Lance – Mansploitation

The Driller

Lance enjoys the company of men, so this all-male oil rig is the ideal environment for him… especially when he gets to spend the night with the horny driller Edgar Hack! Edgar is desperate to get a load off, a problem Lance is eager to help with… Can they both satisfy their drilling-related needs?

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Read it the whole thing here!

Lance had a bedroom to himself near the entrance to the oil rig Typhoon-2. Of course no one used the entrance for weeks at a time, but he was nominally the secretary. If someone did pull up and walk in, Lance was supposed to greet them and verify they had the authority to be there.
Of course at an oil rig located two hundred miles from the nearest land, the walk-in traffic was minimal. Lance rarely had less than six hours of advance notice before someone came for a visit. Even the “surprise” inspections by the government were announced twelve hours beforehand.
He had a bedroom there at the corner by the entrance because there were sensors that would wake him up if someone did pull a boat up near the rig. At one point in this oil rig’s history, that was vital — not because people actually came by often, it was just a national security thing — if there were no security measures in place, it would be easy for anyone to sneak up in a motorboat and come in.
But things had changed. Nowadays the sensors could ding Lance’s cell phone. They could alert anyone on the rig, or back on land, just as easily as they could ring the bell in Lance’s bedroom. But state law still required a “secretary” to be near the entrance on the off-chance someone did come in.
At night though, Lance just locked the door and set the alarm to ring his cell phone — powered by a local network — if he wasn’t there. It had only happened about once a month, and each time was a false alarm (probably a strong wave or a dolphin bumping into the rig near the sensors).
“Ah, fuck! You got a hairy back like sasquatch, man!”
“What a nasty-ass motherfucker-“
“Get off me, man!”
“Don’t be fuckin’ squeamish, man!”
The workers roughhoused in their barracks as Lance watched. He didn’t make it obvious he was there, but they all knew it. They all saw him, even in the darkness.
Lance could do whatever he wanted. He was both the highest and lowest man on the oil rig totem pole. He was not a driller, he was a secretary, and he had few actual duties, so he was sometimes treated like the least important employee. But his duties did include paychecks — he doled out leave, he handled sick call and he distributed paychecks every week. So the men treated him variously like a weak wuss of no particular importance as well as like a beneficent god who gave them money out of the kindness of his heart.
Since there were no females on the rig, Lance was the closest thing to a woman around.
“You best step off!”
“Lookit Edgar! Ha ha ha-!”
“Holy shit-!”
Lance walked into the barrack where most of the men slept. It was a long, narrow room with lockers on one side and bunk beds, stacked three high, on the other. The lighting was dim, just the emergency lights because it was after midnight — the lights here were automatic, and the fluorescents out in the hall stayed on all night though the barrack itself was dark.
The men were wide awake though. They never went to bed at midnight like they were supposed to.
They all fell quiet at first, like they always did when Lance came in the barrack at night. One man, Edgar Hack, was stark naked, standing there and shaking his asscheeks — apparently as part of some sort of joke. He shook his ass like a stripper, though he was thick and chunky and hairy, with a rough mustache and dirty blonde mullet. His dick hung free.
“Hi boys,” Lance said, his quiet lilting voice filling up the darkened barrack. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”
The men were all awkwardly silent. They loved attention from Lance, every single one of them. So they all acted as though Lance was a schoolmarm who made them horny despite themselves, like Lance invented stiffies to stifle them.
“Goodnight, Lance.”
“Yeah, goodnight.”
“Goodnight, man-!”
A chorus of goodnights rang out, some nervous and wavering, others proud and boastful. Lance came forward to Edgar, whose eyes opened wide as Lance’s hands roamed over his meaty belly. Edgar was barrel-shaped like most drillers — meaning he operated the cavern drillshaft — with that delightfully raunchy mustache like a 70s porn star, which Lance wished he could suck right off his upper lip.
“Good night, Edgar,” Lance said.
“It’s cold tonight,” someone said hopefully.
“Yeah, real cold. I got plenty of blankets though.”
“Hmm-hmm, me too. I brought this blanket from home, Lance, it’s all nice and thick, huh? My grandmoms made it.”
Lance blushed. “That’s a very nice quilt, Kale,” he said. He caressed the soft fabric. Kale Mashley had gotten the quilt last time he was on leave, not because he wanted it, but because he thought Lance would like it. Lance leaned in to Kale’s bunkspace and kissed him on the neck. Kale shuddered and grunted, and he grabbed Lance’s hand to drag it to his crotch.
“C’mon, man-“
Lance clucked his tongue. “Nuh-uh, Kale, you have to be nice.”
“Ha, Kale-“
“Man-!”
“He don’t want ya stinky cock, Kale.”
Lance bade them goodnight. They still argued even as they settled into their bunks. Kale growled with frustration, but he didn’t complain.
Lance waited outside the barrack. It was cold, that was true, and Lance’s bedroom was especially cold — it was low, near the water and the wind, and it was a corner room, exposed on two sides to the chilly ocean air. There was an area heater in the room, but Lance still preferred to warm himself via alternate means at night.
He waited though. He didn’t like to do it when everyone was awake. He liked to tease them and make them horny. He could have had them bukkake him every night — he still thought he might do that at one point. But with big rough-and-tumble bucks like these guys, if he let them all gangbang his mouth one time, they’d want to do that every night.
It was better to leave them wanting more.
So he waited. He watched Kale jack off openly. Some guys hid it out of embarrassment. There was a small room adjoining the showers that they used for private, or semi-private anyway, masturbation — it was filled with porn, pictures of women making ou with each other literally plastered to the wall like wallpaper.
But Kale and a few other guys did it openly in the barracks. They said it doesn’t count on the rig, and they teased anyone who objected.
Kale did it now because he could see Lance out in the corridor, bathed in emergency lighting. Lance’s trim silhouette attracted Kale’s attention like a moth to a flame. Lance liked watching Kale jack off even though Kale was in darkness, so all Lance could see was his shadowy hand moving and his face, which happened to catch the light from the corridor.
Kale moaned when he came, and the barrack filled with the cottony scent of his cumload. He shot a fat wad all over his flat belly. His muscles rippled, and he groaned. Creamy jizz coated his torso.
He let his dick drop with a cocky snort. He sucked on his tongue.
“Nasty! Clean yaself up, Kale!”
“Fuckin’ gross!”
“Go to the jack-off room, man!”
Kale chuckled and got up to clean himself off with some tissues in his locker. He was just a few feet from the doorway, where Lance stood surreptitiously watching. Kale came to the door and stood there. He stood in the light so his six-pack and his huge cock were plainly visible to Lance.
“Hey, man, I can go again. I can cum as many times as you want, boy, you can jerk me off for hours. I don’t run out…” Kale said with a smile, showing off his dimples. He clucked his tongue like he was trying to be seductive. He sidled up to Lance and thwacked his moist, post-cum cock against Lance’s thigh.
Lance blushed and giggled. “I’m sure you can…” He gave Kale’s dick one long stroke and then walked away. “But you should go to sleep, Kale. You have work to do tomorrow.”
Kale always flirted with him hard like that. Lance enjoyed it, he liked how the men treated him once there no women around. He turned Kale down most of the time because he got possessive when Lance indulged him, and sometimes he was mean. Lance needed to tell him no sometimes to keep him from acting hard.
“Put ya drawers on, Kale, no one wanna look at ya dick!”
“Then look away, man,” Kale said. He waggled his dick between his fingers as he stood there in the light of the doorway, then went back into the barrack.
Lance walked away so they would actually sleep. That was his routine. He watched whoever jack off, then they’d all go to sleep while Lance made sure his own duties were taken care of. If Lance stood there, they’d keep trying to get his attention, so he had to leave to make them sleep.
He came back to the barrack a couple hours later. It was three o’clock in the morning. The roughnecks here worked very hard every single day, so they were sound asleep when they finally got to it. The barrack, Lance noticed, smelled more strongly of sweat — and a tiny bit of blood — than when he had left. That suggested there was a fight, as there often was after he had left.
Lance hadn’t shared a bed with Edgar for a long time. He was older than a lot of the other roughnecks, and he didn’t have a six-pack like many of them did. That mustache like a 70s-porn-star was old-fashioned too, and he had a hairy, grimy body that seemed perpetually dirty, even when he had just walked out of the shower. They called him “Mullet Grandpa”.
Somebody snorted loudly as Lance walked into the barrack. No one was awake, he was pretty sure, or they’d be hissing for him to choose them. Instead the barrack was silent except for the snoring and the grunts of sleeping men. He loved the smell of unwashed men, and that was the scent here in spades. Their workclothes were here, that was why. Even the ones who just showered an hour ago had their unwashed workclothes there by their bunks, and that sent the smell of filthy men to seep into the air of the sleeping quarters.
He went to the column of bunks about halfway into the barrack. This was well into the barrack, away from the doorway, so the emergency lighting didn’t extend here. It was pitch-black.
But Lance knew the barrack very well. He knew where he was going. He silently climbed up to the top bunk. That’s where Edgar’s massive body lay sprawled out as much as he could in the narrow bunkspace. Edgar snored.
He twitched when Lance’s fingers caressed his hairy thighs. Lance reached under the shorts he slept in every night. Edgar had showered right before bed, but he rarely washed those shorts, so they had an intensely musky scent that Lance adored.
“Huh?” Edgar woke up, groggy. His whole body shook.
“Ssssssssh….” Lance murmured. “It’s just me, it’s Lance. It’s really cold in my room, Edgar. Can I sleep with you? Will you keep me warm?” Lance asked it winsomely, like he thought Edgar would probably say no. Lance shivered. He knew Edgar would say yes. The only person in the rig who would say no was Hakim Hafazz, and even he, Lance was pretty sure, would actually say yes if Lance came to him at night — Hakim had told Lance not to try anything, that he would say no, but Lance suspected Hakim only said that because he knew he would give in to temptation if Lance actually did come to him at night. Nevertheless, Lance left him alone out of respect. Besides, there were plenty of men begging to keep Lance warm.
“Huh? Oh…” Edgar grunted. He scooted up against the steel wall of the barrack, laying on his side to give Lance enough room to squeeze in there. His hairy body was thick and fleshy, and his sheets stank of him. Lance inhaled deeply as he buried his face in Edgar’s arms.
It was obvious what was going to happen. Lance wanted it and had done it before. Edgar always said yes. They all let Lance sleep with them when he asked, and they always ended up plowing him in the ass too. Lance didn’t even initiate anything anymore, because it felt better to lay in bed with a man and be seduced rather than do the seduction.
So Lance just laid on his side too, facing Edgar. He nuzzled Edgar’s hairy neck as though going to go to sleep like that. His feet touched Edgar’s and he caressed Edgar’s ankle with his toes.
The men here all swore that they never kissed Lance. They let Lance share their bunk, and they let Lance grope their muscles, and they let Lance jerk them off, and they let Lance lick their ass, and they rammed Lance in the ass when he begged them to — but they all bragged to each other that they didn’t kiss him.
But they were all lying.
“Ssssssssh…” Lance murmured as his kisses traveled up Edgar’s neck to that mustache that Lance adored. He had to muffle a moan. He kissed Edgar on the lips, and Edgar moaned too. His moan was thick and moist like his body, crude, gravelly, loud but so deep it wouldn’t wake anyone up, it just blended in with the whirr of the oil rig’s machinery.
“Baby…” Edgar whispered right in Lance’s ear. “You feel so nice and soft… I love you…” Edgar always said he loved Lance. Lance didn’t mind, even though he knew Edgar didn’t mean it — it was just the feelings that this situation aroused within Edgar, making him feel such intense affection that it seemed like love to him. He plunged his tongue into Lance’s throat.
Lance kissed him back and caressed Edgar’s back the best he could. Edgar’s whole body rubbed over Lance as they made out.
Despite their constant promises otherwise, they all kissed Lance at night — they just didn’t acknowledge it during the day. It was difficult to resist. In the dark, Lance sounded like a woman and he felt like a woman with very small tits, and of course he had no pussy, but he did have an ass he let them fill, which they thought of as better than a pussy anyway.
Edgar mounted Lance’s chest as though to tittyfuck the breasts Lance didn’t have. Edgar always did that, pretending, even kneaded Lance’s flesh to rub it against the sides of his dick, titty-plowing the best he could despite Lance having no breasts. It was a little painful but Lance didn’t mind his rough fingers molding his skin. It didn’t last long anyway. Edgar’s dick was already hard and throbbing as he scooted forward, humping Lance’s chest until he got to his mouth.
It was actually a major feat of balance to get jerked off on one of these bunks. Edgar was so wide and thick that he struggled to sit up on the narrow bunk. He had to clutch the edges with his knees and hands, and in order to get his dick to Lance’s mouth, Edgar had to lean so far forward his head was on the bunk of the man next to him (Osvaldo Ramirez).
His thick dick slipped past Lance’s lips, and the taste of Edgar’s potent manhood overwhelmed Lance’s senses. He opened wide, letting Edgar plow into his throat with all his might. Lance’s hands caressed Edgar’s asscheeks as he humped in the dark.
When he tasted precum, Lance patted Edgar on the ass. He had to do it a couple times, slapping one meaty cheek hard enough to make a loud sound, to get Edgar’s attention. Edgar pulled off his mouth, and Lance took a deep breath as quietly as he could manage.
“Can you ram me? Please… I need it… I need you…” Lance whispered right into Edgar’s ear. Edgar’s whole body shuddered. Lance giggled. “You’re so strong, I wanna feel your dick inside me… Please…” He begged even though he knew there was never any doubt about it. Edgar loved to ram, but he also loved to hear Lance beg for it.
He grunted affirmatively, too horny to actually say anything. He slid down Lance’s body. As he did, his balls dragged over Lance’s belly and even his own cock. Edgar either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He rolled Lance over onto his side again, with Edgar on his side next to him. Edgar was such a thick-bodied man that, even with both of them on their side, his big barrel chest took up most of the space. Lance was near the edge of the bunk. He would have been scared to fall but Edgar wrapped one of his massive arms around Lance’s neck, keeping him in a tight, but loving, chokehold. Lance moaned and licked his bicep, while Edgar scrunched his tall body up to fit in the bunkspace and get his dick lined up with Lance’s ass.
“Damn it, Edgar, get off me!” someone muttered in the bunk on the other side of Edgar’s feet — which had accidentally kicked him as he and Edgar got into position. It was Karl Manderson, who scowled. “Don’t fuckin’ kick me, man, and keep it quiet.” He rotated his body so his head was farther from Edgar’s bunk, that way he wouldn’t hear Edgar and Lance — which was gross — and if Edgar accidentally kicked him again, he would hit his feet, not his head.
Edgar barely noticed. He was uncontrollably horny. He held onto Lance tightly and drilled his dick into his ass. Lance grunted and bit his bicep until Edgar stopped.
“Wait, wait, I didn’t put lube on,” Lance murmured through his pained ass — it really didn’t hurt that bad but he knew if he didn’t react strongly, Edgar would ignore it. Lance made Edgar apply the lube because he liked to feel Edgar showing tenderness towards him.
“I’m sorry, baby, I don’t wanna hurtcha. I wanna make you feel good,” Edgar whispered in Lance’s ear. He slathered gobs of lube onto Lance’s ass, but even then, he only slowed down his penetration. He kept pushing his dick in as he smeared it with lube, and Lance twisted in his arms. Lance would have definitely fallen off the bunk if he weren’t held up by Edgar’s strong arm.
Finally he was fully lubed, and Edgar began plowing hard. He slammed his cock in and out, letting his entire foot-long dick penetrate him, each inch sending a new wave of pleasure through Lance’s body.
Some of the men rammed Lance like they were fucking a disgusting prostitute who was their last choice at the brothel. That style of filthy rutting had its appeal for Lance at times. But he usually preferred to get a man to make sweet love to him. These roughnecks could make love in such a delightfully harsh way that Lance was ready to burst from the moment they started, and Edgar was one of the best.
Edgar knew well how to ram a man fast, good and quietly. His cock plowed pleasure deep into Lance’s body. He used one arm to keep Lance from falling off the edge, while his other spread Lance’s asscheeks wide.
That position didn’t last long though. The more he rammed, the more Edgar pulled Lance in close to him. Lance’s smooth frame really did feel like a girl, Edgar thought, and even his moaning and grunting sounded feminine. Soon, as always happened, Lance lay on his belly on the bunk while Edgar rammed on top of him.
He got pretty loud near the end. He plowed hard, making his bunk wheeze and shake. Both of the men in the bunks beneath him — Waymond right below, and Gooey under him — woke up and sighed, a little disgusted though neither could complain since they had both done the same thing on different occasions. Waymond especially wished he hadn’t woken up because he could hear them plowing just above his head, so close it was almost like they rammed him.
But that loud plowing, rutting like a horse, grunting and groaning with every thrust of his hips into Lance’s body, didn’t last more than a minute or two, so almost no one woke up besides Waymond and Gooey. They were all used to it anyway — Lance got rammed nearly every night. The only question was who would keep him warm.
Cum drained into Lance’s ass, great thick gobs of it that coated his insides and spread within him. Lance let out a long, cringing moan that would have been very loud if he weren’t squashed beneath Edgar’s hairy body.
“Goddamn, boy, yeah, take it, take it, take e’ry drop, boy…” Edgar whispered right into his ear and sucked on Lance’s earlobe, making him shudder and cringe, begging for more.
Lance and Edgar had a particular routine that was special to them. They had never talked about it. But Edgar didn’t want to ram Lance without letting him have a chance to cum too, so when he nutted, he kept his dick in Lance’s ass and lifted him up. Edgar lay on his back then, his dick rapidly limpening and rubbing against Lance’s prostate.
An orgasm was already ripping through Lance’s body. Now that he wasn’t crushed by Edgar’s muscles, Lance wanted to shout but didn’t out of respect for the other roughnecks. It took all of his concentration to avoid being loud. He allowed Edgar to roll him over without even taking his dick out, until Lance was mounted on Edgar’s cock and stroking himself off as he groped Edgar’s chest and nipples.
Edgar was splayed out as Lance orgasmed. Edgar didn’t much care about this — he liked giving Lance an orgasm, of course, both because it made him feel good about himself and because it meant Lance was more likely to do this again, but he was just ready for Lance to be done. So he let Lance feel up his muscles while his sensitive, softening dick filled up Lance’s ass, which dripped cum onto his thighs.
Lance sprayed his wad all over Edgar’s chest. Edgar would have been grossed out, maybe terrified of it, if he could see that happening. He would have freaked out and made Lance stop. He would have never done it if he could see another man’s cock cumming all over him or watch a man’s load coat his belly. But in the dark, nobody could see that was what happened, and Edgar could just close his eyes and enjoy the feelings that arose from his own dick. He pretended that that wasn’t a pool of cum spreading over his hairy chest.
Finally it was over. “Hmmmmm…” Lance sighed. He pulled off Edgar’s dick, which was now limp and spongy, fully spent. Lance had a container of wetnaps he kept with him, which he used to wipe up the cum off Edgar’s dick, chest and thighs.
By then, Edgar was virtually asleep — the cold of the wetnap kept him from actually sleeping, but he was dozing. When Lance finally curled up next to him, wrapping his arms and legs around Edgar’s body to fit between him and the wall, Edgar was sound asleep and snoring again. Lance massaged his chest muscles because he loved the feel of a muscular man’s sleeping body — there was something intensely arousing about that.
Eventually though, Lance was asleep too, deep in the warm embrace of Edgar’s arms. He nuzzled Edgar’s neck and sighed as he drifted off to slumber.
He loved his job. Especially the nights.

