investigating – Mansploitation

The Roughneck Bottoms

Lance is on a remote oil rig interviewing roughnecks, when he finds himself cornered in a closet with one. But this grizzled alpha male wants something Lance never expected…

That means Lance is in for an exciting adventure in Twink on Top!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The roughnecks on the oil rig were intimidating. Lance didn’t want to admit that because it made him feel like a pitiful weakling who was scared of any blue-collar guy with dirt under his nails.
But once he got started taking statements, he fell into the old routine. He was here to be on the roughneck-workers’ side anyway. He had come to the oil rig, staying overnight to get statements from each worker. He had to do it now because everyone who witnessed the incident was likely to scatter when they came to shore. A lot of them were probably illegal immigrants, had open warrants or just plain didn’t trust lawyers. Lance didn’t blame them.
The workers all blended in with each other in Lance’s eyes. They were one hairy pot-bellied drunkard after another.
Right up until Cooter. Lance was in such a rut he didn’t notice right away. There was nothing so blatantly different about Cooter that Lance stopped his lawyerly deposing to take notice. It was only as he finished up that Lance noticed Cooter’s small belly — not a six-pack by any means, but just a bit of meaty pudge beneath his massive chest, broad shoulders and grizzled chin. He smelled bad in a good way, like clean sweat and engine oil and stainless steel. He brimmed with swagger and square-jawed machismo.
As Lance got answers out of him — Cooter wasn’t privy to any of the important details of the accident Lance was investigating, so the deposition was quick — he could feel Cooter checking him out.
It was all over, and that was it. Cooter returned to his job monitoring the delta branches (whatever that was, Lance didn’t know), while Lance finished up the last few depositions. None of the workers here really knew much, or if they did, they weren’t revealing it. That wasn’t surprising, but Lance needed to do his due diligence. There was always a chance they had witnessed something relevant.
Later, Lance gathered up all his papers and headed up top (“above deck”? Lance didn’t know the proper terminology on an oil rig) to meet the boat that would take him back to shore. But what had seemed like a simple hallway when he was led to the meeting room had metamorphosed into a confusing array of twisting passages.
Soon enough Lance was lost. He saw a gaggle of African workers, but they didn’t seem to speak English and they looked at him with unabashed hostility in their eyes, so he didn’t ask them for help. He just continued wandering.
He stopped only when he saw Cooter standing there in the corridor as though waiting for him. This part of the rig was a stainless steel tube that was barely six and a half-feet tall, so Cooter had to stoop — he was a few inches taller than that. His broad shoulders barely fit between the walls as well, but he stood there like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.
“You that lawyer, right?” Cooter’s voice was thick and rumbly, and it echoed between the narrow walls of the corridor. Its gravelly tenor made Lance shiver with sexual desire.
“Uh, yeah…”
“Thought so,” Cooter said. He sighed. “There ain’t no girls here.”
“Uh-huh,” Lance said.
Cooter was alluring in a rough, dirty and dangerous kind of way, neck tattoos and all. He was never going to bed a delicate young socialite with a taste for refined men, but he surely got laid when in town, unless he thought himself too good for sluts. That thought made Lance chuckle to himself — Cooter was a lot of things, but he was ruddy, dirty and greasy-haired, and he doubtlessly did not think himself too good to fuck a loose woman.
“You… uh… You get down, sissy?” he asked with a sneer, like he hoped the answer was no even if he wanted it to be yes.
“Uh… yeah,” Lance said, so nervous his throat was parched.
He led Lance into a storage closet filled with what looked to Lance like lawnmower engines — he assumed that wasn’t what they were, but that was the closest analogue he could think of. In there their difference in size was even more noticeable. Lance felt like a child standing next to a giant. Lance was barely more than five feet tall, so his head only came up to below Cooter’s nipple line. If they stood in profile, three or four Lances could line up and occupy as much as width as Cooter’s broad body.
In the tiny closet, they barely fit. If the door had opened inward, it would have been impossible to shut it with them both inside. Lance shuddered with anticipation when he brushed into Cooter’s chest and belly, rubbing past his flesh. Cooter inhaled deeply.
Once the door was shut, the closet was dark. It wasn’t pitch-black, because there was an emergency overhead light that remained on. But that was very dim — it was a fluorescent bulb on the verge of running out. It flickered and cast a shadowy pall over the room. In the darkness, Cooter was a looming silhouette that smelled of lubricant, sweat and grease. Lance’s dick was already hard as steel in his pants.
“You really want-?”
“Stop talking,” Cooter said. He inhaled deeply of the air in the room. Lance shook his ass in an instinctual bid to seduce Cooter, though he knew that was pointless — it was too dark for Cooter to see. He seemed focused on the smell anyway, and he groaned as he inhaled Lance’s cologne (which was a very feminine smell, flowery and lemony; it was a brand aimed at sophisticated and upper-class men). “You smell good enough to eat, girl. I’m gonna pretend you’s a girl, ‘kay?”
“Uh… okay. You want me to jerk you off?” Lance asked. He accentuated his flamboyance as much as possible, and kept his voice quiet and high-pitched, as girlish as he could manage. He gently reached forward — and up — to stroke Cooter’s dick through his scuffed jeans. As soon as he touched that already-hard rod, Cooter jerked and straightened his back. He gulped as though the touch was both painful and arousing.
“Sssh,” Cooter said. He stripped off his ripped t-shirt then, and he threw it on a shelf over those “lawnmower engines”. Lance planted his face right in Cooter’s beefy belly, licking the sweat-dappled flesh and coarse hairs there. It tasted like he hadn’t showered in a few days, not a real shower — they often had limited water, and no hot water, so many of the roughnecks just used a sponge without soap. Lance had a feeling that was Cooter’s most recent bathing experience, and the thought of tasting weeks worth of sweat and grime made him so horny he nearly busted in his pants.
Much to his surprise, Cooter then reached down to pull Lance’s own jacket off. Then he very nearly ripped the tie off his neck and pulled his shirt up, not bothering to unbutton it. It was physically awkward — Lance was pinned between Cooter’s hefty frame and the shelves behind him. He stretched and strained to let Cooter take his clothes off.
But Cooter didn’t stop there. He got on his knees next to Lance, unbuttoned his slacks and pulled his pants and underwear down. Lance had no idea where this was progressing.
“You make sounds like a girl,” Cooter said with a growl. Lance wasn’t making much in the way of sounds, but he was mewling and breathing heavy, with a decidedly feminine tilt to his voice. Cooter inhaled again and kissed Lance on the left asscheek.
“Oh, my…” Lance blushed, not that Cooter could see it.
Then Cooter leaned in and kissed the small of Lance’s back. “Yer skin is so smooth, girl…” He inhaled once again, this time right above Lance’s asscrack. “You smell good,” he said, his voice rollingly breathless. “You smell just like girlfarts. I like that.” Then he spread Lance’s asscheeks and licked in one solid line from the top of his ass all the way down. His tongue glided right over Lance’s asshole, sending a shiver of pleasure up Lance’s spine.
This seemed strange, but Lance’s mind forced it into the only scenario he understood — Cooter was going to lick his ass in preparation to ram him in it.
Then, without a word of warning, Cooter plunged that tongue right into Lance’s tight asshole. Lance yelped and gripped the shelf in front of him. Cooter struggled to lower his head enough to reach Lance’s ass, so Lance stood on his toes and arched his back as much as he could to elevate his hips.
Intense and mind-melting pleasure washed over Lance, whose body undulated as the sensation flowed through him. Cooter’s face was scratchy with unkempt grizzle, rubbing against the interior of Lance’s asscrack. Meanwhile his tongue — which was somehow rough and scratchy like his beard, like a cat’s tongue — plunged into Lance’s body. Cooter growled as he lapped at the interior of Lance’s ass.
Then he moaned as though the taste of Lance’s ass was enough to make him cum. “Hmmm… Yummy in mah tummy…. I’mma eat you alive, honky…” He said it again, his voice serious and grim, like he was diagnosing a medical problem.
That was just silly enough that Lance still couldn’t think of a response. He didn’t want to offend Cooter by laughing, or do anything to change how this was progressing. Cooter was presumably about to plow him in the ass, so Lance needed to let that develop.
Cooter pulled off his asshole, kissing his bare, smooth cheeks again, and he let loose another throaty growl. Lance felt a surge of disappointment — he could have let that scruffy face explore his ass for hours, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Cooter just wanted to prepare his ass for the plowing that he was preparing. Lance breathed deeply and relaxed his hole the best he could. It felt like Cooter’s cock was huge when Lance felt it through his pants. Lance didn’t often take huge dicks, so that might prove to be a challenge (a challenge Lance was going to enjoy living up to).
His callused fingers roamed up and down Lance’s thighs. Cooter’s hands didn’t stop there. He stood, and those callused fingers explored up Lance’s ass and his smooth back, then darted around to his chest as though Cooter expected to find breasts there. He didn’t seem to be disappointed though when all he found, of course, was the lithe and flat chest of Lance’s body. He had never felt as skinny as he did right now — Cooter’s forearms were almost as thick as the thickest part of Lance’s body.
Cooter licked all the way up Lance’s smooth back, to his neck, where he nuzzled romantically. His arms wrapped around Lance’s chest, making Lance gulp as he wondered if he would be able to take every inch of the massive slab of meat that pulsated behind his back. He was ensconced in Cooter’s overwhelming muscles, inhaling deeply of the man’s unkempt armpits. For a moment, it seemed Cooter was going to shove Lance’s face in those hairy armpits — that wasn’t something Lance had ever been into, but in the spirit of going with the flow, he wasn’t going to turn it down.
That wasn’t what happened. Once again, Cooter surprised him, in two ways. First he kissed Lance on the lips, coming from behind so Lance had to turn his head to face him. Second, Cooter’s hands crept around Lance’s body to his dick, which he stroked with his awkward, unpracticed grip.
He assumed Cooter wouldn’t want to use tongue, but that was incorrect. Cooter’s massive meat pushed into Lance’s mouth and interlocked with his own tongue. Cooter’s seductive grumbling resonated in Lance’s mouth as they sucked each other’s tongues in the dark. The only other sound was the omnipresent whirr and birr of the machinery of Rig Delta 69.
“You taste nice,” Cooter said when he was done. “You use girl’s shampoo.” He sniffed Lance’s hair as those big meaty paws rubbed down Lance’s body. He again gripped Lance’s dick and stroked it — his touch was not crude and rough, more like a coach patting a player on the ass than a lover seducing his partner. Cooter’s awkwardness, the cramped closet and the scent of his unbridled musk made the whole experience sexy even if the handjob was rather clumsy and inept.
“I, uh… I don’t actually, I use a shampoo made with hibiscus and, uh… lavender. It’s for men, it’s Prince of Tahiti, that’s the brand. They have it at All-Mart, it’s not expensive,” Lance said, aware that he was rambling but unable to stop himself. It wasn’t a tony brand, that was the point.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Yes. I mean… Yes. Whatever you want. Whatever. It’s okay. Yes. Sure. I mean… just tell me wha- I’ll, uh… Yes. Probably. I mean… whatever, yes,” Lance said. He blushed, glad that Cooter couldn’t see it. Cooter thrust his fat cock at the meat of Lance’s ass.
