman.
In fact, Goldforge was beyond caring. Nobody had ever orally worshiped his cock like this. He felt like his balls might explode. He nodded, not even really comprehending that Miles was going to give him a footjob — there wasn’t even a word for that in the dwarven tongue.
Miles leaned back and curled around Goldforge’s legs, so he could insert his foot into Goldforge’s crotch while caressing his ankles and thighs — he couldn’t quite reach his foot in this position, but he could rub his ass against Goldforge’s toes.
His toes splayed to grip Goldforge’s cock. He had given lots of footjobs before, so Miles was able to bring him to orgasm like that. He stroked him slowly at first, his other foot exploring the fleshy warmth and hairy, moist mess of Goldforge’s crotch.
“Aw, may the gods bless you, silly human!” Goldforge’s breathlessly exclaimed. He couldn’t believe he was enjoying this double-barreled footjob so much. Humans were so weird.
His dick throbbed mightily between Miles’s toes. Miles moaned as well, his own hand flying up and down on his shaft. The first wad of cum sprayed from Goldforge’s dick.
“Shoot it on your foot,” Miles said softly. He aimed Goldforge’s dick for his foot, and the rest of his load sprayed right on his hairy foot and between his toes. Goldforge moaned and shook, his hefty body jiggling, sweat dripping from his body hair.
Miles remained under him, bathing in and swallowing all the fluids that flowed onto him: cum, sweat, saliva, all flowed down and over Miles’s face. Goldforge was so horny he drooled a little, mouth shaking, body flexing as the powerful muscles beneath his padding firmed up and relaxed over and over. He gasped hoarsely for air.
An orgasm hit Miles too, as he licked all the cum off Goldforge’s moistened foot. He had shot a huge load, and it trickled onto the ground and between Goldforge’s toes.
“Hmmmm…. You taste so good,” Miles said with a moan and a chuckle. His tongue slipped between those funky toes, slurping and guzzling down all the fluids he could find.
Goldforge was sprawled out, exhausted, spent, virtually asleep even though his mind told himself to get up — the post-orgasmic bliss coursing through his veins was so intense he couldn’t bring himself to do not, not even when he felt Miles shoot his own cumwad on Goldforge’s foot.
Miles sucked that off too. Goldforge barely noticed and didn’t care. His dick was limp, his whole lower half dripping with Miles’s saliva and Goldforge’s own cum. He had never shot such a huge amount.
Miles giggled and pulled off him, caressing Goldforge’s fleshy thighs. Miles kissed his dick and his taint — “hmmm…. I wanna suck your taint forever, Goldforge…” — then stuck his tongue in the hairy crack of Goldforge’s ass. He slid it around the best he could with Goldforge still laying on his back, and he managed to get more of the taste of his ass-goo and crack-sweat from the bit of his ass he could get to with his tongue. That made Goldforge shudder and shake — it felt good, but it was ticklish and weird too.
He gently pushed Miles away. “Alright, human, you had better buy those horseshoes as you promised.”
“Hmmm… I will. Can you deliver them to me?” Miles asked, his mind wandering. If he could buy some horses and have them waiting, Goldforge might come meet him in a stable. That would be amazing. They could play around again.
Goldforge chuckled, his belly shifting up and down, which caused a few drops of sweat to plop on Miles’s face. “No. That is what a farrier is for.”
Miles had never heard the word farrier. He just sighed and rolled his eyes. He was learning more about horseshoes than he had really intended. He thought he was doing good by learning that blacksmiths often smithed horseshoes; it seemed simple and small and easy to carry, that was why Miles had chosen it — if he asked for a sword, for example, Goldforge might want to know why. Miles hadn’t expected horseshoes to be so complicated.
“Well… I don’t have a farrier-“
“I do not know how to fit a shoe onto a horse,” Goldforge said. “You need a farrier-“
“No, that’s not…” Miles sighed. “Fine. Yeah. Do you know a good farrier?”
“Bah, there is a human farrier in town, but he is incompetent. He spends all his time with the ladies, seducing them,” Goldforge said. He flopped his limp dick over Miles’s face a few times, then stood. “He is useless.”
“Hmmm… I bet he has feet,” Miles said as he stood. He blushed a little, feeling tiny in comparison to the thick-bodied Goldforge. He quickly paid for the horseshoes and put his clothes back on, his mind already racing with the possibilities.
In just a few days, Miles was going to need a farrier — whatever that was — and he could easily pay him for another taste of outrageously raunchy feet.
Miles couldn’t wait to learn what a farrier was.

The Cocky Gangsta Bottoms

Braxton has gotta do something for his girlfriend, and that means letting the twinky barber Desmond go to town all over his alpha gangsta body!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here

