knocking on a door – Mansploitation

The Third Baseman

When minor league baseball player Lloyd Walters comes by to flooze it up at the Night Along Motel, clerk Avery Flowers is all too eager to help him out with all his… manly needs. Can Avery earn those stars on his customer service eval form?

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Late night shifts at the Night Along Motel were slow and boring. Avery didn’t mind it, because he could watch TV and goof off on the Internet, which is realistically what he would have been doing at home. But still, the interminable quiet was dreadful, alleviated only by the occasional pandemonium of a drunken group of hotel guests coming back to their room. It was not usually an exciting job, but it had some perks.
“Hey hombre, you speak English?” asked a man’s deep voice. Avery was startled to see an almost-naked man there. He was a barrel-chested semi-pro baseball player — third baseman for the Riverbank Whoppers in the Mid-Atlantic Minor League — who had checked in a couple hours before, in advance of a game tomorrow. He stood there in plain white boxers from which a few tantalizing pubic hairs poked through, and he swayed on drunken legs. His mustache quivered, moistly. He had a delightfully not quite perfect physique, which Avery adored, and a daddyish thickness though he was lean, hungry-looking, like his muscles were uncomfortable for him.
Avery was used to being asked if he spoke English — a lot of the Night Along Motel’s staff were Spanish-only, after all. “Yes, sir. I checked you in when you got here, Mr. Walters.”
He leaned in close and peered at Avery as though checking to see if he was lying. The man, Lloyd Walters was his name, scratched his balls through his boxers. For a moment his thick cock was outlined by the dingy fabric of his shorts, and Avery’s heart raced as he pictured this brutish jock naked. Lloyd’s rancid breath was beer-soaked and hot. He produced a twenty dollar bill and gave it to Avery.
“Go get me a hamburger. Can you do that? Or is there one that delivers?”
“I can arrange for a delivery,” Avery said, glad that his connection at the scuzzy twenty-four hour hamburger joint across town finally came in handy.
“Good. Get me the biggest hamburger they got and everything they put on it,” Lloyd said carefully, as though describing brain surgery, “But not any kind of mushrooms. And make it rare.”
“Okay.”
“No, wait… Is this a nice place?”
“Well… It’s the only place that’s open this late.”
“Then medium-rare. I can’t be shitting all over the place at the game tomorrow.”
“Yes sir.”
His belly rumbling, Lloyd sauntered back into his room then, and after a few minutes, two cheap floozies crept out the door. Their just-fucked hair made it obvious what had happened; they giggled quietly, whispering, no doubt bragging about how they had just fucked a baseball pro (or semipro, close enough, Avery thought).
Avery’s friend arrived soon after that, with a bag containing the greasy hamburger. Avery gave him a tip and then brought the food to Lloyd’s room. He knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder.
“Come in!”
Avery walked in to see a stark naked Lloyd, sitting on the bed. He was sweaty and relaxed, sprawled out on the bare mattress. His limp cock was still moist, plastered to his thigh and gleaming in the dim light. The sheets and blankets were in a ball on the floor.
The smell of the hamburger aroused Lloyd from his soporific, drunken daze, and he took the bag from Avery. He nodded to the sheets and blankets. “Can I get some clean sheets brought in?”
Avery nodded. “Sure.”
“You might wanna… get rid of those,” Lloyd said. “Both those girls was anal virgins, if you get my drift.”
Avery saw the moist sheets dotted with blood, and he nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Walters. I’ll send the cleaning staff right in.”
“They’s prolly women, right? I should put some drawers on.”
Avery hesitated. “They would probably prefer it, sir.”
“Ain’t you polite?” Lloyd grinned. “Cleaning staff hot?”
“Eh… They are all older Mexican women, sir. The youngest is still a grandmother. They have a… steely handsomeness, but I’m not sure they would appeal to you,” Avery said. His cheeks blushed. He hoped this baseball jock didn’t ask for a prostitute. Avery wasn’t supposed to do that. The city punishes hotel clerks hard if they act as pimps. A hotel that provides women is just a brothel, after all, and the city did not want a brothel.
“Damn… Well, if any of ’em look like a sexy grandnmother, send me that one,” Lloyd said with a wink and a cackle. His sweat-dappled chest muscles rippled.
Avery licked his lips. “Didn’t you just…?” he nodded towards the door.
“We finished like an hour ago, so I’m ‘bout ready for another go-‘round” Lloyd said. “And they barely sucked my dick at all. Silly little college brats can’t suck cock worth a damn.”
“I see. Well, I do not think the cleaning staff will be interested,” Avery said.
“You look like you got nice soft lips there,” Lloyd said. His voice was deep as a canyon, and it had a sultry charm to it. Avery was not surprised he did well with women. Even aside from the fame and the physique of a baseball star, Lloyd had a masculine allure that Avery could not ignore.
Avery was so shocked he didn’t have a response. He had been propositioned by bucks here at the Night Along Motel before, that part wasn’t new, but a semipro baseball jock like Lloyd? That was a first, especially since he had just fucked — normally men were only interested when they were so horny they didn’t care where they stuck their cock. But no matter how virile he was, Lloyd couldn’t be that horny again just an hour after sex. “Yep,” Avery said, finally forming a word then blushing at how stupid he sounded.
“You got something to do with those lips?”
Avery dropped to his knees and kneeled in front of the bed. Lloyd leaned back on some pillows he had propped up, and then grabbed for the hamburger bag. He took it out and the cloyingly greasy smell filled the room.
Lloyd opened his bathrobe, his heavy cock dangling between his legs. It smelled delicious — especially with the odor of beef on top, Avery thought, giving it a tantalizing meatiness. He opened his mouth and swallowed it down to the root, determined to give Lloyd an orgasm he’d remember for a long time. The flavor of his stale sweat and the remnants of his fucking overwhelmed Avery’s senses as he slathered his tongue up and down the shaft.
“Oh fuck yeah,” Lloyd said. He groaned deeply then turned the TV on to Cinemax, where softcore girl-on-girl porn was playing. He belched loudly, his cock throbbing and firming up quick in Avery’s gullet. “Damn, I should take you with me to away games. Call you my personal ball boy.”
The pleasure visibly dancing up Lloyd’s chest made it clear how he felt about this. Avery did jack a dick off better than any women — lots of men had told Avery that. Women didn’t know how to do it, and they didn’t like to swallow a huge cock. Avery did. Avery didn’t even mind gagging on it, but usually, he did not gag.
Avery’s tongue slathered up and down his shaft as he wished Lloyd was serious, but knew he wasn’t. Men said that kind of thing a lot when their cock was in Avery’s mouth, but they always changed their mind once their balls were drained. Lloyd took a big bite from his hamburger, as Avery moved down to his balls.
He knew girls always hated licking balls, but he loved it, especially when they were swollen like Lloyd’s, and dripping with the remains of his wild rutting earlier. Avery could taste layers of sweat and feminine lotion still trapped in the hairs of his scrotum.
Moving back to the shaft, Avery deep-throated his cock. Lloyd gripped Avery’s ears tight, putting his hamburger down so he could use both grease-slickened hands. He pushed his dick all the way down Avery’s throat and held it there as he groaned.
Cum came pouring out of his cock with such an uninterrupted stream it was as though he was pissing down Avery’s gullet. Lloyd’s whole body bucked as his chest and neck turned reddish. Avery managed to swallow almost every drop of the pearly sweet cum. Lloyd grunted, sounding like a bodybuilder working hard on his biceps, and his balls slapped against Avery’s chin.
“Oh fuck yeah, you got a comment card or some shit?” Lloyd said with a throaty laugh. “I’m gonna tell the manager you’re good at your job.”
“You’ll be given an evaluation form when you check out, sir,” Avery said breathlessly as he wiped cum from his lips. He didn’t want to waste any. “I’d appreciate all fives.”
“Is that one of those things where anything less than a perfect score might as well be a zero?”
“Yes,” Avery said. He didn’t like grubbing for positive comment cards, but that was how he earned a bonus. If he got a bunch of them, he could win a five hundred dollar bonus every single month, and Avery was eager to get that money.
Not that that was why he jacked Lloyd off. Avery would do that for the love of it all. He had a great and deep admiration for the male physique. It was so much more appealing than women, he thought. Women were bony and soft and smelled nice, while Avery liked meaty, solid flesh that smelled like a barrel of jockstraps.
“I’m glad I could make your stay at the Night Along Motel more pleasing. Do let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
“I certainly will,” Lloyd said with a chuckle. He sighed, stretched and sprawled out on the bed. He was asleep before Avery had even gotten his clothes back on and snuck out the door.
Avery didn’t see Lloyd again for a couple months, and by the time he did, he had written the experience off as a one-time bonanza that was unlikely to be repeated. A pro (or semipro, technically) athlete must have had his choice of women, Avery thought, and he wasn’t going to settle for a queery blowjob again. That was too much to hope for — God wasn’t that generous, not to people like Avery. So when Lloyd sauntered into the front desk area late one night, Avery’s heart started pounding in his chest. He didn’t have two slutty girls with him this time either.
Lloyd winced a little, as though he was hoping he wouldn’t run into Avery. He hesitated, seemingly pondering his options. He held a suitcase in one hand. He wore an ill-fitting suit, with an off-the-racks black shirt and jacket that clashed horribly with his tan shoes and gray belt. Obviously he doesn’t have a girlfriend, Avery thought, or if he does, she’s colorblind. His shirt had not been ironed, Avery noticed; he looked about as well put-together as a homeless high school senior on an away game.
“Mr. Walters, another game tonight, huh?” Avery said, proud of himself for remembering his last name. That was gonna mean another good comment card, he thought.
Lloyd shook his head. “There’s no games on Sunday,” he said. “We played last night.”
“Oh, good game?” Avery said even as he realized from Lloyd’s body language that it hadn’t been a good game at all. He didn’t see that until it was too late, and Lloyd winced again. Obviously this was a sore subject for him. Avery cursed and hoped he hadn’t ruined his chances of a repeat.
“No. We lost, and…” Lloyd sighed. “Everyone thinks it’s my fault. It is my fault. I mean, not really, it wasn’t a tight throw and — nevermind, you don’t want to hear my excuses. I fucked up. I could have done better, and I didn’t. Can’t win ’em all.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure you did your best, sir,” Avery said, feeling like a den mother. He patted Lloyd on the forearm, and his spine shuddered at the feel of the man’s powerful muscles. He felt bad about thinking of sex when Lloyd was so upset. He handed Lloyd the key to his room. “Would you like me to come help you forget? I have to wait for my manager to go home, but that will be very soon.” Avery’s heart pounded as he wondered whether Lloyd would agree to jack off with him again.
“No, I…” Lloyd stopped and thought about it. “Yes,” he said. “Come on in.”
Avery watched him walk back to his room, the swagger gone from his step. The next hour passed interminably slow, but finally Avery saw his boss head out to the parking lot. After waiting a few minutes to be sure he didn’t come back, Avery hurriedly knocked on Lloyd’s door.
“Yeah, come in,” he said and Avery scurried inside.
Lloyd was already drunk. He must have been chugging booze from the moment he got here, Avery realized. Lloyd was stripped to his basketball shorts and a t-shirt, his bulging chest straining against the fabric. He held onto a metal flask that looked to be almost empty.
“Would you like a massage, sir?” Avery asked. He stood behind Lloyd’s chair and gripped his broad shoulders without waiting for an answer.
“Oh god yes,” Lloyd said. He leaned forward to give Avery more room on his back, then stripped off his t-shirt.
Avery rubbed his strapping back muscles. He used all his own musclepower on Lloyd’s shoulders and thick lats, which were so toned and tight they felt like coiled rope. Lloyd let out a loud moan of relaxation.
“Oh god, I needed this,” Lloyd said. He sounded almost ready to fall sleep right then, and moments later he jumped up onto his bed. Laying on his stomach, his pert asscheeks round and perfect, cradled by his shorts, Lloyd looked so delicious Avery wanted to eat him up right then.
But he didn’t want to make Lloyd uncomfortable, so he moved gradually lower and lower. He rubbed Lloyd’s upper back, his sides, his lower back, his feet and ankles, then slowly moved up his hairy thighs. He waited to see if Lloyd would tell him to stop, but he didn’t.
Was he asleep? Avery wasn’t sure at first. He might have passed out drunk, but he saw a few flickers of life. He seemed to be half-asleep, but still responding to Avery’s touch.
A few drops of sweat hovered just above Lloyd’s asscrack, in the pool at the small of his back. Avery quietly bent down and licked those beads of sweat up, then waited for Lloyd to say anything. He let his tongue jump past the elastic of Lloyd’s shorts, just for a second to see if he told Avery to stop.
No response. Avery smiled.
He let his tongue trace a line from the small of Lloyd’s back over his asscrack, without taking off his shorts. He tasted the plasticy, sweaty flavor of Lloyd’s shorts and smelled his stinky ass. The odor of thousands of hours of practice wafted into Avery’s nostrils, almost making him cum in his own pants right there.
He pulled those shorts down, revealing perfect globes of hairy assflesh. He kissed first one, then the other, giving Lloyd plenty of opportunity to say no. It was obvious he wanted this, Avery thought, and he even lifted his hips a little so Avery could get in there. He was probably just too embarrassed to say what he wanted.
Avery pushed his tongue inside Lloyd’s hairy asshole, and the musky flavor hit his senses. Avery’s own cock spasmed as he reached his own orgasm almost immediately, spraying cum into his hand. He shuddered but kept going deeper into Lloyd’s ass.
With the other hand, he reached around to Lloyd’s crotch and began stroking his dick. Soon Lloyd lifted his hips even more to facilitate it, until he was on his knees and elbows in front of Avery. He flexed his back in sync with Avery’s tongue, and his asshole opened up even more as he relaxed.
His tongue dug deep into Lloyd’s ass, but Avery saved most of his attention for the spongy prostate. Every time he touched it, Lloyd shuddered and his dick jerked beneath Avery’s fingers.
Lloyd’s breathing was short and sharp; it sounded like he was surprised at how good this felt. Avery wondered if he had ever had a rimjob before — possibly not, he knew a lot of men weren’t even aware it was something women did (which was probably fair, since most women would never do it). Avery, however, loved it, especially when he got to taste the wide ass of a semipro baseball player.
Finally he came, grunting as a thick load sprayed across his belly and dripped onto the bed below. Lloyd pawed at the mattress beneath him, then collapsed back onto his belly. Avery lifted his sweat-smeared face and took one last deep breath of Lloyd’s ass.
“Thanks for the massage,” Lloyd said.
“Not a problem, sir. That’s the kind of personal service we focus on here at the Night Along Motel.”
Avery had to get up early the next day to come in for a staff meeting. He wasn’t working the rest of the day, just coming in for a mandatory semi-annual meeting. He forced himself up at six a.m., pretending he hadn’t spent the previous evening servicing a semipro baseball player. He dimly showered and almost fell asleep on the way into work — he rarely started before noon, so this was a difficult disruption to his normal schedule.
The meeting was as dull and uneventful as ever. Avery hated coming to these idiotic meetings, except that he was able to schedule himself to be off those days, so he’d get paid a half-day for attending a one-hour meeting. That was, at least, a nice bonus. It was even worth getting up early. He could go home and take a nap after all, not that he would — Avery couldn’t sleep during the day no matter how tired he was.
When the meeting was over, he headed down the hall, choosing to go out a side door, both to avoid time-consuming chit-chat with his coworkers and because there was a chance he’d run into Lloyd. He wanted to walk past his room on the way out.
Jackpot! He smiled as he turned a corner and saw Lloyd poking his head out of the room. His grizzled face looked like he had just woken up, and was hungover. Lloyd looked at Avery in confusion — Avery wasn’t wearing a uniform.
“You working?”
“It’s my day off,” Avery said. Technically true, but he was paid a half-day today. He probably should have worn the uniform. They had been told to wear it to these meetings, though hardly anyone did and the manager seemed to have forgotten it was a rule. He hoped nobody who cared noticed.
“Oh, I couldn’t get anyone at the front desk, no one answered,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“We just had a staff meeting. It’s over now though. You should be able to get someone. Is there a problem?”
“I just wanted to ask for a massage. You guys do that, right? I mean, not just your kind of massage.”
Avery smiled again. “Well… I do. But everyone else at the front desk just send out for a masseuse from a cheap place down the street. If you want a massage like what you got last night, let me do it. I won’t even charge you a courtesy fee like the hotel would.”
He smiled back. “Okay.”
Avery walked into Lloyd’s room, the same room he had stayed in the previous time as well. This was beginning to be the room Avery used every time he got a hot stud at work — it happened more often than seemed reasonable. The Night Along Motel simply had that sort of reputation. It was a place where men could get laid, not always by hot chicks, but someone or another.
Once Lloyd closed the door, he grinned. “Glad I found you. That massage place down the street… Are they full-service?”
“Uh, no, sir,” Avery said. “There used to be one girl who worked there who did, she gave twenty dollar handjobs though, that’s it. But she got arrested anyway. They usually send a man nowadays. Not a man like me either, a big Swedish guy with a belly and an ugly mustache.” Avery stopped talking, feeling self-conscious; Lloyd didn’t care about this stuff, he thought. He just wants another rimjob or something.
“Oh, well… I was really hoping to blow my nut this morning,” Lloyd said.
Avery dropped to his knees and grabbed Lloyd’s dick through his shorts.
“Wait,” Lloyd said. “I mean… I really wanna plow. No one wants to give up the ass anymore. Oprah said something about anal sex being demeaning last month, and now no chicks wanna do it.”
“Really?”
“I dunno, that’s what this black guy on my team said.” Lloyd shrugged. “I don’t watch Oprah.”
“Wow, I hope that’s true,” Avery said. “Cuz I love it when men get desperate.”
“I bet you do,” he said. He dropped his pants and motioned for Avery to bend over. “That happens a lot here, huh?”
“Yeah, it sort of does,” Avery said. He dropped his pants as he bent over the bed and spread his legs.
“Alright… this is weird, where do I put my hands?” Lloyd said.
“Wherever you want.” Avery felt his hot dick push into his ass, and Lloyd’s hot breath on the back of his neck.
Lloyd murmured something but Avery didn’t catch it; he was too intent on the pain blooming in his ass. He moaned and clawed at the mattress. There was a burst of pleasure as well, a dim pre-orgasmic buzz that grew and grew with every thrust of Lloyd’s hips.
“That hurt?” Lloyd asked.
“Yes, but keep going,” Avery said.
Lloyd chuckled. “Shit, I wish girls was like this about butt stuff. They take all the fun out of it with the complaining,” Lloyd said, then before Avery could respond, he rammed his dick the rest of his way in. “Hang on, this might hurt.”
Avery bit his lip and began stroking his own hard cock with one hand. He arched his back to give Lloyd a better angle, though he knew that would make the pain a bit more intense. In truth, Avery liked it when taking dick hurt just a bit; it made the pleasure more pleasurable, more incredible and more awe-inspiringly, jaw-droppingly potent. He writhed atop the bedspread as he struggled to accept every inch of Lloyd’s meat.
Lloyd whooped like he was leaving the huddle in the middle of a big game, psyching himself up with whooping and hollers. He was gyrating his hips now, moving his manhood smoothly in and out of Avery’s tight butthole.
They were moving in sync now, and Lloyd’s awkwardness with his hands vanished. He grabbed ahold of Avery’s hips to better control the positioning of his ass, and as it became apparent that Avery was going to love any position Lloyd chose, Lloyd lifted his ass even higher while pushing Avery’s head into the mattress with his other hand. His big baseball-toned muscle jiggled with every thrust of his dick into Avery’s intestines.
“You want me to pull out?”
“Fuck no,” Avery said breathlessly, and Lloyd laughed.
“I like to hear that.”
Avery didn’t have a response to that. He was busy shooting his load onto the bedspread, and shuddering as an orgasm ripped through him. He felt his ass squeeze Lloyd tight, which was apparently all he needed to send him over the edge as well.
A wave of cum hit him internally, and Avery felt its warm creaminess spreading throughout his innards. He was still pointed face-down, ass-up, so it drained deeper and deeper within him.
Lloyd’s cock spasmed hotly as he dragged it out, and there was a slick popping sound when it came out. It flopped onto Avery’s ass and left a moist slick there.
“Fuck, man… This is the greatest damn hotel ever,” Lloyd said.
“I couldn’t agree more.”

The Lutteur

Rob is surprised to find a traditional lutte wrestler from Senegal on his door… in Richmond, Virginia! He gets to host the legendary Ousmane Salimpé, who just might give Rob a ride on his magnificent wrestler meat! Can Rob handle it?

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Read the whole thing here!