“Sssh, just say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Pretend your dick is a dildo.”
“What?”
He spoke through gritted teeth, his soft tone suddenly menacing. “Pretend your dick is a dildo. A strap-on. And stick it in my ass. I wanna feel it inside me.” He let go of Lance then, and he gripped the shelf next to him. He jutted his ass out so its hairy thick globes were right in the center of the closet, pressing against Lance’s bare back.
Lance’s mind reeled. He couldn’t quite comprehend this. A part of his mind figured it out — Cooter was into pegging. He enjoyed having women sodomize him with a strap-on dildo. In the absence of women, he was willing to let Lance’s dick be that dildo. But Lance still thought for sure he had misheard that, even as he turned to face Cooter’s backside.
“You gotta bend over,” Lance said breathlessly, in a hurry to get started lest they get interrupted or Cooter change his mind or something. Cooter was standing straight up, so his ass lined up with Lance’s bellybutton, nowhere’s near close enough to plow him.
Cooter bent his knees and gripped the next lower shelf. When that still wasn’t enough, he went for the next shelf, and then the even lower one. That left him stooped over awkwardly, big hairy ass aimed high in the air.
It was still not quite enough for Lance, but there was a box of something heavy on the floor. Lance used his foot to push it into position so that he could use it as a stool. That enabled him to get his dick high enough to enter Cooter’s ass.
“Bend your knees-“
“You get taller!” Cooter barked.
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Lance said. “Come on, I’m on my toes on a stool here.” Though he grumbled, Cooter did bend his knees some. That let Lance lean forward enough to aim his dick for the center of Cooter’s hair-tangled asscrack.
When the tip of his dick actually entered Cooter, pushing through that dense swamp of sweat-choked hair, Cooter twitched and grunted. “Whuuuuuuhhhhhhhckkkk… You don’t play, did ya get that big’un at law school?” He let out a pained chuckle that morphed into a rig-shaking roar that reverberated in the tiny closet. Lance thought he had done something wrong, but Cooter’s labored breathing had a jagged, panty vibe to it that suggested he was in love.
Lance pushed his dick in more. There was ample resistance from Cooter’s tight ass, but not as much as Lance might have thought. He was tight but accepting, even though the only lube Lance had was his own spit. Cavernous groans escaped from Cooter, but they were groans of pleasure, and his back muscles arched and flexed with every thrust of Lance’s body.
“Hmmm, you feel so good…” Lance gripped the firm meat of Cooter’s body. In the light he had seen the numerous scars and tattoos of varying professionalism that belied his lifetime of hard work — and likely prison sentences — in the kind of trashy locales where you get both scars and cheap tattoos. But in the dark of the closet, Lance couldn’t see any of that, he could only feel the firmness of Cooter’s muscles and the powerful, burning passion within his barrel-shaped torso.
“Huuuhhhnnnk…” Cooter may have been trying to say something, but whatever it was, Lance couldn’t get it. Cooter gasped and clawed at the wall of the oil rig closet.
Cooter jacked himself off as Lance rammed back and forth, which was good because there was no way Lance could have reached all the way around Cooter’s massive frame to give him a reacharound. He enjoyed trying though, wrapping his arms over those strapping muscles. He could barely reach the man’s nipples, which he flicked and tweaked as he pushed his dick deep in Cooter’s burly ass.
The door to the closet opened suddenly. The sound of macho rednecks grumbling — complaining of something — filled the air for only a moment. Cooter was lightning fast: he winced before reaching behind himself to hold on to the doorknob. He re-shut the door before it could open..
“Get the fuck outta here,” Cooter said. He was trying to sound authoritarian, but his voice was weak and pinched, wavering, like it might shatter at any moment. Lance gasped too, holding himself still the best he could despite a powerful urge to thrust and ram and force his burgeoning manhood in and out of Cooter’s ass. His dick throbbed and spewed precum inside Cooter’s hairy ass.
“Who’s in there? Cooter?”
“Yeah, man, get away,” Cooter said.
“Whatchoo doin’ in there, man?”
“I’m lettin’ that lawyer jerk me off.” Cooter’s voice was clipped and pained, but he added a gruff confidence that made it work.
There was a long silence from outside the closet, then loud braying laughter filled the air. They pulled hard on the door and hooted. Cooter kept a tight grip on the doorknob so they couldn’t open it.
“You kiddin’, man?”
“I ain’t nevuh think you was serious about that.”
“Shut your dimwitted asses up!” Cooter screamed. He pounded on the door, which made them laugh all over again. “Get away, fuckheads!” The motion almost triggered an orgasm in Lance, because it made Cooter’s asshole squeeze around his cockshaft all over again, and Cooter’s whole body rippled. He grunted.
Their laughing slowly died down, and it sounded like they walked a few feet away, then stopped. They whispered among themselves.
Finally one of them meekly whispered, “We need a pump motor, Cooter. You ramroddin’ them too?”
He sighed. “Fine,” Cooter said. “Hang on.” He used his one free hand to grab a motor. Then he pulled the door open just wide enough to push the motor through. His friends tried to push it open, jubilantly laughing as they hoped to catch him in flagrante delicto, but Cooter kept a tight grip to hold the door from opening any farther. He awkwardly, painfully twisted his back with Lance’s dick still in his ass, and dragged the heavy motor with one hand to the door. They grabbed it and walked away, cackling with laughter.
When they were gone, he slammed the door shut again. He breathed a sigh of relief and held on to the doorframe for support. His knees quaked from the pressure in his ass.
But as Cooter reacted and calmed himself down after being very nearly caught, he lifted himself up. He straightened his back again. Lance had such a tight grip on Cooter’s thick back muscles that he held on even as Cooter lifted up.
The end result was that Lance clung desperately to Cooter’s body. His toes curled around Cooter’s trunk-like thighs, clinging to him there while his hands desperately gripped the flesh of Cooter’s body. Holding on like a child getting a piggyback ride, Lance slammed his hips the best he could.
Cooter grunted and roared. He yelped. He squealed in both pain and pleasure, and the array of snorts and groans coming from his mouth filled the air in the cramped closet. Lance couldn’t hold on much longer, but he tried to keep ramming his climactic cock for as long as he could.
He knew it was over when Cooter shot his own load. He rumbled as he moaned, filling his hand with cum. Lance’s ears pricked up just before his own orgasm began — were there more people outside the closet? Maybe those guys had gotten others and they were going to surprise Cooter by bursting in.
But it was happening too fast for Lance to slow himself down or say anything. He sprayed his wad deep within Cooter as intense pleasure rocketed up his spine. Lance tried to keep himself quiet so he didn’t accidentally make a masculine sound that would shatter Cooter’s illusion that he was being pegged by a girl. He just nibbled on the meat of Cooter’s hairy shoulder as he filled Cooter’s ass with his seed.
The pleasure was unlike anything Lance had ever experienced. He filled Cooter with this sticky seed and lolled his tongue over the rippling muscles of Cooter’s body. He threw his head back and moaned as waves of ecstasy wracked Lance’s body.
At last he was done. He pulled out and let himself slowly dangle off Cooter’s back until he slid down and onto his feet. His knees were weak from the power of his orgasm.
“You eat cum?” Cooter whispered — the first real whisper since they had come in here.
Lance nodded. Before he could say anything else, Cooter smeared cum all over his face — it was Cooter’s load from his own dick. It tasted thick and creamy, sweet and sour and savory all at once. Lance wanted to lick it all up, but Cooter told him not.
“Leave it there on yer face, sissy.”
They both quickly dressed. Lance wondered what he was supposed to do with a face full of cum. His question was answered moments later by Cooter flinging the door open.
There stood a dozen or so leering men. They were shushing each other as the door swung open. They clapped and hollered, making Cooter blushed. He tried to mean-mug them, but his face was bright red, making it clear he was more humiliated than angry.
“You like that, Cooter? Your next night off is gonna be a doozy!”
Lance blushed too as he realized what was happening — Cooter had known his friends were outside the closet, waiting to embarrass him. He had covered Lance’s face in cum so it would look like Lance had jerked Cooter off, just as Cooter had said was happening. It looked like everyone believed it.
Wiping his face off with the sleeve of his shirt, Lance looked away as Cooter sneered at him. He said something, but Lance couldn’t hear it over the sound of the other roughnecks. Cooter stalked away, ignoring them as well as Lance, who watched his swaying ass in his filthy workpants as he led his friends down the corridor. Cooter still had to walk awkwardly because he was so tall, which was good because Lance was sure he couldn’t walk straight right now anyway. His ass must ache something fierce, Lance thought.
Lance was about to walk the other direction, though he still had no idea how to get back to his boat. But there was one roughneck still there, standing in front of him. This one was tall and lanky, ropy-muscled, with a mustache on his upper lip. He looked like he probably dressed in leather pants and a cowboy hat when he wasn’t on the oil rig.
“Howdy,” he said. He looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was coming. “You smell like a girl.” He nodded into the closet. “You got another one in ya?”
“You want some dome? Sure…” Lance said.
“Not exactly that, no,” said the man. He blushed as he led Lance back into the closet. “But somethin’ along those lines.”

Mafia Punishment

Tedi is an effeminate twink who never thought the Mafia would come to him to help dole out punishment. But when one of the Caprinelli family’s enforcers is proven to have snitched, Tedi is all too eager to get down and dirty teaching that uomo a lesson!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

The wedding was a nerve-wracking affair, even for Tedi, and it wasn’t even his wedding. He was a long-time friend of the family, but the family in question was the family — the Cavollos. They were the most powerful Mafia clan in New Jersey. The Cavollos themselves had never acknowledged it, except for Sonny, and he only obliquely referred to it on a few occasions when he was drunk.
Tedi had grown up as Sonny’s best friend, and stayed with him in college and ever since. They had drifted apart only slightly as they each developed an independent life. But when Sonny got married, there was no one to be best man and compare d’anello except for Tedi.
The wedding was held in St. Michael’s Cathedral on Staten Island. It was a beautiful affair, and everything went exactly according to plan — with one exception: a groomsmen who was missing.
There were five groomsmen (il testimoni) who had come to the wedding rehearsal. They weren’t exactly friends of Sonny’s, but they were closest thing Sonny had to a friend besides Tedi — made mafia men simply didn’t have close friends. Tedi was an exception because he had been friends with Sonny for a long time, he was not in the mafia or otherwise involved in any kind of crime, and he was small, delicate and weak. Nobody treated him like a serious rival.
The five groomsmen were Francesco Lancinelli, Frankie di Pietro, Joey Rizzoli, Baldo Bianchi and Demetrio Collera.
Tedi enjoyed jerking them off once, along with the groom himself, during the bachelor party — they had sworn an oath to god not to fuck any stripper or whore. So they let Tedi jerk them off while a stripper ground her feminine wiles on their bodies. That had been a good night for Tedi, even if it ended with an argument (apparently there was a leak in their organization, and Francesco disagreed on who it likely was).
