job duties – Mansploitation

The Fat Redneck

Bart is at the hardware store when he hooks up with a sullen clerk. His name is Carl Slattery, and he’s a big-ass redneck with enough manmeat for Bart to worship for hours!

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Read the whole thing here!

Bart wandered around the cavernous hardware store in search of an employee. They wore fluorescent orange vests as though they might get run over in here, but somehow, despite all that visibility, Bart couldn’t find a single one anywhere. The Home & Tool seemed to be entirely unmanned. Even the registers were self-service. No employees.
He sighed and flared his nostrils. He thought he saw a flash of orange, but then it was gone. He somehow ended up in the bathroom-fixture area, trapped in a maze of little model bathrooms, including mirrors that gave the whole section a carnival funhouse vibe. Everywhere he went he ended up back at the same mid-century modern grotto. He could even see the actual store, the non-bathroom-fixtures part of the store, but displays of toilets and sinks and toilet paper holders blocked him.
The store did not know how close he came to knocking over the displays to get out of there. For a slim, mild-mannered white man, that was a harrowing experience.
“Hello?” Bart said as he finally made his way to the main hallway that bisected the store. He was back where he had started — by the unmanned register at the paint department — and still hadn’t found an employee.
The key machine was right over there. He could see it. He even knew how to use it, but the employees needed to turn it on, and he couldn’t do that.
At the new grocery stores, they have automatic keymaking machines, no employees needed, Bart thought. He ought to have gone there. But he happened to live near the hardware store. Hardware stores have been making keys for decades, so it made sense. Or maybe forever, he didn’t know. How long had keys been an affordable consumer product? He had no idea. Whenever the world moved on from those giant jailer’s keys they use in movies, whenever that was.
He looked up and down the aisles. No employees.
He had just moved into a new apartment in Opossumtown, Alabama, which he thought sounded like a joke. “Opossumtown”? Was Hillbillyburg already taken? The one nice thing about living in a place like this was the well-staffed hardware stores — in the north, not a single person knew how to use a screwdriver, it seemed, so hardware stores were a giant barrel of useless, but in Alabama, Bart had thought he’d find plenty of handy guys.
But he hadn’t really found as many as he thought, especially not when he actually needed them. Like right now. Bart frowned.
Finally there was one. “Hey, uh, excuse me-” Bart blushed and stopped short at the sight of the rotund redneck in an orange vest, who turned to face him.
He was ungodly handsome, sending a nervous chill up Bart’s spine. He was round but strong, broad-shouldered, with plenty of muscle beneath a mountain of padding. His gait was thick and heavy, like a dreary donkey, but he brimmed with confidence like a stallion. He was heavily tattooed, with looping lines and whorls running up from his arms onto his neck. He had a thick beard too, dangling well below his neck, making him look like a biker.
“What do ya need, man?” the rotund redneck asked as he walked by. He had the swamp-set yellowhammer drawl Bart found throughout Alabama, his vowels dragged out until they overtook the consonants. The accent hung in Bart’s ears like kudzu and was as smooth, sultry and spicy as Alabama barbecue sauce.
“Uh, I need some keys made.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. C’mon,” he said. He was distinctly rude. Despite his desire, Bart was annoyed. It was hardly his fault he needed some keys.
The rotund redneck had a name-tag on that read Carl. He led Bart to the key machine, then had to radio his supervisor to bring him the key that would turn it on. He waited there, breathing heavily — not because he was out of breath, just because he was a hefty guy who usually breathed pretty heavily.
‘Be there in a minute, Carl. Consider reminding our guest of the other items on display.’
“Man, I hate this guy, ah, I ain’t realize it was Jerry on duty,” Carl said with a sneer. He rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Ya, uh, so, like… You want a keyring or something?” He gestured to the wall of dangling key-rings, key-fobs and other add-ons.
“No, thank you,” Bart said. “Your manager is a dick? He sounds like a total shit.”
“Yeah. Yeah, man, fuck him,” Carl said. He looked less annoyed now that he knew he could curse in front of Bart without getting a complaint. Carl grinned. “He’s this bow-tied yuppie freak who always looks like he got a plan to stick his dick in a dog’s ass whenever you facin’ the other way-“
Bart snickered, and Carl laughed with him, but both stopped when Jerry came little-dicking up to them from the front of the store. Jerry was a shitmuncher, Bart saw that from the shitmunching smile on his idiot face. Jerry approached like Bart and Carl were a gift bestowed upon him by a benevolent universe.
“Hello, gentlemen! Carl, thank you for showing our guest to our key department,” said the manager Jerry, a youngish yuppie with a skinny body and a handsome face, wearing a bow-tie like a hipster and a ‘110% every day!’ button on his shirt. Bart hated him too, from the moment he saw him. He just had a face you wanted to punch. It was, Bart thought, a perfectly douchey face. The manager, Jerry, smiled at Bart and picked up a ‘peace-love-tolerance’ keyring. “Oh wow, when did we get this in? This is fantastic!”
“Hmm, yeah,” Bart murmured noncommittally. “Great… keyring.” His tone was sarcastic enough to make Carl laugh — he covered it up with a cough that made his great big body jiggle.
“I could ring that up for you, if you want.” Jerry inserted the little key into the slot that activated the key machine. He beamed at Bart as though waiting for Bart to rush to claim that keyring. When it became apparent Bart was uninterested, Jerry put it back on the shelf. “Okay, well, there you both go. Ironic isn’t it, you need a key to turn on the key machine. How does that work?” He laughed like a character from a commercial who was laughing along with an interracial group of friends, like he didn’t notice neither Carl nor Bart were laughing. Bart pondered what part of Jerry’s words constituted a joke. “Don’t forget to check out our Summer Days clearance sale! It’s got everything you need to make this the Summer of You!” Jerry walked away with a plastic grin slathered over his face like clown makeup.
“Okay…” Bart smiled sickly in Jerry’s direction as he walked away, and Bart handed his own keys over to Carl for him to copy them. He wrinkled his nose. “Ew, that guy was gross… I think my dick just got smaller.”
Carl laughed and blushed. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Aw, man, you don’t even know… once I went into the bathroom when he was just standing there at a urinal, and he like stiffened up as though I was about to prison-rape him, and he totally didn’t pee, he was like scared or something. I stood there at the urinal next to him. I think he was about to cry, just stayed there the whole time with his dick in his hands. Then he turned to look at me and I caught a glimpse of it, he got like a half-inch dick, man, it was so funny,” he said. “I swear, I was laughing right there, I couldn’t even stop myself. I dunno if he knew why I was laughing, but… I think he knew. He looked at me like I just tongue-kissed his mama. Oh shit, it was hilarious-” He stopped short and looked down the aisle, where Jerry had reappeared with that big empty smile back (or still) on his face.
“Hey, Carl, don’t forget to tell our friend about the door sale! That’ll go with those keys something fierce!”
“Okay, sir…” Carl said with a sigh.
“Ugh, fierce? Did he think people still use that word?” Bart whispered.
Carl waited until Jerry was gone, then sighed again, and this time it turned into a pained groan.
“Is a door sale what it sounds like?”
“Yeah. We got a sale on doors.”
“If I’m buying keys, that suggests I already have a door. It doesn’t go with keys at all. Who the fuck buys a door as an impulse item?” Bart laughed.
Carl clasped his belly as he took the finished keys out of the machine. He put them in a bag with a barcode on it. His big firm belly shook from laughter.
“Thanks, Carl,” Bart said. He hugged Carl’s rotundness, which was warm and so thick Bart could have stayed here hugging him forever. Carl looked back and forth in the aisle and chuckled nervously. He had never been hugged by a customer before.
Was it against the rules? It was definitely against the rules to hug a customer. All physical contact aside from “culturally appropriate handshaking” was not allowed. Carl had wanted to ask about that during that godforsaken video about the “rungs of success on the ladder of customer service”, but he didn’t want to do anything that might make the diversity bitch stay here longer. Was there culturally inappropriate handshaking? Were customers allowed to hug employees?