The annual Lutte Traditionelle World Championship was held in a different city on a different continent every other year — those were the “international” years. In the non-international years, it was held in West Africa, where lutte-style wrestling was most popular. But the Lutte Traditionelle League had grown popular around the world in the last decade or so, and there were plenty of fans in America.
There were even non-African contestants. A white Italian man had won two years ago, when the championship was in Sapporo, Japan. It was the first time a white person had won.
This year, it was in Richmond, Virginia, so Rob planned on seeing every match he could. He even signed up as a volunteer to help out wherever they needed him.
As the months counted down, the arena was renovated for lutte wrestling, and the big hotel downtown redecorated itself with West African and Islamic materials. Wealthy Africans filled the streets of Richmond. The city looked unlike Rob had ever seen it before.
A lot of people thought the tournament might not happen, that it might be yet another great international project stymied by war and discord. Senegal ran it, and, by tradition and according to the league’s charter, the president of Senegal also presided over the tournament. The president had been assassinated in March. A brief military coup took over the country, and nobody recognized the general as the new president. Then Amadou Dellimaollio declared himself president for life, was promptly assassinated, then was replaced by Pierre Rampeau.
No country recognized Rampeau as the president of Senegal either, so the US refused him a visa. The international lutte league’s bylaws forbade the championship from proceeding unless the Senegalese leader presided over it.
So a slow-motion international incident seemed likely. The tournament was set up, paid for and imminent but couldn’t begin without Pierre Rampeau. The US State Department wouldn’t give him a visa, nor would they allow most of his cronies and security personnel to come to the country.
The day before the opening ceremonies, Rob was certain it wouldn’t go off. Thousands of people had already come to Richmond, but no one was certain if any wrestling would happen. Multiple nations were sending military advisors. The Russians had gotten involved, which meant the Americans had to be involved, which meant the Chinese needed to insert themselves, which got the EU acting as observers, which prompted the Arab Lague to send international monitors, and then the Indians were mad they didn’t have a reason to meddle, and if the Indians meddle in something, the Pakistanis wanted to meddle even harder. It was turning into an international kerfluffle, exacerbated by the sporting world’s eyes being upon the city of Richmond, where the biggest event of the year could not technically begin until Pierre Rampeau was brought out of Senegal alive.
Rob got a call from a woman who identified herself as the “international affairs attaché for something”. The “something” was a long blur of French words that didn’t mean anything to Rob. He thought he did pretty well at recognizing “international affairs attaché”.
“You signed up to help out wrestlers in need,” she said, in her low slurry French-African accent. “So we have done to assign you Moussa Salimpée. He will need a home to stay in for at least one week. Une semaine.”
“I’m sorry?” Rob got the gist of what she was saying, but he didn’t understand her words.
Then a couple things happened at once. She said something on the phone that sounded like French — it was English, technically, but not very good English and it included several Senegalese place-names and personal names that Rob didn’t know — at the same time that someone knocked on his apartment door, and his phone beeped to indicate another phone call. Whoever knocked on the door spoke, not to him, but to whoever else was there. That person, the one who responded, had a voice so deep it boomed and echoed like a distant thunderclap.
“Uh, I, uh… Hang on a second, okay?” Rob said into the phone.
His mind raced. What was the French lady on the phone saying? Who was calling at the same time? That was probably spam, he decided, so he didn’t answer the second call. He asked the French lady to wait a moment, having no idea she had already hung up, and he opened the door.
A nicely-suited middle-aged white man stood there, flanked by a giant black man. He was Moussa Salimpée, and he was well over seven feet tall, so his head reached above the doorframe. His shoulders were broader than the threshold. His skin was black as coal in a dark room and perfectly smooth and unblemished. Rob could tell that because Moussa wore only the plain black cloth — sort of a fancy loincloth — that lutte wrestlers wore during matches.
What the fuck is going on?!
“Good afternoon,” said the white man. Moussa showed no reaction. Rob’s phone rang again. He glanced at the screen — it was a number he didn’t recognize, and it had too many digits. The white man said, “This is Moussa Salimpée.” He had an odd accent that Rob couldn’t place. Maybe German?
“Uh-huh. Hello,” Rob said. Now he was getting two phone calls from numbers he didn’t recognize, both of them having too many digits.
Are those international calls? Rob furrowed his brow at the white man.
“Did my colleague Agathe call you and explain? Please keep this over your hat,” said the man, whose English was very good though clipped and obviously not quite right — it took Rob a few seconds to realize he meant “under your hat”.
“Uh… hello?” Rob looked at his phone. More phone calls with too many digits were coming in. He had accrued nine voice mails in the last few minutes, and now text messages were coming in too fast for him to see them. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Henri Velafleur,” he said. He handed Rob a business card, which indicated he was with the Belgian delegation to the UN. Then he shook Rob’s hand and walked away, leaving the half-naked Senegalese giant at the doorway.
“Uh…” Rob looked again at his phone. It was going crazy. He had four missed calls and nineteen text messages, at least some of which were in French, and it was buzzing again with another one. The giant African man lowered his head to come into the apartment. He had a confident stride, and he pushed past Rob. His coconut-scented flesh made Rob’s hair stand on end, and his cock twitched in his pants at the sight of the African man’s asscheeks mostly bared by his loincloth. His powerful muscles flexed as though it took all of his strength just to come in.
“Je veux manger,” the African man, Moussa Salimpé, said. His voice was so deep it rattled Rob’s bones. Rob had taken French in high school, but he remembered little, and the constant phone calls were distracting him.
“The UN?” Rob was having trouble processing this. He held the white man’s card in his hand, though the white man had left. Rob shut the door. “You’re with the United Nations?”
Moussa spoke in well-practiced but awkward English. “No. I am Senegalese.” He went into the kitchen then and opened the refrigerator. He found a baggie of lunchmeat and sniffed it. “Is it pork?”
“Uh… no. That’s turkey,” Rob said. He got a text message in some African language, so he showed it to Moussa. “Is that for you?”
Moussa read it as he shoveled turkey into his mouth. “It is a death threat.”
“Aimed at me?!” Rob’s eyes opened wide. “What the fuck-?!”
“No. Me. Do not worry, they don’t know where you live,” said Moussa. “My coach is telling you to tell me about the death threats. He is telling you to be careful, but he will not…” He thought for a long time. “Give me up to the bad muvvuhfugging nigguss, yes?” His eyes twinkled — that was from a recent Hollywood movie that Rob was too confused to recall right now. “They are Monté ven Diaolu men. They are all talk and no hat.” A big proud smile dawned on his face. He made a dismissive hissing sound and waved away from himself. “No worrying to do in paradise.”
“Why are you here?!” Rob asked. It was suddenly dawning on him that he had a muscular giant in his apartment, and he blushed with desire, his dick throbbing in his pants. Rob greatly appreciated the male physique, of which Moussa’s was admirable and copious. He had physique for days. It was just hard to appreciate when Rob’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
What am I supposed to do with him anyway? Where, aside from Senegal, did he come from?
“Did not Agathe explain?”
“Uh… I didn’t quite catch all the details,” Rob said. He was only now piecing together that ‘Agathe’ was the French woman who had called him.
Moussa frowned and put down the now-empty bag of turkey. “C’était bon turkey,” he said. “I have defected. I must remain hidden until the tournament is complete. Your US State Department will come for me next week.”
“Next week? You defected?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know what that means. Defected from what?”
“My country. Senegal,” he said with a French or presumably Senegalese accent. Rob watched lutte wrestling for the men, not the culture. Now he wished he had paid attention during all those informative interstitials during the matches.
“They did tell me that you signed up to help,” he said. He opened the fridge again. “Is this pork?” He held up some leftover pasta with bacon in it.
“Yeah, that has pork,” Rob said. “Ooooooh… I-” He grew annoyed at the phone calls, so he picked it up to answer. “Hello?!”
Somebody spoke in French.
“I don’t know what you’re saying! Stop calling me! Je viens a l’école en bus!” It was the only French Rob could recall. He hung up the phone, slammed it down, then picked it up again and furiously switched it to plane mode.
Finally, he had silence.
Moussa had found a bunch of celery in the refrigerator, and he brought it to the couch in the living room — literally, it was an entire bundle of celery that Rob had bought yesterday and not yet used any of. Moussa broke off one stalk and began munching on it, his giant mouth devouring almost half the stalk at once.
“Je me fais une femme,” Moussa said. His mostly naked body spread out on the couch. His biceps were thick and firm like cords of wood, and his broad shoulders had curves that beckoned to Rob. “Do you know any women who are discrete? Not Muslim.”
“You, uh… want a non-Muslim woman?”
“I must have a woman tonight,” he said with a scowl. Moussa was intensely annoyed that he couldn’t wrestle in this tournament. There’d be too many Senegalese around, some of them no doubt loyal to one of the previous administrations in Senegal. Any of them would be glad to assassinate Moussa, so he wasn’t going to wrestle. He’d wanted to defect after the tournament, but when he contacted the State Department in the US, they’d said they could only ensure his safety if he defected before. That was why he’d put on his loincloth to wrestle in a day-before scrimmage — a sort of a rehearsal to get warmed up and to check the lights and sound. Nobody expected him to scupper before the tournament began.
And now they were searching for him. Only the US government and the United Nations knew where he was (and Rob), so that was who kept calling Rob — every intelligence agency in the West wanted to know what Moussa had to say, as he was a national champion wrestler who knew all the recent coup leaders, military generals and presidential advisors. He’d won a gold medal in the last Olympics and was well-connected in recent governments and well-known in the country.
But Moussa just wanted to get through this part of the defection so he could get back to wrestling. He had a sinking feeling that it would never be safe to wrestle again, at least not in a lutte leage, and that he would always be seen as a traitor by a significant portion of Senegalese people.
For now, he was just eager to find une femme for the night. Back in Senegal, his coach would bring him a girlfriend every night. He would never despoil a Muslim woman, which he thought wouldn’t be difficult in the US. They were not Muslim here, and their women were loose and slutty. Nearly all of them were prostitutes, Moussa had gathered from the movies he watched and the hip hop he listened to.
That was a disgusting way for a civilization to live, he thought, but he was going to take advantage of it while he was here.
“I, uh… don’t really know many women,” Rob said. A little French was beginning to come back to him. “Je ne connais pas les femmes,” he said with a proud grin.
That did not compute to Moussa. How could the small white man not know any women whores? They were on every street corner here. He had passed thirty scantily clad women in the darkly-tinted car that brought him here.
He turned the TV on. It was on the cooking network, so he watched that — Moussa was eager to eat American food and became engrossed in the panoply of meals he saw onscreen, and after a few seconds, Bobby Flay left the screen, replaced by a beautiful white woman who made Moussa’s eyes open wide.
Before he knew it, his hands were on the bulge in his loincloth. He didn’t jack off, he only touched his dick, which throbbed beneath his fingertips. His biceps kept flexing as though he was using his muscles, but he just touched his dick through the fabric of his loincloth.
“Want me to help with that?” Rob asked, blushing.
Moussa nodded without tearing his eyes away from the screen. Rob’s hands rubbed his dick through the loincloth. His seven-foot-five body took up the entire couch, and his legs were splayed out in front of him. One of Rob’s hands reached down those powerful thighs like steel girders, and Rob kissed Moussa on the nipple. His volleyball-sized pec jerked and twitched beneath Rob’s tongue.
Then Rob untied the loincloth, which bared a giant black cock as dark as night. He stroked it with one hand. It was already at full erection, as Moussa leaned back on the couch and put his hands behind his head like he expected to be serviced.
That was exactly what Rob did. He bent over and put Moussa’s cocktip in his mouth, and he worked up tons of spit that ran down his shaft in rivulets. The taste of Moussa’s manhood was savory, bright and sunny, salty with sweat from the wrestling scrimmage he had done before slipping off into the Richmond streets.
Rob throated Moussa’s cock up and down, as Moussa moaned in pleasure. He writhed, finally grabbing Rob by the head and guiding it up and down.
“Hmmm, oui, oui, more plus deep,” Moussa said. He pushed Rob’s head down his shaft. He didn’t let on even when his foot-long cock hit the back of Rob’s throat. Rob choked but stretched his mouth open. His lips writhed, then wrapped around Moussa’s throbbing shaft.
A moist gurgling sound came from Rob’s mouth. He didn’t try to pull off, though his lungs cried out for oxygen. His hand massaged Moussa’s pecs the best he could reach — the giant’s chest was so big that Rob could barely reach his nipples with his head at his crotch.
His other hand cupped and gently massaged Moussa’s heavy, pendulous balls, as he slathered spit along the length of Moussa’s shaft. His veins pulsated on Rob’s tongue.
“Hmmm…” Moussa moaned again. He pulled Rob’s head off his cock and, much to Rob’s surprise, he dragged him to his head and kissed him right on the lips. Moussa tasted his own precum. His tongue rammed into Rob’s mouth, and he wrapped Rob up his giant arms.
“Oh god…” Rob whimpered. His own cock now rubbed on Moussa’s flat belly. He was used to the men he messed with not wanting to touch his cock, so he tried to lift his body off Moussa’s ripped torso. But Moussa had one arm draped over Rob to keep him in place, and that allowed Rob to stay where he was, his dick rubbing against Moussa’s stomach and in the valley between his pecs. Moussa kissed him deeply.
Was he kissing because he liked kissing men? Or because he thought Rob wanted it? Or was he pretending Rob was a woman? Rob wasn’t sure which, but when a burst of pre-orgasmic pleasure overwhelmed him, he ensured his moan sounded feminine. That must have been the right move because Moussa grunted with desire too, a great baritone booming grunt, and one of his sausagey fingers slipped into Rob’s asshole.
“Will you szit on my couawkck?” he asked, breathless, slathering moist kisses on Rob’s cheek. His finger gently slid in and out of Rob’s ass, sending little electric tingling shocks of desire through Rob’s body. The finger was huge, like one of those fat hot dogs. It was longer and thicker than some men’s penises.
Rob nodded. “Please, please, stick it in me.” Rob’s voice was plaintive and begging, as the finger in his ass opened him up. He sucked up all the sweat and his own precum on Moussa’s chest, neck, chin and then again kissed him on the lips. His dick was slick with fluids now, as he continued humping Moussa’s smooth, mountainous body.
“Arrêter-vous-” Moussa stopped and frowning, one arm hugging Rob tightly to him. “Are you a slave?”
“No,” Rob said.
“Good.” Moussa grunted. Unlike many of his compatriots, he believed it was wrong to ram a slave in the butthole. He didn’t understand why any man would allow that, much less desire it like this small white man, but Moussa didn’t let his confusion bother him. Many white men paid for him to “ramrod” them, as the rappers say.
As long as Rob wanted it, Moussa would be glad to plow him open. As far as he was concerned, all that mattered was whose cock went in and whose hole was penetrated.
He lifted Rob with his great big hands and sat Rob onto his cock, which stretched Rob’s tight hole wide open. Rob sucked in his breath and relaxed his ass the best he could. A burst of pain hit him, but it was followed by a long slow-melting, building pleasure that made his whole body relax and tense in time with the thrusts of Moussa’s powerful cock into his ass.
Moussa’s cock slid in and out. Rob sat on his lap, sliding up and down at the same time, a little deeper with each move of his up body on Moussa’s shaft. Moussa’s hands roamed over Rob’s smooth pale chest.
A jolt of ecstasy struck Rob, who tightened his body and stopped moving. He gasped. That must have triggered something in his ass that got Moussa going at the same time, because Moussa cried out and said something in Wolof or perhaps French, Rob couldn’t tell. Moussa’s giant hands gripped Rob by the smoothness of his back, and he caressed Rob’s spine briefly before letting go.
Then Rob resumed shift his weight up and down Moussa’s dickshaft, while Rob’s own cock jabbed up and down. It was rock-hard, leaking precum, but Rob’s ass was too sensitive, spasming with pleasure for him to jack himself off. It felt too good to mvoe his hands in a coordinated way. Pangs of vivid pleasure popped off all over Rob’s body.
But Moussa wrapped one of his giant hands around Rob’s dick, and he stroked it up and down.
Rob orgasmed while emitting a series of pants. He thought Moussa would stop jacking him off, so Rob readied to grab his own cock, but Moussa didn’t slow down at all. He kept stroking Rob’s dick even as a long jet of cum sprayed from his cocktip onto Moussa’s powerful chest.
Then another cumwad reached his chin and lower lip, and still Moussa jacked Rob off, as though he either didn’t notice or didn’t care that Rob was cumming on his chest. That must be an African thing, Rob thought with a chest-rattling moan of exquisite pleasure. Most American men wouldn’t even cornhole him in this position because they didn’t want to see his dick, but Moussa obviously didn’t mind. Rob spurted a vast sheen of creamy white jizz that contrasted with the ebony muscles of Moussa’s chest and dribbled around his pecs to his ribcage. Moussa moaned too — Rob’s orgasm caused his asshole to clench and tighten, so Moussa let out a wild chest-rattling moan. That left his mouth wide open for Rob’s last cumwad to spurt onto his tongue.
That wasn’t deliberate, and Rob gasped, trying to apologize despite his mouth being full of orgasmic moans. He thought Moussa might react violently to a mouthful of jizz.
But much to Rob’s shock, Moussa both laughed and gagged as he spat out cum, as though it was just a silly prank, and he shoved Rob down all the way on his cock, so his wiry pubic hair scratched at Rob’s asscheek. Rob moaned so loud it was almost a scream, thought the sound was overpowered by Moussa’s cavernous groan of orgasmic pleaure.
A huge creamy wad of cum sprayed into Rob’s ass. Since he sat on Moussa’s cock, it all leaked right out and into Moussa’s crotch and onto Rob’s couch. That made a big frothy, sticky mess. It flowed like a river into Moussa’s groin, and it stained Rob’s couch cushions.
“Oh god…”
The scent of jizz filled the air, creamy and thick like a fog cloud. Moussa wrinkled his nose at the funk of it. The smell didn’t bother Rob, whose body was wracked by mind-numbing pleasure, Moussa’s dick still spraying a vast flood of cum up into him. He kneaded the flesh of Moussa’s powerful chest muscles, now coated in Rob’s cum, as Rob’s guts were soaked in Moussa’s endless spray of cum.
It went on for what felt like forever. Rob breathed a sigh of relief when Moussa’s cock fell limp inside him, and he leaned forward to rest his body on the broad muscles of Moussa’s chest, which was still soaked in Rob’s own cum. Rob stayed there, his whole body spasming each time another jolt of pleasure wracked his petite frame. Moussa stayed motionless, stoic and placid, letting Rob finish his orgasm impaled on Moussa’s limpening dick.
When Rob gingerly lifted himself off Moussa’s lap at last, it reawakened the sensitive flesh of both’s men’s bodies. Rob clenched his teeth, sparks of agonizing pleasure erupting from his ass like fireworks. Moussa grunted. He looked sleepy now, and he let out a long, slow yawn.
“You still hungry?” Rob asked.
Moussa nodded.
“Okay. I’ll make you something else to eat,” Rob said. He wiped his ass off with a tissue, then did the same to Moussa’s sensitve shaft. He wondered how many voice mails he was receiving right now. His phone was showing notifications for sure, but Rob turned it over so he didn’t have to see the screen. “Once you’ve eaten, then maybe you’ll want to mess around again.”
Moussa nodded. “Find me a woman,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth like a barrel of bourbon. “Or I’ll do you again.” His nostrils flared, and his shoulder muscles rippled.
Rob laughed inwardly. Did Moussa think Rob was being punished? He didn’t know if that was a threat or a promise, but he was satisfied either way. He smiled at Moussa.

The Professional Wrestler

Avery Flowers is desperate for professional wrestler meat, so when he gets behind the scenes long enough to meet up with the legendary Shane “Mudstomper” Fulton, he’s in for the ride of his life!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Mudstomper was built like a pro linebacker, but he dressed like a bluegrass hillbilly complete with bare feet like dinner plates, overalls with the legs rolled up and a stick of hay between his teeth. His shoulders were corded-muscle, veiny, his skin taut, his jaw square.
His real name was Shane or something, Avery couldn’t remember. He hadn’t known which wrestler he was going to like until he got here. He loved wrestlers.
And as soon as he saw the picture of Mudstomper, Avery knew what he was going to do.
He pretty much ignored the warmup match between Colonel Bling and Wyatt Wyoming. They were both reasonably sexy, but not enough to wet Avery’s whistle (he was going to try to get their autographs later, as they might be worth money if either one blew up in a couple years). Wyatt Wyoming was a cowboy and a good guy, while Colonel Bling was a heel, like an evil black version of the KFC Colonel. The best moment was when Bling pantomimed humping Wyatt’s face, and Colonel Bling’s sweat-glistening muscles set Avery’s heart aflutter.
As a fervent admirer of the male physique, Avery greatly appreciated the wrestlers and their splendid bodies. Wyatt Wyoming was especially perfect. He could be a competitive bodybuilder, for sure.
He was close enough he could see the line between Bling’s dark brown thigh and his slightly paler, fleshier asscheek. His spandex speedo was crawling up so his ass-flesh was partially visible. He could see the cheeks ripple as he picked up Wyatt Wyoming and slammed him on the ring. Avery could see Bling’s hand rubbing against Wyatt’s cock at one point — accidentally, and only for a second, but still, it made Avery laugh.
Or maybe it wasn’t an accident. Avery liked to think it was real.
Before Avery knew it, it was over. He was so focused on the men he didn’t even notice who won the match. Probably Wyatt Wyoming. If the heel won, the crowd would have booed and gone ape. All Avery heard was ordinary cheering.
And there was Mudstomper. He was the good guy in the match, up against a heel named Killer Green, a tall man with a bizarre green-and-translucent catsuit on. Avery didn’t get that choice at all. It might have been a reference to something Avery wasn’t familiar with. Probably something Japanese and on YouTube.
Mudstomper was the clear crowd favorite. He delivered a monologue of some sort — Avery didn’t listen to a word — just yards from where Avery sat, in the front row, so close Avery smelled Mudstomper’s ball-sweat beneath those overalls. He spoke with a rolling, exaggerated drawl.
“And thaaa’sss why, Killuh Green-uh, that uhhz why… I will destroy ya! I’ll ride you to the state prison like a hohse, I sweah on muh sistah’s grave!” Mudstomper roared and pounded on his giant chest, screaming over the frenzied audience. He gestured with the pitchfork he always carried but for some reason never used on the men he was trying to “destroy” (he had a back story involving a dead sister). Avery was entranced by a pearl of sweat sliding down Mudstomper’s bicep and the greasy blond tangle of hair that Avery wanted to dive into.
The actual match went in a blur of arching muscles, heaving biceps and powerful thighs shaking, tight underwear getting ridden up, visible jockstrap lines and asscheeks that thundered like Zeus. Avery’s belly rumbled, and not because he was hungry.
He wasn’t hungry at all. Say what you will about the professional wrestling crowd, but nobody could accuse them of smelling good. Avery appreciated a man with some funk to his meat, but not the fatties and nerds who predominated in the crowd. A man like Mudstomper, his sweat and his unwashed balls and armpits and all that… That, Avery could appreciate.
Anyway, eventually, Mudstomper won, and those meaty biceps shook, sweat dripping off them, as the ref held his hand up. The crowd went wild. Mudstomper cheered with them. So did Avery.
And then it was over.
The lights came up, and the cheering got even louder, and then it turned oddly aggressive.
The arena was bedlam. Fans shouted and threw empty cans of beer at the ring. People poured out and tried to get onstage, but bouncers pushed them back. Avery was jostled this way and that
Avery, however, made it through because he had a backstage pass. He had connections throughout the entertainment industry, so he could get backstage passes to nearly any event. He found the dressing room labelled “Mudstomper” and knocked on it.
“Howdy, come on in!”
Avery entered. That was surprisingly easy.
Shane “Mudstomper” Fulton was in there with a medic, who had just finished stitching up a small cut on his shoulder. His opponent’s tooth had broken his skin during one stunt gone slightly awry. A trickle of blood ran down his bicep. Mudstomper was still dressed in his overalls and nothing else, save the length of straw still between his teeth.
“You ain’t the delivery guy,” Mudstomper said. His drawl rang out like a howl, and his dimples beckoned Avery, who came as close as he could, close enough to smell Mudstomper’s sweat — so much better than the smell of those fans out in the crowd — and feel the body heat of his overworked muscles emanating from him.
“No, I’m Avery. Avery Flowers,” Avery said. “I’m a fan.” He held up his backstage pass. “I think we know someone in common though. Your agent is Tommy Ramogen, right? He also represents my friend Suzanne, she’s in Hollywood right now,” Avery said. “She’s a model. Supermodel, technically.” He smiled — he could see Mudstomper’s eyes open wide — Avery had his hook.
“Well, that’s finuh than a pig in its pen, I reckon,” Mudstomper said, his hillbilly accent now in full force — he wanted to impress Avery with his acting and his devotion, presumably.
“Yeah, she’s doing great,” Avery said. He batted his eyes at Mudstomper as the medic patted him on his momentous bicep.
“Is you an actor too, suh?” Mudstomper asked. He chewed on the length of straw in his mouth. On the table beside him sat a jar filled with unchewed lengths of straw. Avery wondered where he got them.
“Oh, no, no, I just collect celebrity autographs,” Avery said. “Do you mind?” He handed over a piece of paper and a pen.
Mudstomper’s autograph was just an X in a rough block-letter shape, as though he was illiterate and struggled even to write one X. He beamed. “Well, if’n ya friend evuh get any kinda parts in Hollywood, you give her mah email address,” he said. He wrote that on a different piece of paper — his handwriting was blockish and very neat — and slid that to Avery. He flexed his bicep as the medic finished up on his wounded shoulder. The medic headed out of the dressing room. When he saw Avery looking at it, he shrugged and said, “You wanna touch it?”
“Hell yeah!” Avery planted his lips right on it, and Mudstomper laughed a deep, nervous baritone barrel laugh. He undid one of the straps of his overalls, so they sagged and revealed one massive pectoral muscle the size of Avery’s head.
“Lemme j’st send a text so Robert don’t bust in here, interruptin’ us wit’ dat pulled pork. You know about Cajun Charlie’s? That place any good?” Mudstomper picked up his cell phone with his free hand, then awkwardly typed out a text with it while Avery passionately licked, sucked and caressed every inch of his other arm.
“No. Cajun Charlie’s sucks, it tastes like an old shoe. Go to Hoppumslaw on the east side,” Avery said. “They have the best pulled pork.”
“Awright, thankee mightily, suh,” Mudstomper muttered. He texted furiously, then put his phone down. He looked over at Avery who had licked his bulging bicep until it shimmered in the fluorescent light of the dressing room. He reached over and locked the door. “I let ya touch mah arms up, suh, if you send that lady-friend of ya’s some good word about me,” he said. He flexed his other arm, and Avery moved to that one. “Tell ‘er to come see me sometimes.”
Avery said. “Do guys pay you to do that a lot?”
Mudstomper blushed. “Boy-howdy, you don’t even know, suh, you don’t even know!” He laughed and slapped his thighs. “You like biceps?”
“I’m just trying to get bigger,” Avery said. “I thought touching someone big might help.”
“You wanna jack my dick? That might help too.”
“Hell yeah,” Avery said. He undid the other strap to his overalls, and they fell to the ground. Mudstomper wore a fine athletic very-modern jockstrap, which was almost funny to see in contrast to the overalls. Avery sucked on Mudstomper’s pecs, which made him roll his eyes and pick his cell phone back up.
After a few moments of Avery licking his chest, Mudstomper remembered to flex his pecs like a stripper. He just grunted as Avery moaned. Then one of Avery’s hands roamed to that overfull jockstrap and pulled his cock out. Mudstomper twitched and grunted.
Avery said with a giggle, “I love your arms.”
“Mah gu’hlfriend don’t like ’em cuz they hairy,” he said. “They’s as hairy as a hedgehog in a hampuh!” He guffawed. “You likin’ it? You onea dem muscle-men, huh?”
“It’s really big!” Avery said and blushed. He had both hands on Mudstomper’s cock, stroking it back and forth. It throbbed in his grasp.
Mudstomper looked away from his phone. He eyed Avery. “Why’d you say that like you was surprised?”
“I wasn’t surprised, just excited,” Avery said. “I’m not like a total size queen or anything, but I like it.”
“If your lady-friend is into big dicks, tell her I got one,” Mudstomper said.
“Okay,” Avery said. “But you better show me.” He dropped to his knees and put the tip of Mudstomper’s cock in his mouth. The smell of those sweat-soaked overalls, which still lay by Mudstomper’s feet, filled Avery’s nostrils. Yeah, he thought, he could see how those bushy sweat-soaked armpits would be popular.
But Mudstomper’s fat pale cock was even better. It tasted of pure funky manhood, like his muscles had tasted back when Avery first licked them — not tasting of saliva, but of just plain manhood. His cock tasted like that forever, even after it was soaked in spit, it still tasted like the undiluted manhood of Mudstomper’s muscles.
His cell phone chirped, startling Mudstomper, who was just beginning to really enjoy this as his cock perked up in Avery’s mouth. He looked back at his phone and cursed.
“Shithead. He says there’s a line at Hoppumslaw. No fucking shit, jackass. It’s got a line cuz it’s good. If you always pick the place with no line, you’re always picking the least popular, shittiest place. No wonder I always get crappy pulled pork on the road,” he said as he furiously typed out a response, very quickly this time because he could use both hands. “Idiot. He says the line looks dangerous — is Hoppumslaw full of black people?”
“Probably,” Avery said as he slurped his own spit off Mudstomper’s throbbing shaft.
“Then he’s being racist. Just go in, they won’t rob him. Will they?”
Avery shrugged. “Don’t wear expensive sneakers there,” he said. He kept stroking Mudstomper’s shaft and thwacked it over his face.
“Robert don’t got nothing worth a damn ‘cept that I’m his friend, and they can’t steal that,” Mudstomper said. He leaned back to give Avery better access to his cock. “Hey, where do single chicks go in this town?”
“Hmmm… I don’t know where to find girls. The Big Time Bar maybe, I always see hot chicks vomiting in the alley behind there.”
“Big Time Bar? Got it,” he said. He kept typing to his friend, his phone buzzing every few seconds. Mudstomper completely ignored Avery now, like he had forgotten where his dick was. As he moved, his cocktip shifted around in Avery’s mouth. Avery tried to swallow it deeply, but Mudstomper moved around too much.
Gasping for air, Avery smiled and thwacked his dick over his face. “There’s also Lipsweet. That’s a wrestlers bar. Mostly men, but a buncha singlet-chasing females hang out there too.”
He nodded. His dick was fully erect, throbbing and veiny. Avery licked the length of it, then gargled on Mudstomper’s balls. Precum ran down the shaft. His sac was hairy and hot, and his balls hung low and heavy. He clutched those thighs the size of car tires as he slipped between his legs to kiss Mudstomper’s ass.
There was a knock on the door. Mudstomper scowled and went to it, motioning for Avery to continue. He opened it just a crack.
It was a muscular black man whom Avery didn’t recognize, at least not from the tiny portion of his face he could see. When he heard the man’s voice, however, Avery realized it could only be Colonel Bling, having dropped character. He no longer had the stentorian call of a military dictator — that’s what Colonel Bling was, an American army officer cum military coup leader on a fictional Caribbean island — also, he wore a lot of bling.
The real Colonel Bling did too, or maybe he just hadn’t changed out of his costume yet. The bling jingled and clanked on his chest as he poked his head into the dressing room.
“Whatchoo doin’ in there? We goin’ out. I heard there’s usually females at a bar called Lipsweet, but you gotta dress bettuh than that. But you ain’t gonna fit in lookin’ like Huck Finn, and this nigga don’t spend time with a whiteboy dressed like that. Whiteboy gotta dress proper to be seen wit’ me. I gots a rep to protect.” His eyes roamed down Mudstomper’s naked body, only a sliver of which was visible through the door that was open only a crack. Mudstomper’s asscheeks quivered as Avery’s hands roamed between his legs to stroke his dick off. “You naked in there? You got a female already?”
The black wrestler — Colonel Bling — tried to open the door, but Mudstomper was prepared and had the door blocked by his body. The knob smacked him in the six-packed belly. Avery scooted to as close to the wall as he could, to be sure Colonel Bling didn’t see any part of his body or his shadow. Avery kept his head moving up and down that magnificent dick though, and it kept throbbing in his mouth. Mudstomper even pumped his hips slowly back and forth, making love to Avery’s throat, ever so slighttly so Colonel Bling didn’t see what he was doing.
“No. I’m just changing, Jackson. I know about Lipsweet, I know — there’s a singlet-chaser who told me she’d meet me there later,” he said. He had to bite back a moan of pleasure as his cock throbbed in Avery’s grasp. Avery licked his mountainous asscheeks.
“Oh. Hey, lemme in, man, you hear about the new safety thing from corporate? We can’t do the flying shoulder smash anymore. Not without a harness. It’s-“
“No, go away, Jackson,” Mudstomper said, scowling. “Just fuck off, I’ll see you at the bar-“
“You don’t gotta be an asshole, man-“
“I’m goddamn naked, and I’m changing my clothes! I don’t want to talk about the new goddamn safety regulations!” Mudstomper said. Then he saw some fans walking by in the hall. Mudstomper added, “I gots to take the purse I won to fix the family tractuh or the bank gonna take our fahm fo’ sho’!” He smiled at the women walking by. “Hey, howdy, how you doin’?”
The women giggled and all talked at once. For a moment Avery thought he was going to lose his man to a bunch of chicks. But it soon became apparent that they were more interested in Colonel Bling, who walked away with a girl on each arm. Their giggles intensified.
“Damn it,” Mudstomper said wistfully. He let the door shut and locked it again. He turned back around. “He gets all the best chicks. Hey, lemme in that ass, okay? You take it up the ass, right?”
“Hell yeah,” Avery said once again. He blushed. He turned around and pulled his own underwear down, revealing a perfectly pale ass.
“I hate that dude, fuckin’ Colonel Bling. He thinks he’s special cuz the girls love him, he’s like the most popular heel for female fans,” Mudstomper said. He had to get on his knees and scoot forward, cock in hand, to meet Avery’s ass. “But that’s hardly even a big deal, girls always love bad boys. That’s what that publicist said. For a good guy, I do really well among women.”
Before Avery could say anything in response, there was a tight pinch and intense pressure in his ass. He opened his mouth and gasped, biting at the air. He sucked in his breath.
“Sorry, do that hurt, hoss?”
“No — No, it’s fine-” Avery’s voice was tense and wavery. He took a deep breath and relaxed his ass.
“You wanna bite on muh arm? It won’t hurt, it’ll slide in gentle as a calf bein’ borned,” he said, drifting into his stage accent briefly. His own Southern accent was mild, and it was much twangy as drawly — he was from northern Nevada. He placed one of his forearms in front of Avery’s face, while using his other meaty paw to keep Avery’s hips up — Mudstomper was so tall he struggled to keep Avery in alignment with his crotch.
His cock slid in easily once he got past that initial resistance, and Avery gnawed on his ropy-muscled forearm. Mudstomper took a deep breath. He had been extremely reluctant to cornhole a man back when he was younger.
It had been so weird back then that he stopped partway through. His friends had to talk him into doing it again — they didn’t understand guys with big cocks took a lot of effort to get hard; it was easy with a girl, but when you had to concentrate to feel aroused at all, getting all thirteen inches of his meat fully erect was difficult.
But not anymore. He’d done it for money, talent-agent connections and even once, he did it for a free first-class upgrade on a flight to Tampa Bay — he thought it should be a law that companies had to upgrade big men like him first, since there was no way he could fit in a coach seat without virtually sitting on his neighbor’s lap. Over the years he’d lost his inhibitions. Now he could easily pretend he was deep in a woman.
It was funny, he thought as he watched Avery squirm beneath him, how much pleasure he could bring someone without really doing anything much himself. He could tell he had found Avery’s prostate. Avery was out of breath, wriggling, undulating, gasping, incomprehensibly begging.
Then Avery threw his head back and kissed Mudstomper on the neck, which Mudstomper gamely allowed until he became worried Avery would leave a hickey that would be obvious when he picked up chicks at the bar later. He gently redirected Avery to kissing and even nibbling on his forearm, while his lower half plowed in and out of Avery’s tight ass.
“Alright, I’m gonna cum in a minute, how you wanna do it?” Mudstomper said. He stopped moving with his dick all the way inside Avery. “What position you want?”
“Can… Uh… Can you… Lay… on your… back? With me… Sitting… facing you…”
“Reverse cowgirl? No way, your cum will get on my chest. Don’t say you’ll aim it, I know that won’t work,” Mudstomper said. Then he muttered, “Okay, for five hundred dollars, you can cum on my chest. If you stiff me, I swear I’ll beat your ass — no, I’ll have Robert beat your ass, he’s skinny and got a face like a warthog’s pussy, you won’t be turned on at all.”
“Okay, I’ll pay-” Avery said between moans of desire. He was on the verge of orgasm already as Mudstomper dropped backwards, almost like a wrestling move, pulling Avery on top of him so he could get on his back with Avery riding him, all without moving his cock out of Avery’s ass. Avery grimaced as a shock of pre-orgasmic pain hit him, and he rotated around to face Mudstomper’s chest.
Mudstomper covered his own face with his arm so he didn’t have to watch Avery cum on him. He’d seen it before. He tried to think about something else while he listened to Avery moan and felt his delicate little fingers caressing Mudstomper’s chest.
He was glad to feel his own orgasm first. If he felt Avery cum first, he might lose his erection. He groaned and his muscles rippled beneath Avery’s grasp as he pistoned his hips upward — he had to admit, the one nice thing about plowing men was that they really knew how to take it without complaint — no girl ever took his entire foot-long dick in there and let him cum inside her.
His nut sprayed into Avery, who cried out, the sound muffled by Mudstomper’s hand which he clasped over his lips. “Shush!” he snapped, glancing towards the door. He heard male voices passing by the dressing room.
Avery could sense the orgasm washing over Mudstomper’s body in the pulsating of his muscles beneath Avery’s grasp. Then, as the last jet of cum hit Avery’s insides and seeped into him, he leaned forward.
He rubbed his dick over Mudstomper’s flat belly and shaved crotch, which brought him to orgasm with Mudstomper’s dick still pressing on his prostate. Cum sprayed across Mudstomper’s broad chest and belly.
“Aaaaah…” Mudstomper grunted and covered his eyes with both hands. The young-me, he thought, would have been terrified at the thought of letting some random dude cum on his chest. Now he just thought of it as a distasteful but important part of the job. “Okay, clean it off, I ain’t openin’ my eyes till you clean it off…”
Avery was sprawled out over his chest, his limp dick rubbing over Mudstomper’s cum-soaked belly. Most of Mudstomper’s load slipped out of Avery’s ass, soaking his cock and his balls, so Mudstomper’s body was covered from the shoulder to the thigh in cum.
Avery giggled again and sighed. He found a box of tissues and thoroughly got all the cum off Mudstomper’s chest. It had run down in rivulets to his side, which Avery sopped up. Then he kissed each of Mudstomper’s nipples. “Okay, you’re clean.”
Mudstomper sat up. He scowled at Avery. “You better pay up. No check,” he said.
“I’ll have to go to the ATM. Do you wanna come with me?” Avery said. “I’ll make it six hundred if you let me play with it in the car. You drive, so I can use both hands.”
“Deal. I’m not getting hard again though, you can just play with it limp,” Mudstomper said. He stood and put his clothes on. “I’ll tell Robert to meet me with the pulled pork. What a fucking moron. He’s probably still waiting in line.”
Avery wiped his own lips off. “Probably. If he’s white and he looks like a jackass, they’ll keep getting in front of him in line,” he said. He patted Mudstomper on the side before he put a plain white shirt on. “Hey, do you like fat chicks?”
“What?”
As they walked out the door, Avery said, “Cuz I know a fat chick who would gladly let you demolish her, she loves muscular guys. I get to watch though.” He paused. “You can wait to see if you get a hotter chick tonight, you don’t have to say yes right now.”
“Okay,” Mudstomper said. He whistled — that meant he’d be guaranteed to at least get laid tonight. That was good, he always felt better about cornholing a man if he got some pussy out of it too.
Avery led him out the door with a smile on his face as well.