It was Francesco who had disappeared before the wedding.
The weirdest thing about that was that no one mentioned it. Tedi’s nervous mind noticed it just before the wedding began — he counted only four groomsmen. But he assumed the fifth was around somewhere, and he was so anxious about the ceremony that he couldn’t even focus enough to figure out who was missing.
Once the I dos were said, Tedi stood there in his lavender suit, just a few feet from the four burly Mafioso. He realized it was Francesco who was missing.
Francesco Lancinelli was the biggest, the least handsome and the toughest of the five groomsmen, and he had the most massive cock. Tedi loved jerking him off. He had a crude caveman-like face, with rough-hewn jawlines and perpetually stubbled chin, his beard hair always uneven due to a network of scars crisscrossing his neck and face. He had the kind of domineering personality and massive muscles that repelled women. Tedi felt sorry for him, but was also hopeful that he’d come calling to Tedi to ask for more dome in the future.
But now where was he? And why had no one noticed? His name was even listed in the program for the wedding, but no one remarked on his absence. It was only as the reception began that the horrifying thought he could be dead assaulted Tedi’s mind. Was that possible?
No, of course not. The Mafia was a lot of things, but they were not clinical and detached. If a groomsman had died between the wedding rehearsal and the wedding, it would have been announced; they would have mourned him at the start of the wedding; Sonny would have worn a black armband or something like that. They wouldn’t just proceed with the wedding like nothing had happened.
“Hey, Tedi, come on,” Sonny said once he had finished his traditional dance with his new wife. His voice sounded distant even though he was right next to Tedi. He had to scream to be heard over the crowd. He grabbed Tedi by the arm and pulled him away.
“Where are we going?” Tedi asked, but his weak voice was lost in the din.
He followed Sonny, whose body shuffled thickly — he had been putting on weight since he got engaged — in his tight tuxedo, which was plainly uncomfortable for him. He had loosened his tie, which hung around his neck. Much to Tedi’s surprise, he led Tedi out of the church and into the Italian-American community center next door.
Then he breathed a sigh of relief that he was away from the crowd. Sonny stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. He leaned against the wall. The bulge in his pants suggested he was going to ask Tedi for dome — that was probably why he had left the church, Tedi decided, to get do it somewhere other than sacred ground.
But why did he want dome just hours before he’d be able to be with his wife in lawfully-wedded bliss? Was he really that horny? Maybe it was the stress, Tedi decided. He grabbed the bulge and smiled at Sonny. Tedi had long been jerking his friend off.
“No,” Sonny said. “That ain’t what I brought ya here fo’, man.”
“Oh?”
Sonny shook his head. He gulped nervously. “Come on.” He opened the door to a deep storage closet, piled high with boxes and athletic equipment. There was a crowd of men in tuxedos. Since they all wore the same clothes and had the same slicked-back black hair, Tedi didn’t quite recognize them right away in the dim light of the closet.
Then he saw that they were the four groomsmen. Frankie, Joey, Baldo and Demetrio all stood there, clustered around another tuxedo-clad man who was slumped over a chair sideways, so the arms of the rickety wooden chair supported his belly and chest.
After a few seconds, Tedi realized that the man who was slumped over was fully conscious, that he was Francesco and that he was tied up and gagged. His hair was slicked back like all the others, but his tuxedo was ruffled, torn in a few spots, and he had a fresh black eye.
“Hey, guys. What’s going on? What happened to Francesco? Is he okay?”
“No, he ain’t,” Sonny said with a chuckle. He stepped forward, pushing past Tedi in the tiny closet. He slapped Francesco on the ass through his tuxedo pants. “Francesco… He fucked up, Tedi. He’s the snitch. He’s been leakin’ like an old man’s dick.”
“What?”
Sonny laughed cockily. “I ain’t know a simpler way to say that, Tedi. He’s a snitch. He’s a person who snitches. He has snitched. You want me to translate into Italian?”
“Oh, I mean… Oh…” Tedi didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Sonny never really discussed Mafia business. He sometimes talked about the “import/export” business in ways that made it clear what he was really talking about, but he was rarely so blatant and open about it.
“We’re gonna punish him. We would do it ourselves, but…” Sonny said with a dry chuckle. “We ain’t want to. It’s my wedding day. My giorno sacro…”
“And I think it’s gross,” Joey said. He was the handsome one, the one who always had a girl hanging off his arm. He had deep dimples and smooth skin. “Francesco here is hairy come un barbaro, and if you think I’m shaving his ass, you got another thing coming.”
“Wait, so… You want me to…?” Tedi’s heart started pounding as he realized they wanted him to ram Francesco.
As if he had only just figured it out as well, Francesco squealed through the gag in his mouth. His muscles struggled against the bindings keeping him on the chair, and he fought so hard the chair itself nearly fell over. Sonny and the others laughed.
“So, how about it, Tedi?” Sonny asked. “You wanna wreck this snitchin’ rat?”
“Uh… Well… fuck, yeah!” Tedi said. He blushed as they all cheered. Francesco bleated, screaming profanity the best he could with what appeared to be underwear shoved in his mouth.
Sonny removed a pocketknife from his tuxedo slacks. For a moment, it looked like he was going to stab Francesco in the asshole. But he just sliced through the man’s pants, leaving a shadowy hole in front of his ass.
That wasn’t enough for Tedi. He liked ass, and he wanted to see it. He pulled on either end of the tear in the slacks, trying to rip the entire bottom off. But he blushed — the fabric was too tough, and Tedi was too weak. He strained for a minute or two before Baldo, the strongest one here aside from Francesco himself, grabbed the fabric from him. He ripped the entire ass of the slacks off.
Francesco had a beautifully thick ass, brimming with plump muscle and coarse black hairs. There was a big splat of scar tissue, vaguely circular or spiral-shaped, but distended by time, on his right asscheek.
“You want him to swallow your cum too?” Sonny asked. “Or are you just gonna go straight for the ramrodding?”
Tedi shrugged. “I… I mean, won’t he just bite down?”
“We got a plan for that,” he said. “He won’t bite.”
A part of Tedi didn’t feel confident in that. But he rarely got the chance to ram a man in the ass, especially not a big hairy macho like Francesco.
“I, uh… I just want his ass, honestly. I’d love to see him swallow some dick though. Would you guys ram his throat?”
They all looked around like no one wanted to do it but no one wanted to say no. Tedi blushed. Francesco heaved and screamed the best he could through his gag.
Demetrio laughed. “Ain’t you required to give yo’ friends favors on your wedding day, Sonny?” They all laughed along with him.
Sonny shook his head even as he said yes. “We, uh… Yeah. I guess we might as well. We’re gonna ram you in the throat, you little snitchin’ bitch.” Francesco struggled against the gag in his mouth, which Sonny pulled off. Francesco gasped for air, but Sonny spat on his face and barked for him to be silent. “I’m gonna give you a choice for how this ends, motherfucker. You can jerk us off and take it from Tedi, do everything he says, no matter how gross. You got that? Repeat it for me, Francesco, so I know you understand.”
“Sonny, I ain’t sellin’ secrets to the Caprinelli family-“
“You shut up! We found that book in your house, Francesco. We saw it. We got records from Tranquillo Caprinelli. We got a mole too, rat, and I ain’t tell you word one about it.”
“Sonny-“
“You know how I told you we was gonna hit the Caprinelli house on Saturday?” Sonny asked. “Well, they was waiting there with guns ready. They knew we was coming. Only we wasn’t coming, Francesco. We wasn’t coming at all. I told Demetrio we was doing it on Friday. I told Joey on Tuesday. Baldovino on Thursday, and Francesco the Saturday before that. But we ain’t hit them any day. I just waited to see when they thought we was coming. That was yo’ day, Francesco. What made them think we was gonna hit them on Saturday?”
“Sonny… We used to be friends…”
“Huh? You was gonna let me walk into a trap, motherfucker. They was gonna blow my brains out,” Sonny said. “So don’t you talk to me about friendship, or loyalty. Sputo sul vostro onore!” Sonny spat on his face again, and the others joined in. Tedi enjoyed watching Francesco’s moist, craggy face scrunch up and beg; he wrinkled his nose at the saliva dripping from his cheeks. His muscles were tense — at the moment, Tedi couldn’t have stuck anything in Francesco’s ass, which was shut tight with terror. But he wasn’t trying to. He caressed those plump cheeks and fingered the rim of his puckering asshole.
“Now I was tryin’ to explain your two options befo’ you in’rrupted me, Francesco,” Sonny said. “I’m gonna let you choose. Option One begins with you taking it in the ass from Tedi — and you better thank yo’ hairy culo di una scimmia that the rest of us won’t touch it, cuz that’s nasty — and jerking on dicks. You gonna swallow a mountain of cum. You ain’t nevuh gonna be a real man ever again, you’ll be a frocio zoccola. And then I’ll buy you a bus ticket to Las Vegas. You can sell your body or whatever, just drink yourself to death there. I don’t care what you do. That’s Option One, Francesco, questo è Opzione Uno. Can you tell me that in yo’ own words so I know you unn’erstand it?”
Sonny often spoke like this to the men under his command. Tedi didn’t usually get to witness it, but he knew it — Sonny wanted to make sure the pig-headed brutes who worked for him understood their mission, so he always made them put it in their own words. Sonny was arrogant and patronizing, so Tedi wasn’t surprised that most of the men who worked for him hated him.
“Sonny…” Francesco hung his head over the side of the chair. Sonny slapped him. Francesco sputtered. “I… I can… submit, and uh, let yo’ friend cornhole me. And jerk all you off. That’s Option One. You’ll let me go to Las Vegas afterwards.”
“You make it sound like a vacation. It’s more of an exile,” Sonny said. “But you’ll be alive. Opzione Due is less pleasant, but more final. Tedi here is gonna cornhole you hard. I just might order Joey to do it too, even if he don’t want to-” Sonny said with a laugh suggesting that wasn’t serious — Joey’s eyes opened wide and he turned slightly greenish; he was a handsome, cleanliness-oriented and organized man, deeply religious but with a bevy of loose women following him around every night, so he was the last one who would likely deign to ram Francesco’s hairy asshole. Sonny smacked Francesco’s ass, which quivered and twitched.
It also opened up. Since Tedi’s finger was waiting there at the entrance, he slipped it in. It was just his pinkie for the moment, and just down to the first knuckle. But Francesco’s face turned bright red and he let out an agonized roar. His muscles flexed against the ropes tying him to the chair. His asshole clenched on Tedi’s finger.
“You got a finger in che culo, paisano?”
“Yeah, Sonny. Just one finger for now,” Tedi said.