In any case, Bart wrapped his petite body around Carl’s thickness, which jiggled when he squeezed. He lingered longer than seemed normal. Carl didn’t mind. Not a lot of people touched him affectionately these days.
“There, uh, there… li’l guy,” Carl said with a pat of his big meaty paw on Bart’s shoulders.
“Why do you still work here if that guy’s such a dick?” Bart pulled away from Carl, though he kept a hand on the sweat-dampened small of Carl’s back.
Carl shrugged. “I only work with him like twice a week. Not so bad. Anyway, I can’t quit. I need the money,” he said in his low, loping Southern drawl. He slapped his belly again. “Gotta feed the beast!”
Bart giggled. “I could help you out, you know.”
“What?”
“If you took me in the back somewhere, or wherever there’s a private spot…” Bart’s voice trailed off. “Not in the bathroom-fixtures maze, that place is spooky.” He let his hand on the small of Carl’s back drift around to the front, near but not in his crotch. Bart glanced around to make sure nobody could see. This aisle was deserted. Carl’s eyes opened wide. Bart said, “I’d be glad to give you five hundred dollars in exchange for you plowing me senseless.”
There was a long awkward pause. Carl furrowed his brow as though he thought he must have misheard Bart. Then Carl too looked up and down the aisle to be sure nobody was close enough to hear. Carl had been around the block at the Home & Tool though, he knew enough to also peer through the shelves to see if anyone was on the other side (automotive on one side, windows and window accessories on the other). It was a slow day, no customers to be seen. Then Carl said, “What!?”
“Oh, c’mon, silly. My dick doesn’t work that good, and I find that getting big men to… y’know… It helps,” Bart said with a winsome blush and smile. That part wasn’t true, he simply liked being cornholed by fat men. But guys looked at him weird if he said that, and they were more likely to agree if they thought it was helping Bart. He took Carl by the hand and led him towards the back of the store. “Is there a backroom or something?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“That’s what I’m asking you!” Bart said. “I love your physique, Carl. Can I ride on your back?”
“Uh… I guess, uh… yeah.” Carl’s cheeks were beet-red.
Bart was a thin flamboyant man who weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. That was nothing in comparison to Carl’s six and a half foot-tall towering frame of manhood. Bart felt like a child as he leapt onto Carl’s back, straddling his waist and wrapping his arms around his pudgy chest. “Hmmm… You’re so handsome.”
“You think I’m handsome? Girls don’t.”
“Girls don’t know anything. Seriously, some of my best friends are girls, and they know literally nothing about literally everything,” Bart said. “Is it okay if I suck on your earlobe?”
Carl grunted. “I, uh… I ain’t… into that.”
“I know. That’s your second-best quality.”
“What’s my first-best?”
“Your belly, of course.”
Carl snorted. “Ain’t no one think that,” he said as he carried Bart into the employee area in the back. He brought Bart to the storage warehouse, which was mostly stacks of lumber. There were plenty of shadowy spots that couldn’t be seen unless you were right in front of them.
Bart slipped down to his feet. “I like big bellies,” he said. “There’s more to love, more things to suck on…”
That made Carl both laugh and sneer, then even groan. He looked around again as though there was some chance they’d be interrupted around here. He paid no attention to Bart, who went around to Carl’s front side and kissed his chest through his vest and shirt. He slid his hands underneath his clothes.
His belly rumbled. Carl grunted and trembled. “I, uh… I ain’t into that or nothin’. Is that part of it?”
“Yeah, I gotta touch your physique or it won’t work,” Bart said. “I need to lick it all over.” He got Carl’s shirt and vest off, his eyes opening wide at the sight of that giant cavernous chest. He was hairy and tattooed and powerfully muscly, and just embarrassed enough to be ruddy and alluring.
Bart suckled his nipple and licked every corner of Carl’s belly. He slurped up the sweat that clung to the kinky brown hairs there. The only part he couldn’t get to was Carl’s shoulders because he was too tall, and Bart had to tug on his arms to get him to lower himself.
Carl gasped and sucked in his breath as Bart’s hand reached into his pants. Carl shifted his weight back and forth. Bart smiled up at him. “You’ve never done anything like this?”
“No!” Carl blurted out. “I swear, nothing.”
“Relax, relax, it’s okay…” Bart sunk to his knees. He unzipped Carl’s pants and pulled out a big hefty cock. He was worried Carl might have a small dick — fat men sometimes did, and Bart had had a sinking suspicion that might be the case for Carl, so he was delightfully surprised to see a girthy ten inches of manhood pop out of the fly into Bart’s face.
“Ah…” Carl had never taken his dick out in front of a man besides his doctor. Even back in high school when he was supposed to change in gym, he never did. He kept his shirt and boxers on. He didn’t care how sweaty he was, he didn’t want anyone seeing his manboobs and his dick.
Now it was happening regardless. He had agreed to this in a sort of a daze, he thought as his eyes opened wide and his cock slid into Bart’s moist open mouth. He hadn’t really given it any thought. The money was good, and he needed it, and he couldn’t think of any reason to say no — aside from the obvious — so he said yes. It hadn’t seemed real until it began, and now he’d already agreed.
He had agreed to nut in a man thinking that was the kind of thing he could do. Now that he saw his cock slide into a man’s throat, however, he was less sure.
He had to admit it did feel good. It felt real good.
A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine as his cock stiffened in Bart’s mouth. It turned even bigger then, making it a ten-inch slab of manhood that Bart enjoyed deep-throating. The fat shaft grew veinier as it got hard and jabbed deep into Bart’s throat. The taste of his unadulterated manhood flooded Bart’s senses.
“Oh god…” Carl sucked in his breath. It was an odd sort of purely physical pleasure. He had to not think about it, which was tough, and Carl thought he was struggling to get hard. When he did peer down around his belly, he realized he was wrong, his cock was hard as iron, and for some reason, seeing it triggered a burst of pleasure to explode in Carl’s senses.
Bart paused to thwack himself with Carl’s dick. Bart was so small and Carl so big that it was like a club, meaty enough and hard enough to hurt when he really slapped himself with it. He slammed it on his own tongue, chasing it when it bounced off, and every time his tongue touched it, Carl’s chest and belly jiggled.
His hands snaked up to play with his big fleshy body. Bart smiled up at him. He sensed Carl’s anxiety over the situation — his cock was plenty hard and comfortable, but his mind was not. Bart stroked it with both hands.
“You’re so handsome,” Bart said. Rotund guys like Carl usually needed their self-esteem boosted. He stroked Carl’s cock just a little disrhythmically to keep him horny but not on the verge of orgasm. Carl’s knees buckled, and he moaned. Bart licked the shaft and suckled on Carl’s hairy balls. He got him good and hard, leaking precum. That was how Bart knew Carl was ready to move on.
He turned around, pants down, bare ass pale as marble and beaming up at Carl, and he aimed his ass towards Carl’s crotch.
A gasp surfaced from Carl when he saw Bart’s pale ass looking up him, small but perky, fleshy, inviting. The hole looked tight. Carl grimaced and closed his eyes.
“Aaaaah…” Bart moaned, backing his ass up to swallow Carl’s cock inside. He knew enough about getting plowed into by men to not count on Carl being really involved. Men were usually too nervous their first time to touch Bart’s ass or even just pump their hips.
At least at first.
Bart was gonna hafta use Carl’s dick as a dildo. That was fine with Bart for sure. He did love a fat man’s cock, and he didn’t need the fat man to be super-involved. He slid back on Carl’s manhood, the pressure in his ass growing so intense he grunted in a most unladylike, undignified fashion. He bit his lip. About half of Carl’s cock was in his ass, and he paused to let his asshole relax and widen.
He sighed, closing his eyes, gritting his teeth and relaxing his ass, despite the heavy belly that now pressed down on the small of his back. Carl’s eyes were closed too, so neither of them could see as Bart impaled himself on Carl’s massive manhood.
