Tag: history

Desmond is bored at an art museum when he spies a surly janitor with an alluring physique… setting Desmond off on another round of alpha male rough trade!

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Desmond was in an art museum, devoted to antiquities, because there was a doe-eyed docent he was interested in. The museum was deserted though. There was probably more foot traffic in the tombs and burial sites the objets d’art here were looted from. There were a few Roman and Greek statues brought from Europe, but otherwise it was mostly Native American pieces from throughout the American Southwest and Mexico. Necklaces, arrows and bows, strips of leather used for something or another, plus an array of glittering gold Aztec sculptures.
Some of it was rather interesting. Desmond stood for a long time reading about the ancient Mesoamerican ball game in which the losing team was executed. The painting that depicted the game was lifelike, and really made Desmond feel like he was back there. What would it have been like to live in a culture that valued human life so lowly? Or was it even a low value? Maybe it was more of a matter of them valuing the ball game so highly instead. What other aspects of their culture did this attitude affect without leaving an archaeological trace? Did women race to weave clothing with the slowest among them executed? Did people commit suicide when they lost other games?
One of the Aztec men illustrated playing the ball game was so handsome it made Desmond think about the sturdy yet slender docent he had come here in search of. Desmond wasn’t really into Aztec men, just this one illustration.
“Oh, indeed, this is a beautiful piece,” said a woman, who peered closely at a crudely carved woman. Her voice startled Desmond, nearly making him knock over the figurine she was looking at. “Isn’t it? Look at the form. The form. Indeed, the mastery thereof.” She glanced at her companions, a group of other females and one male whose sexual interest in her was apparent.
“Yeah. The mastery. It’s… uh… gorgeous.”
“Oh, yeah, that is a beautiful piece. It really speak to the essence of soul itself.”
“Good point,” said the classy, elegant woman, whom Desmond already hated. She gestured grandly to another objet: a human-like shape etched onto a rock. “Oh isn’t this lovely! The Aztecs were such an impressionistic people!”
Desmond couldn’t take any more of that kind of pretentious nonsense, so he hurried away. It was probably just a child playing with a sharpened rock, he thought, that etching didn’t look like a completed piece of artwork. It wasn’t impressionistic, it was bad, he thought. He sighed. People were so annoying. Now he remembered why he didn’t like museums.
Only now the docent with a degree from Cornell, Rakwan, with the dimples and the lion tattoo on his neck, seemed to be gone. Desmond shrugged. Oh well, he thought, maybe I could get some rough trade while I’m here.
That made him chuckle. A museum was not a place for rough trade. The males here were betas, dorks and nerds. Desmond did not see the appeal. Looking for rough trade here would be like asking a McDonald’s cashier for the gourmet menu.
That white boy art enthusiast was cute, especially in how he flirted with that woman, but still, he was white and not handsome, and anyway, he was with a girl so he would not likely be willing to dip on the downlow with Desmond. None of the other males here were even remotely eligible. A lot of them were elderly, and the rest were skinny or fat nerds.
This trip seemed to have been a total bust, he thought. He turned around to head for the front door, nearly knocking over an elderly white man who hobbled away in a hurry.
Normally Desmond was polite, unfailingly so. But this particular old white man seemed unfazed by Desmond bumping into him for that first fraction of a second — then he swore, but only when he saw the color of Desmond’s skin.
“You piece-of-shit street trash,” said the old man, his voice creaky and tremulous. “Watch where you’re going, boy.”
The racial implications of the encounter were obvious to Desmond. But the old man’s voice was low, so no one heard him but Desmond. He scoffed. “Why don’t you watch yourself, you old coot,” Desmond said. “Don’t you tell me what to do! I can lay you out, old man!”
A few people heard Desmond raise his voice. He realized only too late that this wouldn’t work out for him — the old man seemed sympathetic, hadn’t said anything explicitly racist (and no one but Desmond heard him say anything at all) and Desmond had, in fact, bumped into him. The onlookers all glared at Desmond as though he had just stomped a puppy.
“Hey! You! Nigguh, you over there flouncin’ ‘bout like some princess in a tutu! You can’t talk like that!”
It was a middle-aged janitor. He had dark-brown skin and deep-set eyes, with a hefty, well-muscled body that still had plenty of meat to it — he was no sculpted gym rat. Desmond’s jaw dropped because he was so aroused.
The man’s name was Elmer, according to his nametag.
