Boot Camp

Sgt. Powers is a no-nonsense drill sergeant who tolerates a bit of nonsense: horseplay! He doesn’t mind his cadets dipping into the down and dirty, especially if it means he gets to bend a soldier over and give him what-for!

Can he keep control over his squad of alpha male recruits?!

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Or read the whole thing here!

Drill Sergeant Powers stood behind the barracks, peering into the window. He stood on the air conditioner so he could see in the high window to the showering area in the back of the barracks. He smiled as he watched Cadet Willie Redman sit on Nathaniel Muckham’s face.
Two dozen of the heftiest, most athletic cadets in the Army were in those barracks, and Powers watched them shower. He could have gone in there, but then they would have stopped and he couldn’t watch any more. He liked to watch the hijinks.
Redman’s shower-glistening body was broadly muscled, and every one of those muscles seemed to be in use as he squatted over Muckham’s face. It wasn’t a rimjob, of course. Muckham had a bet, so he allowed Redman to sit on his face, as the others chanted and cheered. It was only for a moment. Had he farted on his face? Maybe, but Powers didn’t think so. He could hear them laughing as Muckham blushed and clawed at his own cheeks.
Then they all started dancing and Powers was confused — a sudden dance party? Was this a Japanese game show?
But then he heard a pounding techno beat. That seemed to be A Thing, which he didn’t understand because he was too old — every once in a while, this generation of cadets put on electronic music and they all danced like club kids. It wouldn’t have been strange if they actually enjoyed that kind of music, but not a single one of them actually chose to listen to it in any other context.
Powers didn’t understand the younger generations.
They danced together for about a minute, stopping only when someone slapped Cadet Haruto Amasuzi’s ass. It soon degenerated into a torrent of laughter and horseplay — they treated each other like strippers, slapping each other’s ass and jiggling their buttcheeks in front of each other’s faces.
Drill Sergeant Powers began masturbating. He was just inches from those plump asses — inches that included the wall of the showerhouse — and he could even taste the soapy shower water as it covered their taut skin.
These were not any random collection of Army recruits. They had been chosen to be on the US Army wrestling team. They were given a shared barrack and Powers was put in charge of their training, all because the Army was tired of losing to the Navy in wrestling.
It was Powers’s job to turn them into champion wrestlers, and hopefully soldiers as well.
Inside the barracks, the horseplay had turned into a game called Boner Loses. They didn’t invent it, it had been passed down from an earlier group of cadets. Drill Sergeant Powers had even played a very similar game back when he was a new recruit, which felt like it was eons ago. Powers was glad that Cadet Redman was going to play this game now, because he really hoped to watch Redman lose.
Willie Redman frantically tried to come up with way to get out of it, but he came up with nothing. Everyone expected him to do it, and Willie wasn’t willing to violate their expectations like that — they were his expectations too. That’s because Willie saw himself as more sexually experienced than anyone else here. He had had sex with nine girls, more than anyone else in his barracks. He had had sex with two women at once. He had had sex with an older woman.
So he thought he was well-suited to win Boner Loses. That was a game wherein the player (Willie) stood still while another player (usually someone who had lost a bet, in this case Haruto Amasuzi) had to put his dick in his mouth.
“Do it!”
“Oh, nasty, he’s really doing it!”
“You can lick it if you want, Haruto!”
Haruto just kneeled and winced and gagged before letting Willie’s limp dick flop onto his tongue. Haruto gagged again as he felt wiry pubic hair rub against his cheek and his tongue.
The object of the game was not to get hard. If Willie got an erection, he was required to lick Haruto’s dick. That was it, that was the whole game, just don’t get a boner. When the older cadets had first explained it to Willie, he thought it was beyond stupid. He thought no one would ever play that “game”.
But the others had done it. Willie didn’t want to be the only one who was too prudish to join in. So he never told anyone he disliked it, and he even pretended he was always trying to get others to play it (that was virtually part of the game: no one ever wanted to play it, but it was fun to cajole others into playing it).
Since he was not an undersexed hornball like these other soldiers, Willie thought he would be alright. He wasn’t going to get hard for no reason. So he was alarmed to feel Haruto’s mouth silkily encircle his dick as Willie’s whole body twitched. He couldn’t pull away or stop, he could do nothing but watch as his dick firmed up in Haruto’s mouth. He watched it happen in slow-motion, like some horrible scene in a terrifying movie.
“Ah, shit, Willie lost!”
“On your knees, boy!”
Willie sighed and blushed. He knew the best way to avoid being humiliated was to simply pretend it wasn’t a big deal, so that was what he did. He rolled his eyes and dropped to his knees. He was much taller than Haruto, so he had to stoop to reach his crotch.
This wasn’t the first time this game had degenerated into dome. Willie never thought it would be him that did it. He didn’t want to be a wuss who refused to follow through. No one still made fun of Martin, who had been the first to lose this game.
So he opened his mouth and swallowed Haruto’s dick, gagging again — Haruto had taken a dick in his mouth a few weeks ago when he was on the other side of this game. T
It seemed so silly, Martin thought as he closed his eyes. Haruto’s cock stiffened up, and it jabbed down his throat. The taste of salty, musty dickmeat flooded his senses. He tried to think about anything other than that taste and the jeers and laughter of the cadets surrounding him.
When he was in college in an ROTC program before joining the Army, Willie had been the most popular guy on campus. He was the most athletic man anyone knew. That was why he had been recruited for the Army wrestling team. He was a state champion wrestler back in Pennsylvania.