“Option Two, Francesco, has got one major benefit. We ain’t gonna plow you in the mouth if you ain’t gonna swear you won’t bite down. So you won’t have to swallow any Italian dicks,” Sonny said. “But we is gonna sell yo’ ass to the Bloods.” He cackled as Francesco squirmed and struggled against his bindings. He slapped Francesco’s face. “And you know what those moolies are gonna do… They gonna plow you with big black dicks. They gonna let some crackheads plow you, just to watch you squirm and collect diseases. They hate Italians, and they hate disloyal rats, so you is gonna wish you was dead. Then you will be dead. They’ll just toss you in the ghetto with black cum all over your face, maybe a crack pipe in your ass. They’ll make sure the cops put it in the papers that you was just a hobo killed by the moolie hobos you was jerkin’ off for pennies. Yo’ mama gonna curse yer name, Francesco.”
“Sonny-!”
“You can choose now, Francesco,” Sonny said. “Which one is it gonna be?”
Francesco let out a sob, then bit his lip. As he acknowledged his submission and finally gave up the struggle, knowing how this would turn out, his ass unclenched long enough for Tedi to get a second finger in there. Francesco yelped like a puppy in pain.
This time, Tedi didn’t just stick his fingers in to the first knuckle and stopped. He seriously fingered Francesco, ramming his fingers in until he felt resistance, and then just a little bit farther. He liked watching every muscle on Francesco’s body shake and tremble with each thrust of Tedi’s fingers.
“I’ll… take Option One,” Francesco said. “I swear… I’ll do it. I’ll jerk you off.”
“You swear an oath on yo mama’s name?”
“Yes. I swear… on my mother’s name,” Francesco said. “I’ll jerk you all off. I won’t bite down. Just… let me go. Let me move to Vegas.”
“You fuckin’ pansy,” Sonny said.
They all took their dicks out. A part of Tedi wished he’d get to jerk them all off, but he would rather ram Francesco. He had to move a box off the shelf to use as a stool in order to get his crotch lined up with Francesco’s ass. As he did, the other five jabbed their limp dicks into Francesco’s mouth, one after another.
Francesco gagged and retched so loudly Tedi wondered if it was audible outside this closet. He choked, sputtering as he spat onto the ground. Each of them had thick, long uncut cocks, which they seemed to have trouble getting hard at first.
They flopped their dicks against his face, like kids who had never gotten dome. But as they took turns forcing their dicks down his spasming throat, jousting nervously atop his face, they became more and more confident, and they egged each other on.
La bocca è la mia figa!
Tedi had no such difficulty, his dick was already hard even though he hadn’t touched it yet. He rammed his two fingers in and out of Francesco’s ass, while his free hand stroked the writhing muscles of his back through his tuxedo. Then he rammed a third finger in, ignoring the resistance he felt.
A ear-piercing scream rang out, and Francesco’s body burst out with sweat all at once. Tedi laughed along with the other mafioso, who looked away as their dicks got hard. They had all gangbanged whores before, and they all knew they had each let Tedi jerk them off, but they had never had their dicks out like this, with each other and without a woman in the room.
With Francesco bent awkwardly over the plain wooden chair — which loudly rocked as he struggled — Tedi had to climb on top of him to really get his dick in. He pulled his three fingers out and plunged in, his toes gripping the side of the chair as he crouched over Francesco’s bare ass.
The position was awkward for Tedi (and, of course, Francesco), but that didn’t detract from the arousal he felt. He even used Baldo’s shaved head for support as Baldo waited for his turn on Francesco’s mouth.
Costringerlo a soffocare, Baldo!
Tedi shuddered as intense pleasure rolled through him. The curly black hairs of Francesco’s ass were a tangle he had to push through, and he felt a few hairs rip out as he went. That must have sent another layer of pain through Francesco’s body which rippled as he struggled.
Frankie was a heavily tattooed thug, who normally wore his pants slung low and a backwards baseball cap, speaking in a black accent. He was Italian but he didn’t always act that way, which was something the others made fun of him for. But now he spoke Italian as he violently throated Francesco. It was he who came first, pistoning his dick deep into Francesco’s throat and laughing when he choked up copious spit and bile onto the closet floor.
Take it bitch, you fuckin’ snitch! Choke on that shit! Here, open that mouth up so I can spit in it some more…
The smell of cum filled the air before Tedi realized Frankie was actually finishing. Then he saw the pearly white stuff dripping from Francesco’s mouth, collecting in a puddle on the floor. Some of it splashed on Joey’s fine dress shoes, which he made Francesco lick clean. Frankie sighed breathed heavily, wiping his cummy cockshaft off on Francesco’s face.
“Lick that nut off my shoes, bitch,” Joey said. He smiled as Francesco gagged but did as he was told. His tongue haltingly caressed the expensive Italian leather shoes Joey wore, and he managed, with great difficulty, to force himself to lick the entirety of both shoes.
Mi permetta di usare quella gola, paisano!
As the others continued taking turns on Francesco’s throat, Tedi borrowed the knife from Sonny. He wanted to see Francesco’s bare muscular back, so he sliced through the tuxedo jacket, shirt and the dingy wifebeater he wore underneath.
“You couldn’t even put on a clean t-shirt for my wedding?” Sonny asked when he saw the undershirt. “You worthless sac of shit!” He slapped Francesco’s spit and cum-covered face, uncaring of the fact that he got his friends’ fluids on his hands. He just wiped his fingers off on Francesco’s face.
The more violently they went after Francesco’s throat, the more Francesco choked, the more they made each other laugh and the more comfortable they got shoving their dicks against each other. They tried to make him jerk all five dicks at one — which was obviously impossible, but they tried, ignoring the semeny residue that smeared between all five cocks.
Sonny was the one who rammed Francesco’s mouth most delicately. He didn’t want to get stains on his nice slacks, so he angled his body away the best he could. He gripped Francesco’s hair as he reached his own orgasm.
Tedi’s fingers massaged Francesco’s broad shoulder muscles. He had a Jesus tattoo over his left shoulder and an Italian flag beneath that. Tedi kissed them both as he pounded his dick into Francesco’s ass. The size difference between them meant that Tedi had to really hold on tight or slip off, especially as Francesco became so sweaty his back and ass were slippery. Tedi clutched and clawed at his beefy back.
When he shot his load, Sonny held onto Francesco by the ear. He slammed his dick in and out quickly, laughing as Francesco choked on each thrust. His choking turned into loud retching when Sonny shot a load right down his throat.
Assaggiare il mio sperma! Does it taste like yo’ mama’s pussy?
Tedi’s own orgasm was coming quickly, but he wanted to wait until the others were done. He loved watching their potent muscles ripple beneath their tuxedos, sweat beading on their tense faces as their orgasms rolled over their bodies. He could sense their nervous anxiety — none of them had ever cum like this; they all talked about how they would take a bitch if they were in prison, that had come up during the bachelor party, but this was the first time they actually had to perform without women around. Tedi could tell they were glad they hadn’t been impotent or small-cocked or unable to cum. He slowed down his gyrations, burying his face in Francesco’s back muscles as he flexed his hips, grinding so he hit the sensitive sides of Francesco’s asshole.
Then came Joey, who as usual was too squeamish to really get in there like the others — he hated filth and seemed to very much want to back out. He grumbled, jacking himself off. His face turned red when he finally came, and he stepped forward at just the last moment to spray his load right onto Francesco’s quivering tongue.
Questo è sporco…
Tedi watched as Francesco squealed loudly, his whole body palpably rejected the snotty cumload on his tongue. He sputtered and spat, but most of it clung to his mouth. Before he even could spit or swallow, Baldo pushed his dickhead in.
Baldo had a shaved head. He was short, but thick-bodied, built like a bull, complete with a squashed nose and cauliflower ears, both remnants from his former career as a boxer. Though his head was bald, he was the hairiest one there, and his chest hair poked out from under his tuxedo.
He didn’t seem to care about the cum still stuck to Francesco’s tongue and lips. Baldo plunged his dick in there, watching as his buddies’ cum stuck to the shaft. Baldo smiled and let out a low growl that made the hair on Tedi’s neck stand on edge. He felt Francesco’s asshole clench too, in that moment. It was a menacing growl, Baldo being the only one of the five who really seemed to enjoy Francesco’s mouth.
Tu sei il mio sperma grondaia…
That only left Demetrio, who was nearly done as Baldo pulled away. But first Demetrio made Francesco swallow all the cum in his mouth. He opened his mouth to show its emptiness to Demetrio, who cackled as he shoved his spasming dick in.
Mi permetta di vedere la tua bocca vuota, voglio vedere voi ingoiare tutto!
Francesco’s ass clenched again when Demetrio’s dick spewed cum down his throat. Francesco sputtered, his face turning brighter red as lack of oxygen joined the humiliation that already ruddened his features. His asshole remained clenched tightly as all five guys flopped their limp dicks on his face, making him smell their balls and lick the remnants of cum from their piss-slits.
It was the sight of that that sent Tedi over the edge. He lay atop Francesco’s sweat-covered body, clutching his muscles, his hair and the remnants of his tuxedo. He flexed his hips over and over, rejoicing in the tightness of Francesco’s ass, which he knew he was wrecking — if Francesco had relaxed his asshole, it would have hurt less, but Tedi knew from experience that his involuntary clenching made the pain worse, made the ache last for days afterward and ruined his sphincter. Francesco was always going to feel like a loose slut if anyone ever touched his asshole again.
Francesco sobbed, begging his former friends to believe his innocence, though he didn’t sound totally credible — even Tedi, who didn’t really know what was happening, thought he sounded like he knew he was caught. Tedi sighed, nibbling on the Italian flag tattoo over Francesco’s back, as his orgasm rocketed up his spine. It was an incredible climax, and it made Tedi shake back and forth like he was having a seizure. He grunted, losing his twinky delicacy.
He jabbed his dick in and held it there while the first wads of cum sprayed inside Francesco, who screamed and squirmed. There was a loud shattering sound, and then pain erupted in Tedi.
He was on the ground. It all happened so fast that Tedi had no idea what was going on at first. He lay there as he drained his nuts into Francesco’s straining ass, and Tedi realized that the chair had broken — Francesco was strong enough he had pulled hard and shattered the wooden legs of the chair.
When he fell, Francesco’s arms were beneath his chest, and his limbs were still tied to each other. So all he could do was writhe painfully on the rubble, while Tedi clung to his back and filled him up with his seed. He nibbled on Francesco’s back flesh.
Damn, Tedi, ti sei scopato lui così forte che lo ha rotto!
He lay there, enjoying the undulations of Francesco’s muscles and the clenching of his ass as Tedi’s dick grew limp inside him. Francesco roared his frustration anew, as though he thought he should be able to escape now that he had broken the chair. But he was still tied up, and now he was in pain because had fallen as well as because he had a dick in his ass.
His asshole quivered when Tedi finally pulled out. The others tucked their dicks away in their tuxedo pants, and Sonny lightly smacked Francesco on the cheeks. Francesco blubbered an apology — he wasn’t making clear words, but it sounded like he was finally admitting he was guilty.
