intruding – Mansploitation

The Aryan Bottoms

When Moshe confronts the neo-Nazis protesting his synagogue, he didn’t know what he was in for! That’s cuz he winds up with Tower, the hardcore alpha with a secret need for a twink like Moshe to climb on top!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

When Moshe saw his new neighbor — ‘Tower’ was his name, according to what Moshe had overheard — among the crowd of men near the synagogue, he marched right up to him and confronted him about the things he had said. Moshe had tried to look the other way when it only affected him, but now Tower was protesting the synagogue, and Moshe couldn’t tolerate that.
He had heard Tower through the paper-thin walls separating their apartments, ranting and raving last night about the Jews, as he talked with someone on the phone. Moshe hadn’t done anything particularly Jewy when they met, so Tower had no way of knowing Moshe was Jewish until they made eye contact there at the synagogue.
Moshe didn’t want to look the other way anymore. Rabbi Kaplan’s words of wisdom today had made him feel like he needed to become a man of action, not timidity. He should confront evil and replace it with good: a simple idea, but one that was hard to put into practice.
“I’ll have you know that those things you said last night — I could hear them through the wall — those things were wrong, and you are an anti-Semite and a big jerk and… and….” Moshe stammered over his words as the other neo-nazis hooted at him. “You shouldn’t protest us. We are kind and gentle, and we don’t want to hurt anyone.” The neo-nazis jeered and sneered. At least they moved away from the synagogue Temple Man Asaf, which let the last few elderly folks inside scurry off to the parking lot.
Tower, on the other hand, remained firmly planted to the ground, his face placid and stony. He was the biggest neo-nazi there, at well over six and a half feet tall, skin white as oyster shell, bedecked with colorful tattoos and a big square jaw like an action hero. He towered over the small, thin and delicate Moshe. He would probably not have confronted Tower if he had realized how big he was. His dimpled face and strong cheekbones would have been handsome if it weren’t for the Aryan gang tats reaching up his neck to his chin.
He actually was handsome, Moshe realized. It was hard to see because of his prison muscles and anti-Semitic tattoos, but it was there — a handsome face. Tower had sweet eyes and a potent jaw and high cheekbones like a Roman emperor.
It looked like the more Moshe spoke, the more Tower hated him, and the other neo-nazis jeered louder and louder. So Moshe just darted away. He blushed. He was glad the neo-nazis couldn’t see him anymore. He felt like an idiot even as he tried to tell himself that he had done what was right — he had expressed his beliefs, he had remained true to himself and spoken righteousness in the face of evil. He just wished he wasn’t such a thin, small man, then he might have had a chance to intimidate some of the nazi scum.
By the time he got home and made himself some dinner, the humiliating incident with the neo-nazis seemed like a distant memory. He had gone to synagogue today, which he often was too pressed for time to do, so he tried to remain proudful of that. He had been attempting to reconnect with his Jewish heritage this year. He sighed as he got the oven started, then went upstairs to change his pants.
As he opened the door, he saw a large man in his bedroom, creeping forward. He halted when Moshe saw him, and then realized it was Tower. He was here, in Moshe’s house, in his bedroom. Moshe screamed, only for Tower to dart forward and clamp one meaty palm over Moshe’s mouth.
His hand was enormous, and it easily covered Moshe’s entire face. His cries of fear were muffled by the man’s gigantic palm. His fingers were tattooed, spiderwebs covering the interior of his middle and ring fingers, so it looked like the space between those fingers was infested with spiders.
“Sssh,” Tower said. “I ain’t gonna hurt you, Jewboy.” He hissed through gritted teeth, and his other hand caressed Moshe’s tender neck. “I ain’t here to hurt ya. I’m-a give you somethin’ I’m pretty sure you’ll like.”
He lowered his hand but kept a tight grip on Moshe’s face and neck. Moshe was intensely aware of Tower’s muscular body, which was intimidating — he was a large man whose sleeveless shirt showed off his thick barrel chest and powerful frame. Neo-nazi tattoos covered his entire body, almost every scrap of flesh from his neck to his ankles.
“What… What do you want?”
“I wanna tell you somethin’ for starters,” he said. He spoke directly into Moshe’s face, so close they were virtually kissing. His big dimpled smile made Moshe swoon now that he was so close that Moshe couldn’t see his cue-ball head or his offensive tattoos. Moshe’s heart fluttered. Tower smiled menacingly. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry, about what I said and what happened earlier. I don’t want bad blood wit’ my neighbor. I ain’t really a neo-nazi. I mean… Yeah, I joined the Aryan Way. I did that in prison a couple years back. I had to do it to survive, man.”
“Okay…” Moshe voice faltered, weakly wavering. He barely even listened to Tower’s words because he was so terrified of what was going to happen. “Take whatever you want-“
He sighed and cocked his head to the side. “I ain’t here to rob you, man, I- But since you said that, I am gonna rob you. Ain’t a robbery if you gimme permission, so don’t go calling the police.”
“Fine!”
“But that ain’t why I came here, man. What’s yo’ name?”
“Moshe.”
“I’m Leopold. That’s my real name. Not Tower.”
“Okay, Leopold… Leopold?”
“It’s a family name.”
“Oh, I… Okay, I don’t-“
“I don’t believe in none of that neo-nazi shit. I got these tattoos to fit in.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Well…”
“Nevermind, it don’t matter,” Leopold said. “I only stay in the Aryan Way to make money, Jewboy. They got the meth market in this town locked up.”
“Oh. Okay,” Moshe said. A part of him did believe Leopold. It was hard to accept, but Leopold’s general mien right now came across more like a hardened thug who adopted a neo-nazi look to fit in. He smiled self-effacingly, deep dimples flashing in the dim light of Moshe’s bedroom.
Pretending to be neo-nazi in order to sell meth was hardly morally superior to genuinely believing in neo-naziism while coincidentally selling meth, Moshe thought. It wasn’t much of an excuse.
“I want you to do somethin’ for me,” Leopold said. He smiled at the sight of an iPad on the nightstand. He scooped it up and put it in his baggy jeans pocket. Then he sat on the bed and slowly untied his heavy military boots.
“Uh, what are-“
“Get down on the ground, on your knees and open your mouth, Jewboy,” Leopold said. His nostrils flared. “If you’re still here in a minute, we’re gonna mess around, prison-style. One of us might cry a little. One of us is gonna taste a whole lotta cum. One of us just might beg fo’ mercy. You might be able to guess which is which. You can run away if you want. I’ll just hurry up and rob you, then get out. But if you are still here when I get my clothes off… well, we gonna have a little fun. At least one of us is gonna enjoy it. Fair warning: it won’t be kosher.”
Moshe’s mouth dropped. He had always loved skinheads — not the racist kind — shaved men, smooth skin, he loved it all. Tower — or Leopold as he thought of him now — was so muscle-bound and intense he was entirely too much for Moshe, who told himself over and over to leave. Moshe greatly appreciated a sturdy male physique like what Leopold had.
The safe thing to do was run away. He could grab his cell phone out the door, and he could run to the McCloud family down the street. He knew they kept their front door unlocked, so he could just run in, and make noise, wake them up, call the police. He’d be safe.
He didn’t run away. He kept telling himself to do so, but he wanted more than anything to service this hot alpha male. He wasn’t going to be able to force himself to give up on that. He was beginning to believe him about not really being an anti-Semite.
Leopold had taken off both of his boots. He sneered at Moshe. “You fuckin’ pervert. You so nasty, boi. You want me to spit on you?”
“Yes-“
He spat before Moshe could finish answering. He let out a huge wad of saliva that splatted all over Moshe’s face. Moshe sputtered and Leopold guffawed. Moshe was mesmerized as Leopold took off that sleeveless shirt. He had massive pecs, which he flexed and laughed when he saw Moshe’s hungry look.