It was one of the slowest days since Desmond had been working at the Cityside Barbershop of Lawndale. He sat on his barber’s chair, playing idly on his phone. There was nothing to do. Virtually no one had come in all day.
People didn’t seem to get haircuts when the weather was very hot or very cold. Today it was very hot, even hotter than it normally was in the middle of August in Baltimore. It was like a kiln outside. But the weather had been kind of weird lately, Desmond thought, because last night was very cool for August. Desmond got up in the middle of the night to get a blanket from his closet. So maybe that was why business was so slow today. The weather was both too hot and too cold for haircuts.
He was horny too. The Cityside Barbershop was a nationwide chain with a reputation — what happened there, stayed there, so black men who wanted to get their nut off could always swing downlow discretely. That was plenty fine with Desmond, with a limp wrist, a girlish figure and a seductive lilt to his voice. He greatly appreciated the men who came through on the downlow.
Today, however, none of his regulars came through asking for any dome. Desmond gave three haircuts, none of which resulted in a chance to swing on any nigga dick.
Then one of his regulars did come in — Braxton Bird, a swagger-heavy gangsta in the Bloods — just a few minutes before close. Finally. Desmond straightened his back and nodded at him. Braxton had just come in last week for a haircut, so he must want something else.
He wants to bust a nut. They all do, Desmond thought and licked his lips.
“Hi, Braxton,” Desmond said. He rotated around the barber’s chair so Braxton could sit in it, though Desmond did not think he would do so.
Braxton’s homies stayed out on the sidewalk, holding back nervous laughter and sneaking peeks into the barbershop. It looked like they thought Braxton was going to back out of coming in here.
“Yo, Desmond,” Braxton said. His deep, booming voice was authoritarian, like he expected to be obeyed. “We gotta go in the back and talk.”
Was he upset about something? Did he not like the haircut last week? Desmond couldn’t imagine why, but he didn’t know of any other reason Braxton might be mad at him. Desmond shivered. Braxton had a reputation as a gangsta, and Desmond didn’t know how real that reputation was. He at least had gang connections. If he thought Desmond betrayed him or snitched to the cops about him (or about anything), he might become violent.
On the other hand, Desmond had gang connections too. This was a Bloods neighborhood. And Desmond was not a snitch.
So Desmond followed him into the backroom nervously. The other barbers watched and snickered. They all knew why Braxton was here — or at least why they assumed Braxton was here. It was considered rude to mention it in the shop, but that didn’t always stop them.
“Have fun back there, nigga…” murmured the barber Skelton.
Braxton ignored Skelton. When the door swung shut behind him, he took a deep breath.
“Yo, uh…”
“You mad at me?” Desmond opened his eyes wide and cocked his head to the side, giving Braxton an insouciant grin, like a girl. He delicately teased his fingers over the waistband of Braxton’s boxers, which were visible above his sagging jeans.
“No, no,” Braxton said. He licked his lips and scratched his fingers through the dense beard of coarse hairs on his chin. “I, uh… I was dealin’ dat rock, and uh… Well you ain’t gotta know that part.” He sighed. His confidence was deflated in comparison to his usual cocky, braggy self. Just a few days ago, he walked in here as though he owned the place, chains jingling, swagger dripping off him like a rap star. Braxton closed his eyes. “Ain’t a big deal. Gangsta shit. You know my nigga Jaycee and me, we fucked around one time, when we was in lockup for a weekend. Last year.”
“Oh. Sweet.” Desmond straightened his back. “Jaycee Sands?”
Braxton nodded. “So it ain’t a big deal. I took it in the ass once already. Weren’t nobody’s bitch. It was on the downlow.” He paused. “I mean, not real downlow, that’s why I’m talkin’ ’bout it. It just wasn’t no big deal then, and so it ain’t gonna be a big deal now.”
“What ain’t a big deal? What are you talking about?” Desmond said. He placed one finger on Braxton’s barrel-chest, overtop his shirt, and then traced a line down to his sagging jeans. His pants sagged low enough to feel the pubic hair beneath Braxton’s boxer shorts even before he got to the waist of his jeans. Braxton took a deep breath and his chest muscles undulated like he was aroused by Desmond’s touch but unwilling to touch him back.
“My niggas… Uh, we was hangin’ out wit’ a couple girls last night,” Braxton said. “And we, uh… We been playin’ a game wit’ em.”
“What game?”
“Uh… Truth or Dare,” he said. He took a deep breath. “And, uh… We dared ’em to do some girl-girl shit. You know…”
“Sounds hot.” Desmond shrugged.
“And they dared me, uh…”
Desmond’s mind whirred and he finally realized where Braxton was going with this. “To do something on the downlow? Do girls even know about that?”
He nodded. “These do. But they knew I done let you jerk me off. So it can’t be that. They said… I gotta let you, y’know… Be on top.” His big burly muscles shook.
Desmond’s mind whirred. Was this giant alpha male gangsta offering what he seemed to be offering? Desmond assumed he must have misunderstood what was happening.
“Uh… what?”
“I’ll jerk you off,” Braxton said. “I done it befo’. Don’t think you makin’ me yo’ bitch or somethin’.”
“Course not, sweetheart. I’ll be so gentle…” Desmond said, his voice light and saccharine though he was actually so excited he wanted to shadowbox the air. His heart skipped a beat. He still thought he must have misunderstood what was happening, but he didn’t want to fight against it. He smiled at Braxton. Desmond sighed. “So… you have to let me ramrod you, in exchange for which some girls will let you watch ’em do girl stuff?”
He nodded.
“I don’t have to watch the girl stuff, do I?” Desmond asked.
He shook his head.
“Good. Cuz vaginas are kinda gross,” Desmond said. “I think if I saw that many at once, I might throw up. I don’t know how you put your tongue in there.”
“You put your tongue in butts! Man-butts. That’s nasty.”
Desmond shrugged. “Yeah, but sexy butts! Children come out of vaginas, Braxton! Children!”
“That… I don’t fuck ’em when they’re giving birth!”
Desmond rolled his eyes. “Still. Vaginas look like the forehead of a Star Trek alien.”
“You wanna do it or not?” Braxton asked.
“I do.” Desmond quickly stripped off his own clothes. Desmond watched Braxton undress. “No one is going to know you went through with this.”
“What?”
“You won’t be able to prove to the girls you did it,” Desmond said. Then there was a loud banging sound, and he jumped. When he realized it was Braxton’s friends opening a window to watch, Desmond smiled and pretended to be so frightened by the sound that he collapsed in Braxton’s bare arms. “Oh my god, robbers!” He nuzzled Braxton’s bulging biceps.
“They ain’t robbers. They my niggas,” Braxton said. “Fuck off! Get outta here!” But his friends didn’t go anywhere. The window was very low to the ground outside since the backroom was technically below ground — the Cityside Barbershop of north Lawndale was in the basement of a building, accessible only through a narrow stone staircase from the street. The window that was accessible from the alley was one of those narrow half-windows just above the asphalt. Braxton’s niggas had to get on the pavement and crowd in to watch.
“You ain’t get started yet?!”
“Ramrod the fuck outta that nigga, Desmond! Make him yo’ prison bitch!”
Braxton snorted and flared his nostrils as he stripped off his clothes. He went very slow, reluctant, while Desmond’s eyes went from excited to drooling in a matter of moments. He folded all of his clothes, even his drawers, and he kept his chains on, jingling when he moved. Braxton had a broad, muscular chest and plenty of thickness. Each ass-cheek was like an overinflated volleyball, tight and hard and expansive. His butt was also juicy and just slightly hairy, a perfect rear on a perfectly imperfect-shaped man.
“Swallow that nigga nut, Braxton!”
Braxton stood awkwardly. He didn’t know how to begin. His massive brown dick dangled between his legs. Desmond tried to joust — that was a simple act, so he thought it’d be good to start with that — but Braxton was much too tall. Even on his toes, Desmond couldn’t get his cock to touch Braxton’s.
So he led Braxton by the cock to a corner of the backroom where there was a barber’s chair waiting to be reupholstered because there was a bullet-hole in it. Desmond stood on the barber’s chair, which finally made it possible to jack both him and Braxton off at once.
Desmond stroked both throbbing shafts. His own dick throbbed forcefully, like there was something in there trying to escape, because he was hard and every moment he touched Braxton’s big dick brought him closer to orgasm. Braxton remained limp, ignoring his dick as he eyed his niggas through the window with a hostile glare. They leered and teased him from afar.
“Come on, you do it,” Desmond said with a giggle. “Jack us both off.” He enjoyed playing with Braxton’s soft meat, but he wanted to see Braxton do it. He kissed Braxton on his thick, scruffy neck and his powerful pecs.
Braxton scowled but grabbed both cocks. He leaned his head back and looked away. He spat on the cement floor. He took both shafts in one hand, shivered when his limp dick touched Desmond’s hard one, and stroked them both together.
“You like dat, Braxton?!
“Ooh, lookit that gangsta meat! Gettin’ hard, ain’t he? Gonna get love from Desmond soon.”
“I say shut the fuck up, niggas! You think I won’t come out there and kick yo’ ass?” Braxton shouted. His chest heaved, and he pounded on his pecs. His upper half was ruddy and raging, but his lower half was awkward, limp and too-nervous to be excited about anything. His meaty hand absent-mindedly stroked Desmond’s dick, which throbbed and leaked precum into his fingers. The fluids coated his shaft, proving lubrication for Braxton’s hand. He didn’t seem to notice because he was focused on threatening his friends. “We agreed we wouldn’t make fun of whoever did this. That’s a rule, niggas!”
“We said we wouldn’t make fun of you after it’s done, nigga. That’s what we said. That was what you said. It was yo’ idea. It was yo’ idea to draw straws too. We was gonna let Desmond choose.”
“Fuck you!”
They were laughing so hard they were crying. Desmond smiled as Braxton roared in anger.
“Dem bitches better do it so good,” he said. “Fuck… I wanna see ’em do it all. Lacy Nichols is gonna be there, nigga. Hot damn, if I see her sticking a dildo in that thick girl’s ass… I will bust my nut right there.”
His dick finally perked up as his eyes grew cloudy, picturing the women. Braxton’s meaty shaft grew hard beneath his hand, and it throbbed next to Desmond’s dick. Now that he was erect, his cock was much bigger than Desmond’s.
“If you wait until they tell you what to do, it’ll be more embarrassing than if you just do it yo’self, sweetie,” Desmond said. He acted as feminine as possible to make this easier for Braxton, who growled and looked at Desmond as though his flamboyant lilt made Braxton horny enough to forget that Desmond was a man.
He nodded and flared his nostrils again. He sunk to his knees, ignoring the catcalls and jeers of his friends. He opened his mouth.
“Open wide, bitch!
“Swallow that meat, nigga! Swallow it good!”
“No teeth! If you feel teeth, Desmond, you can punch him. He’ll get the message!”