“Shit-” Bart breathlessly moaned, the sound muffled after a few seconds by Carl’s hand.
I’ll get the two-by-fours, okay, you stay out there! That manager, Jerry, was coming into the storage warehouse. Carl clasped one hand over Bart’s mouth to keep him quiet.
But the motion also forced Carl’s dick the rest of the way in Bart. They flopped to the ground. For just a moment, Carl was on top of Bart — which was intense but dangerous, since Bart could barely breathe, or even squirm, with so much weight atop him.
“Oh god-“
“Shush!” Carl used both hands to quiet Bart. He didn’t mean to be so mean about it, but he was desperate not to get fired — he was only getting five hundred dollars for this, after all, it was hardly retirement money.
But Carl couldn’t bring himself to stop plowing into Bart. It was like his top half and bottom half operated independently of each other. His top half wanted to stop and for Bart to sit still and quiet. His bottom half didn’t care about getting caught and just wanted to wreck Bart’s guts with as much cock and cum as he could spew.
So instead he just kept shushing Bart even though it was Carl’s heavy breathing that was loud, and he pinned Bart on the cold concrete floor. He kept pounding, pistoning his hips, forcing his dick in and out of Bart’s ass.
Jerry whistled as he wandered through the stacks of lumber. He wrinkled his nose — it kind of smelled like semen in here, but he assumed it was his own compulsively-masturbating hands. He loaded up the dolly with two-by-fours, having no idea that Carl was plowing into Bart on the other side of the stack of wood. If Carl were standing, he would have been visible.
He thought there was a sound. “Hello? Carl? If you’re back here, I need you at the paint counter. Don’t make me write you up for being out-of-department. You know this is no way of providing a Summer of You for our guests — I mean a Summer of Them, I guess….” His voice trailed off, satisfied that, if Carl had been back here, he would have revealed himself by now. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.
The dolly’s wheels creaked and rumbled as he went out to the store with the two-by-fours. Carl breathed a sigh of relief, flopping his heavy belly down on Bart’s back once more. Bart’s hands tightened into claws that dug at the concrete floor.
His prostate came alive as they both moaned out loud. Bart’s voice was swallowed up by Carl’s deeper tones, and Carl ground his dick all the way down in Bart’s ass. His balls slapped between Bart’s thighs.
“Shit, boy…”
“Hell yeah, fill me up!” Bart’s high-pitched voice echoed. The first few wads of cum sprayed into his ass.
The storage warehouse and the store floor itself shared a ceiling — the walls separating the different areas didn’t extend all the way up — so Bart’s voice and his screeching groan of desire and orgasm were plainly audible throughout the store.
Everyone there interpreted it differently though. A few workers assumed it was a TV in the electronics section — people sometimes put porn on as a joke — while others guessed it was somebody playing a prank in the men’s room. A few guys went to the bathroom-fixtures section thinking a man and woman must be having sex in there, it was such a maze they did that sometimes and it took forever to find the man.
Jerry the manager was the only person who recognized the voice of Bart, the man who had just bought some keys. But Jerry assumed he must be in the bathroom, because where else would somebody bang a slut? (Jerry assumed Bart and Carl were double-teaming a whore).
So the entire store floor erupted into action, but no one thought to go into the storage warehouse. Bart and Carl had no idea they were audible. Carl grunted like a caveman as he pounded away, cum pouring into Bart’s ass. He kept going, drilling in and out, turning his cumload into a big frothy mess that spilled over his crotch and onto the floor.
“Shit…” Carl sighed.
“Oh god…!” Bart wriggled and clawed at the cement floor. He was red-faced, gasping for air both because the orgasm was intense and because Carl had had him pinned and unable to breathe for a minute or so, as he drained his balls deep into Bart’s ass.
Now cum trickled out and onto the floor, as Carl’s cock plopped out. It glistened hotly. Carl watched it with wide-eyed amazement. He didn’t know his cock could do that. He had wrecked that ass, he thought, watching it gape like a porn star, all whitish and overflowing. He whistled and slapped one asscheek, making more cum drip out.
“Hmmm…” Bart sighed. “Are there any other handsome fat guys who work here?”
“Not really,” Carl said. That wasn’t strictly true — or at least there were other fat guys, and Carl didn’t think Bart would say they were all ugly.
But Carl wanted to keep Bart for himself. He wanted to make whatever money Bart was going to pay in the future.
Bart stood and stretched his legs. He sighed. “Hmm… Thanks for, uh… well, making my keys. And for… whatnot.”
Carl blushed and nodded. “Hey, when you pay for them keys, the receipt’ll have a code on it. Can you fill out the feedback form and mention my name? Tell ‘em Jerry acted unprofessional but Carl was very helpful. Tell ‘em Jerry ruined your ‘Summer of You’ tryin’ to hassle you into buying a door.”
“Okay, cool,” Bart said with a shrug. He had kind of hoped he’d get the keys for free, since he was paying five hundred dollars for that dick and the fat belly. But he supposed Carl would probably get in trouble — the key machine probably kept track, and of course Jerry had seen the keys get made.
Bart handed over the five hundred dollars in cash to Carl with a big grin. He included his phone number too, which Carl programmed into his phone. “Call me when you get horny enough,” Bart said as he walked away.
“I will!”
Bart didn’t think he would actually be around when Carl called him. He didn’t plan on being in Opossumtown, Alabama, that often. It was just a homebase to stay at when he was in the area.
But it was a nice homebase indeed, with the best hardware store in the state. He was going to have to come up with a lot of home-improvement projects to work on.

The Dishwasher

Mario Zappia is a cocky casanova and dishwasher at the Pizza King, but when he needs money, he’s willing to give Avery Flowers a taste of his guido meat. Can Avery handle it?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here

Mario sucked on his teeth and rearranged his half-hard cock as he returned from out back. His dick was painfully sensitive because he had just gotten sucked off behind a dumpster. He could barely keep the smirking grin off his face. He loved the post-blowjob strut. He was sure everybody in the kitchen at the Pizza King could tell what he’d done. He licked his teeth like he was owed that blowjob.
Which he was, in a way. He treated that bitch right.
She was such a slut, he thought, and she wasn’t even good at sucking dick. He wondered if her father and brothers knew she gave out blowjobs like candy. They’d be humiliated if they knew. He ran his fingers through his slick black hair and put the hairnet on with a scowl. His muscles flexed, gleaming. The kitchen was so hot he was covered in sweat.
Vinnie the pizza-making fucker and Robert the prettyboy fucking waiter was sneaking peeks at Mario like they knew. Of course they knew he got a blowjob. Mario gets all the blowjobs cuz he got fly hair, a six-pack and he keeps it tight. He sucked on his teeth in their direction.
‘I should’ve gotten that slut to swallow my nut. She’d have done it too, I bet. I could’ve made her show me a mouth full of cum like a porno bitch.’
The image of that was stomach-churningly disgusting to Mario, but he really wanted to talk a girl into doing it. Like a black guy in a porno. The woman out back was such a slut he barely needed to mack on her for a minute before she dropped to her knees. Mario was tough; he was handsome; he was an alpha; he could get a girl to suck him off like that, yo! — the girls around here were such prudes though.
The dishes had piled up. Of course, Vinnie ain’t did any dishes. He was supposed to keep the dishes moving while Mario was out on break, but he hadn’t, and Mario knew he was going to get blamed for it.
The kitchen was a mess. A stack of pizza boxes done fallen over. A pile of banana peppers lay sprawled out across the floor. A mop bucket sat forlorn and filthy near the walk-in. A big bowl of spaghetii grew more and more crusty by the moment, resting on the shelf by the cooking station. A pan lay coated in extra-burnt charcoal near the stove — somebody had burnt something real bad.