“I hate weak men,” he said with a hiss that sent a chill up Moshe’s spine. “Take off your clothes. All your clothes.”
Moshe trembled as he unbuttoned his shirt and slowly took it off. Leopold simply undid his belt and let his black pants fall to the ground. He stepped out of them, scratched at his massive cock through the plain white boxers he wore, then pulled them down as well. They were, Moshe suspected, prison-issued underwear.
He was so scared that he didn’t quite process what happened as he dropped his own pants: Leopold simply climbed on the bed and laid on his back on the edge, so his head hung down. There were more spiderwebs tattooed on his face and even spiders tattooed crawling out of his eye sockets — Moshe wondered, terrified, if the spiders represented murder. That was what tears meant when they were tattooed in, he thought, but what did spider-tears mean?
Leopold was so tall he didn’t fit on the bed when he laid crossways. His feet dangled off the edge. He grumbled. “It’s like being in prison again, man. I was seven inches too tall for them bunks. It was like fucking torture after a few months man. I couldn’t stretch my legs at night. It seems minor but it ain’t.”
It was only as he talked that Moshe realized Leopold was laying on the bed as though in position to get throated. In a position for Leopold to get throated. Not Moshe.
Leopold lay on his back with his head dangling over the side of the bed. Moshe shook as he approached. This surely wasn’t right?
“Come here, pervert,” Leopold said. He reached out and grabbed Moshe’s dick with one of those huge hands — Moshe’s dick was not small by any means, but in comparison with Leopold’s massive paws and his large head, Moshe looked like a miniature person. He had to stand on his toes to get his crotch lined up with Leopold’s head. Leopold smiled, flashing deep dimples that would have been handsome if they weren’t on a menacing tattooed face.
Then he opened his mouth and swallowed Moshe’s dick down to the root. He gagged as though he hated it, but his tongue ran up and down Moshe’s shaft like he had extensive practice at it. Moshe was so shocked he yelped and screamed, but muffled the sound himself.
He leaned back a little, as though he’d get in trouble for touching a neo-nazi man’s tattoos. But the man’s body beckoned. Leopold struggled to keep Moshe’s dick in his throat, and every time he gagged, his corded chest muscles roiled. Those softball-sized pecs flexed and relaxed in sync — was that what massive muscles normally looked like? Moshe had never seen anything like that in person. Even as he told himself this was dangerous and he ought to run away, his hands roamed forward and grabbed those nipples.
They were hard beneath his touch. Leopold’s body stretched to accommodate Moshe’s dick, and Moshe writhed, barely able to support himself on his toes as his manhood hardened and sent throes of passion through his limbs. His knees were weak.
The sound of moist suckling filled the air. Moshe could tell he was leaking precum into Leopold’s mouth, but that somehow didn’t seem to bother him. Leopold continued enthusiastically even as his throat sputtered and choked. Leopold managed to stick his tongue out past his lips and flickeringly touch Moshe’s balls with it.
Then at last Leopold pulled off. He growled at Moshe. “I don’t like you, you little bitch. You talk like a goddamn pussy.” Leopold’s eyes narrowed. He jumped to his feet on the bed, his body so big Moshe wondered if he was going to shatter the bedframe. He crouched low, glaring at Moshe, his heavy-hanging balls dangling just in front of Moshe’s face. He had a girthful cock with a red and black swastika tattoo on it. He spat again on Moshe’s face. “I was just… I wondered… Uh… You were strokin’ my dick, and, uh…-“
Leopold jumped down from the bed. He marched forward, his chest bumping up against Moshe as though challenging him to a fight. Since he was so much taller than Moshe, Leopold bumped his chest and belly against Moshe’s face. He outweighed Moshe by more than a hundred pounds of solid muscle, so Moshe could do little more than stumble backwards, pinned against the bedroom wall.
‘Oh damn,’ he thought to himself, ‘am I about to get jewbashed now? Had I been given the gift of one outrageous muscley smooth-bear jerking me off and I squandered it? I shouldn’t have said anything.’ Moshe cursed himself.
“Lemme be clear. I would never swallow no dick,” he said through gritted teeth, stepping even closer with every word until his sweaty belly-meat smacked into Moshe’s face. Moshe could taste the sweat from the giant swastika over his bellybutton, which seemed to taste different, more sour and rancid, than the rest of his sweat. “I’d rip yo’ dick off and choke you to death with it before I touch your dick like this-” he grabbed Moshe’s dick with one callused hand. His rough-hewn fingers stroked it, and he laughed at Moshe’s pale face and frightened shake. “Don’t you ever suggest I might do that. I ate Jews like you up when I was in prison.”
“Oh, okay. Sure. Sure, uh… Leopold,” Moshe said. His voice sounded weak and pinched, and he knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll uh… Sure. You’re not into that. I realize that. You would never jerk me off-“
“Quit talkin’ about it, Jew,” he said. He saw Moshe’s jewelry box nearby, and picked it up. He looked at the handful of cheap necklaces and bracelets, sneered and tossed them on the ground near his pants. “They ain’t worth jack shit.” He sniffed like he was offended. “I’m still gonna steal ’em. Cuz fuck you, that’s why.” He spat on Moshe’s face again.
“Okay. Yeah. I’m sorry. I don’t have any nice jewelry. You might get a few dollars for-!… uh… for that, uh, one… gold bracelet there.” Moshe’s voice trailed off because Leopold grabbed his hand and shoved it behind himself, in between Leopold’s own asscheeks, which were plump, juicy and tattooed with crude statements about various races, inviting them to lick his ass.
Moshe rather wanted to act out some of those statements — Leopold had a round, firm and delicious-looking pair of cheeks, aside from the rude tattoos. But Leopold forced Moshe’s pinkie finger to separate from his others, and before Moshe realized what he wanted, he pushed Moshe’s pinkie into his ass.
Leopold gripped the dresser in front of him, leaning forward a little to separate his cheeks. Moshe gulped nervously. He inserted his pinkie back and forth, slowly at first as Leopold yelped and breathed heavy, struggling to accept it. His broad back muscles rippled, sending distortions up and down the intricate tattoos that crisscrossed his flesh.
“Deeper, Jew!”
As Moshe fingered him, Leopold slowly, painfully moved his body around. He opened each drawer of the dresser and threw all of Moshe’s clothes onto the floor. He stopped only when he found a wad of cash — Moshe’s emergency money. He threw the money onto the pile of clothes and jewelry he intended to steal.
Then Leopold roared, his bullish nostrils flaring. He gripped Moshe’s wrist and held on tight, digging his nails into the flesh. Moshe yelped, thinking he had made a mistake — now, he thought, Leopold’s violent side would come through.
“Listen to me, Jew, since you ain’t got a lotta nice stuff to give me, I’m gonna have to punish you.”
But instead of hitting him, he guided Moshe’s hand to more violently finger his ass. Moshe slipped a second finger in, and Leopold groaned with a mixture of agony and rage. His face was ruddy now, the color spreading down to his massive chest, which was shaved perfectly smooth though Moshe got the impression he was hairy by nature.
Then he jumped around in a full circle to face Moshe, whose fingers left his ass. Leopold’s face was crimson, and he scrunched up his eyes as he roared in frustration and hatred. Moshe’s balls crawled up in his sac, and he was overcome, yet again, by certainty that this was it, that Leopold was about to reveal his true nature.
But Leopold simply made a face like a Hulk, and he flexed his arms like he was trying to terrify Moshe (who could not possibly had been any more frightened than he’d been ever since Leopold appeared in his home). He grunted loudly, then spat once again on Moshe’s face. He stomped angrily back to the bed and bent over it.
It was both obvious what he wanted and obvious that he didn’t want it at all. Leopold was in position to get it up the ass, that was clear. He bent face-first over the bed and stuck his ass in the air. He spread his asscheeks.
But he was obviously, blatantly and drastically too tall for Moshe to ram him in that position. His ass was well above Moshe’s head. Moshe stood there like an idiot, looking up at Leopold’s ass and dangling cock and balls.