Desmond’s cock slid past his lips, and Braxton choked from the moment he tasted it. His moist tongue twitched when Desmond’s cock entered his mouth, sending a shiver of desire up Desmond’s spine.
His cock was already hard, so when it reached the back of Braxton’s throat, he was already leaking precum. It flowed down Braxton’s gullet, making him wince and writhe. Despite his discomfort, he soon relaxed and got better at deep-throating it — his massive body helped, since he had a massive mouth and a massive throat to go with it.
“Throat his face, Desmond!”
Desmond was planning on doing that anyway. That was how Braxton did it when he came in for a haircut, so it made sense to throat him back now that their situations were reversed. Desmond felt tiny touching Braxton’s head — Desmond’s fingers were small and delicate in comparison.
The haircut was really very good, Desmond thought. He was proud of himself. Thinking about that as his cock slid down Braxton’s throat made him giggle like a schoolgirl. His fingers massaged Braxton’s scalp through his hair.
Desmond began grinding his hips, rubbing his cock over every corner of Braxton’s mouth. Despite his initial reluctance, Braxton almost seemed to be enjoying himself. He gurgled and slathered spit all along Desmond’s throbbing cockshaft.
The dense nest of beard hair scratched at Desmond’s cock and his balls when they slapped against his chin. The hairs were coarse and kinky, and thick enough that it looked like Desmond’s dick disappeared into Braxton’s beard rather than his mouth. Spit and precum dripped from Braxton’s lips and soaked his beard.
At last Braxton pulled off, just as Desmond began to get worried he would blow his load early. He grimaced and looked away, holding back a gag as a ball of fluids leaked from his mouth and landed with an audible plop on the floor.
“Nice mouth, Braxton! You can do me next!
“Yeah, but you gotta shave that beard first!
“Fuck you, niggas! I’ll kick yo’ ass when we done in here,” Braxton said. “I don’t gotta let you watch them girls get nasty, man! I’ll make you leave!”
“Ain’t up to you, nigga. You ain’t the grand marshall of they pussies. They made an agreement wit’ all of us. As long as one nigga let Desmond ram ‘im, they gonna let all of us watch ’em get nasty wit’ each other.”
“Ah shit, you think they gonna scissor? I hope they scissor.”
As the boys outside laughed and argued over what they could get the girls to do to each other, Desmond thought it was funny that the girls didn’t want to watch. They wanted Braxton to humiliate himself, but they weren’t interested in seeing it happen. The boys, meanwhile, were desperate to see some girl-on-girl action, no matter what it took.
“Don’t worry, I’ll lick you till you good and loose, nigga, and I’ll give you a reacharound,” Desmond said.
Braxton grunted as he bent over. He first grabbed his ankles like a soldier at boot camp waiting to get it up the ass from his drill sergeant. But he was so tall that was not at all an effective position for Desmond. He tapped Braxton’s hefty asscheeks until he got down on all fours.
That was perfect. Desmond dived in, tongue-first. He slammed his tongue deep into Braxton’s asshole, in the thicket of hair in his asscrack. He wanted to shock him into opening up right away, which worked even better than he thought it would — that hole parted like the Red Sea. Desmond’s tongue fit easily inside.
“Make love to that nigga, Desmond! Shoot some babies up inside him!”
He could have licked that big burly asshole for hours. Desmond loved giving rimjobs, and he had never gotten to taste Braxton’s insides before.
But he was ready to move on. He left a finger in the hole to keep it loose as he got ready to ram.
“Here I go, baby, tell me if it hurts too bad,” Desmond said, quietly enough that only Braxton could hear.
When his dick pushed in, a shudder of pleasure ran up Desmond’s spine, while Braxton grunted. He lifted his head and rolled his eyes. He bit his lip to stifle a louder sound.
“Ah, damn, there it is, Braxton! That’s a dick in yo’ ass!”
“Fuck you, niggas! You know this ain’t a big deal, right?! I ain’t a bitch! He ain’t a real man!” Braxton barked. Then he sniffled. “Sorry. I mean… You is a real man, Desmond. Just… you ain’t a gangsta. Don’t count.”
Desmond nodded. That was fine with Desmond. It all seemed silly to him.
A long, low howl escaped from Braxton’s throat as the last of Desmond’s cock slid inside him. His massive ass swallowed up Desmond’s dick just like his mouth had done. His insides were soft and warm and tight, but just loose enough that Desmond could slip in and out. He had never rammed anyone quite so perfect, he thought as he slapped each of Braxton’s big brown cheeks. He watched them jiggle and felt the muscle tense beneath his touch.
“Ha ha! He like it! He lovin’ it! Can I go next, nigga?!”
“I do not! No way!” Braxton groaned. He wrenched his head back and groaned. It sounded like a moan of pain, but Desmond could tell it wasn’t — or rather, there was some real pain there, that was understandable, but even more than that was a wave of prostate orgasm rolling through Braxton’s body. His muscles all tensed, turning him into a giant slab of warm marble into which Desmond slammed his body.
As Braxton squirmed in pain and pleasure, Desmond reached around him. Desmond was so much smaller than Braxton that it wasn’t easy to do. He had to really stretch to get his hands onto Braxton’s dick.
But as soon as he did, he saw that he was right — Braxton was as hard as he had ever been. He must be really enjoying this, or at least enjoying part of it. Luckily from their perspective, Braxton’s friends couldn’t see that he was hard. All they saw was Braxton’s intense squirming and his agonized grunts.
Desmond decided to lie. “Come on, you gotta get yo’ dick hard, nigga,” he said. The men outside laughed, calling Braxton a limp-dick nigga, but it was clear they were disappointed — it’d have been easier to make fun of him if he was hard when he got it up the ass.
Of course, his dick was hard. He grunted as it throbbed and leaked precum into Desmond’s fingers. He tried to whisper something, but he couldn’t quite form any words. Desmond could tell he wanted to say thanks for Desmond pretending he wasn’t hard, and Desmond responded by affectionately licking the small of Braxton’s back.
The more Desmond plowed back and forth, the more intense was Braxton’s reaction. Since he was such a big man, his every motion provoked an even bigger response in Desmond’s body as he tried to keep up. Braxton even lifted himself up, forcing Desmond to climb onto his back.
He couldn’t really hump effectively in this position. His dick was all the way deep inside Braxton, throbbing within his guts, but his feet were not on the floor anymore. Braxton thrashed and grunted, and Desmond could do little more than hold on to his meaty shoulder with one hand, while his other hand gripped Braxton’s cock — he couldn’t even get enough leverage to masturbate Braxton, all he did was hold on as Braxton squirmed.
“Wreck dat nigga, nigga!”
“You can use his tears as lube, Desmond!”
From a distance, to the men in the window, it no doubt looked like Braxton was in tremendous pain, like tiny Desmond was holding him down and ramrodding him hard. But in fact, Desmond could barely maintain his position. He wiggled his hips a bit, moving his cock around within Braxton’s ass, but all the power came from Braxton, who shifted and moved, tightened and relaxed his ass, and humped his hips so he that humped Desmond’s hand and penetrated himself with Desmond’s cock at the same time.
In the end, Braxton even shot his load first. Desmond clutched desperately to his shoulder with his left hand, while his right held onto Braxton’s throbbing cock.
Cum sprayed over Desmond’s fingers, bursting forth in a thick torrent that coated the floor of the backroom. Braxton moaned loudly, and the pleasurable tenor of his voice was unmistakeable. His spine shook and he threw his head back as beads of sweat dappled his flesh.
“Hot damn, nigga, looks like Desmond gettin’ you good!”
“You wanna take my dick next, Braxton?!”
Braxton shook his head and grunted, heaving deeply for air. He finally relaxed enough to drop back down to all fours, which placed Desmond back on his feet on the ground.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He had no sooner flexed his hips one time when an intense orgasm began deep within him. His cock slid all the way into Braxton’s ass, making the bigger man contort all over again.
Braxton’s exhausted knees buckled, and he slid to the floor. His belly landed with a splat in the puddle of cum he had just spewed out, while he groaned into the cement floor.
With his arms spreading over Braxton’s thick back, massaging the muscles there, Desmond shot his own load deep into Braxton’s ass. Though he couldn’t see it of course, it felt like a huge wad of cum, thick and creamy, spreading into Braxton’s guts. They both moaned together, Desmond’s weaker voice harmonizing with Braxton’s baritone boom.
He kept going as he came, because Desmond loved doing that — they called it butter-churning. His cock slid in and out, lubricated by his own load. Pangs of unimaginable bliss shot up Desmond’s spine, and judging from the way Braxton sighed at the same time, he experienced the same thing.
Since he kept penetrating Braxton, churning butter in his guts, Desmond’s cum soon turned into a thick, frothy mess. It dripped out of Braxton’s ass, the pearly white color of Desmond’s cum contrasting with the deep brown of Braxton’s skin. It soaked into his ass-hair and dripped between his legs onto the floor.
At last, Desmond was limp. He could have laid like that, head resting on Braxton’s broad sweat-dripping back, for hours. But he could tell that Braxton was getting calmer, which meant his ass was going to start hurting now that the adrenaline rush was over.
“You like that, big boi! Sure look like you loved it!”
So Desmond pulled out. He kissed Braxton’s bare shoulders, and pulled out some wetnaps he always kept back here. He wiped off his own cock and carefully cleaned all of the cum and santorum that had dripped out of Braxton’s ass.
Aside from wincing a little when Desmond’s fingers and his wetnaps touched Braxton’s sensitive asshole, Braxton remained still and silent, recovering. Then he rolled over to let Desmond wipe off the cum from his belly and his limp, pulsating cock. He smiled bashfully.
“That weren’t so bad, nigga,” he said. He whispered, looking suspiciously towards the window as though his friends might try to climb in (which was impossible anyway, since it was only a very narrow half-window). “Don’t tell them I said that though. Tell them I didn’t cum. Tell them I didn’t even get hard. Tell them I’m too gangsta.”
“Okay. The girls didn’t say you had to cum too?”
“Nah,” he said as he stretched his legs and stood on weak knees. “That was it.” He smiled. “Ah, hell yeah, they gonna let me watch. I bet they let me finger ’em too while they do it.”
“Good luck,” Desmond said. “If you ever wanna play Truth or Dare with me, come on by.”
He smiled politely, but he shook his head. “That’s a baby’s game. We only play it wit’ bitches cuz they act like fuckin’ babies,” he said. He slowly got dressed. “But, I mean… maybe we could mess around sometime. I mean, not like we normally do. But, y’know…”
“Yeah,” Desmond said. He waited to put his own clothes on so he could watch Braxton’s naked body for as long as possible. “I do know, and I’d like that very much.”