“Thank you for being honest, finally,” Sonny said. He put the nasty old pair of briefs back in Francesco’s mouth, leaving him there on the floor with a bare ass and back, his body and mouth covered in cum. “We’re gonna go finish out this reception. I gotta see my beautiful bride. There’s a bus to Las Vegas at midnight. These guys’ll make sure you’re on it, Francesco,” Sonny said. He spat another big ball of spit onto Francesco’s face. “If we ever see you in New York again, I’ll wreck you myself, hairy ass or no, and then I let the blacks kill you. Got it?”
“Yes, Sonny.”
“Thank me for letting you do all this instead of just killing you, which is what my father wanted, by the way,” Sonny said.
“Thank you, Sonny,” Francesco said through his tears. His massive muscles were loose and slack now, like he had lost his manhood and could no longer use his strength.
“You’re welcome, rat,” Sonny said.
Tedi let out a cruel smile and a feminine giggle. “Sonny… is it okay if I stay here with him? I’ll… take care of his ass. I promise I won’t untie him.”
Sonny had a disgusted sneer on his face, but he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Do whatever you want with him. Frankie, you stay outside the closet to make sure Francesco doesn’t get away. The rest of you, come with me. We got a reception to finish.”
And they all walked out the door, leaving Tedi alone with a quivering pile of muscle.

The Hick

Ray is investigating a poacher when he winds up in the legendary Smashwood Trailer Park. That’s where he meets up with the raunchiest hick around: Cody Lankford! Cody is a filthy redneck who always says “a mouth is a mouth”, which is a philosophy Ray can get behind… or underneath!

Can Ray find what he’s looking for?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Ray parked in the public lot facing the Smashwood Trailer Park in Bunson, Arkansas. He got out of his car and stretched. It had been a long drive from Little Rock.
This area was beautiful, he thought. He had passed verdant hills and sun-choked meadows that rolled into the horizon like thunderclouds. Dense forests with layers of old growth and explosions of wildlife scattered along the roadside, where little campgrounds and isolated farms were the only landmarks for miles.
But Ray wasn’t here just to sightsee. He was here for business.
When he headed into the trailer park, he was first struck by the man in boxer shorts staring at him. He was tattooed, smudged with dirt all over as though he had been used as a sponge to clean a dirty window. His hair was pale brown and hung back in a mullet that extended well below his shoulders. He wore only boxers and was covered in soap suds — he was bathing himself with a hose.
Ray nodded across the ditch that demarcated the end boundary of the trailer park. The bathing redneck nodded back. He was lean and lanky, ropy-muscled, suds covering his dusky tattoos. He rinsed, getting some of that dirt off and soaking his boxers in water and soap. He still had smudges of dirt all over, and his tanned skin looked the color of dirt anyway — or maybe he wasn’t tanned, and the dirt had been ground into his skin until he was the color of dried-out-clay.
“Howdy,” Ray said with a grin.
“Howdy stranger,” said the man, Cletus, who scratched his balls nonchalantly, as though he bathed here in these nearly-translucent white boxers every day. They were threadbare and plastered to his ropy legs with soapy water. They were plain white boxers, and, Ray suspected, prison-issue.
“I’m looking for someone named Cody Lankford,” Ray said with a smile. He extended his hand to shake, but the man just scowled. Ray added, “I’m not a police officer.”
“Don’t know ‘im.” The man turned his head away.
Ray shrugged and continued. Ray had Cody Lankford’s picture, and he was certain he was here. He thought he could find him. In any case, he didn’t believe this half-naked trashy man. Ray meandered towards a group of children playing ball. He thought maybe they would be more willing to answer. Then he heard deep-throated guffaws from the other side of a trailer.
He headed to the backside, where the trailer faced a row of trees. There stood a trio of black men. They were just as dirty as the white man upfront, wearing ratty old wifebeaters above mud-splattered jeans. One of them reeked strongly of body odor when Ray approached and wrinkled his nose.
“Whatchoo want?”
“Hey, uh, sorry for interrupting,” Ray said. They appeared to be dumping out a bucket that smelled of rubbing alcohol — was this moonshine? It looked like they were getting rid of a bad batch of moonshine. But Ray pretended not to notice. “I was looking for Cody Lankford. He-“
They all laughed, and one of the black men clutched his meaty belly beneath his wifebeater, which was formerly white but now gray like dishwater. He howled with laughter. “Cody?! You lookin’ for Cody?”
“Whatchoo want wit’ him? You studyin’ hicks?”
“He the raunchiest hick in this whole trailer park, man, you don’t want him-“
“He prolly fuckin’ a fat girl who make a face like this-” The younger black man made a funny, possibly orgasmic face, and they all guffawed. “And she got hair the color of raccoon piss, he be in there-” He pantomimed eating pussy and gagging on the taste. “Ummm…. Yum-yum, yummy in my tummy, I love eatin’ rancid snatch-“
“He prolly wallowin’ in sum mud-pit, mistuh.”
“He is nasty, right nasty. You police? He ain’t a bad fellah, just a stinky one-“
“And he loves fat-girl pussy-“
“Shut the hell up, Mane, yo’ female ain’t exactly skinny neither-“
“Least she don’t smell like a beached whale!”
“Smellin’ like a whale in the ocean ain’t that much better, Mane-“
“Like either of you two niggas ever see a whale. You never even seen the ocean-“
“He seen a whale! He eat whale pussy up!”
Ray walked away. It seemed this argument was going to continue indefinitely. He heard them laughing and arguing over who fucked fatter women. Ray had no interest in that. At least he knew he was on the right track.
He was surprised that nobody had reacted like Cody Lankford was a bad guy. They had asked if he was police, but that was probably pretty typical for around here. They hadn’t reacted like they were scared of him, or like Ray could have been a rival gangbanger, or like Ray should just run away. The inescapable conclusion was that they didn’t see Cody as a threat.
He headed deeper into the trailer park. He saw a bevy of haggard women who appeared to be smoking meth, but Ray didn’t want to talk to them — it was clear they wouldn’t give useful information anyway, they were hazed out and dim. He saw a fat man in holey white briefs guzzling vodka from a bottle as he picked shards of broken glass from his foot. But Ray just continued. He thought he should walk through the whole park before deciding on what to do next. He stopped only when he heard an engine roaring, coming closer. It was zippy, buzzy, not rumbly like a car.
It was a dirtbike.
Ray turned around just in time to see a shirtless white man in a tangled blond mullet approach on the back of a mud-splattered dirtbike. The dirtbike was slowing down, and the blond man guffawed as he came to a stop near Ray.
“Goddamn hell!” the blond man said. He hopped off the dirtbike. Ray couldn’t tell if he was talking to him, or just plain talking. It was weird to stop next to a stranger in a trailer park as though continuing a conversation with him. “It was chokin’, I swear it was chokin’ like Chucky gobblin’ cock. I gotta get back in the engine and fix it up, I don’t like it chokin’ when I’s out runnin’, swear to God! That was a good run, I say! Woo-hoo!” He looked at Ray as though he had only just now realized he didn’t know him. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ray.”
“Cody.”
“Hi, Cody,” Ray said.
Cody had deep dimples which belied the trashy look, and he was well-muscled though short, wiry like he struggled to gain weight. His hair was unwashed, his furry armpits glistening with sweat. His body was splattered with wet clumps of mud that dripped off him as he brought the dirtbike to a tattered trailer. He flopped onto a lawnchair.
There appeared to be more mud on him as well, not only the wet mud from the dirtbike ride he had just finished. He had been muddy even before then. He had never bathed from last night, when his boss made him come over to start assembling a gazebo. He had bought all the wood and the plans, and Cody started work on it until the rain got too bad and he went home.
“You Donna’s brother?” Cody asked after a brief pause, nodding towards one of the trailers next to his own. He spread his legs in his rank jeans as he settled down in his lawn chair. He pulled out a pouch of tobacco and rolling papers, and he began to roll a cigarette of his own.
“No, I don’t know Donna,” Ray said. “I think I came here to talk to you. You Cody Lankford?”
“Aaaaah, man… I swear, I know that bitch ain’t have my baby, okay? She wasn’t even pregnant like three months after we fucked, okay? I swear, I’ll do a DNA test, no pro’lem-“
“No, it’s not that,” Ray said. “Two years ago, you were arrested with a gun. A Beretta M9-“
“Hey, I did my time, man. I don’t drink neither, ask my parole officer. I see him e’ry other week. I don’t give ‘im no trouble neither, nosuh-“
“Yes, yes, that’s fine. I just wanted to know what happened to the gun.”
Cody paused and raised his eyebrows like he thought this was a trick question. “I got arrested, man. I ain’t have a license for the gun. The police took it.”
“So what happened to it?”
“It sat in a evidence locker till I pled guilty.”
“Then?”
Cody shrugged. “I dunno. Never thought about it. Don’t they auction that shit?”
“They don’t auction guns, no. Police don’t want to spread them around, and plus they can’t be sure you didn’t modify it to make it more likely to malfunction.”
“I ain’t modify shit, mothahfuckah. What’s this about?”
“A few months ago, that gun was used to kill an elephant. Someone shot the elephant nine times in the head,” Ray said. “A poacher who just wanted the ivory, left the elephant to rot in the grass. That’s what I do, I’m hunting down ivory poachers-“
“What?”
“I’m just trying to find what happened to that gun. I matched the ballistics through an Interpol search of convicted-“
“What? You accusin’ me of shootin’ a elephant?”
“No! Not you, I know you didn’t do it. I already investigated you. You don’t even have a passport.”
“That’s right, shit…”
“I guess somebody with the police department must have taken the gun,” Ray said. “Either a cop or someone in the evidence room. They probably took all the guns that were supposed to be destroyed and sold them. Do you have any thoughts on who might have done that?”
Cody’s smiling face had gone dour and frowning. He glared at Ray. “I ain’t… I don’t work wit’ police.”
“I’m not the police. I’m hoping to get a cop arrested. That’s the opposite of what police do-“
“I know. But it’s still kinda like bein’ a cop — it’s a con-undrum.” Cody sounded like he had never said that word before. “I don’t help the police arrest no one. No snitchin’ is a rule we gots around here, boy. It’s a rule we take mighty serious.” He spat on the ground, some of it landing on his ankle. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He took a deep drag off his home-rolled cigarette. His scruffy beard hairs wiggled as he inhaled. “I dunno if it applies if the person gettin’ arrested is a police officer too.”
“Well, I can’t arrest anyone-“
“Man, you tuggin’ on my shit and tellin’ me it ain’t a turd,” Cody said. “You workin’ to solve a crime, right? ‘Round here, man solve his own crime. If’n you think someone done killed an elephant, you take the fight to him. Don’t go gettin’ po-lice involved, nosir.”
“Okay.”
“What?”
“I’ll do that. I’m not really looking to arrest whoever this is. I’d settle for making sure everyone knows they’re an elephant poacher, and maybe kicking a little ass. What do you think?”
“Man… jerk me off,” Cody said with an absent-minded sigh. He hobbled out of his chair, his big fleshy body shaking. He flexed his biceps and punched his own palm.
“Whip it out then.”
Cody didn’t seem to be listening. He went into the trailer and rummaged around. He finally emerged with a stack of papers. “Here. The fellah who signed my evidence out of storage was named Robin Thorne — oh…” Cody had clearly just realized something, but he didn’t say it.