“Whatchoo doin’ back there?!” Leopold barked. He turned his head and realized that Moshe couldn’t reach his ass. “Oh yeah,” Leopold said with a dry chuckle, “I forgot you was a fuckin’ weak-ass midgetty Jew.” He lowered his ass, dropping his hips and resting on his knees, his entire upper body splayed over the bed. He sneered at Moshe.
Moshe stood there with his dick behind Leopold’s ass, too terrified to actually insert it.
“I hate limp-wristed Jews like you,” he said. He spat towards Moshe again, but this time his head was too far away. He ended up just spitting on the bed.
Then before Moshe could respond, Leopold jutted his hips backward. He grabbed Moshe’s dick to keep it in place as he backed his ass onto it. Then he let go and gripped the bedspread, letting out a long, slow howl of pain. His giant body shook and vibrated.
Moshe gasped. He once again leaned back, unwilling to touch Leopold in any way that Leopold didn’t initiate. But as Leopold ground his ass and lowered his head, it was apparent that he needed a pair of hands to guide him. Moshe tentatively grabbed the man’s wide fleshy asscheeks, trembling at the feel of their vibrating thickness. His fingers dug into a tattooed invitation for Asian people to swallow Tower’s farts. He closed his eyes, certain that that would be it, that Leopold was going to attack him.
But he didn’t. He kept working his hips back and forth, even as he continued to grumble about blacks and Jews. It sounded like he was in too much pain to speak clearly, but that didn’t stop him from spitting invective at Moshe.
“Fuck you, you little squealing piggie. If we was in prison right now, I’d pimp you out to the mud-people,” he said. He hung his head low, cradling it in his biceps as he struggled to accept Moshe’s dick. His other hand crept lower and stroked himself off.
As Moshe began plowing harder and harder, he realized that Leopold wasn’t getting upset about him touching his ass. So he kneaded those jiggling orbs of tattooed flesh, then let his hands roam upwards, massaging Leopold’s rippling back muscles.
“You really don’t buy into that nazi stuff?” Moshe asked.
“Not at all,” Leopold said. “I just like making money. Ha! I bet you know about that, Jew. If your people bought more meth than the nazis, I’d have a fucking yarmulke tattooed on my face.”
“Really?”
“Well… Probably not that specifically,” he said, wincing but covering up the pain with a firm jaw. “Aren’t tattoos forbidden? But anyway, I’d be Jewish. You wanna taste my cum, Jew?”
“Uh…-“
“I thought so,” he said. Then he threw his head back and moaned. His asshole clenched, sending Moshe over the line into the throes of the most intense orgasm of his life. He gasped as Leopold lifted his upper body, so he was kneeling now, next to the bed, head upright.
Leopold’s muscles all flexed at once. Moshe clutched his thick torso, face planted in the meaty swastika tattooed over the center of his back. It was all Moshe could see as his climax erupted deep within him. Their size difference made ramming difficult when Leopold had been bent over, but now that he kneeled, it was impossibly awkward. Moshe had to clutch him like a tree trunk he was trying to shimmy up, in order to keep his spasming dick inside Leopold’s tattooed ass.
Cum sprayed within Leopold, who groaned and grunted as his hole tightened hard around Moshe’s dick. Sweat dripped down his German-tattooed skin, its salty flavor overwhelming Moshe’s senses. He had never experienced anything as intense as the feeling of cum pouring into Leopold’s tight fat ass. His body undulated beneath Moshe’s tiny delicate fingers.
A loud smacking sound could be heard — Moshe was so overcome by passion that he didn’t process it right away. Then pain exploded in his face, followed by a surge of salty cum flavor: Leopold had slapped him hard, with a hand covered in nazi cum. He smeared that wad of semen all over Moshe’s face, and pushed him to the ground. He stood over Moshe with his dick in hand.
His phone rang. Leopold grabbed it from his pile of clothes. He sneered at Moshe and used one toe to rub the cum around on Moshe’s face. “Yo,” he said into the phone. “Yeah. I’m still in there. The Jew was complainin’ like a whiny little Jew, so I had to pop him one. He ain’t got much money, for a Jew. But he got a bit. I took a shit on his pillow. He’s tied up in the bathroom now. Fuck you, man, I’m sending a message to fuckin’ Israel. The message is ‘eat shit, Jews’. What’re you in a hurry for? You got a hot date with some Jew? Ha, yeah, okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”
He quickly threw his clothes back on. When Moshe moved to do the same, Leopold glared at him. He didn’t need to say anything to know that wasn’t allowed. Moshe remained there on his knees, cum drying on his face.
“You can clean yo’self up in eleven minutes,” Leopold said. He set the alarm clock by Moshe’s bedside. “You sit there wit’ my cum on your face until then, Jew. You nasty-ass Jew. Get forgiveness, and find Christ.”
“Okay-“
“Shut up. And when you call the cops, you tell them it was a black guy, okay? If you tell them it was a black guy, I’ll come back. I’ll teach you a lesson about Jewry you never forget. Got it?” He raised his eyebrows like he was asking whether Moshe understood what he was really offering — to keep coming back and getting wrecked by him at night, so long as Moshe didn’t tell the cops who it was.
“Oh, uh… okay.”
“Good. Now sit there and think about how nasty you is,” Leopold said. He hefted Moshe’s belongings in a sac and headed out the door.
Moshe sighed and leaned back. He wasn’t going to stay in this spot for eleven minutes, but he saw now reason to clean off his face. He wanted to bask in the smells and sensations of Leopold’s cum on his face, and he wanted that to last as long as possible.

The Yakuza Bottoms

When Avery is accosted by a yakuza enforcer for the second time, he thought he was gonna hafta pay protection fees or something similar… But it turns out this yakuza alpha male needs to bend over and take whatever Avery wants to give out! Can Avery help Wuzu recover his reputation?

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Avery felt like celebrating, so he poured himself a glass of wine. He didn’t often drink, mainly because of the calories. And he found that, the older he got, the more alcohol made him sleepy instead of drunk. The taste of wine was splendid though. When he was young, he would rather drink more worse. When he was older, he would rather drink less better.
But he had no sooner taken a sip, when there was a knock at the door.
Scowling, Avery put down his glass of wine. He rolled his eyes. Probably his neighbor. Like an idiot, he opened it without checking who was there.
His blood ran cold when he saw a familiar face.
His name was Wuzu, and he was an enforcer for Clan Rairakku, a Maui-based yakuza syndicate that played a major role in business here in San Francisco. It had been Wuzu who came to Avery a year ago and threatened him if he didn’t back out of a business deal. Avery did back out — he had no need to fight for business opportunities, and he had been unsure on the viability of that particular deal anyway. Avery was considering a location for a massage parlor, and he had chosen a different one. No big deal.
But now the same stone-facing Japanese man was here again, looking down at Avery. Wuzu’s eyes flashed and sparkled, though he showed no emotion on his face. His only emotion was “stern”, it seemed.
But this time, there was a faint note of something else on Wuzu’s face, some excitement, apprehension maybe even eagerness. His eyes scanned up and down, taking in Avery’s petite frame.
“Oh, hello, Wuzu. I did what you asked.”
“Indeed.”
“Hmmm…” Avery found Wuzu’s stare unbearable. He looked down at his feet. “So, uh… It’s all good, right?”
“Yes.” Wuzu’s voice was clear as a lighthouse. “Good evening, Mister Flowers. May I enter?” His Japanese accent was thick: goo-ood eve-en-nin Missuhtaa Flao-za with the rhythm of an elegant machine gun. Despite that, he wasn’t hard to understand.
Last time, Wuzu had barged right in. This time, he spoke with politeness and a calm breath. Avery could tell this was not a threatening visit.