With a harsh frown, Mario grabbed a pizza and brought it up front to a table. He wanted to get the kitchen back up to snuff, but he couldn’t do that with orders waiting around. As always, it was up to Mario to keep this place running.
And his dick wasn’t even dry in his pants yet. He had a smirk on his face when he went into the dining room of the Pizza King.
He scoffed and snorted and wrinkled his nose as he sullenly dropped off the pizza. He didn’t say anything to the customers at the table, because he was running through in his mind what to say to Vinnie about how awful the kitchen looked. Sure, maybe Mario realized, or a part of him did, that it was his fault too. Maybe mostly. Mario was supposed to keep the kitchen clean. Vinnie took over when he was outside, but Vinnie wasn’t supposed to be monitoring the entire kitchen.
Mario should have done that the entire time before he took his break, but he hadn’t noticed how the kitchen looked until he went outside and smoked a cigarette and returned. Now seeing it set his blood to boil.
“Man, fuck you, Vinnie, you mincing little shit!” Mario shouted at him as he came back to get a shaker of parmesan cheese for the pizza he had just brought out to a customer. He sneered at the stack of unwashed dishes, growing minute by minute, as though the sink had done him wrong. “You’s s’posed to do the motherfuckin’ dishes, Vinnie!”
Vinnie said something back, but Mario didn’t catch it. Mario sucked on his teeth again and gestured for Vinnie to go fuck himself — first he gave him the middle-finger, then he raised a fist at Vinnie and patted his own bicep — a gesto dell’ombrello. Vinnie glared at him, and his mean-mugging combined with Mario’s already hot collar.
Vinnie sucked on his teeth and waved Mario off.
“Come at me, then!” Mario said. He stepped forward and pounded on his chest. Some of the customers had noticed, but Mario didn’t care. His blood boiled. He wanted to strangle Vinnie. That was how it always went, whenever Mario felt a personal slight, he kept getting angrier and angrier.
The only thing that snapped him out of it this time was when one the other cooks, Tommy Lasso, stepped in front of him. He was a big beefy middle-aged Italian man, who scowled. “Mario, get ya ass in the awffice now!” He had a thick New Joisey accent. He shoved Mario away.
Mario wanted to go back and fight Vinnie. But he couldn’t cause a scene right now, he was trying to get an advance on his paycheck and any commotion was liable to make that impossible. So he backed away, mean-mugging that fat-ass punk-ass bitch-ass fake-Italian Vinnie Delatucci the whole way. He ain’t shit.
He didn’t turn around until he couldn’t see Vinnie or anyone else up front. Then he went into the back-office, Lasso still pushing him in that direction. He was surprised to see a different man there, a slim, flamboyant white man named Avery. Mario didn’t know Avery and eyed him suspiciously.
Avery blushed and nodded, and Mario gave him a hostile nod of hello.
“Mario, I heard you’s lookin’ for money, son,” Lasso said. He had a gravelly voice and that gruffly mellifluous New Joisey stawk. He had an Italian flag tattooed on his neck. It rippled when he moved. He had a craggy face and an ugly nose. Damn was he ugly, Mario don’t get how he ever found a wife. Shit, bitches got low standards in New Jersey.
“Oh, y’know, I ain’t lookin’ for a handout, no sir-” Mario said. “I got — I got bills, you know, but I can work, I do good work, shit-” He was still worked up from the encounter with Vinnie and now he was guarded because of the stranger eyeing him like candy. Avery looked Mario up and down with hungry eyes.
“Shut up. Mistah Caprinelli ain’t nevuh gonna give you one thin dime. He told me to slap ya for askin’,” Lasso said. He laughed. He reared his hand back as though he was going to do it, and in an instant, Mario was ready to hit him back. Mario formed a fist and mean-mugged Lasso, who continued smiling like he hadn’t noticed. “But I won’t. Instead, I got work for you, so you can earn it like a man instead of groveling like a bitch.”
“I ain’t grovelin’, yo’, don’t say that shit, Lasso, don’t spread yo’ scurry-“
“Shut the fuck up, jabroni, Jesus-fuckin’-Christ, you talk a buncha shit, ya fuckin’ prick,” Lasso said. He looked at Avery and nodded.
Avery’s thin lilting voice filled the cramped office. “I’ll give you two hundred dollars to let me jack you off,” Avery said. After a pause, he added, “With my mouth.” When again Mario didn’t immediately respond, Avery added again, “I’ll do it better than any blowjob. I heard you get them a lot.”
That was followed by a long silence, cuz Avery couldn’t think of anything to add to that, and Mario just looked dumbfounded. He probably made the same face when confronted with math, Avery thought. He was quite handsome, like a swarthy raccoon, with furrowing eyes and a petite little head, nose like a biscuit, He had the serious, smoldering brownness of an ethnically ambiguous underwear model, and he looked at Lasso like Lasso’s acne-scar marring on his face was a personal affront, but in a few years Mario wasn’t gonna look like a fresh-faced punk anymore and he was gonna wish he had the gravity of Lasso. He was already twenty-four, Avery thought. Dishwasher is no longer a cute profession for a man his age, and nobody told Mario he needed to improve himself. People don’t tell men with dimples things like that.
But for now, Avery just wanted to jerk him off. Basically all the women of Springfield, Illinois, seemed to want to do the same thing. Avery had heard of Mario’s blowjob prowess through his female friends, and he heard of Mario’s financial needs through his boss Lasso.
That’s who laughed the hardest as the shocked look that took over Mario’s face.
Mario was rarely flustered, but now he just scoffed and coughed over and over, unable to decide if it would look worse for his machismo to say yes or no. His cheeks bloomed red. His dick was ultra-sensitive cuz he just got a blowjob like five minutes ago.
“I just did get a blowjob in the fuckin’ alley, yo! From a chick!” Mario said.
“What? You delivered a pizza to a table-“
“Hmmm… was she fat?” Avery asked.
“Yo, shut up, she wasn’t fat,” Mario said.
“Did you wash your hands?”
Mario smirked. “Fuckin’-A, man, I ain’t touch the pizza. Well, maybe the crust a little.” He extended his middle finger towards the dining room. “Man, fuck ’em, shit, shit, man…” He looked at Lasso like he was trying to remember a reason to want to fight him, then he feinted with a half-hearted fist like he was thinking of doing it for no reason at all.
Then he looked back at Avery, who smiled. “Think you can go again.”
“Yo, no doubt, no doubt, no doubt, shit, man,” Mario said. “No doubt, I can always get hard, yo. Dick for days.” He repeated that like it was a slogan. “Dick for days, yo, dick for days.”
“Gonna see if that cock really works on ya, son,” Lasso said. He pushed Mario forward, towards Avery. Mario gulped, and he again paced — a very tiny route, just like two feet forward then two feet back.
“Yeah, shit, fine.” Mario nodded. “Yeah, sure, fine, man, whatever.” He sniffled and snarled like he did this every day. “Course my dick works. Hell yeah. Jerk it off, man, jerk it good. You deep-throat, bitch?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Avery grinned and dropped to his knees. “Of course.”
During a brief pause, the only sound was the distant roar of the ventilation and the low thrum of conversation in the restaurant. Mario sucked on his teeth, and Avery blushed. They both waited for Lasso to leave his office and shut the door. Mario stayed in that tiny office with Avery dropping to his knees. Lasso wished Avery wouldn’t do this in his office, but it was the only private room in the joint, so it was the only option. Avery had compensated Lasso for setting this up.
Mario gulped. He wasn’t nervous, he insisted that even to himself. There ain’t not a thing wrong with a man blowing a nut, he thought. It was real-uomo old-school, tough-guy prison shit.
Not that Mario had ever been to prison.
“You been to prison, right?”
Avery shook his head. “I was in the drunk tank for a day and a half once.” Avery unzipped his jeans and let his cock flop out. Avery loved men who were a little dirty and raunchy, and Mario fit the bill — he smelled like pizza and dishwater. These were the same jeans he usually wore to work, and he didn’t wash them often; even when he did wash them, that “pizza seasoning” smell didn’t come out. The grease and olive oil and oregano and parmesan all clung to the thick denim fabric, combining with the melange of Mario’s infrequently-washed sweat-coated muscles.