“It wasn’t like it seemed,” Desmond said, “That old man was racist-“
“Uh-huh, save it for the security guards,” Elmer said. He shoved Desmond towards a service hallway. The old man smirked and the crowd gasped all together. Desmond rolled his eyes but didn’t fight back. Elmer snarled and growled. “You can’t be disruptive here, boi. We ain’t got no time for yo’ princess nonsense.”
Desmond went with him, his mind already reeling at the possibilities. He wanted Elmer. He needed him. Elmer was close enough that Desmond could smell the cleaning solutions that clung to his clothes. The most overwhelming odor was bleach, which looked to have been splashed on Elmer’s workpants, covered in faded spots especially near the ankles. He had a gloriously thick body like he used to be a bodybuilder, and he still brimmed with power. A few twinges of gray in his hair were enough to make Desmond’s dick so hard he struggled to walk until he rearranged himself in his pants.
“I don’t have to go with you,” Desmond said. He wanted to take control of this situation, and he knew his rights.
“Then you can get outta my museum,” Elmer said. “I ain’t lettin’ you talk to no old white man like that, nigguh. That ain’t proper. Some flouncin’ little sissy like you… This is a nice museum, for nice folk.”
Desmond had to giggle. He clutched Elmer’s well-muscled arm as though being escorted to a cotillion.
“Let go.”
“Ain’t you gotta escort me to my fate?” Desmond asked with exaggerated melodrama, like he was about to faint and needed to lean on Elmer for support.
“You can walk yaself,” Elmer said.
“But I won’t,” Desmond said. They passed a door labeled ‘Supply Closet’, so Desmond stopped walking right there. He opened the door. “What’s in here?”
“Just some cleanin’ shit, boi,” Elmer said. “C’mon, security office is down there.”
“What I’m going to do,” Desmond said. He placed one finger on Elmer’s chest. “is go in there. You’re going to follow me. I’m going to get on my knees. I’m going to pull your pants down, and I’m going to jerk you off. Then you’re going to ram me in the ass. You can blow the world’s biggest load in me, or on me, or in whatever manner suits your fancy. We’ll be real quick, and real quiet, and no one will ever know you did it.”
“If you think I’m some kinda pervert, you are one crazy-!”
“You didn’t let me finish. The last step would be when I put one hundred and nine dollars in your pocket,” Desmond said. He was a little disappointed because he had hoped Elmer would do it for free. But he didn’t mind paying. “That’s what I’m going to do. You don’t need to give any feedback on that plan. Just go along with it. Or don’t. If you don’t follow me into the closet, I will be so disappointed. But I’ll move on. Maybe I’ll find some white dick. I wonder what Vanilla Ice is up to these days…”
Elmer furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth but he didn’t say anything. Desmond took that for a yes. He went into the supply closet. There was just barely enough room in there for him to mess with a thick man like Elmer. That was fine with Desmond, who liked the idea of being in a cramped space with him.
Dropping to his knees, Desmond opened his mouth. He could tell Elmer wanted to do this, but yet he still stood there in the doorway. He looked back and forth down the hallway. Desmond just kneeled with his mouth open. He could see the bulge in Elmer’s workpants.
“This ain’t allowed, don’t you think I’m some kinda pervert,” Elmer said. “I don’t got a habit of gettin’ jerked off by sissies in closets. Nosir, I don’t do that.”
He took one step towards the closet as though going to come in, then changed his mind and slammed the door shut with Desmond in and Elmer outside. Desmond was there in the dark by himself, mouth wide open.
Desmond was disappointed, he had really thought this was going to work; older black men like Elmer were usually game, when he could get them alone. Was this a no?
Then Desmond heard the footsteps of someone walking down the hall. Elmer was trying to look inconspicuous.
“G’evenin’, Mr. Moskowitz,” Elmer said outside the closet. His voice was deep and raspy, with the more sonorous tones blocked by the shut door. All Desmond heard was the throaty, gravelly part of his voice. “I’s moppin’ that west hallway like you said, suh, real good, uh-huh.”
Mr. Moskowitz responded, but Desmond didn’t hear what he said; it sounded polite and encouraging, but patronizing. Desmond suspected that Mr. Moskowitz didn’t remember who Elmer was.
The door opened a few seconds later and Elmer strode in. “Fuckin’ asshole, I oughta lay that mothafucka out,” he muttered as Mr. Moskowitz’s footsteps could be heard walking away.
