The Officer

Desmond is a trustee at the local police station, and that means he gets his pick of alpha-male cop meat… except for the studly Officer Savillano.

Until one day Savillano himself arranges a meetup. His wife is sick, and he is desperate to get a load off, which Desmond is all too happy to help with!

Can Officer Salazar Savillano find the sweet release he craves?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The storage closet was dim and dark. Desmond Talley hurried in, then tried to switch the light on. The door shut as he flicked the switch. The light didn’t turn on. The closet remained pitch-black.
“Damn it,” he muttered to himself. “Nothing in this place works right.” He grabbed for the doorknob to reopen the door — just enough to get some light in so he could see.
But the door swung open before he could, and Officer Savillano walked in, quickly, quietly shutting the door behind himself as though he didn’t want anyone to see him come in here. Desmond caught a whiff of his cologne, which was potent and spicy, warm, musky, pungent, like the jockstrap of a very clean Chinese sailor.
Desmond had been in the jailhouse at Precinct 17 for a couple weeks, and he’d found it mind-crushingly dull. He had always greatly admired the male form, and he thought the one bright spot of going to prison was that the men would have marvelous physiques. That might be true in prison — Desmond hadn’t gone yet — but in a jail, it seemed, like the jailhouse here, the average inmate was sixty-four, sickly, fat and possessing a cock like a mosquito bite. Desmond was not into it. The one genuinely handsome guy he got to share a cell with at all was a male stripper (a bit of a prettyboy, but Desmond wasn’t going to complain) who was also literally piss-drunk. Desmond wasn’t into molesting unconscious prettyboys who stank of urine.
But the one bright spot was Officer Salazar Savillano.
That’s because Savillano was a thick-limbed amateur bodybuilder, with a craggy face, square jaw and an intense, stawk-laden accent like a Bronx cabbie. He was short, about Desmond’s height, and he carried around his muscles like he stole them from a much taller man. He had a harsh voice like he gargled with cigarette butts, which made the other cops call him a goblin.
“Yo, hey man, hey,” Officer Savillano said, whispering, his double-barreled voice resonating in the tiny closet, into which he followed Desmond.
The jailhouse was quiet because it was night-time in the middle of the week, no crowds of revelers in the drunk tank, no convention at the hotel filling up with desperate men and desperate hos, no holidays right now to drink at then drive home. It promised to be a night of quiet dullness at Precinct 17.
Except for this one dalliance in the closet, wherein Desmond got so close to Savillano he could smell both his cologne and the medical-grade deodorant he wore underneath it.
Savillano was the only officer on duty right now, though the kitchen crew was in the other room cleaning up for the night. Desmond wasn’t in his cell because he was a prefect now, which meant he was allowed out to work in the jailhouse. He mopped floors and did whatever other tasks the cops asked.
Sometimes that included jerking them off, when their no-doubt bitchy wives refused to put out. Sheriff Torkelson told Desmond he could say no any time he wanted, but Desmond had a thing for cops, and he hadn’t yet met one he would turn down. Savillano never asked though.
It was Officer Savillano who had asked him to come into this walk-in closet to get a box of breathalyzer tubes. As always, when that gravel-coated voice filled Desmond’s ears, Desmond felt a surge of adrenaline and shivered in the wake of his body heat. His uniform shirt was partially unbuttoned now, revealing his hairy chest. One pearly drop of sweat plopped off his heavy cavemanish brow onto Desmond’s nose, making him shimmy and lick his lips. The salty flavor flooded his senses.
“Yo, hey,” Officer Savillano said. His gravelly voice wavered, and it filled the air like a steam cloud, echoing in the walk-in closet. He pursed his lips and let out a little grumble like there were other things he wanted to say but hadn’t yet come up with the words to say them.
“Hey. The light isn’t working. I think the breathalyzer tubes are over here. But the lightbulb doesn’t work, I keep telling Jefferson he needs to get more lightbulbs, he’s such a retard. If you just open the door a crack-” Desmond blushed, not that anyone could see it. It was obvious Officer Savillano wanted to talk to him, probably to ask if Desmond knew who was smuggling weed into the jail. Desmond did know, but he wasn’t about to say.
His hands clutched Savillano around the waist, which Officer Savillano didn’t stop or even respond to. Desmond liked the thickness of his meaty frame, and his muscles flexed under Desmond’s touch.