The Roughneck Bottoms

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

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

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Lance is a victorious lawyer given a reward he’ll never forget: Seven Minutes in Heaven with a hunky jock named Chris. He gets seven minutes to do anything he wants to Chris’s studly body, and he fully intends to get the most out of every minute!

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Or read the whole thing here!

Lance didn’t want to go to the party, but it was being thrown in his honor, so he couldn’t refuse. The Smashwood crew had lit a big bonfire by the time he got there, and they were all shotgunning beers — they hadn’t been allowed to drink while they were on house arrest, so now they were making up for lost time.
To Lance, it was bittersweet. He had been living in Oklahoma for most of a year, and he had gotten his local law license in time to defend a group of offenders from Smashwood Trailer Park, who were accused of a series of small-time robberies and assaults. He was proud of his success in getting all of the charges dropped. On the other hand, he knew they were guilty. They had beat a man so badly he spent ten months in the hospital. On the other, other hand, the state of Oklahoma had been unable to prove it, so he didn’t regret getting them off. That was his job, after all, and he was good at it.
“Congrat’lations, man!”
“My girl’s pussy thanks ya!”
“Hell yeah! Best lawyer in Oklahoma!”
Someone handed him a beer, and Lance sipped it at first, then realized the others were all chugging, so he did likewise.
“Come on, broh, drink it!” Chris Hazel yelled through a barrel of drunken laughs, and the others echoed him. Chris was the youngest here, only nineteen, and built like the high school football star he had been just a year or two ago. He had a jolly-cute face though. “Chug it! Chug it!”
“Hey, so… uh…” Math sidled up to Lance, shooing his friends away and telling them to stop pestering him. Math was the leader of the Smashwood guys — a loose-knit gang of small-time thieves — alleged thieves — he was the one who faced the most extensive charges, so he benefited the most by Lance getting the whole crew acquitted. Math leaned in so close his face was right next to Lance’s ear. “So, uh… How crazy is you?”
“Very,” he said. Then without thinking about it, he kissed Math on the lips. Math’s eyes opened wide amid the laughter and shocked gasps from the other rednecks. For a moment, Lance thought Math was going to hit him, but then Math smiled — it hadn’t been much of a kiss, after all, just a dry peck on the lips.
Math pointed to the three girls at the party. They were hot, in a slutty redneck way, and they lounged in one corner as though waiting. They wore skimpy outfits that showed off their tits and ass, and they each had trashy tattoos on their lower back. Lance strongly suspected they were prostitutes.
“You wanna fuck one of them? Or all three?”
Lance shook his head. “Thanks,” he said. “But no thanks. I’m not interested.” That was both because he wasn’t in a mood for women right now and cuz he didn’t do prostitutes. Lance preferred a more elegant class of women. “No prostitutes for me, Lyle.” Lance called him ‘Lyle’ because ‘Math’ was a gang name and he had denied throughout the trial that he was the person known as ‘Math’. Lance chose not to use it when he could avoid it. He had made the argument in court, after all, that Lyle was not Math.
“I told you guys!” Math called out to the others. Math’s voice was suddenly loud, booming across the trailer park. Most of them had moved on and were trying to get a three-wheeler unstuck from a muddy ditch it couldn’t extricate itself from, so the party was quiet enough for an ordinary conversation.
A burst of chatter hit the guys around the bonfire. Lance didn’t hear what they were saying because everyone spoke at once.
“You want a different female?” Math asked.
Lance shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Lyle. You already paid me for my services.”
“I ain’t tryna-a pay you,” Math said. “I’m tryna-a congratulate you.” He sneered as though Lance should have known the difference.
“Let ‘im cornhole you, Math!” said someone else with a laugh.
“Yeah, Math, you do it! You the one who had the most to lose.”
That was true — Math had faced some extra charges because he was in charge of the beatdown, plus the bloody bat had been found in his trailer here in the Smashwood Trailer Park. But Math looked horrified at the thought, and he furrowed his brow at Lance as though he hadn’t considered he would be willing to cornhole a man but not fuck a woman.
Then Math’s eyes lit up. He must have concluded Lance was Christian. Which was true, but not the reason Lance didn’t want a prostitute.
“He don’t wanna cornhole me,” Math said with a wrinkle of his nose.
“Uh…?” Lance smiled. “No, Lyke. You’re wrong about that.”
“Really? We was gonna let you swing on some dick if you wanted, but we thought you’d want a woman instead,” Math said.
“You thought that, Math,” someone said with a laugh. Whoever it was shrouded by the darkness beyond the bonfire.
Math shrugged. “Well, fine, pick someone to jerk off,” he said. “Ain’t no one here gonna take no dick up the ass, but a mouth is a mouth, right guys?”
Lance was astonished.
Chris, that young fresh-faced jock, chuckled and blushed. “Seven Minutes in Heaven! We should play Seven Minutes in Heaven with him!” he blurted out a few times until the others heard. He was a husky baby-faced redneck, with a literal red neck and scruffy chin like he only just gained enough facial hair to shave and was growing a beard because he finally could. His meaty lineman-jock body jiggled. “Seven Minutes in Heaven!”
“What are we, middle-schoolers?”
“Shut the fuck up, Chris.”
“What’s Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Lance had never heard of it.
Despite most of the rednecks saying no and telling Chris it was a stupid game for teenagers, they all accepted his idea. Lance had no idea what he was talking about, as the rednecks all formed a tight circle near the bonfire.
Math explained, “So this is a game, we normally play it with just the girls, or we used to play it in high school,” he said. “It’s stupid, a kid’s game. We don’t do it no more.” But despite his words, they got ready to play, Math included. The girls joined the circle as well. “It’s basically Spin-the-Bottle but rather than just kiss, you have to go in the dirty-dawg trailer-” he pointed to an uninhabited trailer next to the bonfire, “for seven minutes.”
“And we… do what??”
“Whatever you want,” Math said.
Math nodded grimly. “Even me, man. It’s just dome, or whatever. Just let ‘im taste yer nut. Ain’t a big deal. We all spent a night in lockup-” He stopped because the other guys clapped and coughed over him as though they had all promised not to speak of whatever had happened there. His voice trailed off.
Someone put the bottle in Lance’s hand. If he weren’t so nervous — and excited — he would have declined. But he spun the bottle anyway.
“Not me! Not me!”
“Hey, after the sissy, let’s keep going, we got three girls, that’s nine holes to fill!”
It almost landed on one of the girls, then just barely managed to rotate to the next person in the circle. Chris.
Lance’s heart started pounding — if he had thought rationally about it, Chris would be exactly whom he would have picked: the handsome jock with the muscles and the dimples… He would be ideal. But this was all happening so fast that Lance didn’t even think about his ideal first choice before it was all done.
“Makes sense, it was your idea,” Math said over the hooting laughter. The others laughed and catcalled at Chris, who blushed beet-red. Somebody smacked him on the ass as he walked towards the trailer. He cast a nervous glance at Lance. He had a nice phat ass, and his cheeks rippled when his friends tapped him on the ass. He bristled like he was uncomfortable with it, but didn’t complain.
“I don’t even care, I’ll let some sissy swing on my dick,” Chris said. “I need to get my dick wet!” He grabbed his overflowing crotch-bulge as he stood in the threshold of the trailer, then entered. His confidence disappeared entirely once he was in the trailer. He made eye contact with Lance and winced.
Chris was a tall, beefy young man, with broad shoulders and a barrel-shaped body. He had been a linebacker on his high school football team, and he still retained all that heft and meat even now, a couple years out of school. He had peachfuzz on his cheek and his chest — visible under the wifebeater he wore — and a thick mop of blond hair on his head. He had a powerful body beneath his layer of padding, which was just thick enough. He had the physique of an athlete who had never watched what he ate, so his perfect frame was concealed by a layer of sexy plumpness. He smelled of sweat and cheap deodorant, a scent that made Lance’s dick get hard in his pants.
“Whatchoo wanna do?” Chris asked, his voice wavering. It sounded like he rarely lacked confidence, and was uncomfortable with it.
“What, uh… What are the rules?” Lance asked.
“You can do whatever you want,” Chris said. He blushed again, as his friends outside called out to him.
“You swallowin’ that sissy dick yet, Chris? Bet you regret comin’ up with this idea?!”
“Fuckin’ retard!”
“Cornhole Chris! Cornhole Chris! Make him cry, Lance!”
Chris sighed. “I know Math said you can say no, but you ain’t s’sposed. Or I ain’t s’sposed to, I mean… neither of us is s’sposed to. It’s bein’ a bad sport.”
“Oh,” Lance said. Not wanting to waste any time, he sunk to his knees. Chris wore dirty, loose jeans, and Lance grabbed his crotch through the denim. He sniffed the filthy material, then looked up at Chris, who watched as though terrified of what was happening.
The rednecks outside outside the trailer were chanting “Cornhole Chris!” over and over as they directed flashlights through the curtains into the trailer. Their light danced on the walls like searchlights. The curtains meant they couldn’t see inside anyway, but the lights were still blinding for Chris and Lance.
Chris nodded. “I play by the rules, suh,” he said. “Just tell them you jerked me off, and I have a huge one. Ain’t gotta lie ‘bout that. I don’t give a shit who swallow my nut.” Despite his words, he sucked in his breath as Lance touched his dick. Lance suspected he had rarely, if ever, let a man jerk him off, except perhaps that one time in jail (when it seemed the whole crew had done so — Lance wondered who had done the swallowing then; had it been one of them? Or was there an outsider in there with them?).
Lance unzipped Chris’s jeans and pulled them down. He wore plain dingy white briefs, which Lance also pulled down. He whistled at the sight of Chris’s massive cockshaft, which hung limply between his trunkish legs.
“Hey, Chris, squeal like a piggie, okay? I know you can do it! Yee-haw!”
A blush spread across Chris’s face, and he frowned like a part of him wanted to run outside and start throwing punches. Lance guzzled down his limp dick before he could change his mind. Chris had a thick, greasy slab of meat, and his youthful vigor meant it perked up in Lance’s mouth right away.
“Ah, damn…” Chris said, a blush appearing on his babyface as though he hadn’t meant to reveal how good this dome was. “You swallow that like a champion mare, boy.”
Lance smiled around the rapidly firming cock in his throat. He slathered spit up and down Chris’s shaft, and he grinned as the plump cocktip tickled the back of his throat.