The smell of cleaning solutions was even more intense here, joined by the musky mud-scent of the mop-bucket and the soapy deodorant Elmer wore. Desmond recognized the hair pomade that Elmer used too, because Desmond’s grandfather had worn it. That made Desmond giggle. Where did Elmer even get pomade like that?
The closet had a single bare lightbulb in it, that cast everything in shadows but still provided enough illumination to see. Desmond reached up to tweak Elmer’s nipples through his clothes, but Elmer snarled and slapped his hand away.
“No messin’ around, just get to it,” Elmer said. “I ain’t here to seduce you, nosir.” He paused. “And you definitely ain’t here to seduce me, don’t even think ‘bout that. Nosir. I am strictly a top, boy, fo’ real, don’t even think ‘bout talkin’ me out of it.”
“I won’t-“
“I will lay you out, and don’t think I won’t,” Elmer said. Despite his threats, he came across as a crotchety old man more than a violent thug. He made Desmond smile more the more serious he acted, which only made Elmer more angry. “Quit ya laughin’, boi, this ain’t a Richard Pryor show. Ain’t no one makin’ ya laugh here.”
Elmer dropped his bleach-splattered pants as he ranted. He wore briefs — not many of Desmond’s conquests wore tighty-whities anymore. Desmond moaned in desire because he could see that massive mature cock already twitching beneath the threadbare white fabric.
His tongue planted on it without removing Elmer’s underwear. Elmer grunted like he didn’t approve, but he didn’t stop Desmond. Desmond licked his dick through his underwear until it was so soaked it was virtually translucent.
“You getting serious, huh? Lickin’ me through my drawers, that’s nasty. That’s real nasty, boi. You must be all kinda ashamed, yessir,” Elmer said.
Elmer’s dick was wet already, hard and leaking precum even before he had dropped his briefs. Finally Desmond pulled them down, his cock popped out and Desmond swallowed it to the root. Elmer closed his eyes and grunted to conceal a moan that he worried would sound loving — he didn’t want to give this man any kind of wrong impression.
“Finally. I swear, you sissies is always playin’ ‘round and shit, not takin’ nothin’ serious.” He murmured like he didn’t really expect Desmond to listen. “Talkin’ mean to some old white man, you ingrate-“
Desmond pulled off his dick, which was just beginning to get hard. “Look, I swear, that man was blatantly racist. He only got mad when he saw that I was black, and I know-“
“He call you a nigger?”
“No-“
“Then shut ya face. You ain’t encounter real racism, nigguh,” Elmer said. He frowned, which looked like a natural face for him — Desmond strongly suspected Elmer was always bitterly frowning. Elmer slapped him with his cock a few times. “Quit playin’ wit’ it!”
He rammed it into Desmond’s mouth. But Desmond wanted to frustrate him and make him play with his cock. Elmer wanted to just lean back and let Desmond service him. But Desmond kept teasing him until he took the initiative to spread Desmond’s cheeks and drill into his throat.
He growled. Young people, Elmer thought, never took anything seriously, not even dicks. He had to grip Desmond’s face with one hand and his scalp with the other. He held on to Desmond’s hair tightly, giving himself adequate leverage to pound away at Desmond’s throat.
His balls slapped against Desmond’s chin, and Desmond opened his throat as much as he could to allow it. He clasped Elmer’s thick cheeks as he got throated down.
“Ah, shit…” Girls rarely deep-throated Elmer, and they never let him throat them like this — not anymore, and rarely even when he was young and handsome. Elmer could tell that Desmond not only loved it, he enjoyed the occasional gag and choke, the sputtering, the spit that built up in his mouth and dripped onto the concrete floor of the closet with every thrust of Elmer’s hips. His flat belly smacked Desmond’s nose, pubic hair scratching at his lips.
When Desmond felt Elmer’s balls about to crawl up in his sac, he pulled his face away. He had to swat Elmer’s hands from his cheeks too, or he would have kept plowing into his throat and cum without noticing. Elmer chased his mouth with his dick until he realized that Desmond had stopped.
But Desmond pushed him off and giggled when Elmer roared in frustration. “Whatchoo doin’, nigguh? Keep goin’! C’mon, where you goin’?” He kept humping even though Desmond’s mouth was nowhere’s near his cock, like his crotch was on auto-pilot, now just humping the air.
“I said I wanted to get rammed in the ass too,” Desmond said. “You better get started before you blow your wad.” He gripped the door to the supply closet for support. He jutted his ass high in the air.