On the Downlow

As the city burns in riots over police violence, recently released ex-cons Thumper and his prison wife Angel find themselves sharing the night with a handsome young thug named Rico… Can Rico make it through the night with his dignity intact?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

There were three people at the apartment that night as the sultry heat led to tempers flaring in the city streets outside. Timmy Angel was one, and another was Thumper White. The two of them were released from prison at the same time a few weeks ago and were living together in a small apartment.
As he looked out the window, where an occasional rioter fled cops heading towards Sycamore or a fracas of rowdy protestors spilled down the ave, Angel shook his ass and made a cock-swallowing face for Thumper, who growled and pursed his full lips. He licked his teeth and sucked on his tongue.
“Yo, whiteboi, you pretty on the eyes,” he said. “You got ass like a homeboy. I like that.” His eyes roved up and down Angel’s body, taking him in. He took a deep breath. “I already invited over this homeboy named Rico. I guess we gonna have a three-way. Rico’ll do it. That okay with you?”
“Hell yeah!” Angel said, and Thumper laughed — or rather, he lowered his eyes to slits and breathed slightly, which was as close to laughter as he could get without losing his hardcore-menacing-thug look.
“Good. I be in charge, whiteboi,” he said. “I set the rules-” He stopped because a torrent of sirens filled the streets with shrieks and then faded to a distant whine..
Thumper and Angel went to the window to look outside. There was smoke rising into the air in the distance, it looked like the library had burned down, or some building close to it. There was shouting, screaming, the rattatat of gunfire echoing in the night-time sky.
“You think this shit gonna lead to change?” Thumper asked. Angel wrapped an arm around his waist and hugged him like a girlfriend. Thumper patted him gently, and Angel nuzzled his muscles. He smelled like cocoa butter.
“Uh… Well, that’s hard to predict,” Angel said. He shrugged. “Things usually don’t change, but somehow… things are always different.”
Someone knocked on the door then, conveniently rescuing Angel from trying to come up with a better answer.
The man at the door was Rico. He was much younger than Thumper, at barely twenty-one years old, and he was a handsome, slimly-muscled thug with dimples and an ass so thick it looked like a mismatched body part, like he had stolen it from a bigger, taller man. He wore baggy jeans that were slung low enough for Angel to get a good look at his shorts-clad asscheeks. He sauntered in, swagger thick as pudding, and he sucked on his teeth. He bristled when introduced to Angel, like he done reach his limit for meeting white men. He lowered his eyes and glowered. Outside, there was the sound of twisting metal and a loud crash — a car accident, somewhere far away.
“Yo, homeboy,” Rico said to Thumper once he was in the apartment. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I… I’ll do whatevuh you want, but let’s just do it.”
“Whatchoo mean?” Thumper narrowed his eyes to slits.
“I mean… I know…” he laughed to cover up his nervousness. “I know, uh… them other homeboys told me why you wanted me to come over here. I-“
“Them other homeboys shouldn’t be talkin’ ’bout shit they don’t understand. I told you to come here tonight cuz you workin’ fo’ me now that I’m outta the joint. We gotta get to know each other,” Thumper said. “You gonna be slingin’ my rock, so I gotta know what you is like.” He clasped Rico on the bicep and squeezed. It started off like an affectionate pat, but Thumper left his hand there, massaging Rico’s arm.
“Yeah, uh… I already know what you like,” Rico said with a sigh. “You into that prison shit.” He shrugged. “Whatevuh. I’m hardcore, I’ll do hardcore shit.”
A long awkward silence ensued. Angel’s heart skipped a beat. There was gunfire outside, but Thumper and Rico ignored it.
“Take off yo’ shirt, homeboy,” Thumper said after a long pause. He flared his nostrils. “I gotta make sure you ain’t wearin’ a wire.”
Rico took off his shirt. He had been a basketball player in high school, and he had largely kept up the same training regiment even now, giving him a perfect six-pack and a powerful chest. He carried himself like he thought he was bigger and taller than his actual size. Thumper would say he was uppity like a fog in the sky. But Thumper do enjoy a pretty young nigga with dimples and a booty too big for his britches.
“I mean… Thumper, you ain’t gotta… y’know, grope me and shit,” Rico said. He glared again at Angel. “I’ll do it. I know… They said you was gonna, y’know, make me jerk you off.”
“I ain’t a ramrod,” Thumper said.
It did not look like Rico believed that. “Well, uh… just… you ain’t gotta seduce me, homeboy. I done fuck around on the downlow before. C’mon, tell me what to do.”
“Maybe I like seducin’ homeboys, man. Shut yo’ mouth. Don’t just say it. Seduction is half the fun,” Thumper said. He delicately kissed Rico on the side of the cheek and frowned when he winced. “Today is yo’ lucky day, Rico. Cuz I got this pretty whiteboi right here. He gonna service us both. You ain’t gotta do nothin’ but sit here and look handsome.”
“Oh… okay…”
Thumper cleared his throat. “Well, you gotta do a few things besides look handsome. Go on and do some push-ups, homeboy.”
Rico rolled his eyes. He just wanted to get straight to the nasty stuff so he could finish up with that and leave. He was missing the riot. If he went out there soon, he could still get into a few stores and do some looting.
He got down on the ground to do his push-ups, while Thumper and Angel sat on the couch together. Angel buried his head in Thumper’s arms. Thumper had taken his shirt off as well, so Angel could rest his face in Thumper’s bicep and smell his funky armpit while they watched Rico work out.
The lines on his back flexed and writhed as though his muscles were trying to escape. He had a little padding over his flesh — the perfect amount of padding in Angel’s eyes — but when he was stretched and straining to do more push-ups, all that padding seemed to disappear, leaving behind nothing but powerful curves gleaming with beads of sweat.
Angel kissed Thumper’s bicep, which flexed beneath his lips. Thumper didn’t look away from Rico though, and he listened intently as Rico grunted with each push-up. Angel smiled. Rico seemed to be surprised by how exhausted he was, like he had thought he was just supposed to do a few push-ups to pump up his muscles, but Thumper had him continue until he struggled to keep going.
Thumper watched like a coach angry over an insolent player, or like he was annoyed Rico hadn’t turned into a woman already. His muscles flexed where Angel touched him.
Then Thumper kissed Angel on the lips — he grabbed Angel’s hair and lifted his head. He kissed him as though it was an attack, planting his lips on Angel’s and shoving his tongue into Angel’s mouth. He held Angel’s head in place and opened his mouth wide.
Angel was so shocked by the suddenness of it that for a moment his tongue just lay there like a dead fish. Then he kissed Thumper back, their hearts pounding in sync as Angel contorted in Thumper’s powerful grasp.
“Ugh! That’s that nasty-nasty,” Rico said. He’d stopped his push-ups and was on his knees now, his upper body gleaming with sweat.
“Shut yo’ face. I ain’t say to stop yo’ push-ups, did I?” Thumper snarled. “They tol’ me that the only reason they give you any responsibility is on account of yo’ muscles, homeboy. So I gotta make sure they as big as can be. Do a hundred more push-ups.”
Rico shook his head and rolled his eyes like he didn’t want to do it. He had already done at least a hundred push-ups. His eyes flickered to the riots outside the window. “It’s hot in here,” Rico said. “You got air conditioning?”
“Nah. Take off yo’ pants if you hot.”
Rico hesitated like he didn’t want to do it, but he accepted that it was going to happen eventually anyway. He took off his shoes and pants. His ass was perfectly plump, cradled by his tight boxer shorts.
The sight of his cheeks, fabric clinging to the skin by the fresh sweat that dripped over his ass, made Angel so hard he had to resist jacking himself off right then and there. But instead Thumper kissed him some more.
Finally Rico groaned and collapsed onto the floor on his belly. “That was a hundred, Thumper. That was a hundred thirty-three total.”
“Was it? You sure you count right?”
Rico lay flat on the floor on his belly, covered in sweat. His arms and shoulders quivered. “Yeah, nigga. I sure. I counted right.”
It seemed clear to Angel that Thumper didn’t know if that was or was not right — Thumper was making out with Angel the entire time. It would be impressive if he maintained a count of Rico’s push-ups at the same time.
“You dance, homeboy?”
“What?”
“I axt you if you dance. homeboy.” Thumper spat his words like he didn’t tolerate repeating himself. He scowled at Rico.
“Uh… Yeah. I mean… Sorta.”
“What? You best get better at answerin’ questions, nigga,” Thumper said. He kissed Angel again, frowning at Rico as he watched his body tremble on the floor. Angel nuzzled the tight, tattooed flesh of Thumper’s neck. He inhaled of his delicious old-homeboy scent — Thumper wasn’t really old, but he smelled like an old man, like all the older homeboys he had lived with behind bars until just a few days ago. He smelled like an old homeboy whom time had left behind.
That was fine with Angel. He didn’t like conflict, but he loved Thumper’s body. He tongued Thumper’s prison-toned chest and arms as Thumper settled back to watch Rico, who stood on weak knees at Thumper’s command.
“Dance for me, homeboy. Make it girlish,” Thumper said.
Rico had that macho awkwardness around dancing, especially in an unusual situation like this. He actually danced a lot — with girls, in darkened nightclubs, when no one really paid much attention to him, and where there was loud music playing with an easy beat to dance to. None of that was true right now, so Rico did little more than writhe awkwardly.
But Thumper nodded as though that was acceptable. He looked Rico up and down hungrily, like he wanted to reach out and touch Rico but wasn’t allowed to. Instead his hands roamed over Angel’s smooth body.
“You a pretty whiteboi.”
Thumper’s fingers were callused and work-roughened from his time behind bars. He had worked on a chain gang nearly every day of his thirty-four years behind bars. He had built most of the new prison infirmary building, and Angel could sense all of that hard work in this thickened pads of his fingertips caressing Angel’s smooth skin.
Now that he had gotten started, Rico was dancing a little better, with more confidence. He bounced around in front of the couch, his massive cock and balls flopping beneath his boxer shorts.
“Turn around and get yo’ ass up in the air,” Thumper said. He resumed kissing Angel, as Rico backed himself up and started to shake his ass right in front of Thumper.
His boxer shorts stuck to the skin of his ass as he shook his cheeks. Thumper watched those massive globes tremble and vibrate in sync with an unheard beat — the only sounds in the apartment, aside from moist kissing and Rico’s tired grunts, were the pop of gunfire, the blare of sirens and the shouts of an ongoing brawl outside.
Then, without warning, Thumper rammed his entire face between those cheeks, planting his nose in the fabric covering Rico’s asscrack. Thumper loudly inhaled, like Rico was cocaine and Thumper wanted to snort him up, and he sighed at the intensely sweaty smell in his nostrils.
