in a barn – Mansploitation

On the Run

Lamar is on the run from the police, so he’s staying in the barn of redneck Demarcus… When Demarcus comes to him at night, Lamar finds ‘on the run’ just might mean ‘on the downlow’!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Lamar wondered if he should have just turned himself in. He would have ended up serving twelve to fifteen years in prison, but he could have gotten through that. He would have been treated like a king behind bars because he refused to snitch.
Instead, he ran. Lamar had always been fast, so he got away from the cops that night in downtown Baltimore.
But then what? He was going to be a fugitive for the rest of his life. They had his fingerprints. He even considered burning them off, but he figured that would be suspicious — who but a fugitive would be walking around with burned-up fingertips? Besides that, they had a picture of his face too, and they could probably find a DNA sample without too much difficulty.
Was this going to be the rest of his life? He was staying in a barn — an actual barn — behind Demarcus’s house. Demarcus was one of Baltimore’s most powerful Bloods. It was Demarcus who had arranged this and figured out a way for Lamar to sneak out of the city in the trunk of some white bitch’s car.
The only mitigating quality that made Demarcus’s run-down old house reasonable was that it sat on several acres of former farmland, which was dotted by barns and unused stables. Trees were slowly taking over the fields, giving plenty of obfuscation. It was an ideal spot for someone like Lamar to hide out in.
So the barn was where Lamar stayed for now. Demarcus said he’d be able to move into the house once things quieted down, but for now they needed him to be well away from the road, away from any prying eyes that might happen by. The barn wasn’t awful. It was green, the paint outside peeling. A few holes in the ceiling let in light and rain, but Lamar hoped to find a tarp and a way to get it up on the roof to block the holes.
It all seemed copacetic until that first night, when Lamar tried to sleep on the air mattress Demarcus had given him. It was uncomfortable and cold. The air mattress seemed lumpy. How could air be lumpy?
He was grateful for all the help he got from Demarcus, but he was nervous about how sustainable it was — would he be living like this for the rest of his life? What would be the point? He wondered how much extra time he’d get for running away if he turned himself in now.
Footfalls resonated in the rickety barn. Someone was coming in. Lamar sat up, heart pounding. What if it was a SWAT team? Maybe Demarcus had sold him out? Sweat beaded on Lamar’s shoulders.
But it was just Demarcus himself. He carried a flashlight, though he didn’t turn it on, instead using the ample moonlight to illuminate his way. He stumbled through the disused rakes and wheelbarrows, finally making a lot of noise when they clattered to the floor.
“Demarcus?”
“Oh good, you’s up, huh, nigga?” Demarcus said, his thick drawl echoing in the drafty barn, his voice stawkless as a white man. He sat down on the edge of the bunk. Demarcus had thick muscles toned by his own time behind bars, tattoos decorating his densely-scarred brown skin, including a deer with a target on its head tattooed over his chest. He seemed even larger and more menacing now, wearing only his plain white boxers in the humid air of this Virginia summer night. Demarcus was young but seemed old to Lamar, or maybe it was the other way around.
“Yeah, I, uh… I guess I’m havin’ trouble sleepin’ tonight,” Lamar said. He felt young and stupid. He was almost nineteen, but he felt like a child again, like he was asking Demarcus for a glass of warm milk.
“Reckon you just need to make this barn ya own,” Demarcus said. “Make it into a home ‘stead of a place to lay ya head.”
“Yeah.” Lamar was too nervous to think about this right now. Besides, the best way to feel like this place was his home would be to maintain control over it, and that meant scolding Demarcus for coming in without knocking. Not being in charge of it was what made it feel like not a real home. But he couldn’t very well get angry with Demarcus for coming into his own barn.
“That’s how I got through prison. When I first got the’uh, I thought I’d never sleep in that tiny, scratchy-ass bunk,” he said. He placed one hand on Lamar’s smooth shoulder, and left it there. “But once I hung up some pictures and y’know… jacked off in those sheets a couple times, it felt like home. You pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?”
“Yeah,” Lamar said, though he very much did not.
“It helped that my entire cell was Bloods. I felt like I was livin’ wit’ my brothers.”
“Really? Cool.” Lamar felt too nervous to really pay much attention.
“Hell yeah, we got through that togethuh. That’s how a brothah do,” he said. He wiped his forehead, which was soaked in sweat. “Do what it takes, nigga!” Demarcus laughed as though that was a joke. He drunkenly lolled and leaned back against the wall of the barn. That moved his hand from resting on Lamar’s shoulder to his back, and Demarcus’s entire arm weighed him down. Lamar couldn’t decide what that meant — was it possessive? Was he trying to seduce him?
“I ain’t know you was in prison,” Lamar said. “How long were you in for? Which prison was it?”
“Shit, it’s bettuh if we pretend we ain’t shared nothin’ personal. I don’t officially know you’s a fugitive, by the way.”
Lamar nodded. He bit his lip, unable to think of anything to say that was not a question.