“He’ll do anything, Lance, remember that! This is Seven Minutes in Heaven, not Seven Minutes in Compromise!”
“Stick it in his ass! Make ‘im squeal!”
They laughed as though it was a huge joke, but also with a trace of seriousness. From the faint grumblings that Lance heard indistinctly outside, he suspected that two men had, on occasion, gone into this trailer before for a similar purpose. They were whispering about it as some long-ago scandal.
Chris grunted as though surprised at how good this spot of dome felt as Lance swallowed his cock down to the root. He quickly got hard, and he humped his hips into Lance’s face. Chris’s round jaw wriggled as he chewed on his lower lip, whether out of passion or anxiety or both Lance wasn’t sure.
The sour flavor of precum coated Lance’s tongue. He moaned and let some of it drip out of his mouth, running in rivulets down the veins that wrapped over Chris’s plump shaft.
Six minutes left!
Lance wanted to see how far he could take Chris, so he licked the man’s heavy, low-hanging balls while taking his own cock out of his pants. He licked a trail from Chris’s cock and over his belly.
Chris was in excellent shape, but he didn’t have a six-pack — it was obvious, to Lance anyway, that he didn’t have the body-type for it. This was probably about as close as he was capable of getting, just a little paunch and a layer of padding over his dictionary-sized pecs. Lance sucked on his nipples as Chris’s muscles rippled and he held back a moan.
Chris either didn’t care or didn’t notice as Lance jousted with his cock and Chris’s. Lance stroked off both shafts at once. Chris was more focused on moaning as his nipples grew erect in Lance’s mouth. With both men’s precum running from their cocktips, it wasn’t obvious to Chris that the sensation on his dick came from Lance’s manhood rather than his fingers.
Then Chris blanched. His hands fluttered like he didn’t know where to put them — he had realized he was touching dicks with Lance. He moaned with pleasure, then blushed as if he was trying to stop from moaning.
“You want me to stop?”
“Nah,” Chris said. He took a deep breath. He spoke quietly to be sure no one outside could hear. From the occasional rocking and banging on the walls, it sounded like the other rednecks were right on the other side, listening for any hint at what was going on in there. “I’ll do anything you want,” Chris whispered. He looked down at his massive trailer park-bred feet. Lance got on his knees and kissed him on the lips, which were dry and thick. Chris opened his mouth as though he had been waiting for that, and their tongues interlocked. Lance was shocked that Chris kissed him back.
As someone outside called out, Five minutes left, Lance decided to hurry up. He sunk back down, tongue leaving a trail of spit down Chris’s thick neck, chest, belly, crotch and thigh. He intended to let Chris ram his face.
But it seemed Chris didn’t get that. Chris instead grumbled a bit but mounted Lance’s body backwards, as though he was going to sixty-nine. Lance gasped with shock as Chris’s cock and balls plopped on his face. Sweat and precum dribbled down his cheek.
“Thanks for getting me outta prison,” Chris said.
Then, before Lance could tell him he didn’t have to do this, Chris swallowed Lance’s dick. He gagged right away, even before it hit the back of his throat, and then he gagged continuously until he got used to it. His tongue battered Lance’s cockshaft, which was already erect and throbbing. Lance sucked in his breath, and his toes curled.
Absolutely shocked by this development, Lance nearly blew his load immediately. He had rarely felt such intense pleasure, as his cock throbbed and pulsated in Chris’s mouth. Chris gurgled, and he sucked down every drop, regardless of how his throat spasmed around the salty precum that leaked down his gullet.
Lance instinctively used one hand to guide Chris’s head up and down, while Chris’s meaty body planted his own cock in Lance’s throat. Lance swallowed it to the root, and he too slathered spit up and down the shaft. Chris hadn’t lost any bit of his erection, so it firmly filled Lance’s throat and it too spewed precum into Lance’s belly.
Seemingly overcome by passion, Chris stopped playing with Lance’s precum-nearly-cumming cock. He lifted his head up and grunted as he slammed his dick deep into Lance’s throat. He gasped, and Lance choked. His thick arms grabbed both of Lance’s legs and held on to them tightly.
His mouth open and his head near Lance’s dick, Chris was trying to swallow that dick once more, but his orgasm was too intense to do it. He couldn’t concentrate, all he could do was moan as pleasure shuddered through his body, while Lance’s dick did little more than bob and spasm, leaving a trail of juices along Chris’s butterface.
“Yee-haw, fuck! Yeah!” Chris said as quietly as he could muster. His back arched and the peachfuzz on his spine stood up.
Chris’s entire muscular body jiggled when he came, spraying a load all the way down Lance’s gullet. He felt up his own nipples with each hand, and his burly body puckered beneath Lance’s grasp. Lance savored the creamy texture and salty flavor as it overwhelmed his senses.
Then Chris kneeled, planting his hairy ass on Lance’s face. He laughed as Lance licked the ticklish taint between his thighs. He reached out and stroked Lance’s dick with one hand, while his other caressed Lance’s smooth chest.
Chris breathed deeply, with a sick smile on his face as he watched Lance lick his sensitive taint. Every few seconds a shudder of post-orgasmic pleasure shot through him, and Chris’s whole body writhed atop Lance’s face.
“Damn, you smooth as hell, boy,” he said.
“Have you ever messed around with a man before?”
Chris looked away. He didn’t answer out loud, but it was obvious the answer was yes — Lance really wanted to ask for details, but he didn’t think Chris would provide any, and regardless, Lance was too aroused to concentrate. He couldn’t believe this football jock was touching his cock.
It was probably in prison, anyway, before the trial, when it seemed Math, Chris and all the others had messed around. As the youngest, they might have made Chris bottom for the whole crew, Lance thought, a possibility that Lance wished he could have watched.
He took his ass off Lance’s face, then mounted Lance’s crotch. He squatted over it and let his ass land on Lance’s hardon. He looked pained even before Lance’s dick sunk inside him. He winced and hung his head to avoid eye contact with Lance.
“Oh shit that hurts!” Chris said with a wince. That made it seem like he was intact, Lance thought, as another burst of bliss wracked his body, emanating from his sensitive cock.
“Sorry, sorry,” Lance murmured, his lithe body growing sweaty as the trailer heated up. He let out a cringing moan of passion as Chris lowered his plump cheeks. Lance chuckled. “Ow, shit, Chris! That’s too big!”
“Ah, damn, horse-cock Chris strikes again!”
“Hold ‘im down, boy! Ain’t no backin’ out!”
His dick disappeared in Chris’s well-muscled ass, which was firm as overinflated basketballs. Chris’s blushing face turned even redder from both embarrassment and pain. His post-orgasmic dick even spasmed a few times when Lance hit Chris’s prostate. Jizz leaked onto Lance’s belly and slid into his crotchhair.
Lance grabbed Chris’s body and felt his muscles, which were tense and flexed. Beneath the padding he was like a statue though, gym-toned muscles firm as rocks, and the feel of his masculine physique made Lance want to ram him like this forever, instead of a mere seven minutes in heaven. Chris remained perfectly still aside from an occasional gasp and wince.
“Damn, Chris, you got a perfect ass…” Lance muttered, as the tightness of it sent waves of sensation through his body. He kissed Chris’s muscular torso and licked the sweat that had collected there.
His dick was all the way inside Chris now, sliding in and out. Chris was such a big boy that his asscrack was huge, matted with dark blond hair and dripping with sweat, spit and assjuice. That meant he was well-lubed, so Lance could easily slid his dick in and out. Chris did suck in his breath every few seconds in pain, but he didn’t complain.
One minute left!
The more they got a good rhythm going, the most Chris seemed to get into it. It wasn’t clear that he even heard the men outside giving him just one minute left. Lance didn’t want Chris to get caught in this position when they opened the door, so he plowed hard back and forth, ignoring the spasming pain of Chris’s muscles. Instead Lance rammed his crotch against Chris over and over as his climax mounted.
Finally that orgasm hit him like a linebacker tackle, just as Lance heard the men outside chanting and counting down the last thirty seconds. Lance gasped, and Chris squealed his discomfort. He blushed at having made such an unmanly sound. Luckily nobody outside seemed to hear it.
As the orgasm washed over him, Lance yelped and squirmed. He made enough noise that the rednecks outside heard and laughed. They were knocking on the door now, but it seemed they had a rule of not opening the door until the seven minutes was up.
Lance’s limp cock plopped out of Chris’s ass. Chris breathed a sigh of relief. Then without another word, he backed up, making all of the jizz up his backside flow out and plop onto Lance’s back.
As the last ten-second countdown began, Chris rested his balls right on Lance’s nostrils, and the scent of his rank sweat coated Lance’s nose. Chris’s balls smelled like his own ass, mixed with feet and cum and perspiration. It was almost enough to make Lance nut all over again.
Chris guffawed. “I’s teabaggin’ him, guys!”
“Four. Three! Two! One!”
They flung the door open, obviously hoping to catch Chris in a compromising situation. But Chris was on top of Lance, leaving no clue that Chris had been penetrated. His gigantic cock was plainly visible — that must have been his goal, Lance thought, to make sure his friends saw he had a giant cock, and Chris was teabagging Lance. Lance’s body was covered in cum — and so was Chris’s ass, not that they could see that.
They clapped at the sight of Lance’s moist face. Chris blushed as though he hadn’t meant to get caught at all, and he pulled his underwear on. Someone handed him a beer as he left the trailer, still wearing nothing but his briefs, and Math smacked his ass with a howl. His asscheeks must have had jizz clinging to them — Lance’s jizz — but Math either didn’t notice or didn’t want to point it out in front of th ewhole crew.
“You alright, Lance?” Math asked. He side-eyed Chris.
“He’s fine,” Chris said, winking at Lance. “His ass couldn’t quite take the Big C-” He grabbed his cock through his shorts and wagged it at Math. “But his mouth managed to hold in there. It was seven minutes in heaven for sure.”
“That’s right,” Lance said with a knowing grin as he too stepped out of the trailer. “It truly was seven minutes in utter heavenly bliss.” He was exhausted but he tried to hide it, thinking it might look obvious that he had done some plowing and that Chris had bottomed.
But most people were drunk by then, and they just guffawed at Chris’s embarrassed look. No one even seemed to consider the possibility that Chris had bottomed.
And in any case, they were all focused on moving onto the next round of the game. That meant getting the remaining men — plus those three prostitutes — to sit down in a circle with a bottle yet again. Lance hung out near that trailer, hoping he would be able to get a peek inside at what happened during the next Seven Minutes in Heaven.