The Pilot

Teddy works for a billionaire on a charter flight, but when it turns out to be just him and the pilot sharing a hotel room and a bed, Teddy is in for the alpha-male pilot service experience of his dreams!

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Read the whole thing here!

Teddy was glad to buckle up when the plane glided to the ground at the airstrip in Bucket Hole. He was ready to move on with the plan. This part was easy. The flight took a long time, since this little old charter plane couldn’t go real fast. Teddy’s ass was sore, his legs were tired and his mind was going crazy for lack of stimulation. He was glad to have arrived in the town of Bucket Hole, which was aptly named, as looked like the kind of run-down-company-town without-a-company where you probably couldn’t find anything worth buying, the kind of town that produces nothing but buckets with holes in them.
Bucket Hole wasn’t much of a town, but it had a small dusty airstrip. It was about thirty miles from an oil field, which was the only reason anyone used the airstrip. That airstrip was the only reason Bucket Hole was still a town. When that oil field dried up eventually, the airstrip would be abandoned, and the town of Bucket Hole would fade away like a forgotten film.
The CEO of Blinkendale Energy was Charlie Walthenham, and it was he who had chartered the flight. Mr. Walthenham had arranged for Teddy to bring gourmet food from his country club — the Rockhard Country Club. Serving that food was essentially the only reason to have a flight attendant on the flight, since Mr. Walthenham could serve his own drinks (he merely drank his scotch neat). So he had hired Teddy from the country club to serve as his flight attendant.
Not a big stretch for Teddy, who used to work as an an actual flight attendant and knew well how to serve that food, because that was what he did at the country club every day. This was the same thing, but it came with a free trip to Wyoming.
It hadn’t become apparent until too late that there was literally no reason to go to Bucket Hole except to strike it rich in oil, and there was no chance of Teddy becoming a roughneck. It wasn’t worth what Mr. Walthenham was paying him.
The plane landed amid a cloud of dust on that airstrip. It was going well, Teddy thought, he looked like a real flight attendant. He even managed to look like he dreaded spending the night in this one-horse town. He emphasized his discomfort with the situation in hopes of inspiring Mr. Walthenham to give him a big tip at the end of the weekend. That might make make this whole thing worth the time.
Usually on these kind of small-plane short charter flights, the pilot didn’t wear the typical pilot’s uniform. Usually the flight attendant didn’t either, but Teddy wanted to look as professional as possible. The pilot seemed to have the same idea. He was tall and a bit of redneck, but only in a tasteful way, a slight twang in his voice, no holler, no trace of a trailer park. He was the kind of redneck people can trust, with broad-shoulders that filled out his uniform nicely. His name was Wyatt Kettenhauer, and he had a gorgeous head of raven hair that made Teddy’s heart skip a beat. He looked young, which Teddy thought might turn Mr. Walthenham off, but he did look solid. He exuded competence, and he was as handsome as a politician.
Wyatt even came out once the plane landed and stood there in the cabin next to Teddy. They both held in their breath, standing at attention as Mr. Walthenham waddled fatly off, yelling at some poor soul on his cell phone. Wyatt made eye contact with Teddy, but both stayed at attention like soldiers.
“You had better get it done, asshole, I’m not waiting another day! I want motherfucking results, or I will come down there to St. Louis and ram my foot so far up your ass you could snort coke off my pinkie toe!” Mr. Walthenham strode out, seemingly not noticing Wyatt or Teddy at all.
They waited until he was good and gone. Since the airstrip was so small, that meant waiting until he left the tarmac entirely.
“Phew! I tell you one thing,” Wyatt said, taking off his cap when they were truly away from Mr. Walthenham. “That man is frightening with a capital F and a capital U. E’ry time I land the plane with him on it, I breathe a sigh of relief, cuz I just know he could have me pistol-whipped for makin’ it a bumpy ride.” His Western twang was peal-y like a mockingbird, his voice a slow rumble like a cowboy, which Teddy soon realized he was, underneath that pilot’s uniform. Or at least he had grown up on a ranch and fancied himself a cowboy, right down to the well-worn cowboy hat when he was back at home. “If you don’t mind me, Teddy, my good man, I’m gonna get find some fine slice of womanhood and see if I can’t plow her furrows.”
“Yes, sir.” Teddy was disappointed in both his desire and his metaphor. Teddy wanted to spend time with Wyatt, whose handsome face and alluring stature got Teddy excited. Teddy was a keen appreciator of a well-formed male physiqye, and Wyatt Kettenhauer was an exemplar of the masculine shape.
Teddy left the plane after tidying up and getting it ready for the return trip. Wyatt the pilot headed into the rinky-dink airport, but Teddy hung behind. He didn’t want it to be obvious he was following Wyatt.
In a tiny airstrip like this one and in a tiny town like Bucket Hole, it should be easy, Teddy thought, to not look like a stalker. There was probably only one motel, only one bar (if that), not that many places a ranch-hand floozy might hang out — that was the kind of woman Teddy thought Wyatt was likely to be after. There was no way to hide in a town like this, and there were hardly going to be multiple women available.
Or maybe the place would be crawling with loose women, given the roughnecks that came through on a regular basis en route to that oil field. They no doubt came out on leave with full balls and cooped-up stiffies. Teddy knew the type. As Teddy moseyed to the hotel though, it looked like there was literally nobody in this podunk little burg.
“How many vacancies have you got?” Teddy asked when he came in the front lobby and approached the desk.
“One,” said the waify, bored-looking clerk. He didn’t look at the computer screen.
“I’ll rent it. Is it a single?”
“Yes, sir,” said the clerk.
Teddy nodded. That was good. He was confident Wyatt hadn’t rented a room first, he most likely went straight out to get laid. Men like Wyatt were like that. He wouldn’t even think about a place to stay tonight until he actually needed it. The clerk handed over the key. He didn’t bother to tell Teddy in which direction the room was. Teddy used to be a hotel clerk, so he mentally deducted one star from his rating for this place.
Not that this was the kind of hotel that cared abouts it rating. There was literally no competition. It was either sleep in the hotel or get eaten by a bear, so the clerk’s hospitality only had to be greater than that of a hungry bear.
The room was drab and dreary. It wasn’t dirty, or at least not actively so, but it was hardly clean either. It was coated in a layer of dinge. But at least it didn’t smell like urine or blood, Teddy thought, which sometimes happened in these tiny motels. Once they get a bad stain, it never goes away, because management won’t spend what it takes. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, and the bathroom was clean, which was what was most important for Teddy. He could deal with the rest.
He settled back to relax and wait for Wyatt to be visible from his vantage point in front of his room, where he could see much of the main street in this town. The clerk inside the lobby kept watching Teddy, trying to figure out his game.
But Teddy just watched the dullness develop as day turned to night, and the moon’s long darkness spread over the landscape. There was the town’s bar too. Teddy couldn’t make out the name on the sign. After a long time trying to decipher it from this far away, Teddy just googled it.
The Clean Pipe. Sounds like a biker bar, he thought. It didn’t even have a proper website though. Just a Facebook page last updated seven months ago.
He soon saw Wyatt coming out of the bar. He staggered out shouting at someone inside, like he had just gotten in a fight and been kicked out — he hadn’t been in there long enough to get drunk though, or at least not real drunk. He sighed and came towards the motel.
Teddy left the hotel room and waited outside as casually as he could muster. He nodded to Wyatt, who had a visible erection in his tight pilot’s uniform slacks. It bulged against the fabric, and Wyatt gave it a squeeze through his clothes as he walked. He must have gotten in trouble with a woman, Teddy thought. Wyatt went to the clerk in the window, ignoring Teddy.
Soon, Wyatt’s deep voice filtered out into the night-time air. “No vacancies! What are you talking about? No one ever comes to this shit-heel of a town! How could you be full?”
Finally, Wyatt came out with an angry snarl. He glared at Teddy, then his snarl brightened into a smile. He walked over to him. “Hey, did you get a room?”
Teddy nodded.
“Can we share? I couldn’t get one. This one-horse town is down to a half-a-horse, and it’s sickly,” Wyatt said. “There was one girl in that bar and she was a prude. She wouldn’t even talk to me!” He threw his hands in the air, then winced because the motion caused pain in his sensitive cock. His erection appeared to have diminished a bit, but there was still a noticeable bulge in his tight pants.
“There’s only one bed, but we can share,” Teddy said with a casual shrug. He sniffed Wyatt’s breath. No alcohol. “Are you drunk?”
He shook his head. “I’m not drinking tonight. Mr. Walthenham seems like the kinda man who might wake me up in the middle of the night cuz he wants to leave early. I gotta be sober as a Monday morning,” he said. He took a deep breath and looked up and down the main drag of Bucket Hole. “Well, I’m gonna go try to get laid. Nothing personal, but if I can, I’m not sleeping with you tonight. Don’t wait up.” Wyatt paused. “You wanna come with me?”
“No thanks, I’ve got a girlfriend,” Teddy said. He scribbled down his room number and passed it to Wyatt. “Come on in. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Wyatt scoffed like he didn’t get why a girlfriend should stop Teddy, but he accepted it. He headed down the street to see where else there might be some females. Teddy suspected he would have poor luck — in a tiny town like Bucket Hole, there were not likely to be many options as far as nightlife went. That bar he got kicked out of has gotta be the entirey of Bucket Hole’s nightlife. Probably there were more prostitutes when the roughnecks had leave.
But Wyatt was a charter pilot, and he saw the perks of that job as including all the fine women he met throughout the world. Ladies loved pilots. He could talk a woman out of her panties in virtually any city. He’d bedded (women who claimed to be) Saudi princesses, billionaires, Bruce Willis’s daughter, porn stars and supermodels.
But Bucket Hole, Montana, was proving to be difficult. There was no one here.
It was barely an hour after they separated when Wyatt knocked on the motel room door. He pushed right in when Teddy opened the door. He still had his cowboy hat on, and he removed it as he entered, then put it right back on. His cheeks were ruddy, and he chewed on his lips as he fumed.
“Goddamn this town sucks! You know it’s a dry town? Apparently liquor stores are illegal, there’s only one liquor license in town and it’s the bar that just kicked me out.”
“That sucks,” Teddy said. “I thought you weren’t drinking?”
“I’m not! It’s just an observation. No wonder there’s no nightlife here! There’s no minibar in this room either, is there?”
“No sir.”
“Well shit… I guess this is officially the most boring town in North America, huh, Teddy?” he said. He sighed. Then he glanced up at Teddy with a guilty grin. “Or maybe we’ll fool around when the lights go out, you know what they say — cowboys can do it in the dark, it don’t count, yee-haw!” He paused to gauge Teddy’s reaction. “And they say that about pilots too when they ain’t in they home time-zone, shit yeah!”
Teddy laughed along with him. He wasn’t sure how joking Wyatt was. Hopefully not at all.
Both of them settled into Teddy’s room, and Teddy was glad to have a chance to see Wyatt like this: casual, shirtless, brushing his teeth, taking a shower, putting on deodorant even just to go to bed, clipping his toenails. Wyatt talked, mostly about women, the whole time, and he badmouthed Mr. Walthenham, who hired him often but never learned his name. He kept calling him “Ryan Kettleman”.
Eventually, the night dragged on, and they put on a movie, some superhero thriller that seemed poorly edited for tv and didn’t entirely make sense to Teddy. He could barely follow it though, because Wyatt kept talking the whole way. Mainly he commented on the women onscreen and compared them to the women he had slept with. His conclusion was that he got hotter women than this movie starred. It annoyed the piss out of Teddy, who hated people who talked during movies. Wyatt was too handsome to be mad at though.
Finally, the movie was over, and Teddy was already half-asleep as he turned the light out. He could tell Wyatt was restless and didn’t want to go to bed just yet.
Wyatt paced for a moment quietly. He hadn’t gone to bed with neither sex nor alcohol, nor even weed, in a long time. He wasn’t an addict, he thought, but it was difficult to convince himself that he could go to bed horny and sober. It just didn’t feel right. Every time a woman appeared in his mind’s eye, his dick rocketed back to full erection, and Wyatt resumed pacing in the dark hotel room.
Eventually, he did lay down next to Teddy. Wyatt was used to a more comfortable bed than this. He rarely slept at home, as he usually was in hotels all around the world — wherever Mr. Walthenham needed to go — or sometimes in the bed of his latest female conquest.
Once he got under the covers just a few inches from Teddy, however, Wyatt realized he could satisfy his sexual urges as well. He genuinely thought of it as “not counting” in a situation like this, in a tiny town and a cramped motel. In pilot school, everybody had said it doesn’t count if you’re at least two time zones away from home. That meant cheating. It was okay to cheat on a wife if she was at least two time zones away.
But, Wyatt thought, it could apply to messing around “on the downlow”, as the black guys say. It would not be Wyatt’s first time. It would be his first time since becoming a pilot, however. Women threw themselves at pilots. So did men like Teddy.
“Hey, man…” Wyatt whispered, finally breaking the silence in the silentious motel room, the only sound being the whirr of the air conditioner. “You wanna jack off with me?” he asked with confidence, like he already knew the answer.
Which was true. He did know the answer. Wyatt had noticed Teddy checking him out all day, and he knew perfectly well Teddy wanted to swing on his dick. Most male flight attendants were that way.
“Hell yeah. I didn’t know you were into that,” Teddy said, hoping to sound coy instead of naive. His hands flitted over underneath the covers to Wyatt’s muscular chest, and Teddy scooted closer, so he could feel the solid warmth emanating from Wyatt’s body.
“I grew up on a ranch.” Wyatt chuckled dryly. “You know, out there you stick your dick wherever you can find a nice tight hole, ya feel me? Sheep run scared ’round my parts. Not that I ever partook, cuz I had females hanging off e’ry inch I got, ya feel me?” He patted Teddy on the head, and he gently pushed his head closer to Wyatt’s crotch.
“Uh-huh.” Teddy sighed and allowed Wyatt to move his head closer, putting up just a little resistance, like a nice woman would, just enough resistance to let Wyatt know this wasn’t an automatic gimme. Teddy kissed Wyatt on the treasure trail of body hair leading from his flat belly to his dick, and as Teddy moved lower and lower. He resisted Wyatt hurrying him down to his groin. Finally Wyatt’s half-hard dick collided with Teddy’s face. Wyatt let out a twanging moan as his dick touched Teddy’s hand. Teddy gripped that thick shaft and gave it a few strokes, then opened his mouth and kissed it, right on the tip.
Wyatt’s whole body buckled. He whispered “Yee-haw” again and laughed, very quietly, even though there was no way anyone could hear but Teddy. He pushed Teddy’s head lower on his dick.
“Yeah, man, put your mouth on it…”
Finally, Teddy did so, allowing his mouth the envelop Wyatt’s rapidly firming up cock. It pulsated like an alien beast, and his muscular chest rippled beneath Teddy’s fingertips. The taste of his dickshaft was clean and sweet, with a musky after-scent. He liked feeling Wyatt’s rock-hard meat exploring his throat, pushing all the way in until Teddy’s nose nuzzled Wyatt’s pubic hair.
Soon he was rock-hard, his cock throbbing on Teddy’s tongue. Wyatt moaned as he guided Teddy up and down, firmly but gently. Teddy’s tongue slathered spit up and down Wyatt’s rock-hard shaft, and the first few drops of salty, sun-bright precum hit Teddy’s tongue.
Much to Teddy’s surprise, Wyatt intended to return the favor — he assumed a macho pilot and boss like Wyatt would never reciprocate. He leaned down and stroked Teddy’s dick with one hand. It was a slow, lazy stroke, but it got Teddy hard, and soon both men leaked precum onto each other. It was almost, but not quite, a sixty-nine because Wyatt didn’t taste Teddy’s dick —where Wyatt came from, men could jack each other off in exchange for whatever or because they lost a bet, but swallowing a nut was too much. Wyatt wouldn’t do that. He could do almost anything else though. Teddy was not gonna complain.
“Hey, man, can I stick ya?” Wyatt asked, his voice soft and low, aimed directly into Teddy’s ear.
“You gotta gimme a reacharound,” Teddy said, gasping for more. He chased Wyatt’s cock with his mouth, but Wyatt kept moving it out of his way, already getting in position to go up Teddy’s ass, even though Teddy hadn’t agreed yet. Wyatt wasn’t used to anyone telling him no.
“Hell yeah, you oughta be a full-time flight attendant, yessuh. Pilots could use someone with a mouth like you. Women stewardesses are teases these days, I tells yah!” Wyatt said with a loud whoop, which he then muffled. “Sorry, that was loud.”
“No one can hear.” Teddy’s voice was huffy and plaintive, as he was desperate to get Wyatt’s manhood inside him.
“I know… This kinda thing is best done on the hush and in the dark, ya feel me?”
“Yeah…”
Wyatt slid behind Teddy and hefted his dick between his cheeks. Teddy’s asshole tingled, then the tip slid in. Teddy bit his lip as pleasure and pain both enveloped him in equal measure. This was happening faster than he thought it would. Despite the lack of any potential audience, Teddy still swallowed back a moan of pleasure, as sensations sparked up and down his body. Wyatt’s cock slammed into his prostate, both men moving as one as pleasure filled both men’s bodies.
The hum of the air conditioner outside the motel room seemed impossibly loud. Teddy couldn’t hear anything but that and Wyatt’s heavy breathing condensing on the back of his head, as Wyatt’s hands explored Teddy’s smooth chest. The intense pressure overwhelmed him, but gradually loosened with every passing second.
“Sssh… it’s okay,” Wyatt said, his low twang echoing in Teddy’s ear like a banjo. His hands roamed over Teddy’s body and then gripped his dick. A jolt of pleasure shout through Teddy. “I’m inside ya now, son…”
Teddy’s whole body tensed as more of Wyatt’s cock slid in, each centimeter sending a new wave of bliss to wrack his tiny frame. He clenched and bit down. Wyatt began slowly stroking him in sync with the gyrations of his hips. His balls slapped against Teddy’s thighs.
He kissed Teddy on the lips, and their tongues interlocked in Teddy’s mouth. Teddy let out a long, slow moan of pleasure. He couldn’t believe how good this felt. It continued for what felt like forever, and Teddy didn’t want it to end. He cried out and gasped. Wyatt moaned over and over, smiling, glad that he had gotten his rocks off after all, even without a girl. Teddy was probably tighter than any of the women in this town anyway.
Wyatt grunted and his body spasmed. Cum sprayed into Teddy’s ass, great gobs of it that filled him and coated his insides. Some of it dripped out and onto the mattress beneath him. A burst of it seeped into Teddy’s flesh, the creamy heat flowing into him like a river.
“Shit, boy… Hell yeah,” Wyatt said. Spasms of pleasure overwhelmed his body. His free hand tightened into claws that dug into Teddy’s body, while his other hand kept stroking Teddy into an impassioned orgasm. Bliss erupted in Teddy’s body, while Wyatt’s climax turned to a low moan that resonated in Teddy’s ear.
Teddy let out a sigh as he shot his own load into Wyatt’s hand. He felt a slow-burning orgasm that only grew as he came and Wyatt’s dick limpened inside him. Then he took it out. He kissed Teddy on the cheek, where his lips lingered as his hands ran up and down Teddy’s body.
The smell of cum filled the air. Wyatt smiled and pounded on his chest. He flexed his biceps too, as though there was a woman here to impress — of course there was only Teddy, and he didn’t even face the right way to see. Teddy sensed the flexing of his powerful muscles behind his back though, and he rubbed his smoothness on Wyatt’s powerful body.
“Shit…” Wyatt said again with a chuckle. “That was right nice, yessuh. I am sure glad I hooked up with you. You’re a good flight attendant.”
“I’m not even really a flight attendant,” Teddy said with a laugh.
Wyatt shrugged and settled back onto the motel bed. Teddy curled up next to him. He liked the solidity of Wyatt’s muscles and the warmth of his body heat as it suffused over him.
“You’re a good pilot,” Teddy said with a giggle. He snuggled up to Wyatt’s body. “Tomorrow, I might be available in the cargo area during the flight home. Maybe you could sneak back there when the plane’s on autopilot.?”
“That ain’t allowed,” Wyatt said with a shrug. “But if you treat me like that again, son, I’ll do whatevuh you want!”