So it had been difficult for him to accept that he was no longer the top athlete around. He was one of many athletes, and the officers of the US Army were strict in an entirely different way than any of his coaches had ever been. He did not like that he wasn’t in charge of hazing like he had been in college. He was one of many men here, each of them equally “in charge” most of the time.
It had been difficult to accept. So Willie struggled with his pride as he licked his compatriot’s dick. At first he thought he could just get it over with, it wouldn’t be a big deal unless he made it a big deal — he used to get freshmen to lick his balls when he was working out, so he was all sweaty, so he’d be a hypocrite if he regarded it as beyond the pale for him to be hazed similarly. It was just difficult to accept.
Willie’s face turned red, and his wrestling-toned chest was ruddy, sticky with the spit that dripped from his square chin. He was surprised at how much saliva he produced — girls didn’t normally, unless he could encourage them to, but he wasn’t trying to do this. Somehow he made loud gurgling sounds which would have been embarrassing except that his barrackmates howled peals of laughter that drowned out the sound.
Outside, Drill Sergeant Powers masturbated furiously.
He fully intended to get into Cadet Willie Redman’s ass eventually, and he could stand here and watch those cheeks jiggle all night long. He inhaled deeply of the musky scent that emanated out of the barracks, which was enough to send him over the line into orgasm.
Cum sprayed onto the air conditioner he stood on, while Powers watched Willie swallow Amasuzi’s load. Cadet Haruto Amasuzi bellowed and barked and pounded on his chest, moaning more passionately than he probably needed to — he exaggerated to humiliate Willie more.
“He’s swallowin’ it!”
“How’s that cum taste, man?!”
Sour, salty cum sprayed into Willie’s mouth, coating his tongue in thick, sticky spooge. Willie gagged once again, though the most compelling fact he noticed was that cum didn’t really taste bad, or at least, not worse than vagina. He allowed that sticky fluid to flow down his throat.
As soon as Amasuzi let go of his head, Willie pulled off and winced. Everyone laughed and clasped him on the shoulder.
“Didja like that, Willie?”
Willie blushed. He stood up straight, making certain everyone could see that he held his head high. For a brief second, he thought he saw his drill sergeant’s face in the window, but then it was gone. Willie was glad. He’d have been humiliated if he knew Powers had seen him.
He was just glad the game was over. After that they showered and changed to go out on leave. This was the first night of leave they’d had in weeks, so Willie and all the others looked forward to it. Boot camp was almost over.
They headed out, all but two of the cadets: William Morton and Tommy Draper. Powers told the two of them to suit up for some wrestling practice. They dourly did so. Those two did not have leave because they were in the doghouse.
The practice proceeded quickly, as it wasn’t a real practice, Sergeant Powers simply wanted the cadets to begin with something easy. They were both good wrestlers. He had them scrimmages, and he cheered them both on.
“Go for it, Morton!” Powers clapped and barked. “You got it, Tommy!”
The scrimmage proceeded as he had thought. He knew Morton would lose. He simply wasn’t as good. He was stronger than Cadet Tommy Draper, but he was slower and not as smart or tactical. Of course Tommy won.
“Alright, alright, you two go shower up,” Powers said. He was glad the practice was finally over. He slapped them both on the ass through their sweat-soaked singlets, and he took the opportunity to savor both meaty asses.
Everyone but these two was out on leave. Powers had been forced to take away Draper’s and Morton’s leave because they failed this silly test about sexual assault and racial tolerance. It wasn’t even a real failure, they simply hadn’t taken it seriously. They thought it was more like a survey, and they just filled in the bubbles without reading the qestions.
So Powers made them retake the test, and he made sure they took it seriously this time. He didn’t let them continue until they filled out all of the correct answers.
“Good job, boys,” he said when they were done. He had really only wanted Draper to practice — Morton was not likely to make weight in time for the tournament, and he wasn’t very good besides. Powers saw him as a backup. If one of the others was forced to leave the Army, Morton would be a real part of the team.
A big part of the problem was that Morton was so handsome and charming. He had no need to be good at anything because he got laid plenty — he had no need to change. Girls thought he was hot and didn’t care how good he actually was at wrestling. Morton smiled a lot and had plenty of friends, so he seemed only dimly aware of the fact that he simply wasn’t very good.
But Morton wasn’t smiling today, as he walked away towards the barracks alongside Tommy. He wished he had had his leave taken away with literally anyone besides Tommy. Morton felt nervous — he often got the feeling Drill Sergeant Powers watched his ass shake in those tiny green Army shorts. Today Powers had slapped his ass and held on for a few seconds, but even after that, Morton could feel someone staring at his ass. When he turned around, Powers was gone.
It was going to be a long night in for the both of them, made worse by the fact that Morton was gonna have to take it up the ass from his buddy Tommy. Morton had lost a bet.
“Gonna ram you in the a-a-a-sssssss…” Draper sang a little, laughing when he saw Morton blush. “Come on, let’s get it out of the way.”
“Fine.” Morton bit his lip.
During their last leave, they had both been horny. They spent the entire day talking about how horny they were and how much they were going to get laid. Then they made a bet — Morton always did so well with girls he assumed he would get laid. He promised he would, and he said that if he didn’t, he’d let Draper ram him in the ass. Draper made the same bet. Morton assumed Draper would fail and he would succeed, but the opposite had happened.