“Man, nigguh, I was all up in ya mouth-“
“I’m paying for this, and I said I wanted anal,” Desmond said. He turned around and shook his ass in Elmer’s direction. He backed up and rubbed his asscrack over Elmer’s cock.
“Oh? You want it in the butt, huh?” Elmer said with a frustrated snarl. He grabbed Desmond by the back of the neck and held on as he slammed his cock right in. He spread Desmond’s asscheeks. Elmer bit his lip and sank in deeply, all in one smooth motion.
The pain was extraordinary at first. Elmer made no effort to be easy on Desmond. He penetrated him with so much force Desmond’s head banged against the door. A girl, Elmer thought, would have never let him do all that, but Desmond cringed and moaned like he liked it.
The pain was potent, but brief, and Desmond cried out with pleasure. “Damn…” Desmond gritted his teeth, and Elmer gripped his asscheeks.
“Open up that ass, nigguh.” Elmer smacked his back until Desmond did as he was told. Desmond managed to relax his ass, and the rest of Elmer’s thick shaft jammed into his asshole. His flat belly smacked against Desmond’s cheeks. Elmer used his weight to force his dick in deeper and deeper, until at last every inch throbbed within Desmond’s asshole.
“Ah, ow, shit!” Desmond bit his lip. He cried out again, fists pounding on the door. If anyone was out in the service corridor now, they’d definitely hear what was happening, and Desmond didn’t think he had the wherewithal to reduce it.
“No noise, boi,” Elmer said, though he was just as loud as Desmond. He used one callused hand to hold both of Desmond’s delicate wrists in place. That meant Desmond was unable to support himself at all. He leaned forward, with Elmer ramming him from behind, supported entirely by Elmer’s powerful arms and his thick dick in Desmond’s ass.
So he rammed Desmond harder and rougher than he would have ever fucked a woman. He rammed until his balls slapped loudly against Desmond’s ass. He kept thinking sooner or later, Desmond would tell him to stop or slow down, but that never happened.
When Desmond didn’t complain, Elmer even grabbed Desmond’s hair and held on that way. He sighed and moaned. No woman let him do that anymore. They disliked it when he pulled their hair and even choked them a little.
“Come on, boi…” Elmer’s voice was still harsh and guttural, but now with a smoothly seductive tone to it that made Desmond shudder. Desmond felt like his own cock was going to explode. He lost himself in Elmer’s thick chest.
He put Desmond in a chokehold, not real tight, just enough to make him squeal and clench around Elmer’s dick. Elmer loved having total control over Desmond’s tight feminine frame. In the darkness of the supply closet, Elmer thought, the only thing separating Desmond’s ass from a woman’s was that Desmond didn’t complain when Elmer slammed into him with all his might.
That’s because Desmond loved it. Desmond tightened his fingers into claws that dug at Elmer’s forearm, which were firm like iron beneath the flesh padding of his age. Elmer didn’t notice, he was too busy experiencing an orgasm more intense than anything he’d felt in twenty years.
“Shit, boi, you take it good… You feel me inside ya, huh? Say it-“
“I feel you inside me…” Desmond’s voice was weak and tinny, almost plaintive.
Elmer’s voice was deep and scratchy, resonant in the cramped closet. “Say my name, boi.”
“Elmer… Ram me, Elmer! Ram me hard!” Desmond said as loud as he could.
For just a moment, Elmer didn’t feel his sore knees or the ever-present exhaustion or his worry about his blood sugar. All that mattered was getting every inch of dickmeat in the squirming man’s tight hole and making him beg for more.
They both went to the ground, landing with a loud crash that shattered a box of lightbulbs on the floor. Elmer felt himself kissing Desmond on the lips even as he told himself he wouldn’t do that. Cum flew in ribbons into Desmond’s ass. Desmond cried out in shock as Elmer’s tongue entered his mouth.
A the last few jets of cum filled Desmond’s ass, Elmer grunted into his ear. “No kissin’, boi, I oughtta smack you for that.” He squeezed on Desmond’s neck a little more to remind him who was boss. He didn’t even stop kissing as he told Desmond to quit it.
Desmond gasped. He was dizzy and delirious. He leaned his head back, kissing Elmer on the scruff of his neck. Elmer grumbled but allowed it, still lightly humping his limpening dick in and out of Desmond’s ass. Their tongues slathered spit along each other’s cheeks and lips. “No more kissin’, boi, quit that. I ain’t ya boyfriend, I’m ya daddy.”