Trustees weren’t allowed to touch cops, and cops couldn’t touch trustees except by following the Five Pillars of Compliance. Desmond had seen the training video, and he’d watched the cops sign off on it without watching the video. Desmond couldn’t blame them for not watching it, but the rank hypocrisy did annoy him. Desmond had had to watch the same video, so that he would know how to comply, using the Five Pillars of Compliance.
So far, not a single Pillar had been used.
“I know it don’t work. The light ain’t workin’ cuz I took the bulb out,” Savillano said. He paused. “I threw it away. I’ll tell Jefferson to put in the order. But shush up.” He wrapped his powerful arms around Desmond, whose heart fluttered, then Savillano picked him up to switch positions with him. That placed Desmond right next to the door.
“Oh. Savillano…” Desmond was confused, a bit scared, and a whole lot aroused. Savillano’s warmth and the musk of his cologne swarmed and swirled around him, and Desmond got dizzy in his thick-bodied presence.
“I put ya next to the door, on account of so you can leave,” Savillano said, aiming his voice right at the back of Desmond’s neck, where his breath condensed moistly. He whispered, but he had such a deep, potent voice that it wasn’t very quiet. No one was around anyway — it was after five, so all the cops save Savillano were gone. There were only four inmates in the jail census, so there was only a need for one officer at night.
“Oh…” Desmond’s dick rocketed to attention. He was already imagining getting rammed by Savillano’s hopefully fat cock, but the intellectual part of his mind assumed that wasn’t it. Savillano presumably had something else to ask. Desmond was just too horny to think of any other reason to go through all this.
“So… I ain’t like… a bad guy or nothin’,” Officer Savillano said. He talked a lot of shit about his prowess with women, he was always bragging about it. Desmond didn’t believe a word of it. Savillano was married, and he didn’t cheat. Desmond would put money on it. Savillano liked to front, but he wasn’t the kind of man women lust for. He wasn’t charming, rich or even tall.
“Oh. Okay…”
“I mean… Look, man… Y’know ‘bout my wife?”
“No.”
“Ain’t Thorne tell you?”
“No.”
“Oh. She got cancer, man. She-“
“Oh, wow, I’m sorry, man, that sucks…”
“Yeah. She got bone cancer, she gonna be dead soon.”
“Damn…” This dark-closet encounter was becoming more morose than arousing, Desmond thought. But he caught another whiff of Officer Savillano’s natural musk beneath his cologne, and Desmond had to suppress an embarrassing moan.
“Yeah, look, man… You can say no. Forgett’boutit, yu know. It ain’t a big deal. I got, y’know… I can do… othuh shit… I just was, yu know, like, whatevuh…” He snorted and wiped more sweat off his square-jawed face with one hand. “Look, dawg, man, like… I been, yu know… You cool, right?”
Desmond nodded, too nervous to say anything. Then he remembered he was in the dark, so he had to say yes out loud. Before he could, Officer Savillano just kept talking as though he had said it anyway.
“Well… I mean… Ain’t no big deal, but yu know, I seen you lookin’ at me, and shit, and Thorne told me you-” He paused, and Desmond didn’t need to see his face to know he was blushing. Savillano chuckled throatily. “He say you told him you’d eat beef stew outta my ass.”
Desmond giggled. “He told you that?”
“Yeah, I mean, whatevuh, but, yu know… I don’t want that. Not that. That’s weird. And gross. And dirty. And-“
“It was just a joke. I wouldn’t really eat beef stew out of your ass. I’m not sure it’s possible. Maybe like some pad thai.”
“Uh-huh. Well, yu know… Just…”
“What’s wrong, Savillano? Just say it. If you don’t want me to check out your ass all the time, just say so. And, y’know, get an uglier ass, or at least looser-fitting uniform pants. I like muscular thighs, and I can not lie.” Desmond was embarrassed now that he assumed he was in trouble for looking at Savillano’s ass. Could I be arrested over that? He didn’t think so.
“Can I ram you?!” he blurted out.
“What?”
Savillano murmured to himself. “Look, man, you can say no. I ain’t comin’ to you as an officer of the law. You gettin’ outta here in two weeks, ain’t nothin’ I could do about that even if I wanted to, which I don’t. You ain’t gonna be in trouble or nothin’, you can say no.”
“Okay…”
“But, yu know… If you wanted… I’s…” He grabbed his crotch, which Desmond couldn’t see but did sense in the darkness. “I could do, like… I just… Yu know…”
“Oh, you can’t screw your wife anymore, I see…” Desmond said with a sympathetic cluck of his tongue. “Of course, sweetie.” He touched Savillano’s belly. He was a weightlifter, so he had a strong, no-fat belly, but it wasn’t flat either, he was muscular enough that his belly protruded a bit. His muscles all twitched and rippled as soon as Desmond touched him through his uniform shirt, like he had been waiting a long time to be touched.