“What happened? You know him?”
“He… Man, I don’t like folks who pry into anothah man’s business. I just… I know he got a side business dealin’. He know folks who might could know other folks who might could buy some guns now and then. Ain’t sayin’ nothin’ more, mistuh, and you can jerk me off, shit…” Cody went pale and guffawed nervously as he realized only then that when he said “jerk ne off” a few moment ago, Ray had told him to whip it out. Cody said “jerk me off” so often it threw him for a loop that Ray had taken it literally.
“I said, whip it out,” Ray said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Cody shifted his weight between his big meaty feet. His pecs rippled. He frowned. “What?”
“You keep demanding I jerk you off. But you have to take it out,” Ray said. “I promise I won’t let anyone know you put me onto Mr. Thorne. It’s in the court papers, so I didn’t technically need anyone to tell me. I could have found that out myself, if I had known to look.”
“Hmmm.” Cody blushed and laughed uproariously. He clutched his belly. “You serious ‘bout swallowin’ my dick, mistuh? Cuz I don’t mess around ‘bout that-“
Ray dropped to his knees right there at the side of Cody’s trailer. He opened his mouth. Then he nodded to the trailer next to it. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private-“
“Nah. Donna’s gone. She in jail for a week,” Cody said. He swaggered back and forth, trying to work up the courage to do it. He loved dome, and he even loved getting them from men — he didn’t much care — a mouth was a mouth was a mouth, after all, that was what his pappy always said.
“Oh. Okay then,” Ray said. He liked the idea of kneeling in the mud and servicing Cody’s filthy body anyway. Cody reeked of sweat, but it wasn’t foul — it was fresh, recent from the dirtbike-ride he had just finished. His jeans were more rank, like they hadn’t been washed in months. Ray could smell layers of sweat that had soaked into the denim. Mud splattered all over him, weighing down those jeans.
“You serious ‘bout swallowin’ sum dick? Sheeit, man, sheeit…” Cody cackled. He took another drag off his home-rolled cigarette and undid his fly. His cock flopped out and slapped Ray in the face. Cody chuckled, making his dick bounce up and down and jab Ray in the nose. It smelled especially strongly of crotch-sweat, filthy manhood and stale funk. Somehow a few drops of mud had gotten in there and stuck to his dickshaft.
But Ray certainly didn’t mind. He enjoyed his honkies rough-and-tumble and as dirty as they came. Cody certainly seemed to live up to his reputation as the raunchiest honky in the trailer park, so Ray put his cocktip in his mouth and suckled loudly.
“Goddamn, boy!” Cody bellowed, a little overconfidence in his voice, like he was covering up his own discomfort with bluster. He shook his ass back and forth, swaying like a stripper and making Ray follow his cock with his mouth. “You was serious ‘bout this shit. You ain’t even thinkin’ twice, swear to God. You like dirty boys?”
Ray nodded without pulling Cody’s dick out. It slowly firmed up as it rubbed against his tongue, and Ray slathered it with spit. He ran down the shaft, bit by bit, making eye contact with Cody’s shocked face the whole way, until soon he was nuzzling that coppery pubic hair that scratched at Ray’s cheeks and lips.
“Holy sheeit, boy! Goddamn!” Cody smiled. He wished he had struggled to get hard — not because he wanted to be impotent, he just wanted it to look like Cody had to concentrate. Cody’s father had once said — where Cody could overhear — that he let his buddy jerk him off on a camping trip but that it took him forever to get hard. That sounded manly, Cody had thought, like he didn’t even want to do it but his cock was powerful he couldn’t deprive someone of its salty load, so he felt obligated to oblige.
That was what Cody wanted to be like. His pa was in prison for shooting a cop on a jet-ski, but Cody still idolized him.
Ray moved to licking Cody’s shaft, his tongue curling over its thickness and sucking off the mud that had splattered there. Cody threw his head back, ran his fingers through his tangled, knotted mullet and howled. He beat on his chest, making sweat and something sour — old fruit juice or maybe beer that had spilled on his furred skin some time ago — ran down to Ray’s face. It was sweet but rancid on Ray’s tongue like hot garbage baking in a dumpster, and he guzzled it down.
Then Ray moved lower. He was in a mood for some serious raunch today, and he more he drank of Cody’s filth, the more he wanted.
Cody was shocked that Ray wanted to jerk him off. The trailer park sissy around here always made Cody shower first. That was the most common reason Cody showered — or sprayed himself with the hose, since he didn’t actually have running water in his trailer. He had sold the copper pipes for money years ago, figuring that the hose outside would do just fine.
“Hang on, hoss, lemme get a beer,” Cody said. He only ever let that local perv jerk him off when he’d been drinking, so doing it sober this time, he thought, was probably why he felt weird about it. He reached for the cooler in the shade underneath his trailer and popped the top on a can of beer. He barely drank from it, cuz he was focused on the pleasure arising from his cock.
Ray lowered his head to Cody’s balls, which were even more foul. They had a medicinal scent from the talcum powder Cody used — that was the only bit of personal hygiene he actually did even when he had no meeting with his parole officer or mother to prepare for, because his balls got mad-sweaty until it felt like they had become saltwater.
So his balls smelled and tasted of chalky medicine, though that flavor disappeared quickly in Ray’s mouth, replaced by the sour taste of sweaty balls. His sac was hairy and moist, his balls full and heavy, spreading to fill Ray’s mouth with the flavor of unadulterated, unwashed, unclean manhood.
Ray kept licking until he was sucking on Cody’s taint, sliding through his legs and necessitating Cody to spread his feet as though being arrested. Then Cody turned around. He’d never gotten anyone to lick his ass before. He never even tried — people called him a filthy hick since he was a boy — he didn’t think it was possible for someone to want to lick his ass.
It was thick and hairy and fleshy and a bit reddish from having sat on the rumbling dirtbike for so long. Ray didn’t mind the foul stink emanating from it — that, he thought, was the purest expression of manhood. He loved the struggle of getting through it, of exploring the folds of funk and stench that exploded with every tickle of his tongue into Cody’s tight crack.
“Goddam, boy, you gonna put me to shame! I think we gots a new nastiest mothahfuckah in the park!”
He’d never been rammed, fingered or even rimmed, so his asshole was tight, choked with tangled blackish-blond hairs. Ray’s tongue rammed in quickly, unceremoniously, so thick it stretched Cody’s asshole and made him grunt.
“Shit, damn! You lick like a mutt lookin’ fo’ peanut buttuh on the ground, goddamn!” Cody laughed. He couldn’t decide if it felt good. It had a certain pleasurable quality to it, a deep-burning pit of sensation that roiled within him as his prostate was stimulated for the first time. But it was also kind of like getting rammed with a moist, fleshy dildo, he thought, and there was just a bit of stretching pain.
He was so focused on that that he didn’t realize it made his dick throb and leak copious precum. Cody pounded on the wall of his own trailer, spreading his legs wider and then using one hand to spread his ass the best he could. That gave Ray perfect access to chow down on his hairy crack.
Ray’s entire face was lost in his plump asscheeks. Ray gagged a few times as he lapped at the hair that rubbed against his face. There was so much flavor here, he thought with a giggle. He could have kept tasting it all day, even if it was disgusting. The disgust, he thought, was the best part.
But Ray didn’t want to leave without getting it up the ass. He pulled away, leaving behind such moisture and a sense of desire in Cody’s undulating body that Cody didn’t even notice right away.
“Whatchoo doin’, boy? Get ya tongue back in there, swear to God-” Cody turned around and his eyes opened wide at the sight of Ray’s tight asshole beckoning. Ray backed up and rubbed his asscheeks against Cody’s shaft.
Cody grumbled. He’d only rammed a man in the ass a few times, and he had been drunk enough then he hadn’t remembered it — he only knew because his friends made fun of him for it the next day. But Cody was hard and he had never before turned down a nut.
So he grimaced, stroked his dick one time and wedged it into Ray’s asscrack. He was glad it was smooth and clean. Cody was neither of those things, but if he was going to ram a man in the ass, he was glad it was a man whose ass was smooth and pristine like Ray’s.
The one nice thing about plowing men, Cody thought, was that you could really ram into them. Wrinkling his nose and whinnying like a horse, Cody pressed down on Ray’s back to keep him in position.
“Gettin’ in ya dirt road now, boy, damn! Gimme ya hands!” Cody took Ray’s hands in his and held onto them, forcing Ray to lay his head on the muddy ground with his ass in the air. Cody slipped his cocktip in and shook his head, making his mullet waver. “Goddamn, boy, don’t fight me now! If you want me to stop, say it!”
“Don’t stop! Oh god, don’t stop!”
Cody had dropped his beer, which now spilled out. He frowned — he had spilled most of his first beer of the day. It put him in a foul mood because he couldn’t afford “enough” beer, so he often had to buy that disgusting moonshine from the black men in the front of the park — and that stuff, he thought, would eventually make him go blind. So he didn’t want to waste beer, even this piss-cheap nasty shit that spilled out into the mud and trickled into Ray’s face.
Cody’s bare foot was just inches from Ray’s face. He lifted Ray’s ass to use it like a sex-toy, ramming his dick in and squealing with delight as Ray squirmed beneath him. It felt better than any female he’d ever been with, Cody thought as his cock slid all the way in and out with just the right amount of resistance, enough to make Ray clench and send waves of pleasure through Cody’s body.
A howl and a hoot escaped from Cody’s chest. He tried to spit on his dick to provide more lube, but he plowed back and forth too energetically for that, moving all around the muddy grass between his trailer and Donna’s. Ray could do little more than undulate with pleasure as he was dragged this way and that by the asshole.
Someone he ended up mostly underneath Donna’s trailer, in the little crawlspace there surrounded by water pipes and electrical wires. Cody hadn’t meant to go under here, it was just where he had ended up, and it felt right, hiding underneath a trailer in the dirt. Ray’s face was pressed into the dirt, smashing onto a worm as it tried to wriggle away.
“Oh god! Shit!” Ray shouted out loud, the sound resonant and ringing in the little crawlspace. He could barely reach his dick, but he got enough of a hold on it to stroke himself off, instantly triggering the orgasm his body had been waiting for since Cody’s knobbly dick hit his prostate.
He sprayed cum all over the muddy clay beneath Donna’s trailer. He tightened up as Cody orgasmed as well, then relaxed, letting Cody’s cock shoot the most massive load of his life deep into Ray’s guts. It spilled into him, seeping through his flesh like syrup, creaminess flowing through every nook and cranny of his body.
Cody lifted his head to howl once more, a few drops of drool dripping onto Ray’s shoulders as he did. He painfully banged his head into the trailer above and winced. “Damn-” he pounded on Ray’s ass, the pain in his head overshadowed by the intense climax flowing through his veins. “Take it, man, don’t spill none, don’t move, don’t move, shit, shit…” His breath condensed on Ray’s tense face.