The Apia Alpha

When Lance goes through a bad breakup, he never thought his neighbor the Samoan rugby player would console him like this! That’s because Poahi wants to explore the world of twink on top!

Read The Apia Alpha as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Lance had smoked weed a few times but not often, and he had never enjoyed it. It sometimes gives him a headache, and sometimes he doesn’t even get really stoned, just sleepy. It just wasn’t his bag. He never sought it out until today.
And even that was only because he was upset. His girlfriend dumped him, completely out of the blue. Lance cried himself to sleep as he wondered if he’d be forever truly alone. In the morning, he woke up and immediately decided he wanted to get high. Maybe that, he thought, would put him in a good mood. It helped that his only easy source of weed was smoking with his neighbor, which had its perks.
Lance’s neighbor was a massively muscular man with an excellent physique that Lance often admired. He was Poahi, a Samoan immigrant who had played professional rugby for half a season before getting kicked off the team for failing a drug test — rugby fans called him the “Titan of Apia”, referring to the capital city of Samoa. Poahi didn’t care, it seemed, rugby was his ticket to an American work visa, which he now had and could use. Now that he was here, he had little need for rugby. He was nearly seven feet tall, brimming with muscle and swagger. But he wasn’t cocky at all, he was just confident in his body and his masculinity, and he was stoned all the time.
That was not an exaggeration. Lance smelled weed wafting into his apartment from next-door about twenty minutes after Poahi first moved in. He literally hadn’t moved anything in besides his bong and a lighter. He was taking bong hits before he had a chair to sit in.
And now for the first time in his life, Lance wanted to join him in that.
He wondered if that was a sign of a burgeoning addiction, but he didn’t care, he just wanted to feel better. That was why, this morning, he waited to hear the sounds of Poahi getting up — he always had a cup of tea first thing in the morning, and Lance could hear his kettle whistle.
When he heard that shrill whistle, Lance went over and knocked on the door.
“Hey, hā, mate,” Poahi said, bleary-eyed from his early morning rise (it was nine o’clock, which for Poahi was very early). He wore nothing but a pair of shorts and sandals, his gigantic chest heaving as he drank coconut milk from the carton. A few driblets of coconut milk ran down his powerful torso. He was nearly seven feet tall, so Lance had to crane his neck to make eye contact with him.
“Suzanne dumped me!” Lance hadn’t meant to blurt that out and come across as an overly emotional weakling.
Poahi was definitely uncomfortable. He ran his fingers through his thick curly hair, which he let grow into an unmanageably dense Polynesian-afro. He frowned, his jovial brownness suddenly awkward and tense. But despite his obvious desire to get away from this conversation, he did submit to listening as Lance explained — in entirely too many words — the entire course of his relationship with Suzanne, which had ended badly yesterday. Poahi acted as though this was the first time he’d heard of Suzanne, which was incorrect. His memory was subpar.
“And so apparently she was still mad about all that stupid bullshit drama from like a year ago!”
“Oh, uh, wow, I’m sorry to hear that. Shitty as, mate,” Poahi said. His lilting accent was deep and resonant, rumbling on account of his huge body and low voice. He had that typical alpha-male reluctance to acknowledge any feelings, so he stood awkwardly in his doorway. He leaned against the threshold clutching a now-empty carton of coconut milk in his hand. It was a huge bottle, but since his hand was so big it looked miniature to Lance’s eyes.
“I was just… I could use some weed,” Lance said. “I don’t feel like getting a prescription. And I’ll probably just do it one time, just today, so there’s no point in buying a bong myself or anything.”
“Oh, you want some weed?” He sounded a little unsure, like he didn’t want to give it up.
“I, uh… I’ll pay for it,” he said. “And I’d like you to show me how. I mean, I know sort of. But not really.”
Poahi nodded and shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “Come on in. I was just about to wake-and-bake, mate.”
He had a typical bachelor apartment. His clothes were scattered over the floor — and they were huge clothes since he was a giant, so they took up a lot of space. His living room was dominated by a weight set, which smelled of sweat, and the zesty funk of it made Lance aroused. Lance adored the male form, and Poahi’s form was highly appreciable. Poahi had to stoop to fit his bigness through the doorway, and his body was so broad he barely fit in his kitchen.
As Poahi finished putting together his breakfast in the kitchen, Lance told him all about the breakup. It didn’t sound like Poahi was listening, but it felt good to say it all out loud regardless. Verbalizing problems had a way of putting them in perspective.
Poahi ate five eggs and six links of sausage for breakfast, and he finished another entire bottle of coconut milk. He ate like an athlete too, shoveling food in his mouth as though it was going to escape if he didn’t eat quickly. He smacked his lips and chewed with his mouth open, snorting as he swallowed like a feral hog, as though it took every muscle in his cavernous body to eat. He listened — or pretended to listen — as Lance told him stories of the better times between him and Suzanne.
When Poahi was done eating, he looked significantly more awake and less bleary-eyed. He sat down on his ratty old couch, tossing an enormous pair of jeans aside to make room for himself. He grabbed a tall green glass bong, which was shaped like a dancing hula lady.
He pointed to the hitter, which was still packed up from the night before. “Okay, you light this bit right here as you inhale from the bong part, then when your lungs are starting to feel full, put the lighter down and pull the stem out — that’s what you call this bit, the stem — and inhale the last of the smoke that’s in the shaft.” He demonstrated. It looked simple when he did it.
Lance shivered with sexual tension. He was horny because of the recent breakup and because Poahi’s physique was in even condition than usual today. He looked like he had recently gotten a pump on, even though he just got up moments ago. The fluid movement of his muscles as he inhaled was arousing, as though it took every ounce of strength he had to light and inhale from the bong. He pursed his lips as he took his bong hit, like he was kissing the smoke inside the bong.
He passed the bong to Lance, holding the breath in his lungs for what felt like a long time — maybe normal for such a big man, but it sure seemed incredible to Lance. The fragrant smell of weed filled the room when he finally exhaled. A long puff of smoke filled the air.
Lance had taken precisely one bong hit in his life before this. He had embarrassed himself at a party by not knowing how to do it many years before. But he had seen it a million times since then, mainly when visiting Suzanne’s brother, who was a daily smoker. Suzanne loved her brother hated weed, which was why they had never partaken together.
He coughed before taking the bong away from his mouth, which meant he spewed bong water through the stem. It sprayed over the multi-stained couch.
“Whoah, party foul, mate,” Poahi said, though he didn’t really seem all that concerned. “Take a small hit, since it is your first time and you are small.” He held up his hand with two of his fingers about a half-inch apart.
Astringent tears twinkled in Lance’s eyes — this weed was much harsher than that bong hit he had taken before, and it was way stronger than the handful of joints he had smoked with a former girlfriend. The taste was acrid and intense.
But it wasn’t bad. It hurt his lungs, but he did feel a mental lightening.
Lance tried again, this time barely lighting the weed for a second before pulling the lighter away. He managed to finish the hit, and he got a lungful of smoke. He sighed as he exhaled. This one was much smoother, smaller, less painful. He felt like he manipulated the bong correctly.
“Hold the smoke in as long as you can,” Poahi said, taking the bong back from him. He emptied the hitter and packed it up. As he did, he smiled at Lance’s watery eyes and pained expression. “That hurt, man?”
“A bit.”
“Good. That means you will get real high,” Poahi said in his pitchy Samoan accent. “It’ll make you forget all about that Suzanne, mate. Fuck her.”
Lance burst into a sob that he tried to hold back a sob, and he blushed. He really wasn’t crying because he was so emotional, it was mainly the weed in his eyes and the potent smoke still in his lungs, though the reminder of the breakup didn’t help. But it must have looked to Poahi like he had made Lance cry.
“Oh, sorry, mate. I should not have said anything.”
“No, no problem, it’s okay,” Lance said. “I don’t even really care, not really. I was thinking about dumping her anyway. I just feel like an idiot for not realizing this was coming. Have you ever felt like that?”
Poahi shook his head as he took a hit. Then, with his lungs still full, his voice deep yet nasal, he said, “I have never been dumped, not by a serious girlfriend or anything.”
“Really?”
“Nope. Only person who ever dumped me and made me cry was… well, I was young then.”
“High school sweetheart?” Lance took the bong and lit it. This time his hit was much more practiced and fluid, and he coughed, but wasn’t in a lot of pain. It didn’t look so amateurish.
“Sort of. I was in school, back in Apia. She wasn’t, she was older,” Poahi said. He paused as though there was more to the story that he wasn’t saying.
“Did you love her?”
“No,” he said as though the answer should have been obvious. “She was… A lot of the guys in my school rammed her.”
“Ah. So she was kind of a slut?”
He shrugged. “I guess so. It wasn’t like that. She was…” Poahi sighed. “She was a fa’afinafe.”
“… What?”
“It’s a Samoan thing. She was a, well… We call her a woman. But she was really a man,” he said as he exhaled. “She was…”
“A man who lived as a woman?”
“Yeah. We call them fa’afafine. Her name was Kekepovi, and I felt alofa for her,” Poahi said. “Do not tell no one, okay? Only Polys understand.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Nobody knows how to make a cock feel better than someone who has one,” Lance said. He declined his next bong hit, as his head was already swimming. He smiled. He felt much better now, and the breakup felt like the distant past.
“Hell yeah.” Poahi took one more big hit to finish the weed off in the stem, then put the bong down. “Can I tell you a secret? Something not even other Polys understand?”
“Okay.”
Poahi exhaled a huge plume of bluish smoke. He sighed with satisfaction. “Uh… She jerked me off a lot. And I put it in her ass.”
“Okay… That’s kinda what I assumed happened.”
“But that is not all. She…” He blushed and averted his eyes.
“She plowed you too?”
He winced. “Don’t put it like that.”
“Oh, sorry. I mean… she made love to you too.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Bloody hell, don’t put it like that either.”
“Sorry.”
“But yeah,” he shifted his weight on his couch.
“I know.”
“But it wasn’t bad.”
“Poahi… Do you want to do it again?” Lance asked. He didn’t really think too much about the question, he just saw an opportunity and went for it. He assumed Poahi was going to say no, and Lance was all set to pretend he had just been kidding.
But then Poahi did not say no.
There was a long pause. Poahi blushed and looked away, more bashful than Lance had ever seen him. He put down the bong and the lighter.
“I, uh… Just cuz you are so upset over the breakup,” Poahi said. “And you are so small, like she was. She was little too. Sorry, I mean… You are-” He snorted and pulled his shorts down without another word, revealing a huge cock, thick and jiggly with fat. It was uncut and veiny. “I never say no to starting the day with a nut.” A long throaty chuckle came outta his mouth.
Lance dropped to his knees, wanting to get started before Poahi changed his mind. Guys with a physique like Poahi never backed out once they got hard, he knew that from experience. He kissed the tip of Poahi’s cock, which instantly twitched against his lips.
“Aaah, yes, mate…” Poahi grumbled, and his bare chest muscles rippled. As Lance slurped on the tip of his dick, Poahi picked up his bong and took a long deep hit.
When he exhaled, letting out a long plume of smoke like a train engine, Lance licked a trail from the tip to the root of Poahi’s manhood. The taste was sunny and musty at the same time, reeking of Poahi’s unwashed manhood and his ratty old bachelor sheets.
“Ah, yeah…”
His dick twitched and swelled to attention beneath Lance’s lips, as Lance sent his hands creeping up Poahi’s bare chest to those gigantic, rugby-toned pecs, each one the size of volleyballs. His nipples puckered at his touch. His flesh was firm as rocks beneath his smooth skin.
Poahi leaned back on the couch and groaned, still holding the bong in one hand and his lighter in the other. He spread his legs so Lance could crawl between them. Poahi was so tall that the couch was awkward for him, and his ass barely fit on the cushion at all. Most of his chest and back extended above the back of the couch, and his knees angled up like he was in a booster seat.
His tongue slurping down Poahi’s fat, throbbing shaft, Lance moved lower and lower. He teased the root of Poahi’s sweaty cock. Then Lance let both of his big sweaty balls fall into his mouth, and he suckled loudly on them. He wasn’t entirely sure what Poahi was agreeing to, so Lance took it slow as he removed his own clothes. Poahi either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Did Poahi really mean it when he said “she” plowed him up the ass? That didn’t sound right. Maybe it was a translation problem, Lance thought, maybe that meant something different in Samoan.
But he wasn’t going to tempt fate by asking. Poahi had a marvelous manhood, and Lance was willing to do whatever with it that Poahi would agree to.
“Come on, let us sixty-nine,” Poahi said, sliding to lay on his back on the couch. He didn’t even come close to fitting — the entire length of his legs were raised to drape over the foot of the couch, and his head was still jammed up against the other end. It didn’t look particularly comfortable for him, but then he was so tall, he was probably used to furniture not fitting him, Lance thought as he climbed aboard the man’s mountainous chest. His muscles rippled beneath Lance’s body.
Lance giggled. “Uh… You were with that fay-aff-in-a-ffay when you were a lot shorter, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” Poahi said, realizing the problem — Lance was much too short to sixty-nine with Poahi. If Lance jerked Poahi’s cock, his own crotch would be above Poahi’s chest, lower than the nipples even, nowhere’s near close enough for Poahi to touch his dick.
But Lance thought it would be fun to try — he did want to swallow Poahi’s cock some more, and this would be a good first step to getting his dick in Poahi’s mouth, he thought. Poahi could get comfortable touching dick without having to really do much with it.
He mounted Poahi’s broad chest and took the tip of his cock in his mouth. Lance played with the head as he ground his cock between Poahi’s cavernous pecs. He let his spit dribble down Poahi’s long manhood, which was even bigger than it looked. It smelled of coconut and sea salt, and Lance’s mouth watered as he sucked it down as deep as he could get.
“Hmmm…”
Poahi growled and smacked his ass. He let his pinkie finger travel between Lance’s cheeks until it pushed into his asshole. Lance bent his back and moaned. His finger felt so good inside Lance that he was unable to focus on swallowing dick, so he just flopped its shaft against his face and panting tongue.
When Poahi spread his legs a bit and scooted his ass far as it would go to bare his hole, Lance got the impression he wanted Lance to finger his ass as well, but was too embarrassed to say it. So Lance didn’t stop licking on that massive meat as he crept his finger between Poahi’s sweaty thighs and past his hairy taint. His massive legs raised like wind turbines above Lance, who slurped spit all up and down Poahi’s shaft and his hefty ballsac.
Poahi had to lift his hips up a bit, but soon Lance was able to get his own index finger in the hole. As soon as he did, Poahi grunted and arched his back. Lance gripped both sides of his broad barrel belly as he jerked on that veiny brown shaft. Poahi’s ass was so thick and broad that Lance’s entire wrist fit between his cheeks just to get the tip of his finger in his hole.
“Uh, yeah, mate, that’s nice as…” Poahi said, his chest muscles quivering. Lance leaked precum between those meaty pecs, which he humped slowly — titty-fucking him, in a sense, Lance thought. Poahi actually had enough pec muscle that Lance could sort of do that.
It reminded him of Suzanne though, so Lance didn’t say anything. She fingered his ass too. He was into that, and she was willing to put up with it. She pretended she liked it, but she didn’t really like anything sexual. Lance was pretty sure she was asexual and was just willing to put up with sex if it was necessary. That was why she was willing to do most anything — none of it was any more or less appealing to her, so she might as well agree to whatever Lance wanted to do. What Lance wanted to do was have a woman who wanted to have sex.
And he wanted a man with a physique like Poahi on the side. Or in the relationship even! Lance didn’t care, he was fine with polyamory. But he worked for a staid accounting firm. It would be scandalous for him to do anything that wasn’t passionless penis-in-vagina sex, horizontal, in a bed with the lights off at night.
Lance and Poahi both lay there fingering each other. Lance writhed above the towering Polynesian’s body, which was big enough he could explore it for hours. He had had a six-pack when he was a professional athlete, but he wasn’t in training right now, so he had just a hint of flab over his otherwise flat belly. That was just enough for Lance, who didn’t like his men too chiseled. A physique was better when it had some heft to it.
It was apparent that Poahi liked prostate play more than Lance would have guessed. He gasped and grunted as he spread his own cheeks to help Lance get in there. When he tasted precum, Lance knew it was time to try something else before Poahi shot his load. Lance pulled off him and stood.
Much to his surprise, Poahi leaned off the couch, took Lance’s cock in hand and licked it. He winced and gagged a little but didn’t slow down as he deep-throated. He had a nice, loose throat that easily swallowed every inch of Lance’s meat. He showed no reaction as he gulped it down, sending a wave of pleasure up Lance’s spine. Poahi’s nose nuzzled Lance’s crotch.
“Oh, damn, Poahi, you really did learn a lot from that, f’af’a… f’affinafe?…”
“Fa’afafine.” He pulled off, still showing no reaction, even as his mouth overflowed with spit and the goopy cream of Lance’s precum.
Lance had intended to sit on his dick, but after Poahi returned to sucking down Lance’s cock, Poahi got off the couch. He had to stoop all the way down until he was nearly laying on the floor to line his mouth up with Lance’s dick. Lance gripped his rippling shoulder muscles as his knees went weak, bliss rushing up his body and his face blushed bright red.
But then Poahi pulled away and turned around, splaying his legs apart and spreading his asscheeks with both hands. Lance’s heart pounded as he realized he was going to get to plow Poahi.
That was not a mistranslation. That was what Poahi wanted. Lance’s eyes bugged out, already on the verge of orgasm.
“Stick it in me, mate…”
Lance pushed the tip of his dick in, and he sighed as warmth suffused his body. He couldn’t believe his luck in getting this gigantic bear, so soon after getting his heart broken. Poahi was tight and his whole body shook as Lance penetrated him.
His asshole was warm and tight, and it squeezed Lance’s manhood. Both of them gasped. Lance felt exquisite sensations wracking his body, and it took all of his concentration not to cum alredy.
He gasped and said something in Samoan as Lance began pushing his dick in and out. Again, Poahi’s size worked to his advantage — he simply had a large enough asshole that it didn’t seem to hurt all that much. His broad cheeks jiggled with each thrust of Lance’s dick. Poahi moaned, a low, deep sound — he was trying to keep his voice quiet, but he was the kind of person who had no whisper, not even when he was moaning.
Lance’s hands crept around Poahi’s body. He had to strain to reach Poahi’s crotch due to the man’s enormous size, but as soon as he did, Poahi twitched. His cock oozed precum in Lance’s grip.
Poahi’s back bucked as intense pleasure ran up his spine, and Lance ran his finger along to match the pre-orgasmic bliss. Lance kissed his muscles as he worked the last of his dick in, pushing it in and out.
They were moving in sync now. Poahi lost all of his alpha-male awkwardity, and his body writhed along with Lance’s gyrations. It felt like a comical mismatch, Lance thought, since Poahi was preposterously huge in comparison with him. Even on his knees, Poahi had to stoop and Lance had to stretch on his toes to get his cock in Poahi’s ass.
But the awkwardity of the positioning didn’t slow Lance down any. He grunted along with Poahi as they both reached orgasm at once.
Cum sprayed over Lance’s fingers and onto the couch beneath Poahi’s spasming body. Meanwhile Lance’s own load filled up Poahi’s ass with his creamy goodness. Poahi again said something in Samoan, an outpouring of vowels and sonorants that echoed in his small apartment.
Poahi’s muscles tensed and flexed all at once, the intricate agate-colored lines tattooed over his biceps and half of his torso rippling as he contorted. He groaned and bit his lip. Lance kneaded the meaty flesh of his chest.
“Yeah, mate…”
Lance sighed and pulled out. He used his thumb to rub Poahi’s sensitive rim, pushing the cum back in when it started to ooze out. With every centimeter he inserted, Poahi flopped over the couch and gripped the cushion. His coconut-colored skin writhed, sweat dappling his forehead and neck.
“Ah, god, fa’afetai, that was even better than before,” Poahi said. Then he blushed and said quickly, “I mean… I hope you feel better now, about the breakup.” Poahi sighed and leaned back. Lance kissed each of his nipples, and Poahi again bucked. He leaned up to kiss Lance on the lips.
“Thanks, Poahi. I really do,” Lance said.