So now, this weekend, Morton had to give up the ass.
The barracks was empty, but it still stank of men and stale underwear. Morton wished they could do it somewhere else, but this was the only spot on the whole base where they could be sure Drill Sergeant Powers wasn’t around. That man somehow seemed to be everywhere, Morton thought.
Tommy Draper spat on his cock for lube. He was almost as nervous as Morton, but he hid it well. He laughed and slapped Morton’s ass, cheering when those cheeks rippled. It really was a nice ass, he thought, if only it was attached to a woman.
He slid his dick in, grimacing when he felt it enter Morton’s tight asshole. Morton grunted and immediately clenched.
Neither of them moved. “Damn it,” Morton said with a grunt. His face turned red as Draper began drilling his dick in farther and farther. “Ah, oh, shit…” Morton’s voice was weak and thready.
“Damn… Oh, shit…” Tommy said more or less the same word, but his had an entirely different tone. He was shocked at how good this felt. He had thought ramming a man in the ass would be worse than a girl, or at best maybe the same so long as he didn’t feel any hair or accidentally grab for where her tits would be. But it was actually far better.
He didn’t know if it was better because Morton was intact (presumably) or because he was simply better, or maybe because Tommy didn’t need to worry about making his bottom enjoy it. He didn’t need to make Morton feel good, so he could focus on slamming away at that tight wrestler ass.
Morton kept squirming, and he clawed at the bunk beneath him. The most embarrassing part, he thought, was that it wasn’t entirely painful — he felt pleasure too. It happened very slowly, growing with every thrust of Tommy’s cock inside him.
Vague and distant at first, overpowered by the pain, Morton’s prostate orgasm grew more potent over time. Soon he was moaning and grunting with bliss, not agony, though he avoided making that obvious so Tommy wouldn’t know. The one way, he thought, that would ensure he was teased for this forever was to enjoy it.
But he had to admit there was a certain amount of pleasure that came with it. He moaned and bucked and writhed beneath Tommy’s body.
Just like the pleasure in Morton’s ass, Tommy’s own passion had grown slowly over time. At first he tried to avoid touching Morton any more than absolutely necessary. But the more excited he got by this, the more he pounded away, and the more he actually touched Morton.
Soon, Tommy’s hands gripped his back, trying to pretend his muscled shoulders were a female’s. Tommy closed his eyes. He lowered his chest until he pressed down on Morton’s body, ramming him wildly, grunting and moaning into his ear.
“Oh, fuck…” Morton moaned, and the tremulous note to his voice made it clear he was enjoying himself.
Only Powers was able to detect that though. Tommy was too engrossed in his powerful plowing. Powers shot his wad onto the outside wall of the barracks, just as he caught his first whiff of cum from the soldiers.
Morton did shoot his own load onto the bunk beneath him, but he managed to avoid being obvious about it, so Tommy didn’t notice that either. Tommy slammed into Morton until his balls crawled up in his sac, and he shot a thick load that coated Morton’s insides.
“Ah, shit yeah, take it, man!” Tommy closed his eyes and moaned. He sprayed the biggest wad of his life, and it spread within Morton. Tommy loved cumming inside girls, and he was surprised to see that he loved cumming inside boys just as much. He could have stayed like that forever, feeling victorious once again and dominating Morton’s powerful body.
At last he was done. Tommy pulled out, slapped Morton’s ass once and laughed as he squirmed. Morton groaned loudly.
“Shit,” Morton said. He breathed heavily. He hoped Willie didn’t notice that he had cum too. “That hurt.”
Tommy snorted like a cocky bastard. “Of course it hurt.” He grabbed his dick. “That’s cuz I got huge meat.” He paused. “It ain’t feel good too, did it?”
Morton blushed and protested a little too vociferously. “No! No, man, that was terrible. The worst. I ain’t enjoy that at all.”
They both headed back to the barracks then. Drill Sergeant Powers had disappeared at some point. Morton didn’t notice where he went. But as he passed by his office, he saw him in his office, with a cadet named Wojohowitz, who looked like he was in trouble. Morton hurried pst.
Cadet Wojohowitz was the best wrestler in the unit, so Powers didn’t want to kick him out. As he stood there, watching Wojohowitz’s nearly-naked body take the news, Powers’s heart broke.
Wojohowitz was young and thick-bodied, a star heavyweight wrestler. He was honestly not the best soldier, just the best wrestler, but as far as Powers’s superiors were concerned, wrestling was more important anyway.
Wojohowitz quiveringly said it was his girl, that she had smoked a joint and he hadn’t taken a hit but he had inhaled some. Powers believed him, but he didn’t have any control over this rule: A failed drug test means the soldier must go.
“Sir, I swear, I didn’t smoke any of it. I don’t have a drug problem, sir.”
Powers flared his nostrils. “Don’t beg, cadet. You’ll be okay-“
“I — I’ve been looking forward to the Army for so long.” He stood there in his boxers, his muscles rippling. “Uh… Sir… My dad said, uh… back when he was in the Army… he said that, like, if you was really regretful ‘bout something, like… your drill sergeant was, y’know… you could get a second chance if you was willing to… like… y’know-“
“Cadet, what in the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“My dad said… you could ram… you know, that I could give up the ass, and you’d, y’know, see that as a sign that I’m in the for the long haul, that I’m willing to do what it takes to stay,” Wojohowitz said. “I swear, I won’t let girls smoke weed around me. I won’t even go to any concerts. I promise.”