He pinned Ray in position as he emptied those rank, unwashed balls into Ray’s guts. He had never gotten to cum like that, he thought as he watched his cock throb, shooting all the way into a woman’s tight ass.
“Ah, shit…”
“Hmmmm…” Ray sighed, but even that motion was enough to reawaken his orgasm and make him twitch. He was painfully sensitive right now, but he loved every minute of it. Cody’s dick limpened as it marinated in Ray’s cummy asshole, which clenched around it.
“Gonna make you dirty, boy,” Cody said, snorting and whispering right into Ray’s ear. When he saw Ray moan, Cody spat on his face and smeared the fluids all over his cheeks and nose. That made Ray gag and his asshole tighten once more.
Cody kept plowing. Girls never let him do this. It was arduous and painful for Cody, whose dick was soft now. But he liked doing it anyway. He bit his lip and rocked back and forth, turning his load into a big frothy, bubbly mess that coated Ray’s ass.
Ray squirmed as he felt cum slide out of his behind. He was delirious with the pleasure still rocking him in waves. His ass was a giant puddle of cum now, and he loved every moment of it. The heat of Cody’s load seeped through Ray’s flesh.
At last, it was done. Cody’s dick popped out, and Ray let out the loudest sigh of relief ever. He sprawled out in the dirt beneath Donna’s trailer.
Cody climbed out with a hefty chortle. His asscheeks rippled and his back muscles all flexed as he stretched, his goopy dick dangling between his legs. He gave it one last stroke and roared, then wiped his hand clean on Donna’s trailer, leaving behind a whitish-brown mixture of cum, mud and who knew what else. He laughed. She would be furious about that if she had seen it.
“Remember, prettyboy, don’t tell no one I gave you no kinda help,” Cody said. He kicked gently at Ray’s feet. “You hear me under there?”
From under the trailer Ray called out, “Yeah, no problem. I’ll see you later.”
Cody chuckled as he walked away. “Tha’ss right, bitch,” he said.

The Bodybuilding Governor

Rob is desperate to land the hunky governor of Rhode Island, a former action star with a body to die for. Lucky for Rob, the governor is willing to give him a swing on his alpha male manmeat with the right incentive.

That means Rob is in for one exciting adventure in executive-branch man-on-man action!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Rob stood in the audience, clapping, as he listened to Governor Pancroft’s speech. It was a good speech. Pancroft wasn’t the most charismatic public speaker, but he had a certain awkward charm about him. Plus he had great dimples and a body to die for, which was enough for Rob (and, it seemed, the voters).
Once the speech was over, the crowd melted away. Rob remained though. He was here to talk to Governor Pancroft.
That suit was delightfully tight, showing off the muscles that made Pancroft famous to begin with. Jesse Pancroft had been a professional bodybuilder before becoming an actor and then, eventually, Governor of Rhode Island.
Governor Pancroft stood there shaking hands with people — members of the State Senate, Rob was pretty sure. The situation was kind of tense because most of these members were Republicans, while Pancroft was a Democrat. Rob didn’t care.
He was apolitical. He was only involved in politics because he was in advertising, and he wanted the Pancroft campaign business. Pancroft was going to kick off his re-election campaign soon, so now was the time to do it.
“Hi, Governor Pancroft, it’s so nice to meet you, and I’ve been a fan of your work since the education bill,” Rob said.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, come here, young man,” Governor Pancroft said. He was jokingly friendly because that “education bill” never passed due to intense opposition — Pancroft was happy to meet someone who had paid attention to his career and approved of his first controversial political act. Not many people liked that education bill.
“I work for Mayerbridge Analytics,” Rob said. “I was hoping we could talk today so I could tell you I think you’re being ill-served by your digital team. I can get you a higher rate of user engagement for the same price you’re paying right now.”
Governor Pancroft peered at him, his big body flexing against the confines of his suit. “How do you know what I’m paying right now?”
“Oh, sorry, I forgot something.” Rob cleared his throat. “You’re also over-paying for ineffective data security while your team leaks like a colander.” The retinue of men and women behind the Governor bristled and tried to step between him and Rob. But Governor Pancroft waved them away.
“Let’s talk more. Can you meet me at my hotel this evening?”
“Certainly,” Rob said.
The governor hurried away then, his team shooting angry glances at Rob. He was used to that. You couldn’t move in political circles without making enemies — any scrap of power you might gain for yourself has to come at someone else’s expense, so no matter what you do, it makes you an enemy of someone.
Rob wasn’t worried. He was used to making enemies.
He put his pitch together and headed to the hotel in the evening. He eventually found the governor in the hotel’s gym. Governor Pancroft was on an exercise bike, flanked by assistants, when Rob finally made it in there to see him.
“Our targeting software is more thorough than any of our competitors. We have detailed profiles on every single American, including a list of their nicknames, aliases and screen names. We can match up-” Rob launched into his well-rehearsed pitch, forcing himself to speak despite his distraction.
He was distracted because Governor Pancroft had an incredible physique, especially for a middle-aged man. As a bodybuilder, he had been among the most muscular men in the world — he had been a champion bodybuilder back in the early nineties. Now he was a little older, and he certainly wasn’t a champion anymore, but he maintained his body.
He looked even better now, Rob thought. He had been handsome back then, but he had had that weird bulgey monster-like look that all bodybuilders had. Now he was more human, more real, with fleshy flesh atop firm muscles. He wasn’t quite so vascular, and his skin was taut but not stretched thin like on a bodybuilder.
He looked especially good now, on his exercise bike, wearing only a white tee shirt and shorts. Those thighs made Rob shudder and shake with desire, they were so thick and firm, covered in kinky black hairs. His head was smooth, which was a stark contrast to his former long blond locks, but again, Rob thought he looked better like this. He didn’t mind a bald man, and Governor Pancroft leaned into it by shaving his head.
“I see, I see, I’ve heard Mayerbridge has a good reputation. Governor Maggenhein said she used you guys.”
“Ah, yes, she was remarkable. An excellent candidate,” Rob said. “If she weren’t from Delaware, she could have gone national.”
“It’s easier for a woman. They’re not tempted by hot young flesh every day,” Governor Pancroft said with a laugh. He glanced among his retinue to make sure no one was offended, but they all laughed along with him. “Well, except for Carol.” He winked at one of the women who worked for him, and she blushed. Pancroft looked back at Rob. “Your company can’t make interns go away, can they?”
“Not yet, sir, we’re working on the technology,” Rob said, laughing along with him. He clutched Governor Pancroft’s on his big strong shoulder, barely managing to avoid letting out a moan. Rob enjoyed muscular men. He could have gladly stood there massaging Pancroft’s shoulder all day long.
Governor Pancroft’s dimpled grin disappeared. He glanced at his retinue and security detail, then nodded to the door. “I need privacy.”
Rob stood there while the room emptied. Governor Pancroft waited until the door had slammed shut, and then he lowered his gaze. “You said you have data on every American, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Might I be able to access some of it? Specifically, there’s a woman named Caitlin Smiles, I need to know who she’s been talking to, who she’s been emailing. Is that…?”
“That is data we have access to, yes,” Rob said. He yawned. “It’s not something we make available to our clients though, not as a matter of course.”
“But you do sometimes?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Saying you don’t do something ‘as a matter of course’ implies you do do it more irregularly,” Governor Pancroft said. He flashed those incredible dimples once more. His tan skin gleamed with the sweat from his workout. He got down off the exercise bike, and his height and burly build became even more intimidating to Rob.
Rob gulped. “That is an interesting point, Governor,” he said. “If you were to hire Mayerbridge Analytics, I might be able to see what we could do. Perhaps a mistake would occur, wherein a person’s data was accidentally printed out and brought to you by a private courier covered by a non-disclosure agreement. Mistakes do occur.”
“Indeed.”
“What did you say her name was? Caitlin Smiles? Caitlin with a Y?”
“With an I, and that might not be her real name.” He put on a cock-eyed smile. “She’s a stripper.”
“Excellent, thank you,” Rob said. He cleared his throat. “You must have very little time for women, Governor, and so few opportunities to be with them safely.”
“Yeah, man, that’s a problem.” Pancroft rolled his eyes. “The press is fuckin’ crazy, you know? They still think I was messing around with this intern like three years ago, they keep interviewing her and shit…” He chuckled with glee. “But I never did, and never would! She was fat as hell, and not in a good way. She smelled like a quesadilla.” He paused. “That wasn’t a racist joke, she wasn’t Mexican, she literally smelled like a quesadilla. You’d have to pay me to fuck her! Like, a lot too, you’d have to pay six figures at least. Seven if I had to keep the lights on.”
Rob laughed along with him. “Was that the Caitlin-?”
“Oh, no, different woman entirely. I never slept with Caitlin Smiles either, she’s a stripper whose brother keeps getting leaks from my team. I need to know who’s talking to her.” He grinned. “She is pretty hot though. Her, I’d fuck, in a heartbeat.”
“Ah, well…” Rob smiled. “Maybe I could help.”
“What? You know her? Can you get info off her directly?”
“No, no, not like that. I mean I could help in other ways. I know your wife is usually gone-“
“Raising money for Martian orphans or something, yeah.”
“So you must be in desperate need of a woman’s touch.”
“If you’re going to hook me up with a prostitute, I’m not interested. I can’t afford more blackmail,” he said with a laugh. He got back up on the exercise bike, lazily pedaling as he talked. Then his eyes brightened like he had forgotten something. He went to the box of dumbbells on the floor and picked up a small weight. He began doing bicep curls, the sight of which made Rob shift his weight uncomfortably. Governor Pancroft’s biceps were firm and massive — his hefty frame made his arms so big Rob could have curled up in his armpit.
“No, I’m not a pimp,” Rob said. “I just thought I could help, y’know, if you were horny. I’d be a lot more likely to find that information on Caitlin Smiles if I knew I could trust you.”
“Oh? What would it take for you to trust me that well?”
“I find that the best way to get to know a man, to know if he’s trustworthy or not… is to get it up the ass from him. You can’t lie with your dick in a man’s ass, that’s science.”
“Is it?” Governor Pancroft finally stopped his bicep curls for long enough to peer into Rob’s eyes.
Rob nodded. “There’s no cameras in here, right?”
“No… My security guys checked this place.”
“So you don’t have to worry about blackmail. The media wouldn’t believe it anyway,” Rob said, “So this is a freebie.” He licked his lips. “And we’d both enjoy it… and then, when it’s all over, you’ll get your information on Ms Smiles.” Rob gently caressed the solid bump of Governor Pancroft’s left bicep.
Pancroft shrugged. He got up, ignoring Rob’s touch, and went to the hotel room door. He poked his head out.
“Don’t disturb me for at least five minutes.”
“Ten,” Rob said. He snuck up behind Governor Pancroft and pinched one asscheek. Pancroft bristled and swayed his hips like he was trying to push Rob’s hand away with his ass.
“Ten minutes. No, fifteen.” Governor Pancroft smiled.