The Fireman

Lance is an accountant who appreciates the male form, especially this hunky firefighter named Yoder. He’s a redneck, a macho and a devored fireman, and he’s gonna be willing to bend over and let a twink on top situation develop if it means he gets a full-time role at a fire station!

Can Lance take full advantage of this redneck’s sweat-covered muscle-bound firefighting body?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Lance had never been as nervous as he was when he got behind the wheel of the firetruck. He wasn’t a firefighter. He didn’t even think he was very good at driving his own, ordinary car.
There was only one thing he was good at — accounting. Lance was an accountant, who volunteered his time to the local fire station. That’s why he was there when two of the firefighters on call, Yoder and Walter, got in a fight over a girl. The donnybrook began with a series of harsh insults, continued into a medley of fists and kicks and concluded with a broken nose, a “possible cranial” and a Jackson Pollack of purples and yellows. Yoder was crowing about his victory and Walter was bleeding from the head and on the way to the hospital when the alarm blared.
whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, Benevolent 43 to Pittering and 9 Mile Road, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, Benevolent 43 to Pittering and 9 Mile Road, please copy
Everyone stopped moving. Mosta the firemen were whooping and calling after Yoder’s victory dance. Nobody much liked Walter Law. He was a perfect-jawed blond prettyboy with shoulders and a six-pack and a black eye. Girls loved him, especially hose junkies, cuz he was in the calendar, of course.
Lance had to admit he enjoyed Walter Law’s spread in the calendar too. But Yoder had a certain mullety handsomeness as well. He wasn’t in the calendar cuz he was just a volunteer then, not a full-time firefighter. He was a full-timer now though.
Anyway, due to the fight, there was no one to drive the firetruck — no one except Lance
He initially thought it was a joke when Yoder said he needed to do it, but the alarm was for an actual fire, not an automated alert, at an elementary school. Yoder was under orders to remain in the station until Chief Kettle arrived to handle the fight situation. Lance panicked, knowing he couldn’t bear to be responsible for even the slightest delay, what if there was a real fire at an elementary school and the truck doesn’t show up because Lance the accountant refused to drive it?
So he hustled his bustle down to the garage and jumped into the driver’s seat even before asking if it was a stick-shift (luckily it wasn’t). The firefighters were suited up in gear in mere moments, and Lance, terrified, pulled out into the street, sirens blaring. The truck was surprisingly easy to handle despite being so big. It drove like a silken dream, and cars moved out of the way. That was good because Lance was terrified to maneuver it.
In the end, the drive was simple. The elementary school was right down the street, not many turns to get there, which made Lance breathe a sigh of relief. He did bump into a postal service mailbox, possibly knocked it over, but he thought that would be forgiven.
It turned out there was a fire at the elementary school, but it wasn’t a huge one. It was just a cigarette incompletely extinguished and stuck to somebody’s shoe. Some flooring was scorched, and the playtime mats in one of the classrooms were partially melted. No injuries.
Before Lance knew it, a cop was driving him in a squad car back to the fire station. Lance was still in shock, the sirens still ringing in his ears.
He came into the fire station soon after the arrival of Chief Kettle, a burly middle-aged redneck who was furious that Lance, a mere accountant, had driven the firetruck. He had his own cigarette in his lips when Lance strolled in, proud as a lion, but it dropped to the ground as he snarled in rage.
“You redneck dumb fuck!” Chief Kettle picked up the cigarette he dropped and put it back between his lips.
Lance stopped short, proudful smile draining away. Chief Kettle jabbed a finger at Yoder and ignored Lance, but Lance still took it personally. He knew as well as anyone that he was not certified to drive the firetruck, or even the chief’s emergency vehicle, which was just a jeep with sirens.
“You know how much trouble we’d be in if he got in an accident? Our insurance wouldn’t cover it,” Chief Kettle said. His eyes narrowed into slits aimed at Yoder. “It would have bankrupted this station. We’d have been uninsurable.”
“I’m sorry, Chief. He called my girl a slut and he already fucked her one time, before we were together, and he said-“
“Don’t fill my head with ya silly trailer-hick drama, Yoder,” Chief Kettle said. “You could’ve ended this station. You let a fuckin’ accountant drive the firetruck. A sissy-ass accountant…” He turned to Lance, who blushed. “Nothing personal, Lance. You’re a great accountant and all… Nothin’ wrong with being a sissy neither.” He shifted his weight on his feet as though he wasn’t quite sure of that last part but was too polite to say it.
Lance stammered, his shyness preventing him from formulating any response. He blushed. He never met to come across as a sissy. He couldn’t deny there was a flare of truth in it. He may not have had a lisp and a limp wrist, but he wasn’t a big tough guy like the firemen. He worked out but never got bulky like they did.
“I’m sorry, suh, Chief Kettle.” Yoder hung his head and rolled his eyes when they were aimed at the ground.
“I dunno if that’s good enough this time,” Chief Kettle said. “This ain’t the first time you let someone else drive the truck.”
“That wasn’t-“
“Shut up! You let ya girl drive the truck, then you get in a fight in the station and let an accountant drive it? Yoder… Our insurance requires me to fire you.” Chief Kettle crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t got any discretion on this.”
“Jerry…”
“Don’t you gimme that,” Chief Kettle said. He left the station then so he could get in the firetruck that Lance had left parked out on the street. The reversing beeps began as he backed the truck into the station.
Conversation back at the station died down. Nobody made eye contact with Yoder, who stared at his feet. Lance was extremely shy, flushed and nervous. Yoder was short for a fireman, but he was a ropy-muscled spitfire of a man, his filthy-blond hair like dirty sand arranged in an almost mullet with an outright rattail sticking out the back. His powerhouse frame was scrawny even where it was thick — you could tell he would be more muscular if he focused on eating enough protein. The muscles he had were bursting out of him, which was why his punches knocked out Walter, who was a prettyboy maybe eighty pounds heavier than Yoder.
Lance wasn’t surprised. Yoder was the kind of redneck whose machismo and muscles and outgoing nature made him popular in high school, successful in the Army, an active member of his church, and a well-respected volunteer firefighter.
The truck rolled to a stop inside the station. The other firefighters in the back of the truck jumped off and removed their gear, while Chief Kettle and Yoder stood near the front of the truck. Lance hoped to melt into the background so he wasn’t seen. He no longer felt like a hero for driving the truck. It sure felt like he had sabotaged Yoder’s career.
A long fat pause sat between Yoder, whose face vacillated between genuine regret and proudly stubborn. Yoder’s upper lip even quivered.
“I ain’t gonna fire you, Yoder. I need you,” Kettle said.
“Oh thank god. I need this, Jerry,” Yoder said in his big drawly voice. “I… I don’t got a lot in my life right now. I need this. Don’t take it away from me.”
“You gotta prove to me that you’re really dedicated by not doing stupid shit.”
“I won’t. I promise. I’m done behaving like that. I’ll do whatevuh you want to prove it, suh, Chief Kettle, suh,” Yoder said.
“You don’t gotta do nothin’, just act better-“
“No, I will. I’ll show my dedication… You were in the Marines, right? You know the bend-over promise?”
“What?” Kettle wrinkled his nose. “You weren’t a Marine.”
Lance wasn’t sure what that was either. He also wasn’t sure that either one remembered that he was even there. He stood beside the firetruck, feeling like a third wheel (or, given where he was, a ninth wheel). He thought if he walked away, Kettle might put more and more of the blame on him. Lance was just a volunteer accountant, he was replaceable, more replaceable than an experienced firefighter.
“I was Army, but Marines did the same thing. I guess they ain’t do that back in your day,” Yoder said. He sighed. “My sergeant used to make us do this thing, when we wanted special treatment, like an extra day of leave, or getting away with hair past regulation length. It was… I only did it a few times.”
“What the fuck is you talking about, Yoder?” Chief Kettle’s broad cheeks was still red, looked like he was too mad to think about Yoder’s words.
“He called it a bend-over promise. He said if you really need something, you’ll be willing to bend over to get it.” Yoder gulped. “Y’know, bend over and grab your ankles.”
A long, awkward silence filled the firetruck. Lance’s mind whirred — the only thing he could think of was that Yoder was offering to get it up the ass to show his devotion. What else could ‘bend over’ be implying? But surely that wasn’t right.
“You what?” Chief Kettle chuckled. “I guess the Army ain’t changed all that much. Y’all is the same as you ever was. The Corps wasn’t as crude in my day. We called that a ‘lavender promise’. I never did it. I could handle just the leave I was allowed to take-“
“Well, I couldn’t, alright,” Yoder snapped down. “Lemme do this. It’ll prove I deserve to stay.”
“I already said I wasn’t gonna fire you. Besides, I got a wife, Yoder. I got no reason to ram up a man’s backdoor.”
“But you believe you should fire me. You believe I ain’t really devoted to this station, and you ain’t gonna give me a full-time position like that,” Yoder said. He turned to Lance and flashed a nervous grin. “I guess it’s your lucky day, Lance.”
Lance blushed. Surely, he thought, I’ve misunderstood what’s going on. But Yoder, dressed in his fireman pants and suspenders over a plain white t-shirt, crawled into the backsweat of the firetruck and motioned for Lance to join him.
Chief Kettle cackled up Lance’s face. “You look like a pig who just found out mud is worth its weight in gold, Lance, but you too horny to say nothin’, huh?” He didn’t even give Lance a chance to respond, he turned right to Yoder. “How many times you done this, Yoder?”
“Four,” Yoder said. “But don’t tell no one. This ain’t gonna be that bad. Those other four times I got plowed by my sergeant, who was big and mean and, uh… Nothin’ personal, Lance, but you ain’t as big as him. I guarantee that!” He whooped and laughed.
Blushing, Lance nodded and mumbled something about appreciating the male form, which he did. That wasn’t why he climbed up into the back of the firetruck can though. He did that because he wanted to blow a nut up a fireman’s behind.
It proved to be awkward in the cramped confines of the back of the firetruck. Yoder’s tall body took up a lot of space, especially as he stripped off his shirt, revealing his broad shoulders and Army tattoos. Lance was already rock-hard even before he had taken his own clothes off.
The smell of Yoder’s unwashed armpits filled the truck cab. He was sweaty by nature, sweaty from the exertion of the fight, sweaty from fear that he would be fired. His zesty musk was so thick in the cab that Lance could taste it.
“You really doing this? You know this technically breaks the rules too, right, Yoder?” Chief Kettle said with a snicker. “Our insurance company only allows the trucks to be used for valid firefighting purposes-“
Yoder sighed. “Shut the fuck up, Jerry. Everything is against some rule or anothuh,” he said. “Yes, I is really doing this. You’ll know how devoted I am to this station.”
“A’ight, le’ssee it.”