“You’ll give up the booty if I give you a second chance?”
Wojohowitz nodded.
Powers pretended to think about it. He had been waiting for an opportunity to get in Cadet Wojohowitz’s plump ass. It was going to be so tight Powers was already drooling. But Powers pretended to be reluctant. “I don’t know, cadet… Look… In my day, a man could ram another man in the ass as long as he had the common courtesy of giving a reacharound,” he said. He sighed grandly; he hoped he didn’t sound too eager. “So bend over, cadet.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Wojohowitz said. His voice broke a little as he knelt over his own bunk, sticking his ass in the air. He thought he could do this. No one would ever know, he thought, since he was pretty sure Sergeant Powers wouldn’t tell anyone.
Powers sighed. He had been waiting to get in this ass for a long time. Wojohowitz’s ass was so thick and juicy he couldn’t resist. Powers had a plan to make the drug test go away. He could claim to his superiors that the lab had suggested it might be a false positive. That could happen — they had said that with a result two months ago, they said they needed another sample to be sure because this one was weakly positive (the second sample turned out to be negative). He could put off the replacement drug test for a month to make sure Wojohowitz could clean himself up, or maybe Powers could just supply his own piss instead.
Regardless, he could do it. It was worth it to get in that tight ass. He moaned as his cock slid in, and Wojohowitz’s muscles all twitched. He had that cocky alpha strut, which Powers loved to ram out of a soldier. He smiled when he saw Wojohowitz’s toes curl — Powers knew what that meant: pleasure. Somewhere deep within Wojohowitz, his prostate was coming alive and making him feel such pleasure he couldn’t even acknowledge it yet.
Powers slammed the rest of his cock in, sliding his coarsely-furred forearm in front of Wojohowitz’s mouth. Wojohowitz bucked and grunted — he would have shouted but the sensations inside him were too intense.
“You can bite down on my arm,” Powers said. His left arm was in place for Wojohowitz to bite on — which he did, biting hard enough to make Powers’s arm cry out in pain; he didn’t stop though because Powers always liked feeling just a little pain while he rammed. It made it better.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Wojohowitz said. He was surprised at how much it helped to bite down. It was a good distraction from the pain. He gnawed on the firm muscle of his sergeant’s arm.
And then Wojohowitz realized the pain was going away anyway. That’s because Sergeant Powers reached out and grabbed Wojohowitz’s dick. He stroked it, gently and slowly at first. Wojohowitz moaned and found himself licking the salty-sweat off his drill sergeant’s forearm.
He blushed, not that anyone could see it. Wojohowitz was shocked and humiliated at how easily he got hard with a dick in his ass. It felt impossibly big. He wondered how big it really was. Was Sergeant Powers’s cock bigger than his?
But he couldn’t have asked right now even if he was willing to, because the feelings that rocked his body were too intense. Sergeant Powers’s muscled, hairy chest pressed down on Redman’s smooth back. Wojohowitz grimaced a little, as he wasn’t used to feeling a man’s chest muscles rippling over his skin. Sergeant Powers had that distinct “old man texture”, he thought, not wrinkled but well-worn, his skin coarse in parts, his chest hairy and stinky with sweat.
But even despite all that, Wojohowitz had never been more aroused. He gasped and groaned, rubbing his face against Drill Sergeant’s forearm. He bit down hard enough to taste blood.
Powers didn’t notice that. He was singularly focused on his cock, which rammed into Wojohowitz’s intact ass and stayed there as he came. His balls crawled up in his sac and he filled Wojohowitz with his creamy seed.
“You ready, son?”
“Sir, yes, yes,” Wojohowitz said, his normally confident voice now weak and wavery. He wasn’t scared though, because he trusted his drill sergeant implicitly. He knew this would all be okay. When it was over, he’d be able to pretend that he hadn’t been rammed by a man and, even more importantly, that he hadn’t liked it.
He shot his own load onto the floor beneath himself, coating Powers’s hand as his reacharound continued. Despite it being just a handjob and despite the limpening cock in his own ass, Wojohowitz experienced the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life.
He writhed beneath his drill sergeant’s firm embrace, and his asshole squeezed around his dick. Both men grunted, their mouths so close together they nearly kissed. Pleasure coursed through both men’s veins.
But then it was over. Drill Sergeant Powers stood, and they both sighed together when his dick finally plopped out. Cadet Wojohowitz twitched.
“At attention, cadet.”
Wojohowitz’s knees were weak, and his cheeks were red. But he managed to stand on uncertain legs. His cock dangled, still dripping cum onto the floor. Sergeant Powers grabbed it and squeezed.
“Good work, cadet,” he said. “You’ve proven your dedication to the Army.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Cadet Wojohowitz had never responded with such confidence and swagger. He didn’t know why, he just suddenly felt better than he had in a long time, even if his ass was still sore. “I’m glad I don’t have to leave the service, sir. I want to serve the Army for as long as I can.”
Powers stood up, dick dangling and dripping fluids onto the barrack floor. “Son, you’ll be able to serve the Army for life.” He walked away with a proud grin on his face.

The Janitor

Desmond is bored at an art museum when he spies a surly janitor with an alluring physique… setting Desmond off on another round of alpha male rough trade!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Desmond was in an art museum, devoted to antiquities, because there was a doe-eyed docent he was interested in. The museum was deserted though. There was probably more foot traffic in the tombs and burial sites the objets d’art here were looted from. There were a few Roman and Greek statues brought from Europe, but otherwise it was mostly Native American pieces from throughout the American Southwest and Mexico. Necklaces, arrows and bows, strips of leather used for something or another, plus an array of glittering gold Aztec sculptures.