“I was behind bars for four years, nigga. I still on parole, reckon, I got three more years, so I gotta keep my nose cleaner ‘an a Virginny hog,” Demarcus said. “But don’t worry, I still a banger at heart. We gangmates, Lamar, you and me. We brothahs too, in a sense. You feel me?”
“Uh… yeah.”
A long awkward silence filled the barn. Lamar was intensely aware of Demarcus’s arm resting on his back, fingers caressing the skin there. Demarcus breathed heavy, and the sweat clinging to his skin added a spicy, salty scent to the air. His fingertips rubbed the divot in the small of Lamar’s back.
Lamar decided to roll over to lay on his back — definitely on the back, not on his belly, which would bare his ass in Demarcus’s direction — Lamar had been around the block, he knew better than to present his ass to a booty bandit outta the penitentiary. He hoped laying on his back would make Demarcus lift his arm up and maybe move it away.
But much to his surprise, that wasn’t what happened. Instead Demarcus rested an arm on either side of Lamar, then leaned down and kissed him on the lips. He tasted like cigarettes and cocoa butter.
“Hey, do you and ya niggas still jack off on the downlow?” Demarcus asked. “Back befo’ I got locked up, e’ry nigga did that-“
“I mean, no! Not all of ’em! Of us, I mean…”
“Y’all niggas jack yo’selves off? Wit’cha hands? Like a teenager?”
“I mean, yeah, prolly, kinda, maybe,” Lamar gulped and faced away from Demarcus. Why did rednecks act like this?
“What about you? You ever mess around? You know, get a nut off wit’out no female to draw it out…?”
“Well…”
“I thought so, pretty face like you. Ain’t no nigga e’er smash you?”
“No!”
“Guarantee some nigga want to. Guarantee that!” Demarcus said, with a loud cackle and guffaw, then a slap upon his knee. He kissed Lamar again and pushed his tongue past Lamar’s lips. It was a long, slow, moist kiss that ended when Demarcus lifted his head, smiling as his hands caressed Lamar’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, what happens in the barn stays in the barn.”
“Is that a real rule?”
“It is in this barn. The green barn is where that kinda shit happens, the kinda shit you city boys call ‘on the downlow’,” Demarcus said. His kisses moved down Lamar’s neck and chest, and he even sucked on each nipple as though expecting to find a breast. His dick poked out the fly of his boxers, rock-hard already, and it jabbed into Lamar’s crotch.
Demarcus mounted Lamar’s face. He didn’t pull down those thin white boxers — which Lamar was now certain were prison-issue underwear — he just aimed his dicktip down from the fly and pushed his dick right into Lamar’s mouth. The taste of male meat assaulted his tongue. Lamar sputtered as musty flesh overwhelmed his senses.
Thinking Demarcus was about to lay atop him, making for an awkward sixty-nine, Lamar submitted. He didn’t like the taste of cock, and he hated being on bottom during a sixty-nine, because he ended up with big sweaty balls flopping against his nose and face. It seemed to happen most of the time when he sixty-nined with his niggas.
But he could live with that, as once he got into it, once his own dick got hard, Lamar could ignore the smell of manmeat on his own nose. Good sex, even with a clean woman, didn’t smell nice either, as far as Lamar was concerned. You oughta smell like a pig in heat.
Lamar wrinkled his nose. He was trying not to think about barnyard animals right now.
In any case, this didn’t turn out to be sixty-nining, because Demarcus never opened his mouth. He bent over Lamar’s body, slamming his dick into Lamar’s throat and placing Demarcus’s own head on Lamar’s legs, just inches from his limp cock. It seemed like he was going to open up and take it.
But that didn’t happen. Demarcus didn’t open his mouth except to moan as his dick leaked precum into Lamar’s throat. He humped his crotch on Lamar’s face, and those heavy balls kept slapping against Lamar’s nose, sending wafts of ball-scent and kinky pubic hairs into his nostrils. Lamar clasped Demarcus on the asscheeks to signal Demarcus should do his part.
Lamar hadn’t even stopped choking on the cock in his mouth before he felt a finger exploring his ass. Demarcus chuckled as Lamar squirmed. Demarcus’s finger didn’t penetrate him yet, just squeezed underneath his legs and played with the rim, which sent waves of both intense pleasure and awkward pain up his spine.
Demarcus pumped his hips over and over, keeping his dick in Lamar’s throat even as he choked around it. When he pulled out to let Lamar take a deep breath, Demarcus rubbed his neck affectionately. His callused middle finger remained on the rim of Lamar’s asshole, but Demarcus didn’t quite shove it in.
“Good nigga, you got it, you doin’ just fine. Won’t make you pay no kinda rent like this,” Demarcus said through gritted teeth, as though Lamar’s mouth made him angry. “Young niggas don’t know nuffin’ ’bout showin’ respect. No nigga e’er made you take a dick b’fore?”
“No!” Lamar said, barely managing to spit the word out past his precum-choked mouth.
“He should. They used to, when we was growin’ up. Cuz undercover pigs ain’t nevuh swallow dick, they wouldn’t do that,” Demarcus said. He didn’t wait for a response before pushing his dick back in, and in that same moment, plunging his pinkie finger into Lamar’s ass. “Guess it’s all ’bout bein’ a real man now, ain’t no room for helpin’ ya gangmate out. That’s some bullshit.”