The Smokin’ Sheriff

Rob buys a remote cabin and is visited by the suspicious local sheriff, who demands, expects and receive some ultimate alpha-male service!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob settled back in his new chair. It still felt new, it needed to be broken in, his ass still needed to find its groove in it. But it was fine, and it felt right beneath him. All of his furniture still had that uncomfortably new mystique to it. He felt bad about using it because it all looked so impeccable. It needed some scratches and stains to make this cabin look lived-in.
It was a vacation home out in the woods, in rural North Carolina, in the Appalachian west of the state. Rob had never been here before he bought the cabin, sight unseen. He needed a place to go, to sit and relax, to focus on his novel, and to generally get away from it all. He knew it was a risk, to buy a cabin he’d never seen in a state he’d never been to.
But he was satisfied. The water and power worked, which was the most important thing really — he didn’t want to rough it, he just wanted to relax in the woods. The rest of it could be repaired.
He thought he might fix the cabin up too. He could hire people to expand it, maybe add a second floor. Maybe a garden. He didn’t intend to be here that often, so it’d have to be some easy-to-maintain stuff (he didn’t want to hire a gardener), like maybe some azaleas, that would be nice.
For now though, he just wanted to make it feel like home. He wouldn’t be able to write much as long as it felt like a house he was housesitting for a couple weeks. It needed to feel like a home.
But the chair still felt brand-new. It felt like he was sitting in a showroom chair in a furniture store.
There came a knock at the door. Rob frowned. He didn’t have any neighbors, and he literally knew no one in the area. He’d only been here for a week, after all. Who could be at the door?
He wondered if he was in danger just moments before he opened the front door. Damn it, I should have looked out the window. He didn’t really know how safe this region was. But as far as anyone knew, no one lived here — you had to come into the driveway to even see that his car was here. The cabin had been vacant for years before he bought it.
It’s a cop.
“Oh, uh, hello…” The first thing Rob noticed was that he was a cop. The second thing he noticed was that he was intensely handsome. He wore a brown sheriff’s uniform shirt and brown slacks, which his thick-built body filled out perfectly. He was middle-aged, his face craggy, eyes a bit sunken and dark brown. He wore a wide-brimmed hat but Rob was pretty sure he was balding under that, and he had a jaw-heavy swaggering look to him.
His chest was broad and strapping, the hair visible in how it pressed against his uniform shirt, in the breast pocket of which was one thick cigar. The badge above the cigar gleamed with sunlight that filtered down through the trees above.
“Howdy,” said the sheriff. He tipped his cap to Rob. “I’m Sheriff Torkelson. Reynard Torkelson.” He peered into the house, making a big show of it, like he wanted Rob to notice he was doing it. “Nice cabin.”
“Uh… Thanks. Can I… help you?”
“Is it alright if I come in?” His voice was deep and serious, echoic like his throat was a high-ceilinged vault. This didn’t sound like a friendly call, and Rob was too intimidated to ask why the sheriff wanted to enter. He frowned when Rob didn’t immediately say yes.
Rob knew he should say no. His lawyer friend always said to never invite a cop into your home. But Rob wasn’t being investigated for a crime, right? He didn’t know if that applied right now.
“Sure.” He opened the door for him.
“That’s mighty kind of ya,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He tipped his hat again before entering the house. He didn’t exactly search, but he did look around, peering in every room as he spoke. “We gots a bit of a problem in these parts… girls.”
“Girls? They’re a problem? I-“
“Sorry, not the girls theyselves. We like girls. Girls is right nice indeed,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He opened the door to the bedroom, then looked in the closet, which was empty. He even tapped on a few of the walls and listened to see if there were hollow spaces. “The problem, you see, is that some silly punks think us rednecks don’t mind them usin’ these cabins for they purposes… You feel me? Huh? You pickin’ up what I am puttin’ down?”
After a long pause, Rob said, “No. Not at all. Is something wrong?”
“You a pimp?”
“A pimp? Is that a joke? No, I’m not a pimp,” Rob said.
“Hmm-hmm…. Why’d you buy this cabin?”
“I just wanted a place to relax in, you know… I’m writing a novel, and I want to focus on it.”
“You bought a cabin just to write a novel?”
“I bought a cabin to relax in. The current reason I want to relax is to focus on my novel. But I-“
“What’s ya novel about?”
“A time-traveling orphan who tries to found a modern, democratic society in ancient times, and discovers he accidentally became Romulus and Remus,” Rob said. When the Sheriff looked like he didn’t know what that meant, Rob added, “They’re the mythological founders of Rome. So he discovers that he founded Rome, it was only slightly democratic and only for a couple centuries before it became an empire. So it’s ironic-“
“He became two people?”
“What? Romulus and Remus? That’s two people.”
“Uh, well, yeah, it’s kind of a symbolic thing. He ended up having to make up a cofounder because of politics, he needed someone to offload decisions on. It represents his dual nature, he never intended it to be a founding myth like that. But he came from the Trojan War-“
“Hmmmm…” He peered at Rob. “So you ain’t pimpin’ girls out at this cabin?”
“No! No, officer! No, sir, I mean, sorry, sir. No, sir. No, sheriff.”
“You sure?” He chewed on his lower lip. He got up real close, his rancid breath condensing on Rob’s lips.
“Yes!” Rob said. “I don’t do that! I’m not a pimp! I… I’m from a wealthy family.” He blushed. “Not asking for special treatment, I just… I don’t need money. I wouldn’t pimp out any women, I don’t need the cash and I, you know…” Rob didn’t want to add that he could hire as many high-value escorts as he wanted. “I don’t need women. I’m not even… I don’t even like women. I mean, I don’t — I’m not into sex with women. I’m single.”
The Sheriff glared at him like he didn’t believe him. Rob affected a flamboyant stance with a limp wrist and laughed nervously. The Sheriff forcibly turned Rob around and looked at his ass through his khakis.
“You expect me to believe you come out here to this cabin just to write a goddamn book?”
“I mean… I guess so, yeah, I… It’s not that weird. I own eleven houses, this is just the most remote one,” Rob said. His voice sounded squeaky, his feet frozen to the spot he was in. “I swear, I’m no pimp, I swear. I probably won’t ever have visitors here. I mean, maybe some guys, I like to jerk guys off.” He blushed. “I mean, not like, in a weird way. Just, you know… Sorry, I’m… I like, you know… I don’t hang out with women. Well, sometimes, I have female friends. But not in North Carolina.”
The Sheriff licked his lips again. His eyes roamed up and down Rob’s body. Was he checking him out? Planning on hitting him? Rob had no idea. He couldn’t make eye contact with Sheriff Torkelson’s deep, foreboding eyes.
“Why you so scared if you ain’t doin’ somethin’ you ain’t supposed to? Huh?” He touched Rob on the cheek with one callused finger.
“You’re just… really intimidating,” Rob said with a nervous laugh. Then he added, “And handsome.”
For the first time, Sheriff Torkelson looked confused. He dropped his hand. “What?”
Rob looked down at his feet. “I… I just really want to jerk you off while you smoke that cigar. You can ram me up the ass too.” He laughed hysterically. “Sorry, sorry, I know, you, uh… You got a great body.” Rob was so scared he closed his eyes and sat down on the brand-new couch. “I swear, I couldn’t pimp out any females, I don’t even know how that works — vaginas are weird!Sorry, I-” Rob gasped when he looked up.
Sheriff Torkelson had unzipped his slacks and let a fat cock flop out through the fly. He stood there like he hadn’t noticed his dick was out, as he got out the cigar. He clipped it with a cigar cutter, then he put it in his mouth and began puffing on it even before he lit the cigar with a zippo. “Hmm-hmmm…”
“Oh, uh… You…” Rob wasn’t sure what he should do. He obviously wanted to get on his knees and start worshipping Sheriff Torkelson’s manhood. That was what Rob’s instincts told him to do, and if he was more comfortable with his surroundings, that’s what he would have done. Back at the mansion in California, that’s what he would do.
That massive cock hung so thick and meaty, inviting, a bit glistening with sweat from being cooped up in his uniform slacks. Rob gulped. Could it be a trap? Maybe Sheriff Torkelson would wait for him to do it, then charge him with assaulting an officer or ruining the dignity of a Southerner, something like that.
“So you said before you wasn’t gonna have no visitors?” His cock jiggled. Smoke bloomed from his mouth as he took his first full puff on the now-lit cigar.
The bitter scent of tobacco filled the cabin. It was probably soaking into the upholstery and the curtains. Rob didn’t mind. He would have objected in any other of his houses, but not here, both because Torkelson was too intimidating to object to anything he did and because a rustic cabin like this ought to have a smell to it. Maybe it would seem more like a home. As it is, it only smelled of air freshener and dust. Tobacco might improve it.
“Well, I dunno, I guess, I might, maybe, I hadn’t really planned on not doing it. But I wasn’t going to make any friends around here. I did want to renovate the place.” He paused. “So there’d be, you know, workmen around-“
“See, you could pimp out some girl to ’em. That’d be a handy excuse to bring men over here, to let ’em see ya merchandise.”
“Oh, but, I won’t! I don’t have any girls! I don’t like girls! I never have! They talk too much! And boobs are, uh… I don’t… I’m not into boobs. Tits. Breasts.” All words for mammary tissue felt wrong coming out of Rob’s mouth in this moment.
Sheriff Torkelson rolled his eyes and sighed. Then, like he was speaking to a child, he said, “So what’re you waiting for?” He leaned forward, which made his fat cock jiggle and angle towards Rob.
“Waiting for what?!” Rob squealed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from that long dick, dangling between Torkelson’s legs.
“To jerk me off.”
“I didn’t know you wanted me to!” Rob tried to bite back a sob. A few tears did leak out, but he couldn’t even decide if they were tears of joy and desire or fear and terror (or just plain irritation from the cigar smoke). He gulped. “Oh! You want me to!” Rob looked up and made eye contact with Torkelson for the first time in awhile. Rob had been entranced by his cock ever since he took it out.
His dick was hard already. Rob got close to it and sunk to his knees as though to beg at or worship Sheriff Torkelson. Then he planted his tongue on the tip, only for Torkelson to immediately take it away. He barely got a taste of the musty manhood reeking of cigar smoke, but it was enough to tantalize Rob.
“Whatchoo doin’, boy?!” Sheriff Torkelson barked, and Rob backed away, squealing. “I ain’t say to put nuttin’ in ya mouf!”
“Oh!” Rob scooted away and plopped back onto his ass on the floor. “Sorry, I-! I didn’t — I wasn’t sure what you meant, I don’t…” He went pale as could be.
Sheriff Torkelson guffawed and got closer to Rob again. He swayed his body from left to right, which made his cock sway too like a cobra waiting to pounce. He straddled Rob and flopped his limp dick over his face. “You can put’cha mouf on it. I was just playin’ witcha, boy.”
“Yeah. Okay. Sure. Cool. Okay.” Heart racing, Rob opened his mouth again, eyeing Sheriff Torkelson suspiciously. His tongue again snaked out, and touched his shaft.
This time Sheriff Torkelson leaned into it. He slid more of his limp, ultra-thick cock into Rob’s mouth, and the taste of his powerful manhood flooded Rob’s senses. Rob straightened his back, letting his tongue slather spit onto that shaft, which was so thick he could barely fit it in his mouth. And it wasn’t even hard yet!
Then Torkelson ashed on Rob’s forehead. He took a deep drag and exhaled it onto Rob’s face. The acrid scent of cigar smoke filled the air, making Rob’s eyes water again. He coughed on Torkelson’s dick, which now tasted bitter and gritty from cigar ash.
Amid silence’s reign over the cabin, Torkelson jutted his hips forward, forcing his dick down Rob’s throat. Rob was finally starting to relax enough he could swallow it without feeling abject terror. That cock was magnificent and salty, deliciously savory on Rob’s tongue, and it filled up his throat as though it had been made for it.
It twitched and slowly firmed up in his throat, as Rob concentrated on taking every inch without gagging. Sheriff Torkelson was relentless — not exactly aggressive, he just kept plowing in deeper, seemingly without paying much attention to his dick. He focused on the cigar, taking deep drags off it and blowing it into Rob’s face. Every time Rob gagged, Sheriff Torkelson chuckled dryly. His face aimed, flat and expressionless, down at Rob’s frenzied gagging and open-mouthed gasping.
Obviously, Rob thought, Torkelson liked the feel of his bottom’s mouth and throat clenching when he gagged. Once he realized that was what Sheriff Torkelson wanted, Rob let himself gag over and over, which in turn made Sheriff Torkelson gasp and moan. Spit ran down his cockshaft and soaked into his pubic hair, even wetting his brown uniform slacks.
Then he gripped Rob’s head and held it in place, using one hand on his forehead, the other on his chin, while he puffed on the cigar between his lips. He pumped his waist to jam his dick down Rob’s gullet, and the unwashed musk of his cock assaulted Rob’s senses, bringing tears to Rob’s eyes.
His hairy ballsac slapped against Rob’s chin. “Ah… yes… That’s nice… That’s real nice,” he said.
Rob gasped for air, his hands clasping Sheriff Torkelon’s powerful thighs under his slacks. Rob chased that cock with his mouth as Torkelson teased him by swaying it left and right, forcing Rob to dart his head back and forth after it. His cocktip dribbled both spit and precum onto the floor. Then he allowed Rob to swallow it to the root again.
This time, it must have felt exceptionally good, because Torkelson sucked in his breath and stood on his toes. He pulled out of Rob’s mouth without warning, inserted his lips into Rob’s mouth — not even kissing him, literally pouting his lips directly in — and then blew a fat cloud of smoke.
Rob hoarsely gagged and Sheriff Torkelson rammed his cock back into Rob’s waiting mouth. He sighed like that was scratching an itch he hadn’t been able to reach.
“Damn…” He grunted and ashed again on Rob’s forehead. He smeared the ash over Rob’s face.
Sheriff Torkelson laughed as Rob choked. He pulled out to let Rob take a breath.
When Rob had recovered enough to speak, he said, “Sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say!” Rob didn’t know what he was apologizing for. “Your dick tastes real good-“
“Hmm-hmm…” He let his erect cock ram over Rob’s face as though looking for a hole to put it in. Precum coated Rob’s cheeks.
Rob was breathless and still scared. He grabbed Torkelson’s cock with both hands, only for Torkelson to slap his hands away.
Wrinkling his nose, Torkelson said, “You ready to get it up the ass?”
“Yes. Oh god, yes!” Rob blushed. “Please cornhole me.” He couldn’t get up because Sheriff Torkelson still straddled his chest. Torkelson’s cock rubbed over Rob’s cheeks and chin. He ashed once more on his forehead.
Sheriff Torkelson frowned like he expected Rob to get up and bend over now, even though that would be difficult until Torkelson got out of his way. He raised one eyebrow at Rob, who realized he was supposed to make it happen anyway.
“How do you wanna do it?” Rob asked. He arduously scooted down, making Sheriff Torkelson’s sweaty balls rub over his face. Rob stuck his tongue out and licked a trail all the way between his legs. Once Rob was out from under him, Torkelson finally dropped his pants and his underwear all the way down.
“However you want, you in charge here,” Sheriff Torkelson said. His voice wavered as Rob caressed each cheek and planted his tongue in his hairy crack. Torkelson leaned forward enough to give Rob easy access to his ass.
Rob didn’t typically give rimjobs, but Sheriff Torkelson had nice big plump asscheeks, especially for an older man, and a lot of beautifully funky hair that Rob wanted to suck clean. He dove between those cheeks and noisily, moistly, slathered spit up and down the crack of his ass.
Eventually Rob laid on his back on the edge of the couch. He lifted his feet up. He liked getting rammed in this position by men because it made them uncomfortable — Rob’s cock and balls were plainly visible, right in front of their faces when they looked down. They couldn’t watch their dick slide into his ass without seeing him jack off at the same time, so there was no way to pretend Rob had a vagina.
That didn’t seem to slow down Torkelson at all though.
“Hmmm… Good boy, I like that, I like it,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He had to bend his knees to get his dick low enough to line up with Rob’s ass. He drilled in with a loud sigh, just the tip at first, and he ashed his cigar — this time right on Rob’s chest. “I liked how you licked my ass a bit there. I didn’t even gotta tell you to do that.”
“You’re welcome, sir, I’d like to do that again one day soon,” Rob said with a plaintive moan, as pressure erupted in his ass. He liked to tease his men, and he figured the promise of a rimjob would bring Sheriff Torkelson back.
He sucked in his breath when Sheriff Torkelson’s cock slid deeper into his ass, nicely greased up with his spit. Rob focused on keeping his head still, so the ash on his forehead wouldn’t spill. That helped distract him from the pain of Torkelson’s magnificent cock ripping him open, and it made him relax his ass so Torkelson could plow into him hard.
Unable to stay perfectly still, Rob writhed but kept his head motionless enough. He felt every trickling particle of ash that slipped down his face or into his scalp. There was a scorching sensation each time Sheriff Torkelson ashed, but it wasn’t enough to burn him.
It just distracted him from the overwhelming pressure in his ass, as that thick cock slammed into him. Rob gripped the meaty, furry chest of Sheriff Torkelson’s old-man body, giggling at the sight of his shocked reaction. Torkelson pounded away, holding Rob in place as though he was inexperienced at ramrodding a man who wanted it.
“Damn… Ya booty do feel like a pussy,” Sheriff Torkelson said with a sigh. He pistoned his hips, forcing his cock all the way in. He smiled for the first time since he had come in, a real smile, not a threatening grin. He stuck one finger in Rob’s mouth and rammed it all the way down, as though to test Rob’s gag reflex.
Rob was overcome by a potent desire. He was only vaguely aware of his own hand jacking himself off. That felt like a dim and distant thing, even as he exploded in cum and pleasure wracked his body. His prostate sent wave after wave of liquid bliss coursing through his veins, yet still, Rob’s focus was on that pile of ash on his forehead.
“Shit…” Torkelson sighed and shot his own wad deep into Rob. He smiled at the sight of the neat stack of ash still there. He liked to see Rob writhing on the cock impaling his ass while keeping his head perfectly still.
“Oh god!” Rob couldn’t stop screaming now. It was a good thing this cabin was far from any neighbors. He threw his head back, and at last that ash slid off, as the most potent orgasm of his life hit him hard.
It wracked his body so intensely it hurt, and Rob moaned loudly. Much to his surprise, Sheriff Torkelson leaned down and kissed him on the lips — Sheriff Torkelson was actually just as surprised, he did it entirely out of instinct, because this was the position he usually fucked his wife in. He would never have kissed a man at all, especially right after that man jerked his cock, but when he did it instinctually, he leaned into it and pretended he had wanted to do it all along.
Both men jizzed at the same time, Rob spraying a fat wad over his face, while Torkelson’s cock jetted cumload after cumload deep into Rob’s body. It was hot and creamy, and Rob felt it seeping through his flesh.
Rob fell limp, and Torkelson let his cock slowly slide out, while Torkelson kept his face right in front of Rob. Rob kissed him again, and their tongues interlocked. Torkelson rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away until his dick was dangling limply between his legs. He puffed on his cigar.
“I kissed you there as a reward for takin’ my dick so damn good,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He grunted. “And for not bein’ a pimp. I’m glad to see that.”
“Uh-huh…” Rob felt like going to sleep. He wanted to go break in that new bed. The mattress had seemed so comfortable in the store, and now he couldn’t wait to sleep on it.
He smiled as Rob closed his eyes, curling up on the couch. “You gonna sleep here?”
“I’ll go to bed later…” Rob murmured softly. “You can let yourself out.”
Torkelson was about to do so. But Rob looked so delicate, his trim body surely going to be cold once he got over his post-orgasmic rush. So Torkelson scooped him into his burly arms and carried him into the bedroom. He deposited him gently on the bed.
For just a moment, Torkelson considered getting in bed with him. He was off-duty — he had stopped by on his way home — so he could text his wife that he was working all night at the jail, and then just stay here. He could mess with the out-of-towner all night.
But no, he thought. Torkelson quietly dressed and left, feeling a pang of regret as the door slammed shut. His wife expected him home, and if he took the long way, when he got there, he’d be ready to fuck the hell out of her.