“Uh… I guess so,” Avery said, more out of confusion than anything else. Last time, Wuzu hadn’t phrased it as an option. He immediately regretted it — why invite an extortionist into his home?
But Wuzu was more intimidating than Avery could handle.
He was tall, especially for a Japanese man, towering over Avery by nearly a foot. He was broad-shouldered and burly, with a square jaw and dark, menacing eyes that flitted this way and that as he entered. His eyes were always in motion, even when his head and the rest of him stayed still, and he walked with the light step and grace of a man a third his size.
“Is anyone else here?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response before walking throughout the apartment to check. He stopped and stared at a bonsai tree that Avery placed on a shelf in front of a window. He scoffed as though he didn’t approve. Avery blushed.
“No, no one’s here,” Avery said.
A long pause split open between them. Avery was behind Wuzu, taking in the thickness of his corded-muscle legs and ass, which strained the fine fabric of his suit. He dressed like a banker, even if he was built like a baseball player. He wore some odd cologne too, which smelled — not exactly bad, but not good either — it smelled like a hot spring in the woods. Moist and freshly fern-like, yet musty and sulfurous. Flashes of his colorful tattoos were visible on the edges of his wrist, ankles and neck, but only when his movements separated the fabric of his suit from its natural resting position.
“That’s my bonsai tree, it-“
“It is lacking in balance,” Wuzu said. He plucked one leaf off a branch, and he delicately, deliberately placed the leaf in the trash can beside the door.
“Oh. Well. Um,” Avery was too nervous to think of any response. “Okay. Sorry. I’m, uh… It was a Christmas present.”
Again a pause erupted in Avery’s apartment, and it was shattered by Wuzu’s smooth baritone. “I am here because of shame,” Wuzu said, his voice deep and resonant.
“I see,” Avery said, though that wasn’t true at all. This time, the silence spread like a kudzu through the room, and it strangled every thought Avery had. Wuzu’s stare was intense. He didn’t get why Wuzu could come here because of shame. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with Avery.
Wuzu’s simmering gaze was hard to ignore. A part of Avery’s mind brainstormed ways to get him to leave — order him out, call the police, forgive him for his shame, simply show him the door, offer him money to leave — there were so many options. But in the end, all Avery could think to do was to pat the soil of his bonsai tree to see if it needed water. It did not. Avery already knew that. He watered it like an hour ago. It was just nice to have something to occupy his hands for a few seconds, while Wuzu stood and loomed and cogitated like a block of morose tofu.
Is he breathing? Avery furrowed his brow. Wuzu’s chest moved only very slightly and very slowly, like he was trying not to show that he was breathing.
Finally, Wuzu spoke. “You must discuss with my boss. His name is Mr. Gakimosimi. You must be respectful. Do not interrupt him,” Wuzu said. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. He spoke a few Japanese words, then passed the phone to Avery.
“Uh, hello?”
A deep British-accented voice came from the receiver. It was a thin, reedy voice, like an old man. “Mr. Flowers, I presume?” A trace of a Japanese accent was detectible.
“Yes, uh, sir.”
“My name is Timo Gakimosimi,” he said. “This man in front of you — I do not speak his name right now, because he has brought intense shame upon my organization. He has failed in a way I will not describe to you, but be assured it is humiliating for him. He must show me the depth of his sorrow and regret. Do you understand?”
“Uh, sort of. I mean, I get-“
“Stop speaking,” he said. “Do not babble. Americans always babble.”
“Sorry…” Avery was finding this whole situation incomprehensible. At most times, Avery would be defensive of some foreigner talking shit about Americans. But Avery had an inexplicable eagerness to obey the man on the phone — Mr. Gakimosimi — and so he shut his mouth to avoid babbling.
“The man in front of you will do anything you say. If he refuses, you may call me at this number and tell me. He will be punished further. Is that agreeable?”
Avery hesitated. “I mean… I don’t have… a job for him. I don’t need a, uh… extortionist.”
“He is a business consultant, but that is not what I expect you to order him to do,” he said. “I will not say it, as it is improper, but you will think of something he can do to please you.”
“Will I?” Avery furrowed his brow. He had no idea what he was supposed to do.
But when he looked at Wuzu, Avery realized exactly what was intended: he was supposed to have his way with Wuzu. Make him jerk Avery off, swallow his cum, take it up the ass. That’s what Wuzu was expecting, what Mr. Gakimosimi was expecting. They were looking for a sissy, and somebody — maybe Wuzu himself — suggested Avery. Wuzu’s hangdog expression sent a shiver of anticipation up Avery’s backside.
“Yes. I think you know what I mean,” Mr. Gakimosimi said. “If he pleases you to a satisfactory degree, I will clear his name of shame. Thank you, Mr. Flowers.” Then he hung up.
Avery nervously handed the phone back to Wuzu. “So, uh… I guess you know what he said?”
Wuzu nodded.
“I’m not going to force you into anything. I’ll just tell your boss you did fine, that you did everything I said. How much time should I give? Maybe you could just fix my bonsai tree? You could give it balance.”
“I have done that,” Wuzu said with a polite nod that was almost a bow. “I have requested this.” He sunk to his knees in front of Avery. “My shame wounds me. I can only heal it by proving my devotion.” He took off his suit jacket, which he hung over the arm of the chair next to him. Then he picked it up, and he smoothed the suit jacket, so it would hang flat when he returned it to the arm of the chair
“I don’t want to force you-“
“You are not forcing me. This will not be my first time. Do not tell Mr. Gakimosimi that,” Wuzu said. He unbuttoned his shirt, then carefully folded it — it was a perfect fold, like he could work at The Gap. Underneath that, he wore a plain white t-shirt, his tattooed muscles bulging out from underneath. Green and black koi swum on his bicep just past the sleeve of his shirt.
“Wait…” Avery said as Wuzu was about to take the shirt off. “Lemme get that.” He shivered with anticipation, struck by a flood of desire, as he touched Wuzu’s flat belly and pulled the t-shirt over his head. He had an amazing physique — Avery hadn’t realized it under the suit, but he was built like a professional wrestler, with pecs the size of Avery’s head. Multicolored tattoos danced over his chest and ribs: smiling geishas, a stylized sun whose rays bathed a living Japan over his heart, and geometric designs covering his six-pack belly with color. His back was an ornate piece, a Shinto temple that coverd him from his nape to his waist.
Avery kissed those biceps, one after the other, blushing in embarrassment at Wuzu’s bemused reaction. Wuzu seemed unfamiliar with the concept of being interested in muscles. Did no Japanese women value muscles? Avery sure did. He sucked a hickey onto each bicep, savoring the rock-hard feel and the overwhelming warmth.
Then he dived his head into Wuzu’s armpit. Like most pit-worshipers, Avery had always enjoyed the musty flavor of hairy, burly armpits, but Wuzu was the opposite of that. He had short, thin hair that was soft and silky, and that smelled of soap, not cheap body wash either, but expensive, high-quality soap that smelled of lavender and mint.
“You like arm pits?” Wuzu said, his stony yakuza face suddenly leering like a nervous frat boy covering up his anxiety with disgust. “That is fil-thy.”
Avery nodded. “That’s the part I love about it,” he said with a giggle, which turned almost hysterical when Wuzu’s serious face stared him down. Then Avery sucked on each nipple. Avery had never felt pectoral muscles like this, so completely lacking in flab — he didn’t think it even existed outside of bodybuilders, action stars and pro athletes. But here there was, right in front of him, a pair of pecs made of iron and covered in multicolored tattoos. Avery licked a trail around those tattoos as his hands stroked Wuzu’s broad, smooth back.
He dropped his pants when Avery excitedly took his own clothes off. He assumed he’d be jerking Wuzu off, which was plenty exciting for Avery. Much to his surprise, however, Wuzu sunk to his knees when Avery dropped his underwear. Wuzu took a deep breath, then swallowed Avery’s half-hard cock to the root.