That big Italian hog dangled free, filling the office with the scent of manhood. Avery took it in his hand.
“I thought only booty bandits was ever into this kinda shit,” Mario said. “You nasty.”
Avery shrugged. “You’re wrong. You do have a nice dick.” He hefted it in his hand. “Not too big, not too hard. Smells a little like cheese.”
Mario screwed up his face. “Not too big, what’s’at mean, yo? It’s fuckin’ huge, you know it!” He smirked and laughed like he was looking for a hidden camera. “You know it!”
Avery kissed Mario on the tip of his cock, and he smirked up at him.
“It’s pretty big…”
Mario clucked his tongue. “Yeah, boy, get ya mouth on it that shit, don’t play wit’ it. Jabroni.” Despite his words, he took hold of his cock and slapped it over Avery’s face. “Ain’t it the biggest you ever seen, boy? Huh? Ain’t it?”
“Well-“
“Yeah, thought so,” Mario said. He seemed to have genuinely thought Avery said yes, and Avery didn’t disabuse him of that. Mario liked slapping Avery with his cock because he had done that to a girl once, as a joke, just one time, and she got furious and left. She had said it was disrespectful. Mario didn’t see it that way. He thought she should worship his cock. That seemed proper. His father (who was now in prison) said that women were meant to worship their man’s cock. Mario scoffed. “Bet you love my dick, huh?”
“I do!” Avery moaned. He chased Mario’s cock with his mouth, then finally got it past his lips. Mario stopped moving. Avery swallowed as much as he could in one go.
It was only part firm but getting harder by the second, and it turned into a jabbing iron rod in Avery’s mouth. Avery crooned and moaned around it the intensely savory flavor exploding in his mouth. Avery tasted a hint of something bitter and fruity — a woman’s lotion or maybe perfume — but he dismissed it as soap or remnants of laundry detergent. He didn’t know that it was the remnants of the woman who had sucked Mario off in the alley during his break.
Not that it would have turned Avery off if he knew. He soon hoovered up every drop of her odor anyway, eagerly making Mario forget about her shallow and amateurish blowjob.
Mario gasped and bit his lip, a little worried until now that he would have trouble getting an erection because he had just been sucked off moments ago. He tried to look nonchalant as his cock hardened in Avery’s mouth. Mario didn’t want to look surprised, but he had to admit he was shocked at how good this felt. He would have said that it could never be as good as a girl’s soft lips on his manhood.
But Avery was actually much better than any female. That became apparent right away. Mario’s overful balls thrummed as his dick stiffened up, Avery deep-throating him from the get-go — no girl was ever this enthusiastic about deep-throating. Mario had to talk girls into doing it, and they never had throats as wide or as deep as Avery’s.
Avery knew perfectly well what effect his mouth had on Mario. He had jerked off a lot of guys in the service industry, and an awful lot of them made faces like that. He was an expert deep-throater. Men could do it better than women, Avery thought, because they had the same equipment. They knew how to treat it right.
And women were namby-pamby about servicing big-cocked-studs like Mario.
“Hey, boy, I’m-a treat you right, ya feel me?” Mario said. He looked down at Avery, ignoring his instinctual panic at the sight of a male on his cock. He sucked on his tongue. He could already hear Lasso and others outside the office, laughing, no doubt impressed at how tough Mario was. He gripped Avery’s scalp. “I’m gonna plow ya throat now, I’m gonna treat it real rough. You gonna like that?”
Avery nodded without taking his dick out. His tongue teased the veiny underside of Mario’s shaft.
“Good. I don’t need no pansy goin’ full daffodil on me,” Mario grunted and chuckled. He had to hold back a grin. No girl had ever let him throat them, not like he had seen in porno. That was what he thought a blowjob should be like.
He held on and drilled his dick in. A spasm of pleasure ran up Mario’s spine as he felt Avery choke on his dick, but Avery didn’t make him stop, so Mario kept going. He rammed his cock all the way in until every last bit of dickflesh swelled to fill Avery’s throat.
“Ya, boy, you got balls-on-chin, man, that’s nasty, yo,” Mario said with a chuckle, making his voice loud enough that the guys outside could hear. “You must love my dick somethin’ fierce. Lemme hear you say it.” He pulled his dick out and Avery gasped.
“Uh-” Avery cried out for air.
Mario lightly slapped his cheek. “Lemme hear you say it. You love my dick or not?”
“I love… your dick…” Avery opened his mouth and went back to slurping on it even before Mario had heard him say it. Mario cackled and resumed throating, drilling his dick down deep.
This time, Mario realized he could be as harsh and violent as he wanted, Avery didn’t seem to care. He humped Avery’s mouth hard, laughing every time he heard his sweaty balls thwack against Avery’s chin — he had long ago heard jokes about ballsweat on a girl’s chin and had long thought that was how blowjobs were supposed to go, but he had such a big dick that no woman could swallow him deeply enough to achieve “balls on chin”.
But Avery managed it without even breaking a sweat.
“Ah, shit, boy, goddamn, you swallow dick good,” Mario said. He cleared his throat. “I mean… almost as good as this one female, uh — ” He paused. “I mean, a couple females. You know…” He hoped that sounded believable. Really most girls didn’t like sucking dick and made no effort to do it well. Mario would never admit that this was better than a female though.
In fact, if he hadn’t had a blowjob just a few minutes ago, he would have busted a nut already. He was kinda glad that he had to work for it now, then, cuz it wouldn’t look gangsta to bust a nut that quick. He made sure the guys watching could see his six-pack.
His ears wrinkled when he realized Lasso and the others were huddled together and laughing from the kitchen area. They all must have known what was going on now. Mario wasn’t shook up, and he wasn’t embarrassed — they just didn’t get Mario’s old-school Italian ways, he thought. He sucked on his teeth. “Buncha mamby-pamby pussies,” he thought, as precum leaked profusely from his dick and coated Avery’s mouth.
“You gonna get it up the dook-chute next, Mario?” Lasso called out from outside the office, and the others out there snickered too. It sounded like they were daring each other to come in here.
“Fuck you, Lasso!” Mario said. He wanted to add more, to call Lasso old and to claim he must have a withered useless cock.
But Mario was overwhelmed then by his orgasm, which hit him suddenly, surprised by how intense it was, maybe because his dick had started off so sensitive from the prior blowjob. He held on tight to Avery’s scalp, but Avery had taken control of this. Avery nuzzled his nose all the way into Mario’s pubic hair, letting his veiny uncut shaft throb in Avery’s throat.
“Goddamn… You gonna swallow, boy? Lemme see my nut in ya mouth first,” Mario said, a smile emerging onto his face. He threw his head back, and his voice broke then as an orgasm exploded within him. He couldn’t believe how good it felt. He was sure he looked like some young punk who’d never gotten sucked off before, he was just glad no one but Avery could see.
His lithe light-tan body squirmed, his compact little muscles all flexing at once. Creamy cum flowed plentifully down Avery’s throat. He had a spicy flavor to it, like the pizza shop he worked in and the bracing red pepper flakes that Avery could taste remnants of on his cock. It was warm, salty and savory too, like raw pizza dough, and his body was firm as ice when Avery reached his hands up to tweak his nipples and make his pecs ripple.
“Shit, goddamn…” Mario’s face was red as Avery finally let go. Mario cleared his throat to sound tough, like this was no big deal. Another jet of jizz filled Avery’s mouth and overflowed down his chest, and Mario’s knees went weak. He gasped, and all them all watching laughed. Mario laughed with them, even as his voice broke and he said, “Lemme see ya — ya nasty mouff fulla my nut.”
Avery opened his mouth, which was full of Mario’s cum. That creamy, salty flavor was all his senses could focus on, and Avery craved swallowing it. He needed it.