“Take off yo’ shorts now, nigga,” Thumper said. He guided Angel’s hand to his crotch. Thumper still wore his jeans, so Angel massaged his cock through the denim. It was rock-hard and throbbing already.
Rico bristled as he dropped his shorts. His brown ass was perfect, and his mandingo dick was so big Angel could see it from behind, where it dangled between his legs. It was like a forearm, Angel thought, a veiny slab of meat that Angel wanted to suck to the root.
“Keep dancing.”
He sighed again but did so. His bare asscheeks shook in front of Angel’s face, but Angel focused more on kissing Thumper’s nipples, sucking on his powerful pecs, as he stroked Thumper’s cock.
The smell of his fresh sweat was alluring. It was intense and it brought tears to Angel’s eyes. He wanted to lick that ass more than anything.
“Go’n, whiteboi, do it,” Thumper murmured. “I wanna watch you do it.”
Angel’s heart thrilled as he dove between those cheeks. Rico yelped in surprise, and he stopped moving, bent over with his ass high in the air. Angel had to stretch his neck to reach his ass.
The sweat tasted just as good as he hoped. He licked each asscheek, and a jolt of desire shot through him as he felt Rico tremble beneath Angel’s tongue’s touch.
It was Thumper who guided Angel’s head. He grabbed Angel’s hair and rubbed his face up and down between Rico’s cheeks, murmuring and groaning as Angel licked and sucked on every inch of Rico’s backside.
“Turn around, Rico,” Thumper said.
Rico did. His eyes were half-closed, and his dick was half-hard, sticking straight out from his hairy crotch. He was a big man with a cock to match; it was at least twelve inches long and it wasn’t even fully erect yet.
“You hard, homeboy,” Thumper said with an annoyed grunt.
Rico winced and frowned. “I don’t mean nothin’ by that, Thumper. E’ryone knows you into this shit. I just like gettin’ my asshole licked. Not many girls is into that.”
“Hmm-hmm,” Thumper said. “I need to check ya for contraband, homeboy. You got a wire under there?” His hand snaked between Rico’s legs and under his balls. He thoroughly fingered the flesh there, making Rico’s dick twitch and grow even harder.
Angel started sucking without really thinking about it. He got the feeling Thumper wanted him to, and of course Angel wanted to, and it seemed Rico was eager to just get his nut off so he could go out and loot with his homeboys. So Angel swallowed his cock while Thumper played with Rico’s balls.
“Damn…” Rico laughed to cover up his anxiety. “I, uh… I know you ain’t checkin’ for a wire under my balls.”
“Shut yo’ facehole, Rico.”
He deep-throated Rico’s cock even before Rico started throating him down. He nestled his nose deep in Rico’s crotch, his tongue slathering saliva all along the shaft as it pulsated inside Angel’s throat. He couldn’t quite deep-throat the whole thing, but he enjoyed trying.
One of Thumper’s hands was on the root of Rico’s cock, stroking it, just that little length that Angel couldn’t fit into his mouth. Thumper’s other hand wrapped around Angel’s body, gently stroking Angel’s dick — since Angel was on the verge of blowing his load already, Thumper didn’t fully jack him off, or Angel would have cum in seconds.
“You ain’t gotta cover it up, Thumper. No one cares. They know you did time for the organization, nigga,” Rico said. His voice broke and he shuddered as a wave of pleasure went through him. Sour-sweet precum coated Angel’s tongue. Rico grunted. “They got respect for you even if you a pervert.”
“I said shut yo’ facehole, Rico,” Thumper said. “I’s just gettin’ to know you, that’s all. We gotta know each inside and out, nigga. ‘Specially inside.” Then he pulled on Angel’s hair to drag his face off Rico’s cock. In one smooth motion he leaned in and licked Rico’s shaft, from root to tip, slowly and with great care like if he did it wrong, Rico might shatter into a million pieces. Rico shuddered. Thumper smiled, then reinserted Angel onto his cock. “Now I know you a little better, Rico. I need to rely on you to do yo’ part, and I need to know how you work. Now I know how a piece of you work.”
“My cock? You know how my cock work, homeboy? It work the same as any other cock, nigga-” Rico cut himself off and blanched as Thumper scoffed at him. Rico bit his lip. Then his dick spasmed and his balls crawled up in his sac. Angel could feel the orgasm beginning in his cockroot and extending out in waves. Rico’s muscles flexed as Thumper massaged his chest and his plump asscheeks.
Then a burst of cum sprayed into Angel’s mouth. It was a thick and creamy load, which coated Angel’s tongue and the roof of his mouth. It trickled down his throat.
He continued cumming for what seemed like a long time, as though there was a big backlog of cum in his balls. Angel moaned at the salty flavor overwhelming him, and Thumper even moaned too, his face so close to the action that Angel’s sputtering resulted in drops of cum and spit landing on Thumper’s face.
Then finally Rico was done. He sighed. His cock throbbed as it grew limp in Angel’s mouth.
“You blow a good load, homeboy,” Thumper said. He kissed Angel on the lips, licking up the remnants of cum that still coated Angel’s face and tongue. He groaned into Angel’s mouth. “Yeah… now I think we gettin’ to know each other fo’ real.”
Rico took a step back. He pulled his exquisitely sensitive dick away from Angel’s face. Thumper stroked his moist shaft.
“So, Rico… Do you like the taste of chocolate or vanilla better?” Thumper asked. He and Angel leaned back on the couch.
Rico rolled his eyes. “Uh… Chocolate, I guess.”
“I’m glad you said that, Rico. You got a nice mouth. My dick’s gonna look real nice in there,” Thumper said. “Come here and sit on this whiteboi’s cock.”
Rico shrugged. He turned around with his ass aimed at Angel, who had him wait for a moment while Angel licked his hole some more to open it up. Once he had it well-lubed with spit, Angel leaned back. Rico gritted his teeth as he lowered his ass onto Angel’s meat.
All at once when Angel’s cocktip slid into Rico, the big thug grunted, his muscles tensed and his asshole clenched. A jolt of incredible pleasure shot up Angel’s spine.
“Relax, homeboy, take a deep breath,” Thumper said. He massaged Rico’s ass, rubbing on the fleshy cheeks and caressing his back. Rico remained right there with just the first couple centimeter’s of dick inside him. Thumper licked the sweat off his back. “Ain’t nuthin’ bettuh than watching a homeboy get it up the ass fo’ the first time.”
“Ain’t the first-time, homeboy. I tol’ you I mess around on the downlow, right?” Rico wrinkled his nose. “No pro’lem. Feels fine. I don’t even notice no whiteboy dick.” Despite that, he did grimace in pain.
Thumper snorted like he was disappointed, but he didn’t say anything. Rico bit his lip as he lowered his ass a little more. Angel’s fat white cock slid into his tight hole.
The positioning was awkward for Angel, though all he had to do was sit there. Angel massaged the muscles of Rico’s back, but could only reach halfway up, not even far enough to touch those awe-striking shoulder muscles.
Then Thumper stood up. His body was much more toned than Rico’s, his asscheeks like tight little orbs. He didn’t have a perfect six-pack either — he was too old for that — but he was thickly-built. He stood on the couch next to Angel, who was overwhelmed by stimulation from the massive ass now riding his dick. Rico grimaced and grunted with each motion he made, his ass lowering itself onto Angel’s throbbing meat.
From his vantage point on the couch, Angel caressed both Rico’s asscheeks and Thumper’s thighs. Meanwhile Thumper grabbed ahold of Rico’s head, and slowly, gently but firmly, guided Rico to face Thumper.
Rico sighed and opened his mouth. Without a word of warning, Thumper’s fat cock pushed in past his lips.
With Rico focused on the cock in his mouth, Angel could really start plowing his dick in. Rather than Rico lowering his ass onto Angel’s cock, Angel started to pump his dick upward, ramming Rico deep in his backside.
“Nice mouth, homeboy, I can tell you got good experience at it,” Thumper said with a moan. “You gotta introduce me to the homeboys you on the downlow wit’. I can swing downlow too.”
Though Rico flexed and snorted in pain at first, he soon relaxed, and he took every inch of Angel’s cock. It slid into him, slapping into his massive ass, as his muscles writhed beneath Angel’s touch. Angel reached around to handle his dick, which was still moist and soft — there was always something appealing, Angel thought, about playing with soft dickmeat. It felt like a piece of loose flesh, an extra muscle not attached to anything, and its veiny shaft pulsated beneath Angel’s grasp.
The whole situation was so incredible that Angel shot his load first. He pumped his dick all the way in, surprised at how intense his pleasure was as it rocketed up his spine. His fingers turned into claws that gripped Rico’s meaty back.
Cum flowed and poured into Rico’s ass. It coated his insides, its warmth spreading to every corner of his body. Angel could tell that his load was huge even though he couldn’t see it. He just sprayed wad after wad of manjuice into Rico’s body.
“Sit over here now, homeboy,” Thumper said, pointing to the spot on the couch next to Angel.
Rico pulled off Angel’s cock and sighed with relief as his ass emptied. A giant wad of cum escaped, landing on Angel’s dick and his thigh. Then Rico sat down on the couch, wincing as pain enveloped his sensitive ass when he first put his weight on it.
“Open up, but you gotta share, homeboy,” Thumper said. He didn’t give Rico much of an opportunity before shoving his precum-leaking cock back into Rico’s mouth.
Angel joined in. Rico seemed to want to let Angel take over on Thumper’s dick, but Thumper didn’t allow it. Angel had to stand on the couch in order to put his face even with Rico’s, so he could lick Thumper’s shaft and slurp on his balls.
“Both you handle a nigga dick pretty good,” Thumper said. Only Rico was really doing that though, since Angel was licking up and down Thumper’s juicy ballsac, slurping up the sweat that clung to his underside.
Angel had only barely gotten started when Thumper groaned. Thumper’s hands guided Rico’s up to his chest, where Rico awkwardly played with Thumper’s nipples. Thumper bucked his hips, slamming his dick all the way into Rico’s choking throat.
Angel felt the orgasm even before it began, in the throbbing of Thumper’s heavy ballsac in Angel’s mouth. Then those balls ascended in his scrotum, and Angel sensed the cum pouring forth from Thumper’s cock.
“Swallow it, nigga. So you get to know my body,” Thumper said with a moan.
Rico gagged at the taste of cum coating his tongue, but he didn’t stop. So much spit was generated that it spilled out past Rico’s lips, coating his massive chest and dripping onto Angel’s face.
It was both cum and saliva, as Rico drooled and accepted the torrent of fluids down his throat. Thumper’s powerful trunk-like thighs flexed and shook.
Finally, when he was done. Thumper pulled out and kissed Rico on the lips, tasting his own cum. Rico grimaced but accepted that. “Nasty, nigga,” he said when Thumper pulled away. “I knew you was gonna do that too.”
“Oh, you think you know e’rything, huh, Rico?”
Rico shrugged. “Can I go now? I wanna go loot some, befo’ the riot is all done.”
“Fine, nigga,” Thumper said. He sat next to Angel and wrapped his sweaty body around him. Angel snuggled into his muscles. Thumper smiled and kissed Angel on the cheek.
Rico stood up to leave. He looked relieved.
“Just make sure you come back,” Thumper said. “Get some lube while you out. Come on back befo’ too late. We got some all-night… tasks to perform.”