“Oh shit, Wuzu… I, uh… I didn’t think you’d want to do this,” Avery said. Wuzu let out a loud gagging sound but didn’t stop, even as Avery’s dick pushed into the back of his throat. He did not spit any of it out. His nose collided with Avery’s crotch, and he held onto Avery’s thin hips for support.
Wuzu’s tongue wavered — it touched Avery’s cockshaft and pulled away, hiding in the corner of Wuzu’s cheek as though fearful of the taste. Wuzu scrunched up his face. But then he recommitted himself to going through with this, and his tongue slathered saliva up and down Avery’s shaft.
“Wuzu… You don’t have to do this,” Avery said, still feeling a bit bad. He definitely didn’t want to take advantage of Wuzu — aside from the moral considerations, it was clear that Wuzu was a violent extortionist who sought revenge when he felt he needed to. Avery didn’t want any yakuza getting mad at him. For all Avery knew, Wuzu would seek to eliminate anyone who knew his shame — Mr. Gakimosimi had said that, when this was done, Wuzu’s shame would be wiped away, so maybe he would get rid of anyone who knew about it. Maybe once it had happened, he would be free to be violent again.
“No,” Wuzu said softly, pulling away and closing his eyes like he couldn’t bare to see Avery’s cock with his spit stuck to it. Wuzu growled. “This is the only way to recover my honor and the honor of Clan Rairakku,” he said. He took a deep breath and resumed his deep-throating, his throat choking as Avery’s dick squeezed into it.
His nose pressed into Avery’s wiry pubic hair. Avery was so shocked his knees went weak, but he managed to compose himself. He gripped Wuzu’s neatly-coiffed hair, which was slick with product and thoroughly brushed. He held on as tightly as he could, leaning on Wuzu for support as his legs had trouble supporting himself.
His dick perked right up in Wuzu’s mouth, turning as hard as Wuzu’s biceps. Avery’s hips instinctively gyrated, and he humped Wuzu’s mouth. That sent waves of pleasure to rock Avery’s body from head to toe.
Since there was such a big difference in size between Wuzu and Avery — Wuzu being nearly a foot taller — the positioning of the two was awkward. Wuzu had to stoop, leaning forward on his knees just to get his face at Avery’s crotch-height. His muscles writhed and flexed as he struggled to stay in position, and his unwillingness gradually melted away. Avery got the impression that he stopped feeling ashamed of himself and started feeling pride at his success in rehabilitating his name and his honor, even if only in his mind.
Then Wuzu pulled away and turned around. Thin tendrils of spit still connected Avery’s dick to Wuzu’s lips, until him turning his head forced them to separate. Avery nearly fell over because he had been supporting himself on Wuzu’s head. Even now that Wuzu had stopped, Avery was filled with intense pangs of pleasure.
“Wow, you really want to do this?” Avery’s voice was thin, reedy, like if he actually asked this out loud Wuzu might realize what he was doing and run away, but Avery couldn’t help but ask anyway. His heart pounded. This was more nerve-wracking than it had been when Wuzu came by to extort him last year.
But Wuzu merely grunted his assent. He did appear embarrassed, his face ruddy and sweaty, lips trembling, but he didn’t hesitate at all. He turned around and sunk to the ground in front of Avery.
He started off on all fours, his round smooth ass elevated for Avery to get into. But Avery was much too short for that to work, so once again they struggled to get in position. Avery had trouble getting his dick there, and Wuzu had to lower himself as far as he could go, until he was practically laying down.
By time Avery managed to mount him, Wuzu had lowered himself all the way, and he now rested on his belly on the floor, limbs sprawled out. Avery had to spread himself atop Wuzu, aiming his ass for the taut crack of Wuzu’s tight ass. Laying his face on Wuzu’s broad back, Avery licked the muscles there as he worked his dick in.
He gasped as soon as his manhood slipped past Wuzu’s tight sphincter. It sent up sparks of bliss, which made Avery throw his head back. From the first moment, Avery could feel his orgasm crawling up in his sac, and Avery was annoyed with himself that this wasn’t going to last very long. He could already tell.
Wuzu’s back muscles were like a barrel of thick rope, and Avery nuzzled and licked every inch as he began humping. He felt tiny behind Wuzu, his entire body fitting easily on Wuzu’s back. Avery’s head barely even extended all the way to Wuzu’s meaty shoulders.
Some Japanese words slipped from Wuzu’s mouth. His tone was soft and resigned, maybe a little relieved that he was getting this over with and the pain wasn’t so bad. It might have been a prayer, Avery thought, and he wanted to ask for a translation, but his arousal was too intense to form words, and in any case, he didn’t think Wuzu would tell him what he meant.
Wuzu grunted, then fell stoic again. Avery began working his dick in and out, glad to feel that Wuzu was not resisting him — he got the impression Wuzu didn’t mind this at all, despite his words and the pain he was obviously feeling. Wuzu gyrated his hips as though he was aroused.
“Do you want a reacharound?” Avery asked as soon as the idea occurred to him. That would make this easier for Wuzu as well, he thought — every man loves a free handjob. Wuzu nodded. Avery reached around Wuzu’s body to grab ahold of his dick. He began stroking it — Wuzu was already rock-hard, so in seconds, he was spewing precum into Avery’s fingers. He was obviously turned on by this, Avery realized, despite the pain and humiliation.
Then Avery realized that Wuzu’s dick spasmed every time Avery penetrated him from a certain angle. That could only mean one thing: Avery had found Wuzu’s prostate, and Wuzu loved it. Avery began ramming his dick in as hard as he could at that prostate, smiling as Wuzu’s entire body jerked with the lust that pounded through his veins. Wuzu moaned and lifted his head up.
A cell phone rang. They both stopped moving as though caught, Avery’s cock pulsating within Wuzu, Wuzu’s cock pulsating in Avery’s hand. It was Wuzu’s phone. Avery’s blood ran cold and his heart skipped a beat as his mind raced with terrible possibilities — what if Mr. Gakimosimi decided to order Wuzu to kill Avery, perhaps to save his clan’s face? Avery was terrified of what might come next.
Wuzu winced when he verified that it was his boss. “Mr. Gakimosimi,” he said, even bowing the best he could laying on his belly. He winced and said something in Japanese, then handed the phone back to Avery.
“Are you bringing shame upon him?” Mr. Gakimosimi asked the moment Avery put the receiver to his ear.
“I don’t think it’s so shameful,” Avery said. His cock pulsated in Wuzu’s tight ass, and though Avery was still, his hips continued moving, grinding his dick within Wuzu’s guts. Avery wanted to be even more indignant, but he thought he might get Wuzu in trouble, so he said, “But yes, he is ashamed of what’s happening. I’m ramrodding him, as we say here, or black guys do anyway. My dick is in his ass-“
“I do not need the details. Make it hurt,” Mr. Gakimosimi said. “Ask him if he did his best.”
“Uh… Wuzu… did you do your best?”
“Yes, always,” Wuzu said. It sounded like this was a past argument between them, or more likely a one-sided argument since Wuzu simply stated things declaratively, rather than argue about them. Wuzu spoke simply, proudly, as though all he cared about was that he did his best. Mr. Gakimosimi, on the other hand, scoffed like he didn’t care about doing one’s best — all he cared about was results, and whatever had happened between them, Wuzu was held responsible for the results.
“Ask him about the penis in his butt-ocks.” His Japanese accent was mich stronger when he said butt-ocks for some reason.
“Uh…. Mr. Gakimosimi wants me to ask you about the cock in your ass,” Avery said.
“There is… a man’s cock inside me,” Wuzu said. “It is… There is approx-imate-lee twenty-two centimeters of cock inside me. I submit to a man. I am allowing him to pluck my manhood.”
“Good,” Mr. Gakimosimi said with a cocky sigh. “You are doing well, Mr. Flowers. Do you enjoy my man?”