But first, Mario thought, he wanted all those guys out there to know how big his dick was and how good he was at using it. He opened the door with his massive dick, still half-hard, resting on Avery’s face. Avery’s mouth was open to display Mario’s wad resting on his tongue. Mario pumped his biceps.
“Oh shit-!”
“Nasty!”
“Goddamn, Mario!”
Mario cackled. Lasso and the other guys looked first and cheered, then they all blushed and covered their eyes. No one wanted to see Mario’s dick or his cumwad congealing on Avery’s tongue, but none could really look away either. Mario flexed his pecs too, concealed by his too-tight shirt, but it was tight enough that everybody could see how strong his chest was.
They were impressed, Mario was sure of that.
“Nah, watch this, watch this, I can make him swallow it whenever,” Mario said. He flopped his limp dick between his fingers, making sure his friends could see it, but he acted like it was an accident that he hadn’t put it away yet. He didn’t want it to be obvious he was showing off.
He held his hand in front of Avery’s face. “Spit it out, man.”
Avery spat Mario’s cum into Mario’s palm in front of his face. Avery blushed. “I love your cock, Mario, please, let me lick it more, let me swallow your nut-“
The others laughed so hard no one could hear the rest of Avery’s begging. Mario didn’t care, he just smirked and nodded. The guys all hooted, peering through their fingers as Avery slurped that cumload back off Mario’s mouth. He swallowed it, smacked his lips and let Mario see his now-empty mouth.
“Hell, yeah, boy! He slurped that shit!” Mario thwacked Avery with his limp cock. He couldn’t believe women kept refusing to do that — it was no big deal, he thought, if some dude could do it. Mario sucked on his teeth and pumped his biceps. “And he’s gonna pay me for the privilege, shit!”
Avery handed over the money, which Mario counted standing right there, his dick still out and dangling between his legs. Mario smiled broadly. He hadn’t felt so good in a long time.
When Lasso and the others finally went back upfront to return to work, Mario put his dick away. He sneered at Avery. “That was nice, man. Thanks for the money. Not that I needed it, y’know.”
“Sure.”
“Maybe you can come back in sometimes? Like… y’know, whenever. I work most evenings, except Thursdays and Fridays,” Mario said. He shrugged. “Or whatever, you ain’t got to. I got females, y’know… begging for my meat.”
Avery giggled. “Well, maybe I’ll drop in when I can, and when you’re not too busy with your girls. I sure did enjoy the taste of your Italian sausage.”

The New York Alpha

Avery is working as a masseur when a cocky alpha boxer comes to him in need of some release. Heavyweight champion Jaequon Darling is too big, too brutish and too sweaty for women, so he lets Avery swing on his meat.

Can Avery satisfy his alpha-male urges?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

When Avery got a job at the Cornerside Gym of Queens, he assumed it would be like the gym back at GHU, where he had worked after graduating. Moving to New York City sounded like fun, so he sent in his application on a lark.
At the time, he thought he might not even go if he got a job offer. It was just a spur of the moment decision to apply. But when he actually was offered the job, he took it. He didn’t even really know why — this wasn’t the career track he wanted — Avery hoped to open his own business one day. He just thought it was time to make a change, and New York City was big and loud and exciting. For a small-town boy like Avery, it was the shock of a lifetime.
The most important shift for him was that, here in the Big Apple, there were different kinds of gyms. Of course there were different gyms at home too, but only a couple and all of them catered to the same people: everyone. There weren’t enough people to have a gym just for casuals or for older retirees.
Or a gym for men. That’s what this Cornerside Gym in Queens was. It was a serious gym for muscle-rats and boxers and ex-cons. Punching bags and old-fashioned medicine balls abounded. There was a large boxing ring in the center, and the equipment was scattered around nearby. Old ladies recuperating after hip surgery would not come to the Cornerside Gym of Queens.
He tried to avoid staring. He didn’t want to look like a leering pervert, especially when he noticed one boxer, Jaequon Darling, who had a handsome blessing of a face and a sculpted heavyweight body, like a sculpture of onyx carved by some forgotten African civilization. He had dimples you could bathe a giraffe in. Avery’s dick stirred in his pants from the moment he saw Jaequon. He felt flush and giddy like a schoolboy having his first crush, and he blushed the one time he sensed Jaequon’s eyes on him.
He managed to avoid making a scene though. His first day was easy enough, and he was glad to have avoided making a fool of himself. He had managed to avoid staring at Jaequon, who in any case had disappeared in the afternoon. Avery assumed he had left.
He was just about to walk out the front door when a middle-aged black man stopped him.
“Yo, fancy-boy,” said the man. “You wuhk he’e, right? You off now right?” He looked like he used to be a boxer, with a powerful frame, flat ears and a crooked nose. His scruffy beard was tinged with gray, but he was still vibrant in his own way, dippy-dapping like a jazz singer whose song never ended. “C’mon wit’ me,” he said, and walked towards the back without waiting to see if Avery agreed or even understood his stawk-heavy Queens accent. He had such an authoritarian vibe, however, that Avery followed without giving it a second thought. The man stopped outside the door to the sauna and wrinkled his nose. He sneered at it as though he was disgusted by saunas. Then he turned to aim his disdain at Avery. “My boy Jaequonin de’e. He wanna see you.”
“He wanna see me? What for?”
“Don’t asx,” said the man. “Just do it.” He opened the door. Avery hesitated before stripping off his shirt and shoes, then walking in. It was a nice summer day, so Avery had changed to his jogging shorts to go back to his apartment. The sauna was thick with fog, and at first, Avery didn’t see Jaequon at all. His shorts fabric clung to his skin with moisture.
“Yo, Pops, when can I come out?” Jaequon asked when the door was open.
The man slammed the door shut without answering, then yelled from outside. “Latuh, nigga. You got a pound and a half to sweat off. Or whatever, shoot off.” His words came with a throaty chuckle that was part jealous and part judgemental, and it made the meaning of ‘shoot off’ very clear. He wanted Avery to jerk Jaequon off.
The thought made Avery shudder with anticipation.
Jaequon was covered in sweat. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick afro but not a tall one. His front tooth was badly chipped. He sucked on the chipped part when he saw Avery. He had crazy dimples, which always did set Avery’s heart a-flutter. Jaeqon’s square jaw and round face went with his superhero-like body, which gleamed with a layer of sweat that ran down his body in the overheated sauna.
“Yo, wuzzup,” he said when his father shut the door. He eyed Avery suspiciously. He filled a cup with water from a bucket, sipped from it — a very tiny sip, cuz he was trying to drop weight before tomorrow’s weigh-in — then poured the rest onto the heating element near the wall of the sauna. It sizzled and sent up a fresh cloud of mist. “You new here, huh?”
At the sauna at the old gym, where Avery used to work, they used juniper and cedar to give the steam a pleasing scent. It was nice, but it was nice for the old ladies sweating off the mimosas. In here, where only men came — big, burly men like Jaequon — Avery appreciated that the only odor was the stink arising from Jaequon’s broad shoulders and thunder-mad thighs.
“Yeah,” Avery said. His heart pounded. He hesitated before sitting next to Jaequon. Avery cleared his throat. “You know I’m not on duty, sorry, I can’t help you with anything to do with the gym-“
“Nah,” Jaequon said. He clicked his tongue again, but didn’t add anything else. A long silence filled the sauna. It was so tense that Avery held his breath until Jaequon spoke again. “So wuzzup?” He stood and faced Avery, revealing a massive cock swaying between his legs. He thwacked it against the palm of his hand. “You wanna jerk me off or what?” He was so tall that his dick lined up with Avery’s forehead, while Avery was sitting down, so when he thwacked it like a club into one palm, it was inches from Avery’s face. A few drops of dicksweat splattered on Avery’s forehead and nose, and the smell of his unwashed ballsac flooded Avery’s nostrils.