The Rocker

Avery is at the music store at the mall when he spies a studly hard rock guy in need of some cash. That’s exactly the kind of situation Avery loves helping out with! Can he meet his alpha’s musical needs?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The Tune & String music store at the mall was one of the bigger stores remaining. Nearby was Randall’s Candles, a sad little giftshop, and several vacant storefronts. A KT Toys provided a little vibrancy for about six weeks out of the year, but it was a mausoleum most of the time. The Cinnamon Bun Hut was the most popular attraction at the Pickspring Mall for Avery Flowers, but he was trying not to go there.
The smell was damn alluring though. Last time he came here, he was so desperate for cinnamon buns he ended up making them himself. That was his compromise — no buying thirty thousand calories worth of cinnamon buns. If you want to eat that, you can make it yourself.
But his didn’t smell like the ones at the Cinnamon Bun Hut. They were good, but not that good. Avery was not a baker.
He was not a drummer either, yet Avery was here to buy drumsticks, but there was no one at the counter to check him out. His niece was getting a drum-set for Christmas, and Avery was going to give her the sticks, wrapped, under the tree, so she would open them before she saw the actual drums. Since he didn’t have any kids of his own, he looked forward to seeing that on Christmas Day.
But now there was no one in the music store. It was like a museum of music, full of display cases featuring pianos, saxophones and flutes, alongside rows of shelves of sheet music. There were DVDs too, instructional stuff, and a few odds and ends — even rolling papers and small glass pipes behind the counter.
“Hello? I need to buy drumsticks!”
He heard laughter upstairs, on the little balcony where the pianos sat. Avery craned his head up and could just barely see the clerk. It sounded like an argument up there, a rigorous piano dispute, presumably. The thought made Avery chuckle, imagining who would get into a rigorous piano dispute. He waited politely, but no clerk was forthcoming.
He didn’t want to make a scene, but Avery was ready to get out of there. He wasn’t gonna spend all day waiting to buy drumsticks.
So he went up the stairs. Avery had something else he planned on doing today — going to the other side of town, to this trashy nightclub in the ghetto, where a DJ had promised to let Avery jerk him off for money to buy recording gear. But first, he needed to buy these goddamn drumsticks.
And nobody was here! Avery had been daydreaming and didn’t notice he’d been standing at the counter for what felt like an hour. It was maybe ten minutes. Did nobody work here? He looked around the store. There was no bell to ding to get an employee’s attention.
“Hello? I need to buy drumsticks. Hello?” Avery ascended to the second floor of the music shop.
The clerk was a hipster with a goattee, a mustache and a five o’clock shadow. He was handsome though, and he caught Avery’s eye. He was probably a hit with women. His nametag read “Twig Smitten”, which just had to be a performing name.
There was another man there talking to him. He was a hard-edged hard-rock heavy-metal kind of guy, that much was obvious, with a fat mop of greasy black hair and sunken eyes. He was young, or young-ish anyway, but he had the face of a work-hard life on the road, like a handsome hobo in the Old West. He was strong, but his muscles were haphazard, not toned, you could tell he never lifted weights. He simply worked and lived hard and probably drank more beer than ate solid food. He had a powerful, tattooed chest that nearly bulged out of his sleeveless tee shirt (a black shirt with the demonic skull logo of the band Clusterfuck, which Avery suspected was this man’s band).
He was like something out of the 80s too, with that thrash-metal look, but his dirt-colored mustache — and a scruffy beard behind that — was straight out of the 70s. He was well-muscled, with a blue-collar look to his dusky skin and wind-beaten face.
His name was Logan, and he was trying to browbeat the clerk into giving him the employee discount on the guitar. Logan had a deep rumbly voice with a menacing edge to it. “Come on, man, I know you gave Roger the discount. He said it-“
“Man, Logan, it’s not like that. He used to work here. I need to make my commission-“
“Don’t gimme that shit,” Logan said. He took a step back and pointed a finger at the clerk. His face was ruddy, meaty arms flexing, eyes darting back and forth. “I know you’re allowed to do it. Roger said it’s a rule, you gotta make the sale-“
“It’s not a rule! The employee discount is for employees!”
“I know the manager!”
“Mr. Demetrius said to tell you to go fuck yourself if you ever come in here, Logan!” the clerk Twig Smitten said. He pointed to the exit to the mall itself. “So… you know, go fuck yourself. Somewhere that isn’t here.”
“Don’t be a dick, man! I can kick your fucking ass, y’know, you little punk. Come at me then-” Logan took a step towards the clerk. “I need that guitar, I got a damn show tonight! UPS ruint mine! I can’t — it’s not even here, man, come on!”
“I’ll buy it for you,” Avery said. He stepped in front of Logan, who was taken aback. Avery was so close he could smell Logan’s sweat beneath the scent of bleach, which looked to have been speckled on his black boots earlier. Pale spots now spread over the top of Logan’s feet, and some dotted the lower cuffs of his pants too. Logan’s jaw dropped as he tried to gather his wits and shift focus from kicking ass to talking to a stranger.
“What?” he snapped like he was offended by his own confusion.
Avery smiled despite the tension of the situation. He felt much smaller than either of the other two men, though in fact there was little difference between them. Neverthless Logan loomed large over the trio like a moai, and Avery felt tiny before him. Avery patted him on the side, feeling the meaty thickness of his body above his ribcage. That sleeveless shirt he wore reeked of his armpit sweat and his body hair and again of bleach. Avery said, “I’ll buy you the guitar. The whole thing. No employee discount.”
“What?”
Avery smiled. The clerk had backed way off, so Avery lowered his voice, that way only Logan could hear. “I’ll jerk you off. We’ll go in the mall bathroom, and I’ll jerk you off. Okay? I’ll swallow your dick you so good you forget how to play guitar-“
He scoffed. “I…” Logan wiped some of the sweat off his brow. “Shit… uh…”
“I’ll deep-throat you so good…” Avery sucked on his finger. Logan’s eyes opened wide. Avery could sense Logan’s dick twitching, but Logan covered it up by shifting his weight between his feet. He cleared his throat.
“Don’t you want me to like… take a shower or some shit? I just got off work, I got band practice in a bit-
“Don’t you dare shower, I like my men unfiltered,” Avery said. He took Logan by the hand and led him back down the stairs. The gawky clerk was there watching. “We’ll be back to buy that guitar. And drumsticks.”
“Drumsticks? I don’t want drumsticks-“
“Unless you came out of my sister’s vagina, they’re not for you. Let’s go.”
“I ain’t say I’d do it,” Logan said.
“Then you’re on your way out of the store, right?” Avery said. “Either way, this is the route.” He pointed towards the door out of the mall. The bathrooms were by there too.
“Uh…” Logan stopped. “You’ll really buy the whole guitar? You ain’t playin’?”
“I never play about that,” Avery said with a serious look on his face. Then he laughed. “That’s not true, I do play about jacking men off. But I’m not kidding about doing it. I’ll jerk your dick til the cows come home. Or is there a heavy metal equivalent of that? I’ll jerk you off til the heavy metal singer smiles?”
“I ain’t a metal singer. I sing rock. Hard rock. Not metal.” Logan furrowed his brow at Avery. “I don’t cotton to the metal scene. They’s all about the goths. You know about the goths? I don’t do the goths.”
“Hmm… Yeah, I get’cha,” Avery said. “I like rock too, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that — I’m not really a music aficionado.”
“You not scammin’ me, right? You got the cash?”
“I got it. And I’ll even buy you some extra strings, okay?”
Logan sighed. “Okay, but you can’t tell no one, man. I ain’t… He chuckled. “I never got a man to jerk me off when I was sober before. Usually it’s only when I struck out for the night.”
“No shit, really?”
“Uh-huh. I got this buddy, he does it when I’m drunk,” Logan said. Avery sunk to the floor as Logan closed the door. “He thinks I’s too drunk to know he done it, but I know.”
Avery undid Logan’s fly and belt. His mud-splattered jeans fell to the floor, which was good because that muffled the smell of bleach from his boots. He had had to work his community service first thing in the morning — he had mopped the floors at a ranger station in a state park, hence the bleach on his boots — before going to his regular job as a janitor.
“So what’s your band like?”
Logan’s anxiety disappeared — he was at his most confident when he was performing, so thinking about his band made him relax. “Aw, man, we rock hard as shit, man. You goin’ to the Tough One Fun Run? We gonna play at that. Cluster-F. We Clusterfuck, but they only sayin’ Cluster-F on the radio. We got a followin’, man. I got groupies and shit.” He checked that the door to the bathroom was locked, then reached into his pants around his ankles and fished out a pack of smokes. He seemed completely disinterested in Avery pulling his boxers down. His sleeveless black tee was short, so it wasn’t in the way of his cock, which bounced free and jabbed Avery in the face. Logan said, “We’s like, uh, hard rock, y’know, boogie-rock and shit, man. We all used to play AC/DC songs before we was writin’ our own-“
“Awesome, AC/DC’s great,” Avery said. He really had no special love for AC/DC, but he wanted to get on Logan’s good side.
“Yeah. We rock hard, man, swear to God. You know Black Crowes? I met them once, swear to God,” he said. He saw his dick dangling and bit his lip. This got suddenly more real, just before his cock disappeared into Avery’s mouth. His eyes opened wide. “They was arrogant shits, man, fuck them, fuck!” He groaned. “They owe me money too, like a hundred eighty bucks, man, swear to God. Buncha shitheads, and they talk a bunch of shit, they can’t back it up.” Even as he talked like he hadn’t noticed what his dick was doing, he was already pumping his hips back and forth, treating Avery’s mouth like a pussy. His dick wasn’t hard yet. That was good. Logan thought a man shouldn’t get hard too easy if there’s no woman around. Not even any porno.
Avery’s mouth was soft and warm, and it felt good. Logan sighed. He was usually so relaxed when this happened because he was drunk, and it didn’t feel real. This had felt entirely too real right up until it began. It wasn’t a big deal.
Now that it had begun, Logan felt silly being reluctant and slow to get started.
While Logan had been very drunk the first few times he let his friend jerk him off, he’d lately done it whenever he could. It just got easier the older he became, and nowadays, he’d usually whip it out even if he only had a few beers.
It actually felt even better than his buddy’s mouthjobs. His dick firmed up right away, and it throbbed hotly in Avery’s mouth. Avery was surprised that it happened so quick once it got started — Logan had been a bit slow to get into it, because he was talking about his band. But now that his mouth was shut, his dick rocketed to full erection immediately.
“Goddamn…” Logan’s throaty voice grunted.
He probably sounded good as a singer, Avery thought, nice and bluesy, like a non-hipster Tom Waits. He wanted to ask if Logan sang or just played guitar, but his mouth was full, and Logan’s hands gripped his head, making it hard to speak. Avery didn’t want to stop long enough to ask.
He opened his throat as wide as he could, letting Logan’s filthy cock slide in, even as Avery’s throat clenched and fought back. He sputtered, choking around the blue-collar filth that coated his tongue. It was a bit sour and loamy like soil, with a fresh, sunny flavor that made Avery wonder if he took his dick out on the job — it sure tasted like the outside. You could tell he worked outdoors all day.
“Shit… You do it better than my buddy,” Logan said, his voice a little wavery, almost giddy. He didn’t add — though he thought it — that Avery did it better than any woman either. He didn’t want to admit that.
Avery looked up to make eye contact with him, but Logan wasn’t looking down at him. Logan kept an eye on the door to be sure no one came in and interrupted them. Someone did try the doorknob, but the lock stopped them, and they walked away.
His arms stretched up, his hands creeping under Logan’s raggedy black tee shirt. Logan didn’t seem to notice. Avery’s hands made it to his nipples, and then his whole body twitched. Logan groaned. He lifted his shirt off and tossed it on the toilet. Moments later, it slipped into the toilet bowl. Logan’s eyes were closed, so he hadn’t noticed that yet, and Avery faced the other way, so he didn’t see it either.
Logan had nice pecs that flexed beneath Avery’s touch. He wasn’t muscular like a bodybuilder, you could tell he didn’t work out at all — his glamour muscles were underdeveloped, it was the real, actual muscles that were built up — and his arms, since he spent hours every night practicing guitar.
His right arm in particular bulged. It was as thick as Avery’s head, and as hard as rock when Avery managed to massage it without pulling off Logan’s dick. When he started to taste precum, however, Avery did pull off, just to give him a rest. He didn’t want Logan to cum too quickly.
“C’mon, man…” Logan’s throaty voice was hot and breathless, almost begging. He tried to whisper out of a general desire for discretion, even though nobody could possibly hear, and his voice was too deep anyway to really be quiet. He kept humping his hips even when his cock popped out of Avery’s mouth. He fucked the air while Avery’s mouth and lips traveled up his body.
He had never shaved his chest, so his belly had a fine trail of brownish blond hair. Avery sucked on his skin, traveling up to the much furrier valley in between his meaty pecs. Avery attacked each nipple, sucking on them both while he gripped Logan’s dick with both hands.
“Shit, man…” Logan couldn’t believe how good it felt.
His dick stayed hard, pulsating, leaking precum into Avery’s fingers. Avery’s tongue snaked over his armpit, to that massive guitar-playing right bicep. Avery wasn’t ordinarily a muscle-queen, but Logan’s arm was delightful. Avery sucked all the sweat and dust off it — since Logan had worn a sleeveless shirt today, his skin was dirty and tasted of asphalt. Avery sucked all the grime off, while Logan furrowed his brow in confusion — he wouldn’t have guessed anybody wanted to lick literal dirt off his arm.
“You wanna ram me?” Avery asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. He dropped his pants, turned around and displayed his ass for Logan — he guessed that Logan was the kind of man who might say no right up until he saw Avery’s tight pale hole.
“Shit…” Logan grunted. A part of his mind said he should refuse, or pretend to refuse in order to get more money. But he was too horny to stop.
So he didn’t refuse. He wanted to get deep in that tight asshole. Even as his mind started coming up with a plan to get more money out of Avery, his cock was ramming itself into his ass.
Before Logan knew it, he was already inside Avery, to the root, and Avery had let out a long low howl. No girl ever let Logan plow her like this. Avery kept his ass high and his head low, nearly on the cold linoleum floor of the bathroom.
“Goddamn, man,” Logan said with a loud roar. He pounded on his chest. He roared like Tarzan and flexed his pecs, and he slapped Avery’s asscheeks until the sound rang out and Avery groaned. You could see the pleasure flowing through his body in his muscles rippling, his body hair becoming matted to his skin with a fresh layer of sweat.
“Holy shit…” Avery said with a panting gasp, the sensations flowing through him so intense he had to wrench the words out of his throat. “If you play guitar as good as you plow, your band is goin’ places…”
“I wish, man…” Logan said. He heard a knock on the door to the bathroom, but it seemed distant and unimportant. He heard the security guard Gerald say something. Logan hated Gerald, who had called the cops on him last month because he thought Logan was homeless — Logan was merely sleeping on a bench near the mall doors. “Fuck off, Gerald!” he shouted towards the door. Then he lowered his head and voice, and spoke to Avery. “We better hurry up. Gerald’s a fucking moron, but he’ll get the key and come in here eventually.”
“Okay,” Avery said, his voice weak and wavery because he was already on the verge of his orgasm. He didn’t much care about getting caught either.
“Gonna put you in a headlock, don’t worry, I won’t hurtcha,” Logan said. He grimaced as he wrapped that massive guitar-playing arm around Avery’s neck. He didn’t know why he wanted to do that so bad, except that he had tried once when fucking a girl and she reacted like he did something terrible. She said his hairy body was kind of gross, she didn’t want to be wrapped up in his sweaty arms like that.
So it was nice for Logan that Avery didn’t seem upset about his hairy body or the musk of his armpits. He wrapped both arms around his face, and Logan even let Avery bite down as they both orgasmed. Avery gnawed on Logan’s rock-hard arm-flesh, while Avery sprayed a massive wad onto the floor of the bathroom.
Logan’s creamy cum flowed into Avery in great thick wads. Logan didn’t shoot a stream like most men, he sprayed in short but massive spurts that kept coming and coming. Each time he did, his whole body twitched again, muscles all tensing and rubbing against Avery’s smooth back.
“Hey! Open the door, sir! You have to let me in! This is mall security! My name is Gerald!”
Logan snorted mid-orgasm — Gerald was so self-important it hurt to hear him. Logan sighed, breath condensing on Avery’s cheek as the last few drops of his cum drained into Avery’s tight asshole.
Another loud knock on the door, which rattled in its frame. Then Gerald swore as he walked away. “Hello?! I’m getting the key!”
Logan scoffed and chuckled. He pulled his dick out, letting his entire load drip out too. He pulled Avery back and aimed his ass down so that entire cumwad would flow out onto the floor. Logan’s moist, crackling voice filled the air. “C’mon, let’s get dressed. Leave a big mess for that tubby security motherfucker.”
The bathroom was hot and humid now, or at least it seemed that way to Avery. It stank too, ina good way from Avery’s perspective. Logan was less enthused. It was the smell of fucking fat chicks at a show, he thought. That ain’t a good smell. It signifies something good, but it is not good. Logan wrinkled his nose.
“Stinks in here, man, fuckin’-A,” Logan said. His dick swayed and jiggled between his legs. Logan looked down at it, in no hurry to tuck it away. He shrugged. “You want some tickets to our next show. Gimme ya phone number, I’ll send you tickets.”
Avery was too tired to think. He just nodded and smiled, his ass aching. He stretched his legs and hurried to pull his pants on, then texted Logan so he could get those tickets. Avery was probably not going to go, he was just being polite. Logan was the singer in a rock band — at a show, he was going to have women to fuck. Avery might as well be invisible. He didn’t really want to listen to Clusterfuck’s music.
But he liked the idea. They must have something on an app, Avery could listen to it to be polite. And it was obvious the real reason Logan wanted Avery’s phone number so he could arrange a meet-up some other time, when he had a hardon and no groupie around to fuck.
It was only then that they both noticed Logan’s shirt in the toilet.
Logan laughed. “Hell yeah, Gerald gonna have to do somethin’ ‘bout that.” He turned around to leave without the shirt. “He gonna get toilet water all over himself! Fuckin’ bitch!” He spat in the direction he imagined Gerald was in, but his spit simply splattered on the wall of the bathroom.
Avery usually cleaned himself off pretty good, but he was in a hurry. Logan didn’t care — Logan tucked his dick away without even wiping all the santorum off it, and he just walked out on bare feet and shirtless. Avery raced to follow him while Logan put his shoes and socks on out in the mall.
Everyone stared at Logan’s bare chest, which was hairy and gleaming with sweat. Avery’s hair was a mess, Logan was shirtless, both their clothes crooked. Logan hopped along as he slid into those bleach-stained boots.
Gerald the security guard was on his way back with the key when they saw him. He scowled at Logan and said, “You can’t be in the mall without a shirt on, man, I’ll call the cops again.”
Logan shrugged. “Fuck you, Gerald.” He went with Avery to the music store.
Avery was a law-abiding person, more or less. So telling a security guard to fuck off and hanging around shirtless in contravention of the rules while cops were on the way was nerve-wracking for him. Logan didn’t seem to care.
The clerk took Avery’s money. He cast a sideways glance at Logan but didn’t complain about the lack of a shirt — it was Avery who actually paid for the guitar, strings and drumsticks, after all, so there was no point in kicking Logan out and causing another argument with him.
“Shit, fuck yeah,” Logan said when Avery handed him the guitar. “Gonna sound good tonight.”
Avery smiled and blushed as he followed Logan out. “What was your band’s name again?”
“Clusterfuck. All one word. Look us up, we’s on YouTube and Google and Spotify,” he said. Then he added, more shamefacedly, “And join the Facebook group. That’s good for us, for real.”
“I definitely will.”

The Groomsmen

Avery meets a trio of hunky groomsmen at a Jewish wedding, and when he offers to pay for their party at a strip club, they agree to let him take a taste of their alpha male meat! Can this wedding crasher service all three groomsmen?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