Some of it was rather interesting. Desmond stood for a long time reading about the ancient Mesoamerican ball game in which the losing team was executed. The painting that depicted the game was lifelike, and really made Desmond feel like he was back there. What would it have been like to live in a culture that valued human life so lowly? Or was it even a low value? Maybe it was more of a matter of them valuing the ball game so highly instead. What other aspects of their culture did this attitude affect without leaving an archaeological trace? Did women race to weave clothing with the slowest among them executed? Did people commit suicide when they lost other games?
One of the Aztec men illustrated playing the ball game was so handsome it made Desmond think about the sturdy yet slender docent he had come here in search of. Desmond wasn’t really into Aztec men, just this one illustration.
“Oh, indeed, this is a beautiful piece,” said a woman, who peered closely at a crudely carved woman. Her voice startled Desmond, nearly making him knock over the figurine she was looking at. “Isn’t it? Look at the form. The form. Indeed, the mastery thereof.” She glanced at her companions, a group of other females and one male whose sexual interest in her was apparent.
“Yeah. The mastery. It’s… uh… gorgeous.”
“Oh, yeah, that is a beautiful piece. It really speak to the essence of soul itself.”
“Good point,” said the classy, elegant woman, whom Desmond already hated. She gestured grandly to another objet: a human-like shape etched onto a rock. “Oh isn’t this lovely! The Aztecs were such an impressionistic people!”
Desmond couldn’t take any more of that kind of pretentious nonsense, so he hurried away. It was probably just a child playing with a sharpened rock, he thought, that etching didn’t look like a completed piece of artwork. It wasn’t impressionistic, it was bad, he thought. He sighed. People were so annoying. Now he remembered why he didn’t like museums.
Only now the docent with a degree from Cornell, Rakwan, with the dimples and the lion tattoo on his neck, seemed to be gone. Desmond shrugged. Oh well, he thought, maybe I could get some rough trade while I’m here.
That made him chuckle. A museum was not a place for rough trade. The males here were betas, dorks and nerds. Desmond did not see the appeal. Looking for rough trade here would be like asking a McDonald’s cashier for the gourmet menu.
That white boy art enthusiast was cute, especially in how he flirted with that woman, but still, he was white and not handsome, and anyway, he was with a girl so he would not likely be willing to dip on the downlow with Desmond. None of the other males here were even remotely eligible. A lot of them were elderly, and the rest were skinny or fat nerds.
This trip seemed to have been a total bust, he thought. He turned around to head for the front door, nearly knocking over an elderly white man who hobbled away in a hurry.
Normally Desmond was polite, unfailingly so. But this particular old white man seemed unfazed by Desmond bumping into him for that first fraction of a second — then he swore, but only when he saw the color of Desmond’s skin.
“You piece-of-shit street trash,” said the old man, his voice creaky and tremulous. “Watch where you’re going, boy.”
The racial implications of the encounter were obvious to Desmond. But the old man’s voice was low, so no one heard him but Desmond. He scoffed. “Why don’t you watch yourself, you old coot,” Desmond said. “Don’t you tell me what to do! I can lay you out, old man!”
A few people heard Desmond raise his voice. He realized only too late that this wouldn’t work out for him — the old man seemed sympathetic, hadn’t said anything explicitly racist (and no one but Desmond heard him say anything at all) and Desmond had, in fact, bumped into him. The onlookers all glared at Desmond as though he had just stomped a puppy.
“Hey! You! Nigguh, you over there flouncin’ ‘bout like some princess in a tutu! You can’t talk like that!”
It was a middle-aged janitor. He had dark-brown skin and deep-set eyes, with a hefty, well-muscled body that still had plenty of meat to it — he was no sculpted gym rat. Desmond’s jaw dropped because he was so aroused.
The man’s name was Elmer, according to his nametag.
“It wasn’t like it seemed,” Desmond said, “That old man was racist-“
“Uh-huh, save it for the security guards,” Elmer said. He shoved Desmond towards a service hallway. The old man smirked and the crowd gasped all together. Desmond rolled his eyes but didn’t fight back. Elmer snarled and growled. “You can’t be disruptive here, boi. We ain’t got no time for yo’ princess nonsense.”
Desmond went with him, his mind already reeling at the possibilities. He wanted Elmer. He needed him. Elmer was close enough that Desmond could smell the cleaning solutions that clung to his clothes. The most overwhelming odor was bleach, which looked to have been splashed on Elmer’s workpants, covered in faded spots especially near the ankles. He had a gloriously thick body like he used to be a bodybuilder, and he still brimmed with power. A few twinges of gray in his hair were enough to make Desmond’s dick so hard he struggled to walk until he rearranged himself in his pants.
“I don’t have to go with you,” Desmond said. He wanted to take control of this situation, and he knew his rights.
“Then you can get outta my museum,” Elmer said. “I ain’t lettin’ you talk to no old white man like that, nigguh. That ain’t proper. Some flouncin’ little sissy like you… This is a nice museum, for nice folk.”
Desmond had to giggle. He clutched Elmer’s well-muscled arm as though being escorted to a cotillion.
“Let go.”