“Really… uh, yeah…” Avery said, blushing because he was flustered and thought he sounded stupid. He had thought this was coming, but still managed to be surprised when Jaequon asked it. He swallowed the man’s dick, or at least the first half of it, in one smooth motion. It was slick with sweat and dripping on the floor, still limp and fat, jiggly, warm, intensely salty.
For just a moment, Avery let it rest in his mouth, waiting to see if Jaequon changed his mind. But he didn’t, and Avery slurped on it, battering the tip with his tongue. He pushed his head down to deep-throat the shaft as deep as he could go right now — he needed to loosen up to be at his best.
Then Avery took it out of his mouth, slathered his tongue up and down the shaft, which was already beginning to firm up. Avery liked playing with limp dicks too though, so he roped it around on his face as he chased it with his tongue.
Jaequon moaned loudly. He leaned forward to put his hands on the wall as though he couldn’t keep himself balanced because his cock felt so good. He pounded on the wall with one hand, his powerful biceps shaking.
His dick perked right up in Jaequon’s mouth, his shaft pulsating as it swelled to full erection. Avery slathered spit all the way down to the hairy root. He tried moving his head, but Jaequon held him still and plowed his cock into his face instead. The plump saltiness of his cockhead invaded Avery’s throat, his nose nestling in unkempt pubic hair.
He murmured, and rubbed Avery’s neck with one hand. Jaequon ground his hips into Avery’s mouth. “You like sweaty men, doncha, fancy-boy?”
Avery nodded without taking Jaequon’s dick from his mouth. He looked up and smiled at Jaequon, who frowned as though he hated the dome, even though he kept making sounds like he liked it. Avery caressed the meat of Jaequon’s sweat-soaked pecs.
“Lick my balls den,” he said. He sounded a little guilty, as though a lot of his sex partners had refused to lick his balls. Not Avery, who loved low-hanging ballsacs like Jaequon’s. He slowly licked a trail down Jaequon’s veiny shaft to the sweat-slickened sac beneath.
He put first one ball in his mouth, then the other, and suckled them each in turn. He had huge goose egg-sized balls, throbbing and juicy between Avery’s lips. Since he had been in the sauna for awhile — and was working out intensely before that — he was dripping with sweat. The moisture trickled from Jaequon’s taint and into Avery’s mouth.
Avery loved sweaty men. He loved their sour, bitter taste and the way their flavor overwhelmed his senses. He loved the succulence of their moist muscles. He loved the way Jaequon looked at him as though shocked that someone would be willing to suck on his hairy balls.
“Damn, you must be into sum nasty-ass shit,” Jaequon said with a sneering chuckle. “You swallowin’ it deep, like my sweat makes yo’ dick bigger o’ some shit. Beg me fo’ it, fancy-boy.”
Avery didn’t take Jaequon’s balls out of his mouth for him to talk. He let both balls fall in at once, overflowing from his drooling lips. Then he spoke with that sweaty scrotum spilling over his cheeks, so the only sound that came out was a muffled burst of gibberish.
He made sure that the noise had a begging-like quality, however, so Jaequon knew he was following instructions. Jaequon chuckled, and he pounded on the wall again. He smiled and grunted with satisfaction.
“Why ain’t girls into swallowin’ balls?” Jaequon asked. Avery didn’t answer. He let his tongue flicker into the fleshy scrotum in his mouth. Jaequon lifted his balls up and smiled, dropping them back down with a splash into Avery’s sweat-filled mouth. Jaequon laughed. “I love that, man. Dunno why, but ain’t nothin’ better fo’ me than the sound of my balls splashing into some bitch’s mouth.”
He did the same again a couple times, laughing each time his balls splashed into Avery’s mouth, which filled with more sweat and drool with each passing second. Avery didn’t swallow, or spit, to better allow his mouth to fill. Then Jaequon hesitated, holding his balls right above Avery’s face, so all Avery could see was their thick pendulousness.
“Beg me, fancy-boy.”
“Please, Jaequon, let me slurp on your balls some more. They taste so good,” he said.
Jaequon grunted his satisfaction and plopped them back in one time. “Now gargle,” Jaequon said, gargling himself to demonstrate.
Avery did so, even as he gagged from a pubic hair in his throat the first time. The gagging and the gargling combined to make Jaequon sigh. He felt his left nipple with one hand and pounded on the wall with the other.
“Quit bangin’ on de wall, Jaequon! Niggas tryna work out!” Pops’s voice rang out.
“Shut up, Pops!” Jaequon yelled. As Avery gurgled on his balls even more, Jaequon grunted loudly.
“Donchu tell me to shut up, I can still pound yo’ ass!”
“Try it, motherfucker!”
Pops said something else outside the sauna, but Avery couldn’t hear what it was. He was too focused on Jaequon’s balls. It sounded like these two argued vociferously all the time — it had seemed like workout bravado when Jaequon was actually training, but now Avery thought it was just the way they interacted.
“Yo, Pops, there another whiteboi out there?”
The door opened, but Pops didn’t come in. He sighed. “Nah, nigga, you know that. Whatchoo want wit’ another one anyway? Somethin’ wrong with this one?”
“He swallowin’ on my balls real good, Pops, I just want one on my dick too,” Jaequon said.
Pops paused. “Nah, nigga. You ain’t need that. Just hurry up and bust ya nut,” he said.
“Gimme my phone,” Jaequon said. His voice was a little breathless as though he found this ball-jerking exhilarating. He gave his long shaft a stroke, then let it lay there, pulsating, atop Avery’s face. “I wanna send a video of this to Raitha-“
“No, nigga, no,” Pops said as though they had had this argument before. “She gots a restrainin’ order against you. Why ain’t you got no sense, boy?”
“I ain’t gonna hit her!”
“You ain’t allowed to talk to her, not at all. You definitely can’t send her no pitchahs of yo’ balls, fuckin’ idiot,” Pops said.
“Yeah, say dat to my face, old man!” Jaequon yelled. He was facing away from his father, lifting and lowering his sac onto Avery’s squirming tongue. He smiled down at Avery’s sweat-covered face.
“I just did, muddahfuggah. You’s a gawddamn idiot,” Pops said. “You’re a moron.” Then he shut the door.
Jaequon muttered to no one in particular. “That fuckin’ asshole,” he said over and over. “I’s gonna beat that old man down one day, fancy-boy. You just wait for it.” He bit his lip and felt his nipple again. “You ready to try some cock again?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He took his balls out and rammed his dickhead right in. It was so sudden that Avery’s sweat-filled mouth gagged and spilled the spit that filled it up. That made Jaequon laugh loudly and bang his hand on the wall — this time, he was obviously being as loud as he could to annoy his father.
“Hey, I say keep it down, nigga,” Pops said. He poked his head into the sauna, but even though Avery was facing away, he could tell that Pops was avoiding looking. He might have snuck a peak though, and he scoffed at what he saw. “You nasty, son.”
“Don’t act like you ain’t done it, old man,” Jaequon said. “Yo’ prison bitch came to de house. Remember that? Afronta Momma, beggin’ you-“
“Fuck you!” Pops screamed. He slammed the door shut, still outside the sauna. “You shut ya fool mouf, boy!”
“You stopped cuz yo’ dick don’t wuuhk no mo’!” Jaequon yelled back, loud enough that Pops could hear out in the hall. Jaequon sat down on one of the benches, and took hold of Avery’s head to guide it up and down. “You couldn’t ram any kinda bitch now, old man!”
After a moment, the door opened again. Pops sauntered in. He was naked, floppy club-like cock in his hands. “I’ll show you whose dick works, nigga,” he said with a snarl. Then he wedged his dick between Avery’s asscheeks. “You know what yo’ problem is, nigga?”
“Tell me, old man.”