“Yes, very much,” Avery said. He gritted his teeth because his sensitive dick throbbed within Wuzu’s tight ass. It sent shivers of pleasure up Avery’s body, and he bit back a petite moan.
“Good. I am glad,” Mr. Gakimosimi said. “I assumed you would want revenge on him for extorting you.”
“Not really. Besides,” Avery said, “I know you are the one truly responsible. You extorted me. You just used him as a tool.” Avery was surprised at how easily he spoke once he got started, despite the intense sensation writhing its way up his body. This was too intense for Avery to censor himself. Wuzu’s ass clenched around his cock when it became apparent that Avery was talking back to Mr. Gakimosimi. Avery felt a surge of pride alongside the fear that Mr. Gakimosimi would seek to punish him.
But Mr. Gakimosimi just sighed and chuckled. “You misunderstand, Mr. Flowers. He chose you as a target for extortion. Yes, I charged him with finding businesses that could pay. But he was the one who decided that you were an appropriate target.”
“Oh…” Avery was too turned on and too close to orgasm to be able to pay attention to his words or formulate a response. Does that mean it was Wuzu’s fault to begin with? Or was Wuzu forced into it? In what sense was Mr. Gakimosimi the boss if Wuzu decided who to target, how to pressure them and then enacted the entire plan by himself? That was too weighty a conversation to have when his balls were on the verge of busting though, so Avery didn’t ask.
Mr. Gakimosimi laughed into the phone. Avery got the impression he didn’t laugh often. Wuzu bucked and winced as though he heard it.
“You will finish inside him, yes? You will ejac-u-late in his ass?” Mr. Gakimosimi asked, sounding like he was uncomfortable talking about semen and again his accent was excessive on that one word.
“Yes…”
“Good. Tell him to be back here by noon, or I will send him back to you again,” Mr. Gakimosimi said and hung up the phone without waiting for a response.
“Your boss is an asshole,” Avery said, giving him his phone back. “He said you have to be back at noon, or he’ll send you back to me again.”
Wuzu nodded. A moan escaped from his lips as he writhed beneath Avery’s grasp. “I have great respect for him,” Wuzu said in a pinched, clipped voice.
“I appreciate that, Wuzu,” Avery said. A part of him wanted to accuse Wuzu of extortion, but that required more thought than he was capable right now. He felt his orgasm approaching like an oncoming train.
Avery resumed slamming his hips harder and harder against Wuzu’s powerful frame. Pleasure washed over his body, and Wuzu’s at the same time. He could feel an imminent orgasm pounding through Wuzu as well. He sensed it in the pulsating of the veins in Wuzu’s cockshaft.
They both finally climaxed at the same time, hot cum spraying within Wuzu’s ass as he shot his own load into Avery’s fingers. Wuzu’s muscles all tensed at once, and he gasped with a short, sharp breath. Fat ropes of jizz spurted onto the floor, reaching several feet in front of Wuzu and a few drops even splattered on the wall.
Avery clutched those spasming back muscles, fingers digging playfully into the colorful yakuza tattoos. He threw his head back as Wuzu grunted beneath him. Wad after creamy wad spurted across Avery’s fingers, while Avery shot his own wad deep into Wuzu. Avery’s cheeks turned red, and his moan of intense sensations turned into a howl of desperate desire. When the pleasure grew too much, Avery pumped his hips at Wuzu’s tight ass, while he slammed his face on the meaty thickness of Wuzu’s back.
Holding his head up while his dick limpened inside Wuzu, Avery licked his lips, still feeling the aftershocks of his climax. Wuzu turned his head to watch with a sense of disgust on his face as Avery sucked down every salty drop of cum.
Then, at last Wuzu pulled out from under Avery and breathed a sigh of relief. Hot cum dribbled from his smooth ass. “Thank you,” he said. He wiped the cum off his ass and his inner thigh with a handkerchief he plucked from the suit jacket he’d placed on the arm of Avery’s chair. “I enjoyed that.”
“Really?”
Wuzu nodded. “Do not tell Mr. Gakimosimi, or he will find some other way to punish me instead.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Come on back anytime you need to be ‘punished’,” Avery said. He gave Wuzu a light smack on the ass, watching his plump cheek shake as he checked that his clothes were not wrinkled. Wuzu began dressing. Avery wiped his own dick clean, and he said, “I’m always ready to dish out punishment.”

The Jock

Avery is a masseur who finds himself servicing a studly if idiotic football jock! His name is Jimmy, he knows literally nothing and he’s desperate for someone to prove it’s possible to swallow every inch of his alpha male meat…

Can Avery satisfy Jimmy’s oral needs?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery Flowers rubbed lotion into his feet. The bottom of his feet sometimes got dry and cracked. It was awkward to do it himself because he couldn’t see where it was a problem, and he always ended up with a slippery foot afterwards. On the linoleum-tiled massage room floor at the Thackenswitch Center for Massage, that was problematic.
So when Jimmy Spokes strode in, Avery was surprised — he nearly toppled over and had to grab the counter to support himself. He wasn’t expecting anyone right now, and he lost his balance.
Plus, Jimmy was a burly jock with a studly physique. As a fervent admirer of the male form, he was immediately attracted to Jimmy’s body. Of course he didn’t know who Jimmy was yet, he was just a stranger striding into his massage room uninvited.
“Hey, you’re Avery, right?” Jimmy asked. He cocked his head to the side and tapped his feet on the ground. He had a big round face — not chiseled or handsome like an action movie star, but jolly and earnest and strong. He was naturally powerful though he didn’t have a perfect body. He had a hefty frame, a barrel-shaped chest and plenty of meat to his body. He looked like he was naturally very fat, but only had an athletic shape because he was so high-energy. He was a tight end on the GHU football team.
“Uh… Hey.” Avery furrowed his brow at the shapely intruder.
“I don’t think it’s a big deal, I know she thinks I’m embarrassed, but I’m not.” Jimmy paused. “Okay, I am.” He laughed and turned red, his lightly Southern accent echoing against the high ceilings. “Okay, just… Are you okay? You don’t have to do this.”
Avery had been momentarily distracted by Jimmy’s physique. Now he thought he must have missed something. He didn’t know what Jimmy was talking about.
“Uh… what?”
“Didn’t Elaine tell you?”
“No. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Avery said. “Oh… Wait, you mean Elaine Gambrill? You’re Jimmy?”
He beamed and pounded on his chest, then took off his shirt. His chest was set with huge strapping muscles. “That’s right.” He paused. “Sorry, I don’t know how to do this. Am I supposed to kiss you?” He blushed as red as a cranberry. “I can’t do that! Don’t make me do that! I’m like… I’m not allowed to kiss you, on account of, because of, the reason… See, I, uh… “
“Okay, Jimmy, tell me what you’re talking about. Where’s Elaine?”
“I just don’t want to kiss you.”
“Why was that ever the plan!?”
“It wasn’t!” He hopped up onto the massage table like it was an exam table and he was waiting for his doctor. He laid there with his hands behind his head. “Hey, you watch football, right? I was trying to get Elaine to come over to watch a game and she was being ridiculous. She said football is as boring as watching paint fly, which I think would be amazing, I’d totally watch paint fly. If it was blue, you’d never see it. If you were outside. And it wasn’t cloudy. And it was daytime. Or if it was nighttime, you’d never see it either, but for a different reason.”
“Ah. Okay.” Avery sighed. Elaine had said her new boyfriend was an idiot — she had said it much more nicely and hadn’t used the i-word, but now that Avery had met him, he knew exactly what Elaine had been hinting at.
There was a loud banging knock on the door and a hoot like someone was watching a stripper. Avery was startled, but Jimmy just guffawed. He got up and opened the door. He stuck his head out into the hall and laughed. “Fuck you, George! Get outta here! You’re the pansy!” He turned around and smiled at Avery. “Sorry, was that offensive words? He’s just a total retard. So it’s not offensive. Don’t tell Elaine.”