The Dad

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

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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

The Green Barn Is for Men

In Charlie’s summer job picking strawberries, he’s got to choose between showering in the red barn or the green barn… And it’s a choice that might change everything. That’s because the green barn is full of men exploring their needs and satisfying their curiosity, and Charlie is eager to do both!

Can he handle the green barn?

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Charlie Smitkowski felt like his body was falling apart. He was working a job at the Arnold family farm in the summer. Luckily he was in a rural part of northern Alabama where the soil was poor, which meant there was not enough demand for farmwork to attract very many of the braceros who did most of that labor outside of Alabama. That was the only reason he and his friends had managed to get a job picking strawberries at all.
It sounded like dainty women’s work. Charlie knew that it wasn’t, that just because little girls loved strawberries didn’t mean little girls were capable of picking them. It was just an odd thought that lingered in him as he got used to the role. It was not dainty work at all.
Not that he was complaining. A part of him wanted it to be a difficult job — Charlie had gained a couple pounds after graduating high school, and he thought a summer of hard work might help him lose the weight. He had a football scholarship to Goldendale Hills University, so he needed to get in shape. He thought a summer job working hard in the fields would be a great way to get himself ready for training in the fall.
Plus his dad was gonna make him work at his car dealership if Charlie didn’t find a job on his own. Charlie would rather work like a slave than work for his father at the dealership.
But he had no idea how arduous it would be. By the end of his first day, he was dripping with sweat. The hot Alabama sun pounded on him like a fist, like he could really feel its rays smacking into him, buffeting him, oppressing him like a wool blanket. It was windy, but that didn’t help, it just blew more waves of heat and humid air all over him. His shirt and his pants were caked onto his skin, like he might not ever be able to undress, he’s gonna hafta peel the clothes off. His socks were soaked in sweat, which also dripped off his brow in rivulets.
He stumbled at the end of the day, unable to even walk with dragging his feet. He staggered through the fields with the other workers, who talked and laughed like they did this every day — of course, they did do this every day. They were just as sweaty as Charlie, but they were better able to tolerate it.
“Yee-haw! I’s going out to the bar once the old lady passes out, who’s wit’ me?! I am gonna get sinful wit’ whichever bar wench looks at me first!”
“It’ll be Edna-“
“Any bar wench except Edna!” They all laughed as though this was a hilarious joke, but Charlie had the feeling they made this same joke every day. A couple of the men grabbed their crotches, outlining their cocks in the denim of their jeans, and spat on the ground — Charlie didn’t know if they were expressing scorn towards Edna or suggesting that they would, in fact, fornicate with her despite her being unappealing. He suspected it was both. He blushed. His father taught him that speaking ill of women, grabbing one’s lower regions, carrying-on and spitting in public were all markers of poor character. But Charlie did not reprimand the other workers; he wanted to be accepted just like the others, so he just nodded and went along with it. He was too tired and too eager to fit in to make a big deal out of it.
There were two barns that the workers split up to go to after their shift was done. One was a red barn at the north edge of the farm. That was where the vast majority of the farmworkers filed off to, already stripping off their shirts. Charlie suspected there would be a line there. There couldn’t possibly be enough showerheads for everyone at once, and Charlie didn’t want to wait.
So he decided to go to the green barn, which was a little further away, along the northeastern edge of the farm, away from the road and away from the main farmhouse. That, he thought, must be why the workers had mostly gone to the red barn, because it was closer and larger and newer. The green barn was distant, small, old-fashioned, ramshackle and it smelled permanently of goats.
It was just a small barn that had been rigged with running water for a big group shower. It wasn’t even an actual shower — the red barn had real showerheads in individual stalls, but not the green barn. The green barn sported a powerful hose suspended over the barn floor and possessing many small holes aimed in every direction — this was not an actual device, mind you, someone had simply poked holes in the hose and upped the water pressure enough to make it spray over the whole of the central showering area in the green barn.
The day was so hot that Charlie dreaded a warm shower, but when he got near, he realized it wasn’t that hot at all. It sprayed lukewarm water. Just warm enough that it felt like a relaxing hug, and it soothed his aching muscles. The barn felt steamy, even though the water wasn’t warm enough to make steam. It felt that way because of the humid air, which felt like mist in the stuffy barn
There was a little changing area with some slabs of wood to use as benches, and next to it was a shelf lined with ratty thin towels and bars of white, unscented soap. But almost the entirety of the green barn comprised the showering area, which was simply on, no way to turn it off that Charlie could see. Maybe it was turned on over at the water heater that Charlie could see was mounted on the outside of the barn. It was dimly lit, but it gave out a cozy air, exactly what Charlie wanted in a group shower.
He’d always enjoyed a group shower.
The green barn was primitive, but it was exactly what Charlie wanted in the heat of the moment. He didn’t want hot water — he would have been happy with ice-cold water if that was an option, but lukewarmish was nice too. He didn’t want to choose a spot to shower in or wait for his preferred stall, which is what he would be doing back at the red barn. He’d have to sit there crowded by naked, hairy men older than he was, their bodies brushing against him and everyone having plenty of opportunity to see Charlie’s dick.
“New guy’s horny, huh?” someone shouted when they realized Charlie was here. The other workers laughed.
Charlie smiled. What did that mean? He wasn’t especially horny. He was too tired right now to figure out what they meant. He didn’t like ribald talk. His father taught him not to act that way.
“Looks like the green-barn type, reckon,” said one twangy redneck with a cock of his head and a suck on his teeth. He chuckled throatily.
“Green barn! The green barn!” They were shouting, at each other and at Charlie, who had no idea what was happening or why they were so excited. Obviously there was some special significance to the green barn, something Charlie didn’t grok. He pretended to be just like the others, and he nodded along as though he knew why the green barn was important.
He felt small and weak in comparison to the other workers. He was the youngest by far — almost twenty, but most of the other young men from the college went to the red barn, it seemed. The men here in the green barn were rough-and-tumble types, would-be cowboys and brawny bikers, men who looked like they struggled to come in to work sober every day. Now that they were getting naked, Charlie could see their muscles and the military, sailor or maybe even prison tattoos they had, reminding him yet again that he was youthful, pitiful and frightened. Charlie’s father said that tattoos were a sin and that sailors were not trustworthy. Charlie felt a twinge of fear as he steeled his nerves.
“Why did everybody else go to the red barn?” Charlie asked Cabel Yoder.
Yoder was the nicest person in the green barn, at least out of the folks Charlie had met so far. He was tall, broad-shouldered, easy-grinned, with a Confederate flag tattoo over his heart. He had a thick mop of blond hair that was soaked with sweat even before he got under the spray of the water, and he had a short rattail sticking out the back. Yoder guffawed at Charlie’s question, attracting attention from the other workers.
“Hey, this youngblood don’t know ’bout the green barn!” Yoder called out. The others laughed along with him.
“What?”
Yoder placed one hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You can still go to the red barn, if you can’t handle the green one,” he said. “You see… The green barn is for men who want to…” He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair, making his rattail shake. “Well, it’s for men who got big ol’ balls.”
“… What?”
Yoder laughed again, and the other workers who were within earshot laughed too. Charlie blushed. He was down to his underwear, but most of the others were naked now, including Yoder, whose massive cock put Charlie to shame. It swung between his legs like a pendulum. Charlie found it very distracting, which made it hard to focus on understanding Yoder’s words.
Charlie wanted to drop his own underwear too, to get into the meat of the shower. It was crowded — with maybe fifteen men gleaming wet, soaping each other up, grinning, carrying on and slapping ass — and his underwear was getting wet anyway, from the shower water splattering and misting over this way. But he was still unsure of what Yoder was going to say, so Charlie waited with his hand holding the elastic of his increasingly soaked briefs.
“We trade…,” Yoder said with a wide grin. “Well, we trade, uh… we gets each other off, we do.” He raised his hand to get attention from the other workers, who filed their hairy, sweaty, tattooed bodies into the shower.
“Uh…” Charlie’s heart skipped a beat. Was this barn really meant for that kind of horseplay? He couldn’t believe that. Mr. Arnold — he was the farmer who owned this land, not to mention both barns — was a good, Christian man. He went to the same church where Charlie and his dad went — First Grace. That was how Charlie got this job. Mr. Arnold wouldn’t tolerate any kind of perverted masturbation stuff, would he?
“So, if you ain’t manly enough to handle this, go ahead back to the red barn. That’s a great place for small, weak men who don’t want anyone to see their manhood,” Yoder said.
With an eager grin, Charlie dropped his briefs. His heart thrilled, and he licked his teeth.
Yoder glanced down at Charlie’s cock, which was small. It wasn’t always tiny, it got a lot bigger when it was hard, but Charlie blushed just the same. Charlie touched his dick, which seemed ready to firm up. Normally that would embarrass him in a group shower, but it looked expected here. A couple of the men in the showers were erect.
“It’s okay. Only real men got a need to drain they balls like this. Don’t be embarrassed. If’n you don’t needta, you a bettuh, more civilized man ‘an us.” Yoder and the other workers cheered on their own barbarism. They pounded on their own chests and smacked each other’s hairy asses, laughing at their horseplay.