Yoder had his fireman pants still on, but unattached, so they hung low enough that his pubic hair was visible. Lance unzipped his fly, then hesitated, not sure if Yoder was ready or even if this was all a prank.
But still glaring intently at Kettle, Lance bent over in the back seat of the firetruck, fished Lance’s cock out through his fly and opened his mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed before swallowing Lance’s dick to the root.
Lance gasped. An explosion of intense sensations arose from his crotch, and he sucked in his breath. He knew this was coming, but still, he was shocked. A part of him thought Yoder would back out or would say that he had demonstrated his willingness to do so but didn’t need to actually do it. He could have just let Lance jerk him off, that would have been favor enough, and all the firemen knew Lance would do that if they wanted.
But instead he turned the tables and his massive body took Lance’s dick in his mouth.
He was so well-muscled that his shoulders alone took up the entire space in front of Lance’s chest. When Lance reached out to touch him, Yoder’s pecs twitched like he was ticklish and his back muscles all flexed at once. The positioning was awkward, but that just made it even sexier. Lance could barely grope his entire chest because Yoder was wedged in front of him, between Lance and the passenger seat. Yoder loudly suckled on Lance’s pulsating shaft, which rocketed right to a speedy erection.
Sparks of pleasure flew through Lance’s body, and he couldn’t stop gasping. His hand gripped Yoder by the rattail and mullet on the back of his head, and the greasy sweat of his hair reawakened the musk he exuded in the truck.
Precum flowed from Lance’s dick, and the taste made Yoder subdue a gag. Lance blushed as Chief Kettle chuckled nervously — it wasn’t clear whether he laughed at Lance’s surprised reaction or Yoder’s loud moaning, like he was so disgusted he could barely manage to keep going. Despite that, he didn’t slow down at all, and he even spat copious spit onto Lance’s dick, like he was an expert at this.
Given that he had done it in the Army multiple times, Lance thought, maybe Yoder was an expert at it.
Lance threw his head back, embarrassed at how enthused his reaction was. With his dick getting ready to shoot its load down Yoder’s gullet, he couldn’t help but grip and moan and rub and grind more passionately than anyone he had ever been with. He held onto Yoder’s head as he rode his throat like a porn star.
Yoder smiled wanly when he finally pulled off, long strings of spit connecting his lips to Lance’s shaft. “Hey, at least you ain’t Sergeant Powers. That man was ruthless. He used to plow my throat, talk about turning my tonsils into a clitoris and shit,” he said. He wiped spit off his face. “But it definitely proved I really really needed an extra day off, to get a girl — there was this one stripper who-“
“Quit gabbin’ and give up the booty!” Chief Kettle said with a snicker.
“Man…” Yoder shook his head and sighed.
Yoder bent over the seats in the back, and shimmied his fireman pants down. The fabric was so thick and heavy that his thighs were dappled with sweat, matting the hair to his muscles. His ass, now that it was bare, was trembling and pale, perfectly plump. Lance smacked one cheek without giving it a second thought.
“Woo-hoo!” Chief Kettle said, laughing. “You treat him right, boy, like that stripper you was tryin’-a fuck! Damn hoot, I bet you get promoted to captain of the accountants fo’ this, huh?”
“I don’t think that’s how accountants work, Chief,” Yoder said. He was bent over with his face in Lance’s lap, licking Lance’s cockshaft and shuddering as he tasted precum. Lance blushed, trying to think of something witty to say, but all he could focus on was his own dick spasming and pulsating. He was on the verge of cumming already.
He wanted more than anything to get his dick in Yoder’s ass. A part of him still thought Yoder would back out, that he wouldn’t go quite this far. But Lance had to try. Yoder’s ass was in position, or a close as was possible in the space they had.
Lance pulled away from Yoder’s face and climbed overtop him — literally mounting his broad shoulders and back like he was crawling over a hill. His moist cock and balls dragged along Yoder’s muscled back, and the friction very nearly sent Lance over the edge. Precum smeared over Yoder’s spine.
At last he was in position, cock wedged between Yoder’s asscheeks. They were tight, and the hole twinkled, resisting Lance’s cock. Yoder trembled nervously and buried his face in his own forearm, ready to bite down.
Luckily Lance’s dick was well-lubed with Yoder’s spit. When he pushed it into Yoder’s hole, Yoder spasmed and sucked on his teeth. He bit down on his tattooed forearm.
His asshole clenched, then relaxed, and Lance’s cock slid deeply in. Lance sucked in his breath just like Yoder did, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Bliss coursing through his veins, Lance found his cock sinking in deeper and deeper, as Yoder’s ass squeezed an orgasm out of his sensitive shaft.
“Well, damn, I ain’t think you was gonna do this,” Chief Kettle said. He chuckled nervously and wrinkled his nose.
As he worked his dick in inch by inch, intense pleasure ran through Lance’s veins. Yoder’s ass was tight, hot and moist. He felt like intact, presumably because he hadn’t been plowed since that drill sergeant back in his Army days.
“Ah, damn, you don’t feel like an accountant when ya dick is in my ass, boy!” Yoder cackled before the motion made him erupt in pain again, and his whole body tensed up.
Lance’s hands massaged Yoder’s back, kneading the muscular flesh there. He wanted this to feel good for Yoder, not that there was any chance Yoder would choose to do it again. He kissed the tattoos of thorny roses and military crests that dotted Yoder’s broad back.
He felt tiny in comparison to Yoder, whose back was broad as an ox and firm as one too. His muscles flexed, curvy lines appearing in spots where Lance had no idea there were muscles. Yoder was in good shape, even compared to the other firefighters.
Every few thrusts were strong enough to make Yoder clench, tightening his asshole around Lance’s cock as though trying to hold onto him by it. Yoder frowned and even howled, the sound resonating in the cab of the firetruck.
Outside, in the station, Lance heard some of the other firemen come back into the garage. They checked the equipment they had used on the call, making sure it was ready for the next trip. Lance froze with his dick deep in Yoder’s guts. Both Yoder and Lance fell silent, Yoder still seething and Lance resisting his orgasm. Outside the truck Chief Kettle stayed silent, blocked by the truck from being seen by the other firefighters.
“Where’d Yoder go? He came back with us, didn’t he?”
“I thought so, but maybe he went somewhere with Chief Kettle.”
“So that accountant was driving us back with no one else up there in the cab?”
“Guess so. Can you believe Yoder punched Walter? Chief Kettle probly bent him over and plowed him. That’s how rednecks do it y’know.”
Chief Kettle chuckled. He glanced out the window, but didn’t say anything to the firefighters out there. Lance’s heart pounded, which he knew was silly — he was the only person who couldn’t be punished if he was caught. But he would be ashamed if the other firefighters knew what he was doing in here. He moved slowly, grinding his dick in as Yoder winced and gnawed on his own arm.
Despite Yoder’s apparent discomfort, Lance sensed pleasure emanating from deep within him. Yoder tried to hide it, but Lance could feel it in his soft, smooth sighs when Lance withdrew his dick and his cooing grunts when Lance hit his prostate.
“That’s how cockheads do it, ya mean. But that’s okay, Kettle is both a redneck and a cockhead.”
Their voices faded as they headed towards the door to the station, apparently satisfied that all the hoses and other gear on the truck were in their proper places. Yoder breathed easier now.
“Yoder’s gear is still gone, ain’t in his locker. He must be with Kettle. Prolly gettin’ chewed out.”
“Yoder’s a fucking redneck too. So’s Walter, so I can’t really hold that against him.”
“So are you, Taney.”
“Fuck you, man-“
The door slammed shut before Lance could hear how their argument ended. He knew from experience that they probably continued arguing and eventually came close to fighting but didn’t actually do it. He was glad to have privacy again, and he began plowing with renewed vigor.
After all that, Yoder was much looser and more accepting of Lance’s dick. He groaned smoothly, relaxing his ass the best he could. He still grimaced each time Lance’s cock hit its apex deep within him, but it was clear that he felt more pleasure than pain. Lance didn’t have much experience on top, especially topping a burly redneck much bigger than he was, but he knew well how to make it feel good for both he and Yoder.
As his orgasm approached, Lance wished he could prolong this, but he knew Yoder wouldn’t put up with it forever. And besides that, Lance wasn’t sure he could prevent himself from cumming. He had never cornholed a powerhouse firefighter like this, and it was the most incredible experience of his life.
When his orgasm finally hit, Lance lost control of his body. He collapsed onto Yoder’s back, gnawing and sucking at his skin, which made Yoder chuckle awkwardly. Yoder bit down on his teeth as pain overwhelmed him, and he grunted out loud.
“Damn, you likin’ this, boy…”
Cum flowed into Yoder’s ass, great creamy gobs of it bursting up his guts, and pleasure erupted in Lance. It wracked his spine, making Lance twist and writhe atop Yoder’s back. He gasped, squealing right into Yoder’s meaty flesh; the sound made Yoder and Chief Kettle laugh.
“Hot hell, you do sound like a girl, Lance,” Chief Kettle said. Yoder made a sound that may have been a yes he does but just sounded like an agonized yelp. So much cum filled Yoder’s ass that he couldn’t even form any words.
Lance lay there, contorting as his dick fell soft within Yoder’s body. He felt too weak to get up, especially in comparison to Yoder’s tensed muscles. He nuzzled his nose in Yoder’s flesh.
Finally he realized Yoder was not going to accept this much longer. For now he was just laying there, holding his breath as he waited for Lance to finish. Lance pulled out and they both breathed a sigh of relief — Lance’s was a smooth exhalation, while Yoder rolled his eyes and grunted. His muscles finally relaxed all at once.
Lance rolled off him, dick flopping out of Yoder’s ass. Lance squeezed into the tiny space between the back and the driver’s seat. Yoder’s sweat-moistened t-shirt was right there on the floor, and Lance had a sudden urge to sniff it. One of the things he loved most about volunteering here was that he could see the firefighters in their underclothes and occasionally even caught a whiff of their sweaty armpits.
But sensing that this was an opportunity to do it without judgement, Lance grabbed the t-shirt. He inhaled deeply of Yoder’s musk, while the other two gasped as though they had never heard of anything so gross. Then Yoder guffawed, stopping only when he sat up and winced due to the pain in his tender ass.
“Ha, how’s that smell, Lance?”
“So good…” Lance blushed a bright red. His love for sweat was so personal to him he had never admitted it.
“Keep it,” Yoder said weakly, grimacing at the pain in his ass. He stayed on his side as he struggled to get his underwear back on in the cramped rear of the truck cab.
Lance smiled. “Okay, thanks,” he said. He felt too weak to climb out of the truck, so he just watched as Chief Kettle turned the seat down so Yoder could climb out as well. He still wore nothing but his underwear, carrying the fireman pants as he went. He stretched his sore thighs when he was finally out of the truck.
“You believe I’m devoted to this station now, Chief?”
“I do, I absolutely believe it,” Chief Kettle said. He turned to Lance, who still sat in the back of the truck. “You coming?”
Lance nodded. “Just… Gimme a minute. I gotta recover.”