“Okay. Jimmy, Jimmy, please tell me what you’re here for. Do you want a massage?”
He had a big silly grin on his goofy face. “Oh wow, yeah! Can you do that?”
“Yes, Jimmy. This is a massage parlor. You have to pay. Elaine didn’t tell you I’d do it for free, did she?”
“Not the massage! But I’m not paying for the… other thing.” Jimmy blushed again. He bit his lip. “Is that… ? Sorry, are you…?”
“Jimmy, please just say it. What the hell is going on?”
“Didn’t Elaine tell you?”
“No! No! I’ve told you that, I said it before! If I knew what was going on, I wouldn’t have a face like a confused white guy, would I?”
He laughed again, or rather he continued to laugh, since he hadn’t stopped since he walked in, his deep barrel-shaped voice echoing in the massage room. “Okay, well, I… You’re supposed to, like… jerk me off.” He paused and licked his lips, his ruddy face breaking out in sweat. “Sorry, I guess I thought she told you. Oh, I am supposed to give you this. Is that right?” He pulled a jockstrap out of his pocket and handed it to Avery. “What do you do with that? It’s too big for you. Can you really sell that?”
“Oh.” Avery took the jockstrap. It was used, stained with sweat, and he could smell the unwashed musk of it already. He was too confused still to really think about what was going on. “What? I’m supposed to sell this? Like online?”
“Online? I guess, I don’t care. Is that a rule?”
Avery sighed. “Jimmy, why did you give this to me?”
“Elaine said I had to.”
“Did she give you a reason?”
“She said you would like it,” he said. “She didn’t say why.”
“Ah, okay. Thank you for explaining that,” Avery said. He rolled his eyes. He had made a joke once to Elaine about how he would like to sniff her boyfriend’s jock — that hadn’t been Jimmy, she was dating a different big buff athlete then — and she constantly brought it up. Avery blushed a little because she wasn’t exactly wrong; he’d probably sniff that and jack off later. He was hardly a jockstrap-enthusiast though.
“So you’re not going to sell it?”
“Sell it? No. It’s not-“
“So what do you do with it? Is it a collection?”
“A collection? Jimmy-“
He must have realized there was a sexual component then because his eyes opened wide and he jumped to his feet. He jumped up and down. “Oh it’s a… Oh shit!” He opened the door. “Hey, George! He’s gonna sniff it or something, I think. It’s like, he’s into sweat!”
George was out in the waiting room. He said something Avery couldn’t hear, but it sounded like he and Jimmy had been brainstorming theories as to why the jockstrap was important.
Jimmy went back to the massage table and sat down. He took his shoes and socks off. “I’m glad Elaine didn’t tell you to jerk me off. She might have told you to do it badly. Will you tell her I did it right? Tell her I asked about her. No, wait, tell her I was a good listener. Tell her I told you about the thing… about her job. Tell her I told you what she told me about her job.”
“What?”
“About her boss, he’s like… Jerry, I think. He, uh… She doesn’t like him. There’s a whole thing — I don’t remember, but tell her I said it. Tell her I was listening,” he said. He took his football jersey off and tossed it on the floor. His broad chest muscles were covered in scruffy tufts of fur.
“Listening to what?”
“To her!” He had a big grin like he thought Avery should already know what he was talking about.
“You mean the attendance policy at work? Jerry changed the rules about how much notice she has to give for time off.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that. Tell her I told you about that. Tell her I listen to her.”
“Jimmy… You aren’t really making much sense. Elaine told you to come see me, give me a jockstrap and you want me to tell her that you told me about her job, even though she didn’t.”
“She did!”
“You weren’t listening?”
“I was! I was trying! There was a football game on! Or, I mean, I was playing a football game on my X-Box. It was on the TV,” Jimmy said. “And you have to jerk me off.”
“What?”
“That’s the whole thing!”
“Oh my god, Jimmy, talking to you is like talking to the Cheshire Cat if it smoked a lot of weed. I’m supposed to jerk you off?”
“Yes!” He blushed again. He realized Avery was looking at his bare chest. “Hey, do you think…?” His eyes opened wide. “Oh shit, my neighbor’s like that! Whenever I lift weights he comes out and he has that look on his face!” He shrugged. “You might know him. Like… Spencer or something? He’s an… office… guy? He does something with paper. He uses a computer, I think. Maybe not all the time. Or is it a museum? Do people work in museums?”
“Jimmy, why did Elaine want you to get dome from me?”
“Oh,” he blushed and bit his lip. He jumped back up on the massage table, wearing only dirty jeans. “She said no one can deep-throat it cuz it’s too big.” He beamed proudly. “She said you’ll prove it. You swallow dick better than anyone. She said if you can’t deep-throat it, I can’t ask her to do it ever again.”
“Oh.” It was Avery’s turn to blush. He was a little annoyed that Elaine hadn’t told him first, but then, he suspected that she didn’t plan for it to happen that way. Jimmy was annoying because he had assumed Avery already knew the plan; Elaine no doubt assumed Jimmy would be nice and politely ask Avery to jerk him off. Jimmy assumed somebody else had made all the arrangements.
“You do it up the ass, right?” Jimmy asked. Then he blurted out, “Not me! I mean, I don’t wanna do anal, that’s not why I’m asking. Can you tell Elaine to do it? Tell her I’ll use lots of lube. Tell her it doesn’t always hurt-“
“Jimmy, hush.”
“Tell her that, okay? Come on, I can do it. I had a girl give up the ass once. She loved it.” He leaned in and whispered to Avery, “She was black. Is that okay? Can I say that?”
“Jimmy, be quiet,” Avery said, shaking his head. “Just stop talking. I’ll jerk you off if you stop talking.”
Jimmy did lean back, but only for a half-second before he got up and opened the door again. “Hey, George, he’s doing it! He’s gonna do it!” He laughed at whatever George said. “No way, man, you’d do that! You want it so bad! We all saw you with that fat girl!”
Avery grabbed Jimmy around the waist and pulled him away from the door. Jimmy’s strapping body tensed beneath Avery’s body because he tried to get back out in the hall. Avery dragged him in. “This is a spa, Jimmy, please stop shouting through the halls.”
“Okay, sorry, I was just telling George that we all know he fucked a fat girl, we saw her-“
“Stop, shut up. I know what you were saying. I was there,” Avery said. “Sit down and lean back.”
“Okay. I like fat girls. You’re bossy like Elaine is. You two must hang out bossing each other around,” Jimmy said. “Don’t tell her I said that. I meant it in a good way. Tell her that.” He paused. “Don’t tell her-“
“Jimmy, shut up. I’ll decide what to tell her about today.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin. He had just gotten back on the massage table, leaning back and about to pull his pants down when he sat up once more. He looked at the Delaware state flag on the wall (this massage parlor was owned by a Delawarean who was proud of his state for unfathomable reasons). “Is that… a flag?”
Avery rolled his eyes. “Sure is. Nothing gets past you,” Avery said with a sigh. “Elaine needs to sew your mouth shut.”
“No, I lick her pussy and I do a good job and I-“
“Jesus Christ, stop talking about vaginas. Lift your ass up, Jimmy.”
He did lift himself up so Avery could undo his belt and pull his pants down. “Okay, I was just gonna ask if you could-“
“I know what you were asking.”
“-talk Elaine into doing something hot so I could watch. She could do something with other girls. You’d have to provide the girls,” he said.
“I’ll check my pantry,” Avery said. His annoyance disappeared at the sight of Jimmy’s massive manhood. He had been so distracted it hadn’t really occurred to him that Elaine sent him here to prove that he couldn’t be deep-throated, which would only be an issue if he had a huge cock. Now that he thought about it, Elaine had mentioned it was more than a foot long and as thick as a coke can. Avery had assumed that was just bragging, but, it seemed, it was real.