When Avery first crashed the wedding at Temple Mann Asaf, he had no intention of doing anything more than eating some free shrimp and getting drunk off an open bar. But it turned out to be a dry wedding — apparently the bride had a nasty history of alcoholism — and there weren’t even any shrimp because this was a Jewish wedding. The disappointments just kept on coming.
The groom was a college frat bro-turned-car salesman with a square jaw like a Roman nobleman, dark hair and a body that could barely be contained by his tuxedo. Avery was a keen appreciator of the male form, and Samuel Feinman had a fantastic one. So did the groomsmen. Avery enjoyed a man who could rock a tux and yarmulke.
Nobody had to tell Avery that the groomsmen were the groom’s frat brothers and probably his teammates too, most likely teammates in some silly frat bro sport like quidditch or ultimate frisbee. They looked and acted like frat boys. They laughed loudly and carried on throughout the reception, they ate like pigs, argued incessantly and called each other “bro” over and over. They were disgusting, rude and exuded masculinity, and Avery couldn’t look away.
Avery still wasn’t sure what to do or how to get close to them without revealing that he was a wedding crasher. But he lightbulbed up when he went to the bathroom — the main men’s room was full, but he found a different one at the end of the back hall — and saw one of the groomsmen there, having just finished up his piss.
“Hey,” Avery said. “You’re the best man, right?”
“Yeah, bro,” he said. He nodded back at Avery. “I’m Charlie Chodorow. Chuckles to my friends.”
“Well, Chuckles… Are you taking the guys out to a strip club later?”
“What?”
“Is that not a tradition around here? Where I’m from, the best man has to take the groomsmen to a strip club after the reception. The groom goes on the honeymoon, and the groomsmen get blowjobs from cokeheads, or whatever,” Avery said with a casual grin.
“Oh, no, Jews don’t do that. We’re not a cool enough religion to get blowjobs from strippers.”
“You sure? It’s a baller move.”
“Bro, I don’t got enough money for that. I could barely afford to go to the strip club by myself,” he said. He chuckled and blushed a little. “I’m not the rich kind of Jew. I’m a poor mofo, bro.”
“I could pay.”
“What? You’d pay? Who are you anyway?”
“My name is Avery. I’m a friend of Samuel’s from way back. I’d want something in return, of course…” Avery said. “I’d like to jack off you and your groomsmen buddies. What do you think? I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”
“Hell yeah.” He paused like he hadn’t meant to agree so readily. “I mean… Whatever, maybe. Like six hundred dollars-“
“Nope, five hundred.”
“Man! Come on, I…”
“You agreed to five hundred, sorry. Learn to negotiate,” Avery said. “You really are bad at being Jewish.” He dropped to his knees and massaged Chuckles’s cock through his slacks.
Chuckles blushed hard and rolled his eyes. “I know,” he said. His cheeks turned pinkish like a baby’s butt.
“You ever let a man jack you off before?”
He sighed. “Not sober. Not deliberately. My bros tricked me once…” He winced as Avery unzipped his slacks and pulled his long, floppy dick out through the fly. Chuckles blushed intensely. “Damn, bro, you are like a vacuum cleaner for cock.” His voice broke as his meat disappeared into Avery’s mouth.
Almost immediately it stiffened and stuck up straight in Avery’s mouth. He gurgled and moaned, savoring the clean flavor and salty taste of that rock-hard slab of meat. A little spit dripped off Avery’s lips and into the fabric of Chuckles’s slacks.
“Hey. Uh-huh.” Chuckles called one of the other groomsmen. “Hey, you two wanna go to the strip club? I dunno, I guess the Pink Fold. Ew, no way, Lipsweet is nasty! That chick had a c-section scar, bro! And the stripper with the hairy legs!” He laughed so hard his cock spasmed in Avery’s mouth. Chuckles ran his fingers through his hair. “So, uh… I can’t afford it and I know you can’t either. But there’s this guy… Uh… You remember Raython? Yeah. You remember how he made money?” Chuckles groaned and chuckled. “No, not that way. I mean the way that’s legal — or well, less illegal than that. Yeah, that’s it. Shut up, bro. It isn’t like that.”
Avery moved down to Chuckles’s balls. He pulled that entire sac out of Chuckles’s slacks and slurped all the sweat up. He let both balls fill up his mouth and he gurgled on them loudly, making Chuckles grunt, shake and blush as he tried to continue his conversation.
“Yeah. He slurpin’ on my balls right now, yo! I am not fuckin’ with you, bro. You wanna hear?” He put the phone down near his balls. Avery made some especially loud ball-slurping sounds. He heard a masculine voice laughing on the other end.
Chuckles laughed too. “See? Don’t tell me you don’t know what teabagging sounds like. What?” He looked at Avery. “Hey, does the Torah forbid this on Shavuot?”
Avery shrugged. “You’re the Jew.”
“We’ve already established I’m bad at being Jewish, you don’t need to rub it in. Nobody ever told me anything about abstaining from busting a nut on Shavuot.” He spoke back into his phone again. “Look, it’s not a big deal. He’s gonna jack us off, and he’ll pay five hundred bucks. We could have a good time at the Pink Fold for that. At the Pink Fold, five hundred dollars makes us kings. We could buy the damn club and make her shave her legs.” He paused. “Yeah, I volunteered your cock, and Hopper’s too. It’s too late, I already agreed on your behalf. If you back out now, the po-po’s gonna come and make you get you do it. Uh-huh. Okay.” Chuckles looked down at Avery. “Hey, we’re gonna tell Hopper he has to put it in your ass for the five hunnies, okay? You do that, right?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
Chuckles spoke into the phone again. “He said that’s fine. I know, hilarious, bro.” He smiled at Avery. “Just get out here, to the bathroom in the back hall.” He hung up the phone as a bolt of pleasure shot up his spine, making him moan again. He leaned against the wall.
“Hey, we’re gonna…” Chuckles began to speak but his voice trailed off as he lost track of his words. He looked down at his veiny cock throbbing in Avery’s mouth. He cleared his throat. “That tall groomsman is Hopper — not who I was just talking to, he’s Pud — Hopper is the one who’ll stick you in the ass. He, uh… He jumped over this hedge once, that’s where he got the name. Ah shit, fuck…” He closed his eyes and raised his arms to lean on the sink for support. His knees buckled and his tie shook, dangling in front of his barrel chest.
His phone rang. It was so surprising it made Chuckles’s dick twitch. He sighed and looked at the phone. It was Hopper, and he swore.
“What?” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Hopper. Too bad. You wanna go to the strip club right? You always wanna go — I don’t think “leftover money” is a thing, but fine, you can have it. I am getting lap dances though, asshole. Don’t even try — nope! No! No way, Hopper! You are not wasting five hundred dollars buying drinks for strippers, bro!” He paused and bristled. “Man, shut up, I can’t stay hard listenin’ to your voice. He swallows dick good, and he got a nice ass. You’ll like it.” He made a flapping “talking too much” motion with his hand.
Avery’s hands roamed up Chuckles’s body. He loved men in suits, and he loved feeling Chuckles’s muscles beneath the suit fabric. His muscles were tense and tight, both because he was nervous about getting jacked off by a man and because he was excited about busting a nut.
“He’s hotter than that Asian chick. Don’t even give me that, bro, you licked her asshole and she looked like Jackie Chan, but less hot. You said it tasted like those baby ears of corn! Don’t even say that, bro, don’t even- Uh-huh.” Chuckles laughed so hard his face turned red. “C’mon, bro, you’ll smash anything in the ass. That’s why I don’t let you in a room alone with my dog.” He laughed so hard his face turned red. His whole body buckled. He gasped, the intensity of his laughter and the anxiety of his conversation making it hard for him to concentrate on remaining upright and holding the phone.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. Hey, bro! Chuckles!
Chuckles hurriedly got off the phone with Hopper and opened the door a crack. He took great pains to sidle over there to the door slowly so that Avery didn’t have to stop working on his cock. Spit ran down the shaft as Avery slurped up the precum sliding out.
“Hey, Pud,” Chuckles said.
The third groomsman was Asher Idelson, or “Pud” to his Zeta Tau Sigma friends. He tried to come into the bathroom, but Chuckles held the door open just a crack. Chuckles’s muscles strained beneath his suit.
“Wait up, out there,” Chuckles said, breathless, distracted as his veins throbbed in Avery’s mouth. He grunted. “I’m gonna nut in a minute.”
“So we can’t see it? I wanna see this dude-“
“Why? He’s just a dude. There’s nothing to look at.”
“I wanna see the money. He could cheat us.”
“You’re too stupid to count it anyway, what do you know?” Chuckles said with a grin. His cock throbbed mightily, and precum flowed down Avery’s throat. Avery was surprised that Chuckles hadn’t cum yet — he had felt like he was on the verge right before the knock on the door. The distraction, Avery thought, seemed to inhibit him. That was fine with Avery, who would have gladly jacked him off all night long.
“Bro, what’s up? Why don’t you want me in there?”
“We’re taking turns,” Chuckles said.
“What? I’m not gonna push in before you’re done, bro, just lemme in.”
“Why you wanna watch me so bad? Huh? You tryin’ to sneak a peek at my cock, bro?” Chuckles’s voice seemed plaintive, almost like he was about to cry. It was enough to make Avery look up at him.
But it wasn’t that — it was an orgasm. Chuckles nutted as he continued to argue with Pud, who pushed on the door and grabbed for Chuckles’s muscled shoulder through the doorway. Chuckles’s whole body shook and he grunted.
“Ew, bro! Are you blowin’ your wad right now?! Holy shit, bro!” Pud screamed on the other side of the door. His hands were on Chuckles’s shoulder, so Pud must have been able to sense the orgasm in the rippling of Chuckles’s muscles. “He’s all down your zakhrut, dude.”
Chuckles’s face turned bright red — that was normal for him when he orgasmed, not a function of his embarrassment — and he bucked. He grabbed Avery’s head and rammed his dick all the way down Avery’s throat.
He groaned as he sprayed his massive wad down Avery’s gullet. It was hot and thick and creamy, and it tasted so salty it made Avery moan. He guzzled down every drop, even as he choked and sputtered on Chuckles’s massive cock.
“Aw, fuck, bro…”
With both of Chuckles’s hands on Avery’s head, he was no longer keeping the door shut. Pud came charging in — he pushed his way through as though he thought he’d have to shove Chuckles out of the way. He nearly fell over when there was no barrier.
Chuckles sighed. “Damn…”
“Oh shit, bro! You seriously just nutted! Holy shit, bro!” Pud said. He was tall and short-haired, with an angular nose and a lean, lanky body. He was built like a basketball player, Avery thought, who was getting excited already even before he had finished swallowing Chuckles’s nut.
It was clear Chuckles didn’t want to be seen by his buddy, but he hid his discomfort well now that he didn’t have a choice. He cleared his throat. He pulled his cock out and flopped it over Avery’s face.
“Damn, so I gotta do this too?” Pud asked, concealing his eyes so he didn’t have to see his bro’s cock.
Chuckles chuckled. “Yep. He’s paying for the strip club.”
Pud was quiet for a long time. “We always told Raython that it was-“
“Shut up, bro.”
“I’m just sayin’, you were the worst about that. You called Raython a rentboy cuz that dude was paying his tuition-“
“There’s a big difference in letting a dude pay for one nut and letting one pay your entire tuition,” Chuckles said.
Pud was quiet for a long time. “Not really…” Then he burst into a torrent of ticklish laughter as Avery kissed his cock through the fabric of his black slacks. When he didn’t complain, Avery pulled his dick out and jacked on the tip.
It was just as big as Chuckles’s, maybe bigger — skinny guys usually had big dicks, so Avery wasn’t surprised. Pud grabbed ahold of Avery’s head and guided it up and down on his dick, which twitched and firmed up in Avery’s mouth.
“Okay, lemme outta here…” Chuckles muttered.
Pud slammed the door shut before Chuckles could leave. They both made eye contact and laughed. Chuckles tried to pull Pud away, but Pud fought back.
“Bro, c’mon on!”
“Stay here, bro!”
“Get outta the way!”
“Don’t you wanna watch?”
“No, man! Let go, bro!” Chuckles had been red-faced from his orgasm, but as a fight very nearly broke out yet again, he turned even redder. He clawed at Pud’s suited shoulders, but Pud stood in front of the door, blocking his way. Pud leered as Chuckles scrambled to get out of the bathroom.
His dick throbbed in Avery’s mouth. It was hard and throbbing, longer than Chuckles’s, though not quite as thick. That was fine with Avery, since it made it easier for him to swallow. He giggled as he took in every inch.
“Get off me!”
“Man, quit it!”
They probably would have started actually fighting by now except that Avery was in the way. Chuckles couldn’t get a good punch in — or rather, he might have been able to, but he had an instinctual need to avoid getting anywhere near his Zeta Tau Sigma brother’s cock, so he had to stretch to reach Pud or the door at all. Pud meanwhile just pushed and shoved Chuckles away, too distracted by his dick to do anything else.
“Hey, boys, quit fighting,” Avery said when the jostling got too distracting. “Shut up. I’ll give you both another hundred dollars if you kiss right now.”
“No way!”
“Nope!”
But Avery didn’t care. He assumed they’d say no anyway, he just wanted to distract them from the fight. Pud resumed grabbing ahold of Avery’s head and plowing down his throat.
“You had to think about it, bro,” Pud said.
“No I didn’t, I was just waiting for you to say no first. I thought you were gonna say yes.”
“No way! I-” Pud stopped talking then because his cock twitched in Avery’s throat. He blushed and moaned. His voice broke.
“Ah shit, you’re nutting. You’re nutting.”
“Shut up, bro, I can’t do it if you’re talking. Shut up-“
“I’m taking both hundred bucks!” Chuckles blurted out. Then he pecked Pud right on the lips, laughing so hard his face turned red as Pud sputtered and spat.
It felt like an almost violent, painful orgasm, since it was interrupted by Chuckles’s kiss — which was a pitiful kiss: dry, chaste and lasting about an eighth of a second — and Pud roared in a combination of anger, disgust, shock and arousal. The sounds coming out of both groomsmen filled the air and echoed in the tiny bathroom. Cum sprayed down Avery’s throat, the taste making him moan and groan, begging for more. He choked too, since Pud kept his cock all the way into Avery’s gullet, moaning and red-faced as he spurted his wad.
Finally he was done. He pulled out and watched his spit-dripping cock plop out of Avery’s mouth, with a wide-eyed, horrified stare like he was watching an alien monster give birth. He covered his eyes when it was over.
“Shut up, bro,” Pud said. He blushed, while Chuckles laughed so hard he was doubled over. Pud smirked. Cum dripped over Avery’s face and down his chin. “You kissed a dude, bro. That was so nasty.”
“Boys, boys, boys, relax,” Avery said. He licked off the cum that had collected on his face. “What happened to that third groomsman? Hopper?”
“I’ll call him,” Chuckles said. He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hey. Where are you? In the back hall, remember? What the fuck-? No, that was not a joke, man. You gotta do it. You shoulda seen it, Pud was making out with a man. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”
“He did it!” Pud shouted. “Don’t listen to him, Hopper! It was him!”
“Shut up. No, no that wasn’t nothing. Come on, bro. You gotta come stick it in this dude. Okay. Yeah. See ya.” He hung up. “He said he’d do it.”
“What? Just like that? He was saying hell no a minute ago.”
“He found out Sarah didn’t come to the wedding.”
Pud threw his hands in the air. “That boy is retarded for that girl. She doesn’t like him. She’ll never like him.”
“I know.”
“Did he really think she was gonna throw herself at him because he put on a suit?”
“Which he looks like an idiot in,” Chuckles said. “He sounded pissed.” He looked down at Avery. “Don’t worry ’bout Hopper, okay? He won’t hurt you. He looks ugly as shit, especially when he’s angry, but he won’t hurt you.”
Avery wrinkled his eyebrows. He didn’t think Hopper looked ugly, though he wasn’t surprised to hear someone else say that. Hopper was short and squat, with a rather flat face. He was built like a prison rapist, Avery had thought during the ceremony, and he looked like he never wore a suit. His face had some acne-scarring, which was unfortunate.
All told, he was not ugly. A lot of women would say he was, or that he was at least off-putting and scary. But Avery didn’t mind a man with a little roughness around the edges, as long as he could still rock a suit. Hopper looked like he was one of those guys who went straight from acne-ridden-teenager to hulking-brutish-man without a charming-handsome-college-boy phase.
Hopper virtually ripped the door off its hinges when he stormed in. He scowled and glowered at his friends in the ill-fitting suit — he was the only one of the three who appeared to not know how to wear a suit. Hopper did not look at Avery at all, as though he hadn’t even noticed him.
“Nobody told me Gerald was gonna be here,” Hopper said with a growl. “I was about to lay that fucker out.”
The other two both sighed. “Relax, Hopper.”
“Yeah, chill out, he’s different now. He’s just as annoying, but in a different way, and he’s less punchable.”
“Just cornhole this dude and we can go to the strip club.”
“I’m getting laid,” Hopper said with a growl. “If we go to the strip club, I am getting some pussy.”
“Bro, that’ll take the entire five hundred dollars-“
“Seven hundred,” Avery said. He dove his face into Hopper’s crotch and inhaled deeply of his musky scent. He smelled unclean. He unzipped his slacks and pulled his dick out. Hopper remained so angry he barely seemed to notice — though he did stop pacing, so he must have been aware.
“Yeah, seven hundred.”
“What? I thought it was five,” Hopper said, absent-minded now that he saw his cock disappearing into Avery’s throat.
“He paid us a hundred bucks each to kiss,” Chuckles said.
“I ain’t kiss him,” Pud added. “Chuckles kissed me. It was gross.”
“I didn’t even use tongue- Damn, Hopper,” Chuckles said. Hopper’s dick was hard already, and as soon as it was, he reached over to Avery’s ass to smack it. He bared Avery’s cheeks and got ready to plow into him. Chuckles chuckled nervously. “You are quick, Hopper. You goin’ straight for the ass, huh?”
“That’s what I’m getting paid for, right?” Hopper said with a growl. “Hold on, so you’re paying two hundred dollars for a kiss?”
“No!” Avery cried out. His voice broke as Hopper’s dick rammed unceremoniously into him — that was another reason he must have trouble with the women, Avery thought, he was crude and graceless like a caveman. He had gone straight to anal without even making eye contact with Avery. Avery loved it, but women didn’t. Avery submitted to Hopper’s powerful pounding and forced himself to concentrate to say anything at all. “Uh… That was just a one-time thing. I’m not paying again for a dry little peck on the lips.”
As he slid his cock into Avery’s ass, Hopper snorted. He grabbed Chuckles by the chin and planted his lips right on Chuckles’s. This time, he kissed hard, almost violently, and he slammed his tongue into Chuckles’s mouth. It was not exactly a passionate kiss, but it was much more intense than the earlier one. Pud clapped and laughed.
Hopper pulled away. He smacked one of Avery’s asscheeks. “Pay up, weirdo.”
“Okay, fine,” Avery said breathlessly, his ass stretching to accommodate Hopper’s massive meat. “That was hot.”
Chuckles coughed and blushed, wiping Hopper’s spit off his face. He took a few steps away to be sure he wasn’t within Hopper’s range if he did the same thing again. Chuckles leaned against the wall as though too shocked to support himself. His muscles rippled beneath his suit.
Hopper snorted and sniffled like a rampaging bull as it trampled a bullfighter. The room filled with the smell of his sweat, which made Avery’s dick throb in his fingers. Hopper removed his suit jacket and tossed it on the grimy bathroom floor. That revealed his sweat-soaked armpits, which in turn made Chuckles and Pud laugh.
“Damn, Hopper, calm down.”
“You’re sweatin’ like a fat girl, bro,” Pud said.
“You promised you’d use deodorant from now on-“
“I don’t live with you anymore.”
“That was a long-term agreement. It was not specific to being roommates,” Pud said with a groan.
“You two set this up, huh? I’m just doin’ what you said. I am fucking that blonde chick tonight, and you two are paying for it,” Hopper said with a snarl. He smacked Avery’s ass. “This is how you wanted to pay for it, don’t get pissy at me about it.”
Pud and Chuckles exchanged nervous glances. But they just shrugged and agreed. Avery had a feeling that, when they got to the strip club, they would refuse to pay for Hopper’s prostitute. Avery also felt sorry for Hopper, who would surely be unable to land a stripper (or most any woman) without paying for her.
But Avery didn’t mind Hopper being crude and mean to him. He loved it. He enjoyed the feeling of Hopper slamming into his asscheeks, his brutish cock tearing Avery up inside. Every time his prostate twitched, Avery moaned and squirmed on the floor.
Finally he shot his own load onto the ground. None of the groomsmen seemed to notice. Chuckles and Pud watched with baited breath — Avery got the impression that they both wanted to leave but felt an obligation to stay and protect Avery in case Hopper got violent — and shared knowing glances. Avery moaned so loud it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and made Chuckles giggle like a blushing schoolboy.
At last Hopper was done. He grabbed Avery by the throat, not squeezing him but lifting his head up forcefully. A massive wad of cum sprayed into Avery’s ass, coating his insides and making him moan blissfully. He had never felt anything quite so potent, as though he could taste every inch of Hopper’s macho muscles and feel every inch of his body stimulating Avery’s prostate.
A big, thick wad sloshed around inside Avery, getting bigger with every thrust of Hopper’s cock. He slammed his dick in over and over and made a loud, meaty slapping sound each time his balls slapped against Avery’s ass.
“Damn…”
Pud laughed, his face turned red. “That was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. I’m gonna have nightmares.”
“Yeah, that was terrible,” Chuckles said. “I thought it was bad watching your nasty-ass fuck a fat chick.”
Hopper growled and mumbled. “I don’t fuck fat chicks.”
The other two laughed knowingly, but they didn’t seem to want to anger Hopper by contradicting him. They just shrugged.
Hopper took a deep breath and shook his body like a dog drying off after a rainstorm. The movement reawakened the pain and the bliss in Avery’s ass, making him moan once again. That seemed to remind Hopper that he was touching a man. He pushed Avery away and jumped to his feet.
“Damn,” Hopper said, shaking his head. He groaned as he watched a final few drops of cum leak out of his cocktip.
Avery turned around, grabbed some toilet paper, and wiped Hopper’s dick off. He always loved servicing alpha males, and as far he was concerned, cleaning up his man when he was done was an essential part of the process. Hopper watched, wrinkling his nose like he would rather remain dirty.
“Alright, you feel better, Harold?” Chuckles asked, clasping Hopper on the shoulder.
“You best pay up,” Hopper said to Avery. His nostrils flared. “You owe nine hundred dollars.”
Avery nodded. He had a thousand dollars in his wallet. He had a feeling Hopper was going to take the entire wallet when he saw the money, so Avery took all ten hundred dollar bills out. “Here’s a grand. Have a good time at the strip club, boys.”
“Ah shit, okay!”
“A bonus! You must be good at that, Hopper.”
Hopped sniffled. “We can get that blonde stripper to go out with us-“
“Hopper, no.” They opened the door and walked out, rejoining the reception. They ignored Avery as though they forgot he existed. He was fine with that. He enjoyed watching their plump asses shake in the suit-pants.
“Yeah, we’re not making friends with a stripper, Hopper. You’re never going to get one to fall in love with you. They only like you when you have money. That’s what makes them strippers.”
“You ain’t see how she was looking at me last time, bro,” Hopper said. “She liked me.” That was the last of their words that Avery could hear, though he could tell from the tone of their conversation that Pud and Chuckles were increasingly annoyed with Hopper’s reluctance to believe them. For all his grizzled scruff, Hopper seemed delightfully naive, or maybe simply optimistic.
Avery stayed there in the bathroom, naked and basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. He couldn’t believe his luck. Of all the weddings to crash, he got the one featuring three alpha groomsmen in yarmulkes with a willingness to do whatever it took to make a few dollars.
Avery couldn’t wait to get some more cash out and continue his hunt for men in suits to jack off. He wondered if the groom had any more frat brothers at the wedding.

Thug Punishment

Avery is a personal trainer for the legendary ex-con Thumper White, when Thumper sets up for him an outrageous alpha male punishment scenario like Avery’s been dreaming of!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery thought his new client was going to be a pain in the ass. He was a rough-looking middle-aged black man, a former pro boxer supposedly. He had argued with and fired two personal trainers already. Rumor had it that he had spent the last thirty years in prison.
He introduced himself as Thumper, and he had a big smile on his round face. He was covered in crude tattoos and muscles, with a thick layer of padding. His tats were faded, maybe prison tats. Avery felt small and weak in front of him, and his knees buckled under Thumper’s withering gaze. He had a simmering intensity that made Avery both uncomfortable and warm, a-thrum with desire. Thumper’s broad chest muscles rippled, already dappled with sweat because he had been on the treadmill before Avery arrived.
“You still like what you see?” His pecs bounced.
“Oh, you… uh, yeah, I think you’ve got a lot of potential. We can work on your abs-“
“Nah,” Thumper said.
A long, terse silence filled the air. Avery thought Thumper was going to say something else, but he didn’t. Thumper pointedly waited. He sniffed, then grabbed at his crotch to scratch his balls. His thick cock was briefly outlined by his shorts, and Avery felt his knees grow weak. A burst of unwashed convict musk hit Avery’s nostrils.
Thumper grinned. “Spot me, man.” He got down on the bench press machine.
Avery began counting along with Thumper’s lifts. One. Two. Three. Normally as he counted, Avery would give some helpful advice, tips or encouragement, but Thumper’s shorts still outlined his cock and Avery couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was so big, like a kielbasa, and his shorts were so thin Avery could see the veins of his cockshaft through the fabric.
When he finished the first set, Avery nervously said, “So you don’t want to work on your abs?” Truthfully he just wanted to get between Thumper’s legs to hold his feet down, but most men were ab-focused, so Avery thought Thumper might want to work on that.
Thumper shook his head. “I’m too old to worry about that. Ain’t gonna get six-pack abs anyway. So it don’t matter,” he said. “You got a quiet back room or something?”
“Uh… not really. I mean the locker room is pretty quiet-” Avery stopped himself because he realized Thumper wanted a private spot. Thumper licked his lips and Avery’s knees went weak. Avery blushed. “I mean… There’s a sauna. No one’s probably in there this early in the morning. We could lock it-“
“There ya go,” Thumper said. He gestured towards the back of the gym. “Lead the way, man. As you go that way, practice making a face like this.” He demonstrated an open-mouth face, complete with his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek to simulate a cock.
Avery walked into the steamy sauna, glad to see that no one was in there. He quickly locked the door behind Thumper. “This won’t really give us a lot of privacy. The door’s not supposed to be locked, it’s not safe. If someone on staff sees it-“
“Hush up, boi,” Thumper said. He got real close to Avery, so his broad chest touched Avery’s lean torso. The body heat emanating from Thumper wrapped Avery up, and he backed himself up so his shoulders rubbed against the firmness of Thumper’s body.
“Uh-“
“Say yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You my trainer, right? You work for me? You call me sir.” Thumper’s voice was a low throaty growl that made Avery’s heart flutter.
“Yes, sir.”
“You wanna jerk me off, boi?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get on yo’ knees and do it.”
Avery sunk to his knees. A part of him was still worried he’s get in trouble, but not a big part of him. He desperately wanted Thumper’s cock.
He reached up to pull down Thumper’s shorts, which were soaked with sweat and moisture from the humid air here in the sauna. But Thumper swatted his hand away.
“Nah, boi. Use yo’ teeth,” Thumper said. He smiled cruelly down at Avery, who shuddered.
Avery gripped Thumper’s shorts with his teeth and pulled them down. It was difficult to get enough leverage to do so, but when he did, and he saw Thumper’s stiff cock jump out at him, Avery was more aroused than he had ever been.
He swallowed the tip of Thumper’s dick. He tried to jack him off at the same time, since Thumper’s dick was much too big for Avery to deep-throat him, but Thumper again swatted his hand away. The taste was warm and musty, salty from sweat or maybe precum or maybe that was the unadulterated taste of manhood. Thumper guzzled it down.
“No hands, Avery,” Thumper said. That was the first time Thumper had said his name, and the way he muttered it like he had never said the word before made Avery shudder with anticipation. Thumper spat, his saliva landing right on the base of his dick. “You can go deep, right?”
Avery nodded without taking the cock out of his throat. Precum filled his mouth. Thumper groaned and began bucking his hips, pushing his dick gently down Avery’s throat. It wasn’t violent, it was more of a gentle grinding motion, like Thumper was making love to Avery’s throat.
Thumper said softly, “I been locked up a lot. I got experience turning every hole I see into a pussy. That’s what yo’ throat is to me. A pussy. My pussy. Make some noise, boi.”
Avery tried to hum, but that triggered him to gag. He fought against it, but then Thumper gripped his head and pulled him off his cock. Thumper leaned down, his face suddenly angry and accusatory. Gobs of spit connected Avery’s mouth to Thumper’s shaft, which throbbed, dripping precum onto the floor. His dick was veiny and thick, and it jabbed around on Avery’s face.
Though Thumper’s words hung in the air, Avery was more focused on that cock. It was so big, so thick, so warm and pulsating. Avery chased it with his mouth, but Thumper didn’t let him catch up with it. Instead, he smeared his dicktip over Avery’s face.
“I say to make noise, Avery. Make it loud. You fightin’ against yo’self. Huh? Why you bein’ disobedient?”
“I’m uh, sorry,” Avery said, breathless. Then he added, “Sir.”
“Good. You should be sorry,” Thumper said. He pushed his cock back down Avery’s throat. Avery sputtered loudly, spitting up a torrent of spit that ran down Thumper’s shaft. Thumper smiled.
“Good. Good job, Avery,” he said. “You are doing a very good job right now. I’m gonna give you somethin’ nice, somethin’ I’m sure you are gonna like. Whatchoo think? You want that?”
Avery pulled off, tears welling up in his eyes from excitement and lack of oxygen. “What is it?!”
“Nah. You agree first,” Thumper said.
“I agree!” Avery said without a second thought.
Thumper chuckled. He dragged Avery to his feet and told him to bend over. “Grab yo’ ankles.” When Avery didn’t immediately follow orders, Thumper bent him over. Avery’s ass aimed high, and Thumper spread his cheeks.
This was a position that Avery had never used. It was difficult to keep his balance like this, with his ass in the air and his entire body down near the ground. He held tightly onto his ankles as Thumper pushed his dick in to Avery’s ass. Intense pressure erupted, but also pleasure coursed through his veins. Thumper’s cock awakened every one of Avery’s nerves.
“Take it, bitch! Don’t fight me, don’t try and get away, you stay right there and swallow my dick up wit’ yo’ ass, bitch.”
The awkward position somehow made this even more arousing for him. Avery had to continue concentrating on remaining upright, and he probably would have fallen except that Thumper kept a tight grip on his ass and hips, forcing Avery to remain in position. That meant Avery was at his mercy, as Thumper plowed hard at his ass again and again.
Then one of Thumper’s hands crept around to Avery’s crotch. There wasn’t much space there since Avery was doubled over, but Thumper managed to grip his dick anyway.
“Yeah, whiteboi, take it!”
Avery was shocked. Not many men were willing to give a reacharound. As Thumper’s cock pounded in and out of his ass, Avery writhed, struggling to let Thumper stroke his dick while remaining in the position Thumper demanded.
“Grab yo’ ankles!” Thumper barked every time Avery was unable to stop himself from letting go. Avery gulped and followed orders. He kept stumbling, as Thumper relentlessly slammed his dick in and out of Avery’s ass. He kept barking orders too. “Make some more sounds, whiteboi. But don’t quit holdin’ onto yo’ ankles, you just hold on tight and keep them knees where I put ’em.”
He was so intensely aroused that Avery barely noticed his own impending orgasm until it happened. Then his whole body bucked and he let go of his ankles, while cum flew down from his cock, sprinkling over Thumper’s fingers and Avery’s body.
“Oh, you gettin’ outta position, huh?” Thumper said. He grabbed Avery by the hair and lifted his upper body, so Avery’s back pressed against Thumper’s chest and his face was right next to Thumper’s. Thumper licked his cheeks as he rubbed the cum from his fingers onto Avery’s face. Thumper didn’t even seem to mind that Avery’s cum coated his face, and soon both men’s features were covered in a bright sheen of cum. It was more apparent on Thumper’s face because of his dark brown skin.
“Don’t you dare kiss me, boi,” Thumper said. Despite his words, moments after that, he did kiss Avery, right on the lips. His tongue plunged into Avery’s mouth.
Avery was shocked again, but he was also distracted as the slick, slippery muscles of Thumper’s body all tensed. He groaned directly into Avery’s mouth, and Avery felt the sound rumbling through his powerful chest.
Cum sprayed into Avery’s ass, a huge, thick load that spread to every corner of his insides. Avery moaned loudly, dimly aware that he heard someone trying the door and finding it locked. Cum dripped down his thighs.
Avery didn’t know how long that lasted. It felt like it may well have been forever. He grunted as his muscles went limp and Thumper pulled out of his ass. Avery nearly collapsed all the way to the floor.
When he opened his eyes, Avery’s blood ran cold. Standing above him, with his arms across his chest, was Jerry Whittock, the general manager for the Cornerside Gym. He was the only management employee whom Avery had no chance of convincing to look the other way.
“Avery,” Jerry said. “Put your clothes on and meet me in my office.” His eyes flickered to Thumper, who smiled, seemingly oblivious. Fluids coated his entire body, a mixture of sweat and cum and spit and more. He flexed his muscles. Jerry ignored him, turned around and left.
“Hey, sorry, man,” Thumper said.
But Avery just blushed, nodded and walked out. Oh well, he thought, that was totally worth it.
He continued to think it was worth it all day. Jerry was furious, of course. He said Avery was being unsanitary, that it was a bad image for the Cornerside Gym, that women would never want to join if they thought that was the kind of thing they might walk in on. Avery didn’t point out that him and Thumper were in the men’s sauna. No women would be in there anyway.
Regardless, Jerry didn’t do anything. He gave Avery a written warning, which is statistically indistinguishable from doing nothing. He didn’t even send Avery home, because Avery closed this evening and Jerry didn’t want to have to stay late enough to do it himself.
There was no point in being mad at Thumper for getting him in trouble, but Avery was still irked by that. So when Thumper knocked on the Cornerside Gym front door a few minutes after close one night, Avery wasn’t about to let Thumper in now. He shook his head at Thumper through the glass door.
That was when he saw that Thumper wasn’t alone. There was a half-dozen additional black thugs behind him, each looking angry. Thumper himself had a cruel grin and a determined look on his face. Thumper pulled out his phone, and moments later, Avery’s own cell phone rang.
Did I ever give Thumper my phone number? I don’t think so…
He heard catcalls and threats from the other men with Thumper, their voices barely audible through the door but clearly audible through the phone. They were laughing at him through the doorway, calling him a snitch and a “little bitch”. Avery’s heart started pounding as he wondered whether he should call the police.
“Yo,” Thumper said. He sounded confident and stern, but not menacing. “Avery. I know you got in trouble for what happened. So I was gonna make it up to you, man. I was gonna do somethin’ real nice for you.” He paused and held his hand up so his buddies would fall silent. “But instead you had to be a little snitch… Now don’t worry, since it’s yo’ first-time, this is only a warning. We’s gonna come in there, and we gonna ramrod you in every hole you got, homeboy. That’ll be yo’ warning. If it happens again, well… This’ll happen again, but in prison, and for the rest of your life. Now let us in, homeboy.”
His tone made it obvious what was happening. Avery was excited — Thumper had set this up for him to say thanks. Thumper had sensed that Avery wanted nothing more than to be violently penetrated by a bunch of his thuggish friends. Avery’s hostility vanished. Thumper smiled, his cruel visage vanishing; his friends couldn’t see his face, so Thumper crossed his arms over his chest such that his body language was hostile and menacing, but his face said, let us in, we’ll have a good time.
Avery opened the door. He had to suppress a smile, but luckily the other gangbangers were not really paying much attention. It seemed they expected to see a terrified Avery, so that was what they saw. Avery was legitimately afraid, even if he was also excited.
“How we gonna do this, Thumper?”
“Let’s punish that snitch!”
“Alright, homeboys, we gonna destroy this whiteboi,” Thumper said. He placed one hand on Avery’s shoulder, and squeezed supportively. “But we can’t hurt ‘im too bad. No leavin’ marks, homeboys, or he just gonna squeal all over again.”
Thumper led them all into the locker room, and the shower area. Someone turned on the water, so hot steam filled the air. Thumper pushed Avery to stand next to the shower, with his face in the water stream. That made it hard for Avery to hear as the others all took off their clothes.
Avery didn’t need to pretend to be scared. He was terrified, excited, aroused and trembling all at once.
“Wreck that snitch, Thumper!”
Thumper wasted no time in slamming his dick into Avery’s ass. He hooted and pumped his biceps as he did, and he pulled Avery out of the water. Avery gulped and blinked his eyes open, sliding to his knees along with Thumper.
“Make ‘im squirm!”
“Now, we gonna mess you up, boi…” Thumper muttered, spitting directly into Avery’s ear.
The pain in his ass was intense, but Avery could feel pleasure mounting as well. His whole body throbbed in Thumper’s arms. Thumper slammed his dick in hard, ramming it in and out as the hot shower water pooled beneath their bodies.
“Damn, Thumper, you ruinin’ that ass!”
“Alright, let’s have a snitch party,” Thumper said. “Rupert, come here and make ‘im eat yo’ ass.”
Rupert was a tall thug with dreadlocks and a Jamaican accent. He sneered at Avery, whose heart pounded. It looked like Rupert would have beat Avery up if Thumper weren’t here to stop him, and that thought send a thrill up Avery’s spine.
“Eat mi bum, snitch…” Rupert said, his lilting accent echoing in the shower. He turned around and bent over, long dreadlocks dangling over the side of his body. He spread his asscheeks, which were plump and thick even though his body was lean and lanky.
Avery dived in. He didn’t remember to look unwilling, but it seemed no one noticed. They flogged their limp dicks as they watched and hooted out encouragement.
“Ew, he doin’ it! This snitch is nasty as fuck!”
Avery’s tongue lapped at Rupert’s ass, snatching up every drop of sweat he could find. He stimulated Rupert’s prostate, which sent a shiver of desire up Rupert’s spine. Avery could tell that made Rupert hard even if he was facing the wrong way to see it.
Avery was so involved in the rimjob that he barely noticed Thumper guiding his hands up to other men’s cocks. They all had huge cocks, big enough that Avery wondered if Thumper had chosen them based on cock size. Avery stroked someone off with each of his hands as he licked Rupert’s ass.
Then Rupert turned around without warning. He slammed his dick down Avery’s throat, laughing as Avery gagged. He had an incredibly long cock, and it was already dripping precum from the rimjob.
Avery was so focused on slurping off Rupert that he didn’t realize the cock in his right hand was nearing orgasm, not until whoever it was pushed his cock in next to Rupert’s. He felt its heat pulsating against his lips as both shafts mashed up next to each other.
“Shit, you double-teamin’ that snitchin’ bitch!”
Rupert growled and said something Avery didn’t catch, all the men were being so loud right now he could barely make out any words — but he gathered that Rupert didn’t like touching cocks. Nobody seemed to worried about Rupert’s comfort, however, as cum flowed into Avery’s mouth from both dicks, the one he had been jacking off and Rupert at the same time.
They were trying to bukkake him though, so neither sprayed right down his throat. Instead they burst their loads all over Avery’s face.
“Ugh, damn, homeboy, you got yo’ nut on me!”
“Fuckin’ hell, this is sum nasty-ass shit, Thumper, can’t believe you talked me into this.”
Somebody else took Rupert’s place, Tyrell Brickley. Another big black cock invaded his throat, and Avery slathered spit up and down it. By this time Avery had lost count of how many different dicks had blown their wads on his face. They began taking turns on his mouth, jabbing their dicks in just long enough to get hard and make Avery choke a bit, then pulling their cocks out.
None of them seemed to mind that Avery’s face was covered in cum, so they were touching each other’s nuts with their dicks and sometimes even their fingers.
“Makin’ snitch soup on this bitch’s face! Gonna make him slurp that shit up!”
Meanwhile Thumper remained right behind Avery, with his fat cock in Avery’s ass. Thumper was close enough that Avery thought he must have gotten some cum on his face as well, but Thumper either didn’t notice or didn’t mind.
When a thug nutted, nothing changed — the other men kept slapping their dicks over Avery’s face even as their buddy coated their meat with his seed, and then they used their shafts to smear it around on Avery’s lips.
“I bet you wish you ain’t snitch now, huh?”
The taste of cum was intense, and only grew with every passing moment. Avery had never experienced anything so hot, and so delicious. He desperately wanted to lick his face off, but he didn’t. He let them spray and spray until there was no corner of his face that wasn’t covered in hot cum.
Since they didn’t stop smacking Avery’s face with their dicks even after they came, Avery didn’t notice that they were done until he saw that everyone was limp — everyone except Thumper. He was still in Avery’s ass, slowly grinding like he wanted to save himself for the end.
Then he stood up and pulled his dick out. Intense relief flooded Avery, whose ass had grown numb anyway. He could still feel little spermies covering his face and dripping down his body onto the shower floor.
“Make ‘im nasty, Thumper!”
“Ass to mouth! Ass to mouth!”
Thumper smiled cruelly and smacked his dick over Avery’s face. His throbbing hard dick sopped up a mountain of cum, huge gobs of it sticking to his shaft.
“Damn, Thumper, that is some nasty shit!”
Avery opened his mouth even before Thumper was ready. Thumper’s sweaty balls plopped in first, and Avery sucked every drop of fluid from there. Then he kept his mouth open as Thumper aimed his dick right in to Avery’s throat.
He tasted deeply of cum already, since his dick was coated with it. But Thumper ignored that and rammed his dick all the way in. Avery gagged and the other thugs all cheered. They clasped Thumper on his naked back, so close together that Avery could see their floppy cocks brushing up against each other. Either no one noticed or they didn’t care.
Thumper shot his load moments later, grunting and heaving as his wad flowed right down Avery’s throat. He had a huge dick, heavy balls and thick nut, creamy and hot. It tasted sour and sweet and savory all at once, making Avery so aroused he shot his own load into his hands.
Luckily it seemed none of the thugs around him noticed that Avery was jacking himself off — that would surely have tipped them off that he wasn’t the unwilling snitch they all thought he was. He wondered how often they had treated actual snitches like this.
Thumper pulled off. He spat on Avery’s face. “You learn yo’ lesson, snitch?”
“Yes, sir,” Avery said. He didn’t have to force himself to gag when Thumper withdrew his dick, and he gagged again just at the thought of so much cum still clinging to his face.
Thumper reached down and touched Avery’s cheeks. He wiped his hand over Avery’s face, covering his fingers in cum. That much was apparently more than the other thugs expected, because they all clutched each other and hooted like they had never seen something so incredible.
“Damn, Thumper you are one nasty old nigga!”
His hands were callused and firm. Avery licked them clean, and again he didn’t need to force himself to gag. He sucked up every drop off Thumper’s dirty hand, and then when Thumper turned around, Avery kissed his asshole as ordered.
“Give it a nice sloppy kiss, snitch, and then we leave you alone,” Thumper said.
Avery collapsed into a sweaty mess on the floor. He was spent and exhausted. The other men all interpreted it as fear and self-loathing, and they all wagged their dicks in his direction as they put their clothes back on.
“Twenty minutes, bitch,” Thumper said. “You ain’t allowed to clean up for twenty minutes. You sit there with our nasty on yo’ face and think about being a dirty snitch. You can clean yo’self up after twenty minutes.”
They all walked out, leaving Avery there alone to gather his breath. He didn’t know if Thumper had any way of verifying that Avery waited twenty minutes, but he had no intention of disobeying anyway. Avery loved the bukkake all over his face, and he would have stayed there all night if it hadn’t dried and gotten crusty eventually.
Instead Avery waited until the twenty minutes were up, then took a shower. He was surprised to find Thumper waiting for him out in the main room. Thumper grunted.
“You okay?”
Avery nodded. “Thanks, that was-“
“Shut up. I wanted to make sure you was okay,” he said. “I just might have some more homeboys in the future who wanna punish a snitch. You ready to be that snitch?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Good.”