The Raunchy Hobo

Lance has to go into the ghetto to buy coke, which makes him nervous. But when his dealer is hassled by a muscle-bound hobo, Lance gets the chance for a raunchy and filthy threesome that he’ll never forget!

Can he handle the utter depravity he craves?!

Read it now as an ebook! Or read the whole thing here!

Lance normally preferred to meet Tyrell in a public place, somewhere near Lance’s home but not at home. That’s because Tyrell was a thug who often bragged to Lance of how good he was at robbing idiot white boys who wanted to buy crack off him. Lance bought cocaine but he was white, so he felt vulnerable. Whenever he said that, Tyrell always said, oh, but you safe, Lance. I ain’t gonna hurtchoo. You my best customer. You never ask me for a short like a fucking crackhead.
And every time Lance heard that, and every time he had another tense buy with Tyrell, when he felt certain Tyrell was going to rob him or maybe just kill him for fun, Lance swore he’d find a new coke dealer. But coke dealers were so damn unreliable. Every single time Lance met someone, he’d do one test buy, get a short bag that was badly cut, and he’d go back to Tyrell again.
Tyrell was, at least, reliable. And it would be rational not to rob Lance, who made good money and bought coke regularly. Tyrell didn’t want to kill his cash cow. Hopefully.
So that was who Lance relied on when he needed cocaine for his friend’s housewarming party. Lance was known as “the guy who brought coke”, and he didn’t want to live down his reputation. This time, however, Tyrell said he couldn’t leave the city, so Lance needed to come to his place.
It wasn’t his home though — Tyrell met him in a ramshackle rundown house, with caution tape over the door (Tyrell told him to ignore that and just come in). When he walked in, the house smelled of cobwebs and piss. Tyrell stood there in the living room with a gun in his hand as though considering whether or not to shoot Lance.
Lance’s heart raced. He threw his hands in the air. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted Tyrell.
Should never have come to a crackhouse. Never go with a drug dealer to a second location, that’s basically what this was. Lance knew better.
“Ah, don’t worry about this, honky,” Tyrell said with a loud laugh. He put the gun in his waistband. “I was just cleanin’ it. Ain’t even loaded. Might just shoot the addict in the other room though. Motherfucker was beggin’ to jerk me off the other day for some fent.”
“That’s nasty,” Lance said, too nervous to think of anything else to say. Not wanting to sound like a nerd, he repeated it more casually, “That’s so nasty, man.”
Tyrell nodded, then led him into the other room. He opened up a lockbox, pulled out an eight-ball of coke and handed it over. Lance gave him the money and slipped the bag into his pocket.
Went pretty easy. Still wasn’t a good idea to come here. Better be a good party, Lance thought.
That was when he noticed the semiconscious man lounging around on the floor. He was tall and very dark-skinned but still clearly white — perhaps of Greek or Italian extraction — with wiry, ropy muscles, like his body was too small for his strength. His hair and beard were unkempt and wild. Lance must have passed him when they first came in the traphouse, but he hadn’t noticed him then. He was too nervous about the deal going bad.
“Hey Tyrell,” Lance asked when they had finished up. He whispered so the addict wouldn’t hear. “Is that the man who wanted to jerk you off for fent?” he asked, blushing. Tyrell nodded, and Lance smiled. “How much do you think I’d have to offer to get him to lemme cornhole him?”
“You wanna plow him?”
Lance nodded. He blushed again. Tyrell had a horrified expression, like he didn’t know why Lance would want to plow a trashy addict, despite his filth. Lance had a flair for nasty, disgusting stuff though, and this would not be the first time he cornholed a hobo. But he was concerned the guy would become cognizant partway through and would turn violent. Fent addicts were like that.
“Shit… gimme forty bucks. I’ll make him do whatever you want,” Tyrell said.
Lance nodded and handed the money over. His heart skipped a beat. This was all happening so fast. He felt tiny in comparison to Tyrell, and, though the addict was hardly big, he was a lot stronger and tougher than Lance. Would Tyrell really make the addict stop if he got violent?
“What’s his name?” Lance asked as he kneeled next to the man on the floor. He caressed those broad shoulders, and the man stirred. He was powerfully muscled, more than Lance was expecting for a hobo.
“Uh… Greg, I think,” Tyrell said. “I mostly call him Shitweasel. He’s racist as shit, y’know. He called me a nigger one time when I told him I was all outta fent.”
“Oh, that’s not nice, Greg,” Lance said. He rubbed the man’s well-muscled shoulders. “He’s strong.”
“He works on a oil rig, most of the time,” Tyrell said. “Whenever he on land, he spends all his money on fent. Ends up beggin’ me for a short before he gets called away. Then he comes back when he gets paid again.”
Greg lifted his head. His groggy eyes looked at Lance in confusion. Lance pushed his head back down. Greg was tall and muscular, so he could have easily outmuscled Lance, but it seemed he wasn’t quite aware of that. He just submitted. His muscles flexed, but they had no power in them at the moment, it seemed.
“Open your mouth, Shitweasel,” Tyrell said. “This pervert here is gonna plow you. You gonna submit, okay?”
“Tyrell…” Greg croaked. “You fuckin’ shit.”
Tyrell looked disappointed that wasn’t a racist insult.
“You ever swallow a dick before?” Lance asked. His fingers continued stroking Greg’s hairy chest and shoulders. His muscles felt too big for his body — that was that addict gauntness, Lance thought, but since Greg worked hard on the oil rig, he didn’t get skinny and threadbare like most addicts, he remained thick and bulging. Greg shook his bleary-eyed head, then looked at Tyrell, who laughed.
“Hell yeah, he swallows himself some nuts. Don’t you lie, Greg. Tell him about it,” Tyrell said. He crossed his arms over his chest.
Greg closed his eyes and sighed. “I… Man, fuck you, Tyrell!” He looked at Lance’s dick, which he took out of his pants and stroked right in front of Greg’s face. Greg wrinkled his nose. “I jerked this guy off once.”
“What kinda nigga was he?” Tyrell asked.
“He was… homeless.”
“He was a addict, an old, fat gross-ass addict,” Tyrell said. He cackled. “Shitweasel here was actin’ like a fuckin’ piece of shit, trying-a buy fent when he was short. So I told him I ain’t gonna sell him none unless he go and find the nastiest addict on the streets, bring him back here, jerk him off and show me a mouth full of nigga-addict cum.” Tyrell laughed so hard he slapped his own thigh. “This stupid honky forget what he was s’sposed to do while he jerkin’ that nasty-ass dick. He spit the cum out, an’ I told him not to do that. I wanted to see his mouth full of slimy nut. So I made him go find me a different addict. That one was even nastier. But he remembered to follow instructions. And nowadays he only calls me when he got money. That’s a better system.”
Greg’s face was a bright red, but from the expression in his eyes, Lance guessed that the story was entirely accurate. As Tyrell told it, Lance flopped his dick in front of Greg’s face.
“Jerk me off, Greg,” Lance said softly. “Use your mouth.”
Greg sighed and opened his mouth. His scruffy chin trembled as Lance shoved his dick in. Greg gagged and his throat resisted, but he didn’t try to stop. It was hot and moist, and instantly it sent a wave of pleasure through Lance’s body. Lance laughed though, because he was kinda ticklish and cuz the indignant look on Greg’s face was funny.
“You nasty,” Tyrell said. He looked at Lance. “You both nasty. Nasty-ass whiteboys…”
“I know,” Lance said. He let Greg spit his cock out. “How good are you at deep-throating, Greg?”
“Not good!” Greg said like he was proud of that.
Lance grabbed a couch cushion that was laying on the floor — it looked like Greg had originally been using that as a pillow, but in his fent-induced stupor, he had rolled off it. Lance placed it on the floor and instructed Greg to lay on his back.
“Put your head hanging off the back, like this,” Lance said, demonstrating the position he wanted. Greg stumbled and slowly moved. He paused to wipe his face off, but Tyrell smacked him hard in the chin.
“Get to it, honky-ass bitch!”
Greg stepped to Lance as though going to fight him, but he was too wobbly and uncertain on his feet. He nearly fell even before Tyrell reached back and punched him hard. Greg collapsed to the floor, and Tyrell dragged him into position for Lance.
Greg groaned. His neck and upper back rested on the cushion, while his head hung over the edge. That gave Lance the perfect position to slam his dick right down Greg’s throat. Greg couldn’t resist deep-throating it even if he wanted to, which it wasn’t clear he did.
As soon as his dick pushed past Greg’s lips, Greg let out a loud gag. He sputtered but Lance was relentless. He pushed his cock in even further despite his throat’s resistance.
The smell of cigarette smoke filled the air as Tyrell lit one up. He looked on in disgust, but with a faintly amused expression on his face. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, then kneeled behind Lance. He watched Lance’s balls thwack on Greg’s chin, as he began plowing back and forth in his throat.
He looked closely at Greg’s face, which turned red from both humiliation and lack of oxygen. He sneered and blew smoke at him, filling his nostrils with it and making tears well up in his eyes from the acrid smoke.
“You one nasty-ass addict, Shitweasel.”
As pleasure emanated up his dick, Lance humped wildly. He couldn’t see Greg’s face, so he couldn’t see the utter shame and pain in his eyes, but he could hear it in Greg’s sputtering. Lance leaned forward as he humped Greg’s mouth, his hands extending across Greg’s broad chest. Despite Greg’s apparent disgust, he was obviously experienced at swallowing a cock. Lance was big enough most men (and all women) couldn’t do it, not in any position.
But Lance got every inch down Greg’s throat, which squeezed and massaged his shaft as it sent waves of bliss up Lance’s body. He loved a revolting hobo. The scent of Greg’s unwashed body filled the air, mixed with the cloying aroma of saliva and Lance’s precum.
Lance had always thought of addicts as being skinny, but Greg was actually well-muscled. He wasn’t thick like a bodybuilder though; he was thick like a naturally thick man, one who bulked up regularly aboard the oil rig. There was a scrappy tightness to him too, which Lance attributed to his lack of nutrition and hard living. All of those muscles tensed up every time Greg gagged on Lance’s dick, and Lance pounded hard enough to make Greg’s pecs jiggle with each thrust.
Tyrell’s deep voice was gravely. “I’m gonna put this cigarette out on ya forehead now, Shitweasel. Gonna make you my ashtray.”
Lance gripped Greg’s ropy, spongy muscles with both hands. He clearly couldn’t hold Greg down, but Greg was overwhelmed by the fent, so his muscles were loose and slack. Greg could do little more than buck as his skin sizzled.
Lance turned around in time to see Tyrell put the cigarette out, right in the center of his forehead. Greg’s throat spasmed, squeezing around Lance’s dick.
With a loud sigh, Lance withdrew his dick. Greg gasped for air, the first time in what felt like forever to Lance, though he knew that couldn’t be right; he had probably been sneaking little breaths in between Lance’s thrusts.
“Will you plow him, Tyrell?”
Tyrell shook his head. “That’s nasty. I’ll help you do it, Lance, but I ain’t stickin’ my dick inside that addict.”
Lance nodded. He smacked his dick against Greg’s face. He smiled. “Will you… sit on his face? Make him lick your asshole.”