“Ram me, daddy!” Desmond shouted. He loved the daddy look, and he liked how acting like a slutty female seemed to make Elmer treat him like one. Elmer ground his dick within Desmond’s ass, making sweet love to his prostate as he kissed every inch of Desmond’s face.
It was only polite to give a reacharound, Elmer thought, his mind working too fast for him to censor his own thoughts. That was another thing he had “forgotten” — or preferred to pretend hadn’t happened — from his youth. It felt so natural now he didn’t even think about it.
As the last vestiges of his climax roiled his veins, Elmer reached around Desmond’s body to his cock. He grimaced a little at the feel of it throbbing beneath his grasp but he stroked anyway.
Now he remembered why he liked it. “C’mon, nigguh, cum, blow ya nut.” His coarse voice was aimed directly into Desmond’s ear. Elmer had gotten in the habit of stroking his bottoms off after he came because it made them stay on his dick until it was totally soft, and when they orgasmed, they clenched down tight on it all over again.
Cum sprayed into Desmond’s ass, more than Desmond thought possible. He moaned as it filled him up, but it kept going until Desmond couldn’t moan anymore. Even then, Elmer’s body — perfectly still, muscles taut — kept shooting, wad after wad of creamy cum seeping into Desmond’s flesh.
So much semen filled him up that it dripped out and down his thighs, and Desmond thought he could taste it. It had coated his insides like he had become one with Elmer’s cock, which still shot the last few drops of cum from his low-hanging balls.
“Hmmm…” Desmond’s feminine, lilting voice filled the tiny closet. Since Elmer’s handjob was rather awkward and difficult to accept, continuing as it did throughout Elmer’s orgasm, Desmond didn’t cum as quickly as he might have. That wasn’t a bad thing from his perspective. It gave him even more opportunities to grind his ass back on Elmer’s now soft dick, making a moist dripping sound like a clogged drain as more cum splashed out and over Elmer’s low-hanging balls.
“You seduced me, boi, that ain’t right. I don’t give men handjobs,” Elmer said, his throaty voice making Desmond’s spine shudder. “That ain’t a thing I do. I oughta kick ya ass for that.”
Elmer wanted to keep talking, maybe even hit Desmond a few times — not real hard, just enough to be sure Desmond wouldn’t try to be his boyfriend. But when Desmond orgasmed, his asshole clenched just as Elmer had expected. It was like a second orgasm for Elmer; it reawakened all of those sensations that had just passed. His dick twitched and Desmond spasmed.
A massive load sprayed over the floor and Elmer’s hand — he hadn’t stopped the reacharound even as he demanded Desmond do so. Elmer kept stroking, ignoring the cum that coated his fingers.
Elmer grunted. Then, at last, he couldn’t take any more. He let go. Desmond nearly toppled to the ground, and Elmer’s cock plopped meatily out of his hole.
“Goddamn…” Desmond said with a moan.
“No blasphemin’,” Elmer said out of pure instinct — he didn’t allow young black men to blaspheme in front of him. That made Desmond giggle a little as he rubbed his face over Elmer’s powerful chest. Elmer used a paper towel to wipe his dick clean, ignoring Desmond’s groping hands.
“Hmm… Thanks for that,” Desmond said. He pulled his wallet out of his pants and handed over the money to him. It was all of the cash he had in his wallet.
Elmer nodded. “Don’t you think I’m some kinda street whore. I ain’t poor. I ain’t some fuckin’ hobo or some shit,” he said. He frowned as he let Desmond play with his heavy meat. When he had enough, he swiped it away. “You gotta pay more if you wanna keep playin’.”
Desmond clucked his tongue. “I think I’m done,” he said. “Thanks for that. I had a good time. This is a great museum,” He managed to kiss Elmer’s bicep once more before Elmer shoved him away.
“Get outta here, sissy. You got some dick, you done for the day. Ain’t no old white man in here for you to cuss at.”
Desmond sighed. “I ain’t cuss out some old — I-” He stopped himself. Why argue about this? It didn’t matter. “Nevermind, Elmer.” Desmond opened the door and winced at the bright light in the hall. He headed out into the deserted corridor.
“Go’n, boi, don’t come back neither. If you wanna taste my dick again, hang out in the alley behind the Canal Street Bar,” Elmer said. “I usually piss drunk in the alley before I go home. Maybe I let you take another taste.”