Lamar squirmed and yelped around the dick spasming in his throat. The taste of ballsweat clinging to his face was intense, but even as he disliked it, he couldn’t help but admit the passion was getting to him. He had been feeling like a dejected loser since running from the police, so it was nice to feel a little lust and desire, even if it wasn’t ideal. Demarcus moaned as pleasure rolled through him, and he caressed Lamar’s skin. It felt an awful lot like fumbling, awkward sex with a woman who smelled bad and was firm-bodied and flat-chested — he had to admit he had done that on more than a few occasions, and this was frankly better than some of them.
Lamar had fucked with some gross women. His niggas made fun of him anytime he turned down sex. He’d had a reputation as a hornball since middle school. He was an early bloomer, and he could never quite live that down. He dated all the girls in high school, when he had been a champion basketball player and the girls threw themselves at him. Not so much anymore.
“I’m-a stick you now, okay?” Demarcus said. He pulled his cock out and, in one smooth motion, moved behind Lamar. He kept both hands on Lamar’s belly, not exactly holding him down but keeping him from moving away. “Don’t worry, I won’t make it hurt, baby.”
If he trusted Demarcus to not tell anyone, Lamar would have been more enthusiastic about this. But he had a feeling Demarcus didn’t really follow that what happens in the barn stays in the barn rule. People took that ‘downlow’ shit seriously back in Lamar’s hood.
A yelp of surprise escaped Lamar’s lips as Demarcus lifted his hips up, leaned down and plunged his tongue into Lamar’s ass. Lamar had only ever had a rimjob from one girl, and she was a nasty slut, so he had never really enjoyed it — it was always more of a theoretical possibility than something anyone might really do. He was especially shocked that Demarcus would do it to him.
His dick spasmed and leaked precum even though no one touched it. He was so aroused he thought he might cum just from the tongue delicately prodding his prostate. Demarcus seemed to know exactly how to do it right.
Again passion overwhelmed Lamar. Twinges of sensation sparked up and down his body. He gasped and writhed beneath that tongue, which seemed impossibly huge, somehow stimulating every inch of Lamar’s insides.
“In prison, I had a magic tongue,” Demarcus said with a grin. “I had niggas payin’ me ten fuckin’ packs of cigarettes to get my tongue in they ass.”
That image made Lamar grimace. It reminded him that he could end up in prison — that could be him next, he thought, and looked away. He was surprised that someone like Demarcus had willingly licked ass like that, but the rules for that kind of thing changed once you got into prison. Booty bandits and old heads get touchy-feely with a nigga, Lamar had learned that multiple times since graduating from high school.
But it had never been like this. He was throwing his head back, pushing his ass at Demarcus’s face. Demarcus was loudly, moistly slurping on Lamar’s asshole, lapping at it like he was going to find a treasure there. His massive mitts gripped Lamar’s sides and held him in place. The sensations his tongue sparked made Lamar cry out for more, every part of his body tensing up beneath Demarcus’s potent pounding upon his tender prostate.
But as he knew it would, the pleasure ended soon enough, leaving Lamar a quivering husk of desire. Demarcus pulled his mouth away from Lamar’s ass, wiped his face off with his hand and separated Lamar’s cheeks.
“You got a cherry ass, doncha, boi?”
Lamar hung his head, not in shame exactly, since it was hardly shameful to have an intact ass. He was just embarrassed to tell Demarcus yes because it was like giving in, like acknowledging that Demarcus was the superior man who could pluck that cherry.
But Demarcus got the answer even without Lamar verbalizing it. He smiled like a victorious invader, spat into his fingers and rubbed the saliva into Lamar’s asshole, again pushing a finger into it as he lowered Lamar’s ass to his crotch-height. He used Lamar’s duffel bag of clothes to prop up his hips.
“I’ll stroke you off too, if you agree to swallow ya own nut,” Demarcus said with a sick smile. “I’ll catch ya nut in my palm and you can suck it down…”
“What?!”
“Sssh, just say yes…” Demarcus said. “I wanna watch you eat nut, okay? Unless you wanna do ass-to-mouth, it’ll have to be ya own. You got a nice pretty face, nigga. It’s gonna look real pretty wit’ yo own cum all over it. Ain’t no shame in tasting ya own nut, okay?”
Lamar’s moan of pain sounded sufficiently yes-like for Demarcus, who smiled again and nodded as he pushed his dick into Lamar’s ass. It was a hot, throbbing slab deep within him, and Lamar’s body bucked and writhed in Demarcus’s powerful arms. He stabbed a symphony of sensations in the deepness of Lamar’s body, making him cry out in agony and in bliss at the same time. Lamar arched his back, shocked that his dick only got harder even as pain wracked his body.
But behind that pain was intense, surprising pleasure. Demarcus had loosened up Lamar’s ass enough with his fingers and tongue that Lamar could take his entire dick with relative ease. It also meant his prostate tingled with sensitivity even before Demarcus’s dick slid past it.