“A rimjob?” Tyrell was about to shake his head, then considered it. He shrugged. “Whatever, fine. That ain’t nuthin’. Gimme another twenty bucks.”
“Uh… I don’t have it on me, but I can go to an ATM after,” Lance said.
“Fine-“
“You’re… paying me?” Greg asked, still heaving for air as Lance smeared his spit-covered cock over Greg’s face. Greg had flushed a bright red now, as blood pooled in his low-hanging head .
“He’s payin’ me, addict-bitch!” Tyrell said with a laugh. “I ain’t givin’ you jack-shit. I own yo’ ass, bitch.”
Lance slid down Greg’s body. His balls left a trail of sweat through the center of his chest. Then he pulled down Greg’s filthy jeans and threw them on the floor. Greg had a huge cock, uncut, limp as could be. Lance gave it a few strokes.
“You ain’t gonna get much outta that, man,” Tyrell said. “Addicts can’t get hard.”
“I can get hard!” Greg said. His voice moist cuz his mouth was still clogged with spit and precum.
Tyrell laughed. “No, you can’t.”
“Lift your legs up,” Lance said. Greg’s thick, trunk-like thicks elevated, separating his asscheeks and baring his hairy hole. Lance rammed a finger in and smiled as Greg gasped in pain. “You ever been cornholed before?”
“No!” Greg said.
“You sure? I know you was in prison,” Tyrell said.
“I never was. I joined an Aryan gang in prison,” Greg said. “I was protected. I kept my ass pure, intact, like it should be.”
“Well, I’m gonna enjoy this, you Aryan fuck. Get ready to lick Tyrell’s ass,” Lance said.
Greg moaned and gagged just at the sight of Tyrell’s bare brown ass. Lance waited with his dick right at the entrance to Greg’s hole, while Tyrell slowly lowered his unwashed ass onto Greg’s face.
Greg’s whole body bucked when he actually felt Tyrell’s ass on his face. Lance took that moment to slam his dick in, chortling in laughter at Greg’s body’s resistance. He was so distracted by the ass on his face that his own ass was wide open.
But Lance still felt substantial resistance. He shoved as hard as he could, laughing when Greg’s big roughneck body shook and flexed hard. He still didn’t seem to realize that he could overpower Lance, or maybe he just didn’t care; maybe he was willing to do anything Tyrell said on the assumption that disobedience would mean less fent down the line.
“Get your tongue in there, bitch!” Tyrell shouted. He had never taken his pants off, just pulled them down. His balls rested right above Greg’s frantic eyes. Then Tyrell yelped and moaned, a low, blood-curdling sound, as Greg did precisely that. The moan was exaggerated, Lance was pretty sure, Tyrell was funning, maybe to tease Greg or maybe he thought Lance would be more willing to pay for this again if Tyrell seemed to enjoy it.
That was a thought Lance hadn’t considered — maybe Tyrell was gonna bring a hobo every time Lance bought coke. That would be fun.
Lance sighed. He could feel it when Greg stopped resisting and stuck his tongue into Tyrell’s ass; he could feel it in the sudden relaxation of Greg’s sphincter. Greg choked and sobbed into Tyrell’s big black ass.
“Is he making that feel good, Tyrell?” Lance asked.
Tyrell shrugged and clicked his tongue against his teeth. He angled his body away from Lance, so Lance couldn’t actually see the expression on his face, but from his tone and body language, Lance guessed it actually felt very good, and Tyrell just didn’t want to admit he enjoyed a rimjob from an addict. Tyrell didn’t seem to plan on getting hard, but it happened anyway, and he made Greg stroke his dick off.
Soon Greg had trouble keeping his legs in the air, and he kept trying to lower them. Lance barked at him to keep them up, which made Greg try again until his fent-exhausted muscles gave up again. It felt incredible to Lance, whose cock was massaged by Greg’s powerful thighs coming together in an attempt to keep him out. He didn’t have any tightness in his asshole though, so his clenching did nothing to keep Lance’s shaft out. Every thrust of Lance’s crotch sent sparks of bliss through Lance’s body, while Greg’s muscles twitched in pain each time.
Tyrell moaned and shuddered. He muttered something Lance didn’t catch, then lifted himself up. He turned around and rammed his dick right into Greg’s mouth — violating his own ‘no-penetrating-the-addict’ rule.
He sighed as cum flowed, and Tyrell’s cock pulsated. Creamy cum burst into Greg’s open mouth. Greg gagged loudly, and much of the cum spilled past his lips and down his chin or running in rivulets into Tyrell’s unkempt pubic bush. Tyrell flexed his hips to slam his throbbing dick down Greg’s throat.
Greg bucked and gagged over and over, but Tyrell kept his cock in place. Greg’s pecs were hard as rocks as he heaved, his nipples like razorblades beneath Lance’s grasp. The cum was plentiful and thick, and it stuck his skin. Some of it even sputtered out of his nostrils as he tried everything to avoid swallowing it.
At last Tyrell pulled out. He lightly smacked Greg’s face as Greg gasped for air. Then Lance leaned forward, leaving his dick planted deep in Greg’s ass, and he reached forward to smear Tyrell’s cum into Greg’s mouth.
He continued to gag — it seemed he was unable to get used to the taste of cum, or maybe it was the residual taste of ass that did it. Every time he did gag, his asshole clenched hard around Lance’s dick, sending another pleasurable thrill up Lance’s spine.
“You licked ass pretty good, honky,” Tyrell said with a surprised laugh, like he had thought the rimjob would be a crushing bore. “You eat farts too?”
“No-!”
“Let’s find out,” Tyrell said. He turned around and plopped his ass right on Greg’s face yet again. He closed his eyes, and then a loud rumbling fart filled the air. Greg bucked and fought again, his fent-addled arms failing to push Tyrell away as Tyrell cackled.
When Tyrell finally pulled away, Greg’s face was bright red, smeared with tears and various fluids. Tyrell looked at him like he was a dirty diaper, and he spat over and over onto his face. He hocked up big loogies, making certain they covered his eyes and nose.
That put Lance in utter heaven. Greg’s entire muscular body rejected the mask of filth on his face, but Tyrell kept smacking his hands down so he couldn’t wipe his mouth off. The ruddiness of his face extended down to his chest and shoulders now.
Greg’s dick remained limp, even as Lance lazily stroked it. He had a nice big cock that felt perfect in Lance’s hand, and he didn’t even mind that it remained soft.
“Hey, Greg,” Lance said softly. He had to repeat himself a few times until Greg responded by lowering his eyes to look at Lance. Lance continued pounding away, gripping those massive upright thighs as though he was holding them aloft. Lance grinned at his pained expression. “I’m gonna cum in a minute or two. I’m gonna cum in your mouth. You understand me? Repeat what I just said but put it in your own words.”
As the last remnants of Greg’s pride deflated, he stumbled and staggered over his words. “Uh… You’re gonna cum… soon. In a minute or two. You’re gonna nut in my mouth.”
“That’s right. Good boy. Now when I say I’m gonna nut in your mouth, you might think I mean like they do in porn — where I’d jack myself off and shoot my cum on your tongue. That way the camera sees it. But there isn’t any camera here, Greg, so I’m going to shove my dick all the way in your throat. You understand.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to deep-throat it because it’s nicely lubed with your own assjuices. You ever taste assjuice before today?”
“No…” Greg said. His voice sounded weak, like he was already about to vomit.
“His throat is lubed up wit’ my cum too, plus that fart I blew down his gullet,” Tyrell said. He stood up now and pulled his pants up. He looked on as though utterly disgusted with what he saw.
“That’s a good point, Tyrell,” Lance said. “Are you ready, Greg?”
“Yes, damnit! Just do it! You fuckin’ pervert!” Greg screamed, his face was red. He tried again to wipe it off, but Gun easily kicked his hands away. His face gleamed with the mask of body fluids stuck to his skin.
As frustration roiled his body, his asshole clenched once again. This time it was so tight that Lance paused, unable to keep grinding. He groaned as his dick spasmed, and he shoved it in anyway. Greg gasped, bit his lip and gripped the cushion beneath himself with his fists.
Lance was a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to cum in Greg’s ass, but he so-very-rarely got the chance to do some ass-to-mouth. So he pulled out and scooted to Greg’s face.
Greg took a deep breath and dry heaved in the few seconds Lance’s throbbing dick hesitated in front of his face. The anal remnants clung to his shaft, glistening in the dim light of the crackhouse. Then Lance shoved it in.
A loud retching sound emanated from Greg’s throat, which spasmed and pulled. Lance felt such intense pleasure as he had never known before roll through his body. He jerked and his knees went weak. He leaned forward to support himself on Greg’s strong, sweat-covered body.
Cum flowed down his throat, a huge, plentiful load that coated the sides of his gullet. Tyrell kneeled down to watch again, and he traced Lance’s dick through Greg’s neck, where he could see spasming cockshaft and the flow of cum into his stomach.
“You nasty-ass deadbeat…”
The gagging was so loud it resonated in the ramshackle crackhouse. Lance was certain that anyone walking by outside could hear, but he supposed they probably heard that sort of thing a lot. Lance shook, lifting one leg like a dog as he humped his limpening dick down Greg’s throat. His grizzled chin and cheek hair scratched at Lance’s smooth skin.
At last it was over and Lance pulled out. He sighed as Greg retched, once again trying to sit up and clean himself off. But Tyrell used his feet to force Greg to stay on the ground — Tyrell no longer wanted to use his hands because Greg was entirely covered in assjuice and cum.
Lance laughed as he watched Greg struggle. His big body writhed, covered in so much sweat he was slick and slippery. Lance massaged his muscles and smeared around the body fluids that covered him.
“You don’t get to clean yourself off yet, addict-bitch,” Tyrell said. “Wait till the men who plowed you is done. That’s proper, bitch. You lay there and let the cum dry on yo’ stupid bitch-face, thinkin’ ‘bout how to show proper respect to me. Don’t come beggin’ for shorts no mo’.”
Lance stood up and wiped his dick off with the wetnaps he always kept in his pocket. He tucked it away as he pulled his pants up. Tyrell kneeled next to Greg’s red face. Lance made sure the eight-ball of coke was still in his pocket, plus his wallet — Tyrell hadn’t lifted it — and watched Greg retch violently, using every muscle in his body to do so.
“Hey, Shitweasel,” Tyrell said. He had to repeat it a few times to get his attention. “You my bitch now. I ain’t nevuh been a pimp for men, but I’m thinkin’ I might start. You my first bitch.”
“Tyrell, please-“
Tyrell kicked him in the side. “Nah. You call me sir from now on,” he said. “You gonna get out there tonight and work?”
“Fuck you! I will kill-“
“No you won’t,” Tyrell said. “Don’t you get mouthy wit’ me, honky. I will pimp you out for however much money I can get. If you beg me nice, I’ll let you have some fent now and then.”
Greg settled back, grumbling and spitting invective, but it seemed the promise of fent pacified him somewhat. He closed his eyes as though trying to forget what was drying on his face.
“You know more perverts that’d pay to plow him?” Tyrell asked.
Lance sighed. He fingered the eight-ball in his pocket to be sure it was still there. “Yeah,” he said. “I could bring some friends by.”
“Well, charge ‘em a hundred bucks a person. I’ll let ‘em do whatever they want to his bitch ass, and I’ll give you a little commission,” Tyrell said with a laugh. “Gonna turn this bitch from a fent addict to a cock addict!”