The Carpenter

Morgan Cartwright is a bitter man with a powerful need… one that the cute little twink Kwan Tung is eager to help out with! Can Morgan land the job?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Morgan pulled into the house on Maple Street, lost in thought about his daughter. She was dating a man whom Morgan hated. He hoped to come up with a way to get her to dump him. Failing that, he could try to intimidate the boyfriend. He’d done that before.
He was a towering, intimidating figure. He used to be outright muscular, and he was still just as strong. But he was past forty now, and he had a scruffy, hair-covered body. His dirty blond hair was in a long tangle behind his head, his arms ropy and strong but not “cut” like he had been when he was just out of high school. Back then he had a six-pack and thought it would never go away. He could eat anything he wanted to and still he had not a trace of fat. But not anymore. He had a daddy-six-pack and a dad-bod and a dad-beard — he was no longer stacked and he never would be. He wore the same ratty jeans nearly every day. He had on a red flannel shirt and a wifebeater underneath that, so he could take off the shirt if it was too hot in the house.
He knew a lot of females were intimidated when he did that. But he never hurt them, and he didn’t care about making them uncomfortable. If they couldn’t handle letting a carpenter in, they shouldn’t stay home alone.
He grunted and lifted up his toolbox. This was just a railing on a deck, that was all he needed to do here. It wouldn’t take long.
He could already sense that this house was going to have a single housewife here, and she was going to act like Morgan got pushy about asking her out even though he didn’t. He didn’t even flirt with women anymore. If this bitch filed a complaint against him…
He was already fuming about it even before he knocked on the front door. Bet she’d be pretty. Cocktease, but pretty as heckfire… Her name was Asian… Hmm-hmm… Pretty Asian lady actin’ too good fer herself…
The door opened, and Morgan’s jaw dropped. He stood there, unmoving and silent, his hand still upraised and ready to knock even though the door had opened.
It was a man, a very slim, feminine man with a flamboyant lilt to his voice. He had slightly dusky porcelain skin, totally smooth and unmarked. His body had an undeniably female shape, which Morgan couldn’t tear his eyes away from, but he was definitely a man.
“Hi. You must be the carpenter,” said the twink, stretching his long, smooth legs. Did he even shave those? Morgan thought not, they were too perfectly clean. Morgan wanted to lick them from toe to hip.
“Uh-huh.” Morgan grunted. His dick swelled in his filthy jeans. He readjusted himself as he stepped in, so he could walk normally. The homeowner — whose name was Kwan Tung — walked towards the sliding-glass door in the back of the living room, and Morgan watched his ass sway. He wore tight workout shorts which showed off his plump asscheeks.
Morgan’s heart raced, and he felt redness blooming on his chest and shoulders. He wanted Kwan so bad it hurt. He didn’t know why, it was just the feminine energy maybe. He seemed warm and soft, and he probably smelled like a woman and danced like one too, Morgan could just picture Kwan up on stage at the stripclub, pulling those shorts down to reveal perfectly plump asscheeks and a tight hole.
“The deck’s out here,” Kwan said. He opened the sliding-glass door and Morgan followed him out there. Kwan pointed to the wood at the base of the stairs. “So the railing totally fell off in that windstorm we had. It had been loose for awhile. I meant to do something about it, but I never got around to it. Now it fell apart. So I took off what remained of the railing, and I bought the wood down there for you to use.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is that enough wood?” Kwan giggled and blushed. “I mean, I know, you can never have enough wood. Or at least I can never have enough wood.”
“Uh-huh.” Morgan wasn’t even looking at the wood or the deck. He couldn’t think about carpentry right now. His eyes roamed up and down Kwan’s body, imagining what he would look like without any clothes on. He probably had a tiny dick, Morgan thought, just an overgrown clitoris…
Kwan clapped his hands and jumped a little on his feet. “Ooh, did you want something to drink? I made some limeade last night, just to use up some limes. I don’t need that much sugar. You want some?”
“Yeah. Cool.” Morgan grunted. His dark green eyes narrowed to slits, again watching Kwan’s ass sway as he went back into the house.
Left alone, Morgan was able to think for a minute. He calmed himself. He was just horny because his wife wouldn’t put out anymore. He hadn’t fucked in six months. Actually, he realized with a fright, it had been almost a year. What was the point of being married if your bitch-ass wife never even gave you a handjob?
He got out his hammer and some nails, and picked up a piece of wood. He was still frazzled, but once he got started, he thought he could focus enough to keep working.
“Here you go,” Kwan’s delicate voice rang out. He placed the glass of limeade on the table on the deck. It looked cool and delicious, but Morgan didn’t go drink any yet. He didn’t want to go near Kwan and risk becoming uncontrollably aroused. Kwan smiled at him. “I’m just going to do my yoga.”
Morgan assumed that meant Kwan was going inside. He started work, avoiding looking at Kwan. But when he finally lifted his head — having started cutting the wood into shape with a saw — he witnessed Kwan’s ass, cradled by those tight shorts, high in the air.
He was doing his yoga routine right there in the backyard, on a bright pink mat. He wore only a light half-shirt that bared his flat belly and those short-shorts that barely covered up any of his thighs. His asscheeks were partially visible.
After a few minutes, Kwan got up and squealed. “Is that my phone ringing? I hear something!” He ran into the house, brushing past Morgan, who moaned quietly at the touch of Kwan’s smooth body.
Morgan found himself walking into the house even though he had no reason to. He grimaced. He didn’t know what was going to happen now. He hadn’t even put down the saw, which was still in his right hand.
“Hello?” Kwan answered the phone. He scowled and put it down. “Damn telemarketers.”
“Hmm-hm.” Morgan licked his lips and came closer. He put the saw down on the counter. What was he doing? He really had no idea. A part of him realized he wanted to cornhole Kwan, but much of Morgan’s mind refused to accept that. He would never cornhole a man (at least not sober and not in prison or in the Army or various other places where it was acceptable).
But still, he put one of his massive paws on Kwan’s delicate shoulder and pushed down. Kwan looked at him with big wide eyes, which he batted seductively at Morgan.
“Are you okay?”
Morgan cringed and his voice broke. “Please…?”
Kwan blushed. “Did you… need something?”
Morgan’s Western twang echoed in Kwan’s ears. “Please, man… I need somethin’ impo’tant, yessuh. A man gots needs, ya feel me? Real needs. If’n they ain’t respected, you know… I ain’t down wit’ nothin’ unbiblical. But, y’know… God forgives, yessuh, I’m a believer, yes.” He pushed down harder on Kwan’s shoulder. He couldn’t believe he was really doing this. But his dick had never been harder. Morgan knew his words didn’t make sense, he couldn’t stop babbling like a moron. “I need summfin’, I got love in my heart. I got a wife, man. You know?”
Kwan still hadn’t gone to his knees, though he felt Morgan pushing him down. Kwan smiled and placed one finger on the bare part of Morgan’s chest, above the cut of his wifebeater. Morgan shuddered and moaned. Kwan smiled. “I’d never want you to cheat on your wife. Is there something I can do to… relieve your urges?”
Morgan grunted. His dick twitched in his jeans. “Man, please… I ain’t… It, uh… It ain’t…”
“But I think as long as you don’t mess around with a woman, you’re not really cheating on her. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah. Yes. Yeah, I mean, yeah, that makes sense. Uh-huh. Yessuh, uh-huh.” He pushed down harder and came so close his steel-like dick was palpable on Kwan’s flesh through his jeans. Kwan smeared some of the sweat that had collected over Morgan’s upper chest. Morgan moaned. “Man… I ain’t-“
“Hush, you don’t need to worry about that, Morgan,” Kwan said. “You’re a man. You have manly needs. Right, Morgan?”
The sound of his own name coming out of Kwan’s lips made Morgan moan again. His free hand — the one not on Kwan’s shoulder — touched the gentle curve of his waist. He looked so much like a woman.
When Kwan realized Morgan was too nervous to say anything further, Kwan said, “Morgan, I’d like to jerk you off. Is that okay-?”
“Yes! Oh god, yes!” Morgan pushed down on Kwan’s shoulder even harder, then added a second hand. He realized Kwan was still resisting and stopped. But he bucked his hips, virtually dry-humping Kwan’s belly and crotch. “C’mon, man, do it, do it, do it, okay? I need it. I need it. I need you, c’mon. You’re so hot. I ain’t like that.”
“I’m going to get on my knees now-“
“Yes! Yeah, c’mon, hoss! Do it! I need it so bad-“
“But Morgan, relax for a minute. You need to be calm. I don’t want you acting like a caveman and face-plowing me. Can you stand still like a good boy? Let me take charge?” He patted Morgan’s meaty side, and Morgan moaned loudly. His whole face was red, cock ready to burst out of his jeans. Kwan touched his dick through his pants and Morgan buckled. He had to lean against the kitchen counter for support.
“Yeah, yes, okay. Please, man? I need it so bad!”
“Good boy,” Kwan said softly. “Take off your shirt.”
Morgan let out a growl of frustration and ripped his wifebeater in his haste to take it off. His broad, hair-swaddled chest heaved for air as he was too excited to breathe normally. He was dizzy with desire.
“Do you have muscles? I only like to jerk off men who could defend me… you know, against, like… bandits, and stuff.” Kwan giggled as Morgan frowned but flexed his arms. His hairy armpits were bared, and Kwan sucked on each nipple, while his hands caressed Morgan’s biceps and triceps.
“Man… Oh god…” Morgan’s whole body undulated. His hard dick was painful now. He was sure he’d blow his wad the moment it got into Kwan’s mouth. He could already picture it. It’d feel so good rubbing over Kwan’s soft lips, spurting his seed over his face. Morgan touched those lips with his fingers without even thinking about it. His pinkie slipped into Kwan’s mouth, and again, Morgan’s knees buckled.
“Hmmm… You’re so strong,” Kwan said with a flirtatious laugh. “Okay, Morgan, you can take your pants off now.”
Morgan moaned. He raced to undo his belt. His jeans plopped unceremoniously to his ankles, and his dick popped out the fly of his boxers, which were soaked with precum. Kwan licked a trail from Morgan’s nipples to his belly.
“C’mon, man, swallow it… I need to get my dick wet…”
Finally Kwan reached Morgan’s crotch, and he hesitated for just a moment. Morgan’s whole body twitched. Kwan opened wide. He popped the tip in his mouth, and sure enough, Morgan’s orgasm began immediately.
As soon as Kwan’s tongue touched his cocktip, Morgan felt the most amazing pleasure of his life. He had to lean against the counter for support, and he gasped and bit his lip with such enthusiasm blood trickled down his chin. He sucked in his breath.
His whole dick was in Kwan’s throat. Nobody had ever managed to swallow his entire dick, not like this, with Kwan’s nose nuzzling Morgan’s crotch, Morgan’s cock filling up his neck and making him choke lovingly on its veiny shaft.
Kwan didn’t stop. He deep-throated and slathered it with spit, suckling like he hoped to get a prize out of it, while his hands stroked Morgan’s heavy balls and his thick asscheeks.
Finally a burst of creamy cum hit Kwan’s belly. Kwan didn’t let up, no matter how his lungs cried out for oxygen. He breathed the best he could through his nose and around the shaft throbbing in his throat.
The taste was warm and salty, sour and sweet and potent all at once. Kwan loved the taste of cum, and burly middle-aged blue-collar redneck cum, he thought, was the best. He liked how Morgan was unadulterated — he didn’t trim his pubic hair, he didn’t wear cologne, just plain unscented deodorant, and he had corn starch in his crotch because his balls got sweaty sometimes. He didn’t shave his chest, and even his scruffy beard was only there because his wife bitched about it so much he stopped shaving to piss her off.
He shot a massive load too, all built-up from months of frustration. Kwan’s eyes welled up with tears from lack of oxygen, but he refused to disappoint Morgan, so he didn’t pull off, even as more and more cum spurted into his belly.
Morgan’s whole body shook as he underwent the orgasm of a lifetime. Then he took a deep breath, looked down at Kwan as though he was done — though his cock hadn’t moved, and still throbbed veinily against Kwan’s tongue — and opened his mouth to speak. “Uh-” was all he got out, however, before his voice broke and his knees gave out.
“Shit…” Morgan’s red face shook as he slid to the kitchen floor. His cock slipped out of Kwan’s mouth only because Morgan lowered himself, shaking with every inch rubbing over Kwan’s cum-covered tongue.
Kwan let out a sputtering moan as he chased Morgan’s limpening dick. Every time he touched it, Morgan grunted and Kwan giggled.
“C’mon, lemme lick it clean,” Kwan said, and Morgan assented, though he twisted and heaved for air with every touch of Kwan’s tongue on his sensitive dick. “Hmmm… You taste so good… Your wife is a lucky woman.”
Morgan scoffed. His face was ruddy and sweaty. Kwan kissed his chest and his neck, leaving his lips soft enough to avoid giving Morgan a hickey. Morgan barely noticed his kisses, not even when Kwan’s cum-streaked lips kissed Morgan on his mouth. Morgan let Kwan’s tongue enter his mouth, while Kwan caressed his muscles.
Finally Kwan pulled off him. He stood, his bare ass just inches from Morgan’s face. Morgan felt another surge of horniness, tempered by the fact that he had just cum.
He couldn’t help but wonder what Kwan’s ass would feel like though. It looked so tight. Was he intact? He couldn’t be, Morgan thought, no way. He certainly didn’t act like he was intact.
Morgan kissed Kwan’s bare white asscheek, his scruffy beard rubbing against Kwan’s smooth skin. Kwan giggled and pushed his ass onto Morgan’s face.
But Morgan stood. He blushed intensely. He couldn’t believe he had kissed a man’s ass, literally. He sniffled and sucked his teeth like a macho again, and he shook his dick until the last few drops of cum slipped onto the kitchen floor.
“Alrighty then,” Morgan said with a grunt. “I guess I’ll go fix ya railing.”
“Thanks,” Kwan said. He watched Morgan go back outside, and then Kwan cleaned himself up. He could tell he was going to get anal. He could have done it right then and there probably. But he wanted to give Morgan time to build up more cum in those low-hanging daddy-balls. Kwan wanted to feel a massive load exploding within him.
He also wanted the railing built. That was a real job that Kwan actually needed done.
So he didn’t go outside until the railing was finished. Kwan knew the effect he had on horny men, and he didn’t want to risk that Morgan would wind up plowing him all day and never finish. It’d happened before.
Kwan put on a thong and a nighty that barely covered his torso and ended just below his hips. It covered up his crotch and his ass, but only just barely. He knew no men could resist him when he wore this outfit.
When Morgan was finished, he came in. Morgan had told himself he wouldn’t cornhole Kwan in the ass. Getting mouth off a man was one thing, but anal? Morgan didn’t think he could bring himself to do that, not even with a very feminine twink like Kwan. Outside of prison, etc. He wasn’t a booty bandit.
But he looks so good…
Having not actually seen him for several hours, Morgan was able to convince himself that it wouldn’t be an issue. He had been unspeakably horny earlier because of his wife constantly blue-balling him. He wasn’t horny now, since he had gotten the orgasm of a lifetime from Kwan already. He didn’t need to bust a nut.
When Morgan walked into the house though, he saw Kwan’s thong-clad ass poking out from that negligée he wore and Morgan’s whole body shook once again. That was a woman’s ass. Morgan really felt like he could look in Kwan’s crotch and find a pussy. He knew that wasn’t true — he had actually seen Kwan jacking off — but it sure felt true. Morgan could picture it. The negligée even made it look like Kwan had small perfectly formed tits, which seemed reasonable since he was small and Asian, if he were a woman, he’d probably have tits about that size and an ass just like that, and Morgan would be unable to resist trying to fuck her.
The only difference between that and this was that Kwan was not female. It seemed like a minor problem to Morgan’s dick, but his mind felt it was important.
Kwan was bent over by the oven, putting a load of sliced carrots in there. He had had them all arranged in a baking dish, but they slid all over each other as he placed the dish in the oven. He pushed them back into a single-layer, working quickly and gingerly because the oven was already hot. He swayed his ass back and forth in front of Morgan’s face.
“Sorry, I just wanted to cook these carrots,” Kwan said. He still hadn’t turned around, so he only knew Morgan was there because he heard him. “They’ve been sitting in my refrigerator for weeks, I wanted to cook them. They were starting to get floppy.” Kwan giggled. “I know you don’t have that problem.”
“Hm-hmm.” Morgan grunted. He came up behind Kwan, his jeans rubbing against Kwan’s ass. “Hey, uh, man, can I cornhole you-?”
Kwan closed the oven door. He turned around and blushed. “Won’t that hurt? You have such a big dick.”
“Man…” Morgan blushed. “Man, I mean… I’ll do it however you want. Man, please… I need it. I’ll cornhole you so right, man-“
“But your dick is so big,” Kwan said with a nervous, blushing giggle. He rubbed his hands over Morgan’s hairy, bare belly. “It’ll hurt real bad.”
“I’ll be nice. I’ll be so gentle,” Morgan said, his voice breathless and wavering.
“Will you lick it first?”
“Yes!” Morgan blanched. He had never licked any ass and wasn’t sure he wanted to do it.
But then he remembered how bare and smooth and perfectly clean Kwan’s ass was. He could eat that. It would be cleaner than his wife’s pussy, and he used to eat that all the time, back when he thought it might help his marriage.
“Okay! But you have to be so gentle! You’ve got the biggest dick I’ve ever taken,” Kwan said. That part wasn’t strictly true, but Morgan did have a big dick and Kwan knew telling him it was the biggest would ensure he was genuinely gentle. Plus it made Morgan puff up his muscles and chew on his lip swaggerously. Kwan pulled down Morgan’s pants and bared his dick again.
This time, however, Kwan didn’t want to do it in the kitchen. He grabbed Morgan’s cock and led him down the hall, into the bedroom.
“Take your clothes off, sweetie,” Kwan said. He handed over a tube of lube. “And put plenty of this on your cock.”
Kwan kissed his nipples and massaged his back as he did. Morgan hurried to take his clothes off, then used most of the tube on his dick. Then Kwan climbed up onto the bed on all fours, lifting his ass high in the air.
It was perfectly round and plump and juicy. Morgan took a deep breath — surprised to find that Kwan’s ass smelled like rose and lavender — before kissing first one cheek, then the other. Kwan wiggled his ass. Morgan’s dick throbbed.
He put his tongue out, surprised to find that Kwan tasted just a bit of salt, but was otherwise mainly flavorless. He could smell a bit of that floral soap too, but the actual taste of his ass was neutral. His tongue slid into the crack of Kwan’s dick and again was surprised at how tasteless it was — just a bit salty and musky.
The closer he got to Kwan’s asshole, the more Morgan realized it tasted exactly like a pussy — a clean, fragrant pussy, unlike his wife’s. By the time Morgan’s lips got to that tight hole, his hesitation had vanished. His tongue plunged right into Kwan’s asshole.
Kwan cried out. There was a burst of pain too, which was a surprise — Morgan’s tongue was massive, and he shoved the whole thing into Kwan’s small ass. But that was just because Kwan was surprised at how eager Morgan was. His soft tongue soon turned that pain into pleasure as it teased Kwan’s prostate and filled his ass with moisture.
“Oh god,” Kwan’s voice was high and wavering. He squirmed beneath Morgan’s scruffy head, which scratched at his ass.
“Hmmm… You taste real good,” Morgan said. He returned to lapping at Kwan’s ass, alternately exploring his insides and slathering his sphincter in spit.
Kwan gasped. “You’ve got the greatest tongue, sweetie. I’m nice and wide open now, you can ram me.”
“Oh god, thank you, baby, thank you, I need this,” Morgan said. He had never begged a woman like this. He still didn’t quite understand how Kwan could have this kind of effect, but he couldn’t deny how he felt. He needed to get into Kwan’s ass.
He spread his cheeks with both hands, eyes opened wide at the sight of that hole, which was tight and loose at once, stretched from Morgan’s tongue yet ready to clench tightly at a moment’s notice. Morgan rammed the tip in as quickly as he could.
Kwan grunted and shook. A jolt of pain ran up his spine, but Morgan patted him patiently and caressed his smooth back, which minimized the agony and made it manageable.
“‘S okay, baby, I’m-a make nice, sweet love to you,” Morgan said. His voice was throaty and moist. “Does it hurt?”
“Just a little,” Kwan said, his voice a faint whisper. He mewled and clawed at the ground. “It’s okay though, baby, you can keep plowing.”
“I won’t hurt’cha,” Morgan said. He felt an almost-uncontrollable need to plow as hard as he could, but he didn’t want to hurt Kwan. He wanted to experience every moment of this. He figured that, if he plowed gently now, Kwan would adjust to him, and then Morgan could go to town. He’d never been able to fuck a girl in the ass and have her take the whole thing enthusiastically. He could tell that Kwan would let him do that, if only Morgan could go slow enough until he was ready.
So he drilled his dick in, inch by inch, stopping every time he saw Kwan shake or shudder. Morgan was so excited to bust a nut that he hadn’t taken a breath since this began. When he started to get dizzy, he forced himself to breathe as he slid another inch of dickmeat into Kwan’s ass.
“Hmmm….” Kwan moaned. He reached behind himself to pour more lube onto his ass. That helped Morgan’s cock slide in, and soon, Kwan felt Morgan’s balls slap against the bottom of his ass.
“Oh… Ah… Uh….” Morgan was going to say something, but the pleasure coursing through his veins was too intense to form any words. All he could do was writhe and pump, grinding his hips over Kwan’s ass.
“Cornhole me, daddy,” Kwan said, cringing, his voice breaking. He sucked in his breath as Morgan began to pound. He went slowly at first, removing his dick in one long motion, and then ramming it in in a slightly swifter motion.
When Kwan moaned orgasmically, Morgan plowed a little harder. Kwan’s feet lifted off the ground and he threw his head back to moan. He clawed at the air in front of him.
“Oh… Oh…” Kwan’s face turned red. “Can I bite on your arm when the pressure feels too good, daddy?”
He placed one thick forearm in front of his face. The pleasure in his cock was so intense he barely even noticed Kwan bite down on his muscles and suck on his arm-hair.
But he could sense Kwan relaxing, his ass opening up, and Morgan rammed back and forth harder to compensate. He moaned, his baritone voice echoing in Kwan’s ear, as Morgan squirmed atop him.
Somehow — Morgan hadn’t noticed this happen — he was on top of Kwan, pounding away at his ass. Kwan was tiny and couldn’t quite support Morgan’s body, but he didn’t mind, he liked the feel of Morgan’s rough-stubbled chest rubbing over his smooth back.
Morgan pulled his face back and kissed him on the lips as he orgasmed suddenly, deep into Kwan’s ass. Kwan moaned and came at the same time, shooting his wad onto the floor. Kwan squirmed and gasped, kissing Morgan back but also nibbling on his lower lip when the feelings got to be too intense to take.
A massive load of cum drained into him. Kwan was shocked it was so big considering he had already cum once today, but Morgan’s balls were on overtime now that he had started plowing again. It had been so long. Morgan moaned directly into Kwan’s ears, and he left a layer of sweat on Kwan’s smooth back.
“Goddamn.” Morgan’s voice broke. A few more drops of cum filled Kwan’s ass.
“Hmmm…” Kwan moaned and sucked on the meaty muscle of Morgan’s forearm. “Hmmm… You’re an excellent carpenter.” He giggled.
Morgan ignored him. He kept on grinding his dick in Kwan’s ass, working out every last drop of cum. His balls were tightly drawn up against his body. Morgan’s whole body buckled atop Kwan’s back.
Finally he couldn’t take it anymore, and Morgan pulled off. His cheeks were bright red. His cock gleamed with moisture. Morgan was too shocked and a bit ashamed of himself to respond. All he could do was sit there on the floor by the bed and watch as Kwan cleaned his ass off.
“Oh you poor baby, you’re so tired,” Kwan said. He kissed Morgan chastely on the lips as he wiped his cock off with some tissues. “Do you want to take a nap with me? I’ll rub your back.”
Morgan was too tired to even say yes. He didn’t think he’d gotten a backrub since high school He sprawled out on Kwan’s silken sheets and let his muscles all relax at once. He was sound asleep from the moment Kwan’s delicate fingers touched his shoulders.
Kwan rubbed his back for a few minutes, then curled up next to him like a cat and went to sleep. He nuzzled Morgan’s bicep.
“Thanks for the railing,” Kwan said. “Maybe when you wake up, I’ll think of something else I could hire you for.” But Morgan still didn’t wake up, so Kwan just kissed him on the cheek and slept in his arms.
It was the best sleep of Morgan’s life, and his nap ended up taking all night and into the next morning. He awoke to the feel of Kwan’s soft body rubbing over him, Kwan’s tongue cleaning some of the night-time sweat off his chest. Morgan sighed and smiled.
He thought he might never leave here.