Lamar gasped and held his breath as unimaginable bliss and torturous agony hit him both at once. He rolled his eyes and bit his lip. It would have been so painful he made Demarcus stop except that Demarcus kept on stroking Lamar off, his callused hand jacking his shaft, lubed up by Demarcus’s spit and Lamar’s own precum.
“Yeah, nigga, you got a nice ass, let’s make it bounce,” Demarcus said. He lightly slapped Lamar’s asscheek and groaned when the movement made Lamar grunt, writhe and clench on Demarcus’s dick. His taut little buttcheeks, toned by years of basketball in high school and then more recently in a neighborhood intramural league, rippled with each tap from Demarcus’s meaty hands. Lamar gasped and writhed. Demarcus made some kissy noises and said, “Sorry, nigga, I know that hurt. I won’t do it again, I promise. Gonna make this feel good for ya one way or another.”
Demarcus even wrapped his free hand around Lamar’s neck. He didn’t squeeze, but he kept a firm grip. Lamar writhed beneath his touch, panting and gasping for air.
The pressure in his ass was so intense it was all Lamar could do to force himself to breathe. Both the pain and the pleasure were unbearable, and Lamar couldn’t help himself from orgasmic moaning as he instinctively flailed, hands awkwardly gripping Demarcus’s muscles. He felt his climax coming and tried to slow it down, but Demarcus was in relentless control of his cock and his prostate, so Lamar could only contort as pleasure spasmed through his body.
It was humiliating for Lamar to cum first — only a pussy of a man cums with another man’s cock in his ass, he thought, but he lost control of himself and he didn’t care, he just wanted to blow his load. He moaned so loud he was glad he was in a barn far away from anyone else. He howled and growled, and the aggression he felt was swallowed up by the confident thickness Demarcus keeping him in place.
“There you go, nigga… There. You. Go,” Demarcus said as though he loved watching men ejaculate. You could see the moment when intense pleasure erupted in Lamar’s body, his whole body buckling, knees no doubt would gone weak if he was standing, it was all Lamar could do to avoid explicitly begging for more.
But Demarcus could tell. That was what Lamar wanted. All the young pups secretly wanna get jackhammered by an older man like Demarcus. Even — especially — the ones who militate against it, bristle against an order from an older man, them is who wants it most of all. They wanted the discipline that can only come from a cock ramming its way into a hole that don’t want it. A proper man can force his bottom to enjoy it.
Semen sprayed all over Lamar’s bare chest, coating his six-pack abs and his tight pecs. Demarcus groaned too, as though he had been waiting for this moment. He sped up his gyrations, slamming in and out with each thrust of his hips. He used one hand to sop up all that cum, and he held it up, so they both could see the creamy semen dripping from his fingers in the silver moonlight.
Lamar knew what was coming, but it was still terrifying, and his stomach churned even before it happened. He opened his mouth, and Demarcus brought his hand to meet it. Some of the cum dripped past his lips before Demarcus’s hand got there, so Lamar’s tongue was flooded with semen.
It was intensely salty, powerfully enough that Lamar shocked at the bracing taste. It was creamy like alfredo, and it coated Lamar’s tongue. He groaned in Nelon’s bulging arm muscles.
He choked and gagged, but Demarcus had him suck on each finger. Lamar writhed, his orgasm having never quite ended due to his prostate stimulation, even if his mind was overwhelmed by shame and disgust as he tasted salty cum all over his mouth.
“Gonna clean you up, nigga, cuz that’s what a nigga do,” Demarcus said with a little chuckle that made his dick pulsated in Lamar’s ass.. He leaned his powerful body between over, kissed him on the lips and then licked his cheek. He gagged too when he tasted Lamar’s cum on his tongue and felt it coating his lips, but that didn’t stop from lapping it up like a cat with a bowl of milk.
He had his tongue in Lamar’s mouth when an orgasm hit him as well. His prison-toned muscles all shook and flexed, and he sprayed his load deep inside Lamar’s ass.
“Uh, yeah, take it, nigga…” A warm heat suffused Lamar’s body. He groaned, glad no one could see him writhing while cum covered his insides. It felt like more than any man could shoot, Lamar thought, shuddering, creaminess spreading to every corner of his insides. Each thrust of his hips sent another wave of goop through his insides.
In a moment that seemed to last a lifetime, pleasure sparked through Lamar’s body, the pressure in his ass intensifying the sensations into a tsunami of desire that crashed into Lamar’s mind. His hands curled into claws, as he gasped and begged both for more and for this to end.
Lamar fell limp, numbing bliss spreading from his ass as Demarcus finished filling him up. One final burst of jizz exploded within him, and then Demarcus stopped his gyrations. He paused there, cock limpening inside Lamar’s ass, breath condensing on Lamar’s sensitive skin. Lamar tried not to show how much pain he was in, because he wanted to seem tough, but after a minute or two, he couldn’t bear it any longer. He grimaced and tried to roll away, sending a fresh spasm of pain up his spine.