“Ain’t you gotta escort me to my fate?” Desmond asked with exaggerated melodrama, like he was about to faint and needed to lean on Elmer for support.
“You can walk yaself,” Elmer said.
“But I won’t,” Desmond said. They passed a door labeled ‘Supply Closet’, so Desmond stopped walking right there. He opened the door. “What’s in here?”
“Just some cleanin’ shit, boi,” Elmer said. “C’mon, security office is down there.”
“What I’m going to do,” Desmond said. He placed one finger on Elmer’s chest. “is go in there. You’re going to follow me. I’m going to get on my knees. I’m going to pull your pants down, and I’m going to jerk you off. Then you’re going to ram me in the ass. You can blow the world’s biggest load in me, or on me, or in whatever manner suits your fancy. We’ll be real quick, and real quiet, and no one will ever know you did it.”
“If you think I’m some kinda pervert, you are one crazy-!”
“You didn’t let me finish. The last step would be when I put one hundred and nine dollars in your pocket,” Desmond said. He was a little disappointed because he had hoped Elmer would do it for free. But he didn’t mind paying. “That’s what I’m going to do. You don’t need to give any feedback on that plan. Just go along with it. Or don’t. If you don’t follow me into the closet, I will be so disappointed. But I’ll move on. Maybe I’ll find some white dick. I wonder what Vanilla Ice is up to these days…”
Elmer furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth but he didn’t say anything. Desmond took that for a yes. He went into the supply closet. There was just barely enough room in there for him to mess with a thick man like Elmer. That was fine with Desmond, who liked the idea of being in a cramped space with him.
Dropping to his knees, Desmond opened his mouth. He could tell Elmer wanted to do this, but yet he still stood there in the doorway. He looked back and forth down the hallway. Desmond just kneeled with his mouth open. He could see the bulge in Elmer’s workpants.
“This ain’t allowed, don’t you think I’m some kinda pervert,” Elmer said. “I don’t got a habit of gettin’ jerked off by sissies in closets. Nosir, I don’t do that.”
He took one step towards the closet as though going to come in, then changed his mind and slammed the door shut with Desmond in and Elmer outside. Desmond was there in the dark by himself, mouth wide open.
Desmond was disappointed, he had really thought this was going to work; older black men like Elmer were usually game, when he could get them alone. Was this a no?
Then Desmond heard the footsteps of someone walking down the hall. Elmer was trying to look inconspicuous.
“G’evenin’, Mr. Moskowitz,” Elmer said outside the closet. His voice was deep and raspy, with the more sonorous tones blocked by the shut door. All Desmond heard was the throaty, gravelly part of his voice. “I’s moppin’ that west hallway like you said, suh, real good, uh-huh.”
Mr. Moskowitz responded, but Desmond didn’t hear what he said; it sounded polite and encouraging, but patronizing. Desmond suspected that Mr. Moskowitz didn’t remember who Elmer was.
The door opened a few seconds later and Elmer strode in. “Fuckin’ asshole, I oughta lay that mothafucka out,” he muttered as Mr. Moskowitz’s footsteps could be heard walking away.
The smell of cleaning solutions was even more intense here, joined by the musky mud-scent of the mop-bucket and the soapy deodorant Elmer wore. Desmond recognized the hair pomade that Elmer used too, because Desmond’s grandfather had worn it. That made Desmond giggle. Where did Elmer even get pomade like that?
The closet had a single bare lightbulb in it, that cast everything in shadows but still provided enough illumination to see. Desmond reached up to tweak Elmer’s nipples through his clothes, but Elmer snarled and slapped his hand away.
“No messin’ around, just get to it,” Elmer said. “I ain’t here to seduce you, nosir.” He paused. “And you definitely ain’t here to seduce me, don’t even think ‘bout that. Nosir. I am strictly a top, boy, fo’ real, don’t even think ‘bout talkin’ me out of it.”
“I won’t-“
“I will lay you out, and don’t think I won’t,” Elmer said. Despite his threats, he came across as a crotchety old man more than a violent thug. He made Desmond smile more the more serious he acted, which only made Elmer more angry. “Quit ya laughin’, boi, this ain’t a Richard Pryor show. Ain’t no one makin’ ya laugh here.”
Elmer dropped his bleach-splattered pants as he ranted. He wore briefs — not many of Desmond’s conquests wore tighty-whities anymore. Desmond moaned in desire because he could see that massive mature cock already twitching beneath the threadbare white fabric.
His tongue planted on it without removing Elmer’s underwear. Elmer grunted like he didn’t approve, but he didn’t stop Desmond. Desmond licked his dick through his underwear until it was so soaked it was virtually translucent.
“You getting serious, huh? Lickin’ me through my drawers, that’s nasty. That’s real nasty, boi. You must be all kinda ashamed, yessir,” Elmer said.
Elmer’s dick was wet already, hard and leaking precum even before he had dropped his briefs. Finally Desmond pulled them down, his cock popped out and Desmond swallowed it to the root. Elmer closed his eyes and grunted to conceal a moan that he worried would sound loving — he didn’t want to give this man any kind of wrong impression.
“Finally. I swear, you sissies is always playin’ ‘round and shit, not takin’ nothin’ serious.” He murmured like he didn’t really expect Desmond to listen. “Talkin’ mean to some old white man, you ingrate-“
Desmond pulled off his dick, which was just beginning to get hard. “Look, I swear, that man was blatantly racist. He only got mad when he saw that I was black, and I know-“
“He call you a nigger?”