“You got no respect!” Pops said. He rammed the tip of his dick in to Avery’s ass. It was just as iron-hard as Jaequon’s cock. Pops snarled as he flexed his hips, uncaring of Avery’s feelings. Avery loved being treated as an object, and Pops hadn’t said one word to him since he entered the sauna. “You ain’t even ram dis bitch in de ass, didja, nigga?”
“Dat’s nasty, old man! Dat’s whah’s nasty,” Jaequon said with a scoff. He smiled as Avery gagged on his dick, and Jaequon ground his hips onto Avery’s face. Now that Avery was experiencing a cock in his ass as well, he had trouble maintaining concentration on the dome.
Then they both began shouting at once. The argument only ended when they both leaned forward to punch each other. Since neither was willing to take their cocks out of Avery, it wasn’t much of a fight. Their sweaty bodies clasped each other as they tried to put the other in a headlock. Pops got a good punch in on Jaequon’s face, but Jaequon took it easily and shrugged it off. Jaequon, to his credit, seemed to be holding back, or so Avery surmised — Jaequon had fifty pounds on his father, was twenty years younger and had to be much stronger. But on the other hand, Pops himself was a boxer too in his day, and while he didn’t have the athleticism he used to, he still packed a wallop.
Avery wasn’t even sure what stopped the fight, or who had “won”, if anyone. He focused on the swelling pressure in his ass as Pops pounded his insides, and the sour-sweet flavor of precum flowing down his throat.
“I’m-a tell Momma you rammed a man,” Jaequon muttered.
For a moment, Avery thought another fight was going to break out. Pops actually stopped plowing with his cock all the way in Avery’s ass; he just stayed there, swaying and sneering at his son.
“Go ahead, ya fuuuwckin’ snitch. She knows I done it before, and she know I’s gonna do it again,” Pops said. “If’n I tell her you do it too, she gonna freak out. She gonna make you go to chu’ch-“
Jaequon clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I ain’t ramroddin’ no man,” he said. “Mouf don’t count.”
“You can splain dat to her. She be impressed,” Pops said.
Jaequon muttered defiantly. Despite his tone, it was clear that Pops had won this debate — Jaequon apparently didn’t want his mother to know what he was doing.
“You gonna snitch on yo’ father or not? Whatchoo say, nigga?”
“I said quit slappin’ yo’ oldman balls on his ass, nigga, dat sound make me wanna frow up,” Jaequon said. “I don’t gangbang bitches no moh.”
“Cuz you can’t get any?”
“Nah! Fuck you, old man, I got girls hanging off my meat,” Jaequon said with a wide grin. He moaned as his dick spasmed in Avery’s mouth — it felt like he was near orgasm, close enough that Avery slowed down to drag this out as long as he could.
“Oh, where dey at?” Pops asked. He chuckled as he made a big show of looking all over the sauna for girls, peering under the benches and into every corner.
“I mean… Fuck you, you know what I mean. Raitha dumped me, but I got a waitin’ list, Pops.”
“Like dat fat-ass skank who smelled like a faa’t?”
“No! That was three years ago, and she was ne’euh my guul, Pops! She just a slut who suckt my dick back when I was stickin’ my dick in any waa’m hole,” Jaequon said. “I selective now, muddahfuggah. Dat’s why I don’t do gangbangs.”
Avery’s mind cleared suddenly as Pops pulled out of his ass. Avery gasped around Jaequon’s cock in his throat, and the sudden change triggered Avery’s own orgasm. He sprayed his wad over the floor and moaned; Jaequon didn’t seem to notice, though Avery suspected that Pops did, by the disapproving cluck of his teeth.
It turned out that Pops had pulled out of Avery’s ass to play a prank on his son — he quietly approached with his dick swinging, and then slapped Jaequon in the face when Jaequon’s eyes were closed.
Avery saw just as the aftershocks of his orgasm rocked his body. Jaequon roared and pushed him away.
“Fuckin’ asshole, nigga!”
Pops slapped him across the face, and Jaequon stood up to punch back. Again they exchanged a few blows that Avery couldn’t see because it was above his head. This time, Jaequon was so upset he did remove his cock from Avery’s mouth.
Then Avery moved back down to Jaequon’s cock, which spasmed angrily. It was definitely near orgasm now, and Avery desperately deep-throated it. He caressed the shaft with his tongue, savoring the taste of sweat that now tasted fresh since Avery hadn’t paid attention to Jaequon’s dick for a few moments. That acrid flavor combined with the pit hair stuck to Avery’s lip, overwhelming his senses as he felt both men reach orgasm.
Jaequon moaned as he nutted. He held onto Avery’s head by his hair, and he closed his eyes, feeling up his own nipples. He murmured, “Don’t swallow that yet, lemme see it, baby. I wanna see my cum on yo’ tongue.”
Nut dripping from his mouth because Pops was still plowing and rocking his entire body, Avery tried hard to hold it for him. But Jaequon shot a huge load, and he leaned back, stroking himself for what felt like a long time. Avery strained to keep from spilling the entire load.
Then, just as Jaequon opened his eyes to look, Pops grunted. He smacked Avery’s ass, sending a wave of agony up his spine. It made Avery’s asscheeks ripple though, and Pops grunted his approval of that. Maybe it was that ripple, so like a thick woman’s ass, that triggered Pops’s orgasm.
He let out another grunt, this one intense and moanish, and his yellow-fingered paws dug into the smoothness of Avery’s backside. His grunt turned from a moan to a groan to a growl, accompanied by one more thrust of his waist. That daggered his dick deep into Avery, sending wave after wave of pleasure through both men’s bodies. Avery’s ass squeezed. Pops sucked in his breath and ejaculated a fresh deluge of jizz.
Hot cum flowed into Avery’s guts, and the creaminess of it seeped into Avery’s flesh. Avery cried out for more, not that the other two paid him any mind. His voice was swallowed up by the humid mist of the sauna, which had a physical solidity to it, thickened by the sweat emanating off both men’s naked bodies.
Pop shot a huge load too, just like his son, and he kept sliding his dick in and out, even as it got limp in Avery’s ass. His load turned cummy, coated his cockshaft and dripped onto the floor of the sauna.
“Lemme see dat nut,” Jaequon said. “Ew, you got it all up in dere.” He spat into Avery’s open mouth, then inserted his finger. He pulled out all the cum with one hand, and he looked at his fingers as though someone had made him do that. He sneered in disgust as he smeared the cum all over Avery’s face.
Then he plopped his balls right in Avery’s open mouth. There was a splash as his scrotum was coated in his own cum. He chuckled, lifting his balls up and dropping them back in. His dickshaft gleamed with remnants of all that came before, and his Avery choked up the river of sweat that flowed down his throat, which made Jaequon’s ballsac shine with moisture too. Avery slurped as hard and as loud as he can, and Jaequon’s bullying laugh of derision turned into a shocked, slightly ticklish giggle of desire. His fat cock jiggled above Avery’s head, and when Avery touched it, Jaequon’s whole body twitched.
That prompted him to at last get off Avery’s face. He stood in the center of the sauna with a chagrined look on his face. He swayed his hips, helicoptering his cock in a little circle and beaming like he had invented something. A few drops of sweat or jizz or spit flung off his dickshaft. “Damn, pops. Love dat! He was really slurpin’ on mah nuts, you seen dat, right?”
“Shuddup. You nasty, son,” Pops said. “Dis why Raitha dumpt you. She told yo’ momma it was cuz you stay after her suckin’ yo’ balls.”
“She told Momma dat? Fuckin’ whore!” He screwed up his face. “Ain’t true. Tell Mama it ain’t true.”
“You can’t treat girls like dat, son,” Pops said. “A girl ain’t a sissy.” He rubbed his limp dick clean on Avery’s asscheek, which he again slapped and watched ripple with great interest. That interest turned to disdain, and he stepped away from Avery. Then he put his hand on Jaequon’s asscheek, which he jiggled as they headed to the door out of the sauna. Pops said, “Let’s go weigh you, nigga. If dis whiteboi drained a pound and a half offa you, you can go home.”