Demarcus chuckled and pulled out. He smacked Lamar on the bare ass, and laughed again as Lamar spasmed in pain. He leaned down and kissed Lamar’s on the plump asscheek. He gave it a loving caress.
“You got a nice, tight ass, Lamar. I’m gonna love you living wit’ me,” he said. “This’ll be real nice. I’ll get you some lube to keep out here, okay? That’ll make this feel better than you ever thought possible.”
“Oh, uh…”
“Say okay, nigga.”
“Okay.”
“Good,” Demarcus said. “You might be able to stay outta prison, Lamar, but you gonna take it one way or another. Have a good night, nigga. Sleep tight.” Then he walked away, stark naked with those prison boxers in hand as he strode into the moonlit yard. Lamar breathed a sigh of relief that it was over.

The Model

Avery hires a hunky model for a photoshoot, but the stud’s girlfriend ruins everything, and he’s got an inconvenient bulge he can’t get rid of… That’s where Avery comes in! He’s willing to service this handsome alpha if that’s what it takes!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Apparently, this was the only weeping willow tree in front of a barn and a pond in this area. Avery didn’t think that could possibly be true. Weeping willow trees were everywhere. Ponds and barns were quite common. How could this be the only suitable location? It was probably just the only one they could find a picture of on the Internet.
But Avery wasn’t about to complain. He had a spot laid out he thought would look good, so long as the model showed up soon, before the sun moved.
He paced back and forth. This was the first time he had been hired as a photographer, after months of selling cut-rate services online. Thus far, it had been kind of a bust.
But then all of a sudden, a large Indian company hired him to take twelve pictures — of handsome shirtless American men. They were making a calendar, it seemed. Avery was excited. This seemed like a real possible entrance into the world of professional photography. On the one hand, taking shirtless-hunk pics was kind of cheap, but on the other hand, it was indisputably professional, not amateur — Avery would be able to put on his resume that he had produced the pictures for a best-selling calendar (obviously he didn’t know if it would be best-selling, but no one regulated that kind of claim, and for all he knew, it would be a best-seller in India).
He wondered if he should have looked up what Indian women thought was handsome. He hadn’t considered that. Should he assume they wanted what he would want? Would an American man think the same thing was sexy as some Indian women? The Indian company who hired him hadn’t even said that they were releasing it in India, so that all might not even matter.
He tried doing some googling with the Google India portal. As far as he could tell, aside from a preference for beards, there wasn’t much he could glean about handsome Indian men.
They wouldn’t want a picture in front of an American barn if they wanted him to look Indian, Avery thought. What if the model is Indian? He should have asked more questions when he accepted the gig. It had seemed so simple at the time: just snap some pics of a handsome bare-chested dude in front of a weeping willow, a pond and a barn. They even found the location for him and hired the model (and when the original model had had to cancel, they found a replacement).
Finally a little red Ferrari zoomed along the winding country roads that carved through the mountains. It was going way too fast, Avery thought. It came to a screeching halt on the asphalt — not on the little gravel road that led to the barn, which was where Avery had parked.
“Oh my god, Owen if you think you’re parking my dad’s Ferrari in the fucking gravel, you are very mistaken,” said a female voice. She was Veranda, and she was a pretty but harsh-looking woman with an angular face and blonde hair so perfectly cascading past her shoulders that it looked like she had scalped a Barbie. Avery instantly took a disliking to her and not just because she was Owen’s girlfriend.
Owen was the model, and he was dreamy, impossibly hunky, cringe-inducingly handsome. Avery wanted to gaze into his soulful eyes and hear him wax philosophically about sunsets. He wanted to slather him with kisses. Avery hadn’t expected him to be like that. He was kind of lean, but well-muscled, long-limbed, tall but not extraordinarily so. He had dark hair in an impeccable little foppish wave, every strand in place and plastered there with some sort of mousse that Avery guessed was very expensive. He had dour dimples and a disaffected grin on his face as he got out of the car, tossed his head back to get his hair out of his eyes and nodded at Avery.
Still on the road, they had to walk to meet Avery. Owen was mostly silent the whole way, but Veranda kept talking. “This is all so ridiculous. I can’t believe we drove all this way for this.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I mean, we drove for like an hour to get here, an hour back, that means you’re making like twenty bucks an hour. That’s bullshit. I’m sorry, I wouldn’t piss on a dead dog for that,” she said. She lit her cigarette. “And for that…” She glanced over at Avery as though she didn’t want to finish her sentence in front of him.
That’s because she and Owen had been about to have sex when he got the call asking him to come here for a photoshoot. Owen had been struggling to break into modeling for awhile. He was desperate for any gig he could get. So he went even if it disrupted them from having sex.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen until after Owen took a little blue boner pill.
It wasn’t until Avery had shaken Owen’s hand and gotten him to take his shirt off that he noticed the erection. Owen had aimed it up so it wasn’t that obvious at first. Once you saw it though, you couldn’t hardly miss it.
For one thing, he had worn tight skinny-jeans. There was nowhere to hide his ten inches of manmeat in those pants. Avery snuck glances at it as he explained the photoshoot and got a look at Owen next to the barn and weeping willow. He looked good in the right light, real good. This was going to be a nice photoshoot. But Avery’s eyes were drawn over and over to the Wiagro-fueled bulge in his designer jeans.