“No-“
“Then shut ya face. You ain’t encounter real racism, nigguh,” Elmer said. He frowned, which looked like a natural face for him — Desmond strongly suspected Elmer was always bitterly frowning. Elmer slapped him with his cock a few times. “Quit playin’ wit’ it!”
He rammed it into Desmond’s mouth. But Desmond wanted to frustrate him and make him play with his cock. Elmer wanted to just lean back and let Desmond service him. But Desmond kept teasing him until he took the initiative to spread Desmond’s cheeks and drill into his throat.
He growled. Young people, Elmer thought, never took anything seriously, not even dicks. He had to grip Desmond’s face with one hand and his scalp with the other. He held on to Desmond’s hair tightly, giving himself adequate leverage to pound away at Desmond’s throat.
His balls slapped against Desmond’s chin, and Desmond opened his throat as much as he could to allow it. He clasped Elmer’s thick cheeks as he got throated down.
“Ah, shit…” Girls rarely deep-throated Elmer, and they never let him throat them like this — not anymore, and rarely even when he was young and handsome. Elmer could tell that Desmond not only loved it, he enjoyed the occasional gag and choke, the sputtering, the spit that built up in his mouth and dripped onto the concrete floor of the closet with every thrust of Elmer’s hips. His flat belly smacked Desmond’s nose, pubic hair scratching at his lips.
When Desmond felt Elmer’s balls about to crawl up in his sac, he pulled his face away. He had to swat Elmer’s hands from his cheeks too, or he would have kept plowing into his throat and cum without noticing. Elmer chased his mouth with his dick until he realized that Desmond had stopped.
But Desmond pushed him off and giggled when Elmer roared in frustration. “Whatchoo doin’, nigguh? Keep goin’! C’mon, where you goin’?” He kept humping even though Desmond’s mouth was nowhere’s near his cock, like his crotch was on auto-pilot, now just humping the air.
“I said I wanted to get rammed in the ass too,” Desmond said. “You better get started before you blow your wad.” He gripped the door to the supply closet for support. He jutted his ass high in the air.
“Man, nigguh, I was all up in ya mouth-“
“I’m paying for this, and I said I wanted anal,” Desmond said. He turned around and shook his ass in Elmer’s direction. He backed up and rubbed his asscrack over Elmer’s cock.
“Oh? You want it in the butt, huh?” Elmer said with a frustrated snarl. He grabbed Desmond by the back of the neck and held on as he slammed his cock right in. He spread Desmond’s asscheeks. Elmer bit his lip and sank in deeply, all in one smooth motion.
The pain was extraordinary at first. Elmer made no effort to be easy on Desmond. He penetrated him with so much force Desmond’s head banged against the door. A girl, Elmer thought, would have never let him do all that, but Desmond cringed and moaned like he liked it.
The pain was potent, but brief, and Desmond cried out with pleasure. “Damn…” Desmond gritted his teeth, and Elmer gripped his asscheeks.
“Open up that ass, nigguh.” Elmer smacked his back until Desmond did as he was told. Desmond managed to relax his ass, and the rest of Elmer’s thick shaft jammed into his asshole. His flat belly smacked against Desmond’s cheeks. Elmer used his weight to force his dick in deeper and deeper, until at last every inch throbbed within Desmond’s asshole.
“Ah, ow, shit!” Desmond bit his lip. He cried out again, fists pounding on the door. If anyone was out in the service corridor now, they’d definitely hear what was happening, and Desmond didn’t think he had the wherewithal to reduce it.
“No noise, boi,” Elmer said, though he was just as loud as Desmond. He used one callused hand to hold both of Desmond’s delicate wrists in place. That meant Desmond was unable to support himself at all. He leaned forward, with Elmer ramming him from behind, supported entirely by Elmer’s powerful arms and his thick dick in Desmond’s ass.
So he rammed Desmond harder and rougher than he would have ever fucked a woman. He rammed until his balls slapped loudly against Desmond’s ass. He kept thinking sooner or later, Desmond would tell him to stop or slow down, but that never happened.
When Desmond didn’t complain, Elmer even grabbed Desmond’s hair and held on that way. He sighed and moaned. No woman let him do that anymore. They disliked it when he pulled their hair and even choked them a little.
“Come on, boi…” Elmer’s voice was still harsh and guttural, but now with a smoothly seductive tone to it that made Desmond shudder. Desmond felt like his own cock was going to explode. He lost himself in Elmer’s thick chest.
He put Desmond in a chokehold, not real tight, just enough to make him squeal and clench around Elmer’s dick. Elmer loved having total control over Desmond’s tight feminine frame. In the darkness of the supply closet, Elmer thought, the only thing separating Desmond’s ass from a woman’s was that Desmond didn’t complain when Elmer slammed into him with all his might.
That’s because Desmond loved it. Desmond tightened his fingers into claws that dug at Elmer’s forearm, which were firm like iron beneath the flesh padding of his age. Elmer didn’t notice, he was too busy experiencing an orgasm more intense than anything he’d felt in twenty years.
“Shit, boi, you take it good… You feel me inside ya, huh? Say it-“
“I feel you inside me…” Desmond’s voice was weak and tinny, almost plaintive.
Elmer’s voice was deep and scratchy, resonant in the cramped closet. “Say my name, boi.”
“Elmer… Ram me, Elmer! Ram me hard!” Desmond said as loud as he could.