“Governor, we have that meeting with the majority leader in half an hour-“
“Well, half an hour is longer than fifteen minutes, isn’t it, Carol? So it’s all good. Just stay out for fifteen minutes. We’re discussing… national security in here.” He slammed the door shut. He scoffed. “She nags worse than my wife.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Rob said. He smiled and put one finger on the elastic waistband of Pancroft’s workout shorts. He hooked into the fabric — he could just barely feel the coarse pubic hairs that extended this far up on his body — and used it like a harness to drag Governor Pancroft across the room.
Pancroft moved to lay down on the bench-press bench, but Rob stopped him. “On the exercise chair, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh? Oh, you like it like that… Fine.” Pancroft sat on the bike, holding onto the handles for support as Rob kneeled next to the bike. It smelled strongly of his sweat and his stale funk, which Rob adored. Alphas love it when someone worshiped their body and the stink that women normally disliked. That was especially true of politicians who were expected to be clean and spotless at all times, and Rob took a big long sniff of he funk.
“Umm… Governor Pancroft, you taste so good…” Rob’s tongue snaked out and licked all over the vinyl surface of the bike-seat, while Pancroft lifted himself up to pull his shorts down.
At last a hefty cock popped out. Rob had seen that cock in a blurry still-image from the movie Locked Up in Alabama when Governor Pancroft — then just a bodybuilder and aspiring action star — had played Prison Rapist Number Two. The shot of his bare cock wasn’t in the final movie, nor even in the director’s cut, it had just appeared on the Internet a few years after the movie’s release. Pancroft had never given permission for it, and he threatened a lawsuit.
So Rob had been daydreaming about this for a long time. He was glad to see it was as big in real life as it had seemed to be in that blurry picture. He wondered, not for the first time, if Pancroft had leaked it himself — it got him plenty of attention, plus it ensured everyone knew he had a big cock, while he got to play the victim and ally with various women’s groups opposed to revenge porn. It was good politics. Rob would have suggested leaking it if he were involved in Pancroft’s career at the time.
He slurped on the tip of Pancroft’s big cockshaft, which lay stuck to his ballsac because he was sweaty and unwashed. Rob didn’t use his fingers — it was hotter to struggle a bit to get it in his mouth — so he had to use his tongue to unstick the shaft from his sac and then work it, centimeter by centimeter, into his mouth.
It twinged and pulsated in Rob’s mouth. The taste was bright and sunny, intensely salty, and it made Rob’s brain reel with desire. He sucked down every drop of manly sweat that clung to Pancroft’s shaft.
“Aaaaah, shit… you know how long it’s been since I got a blowjob from a woman?” He leaned back, but since there was nothing to lean on, he gripped the handlebars, stretching his back and shoulders as far as he could. “It’s been like six years. My wife doesn’t suck dick. She says it’s unfeminist.”
Rob made a supportive gurgling noise, but he wasn’t really listening. Married men usually talked about their wives when he jacked them off. It was annoying but predictable. No wife keeps up with the blowjobs after marriage. They all seem like they will, or at least might, but none do.
As Governor Pancroft’s cock firmed up in Rob’s mouth, Rob swallowed it deeper and deeper. Once he was fully erect, Rob pulled off and ran his tongue up and down the shaft. Pancroft shuddered and moaned, as a wave of pleasure visibly rippled through his muscular torso. He held onto Rob’s scalp and guided his head up and down, and Rob stretched his throat to swallow the whole thing.
He got down so deep Pancroft’s pubic hair enveloped his nose, and Rob could smell the humid sweat rising up from his ballsac. Rob hefted his balls in one hand as though estimating their weight, while his other reached up to massage the rippling muscle of his chest and his flat belly.
“Ah, yeah, get your tongue all over there, right here.” He pointed to the root of his cock, right where it met his crotch and his sac. Rob attacked it with his mouth, producing so much spit it dripped in clumps onto the exercise bike. “Shit… you’re making a mess.”
Rob looked up at him, hands roaming over Pancroft’s bodybuilder-chest. “With all due respect, Governor, it’s your cock, it’s your mess.”
Pancroft laughed his big barrel-belly laugh. He clutched his chest. “Well, I’m in charge of this state, and I’m commanding you to swallow all that nastiness instead of letting it drip all over the bike. Why, the good people of Rhode Island paid for this exercise bike!”
“Hmmm… I have an idea for something that would be much tidier,” Rob said. He kept one hand slowly stroking Pancroft’s cock, letting the precum lube up his grip, as he climbed onto the bike on Pancroft’s lap. It was difficult, and he had to use Pancroft’s muscles for support, which did not bother Rob one bit. He ascended his chest and biceps like a mountain, until at last his feet were on the pedals, ass raised above Pancroft’s crotch, his dick aiming for it already.
“Shit, man, damn… I feel like I’m just a gym rat again,” he murmured to himself. He would never admit it, but he had had a sugar-daddy when he was just beginning his career. He could barely afford a gym membership, and an older man had offered to pay for it as long as he came over to “do some work” at his apartment. When he began his political career, Pancroft was relieved to discover that older man had died a few years before, seemingly without telling anyone about it — Pancroft hadn’t been all that famous before the man died, so he probably had no reason to tell anyone.
It had been a long time since he had anal too, Governor Pancroft thought. Being governor was not as much fun as he had hoped. If he had joined politics back in the JFK-era, he thought, that would have been fun. He’d be fucking some beautiful blonde intern on an exercise bike instead of a cornholing this media freak.
But Pancroft didn’t care at this point who he stuck his dick in. He just wanted to ram his cock into an ass that wouldn’t complain and might even beg to take the whole thing. Most women wouldn’t even take his entire cock in their pussy, much less their ass. This turned out to be the perfect position. He was tall enough to stand on his feet, straddling the bike, while Rob stood on the pedals and leaned forward.
“Ah shit…” He grunted into Rob’s ear, gripping him with both hands when Rob shuddered. “Hold still, yeah, lemme in…” He kissed Rob on the cheek. That was entirely out of habit — he hadn’t intended to kiss Rob at all — but Pancroft leaned into it and pretended it was deliberate. He kissed him as though that was his payment. It didn’t really feel as weird as he had thought it would. It was like kissing a statue though, because Rob was gritting his teeth and grunting as his asshole stretched to accommodate Pancroft’s cock.
There was resistance but not because Rob was trying to stop Pancroft’s cock from entering him. He wanted to take the whole thing. It was just so big he had to take a deep breath and stretch his asshole open. Rob took enough dick these days that he rarely had to struggle like that, an dit was nice to have a challenge.
“Hmmm, oh god, you feel nice…” Pancroft said. He thrust with his hips once more, forcing the rest of his shaft all the way to the root into Rob’s sensitive ass. The sensation sent a wave of cascading pleasure to crash through Rob’s body, and his fingers tightened into claws that dug at the exercise bike’s controls.
At last, Pancroft was all the way in, his thick-fingered hands groping roughly over Rob’s smooth body. He gently caressed Rob’s chest and kissed him on the cheek and earlobe. He was glad to see that Rob seemed to like the kiss on his earlobe — Pancroft’s wife liked that too — so Pancroft focused on doing that over and over. He paid little attention to his lips because all that mattered to him in the moment was the sheer bliss shooting through his body from Rob’s tight booty.
The pressure in Rob’s ass was intense, but it was slowly, bit by bit, replaced by an intense wave of pleasure instead. It flowed through him, first pulsating in sync with his heartbeat, like he could only feel pleasure in between the beats.
“Oh god, stick it in me!”
But the more Governor Pancroft rammed back and forth, the most constant and potent was Rob’s growing orgasm. He gripped the exercise bike so firmly he thought he might rip it off. Governor Pancroft’s kept on licking and sucking on his earlobe as though that was his sole focus right now, his hips and cock moving on autopilot.
Rob shot his own wad, just as there came a loud knock on the door. Maybe the surprise of the sound was what triggered Rob’s orgasm, and it certainly made it more intense, as he tightened up and stopped moving for a moment. Then he could resist no longer, and Rob shot his cream onto the frame and body of the exercise bike. Cum flew over the entire thing and coated Rob’s hand. A fat creamy wad of jizz spurted onto the floor beside the exercise bike.
“Sir? Are you okay?” One of the bodyguards could be heard right outside the door.
“Yes! Fine! I’m just working out hard, you know how that is!” Governor Pancroft called out. “Gotta get my pump on!” He hoped that didn’t sound as tense as it seemed in his mind. He tried to sound out-of-breath, both because that would make sense if he was exercising hard and because it would cover up the sexual tension in his voice.
Apparently it worked. That security guy breathed heavily outside the room, listening at the door, but he didn’t come in. Cum dripped over the exercise bike as Governor Pancroft finally reached orgasm, the most potent climax he’d felt since before he got married. Rob was only just now finishing up his own climax.
Pancroft didn’t even know it could still feel like this. Waves of bliss wafted over him. He didn’t even feel himself actually cumming because Rob’s ass was so tight it enveloped him, as though his entire body was inside Rob and experiencing this incredible climax.
He roared and pounded on his chest, managing to avoid making such obvious sounds only because he turned it into a Tarzan yell — that was a joke he sometimes made when someone commented on his muscles — that sounded more or less like his normal voice. It concealed the warbly orgasmic nature to his tone.
Cum sprayed into Rob’s ass, coating his insides and seeping into his flesh. He could feel it trickling through his body. It kept flowing too, wad after wad of it flying into him. That was a bigger wad than Rob expected from a middle-aged man.
“Ah, goddamn, hell yeah…” Governor Pancroft sighed, as another jet of jizz leaked into Rob’s behind. He had felt this relaxed in a long time either. It was almost enough to make him want to quit politics. He’d be famous enough he could fuck all the time then, women would throw themselves at him and they may not feel as good as Rob’s tight ass… But Governor Pancroft didn’t want to think like that. He told himself that Rob’s ass was not as good as any woman’s tender womanhood and certainly not as good as his wife’s.
Not that she ever let him put it in her bottom.
He let his cock slowly slip out of Rob’s ass, and they both shuddered when it finally happened. Rob sighed and rolled off the bike, which now stank of cum. Rob got a handful of toilet paper from the bathroom and wiped it all up the best he could.
“C’mon, hurry up and get dressed,” Governor Pancroft said crossly. He had already put his exercise clothes back on. “I’m going to take a shower before meeting the majority leader. Since, y’know, he’s unlikely to jerk me off.”
“You never know…” Rob smirked as he got dressed. “So do we have your business?”
Pancroft shook his hand. “You certainly do. Send me the paperwork, and I’ll sign it.”
Rob smiled back at him. “I certainly will, and I’ll bring you that info as soon as I can get it without leaving a record. Gimme a week,” he said. “Have a good night with the majority leader. Don’t let him pressure you into anything. No means no.” He saluted smartly and walked out the door before Governor Pancroft could respond.
Rob ignored the suspicious glances of the security guys and politicos who watched him leave. He was used to their suspicions, and it didn’t bother him. He had gotten what he wanted — the Pancroft reelection campaign account — and the other thing he wanted to boot — to get it up the ass from Governor Pancroft, and that was all that mattered to Rob.