Owen blushed when he saw Avery checking it out. He again re-angled his cock upwards, so it wouldn’t tent his pants. It was still visible though.
“Ah, so… You have a, uh…” Avery blushed. “That’s going to be a problem.” He pointed to Owen’s crotch. “It’s very distracting.”
“Sorry, man… what kinda pants am I supposed to wear? I can hide it,” Owen said. He bit his lip nervously, showing off those outrageous dimples that made Avery swoon. His whole body sort of undulated when he got nervous, showing off those outrageous abs — he did one-hundred sit-ups twice a day. He demonstrated that, with his cock at the right angle, it wasn’t visible. But every time he moved, it was no longer at the right angle, and he winced each time because his erect dick was so sensitive. “Sorry. I, uh… I have a hardon. It’s hard to get rid of-“
“He’s not kidding, it won’t go away for hours.”
“Don’t worry, I, uh, I have spare pants. They’re corduroys,” Avery said. “Let’s go into the barn and change.” He glanced back at Veranda. “I’ll… I’ll work around, uh… your anatomical… issues-“
She scoffed and took a deep drag. “He took a pill, mister, that thing’s not going away for a couple hours. Cuz if he thinks I am letting him fuck me in a fucking barn in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere, he is sorely mistaken-“
Owen interrupted her, his face suddenly tense and red. “I didn’t fucking ask you to fuck me in a fucking barn in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere-!”
“Don’t you shout at me, you loser!” She shouted right back. “Go ahead and get him off, mister! He’s gonna stay hard until you do.” She crossed her arms over her chest and took out her phone to start texting. Avery got the feeling she had been waiting for a good opportunity to lose herself in her phone and that she was not going to pay any more attention to Owen. Owen seemed relieved by that.
Avery nodded as politely as he could muster at her, not that she was paying attention, she was focused on that phone. He walked away, arm in arm with Owen.
When they got in the barn, Avery handed the corduroys over to Owen, who dropped his pants. That was when Avery saw how huge his cock was, and how throbbing that erection. He had been blue-balled, it seemed, and Avery was tantalized by its meaty heft and how close it already appeared to orgasm
I bet I could just run my finger along the top of it and he’d bust out, Avery thought. He blushed.
“Corduroys, huh? Do people still wear corduroys?”
“Maybe in India,” Avery said with a shrug. “They told me these would be good pants to wear.” He watched as Owen tried to fit into the corduroys, but they were a little small for him, and his massive erection kept getting in the way. Owen blushed until he was as red as Avery.
“Uh… I’ve been working out, getting more muscle tone,” Owen said. “I prolly need bigger pants. I have big thighs now. I can do it though, I just… uh…”
“Was your girlfriend serious about me jacking you off?”
Owen nodded. “You’re like… into that? Is that… cool? I mean…?” He was one of those people who talked as if everything was a question, so it was hard to tell what he actually intended as a question and what was a statement.
Avery dropped to his knees. “I just need you to go soft enough for us to take a couple pics. No biggie. I’m a professional like that. I’ll do what it takes to make this photoshoot a success.”
Owen sucked in his breath and nodded again. He peered outside to see if his girlfriend was coming closer. She was focused on her phone and wouldn’t likely put it down until he said he was done. Owen rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’d let a man jack him off. Owen found a lot of modeling gigs came easier if he let a producer manhandle him. He didn’t mind. In this case, it wasn’t even that — he already had the gig. He could even have masturbated if he really wanted to.
But that would have definitely made Veranda make fun of him. She would have called him a pussy for jacking his own self off, like a loser-ass pansy. She was like that.
Avery sunk to his knees at Owen’s feet, and he pulled those corduroys down until his cock was bare. Avery chased it with his mouth, while Owen stood there like he was modeling already, putting out a smoldering handsome face aimed in no direction in particular. He looked contemplative, serious yet casual.
Finally, his dick plopped heavily on Avery’s waiting tongue. It tasted like sex, Avery decided, you could tell he had been thinking about sex, maybe even precummy, not that long ago. He might have fucked Veranda recently. Though she did seem like the kind of girlfriend who usually found an excuse not to have sex. She was like that, Avery could tell.
He could sense that Owen had been hard for a long time too. He was rock-hard but still springy and just a bit floppy in the best possible way. His veiny shaft was not pulsating like a normal hardon at first, but it did begin to throb once Avery got it excited — basically, it was still and dull when his erection was caused by pharmaceuticals, but once it was caused by arousal, it was a potent, throbbing stiffy like any other.
Avery played with it a bit first, while Owen made nervous mewling noises and kept checking his girlfriend. She had said he “could” do this, but he didn’t want her to know he actually did it. She’d probably insist he make friends with Avery so anytime she didn’t want to suck him off — pretty much always — she’d tell him to get his nut off from Avery.
That’d be a great plan from Avery’s perspective. Not so much for Owen.