For just a moment, Elmer didn’t feel his sore knees or the ever-present exhaustion or his worry about his blood sugar. All that mattered was getting every inch of dickmeat in the squirming man’s tight hole and making him beg for more.
They both went to the ground, landing with a loud crash that shattered a box of lightbulbs on the floor. Elmer felt himself kissing Desmond on the lips even as he told himself he wouldn’t do that. Cum flew in ribbons into Desmond’s ass. Desmond cried out in shock as Elmer’s tongue entered his mouth.
A the last few jets of cum filled Desmond’s ass, Elmer grunted into his ear. “No kissin’, boi, I oughtta smack you for that.” He squeezed on Desmond’s neck a little more to remind him who was boss. He didn’t even stop kissing as he told Desmond to quit it.
Desmond gasped. He was dizzy and delirious. He leaned his head back, kissing Elmer on the scruff of his neck. Elmer grumbled but allowed it, still lightly humping his limpening dick in and out of Desmond’s ass. Their tongues slathered spit along each other’s cheeks and lips. “No more kissin’, boi, quit that. I ain’t ya boyfriend, I’m ya daddy.”
“Ram me, daddy!” Desmond shouted. He loved the daddy look, and he liked how acting like a slutty female seemed to make Elmer treat him like one. Elmer ground his dick within Desmond’s ass, making sweet love to his prostate as he kissed every inch of Desmond’s face.
It was only polite to give a reacharound, Elmer thought, his mind working too fast for him to censor his own thoughts. That was another thing he had “forgotten” — or preferred to pretend hadn’t happened — from his youth. It felt so natural now he didn’t even think about it.
As the last vestiges of his climax roiled his veins, Elmer reached around Desmond’s body to his cock. He grimaced a little at the feel of it throbbing beneath his grasp but he stroked anyway.
Now he remembered why he liked it. “C’mon, nigguh, cum, blow ya nut.” His coarse voice was aimed directly into Desmond’s ear. Elmer had gotten in the habit of stroking his bottoms off after he came because it made them stay on his dick until it was totally soft, and when they orgasmed, they clenched down tight on it all over again.
Cum sprayed into Desmond’s ass, more than Desmond thought possible. He moaned as it filled him up, but it kept going until Desmond couldn’t moan anymore. Even then, Elmer’s body — perfectly still, muscles taut — kept shooting, wad after wad of creamy cum seeping into Desmond’s flesh.
So much semen filled him up that it dripped out and down his thighs, and Desmond thought he could taste it. It had coated his insides like he had become one with Elmer’s cock, which still shot the last few drops of cum from his low-hanging balls.
“Hmmm…” Desmond’s feminine, lilting voice filled the tiny closet. Since Elmer’s handjob was rather awkward and difficult to accept, continuing as it did throughout Elmer’s orgasm, Desmond didn’t cum as quickly as he might have. That wasn’t a bad thing from his perspective. It gave him even more opportunities to grind his ass back on Elmer’s now soft dick, making a moist dripping sound like a clogged drain as more cum splashed out and over Elmer’s low-hanging balls.
“You seduced me, boi, that ain’t right. I don’t give men handjobs,” Elmer said, his throaty voice making Desmond’s spine shudder. “That ain’t a thing I do. I oughta kick ya ass for that.”
Elmer wanted to keep talking, maybe even hit Desmond a few times — not real hard, just enough to be sure Desmond wouldn’t try to be his boyfriend. But when Desmond orgasmed, his asshole clenched just as Elmer had expected. It was like a second orgasm for Elmer; it reawakened all of those sensations that had just passed. His dick twitched and Desmond spasmed.
A massive load sprayed over the floor and Elmer’s hand — he hadn’t stopped the reacharound even as he demanded Desmond do so. Elmer kept stroking, ignoring the cum that coated his fingers.
Elmer grunted. Then, at last, he couldn’t take any more. He let go. Desmond nearly toppled to the ground, and Elmer’s cock plopped meatily out of his hole.
“Goddamn…” Desmond said with a moan.
“No blasphemin’,” Elmer said out of pure instinct — he didn’t allow young black men to blaspheme in front of him. That made Desmond giggle a little as he rubbed his face over Elmer’s powerful chest. Elmer used a paper towel to wipe his dick clean, ignoring Desmond’s groping hands.
“Hmm… Thanks for that,” Desmond said. He pulled his wallet out of his pants and handed over the money to him. It was all of the cash he had in his wallet.
Elmer nodded. “Don’t you think I’m some kinda street whore. I ain’t poor. I ain’t some fuckin’ hobo or some shit,” he said. He frowned as he let Desmond play with his heavy meat. When he had enough, he swiped it away. “You gotta pay more if you wanna keep playin’.”
Desmond clucked his tongue. “I think I’m done,” he said. “Thanks for that. I had a good time. This is a great museum,” He managed to kiss Elmer’s bicep once more before Elmer shoved him away.
“Get outta here, sissy. You got some dick, you done for the day. Ain’t no old white man in here for you to cuss at.”
Desmond sighed. “I ain’t cuss out some old — I-” He stopped himself. Why argue about this? It didn’t matter. “Nevermind, Elmer.” Desmond opened the door and winced at the bright light in the hall. He headed out into the deserted corridor.
“Go’n, boi, don’t come back neither. If you wanna taste my dick again, hang out in the alley behind the Canal Street Bar,” Elmer said. “I usually piss drunk in the alley before I go home. Maybe I let you take another taste.”