But of course, Charlie was embarrassed. He didn’t want to seem like half a man. So he cleared his throat and said, “No, I’ll stay. I’ll stay. I’ll… do whatever.” He hoped that sounded more macho than it felt. He looked down at his feet as Yoder clapped his hands.
“Really? Wow, you did not look like the type,” Yoder said with an appreciative whistle. “Thought you was a prettyboy.” He shrugged and headed into the shower area. He closed his eyes as water ran through his thick blond hair and washed over his flesh. His muscles rippled, attracting Charlie’s attention though he tried to look away. He didn’t want to look like what his father called a lavender type.
Charlie went into the spray of the water too. It did feel good. Now that he had relaxed for a few minutes, he was no longer quite so tuckered. He had caught his breath, but his legs still felt like jelly. They might have even felt worse now that they rested for a bit.
“Now get down on ya knees,” Yoder said. He wagged his dick in Charlie’s direction. His thick shaft was jiggly and soapy, fleshy, almost inviting for some reason. Charlie really did want to taste it, even if the others were already teasing him for it and he hadn’t even begun.
“Gulp it down, rookie! If you dare!”
Some of the other men were already touching dicks — frotting, they called that, and Charlie was eager to try it too. They laughed nervously when they did, like they were regretting choosing the green barn. Some of them grabbed each other’s cocks, others touched themselves as they watched, and one hairy men was already slowly humping his cock on someone’s thigh as they chatted about something Charlie couldn’t hear.
Charlie sunk to his knees, his heart swelling with desire as his dick firmed up, though Charlie didn’t touch it.
Yoder had a cocky grin on his face. He slapped his knob over Charlie’s face and laughed when he chased it with his mouth. The dickmeat was slick and sour. It still tasted like sweat even though it had been washed off by the shower spray; it still tasted of salt and body hair and sunlight and loamy soil and a bit of soap, and it still made Charlie hungry despite his distaste for the acridity and the funk of it.
Then Charlie choked but gurgled and swelled to accommodate it as Yoder fed his dick into Charlie’s throat. The taste of cock filled his senses. Yoder’s dick stiffened and hardened so quickly Charlie could watch it firm up until it was hard as rock. It throbbed in his mouth.
“Spread ya lips open widuh, hoss,” Yoder said with a chuckle.
“Is he gonna swaller it? Reckon he is…”
“Oh yeah, he doin’ it!”
Precum leaked down Charlie’s throat. It tasted sour and salty-sweet, and it made Charlie’s eyes water. He was surprised not just by how quickly Yoder was getting hard but also by how hard he got — Charlie was never that hard. Yoder’s cock was like a crowbar in his throat, a hot rod of steel.
He was also surprised because he really didn’t mind the taste of cock or of precum. It wasn’t exactly delicious, but there was something savory and craveable about it. Charlie wouldn’t have minded doing this again.
Not that he planned on doing it again, mind you. He fully intended to shower in the red barn from now on. He didn’t want to admit he had made a mistake, so he would just tell the other workers that he was no longer horny, that he had showered in the green barn today because he wanted to have sex, and after today, he will have chosen to shower in the red barn because he wasn’t that horny. No mistake. No perversion. No impotence. Not a sissy.
But before he could enact that plan, he had to get through today. He was so focused on swallowing down Yoder’s cock that he didn’t hear the other workers chant.
“Stick it in his ass, Yoder!”
“Make him ya whore!”
Yoder seemed wide-eyed and grim, like he didn’t expect it to go this far. Normally they all circlejerked in a big circle, but today half of them watched Charlie swallow Yoder’s dick.
“Okay, now it’s ya turn to bend ovuh, if you want,” Yoder said. He drew in a deep, satisfied sigh. “You don’t got to.”
“What…?”
“Don’t worry, it’s real easy. Just get down on all fours,” Yoder said. He gently but firmly pushed him into position on his hands and knees. Lukewarm shower water sprayed over Charlie’s back, and someone swiped a wad of goopy shampoo — or maybe outright lube — on Charlie’s ass to slick him up.
Then a powerful, mounting pain hit him in the backside. Charlie moaned, in pain first and then pleasure as the most incredible sensation of his life hit him. There was intense pressure that he couldn’t quite handle, and he screamed. Yoder’s powerful body pressed into him.
The other men clapped and hooted. They were shooting their own loads now as they watched, circlejerking onto the floor of the green barn just a few feet from where Charlie crouched.
“Hey, get off!” Yoder shouted, yelping as he pushed Lawrence away — Lawrence was a greasy cowboyish farmworker who had rammed his finger in Yoder’s ass because he thought it was funny. While Yoder worked his dick into Charlie’s butthole, Lawrence got the other workers to watch him slip his pinkie finger into Yoder. They all guffawed together as Yoder shoved Lawrence away.
Yoder grabbed ahold of Charlie’s hair, and he pulled just tight enough to keep him from squirming. “Don’chu try and blueball me, hoss…” Yoder said with a baritone grunt.
Bliss coursing through his veins, Charlie reared his head up. That placed Yoder’s strapping chest muscles right against Charlie’s bare back, so Charlie could feel the strength and the power radiating off him. It made Charlie feel weak, but he didn’t mind anymore. He was glad to be weak in front of Yoder. He wanted to feel Yoder’s dominance on top of him, inside him and throughout every inch of Charlie’s body.
“Don’t say I never did nothin’ fuh you,” Yoder said as he reached around to Charlie’s cock. It was hard, so it had grown considerably, but Yoder still snickered. “Damn, that is one tiny cock.”
“It’s not that small!” Charlie gasped and begged for more pressure in his ass.
But arguing about it just made Charlie seem defensive and drew attention to it. Soon the other workers were kneeling in front of him to see, and they all laughed, gibbering about how tiny it was.
“It’s like a fingernail!”
“Are we sure he ain’t a female?”
Cum popped off all over the place. The shower did not feel very clean, and Charlie now felt dirtier than he had when he first came in. If it was like this all the time, he thought, then the floor here must be covered in cum. That made him feel grimy and gross because he was on the floor now. How many stale old loads was he rubbing himself into right now?
But he couldn’t concentrate on that. His body writhed in both pain and pleasure, precum leaking down Yoder’s fingers as he stroked Charlie off. It was embarrassing to get hard with a cock in his ass, but he couldn’t help it, and Charlie cried out for more.
“Oh, wow, Li’l-Dick Rookie is into it! He loves it!”
“With a cock like that, I knew he was a girl!”
His prostate sang and screamed as Charlie reached orgasm. He grunted. He gasped. He heaved for air, writhing beneath Yoder’s farm-toned muscles. Cum sprayed over the floor and Yoder’s fingers.
Charlie sighed. His entire body went limp and he collapsed belly-first onto the pile of steaming-hot cum he had just sprayed. Yoder cheered.
“Hell yeah, I made ya blow first! That makes me a champion!”
Every else clapped and laughed. Yoder pumped his biceps and wiped his cum-dripping hands off on Charlie’s back. The shower water washed away all the mess from his back, but his stomach — which had become covered in cum when he laid in his own load on the floor — was not facing the water, so most of his semen stuck to his skin there.
Then Yoder withdrew his cock all the way from Charlie’s ass. He called for silence and everyone watched as Yoder very slowly pushed his entire manhood back in.
“Gonna finish now, fill you up on the inside…” Yoder groaned right into Charlie’s ears.
Charlie squealed and yelped. He couldn’t even pretend to be in pain anymore — there was a little pain, but it was overshadowed by the mind-blowing pleasure of his prostate being stimulated. Charlie moaned. His fingers tightened into claws that ripped at the loose, splintery boards of the green barn floor.
He sensed Yoder’s orgasm a few seconds before it began. Yoder’s chortling laughter turned into a low, grumbly groan of bliss, a cringing sound so intense it made the hair on the back of Charlie’s neck stand on end.
Cum sprayed into his ass, a big, creamy load that soaked into his flesh. It dripped into the folds of his guts as he took wad after wad of hot cum. Its heat seeped into his body, and Charlie could feel it in his arms and his legs, his fingers, his toes and even in his face.
Finally it was all over. Charlie was limp, on the floor on his belly, both sides of him covered in cum, both his own and the other workers — they had circlejerked onto the floor, but in the confusion and cramped quarters, Charlie ended up with more than a little bit all of him as well. He couldn’t tell if he should cry, fight or beg for more. He wanted to do all three.
But more than that, he wanted to lay there and bask in the aftershocks of his orgasm. They cracked through his body like earthquakes, so intense he couldn’t think about anything except the mind-blowing experience he had just had. He didn’t know how long he rested there on the floor. It felt like eons.
Eventually, however, he was done. He crawled to his feet, and sheepishly exchanged glances with the other workers who were still here. Yoder had gone, as had most of the others — once they blew their wads and finished their showers, there was no reason to stick around.
One person was left, standing there naked and watching him with pity in his eyes. He was Ernest, the oldest of the farmworkers, well into his forties, maybe even early fifties, though with a well-muscled body that could keep up with the younger workers.
“You okay?” Ernest asked. He put one hand on Charlie’s shoulders as Charlie finally rinsed off all that cum. He felt clean for the first time since he had started work this morning.
Charlie nodded.
Ernest smiled. He led Charlie back to the changing area, where they both slowly put some clothes on. Charlie was dazed and groggy.
“Next time,” Ernest said, “You should hold back. One of the rules of the green barn is that whatevuh you give, you gotta take too. So if you ain’t nut first, you coulda made Yoder bend over and take it up the ass.”
“Really?”
Ernest nodded. “Next time. If’n you ready, I’d be glad to ram you next time.”
“And then I get to ram you?”
“Well… Imma give you a reacharound just like Yoder did,” Ernest said with a grin. He headed towards the door to the outside, and Charlie followed. “If’n you blow ya load in my hand, then you don’t get to ram me. So enjoy it, but don’t enjoy it too much.”
“Oh, okay. I, uh, I can do that,” Charlie said. He wasn’t very confident in that though. He had enjoyed himself so much he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to hold off on cumming the entire time. If it always felt like it did today, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to delay it at all. If it was always like that, he’d never want to slow down.
He decided right then and there that he was going to shower in the green barn every day this summer.