He sighed and tried to relax to enjoy the mouth on his cock, which Avery worked on with enthusiasm. It did feel good, he thought, as Avery slathered his shaft with spit and slurped merrily on the tip. It was nice to get jacked off by someone eager to do it. Veranda treated it like a chore, like doing the dishes — a chore that Owen couldn’t even tell her not to worry about, because she insisted he would cheat on her if she didn’t do it. Somehow she did things neither of them wanted, yet it was Owen’s fault.
Not Avery. Owen could tell Avery did this because he wanted it, because he needed it, because Owen’s cock was that good. Avery guzzled it down.
“Hmmmm…. You taste sweet,” Avery said when he pulled off Owen’s shaft. A few drops of precum came out the tip, and Avery slurped them down. The bright, salty taste of Owen’s body hit his senses.
Avery slurped on the tip with a smirk as he played with the underside of Owen’s shaft. He let it dance overtop his face, with his mouth and lips planted right at the root, on the underside. He let his tongue snake out and tickle the veiny spot where his dick met his ballsac. The taste was salty and funk, accentuated by the vaporous chypre of the drugstore cologne Owen wore.
Owen groaned and closed his eyes. “Goddamn, man, you got a nice mouth. You’re better than Veranda. I swear, she’s like ninety-percent teeth. She’s like a shark.”
Avery chuckled. He spat on the shaft then licked it off, making Owen groan and shudder in excitement. Avery licked his way down the shaft until he got to those low-hanging balls, which were clean and ripe and juicy. Avery guzzled them down, letting his mouth fill with Owen’s fleshy sac.
“Can I lick your ass?” Avery asked. He didn’t often give out rimjobs, but if he were ever going to do it, Owen was perfect. He had a nice clean ass, fleshy and firm and strong. It smelled of sunshine and coconut soap.
His eyes opening wide, Owen blushed as he turned around. He once again checked his girlfriend — she was texting angrily now, presumably either bitching about him or sympathizing with one of her friends who was bitching about her boyfriend. She ignored him. She didn’t seem to have even noticed that this was taking a long time — technically, Owen had only come in here to change his pants. But it had already been a good five minutes, maybe more like ten.
For all she knows, this photographer turned out to be a serial killer and he’s already turning my dick into a lampshade, Owen thought to himself. The more time he spent with Veranda, the more he wanted to dump her.
But Owen was one of those guys who was literally never single. Since middle school, he always had a serious girlfriend. He hadn’t gone more than a week or two without a girlfriend in years. He didn’t know how to handle life without a woman telling him what to do.
And supporting him. Owen didn’t make enough from modeling to pay the bills.
Avery kneeled behind Owen, who leaned on a railing of some kind — this barn wasn’t used anymore, but it looked like at one point it had been for milking cows. Owen grimaced and spread his legs wide so Avery could get between his cheeks. His thighs were thickly muscled, and his buttcheeks were smooth like porcelain. Avery rammed his tongue in quickly, his hands kneadig the flesh of Owen’s backside.
“Oh god…” Owen wasn’t expecting it to feel so good, especially right away. He threw his eyebrows way back, and he let out a long moan.
From the moment Avery’s tongue hit his asshole, spasms of pleasure shot up Owen’s spine. Owen grunted and groaned. Avery’s tongue rammed into him. It seemed impossibly long, and Owen even looked behind himself to check if it was really his tongue or if it was a finger.
But he’d never gotten a rimjob before, so he didn’t know what it was supposed to be like. Was his ass that sensitive? Or was Avery’s tongue that big? Or maybe Avery was just really good at it. A wave of pleasure exploded in Owen’s body, like something he had never experienced, it was toe-curlingly intense.
Regardless, Owen’s eyes bulged out and he lifted one foot like a dog getting scratched. He wrenched his head back and held his breath.
Avery lapped at his perfectly clean and smooth ass. Owen had even gotten his anus bleached a few weeks ago, so it was pristine. His asscheeks were a lightly tanned brown, the same shade as the rest of his skin — obviously, Avery thought, he tanned in the nude. He had no tan lines at all.
Finally Owen had had enough. His cock strained to finally shoot his wad. He pulled away a little gingerly, his knees going weak when Avery’s face moved away from his ass. “Okay, man, I gotta nut. I swear it feels like I’ve been hard for years, man. I don’t even remember what it feels like to not… y’know… to be able to think about something else.” He gasped. “Oh god, I need to nut-“
“You wanna stick it in me?” Avery asked. He turned around, baring his own ass, which was paler and not as perfectly smooth as Owen’s, but still it was good enough for Owen’s horny body. He didn’t even care anymore, he just wanted to ram his dick in some tight hole and finally blow his wad.
So he didn’t even answer Avery’s question. He didn’t want to speak for fear of attracting attention from Veranda out there. She might have genuinely gotten angry if she knew what he was doing. She didn’t even know about cornholing, Owen was pretty sure. Or if she knew about it, she thought it was an urban legend, not something anybody would do.
And she’d never touch Owen again if she knew.