On the Downlow

As the city burns in riots over police violence, recently released ex-cons Thumper and his prison wife Angel find themselves sharing the night with a handsome young thug named Rico… Can Rico make it through the night with his dignity intact?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

There were three people at the apartment that night as the sultry heat led to tempers flaring in the city streets outside. Timmy Angel was one, and another was Thumper White. The two of them were released from prison at the same time a few weeks ago and were living together in a small apartment.
As he looked out the window, where an occasional rioter fled cops heading towards Sycamore or a fracas of rowdy protestors spilled down the ave, Angel shook his ass and made a cock-swallowing face for Thumper, who growled and pursed his full lips. He licked his teeth and sucked on his tongue.
“Yo, whiteboi, you pretty on the eyes,” he said. “You got ass like a homeboy. I like that.” His eyes roved up and down Angel’s body, taking him in. He took a deep breath. “I already invited over this homeboy named Rico. I guess we gonna have a three-way. Rico’ll do it. That okay with you?”
“Hell yeah!” Angel said, and Thumper laughed — or rather, he lowered his eyes to slits and breathed slightly, which was as close to laughter as he could get without losing his hardcore-menacing-thug look.
“Good. I be in charge, whiteboi,” he said. “I set the rules-” He stopped because a torrent of sirens filled the streets with shrieks and then faded to a distant whine..
Thumper and Angel went to the window to look outside. There was smoke rising into the air in the distance, it looked like the library had burned down, or some building close to it. There was shouting, screaming, the rattatat of gunfire echoing in the night-time sky.
“You think this shit gonna lead to change?” Thumper asked. Angel wrapped an arm around his waist and hugged him like a girlfriend. Thumper patted him gently, and Angel nuzzled his muscles. He smelled like cocoa butter.
“Uh… Well, that’s hard to predict,” Angel said. He shrugged. “Things usually don’t change, but somehow… things are always different.”
Someone knocked on the door then, conveniently rescuing Angel from trying to come up with a better answer.
The man at the door was Rico. He was much younger than Thumper, at barely twenty-one years old, and he was a handsome, slimly-muscled thug with dimples and an ass so thick it looked like a mismatched body part, like he had stolen it from a bigger, taller man. He wore baggy jeans that were slung low enough for Angel to get a good look at his shorts-clad asscheeks. He sauntered in, swagger thick as pudding, and he sucked on his teeth. He bristled when introduced to Angel, like he done reach his limit for meeting white men. He lowered his eyes and glowered. Outside, there was the sound of twisting metal and a loud crash — a car accident, somewhere far away.
“Yo, homeboy,” Rico said to Thumper once he was in the apartment. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I… I’ll do whatevuh you want, but let’s just do it.”
“Whatchoo mean?” Thumper narrowed his eyes to slits.
“I mean… I know…” he laughed to cover up his nervousness. “I know, uh… them other homeboys told me why you wanted me to come over here. I-“
“Them other homeboys shouldn’t be talkin’ ’bout shit they don’t understand. I told you to come here tonight cuz you workin’ fo’ me now that I’m outta the joint. We gotta get to know each other,” Thumper said. “You gonna be slingin’ my rock, so I gotta know what you is like.” He clasped Rico on the bicep and squeezed. It started off like an affectionate pat, but Thumper left his hand there, massaging Rico’s arm.
“Yeah, uh… I already know what you like,” Rico said with a sigh. “You into that prison shit.” He shrugged. “Whatevuh. I’m hardcore, I’ll do hardcore shit.”
A long awkward silence ensued. Angel’s heart skipped a beat. There was gunfire outside, but Thumper and Rico ignored it.
“Take off yo’ shirt, homeboy,” Thumper said after a long pause. He flared his nostrils. “I gotta make sure you ain’t wearin’ a wire.”
Rico took off his shirt. He had been a basketball player in high school, and he had largely kept up the same training regiment even now, giving him a perfect six-pack and a powerful chest. He carried himself like he thought he was bigger and taller than his actual size. Thumper would say he was uppity like a fog in the sky. But Thumper do enjoy a pretty young nigga with dimples and a booty too big for his britches.
“I mean… Thumper, you ain’t gotta… y’know, grope me and shit,” Rico said. He glared again at Angel. “I’ll do it. I know… They said you was gonna, y’know, make me jerk you off.”
“I ain’t a ramrod,” Thumper said.
It did not look like Rico believed that. “Well, uh… just… you ain’t gotta seduce me, homeboy. I done fuck around on the downlow before. C’mon, tell me what to do.”
“Maybe I like seducin’ homeboys, man. Shut yo’ mouth. Don’t just say it. Seduction is half the fun,” Thumper said. He delicately kissed Rico on the side of the cheek and frowned when he winced. “Today is yo’ lucky day, Rico. Cuz I got this pretty whiteboi right here. He gonna service us both. You ain’t gotta do nothin’ but sit here and look handsome.”
“Oh… okay…”
Thumper cleared his throat. “Well, you gotta do a few things besides look handsome. Go on and do some push-ups, homeboy.”
Rico rolled his eyes. He just wanted to get straight to the nasty stuff so he could finish up with that and leave. He was missing the riot. If he went out there soon, he could still get into a few stores and do some looting.
He got down on the ground to do his push-ups, while Thumper and Angel sat on the couch together. Angel buried his head in Thumper’s arms. Thumper had taken his shirt off as well, so Angel could rest his face in Thumper’s bicep and smell his funky armpit while they watched Rico work out.
The lines on his back flexed and writhed as though his muscles were trying to escape. He had a little padding over his flesh — the perfect amount of padding in Angel’s eyes — but when he was stretched and straining to do more push-ups, all that padding seemed to disappear, leaving behind nothing but powerful curves gleaming with beads of sweat.
Angel kissed Thumper’s bicep, which flexed beneath his lips. Thumper didn’t look away from Rico though, and he listened intently as Rico grunted with each push-up. Angel smiled. Rico seemed to be surprised by how exhausted he was, like he had thought he was just supposed to do a few push-ups to pump up his muscles, but Thumper had him continue until he struggled to keep going.
Thumper watched like a coach angry over an insolent player, or like he was annoyed Rico hadn’t turned into a woman already. His muscles flexed where Angel touched him.
Then Thumper kissed Angel on the lips — he grabbed Angel’s hair and lifted his head. He kissed him as though it was an attack, planting his lips on Angel’s and shoving his tongue into Angel’s mouth. He held Angel’s head in place and opened his mouth wide.
Angel was so shocked by the suddenness of it that for a moment his tongue just lay there like a dead fish. Then he kissed Thumper back, their hearts pounding in sync as Angel contorted in Thumper’s powerful grasp.
“Ugh! That’s that nasty-nasty,” Rico said. He’d stopped his push-ups and was on his knees now, his upper body gleaming with sweat.
“Shut yo’ face. I ain’t say to stop yo’ push-ups, did I?” Thumper snarled. “They tol’ me that the only reason they give you any responsibility is on account of yo’ muscles, homeboy. So I gotta make sure they as big as can be. Do a hundred more push-ups.”
Rico shook his head and rolled his eyes like he didn’t want to do it. He had already done at least a hundred push-ups. His eyes flickered to the riots outside the window. “It’s hot in here,” Rico said. “You got air conditioning?”
“Nah. Take off yo’ pants if you hot.”
Rico hesitated like he didn’t want to do it, but he accepted that it was going to happen eventually anyway. He took off his shoes and pants. His ass was perfectly plump, cradled by his tight boxer shorts.
The sight of his cheeks, fabric clinging to the skin by the fresh sweat that dripped over his ass, made Angel so hard he had to resist jacking himself off right then and there. But instead Thumper kissed him some more.
Finally Rico groaned and collapsed onto the floor on his belly. “That was a hundred, Thumper. That was a hundred thirty-three total.”
“Was it? You sure you count right?”
Rico lay flat on the floor on his belly, covered in sweat. His arms and shoulders quivered. “Yeah, nigga. I sure. I counted right.”
It seemed clear to Angel that Thumper didn’t know if that was or was not right — Thumper was making out with Angel the entire time. It would be impressive if he maintained a count of Rico’s push-ups at the same time.
“You dance, homeboy?”
“What?”
“I axt you if you dance. homeboy.” Thumper spat his words like he didn’t tolerate repeating himself. He scowled at Rico.
“Uh… Yeah. I mean… Sorta.”
“What? You best get better at answerin’ questions, nigga,” Thumper said. He kissed Angel again, frowning at Rico as he watched his body tremble on the floor. Angel nuzzled the tight, tattooed flesh of Thumper’s neck. He inhaled of his delicious old-homeboy scent — Thumper wasn’t really old, but he smelled like an old man, like all the older homeboys he had lived with behind bars until just a few days ago. He smelled like an old homeboy whom time had left behind.
That was fine with Angel. He didn’t like conflict, but he loved Thumper’s body. He tongued Thumper’s prison-toned chest and arms as Thumper settled back to watch Rico, who stood on weak knees at Thumper’s command.
“Dance for me, homeboy. Make it girlish,” Thumper said.
Rico had that macho awkwardness around dancing, especially in an unusual situation like this. He actually danced a lot — with girls, in darkened nightclubs, when no one really paid much attention to him, and where there was loud music playing with an easy beat to dance to. None of that was true right now, so Rico did little more than writhe awkwardly.
But Thumper nodded as though that was acceptable. He looked Rico up and down hungrily, like he wanted to reach out and touch Rico but wasn’t allowed to. Instead his hands roamed over Angel’s smooth body.
“You a pretty whiteboi.”
Thumper’s fingers were callused and work-roughened from his time behind bars. He had worked on a chain gang nearly every day of his thirty-four years behind bars. He had built most of the new prison infirmary building, and Angel could sense all of that hard work in this thickened pads of his fingertips caressing Angel’s smooth skin.
Now that he had gotten started, Rico was dancing a little better, with more confidence. He bounced around in front of the couch, his massive cock and balls flopping beneath his boxer shorts.
“Turn around and get yo’ ass up in the air,” Thumper said. He resumed kissing Angel, as Rico backed himself up and started to shake his ass right in front of Thumper.
His boxer shorts stuck to the skin of his ass as he shook his cheeks. Thumper watched those massive globes tremble and vibrate in sync with an unheard beat — the only sounds in the apartment, aside from moist kissing and Rico’s tired grunts, were the pop of gunfire, the blare of sirens and the shouts of an ongoing brawl outside.
Then, without warning, Thumper rammed his entire face between those cheeks, planting his nose in the fabric covering Rico’s asscrack. Thumper loudly inhaled, like Rico was cocaine and Thumper wanted to snort him up, and he sighed at the intensely sweaty smell in his nostrils.
“Take off yo’ shorts now, nigga,” Thumper said. He guided Angel’s hand to his crotch. Thumper still wore his jeans, so Angel massaged his cock through the denim. It was rock-hard and throbbing already.
Rico bristled as he dropped his shorts. His brown ass was perfect, and his mandingo dick was so big Angel could see it from behind, where it dangled between his legs. It was like a forearm, Angel thought, a veiny slab of meat that Angel wanted to suck to the root.
“Keep dancing.”
He sighed again but did so. His bare asscheeks shook in front of Angel’s face, but Angel focused more on kissing Thumper’s nipples, sucking on his powerful pecs, as he stroked Thumper’s cock.
The smell of his fresh sweat was alluring. It was intense and it brought tears to Angel’s eyes. He wanted to lick that ass more than anything.
“Go’n, whiteboi, do it,” Thumper murmured. “I wanna watch you do it.”
Angel’s heart thrilled as he dove between those cheeks. Rico yelped in surprise, and he stopped moving, bent over with his ass high in the air. Angel had to stretch his neck to reach his ass.
The sweat tasted just as good as he hoped. He licked each asscheek, and a jolt of desire shot through him as he felt Rico tremble beneath Angel’s tongue’s touch.
It was Thumper who guided Angel’s head. He grabbed Angel’s hair and rubbed his face up and down between Rico’s cheeks, murmuring and groaning as Angel licked and sucked on every inch of Rico’s backside.
“Turn around, Rico,” Thumper said.
Rico did. His eyes were half-closed, and his dick was half-hard, sticking straight out from his hairy crotch. He was a big man with a cock to match; it was at least twelve inches long and it wasn’t even fully erect yet.
“You hard, homeboy,” Thumper said with an annoyed grunt.
Rico winced and frowned. “I don’t mean nothin’ by that, Thumper. E’ryone knows you into this shit. I just like gettin’ my asshole licked. Not many girls is into that.”
“Hmm-hmm,” Thumper said. “I need to check ya for contraband, homeboy. You got a wire under there?” His hand snaked between Rico’s legs and under his balls. He thoroughly fingered the flesh there, making Rico’s dick twitch and grow even harder.
Angel started sucking without really thinking about it. He got the feeling Thumper wanted him to, and of course Angel wanted to, and it seemed Rico was eager to just get his nut off so he could go out and loot with his homeboys. So Angel swallowed his cock while Thumper played with Rico’s balls.
“Damn…” Rico laughed to cover up his anxiety. “I, uh… I know you ain’t checkin’ for a wire under my balls.”
“Shut yo’ facehole, Rico.”
He deep-throated Rico’s cock even before Rico started throating him down. He nestled his nose deep in Rico’s crotch, his tongue slathering saliva all along the shaft as it pulsated inside Angel’s throat. He couldn’t quite deep-throat the whole thing, but he enjoyed trying.
One of Thumper’s hands was on the root of Rico’s cock, stroking it, just that little length that Angel couldn’t fit into his mouth. Thumper’s other hand wrapped around Angel’s body, gently stroking Angel’s dick — since Angel was on the verge of blowing his load already, Thumper didn’t fully jack him off, or Angel would have cum in seconds.
“You ain’t gotta cover it up, Thumper. No one cares. They know you did time for the organization, nigga,” Rico said. His voice broke and he shuddered as a wave of pleasure went through him. Sour-sweet precum coated Angel’s tongue. Rico grunted. “They got respect for you even if you a pervert.”
“I said shut yo’ facehole, Rico,” Thumper said. “I’s just gettin’ to know you, that’s all. We gotta know each inside and out, nigga. ‘Specially inside.” Then he pulled on Angel’s hair to drag his face off Rico’s cock. In one smooth motion he leaned in and licked Rico’s shaft, from root to tip, slowly and with great care like if he did it wrong, Rico might shatter into a million pieces. Rico shuddered. Thumper smiled, then reinserted Angel onto his cock. “Now I know you a little better, Rico. I need to rely on you to do yo’ part, and I need to know how you work. Now I know how a piece of you work.”
“My cock? You know how my cock work, homeboy? It work the same as any other cock, nigga-” Rico cut himself off and blanched as Thumper scoffed at him. Rico bit his lip. Then his dick spasmed and his balls crawled up in his sac. Angel could feel the orgasm beginning in his cockroot and extending out in waves. Rico’s muscles flexed as Thumper massaged his chest and his plump asscheeks.
Then a burst of cum sprayed into Angel’s mouth. It was a thick and creamy load, which coated Angel’s tongue and the roof of his mouth. It trickled down his throat.
He continued cumming for what seemed like a long time, as though there was a big backlog of cum in his balls. Angel moaned at the salty flavor overwhelming him, and Thumper even moaned too, his face so close to the action that Angel’s sputtering resulted in drops of cum and spit landing on Thumper’s face.
Then finally Rico was done. He sighed. His cock throbbed as it grew limp in Angel’s mouth.
“You blow a good load, homeboy,” Thumper said. He kissed Angel on the lips, licking up the remnants of cum that still coated Angel’s face and tongue. He groaned into Angel’s mouth. “Yeah… now I think we gettin’ to know each other fo’ real.”
Rico took a step back. He pulled his exquisitely sensitive dick away from Angel’s face. Thumper stroked his moist shaft.
“So, Rico… Do you like the taste of chocolate or vanilla better?” Thumper asked. He and Angel leaned back on the couch.
Rico rolled his eyes. “Uh… Chocolate, I guess.”
“I’m glad you said that, Rico. You got a nice mouth. My dick’s gonna look real nice in there,” Thumper said. “Come here and sit on this whiteboi’s cock.”
Rico shrugged. He turned around with his ass aimed at Angel, who had him wait for a moment while Angel licked his hole some more to open it up. Once he had it well-lubed with spit, Angel leaned back. Rico gritted his teeth as he lowered his ass onto Angel’s meat.
All at once when Angel’s cocktip slid into Rico, the big thug grunted, his muscles tensed and his asshole clenched. A jolt of incredible pleasure shot up Angel’s spine.
“Relax, homeboy, take a deep breath,” Thumper said. He massaged Rico’s ass, rubbing on the fleshy cheeks and caressing his back. Rico remained right there with just the first couple centimeter’s of dick inside him. Thumper licked the sweat off his back. “Ain’t nuthin’ bettuh than watching a homeboy get it up the ass fo’ the first time.”
“Ain’t the first-time, homeboy. I tol’ you I mess around on the downlow, right?” Rico wrinkled his nose. “No pro’lem. Feels fine. I don’t even notice no whiteboy dick.” Despite that, he did grimace in pain.
Thumper snorted like he was disappointed, but he didn’t say anything. Rico bit his lip as he lowered his ass a little more. Angel’s fat white cock slid into his tight hole.
The positioning was awkward for Angel, though all he had to do was sit there. Angel massaged the muscles of Rico’s back, but could only reach halfway up, not even far enough to touch those awe-striking shoulder muscles.
Then Thumper stood up. His body was much more toned than Rico’s, his asscheeks like tight little orbs. He didn’t have a perfect six-pack either — he was too old for that — but he was thickly-built. He stood on the couch next to Angel, who was overwhelmed by stimulation from the massive ass now riding his dick. Rico grimaced and grunted with each motion he made, his ass lowering itself onto Angel’s throbbing meat.
From his vantage point on the couch, Angel caressed both Rico’s asscheeks and Thumper’s thighs. Meanwhile Thumper grabbed ahold of Rico’s head, and slowly, gently but firmly, guided Rico to face Thumper.
Rico sighed and opened his mouth. Without a word of warning, Thumper’s fat cock pushed in past his lips.
With Rico focused on the cock in his mouth, Angel could really start plowing his dick in. Rather than Rico lowering his ass onto Angel’s cock, Angel started to pump his dick upward, ramming Rico deep in his backside.
“Nice mouth, homeboy, I can tell you got good experience at it,” Thumper said with a moan. “You gotta introduce me to the homeboys you on the downlow wit’. I can swing downlow too.”
Though Rico flexed and snorted in pain at first, he soon relaxed, and he took every inch of Angel’s cock. It slid into him, slapping into his massive ass, as his muscles writhed beneath Angel’s touch. Angel reached around to handle his dick, which was still moist and soft — there was always something appealing, Angel thought, about playing with soft dickmeat. It felt like a piece of loose flesh, an extra muscle not attached to anything, and its veiny shaft pulsated beneath Angel’s grasp.
The whole situation was so incredible that Angel shot his load first. He pumped his dick all the way in, surprised at how intense his pleasure was as it rocketed up his spine. His fingers turned into claws that gripped Rico’s meaty back.
Cum flowed and poured into Rico’s ass. It coated his insides, its warmth spreading to every corner of his body. Angel could tell that his load was huge even though he couldn’t see it. He just sprayed wad after wad of manjuice into Rico’s body.
“Sit over here now, homeboy,” Thumper said, pointing to the spot on the couch next to Angel.
Rico pulled off Angel’s cock and sighed with relief as his ass emptied. A giant wad of cum escaped, landing on Angel’s dick and his thigh. Then Rico sat down on the couch, wincing as pain enveloped his sensitive ass when he first put his weight on it.
“Open up, but you gotta share, homeboy,” Thumper said. He didn’t give Rico much of an opportunity before shoving his precum-leaking cock back into Rico’s mouth.
Angel joined in. Rico seemed to want to let Angel take over on Thumper’s dick, but Thumper didn’t allow it. Angel had to stand on the couch in order to put his face even with Rico’s, so he could lick Thumper’s shaft and slurp on his balls.
“Both you handle a nigga dick pretty good,” Thumper said. Only Rico was really doing that though, since Angel was licking up and down Thumper’s juicy ballsac, slurping up the sweat that clung to his underside.
Angel had only barely gotten started when Thumper groaned. Thumper’s hands guided Rico’s up to his chest, where Rico awkwardly played with Thumper’s nipples. Thumper bucked his hips, slamming his dick all the way into Rico’s choking throat.
Angel felt the orgasm even before it began, in the throbbing of Thumper’s heavy ballsac in Angel’s mouth. Then those balls ascended in his scrotum, and Angel sensed the cum pouring forth from Thumper’s cock.
“Swallow it, nigga. So you get to know my body,” Thumper said with a moan.
Rico gagged at the taste of cum coating his tongue, but he didn’t stop. So much spit was generated that it spilled out past Rico’s lips, coating his massive chest and dripping onto Angel’s face.
It was both cum and saliva, as Rico drooled and accepted the torrent of fluids down his throat. Thumper’s powerful trunk-like thighs flexed and shook.
Finally, when he was done. Thumper pulled out and kissed Rico on the lips, tasting his own cum. Rico grimaced but accepted that. “Nasty, nigga,” he said when Thumper pulled away. “I knew you was gonna do that too.”
“Oh, you think you know e’rything, huh, Rico?”
Rico shrugged. “Can I go now? I wanna go loot some, befo’ the riot is all done.”
“Fine, nigga,” Thumper said. He sat next to Angel and wrapped his sweaty body around him. Angel snuggled into his muscles. Thumper smiled and kissed Angel on the cheek.
Rico stood up to leave. He looked relieved.
“Just make sure you come back,” Thumper said. “Get some lube while you out. Come on back befo’ too late. We got some all-night… tasks to perform.”