Heat on rig

Most nights, Buck and Lem showered with each other. This was the winter contract, which was understaffed — more than half of the roughnecks here a couple days ago had left during their leave. Buck didn’t realize how many fewer workers there would be. That was because, Lem explained, the rig was less efficient in the winter, and Mr. Chow actually lost money pumping oil until it warmed up. He kept it going regardless because otherwise the rig would fall apart and be inoperable in the spring, but it continued with a skeleton crew mainly tasked with maintenance. The drill did run, and oil was pumped, but only the minimum needed every day to ensure smooth operation.
Otherwise it was a lot of cleaning, inventory, weatherproofing, organizing, etc. It was intensely boring and not much work. The chill was intense in the unheated corridors now that it was winter. Buck got a thrill out of walking to the shower every night, which he still did in his briefs and sandals (though he now wore his sandals with two pairs of socks). He thought it was hilarious how steamy his chest was, and it set his heart racing. Most night it was literally cold enough to take his breath away, and he could barely breathe the whole way to and from the shower.
Lem did not do that. He was leaner and lankier than Buck, and like the other roughnecks, Lem wore several layers of clothes in the corridors. So Buck got naked in the showers in seconds, while Lem lazily undressed and smoked a cigarette (which he did only to annoy Buck, because Buck kept hassling him about hurrying up).

From Buck the Roughneck