In any case, Avery was plenty loud for him from the moment Owen’s cock rammed up his backside. Avery grunted and groaned, pawing at the ground just from sheer excitement as that meaty shaft slid between his cheeks. It felt even girthier because Owen was skinny-muscled. It looked like he had stolen a thick man’s cock, Avery thought, making him giggle as he squeezed the lube he always kept in his pocket over his own ass and Owen’s shaft.
That helped the rest of Owen’s erection slide into Avery’s ass. Owen grimaced, humping his dick between Avery’s cheeks until he saw lube bubbling in and out of the hole. Then he aimed it in, closed his eyes and moaned.
It felt so good. Fucking Veranda hadn’t been this good in years, not since they first hooked up, if ever. None of his girlfriends ever made him feel like this.
He completely lost track of time. Owen didn’t even care how long it took or about the money from the photo shoot. None of that seemed important. All that mattered was ramming his entire rod into Avery’s ass, ramming into him over and over, exploring every inch of his tender body. Sensations exploded through both men’s bodies. Owen moved with more passion than he ever had.
“Oh god, stick it in me!” Avery called out. He had completely forgotten Veranda was out there. Owen didn’t think much about that either. She had excised herself from his life, Owen thought, so why should he care if she knew about this? What was the worst she could do? Bitch about it like she already bitched about every single thing that happened?
He wasn’t sure he had ever gotten his entire dick in a woman’s ass. He was big enough that that was a challenge, and he was too much of a doe-eyed prettyboy to really push for it anyway. So it felt nice to jam his dick in and out, clapping his hands and smacking Avery’s plump cheeks. Most women couldn’t even take his whole cock in their pussies, and Veranda would never lower herself to trying. She thought only ghetto-sluts did anal.
Finally he felt an orgasm approach, exquisite bliss spiderwebbing through Owen’s body, making his muscles all tighten up at once. Owen sighed and moaned out loud, blushing as he saw Veranda poke her head into the barn. Her eyes opened wide.
She was just in time to watch Owen’s six-pack undulate as he orgasmed. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and sucked in his breath. His balls slapped against Avery’s asscheeks, making a loud thwack-thwack sound with each thrust of his hips at Avery’s tight booty. Veranda’s face froze.
He stayed there all the way in, cock throbbing within Avery’s ass, as the most intense orgasm of his life burst within him. Owen shouted and pounded on his chest. He ran his fingers through his coiffed hair, finally messing up his hairdo and giving himself that ‘just-fucked-a-chick’ look. A similar surge of pleasure coursed through Avery’s veins, and Avery panted, crying out for more.
“Owen!” Veranda shouted, yelping at the sight of her boyfriend’s ruddy face and bulging eyes. She held her breath and tried to look away but found herself unable to do so.
Owen didn’t respond. He was too busy writhing with bliss as he climaxed into Avery’s tight ass. Avery had been stroking himself off the whole time, and he shot his own wad soon after, spraying it over the wooden floor of the barn. A vast flood of it spurted several feet in front of him, as Owen’s cock stimulated a prostate orgasm that wracked Avery from head to toe.
Her feet tapped on the barn floor. Veranda had said Owen should get jacked off by Avery, not stick him in the butt. She had trouble thinking of a reason she should be angry about this, but she wasn’t about to let an opportunity to win an argument pass her by.
“Owen! How dare you?!” Veranda scowled.
“What?” Owen said, his voice wavering because he was still in the throes of orgasm. “You said to jack off with him.” The last few drops of his load filled up Avery’s ass.
Only then did Avery realize Veranda was even here. She seemed so unimportant to him. Even now, as Owen and her yelled, Avery’s attention remained on the fat cock in his ass, stimulating his prostate and causing a symphony of sensations to continue sparking up and down Avery’s petite body.
“I said to put it in his mouth, you jackass!” She scowled. “That’s disgusting, what you’re doing… It’s… It’s…”
“Nuh-uh,” Owen said with a throaty laugh. He took a deep breath, watching his dick throb within Avery’s cheeks. Then he pulled slowly out. Both him and Avery sighed when his cock left Avery’s ass, and both men’s knees went weak. “Goddamn, man, I needed that. Shit, you-“
“Don’t you talk back to me!”
“-you got hella nice ass, man,” Owen said, speaking over Veranda. He blushed intensely. That was true and he meant to say it, but he said it mainly to prove to Veranda he didn’t need to hang on her every word. He was his own man, not simply her boyfriend.
“Thanks. You got a nice dick. It’s a pity this photoshoot isn’t naked,” Avery said. He cleaned himself off with a wetnap.
“You hear me, you jerk?! This photoshoot is over!”
“No! We’re over. Go home, Veranda,” Owen said. He looked to Avery. “You’ll give me a ride home, right? That’s her car. Or her dad’s, I mean. Nothing is hers. You can play with it some more on the way. I’m sure I’ll be hard again by then.”
“Sure,” Avery said as Veranda stomped away to her car. Avery cleared his throat. “Okay, well, get those corduroys on. We’ll have to hurry to get these pics taken before your boner comes back.” Avery smiled. His first photoshoot as a professional photographer had gone better than expected.

The Green Barn

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.

From The Green Barn

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?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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.