“See, it’s big, huh?” Jimmy got up, limp cock flopping all over, to go to the door and say something to George again. But his pants were around his ankles, a fact that he forgot until he toppled to the ground. “Ah shit.” He groaned. “I fell.”
“Jimmy…” Avery sighed.
Jimmy struggled to stand again. He blushed. “Sorry. I was gonna tell George you were impressed by it. George always says no one wants to see that, he says I have an ugly cock like a dead cricket bat. It doesn’t even make sense. He says I shouldn’t whip it out.” He made it to the door this time. “Hey, George! He said-“
Avery clamped one hand over Jimmy’s mouth. “Jimmy, shut the fuck up. Quit yelling in my massage parlor.”
Jimmy turned around and shuffled back into the room, pants around his ankles and huge cock swaying between his legs. “Sorry. I just wanted to tell George you thought it was the biggest you’ve ever seen.”
“I… didn’t say that.”
Jimmy hopped back up onto the table. His dick bobbed around like a wand. “Hey, can black guys be werewolves?”
It was such a non-sequitur that Avery could do little more than do a double-take and ignore the question. He was excited to finally start on Jimmy’s cock. He shivered in anticipation when he touched Jimmy’s the shaft, which was fleshy and warm. He gave it a stroke.
Jimmy giggled. “Ah, that tickles.” He paused. “So what do you think, can black guys be werewolves?”
“I don’t understand the question. Werewolves aren’t real.”
“So?”
“So… no. Black guys can not be werewolves. No one can,” Avery said. “Can I just jerk you off now?”
“Yeah, fine, go for it,” Jimmy said. Then he shouted towards the door. “Hey, George-!” He stopped himself. He fished his cell phone out of his pants, which were around his ankles, so reaching down there almost made him fall off the table. If he didn’t have such a powerful upper body, he probably would have fallen. “I’ll text him so I don’t have to shout.” Then he did shout anyway, he just aimed it at his cell phone as he typed out his message. “You can’t have black werewolves, George!”
Avery stroked his dick. He hoped focusing on that would make Jimmy focus on his dick. If he got hard, Avery thought, Jimmy would have to pay attention.
“We’re going to write a movie. It’s about werewolves. Werewolves are really cool. Our movie’s gonna have, like, so much shit, it’ll be great. We watch all the action movies, man, we got it figured out. We’re experts. We’re totally going to do this. It’s not just werewolves, there’s like… helicopters. And some girl stuff too, don’t worry, like there’s a science chick and some romance shit, and like… and, uh… like there’ll be scenes where people just talk. And, uh, shadows. And colors. So it’ll be cool. We’re gonna call it Primal Power. It’s gonna be badass. There’s aliens too.”
His dick was getting hard, even though Jimmy seemed to be paying no attention to it. He looked like he thought Avery might invest in this movie if he just described it well enough. Avery had literally no money, but Jimmy didn’t consider that possibility. Avery got down lower and planted his lips on it. The taste of his funky cock, mixed with faint, watered-down cologne, flooded Avery’s senses.
That got Jimmy’s attention. He looked down, seemingly surprised by what was happening. Then he moaned and his dick twitched. “No vampires in the movie, George is wrong about that, no way am I putting vampires in… oh, damn that feels good.” Avery resolved to stop responding to him at all. Jimmy would have to stop talking once his dick was fully hard and in Avery’s mouth.
It was so thick and long it didn’t even feel real at first. Soon it was hard as steel, throbbing and pulsating beneath Avery’s tongue. Avery slathered spit up and down. For the first time since he had walked in, Jimmy was quiet for a few moments.
“Oh shit, man, I can’t believe you’re doing it,” Jimmy said. He laughed. “Hey, George! He’s doin’ it!” He laughed sheepishly. “My dick’s hard.” The he moaned again and his voice broke. “Ah, fuck, fuck, my dick’s real hard.”
“It’s so big,” Avery said with a smirk and a smile. It was hard to believe how huge it was. Jimmy was a big boy, so it almost didn’t seem as big as it really was — it didn’t go all the way to his knees, for example, because he was so tall, so until Avery touched it, it didn’t seem as big as others he had touched. But now that he stroked its veiny shaft, it was clear that this was bigger than any dick he had touched before. On a short man, it would have reached to his knees and maybe even past that.
“I got a donkey dick,” Jimmy said with a silly leer, a mixture of embarrassment and pride. “That’s what Coach Marshall says.”
“He’s right.” Avery tried to deep-throat him, but it was obvious that couldn’t happen. He’d have struggled to deep-throat a cock half this size.
“You can’t do it?” Jimmy said. He shrugged and sighed. “Can you tell Elaine you did?”
“She’d just make me demonstrate it on a zucchini or something,” Avery said. “She wouldn’t believe me. She’s smaller than me, Jimmy. If I can’t deep-throat you, she can’t either.”
“Man…” He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
Avery swallowed as deep as he could. He enjoyed struggling to deep-throat a man, and Jimmy was perfect. When Avery’s fingers crawled up Jimmy’s powerful chest to tweak his nipples, Jimmy’s eyes opened wide like he was shocked. He watched his pecs ripple beneath Avery’s grasp.
A painful-sounded strangled cry erupted in Jimmy’s throat. His balls crawled up in his sac, and that entire cockshaft pulsated in Avery’s mouth. The flavor of salty cum hit him just seconds before the first jet of juices hit the back of his throat. It trickled down his gullet.
“Ah shit, man, ah shit, I’m sorry!” He groaned and grabbed Avery’s head, holding him in place as he drained a massive load into Avery’s throat.
Salty sweet cum flooded Avery’s senses. He guzzled down every drop, as Jimmy continued to apologize — it soon became apparent that Elaine (and probably other girlfriends in the past) had demanded that Jimmy not shoot in her mouth. With a big dick and low-hanging balls like that, that made sense to Avery. Jimmy apparently assumed that Avery felt the same way.
Instead, Avery loved cum. He would have gladly swallowed even more of it. Its creamy richness coated his belly and the sour flavor enlivened his senses.
He sighed as he pulled back. Jimmy let out an even louder, more grandiose sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment, while Avery slurped the last remnants of cum off his dick. Jimmy’s broad muscles twitched and he grunted.
“How was that?”
“Ah, hell yeah, man,” Jimmy said. His red face looked relaxed, ready to go to sleep. But he swung his legs to the ground and ran to the door again. He stepped out into the hall, cum-dripping cock still half-hard and jutting out from his hefty body. “Hey George! I did it! He couldn’t deep-throat me either, man, you were wrong! His throat isn’t infinitely big and I didn’t feel his Adam’s apple and he said the movie sounds amazing, but black guys can’t be werewolves, you dummy!”
“Jimmy! Shut up!”
Jimmy blushed as he realized he had walked out stark naked, dick still dripping fluids onto the floor. No one else was in the hall, but there was an old lady in the waiting room peering towards Jimmy as though trying to figure out if he was naked or not. She squinted through her glasses. Jimmy darted back into the massage room.
“Ah, man, that old lady totally saw my knob. Hey George! Did you see that old lady, she totally-?”
“Jimmy, shut up! Put your clothes on! Or I’m telling Elaine you’re a terrible listener.”
“Okay, fine, fine, sorry, geez,” he said. He giggled. “Oh, yeah, can you tell Elaine I take, uh, academics seriously? Tell her I study a lot. And I shower every day.”
“Just put your clothes on.” Avery sighed, glad to have Jimmy finally leave. He hadn’t even gotten his clothes all the way on, still pulling his pants up when he got distracted and ran into the hall. He shouted for George, tripped on his pants and rammed into the wall, where he knocked a painting of a lighthouse off the wall.
“Sorry,” Jimmy said absent-mindedly. He headed out into the waiting room. “He did it, George! I told you he would!”
Avery shook his head. He got out his cell phone. He was going to text Elaine something about her idiot boyfriend.