“Ah, shit, okay, thanks, thanks a lot… You can make me stop or slow down or whatever. Just say it, no problem,” Savillano said. He cleared his throat. “It ain’t even like I can’t, yu know, mess around wit’ a girlie. I got females all over, y’know, they want me, they be sayin’ I should calls ‘em up as soon as… Yu know, if I evuh wanna play around, ya feel me? But I ain’t gonna cheat on my wife on her deathbed. That ain’t right.” He sighed a long chambersome sigh of relief. “Alright, man. Here.” He had a bag with him, or maybe he had placed it in the closet in preparation for this encounter.
Desmond had been daydreaming about this for so long he went right to massaging Savillano’s biceps, making it hard for him to take things out of the plastic bag in his hands. Then Desmond wrinkled his nose as Savillano sprayed him with perfume. His muscles flexed beneath Desmond’s touch.
“There, that’s her perfume. Put this on,” Savillano said. He put a wig on Desmond. It was a long, feminine wig — blonde? Desmond couldn’t tell because it was too dark, but he thought maybe blond; Officer Savillano seemed like the type to date a blonde, or more likely an Italian raven with dyed blonde hair.
Savillano sniffed deep of Desmond’s scent, his big, ungainly nose coming so close it glancingly touched Desmond’s neck. Whatever he smelled there must been enticing, because Savillano moaned, and his thick-fingered, callused hands wrapped around Desmond’s waist. Desmond wasn’t allowed cologne in his cell, so he just smelled like soap and deodorant, hopefully. He did buy the soap that smelled like mango though.
“Girl, you smell good enough to eat…” Savillano said with a menacing rumble, sounding like that was how he initiated sex with his wife. Desmond shivered and let out a girlish giggle. He placed both hands on Savillano’s broad shoulders, then slowly helped him shrug off his uniform shirt. He leaned in and jerked a few droplets of sweat off Officer Savillano’s hairy chest, on the rim of his sweat-suffused wifebeater.
It was unwashed, Desmond realized. The undershirt. The uniform shirt was dry-cleaned, but Savillano wasn’t washing his clothes. Or rather, Mrs. Savillano wasn’t. That made Desmond again cluck his tongue sympathetically, though he didn’t say why. Maybe Officer Savillano realized it. In any case, a chamberous moan escaped from his chest as Desmond spat up and down the width and breadth of his powerful torso.
As Desmond removed his shirt, Savillano explored Desmond’s body with his hands. He knew he wasn’t with his wife, of course, but Desmond looked similar to her; he was the right height and size, and he even had a similar personality. Savillano felt his waist and his smooth thighs as he took Desmond’s pants down. He kept his hands away from Desmond’s crotch and chest, not wanting to shatter his own illusion. Desmond smelled so much like her that Savillano could picture her as she had been back when she was well.
She had told him to sleep with other women. When she went into the hospital last month — and it was pretty obvious, no matter what the doctors said, that she wouldn’t ever leave — she had told Savillano to find someone else, not to even wait for her to pass away. Savillano had refused, of course.
But the more he heard the sound of Desmond’s effeminate panting just like his wife made when they shared the marital bed, the more Savillano knew he had to do it. The fact that Desmond was a man made it easier — physically more difficult, but emotionally easier because it wasn’t cheating. Savillano remained fiercely devoted to his wife and would never cheat on her.
When she died though… he didn’t want to think about that until it happened. Dating was going to be difficult. He hadn’t been on a date in twenty years.
Desmond dropped to his knees to handle Savillano’s cock, but much to his surprise, Savillano caught him. He wrapped his muscular arms around Desmond once more. Desmond gripped Savillano’s corded-muscle forearm while Savillano swooped down and kissed him on the lips.
He moaned into Desmond’s mouth. Desmond never thought an alpha male like Officer Savillano would agree to kiss him, so he was momentarily disconcerted. Then he kissed him back, and Savillano’s tongue plunged into his mouth.
Desmond wrapped his arms around Savillano’s broad shoulders, then jumped up and gripped his thick torso with his legs. “You’re so strong, sweetie-“
“Call me big boy,” Savillano said breathlessly, before resuming his shower of kisses..
“Ooh, I love your muscles, big boy,” Desmond said. He kissed Savillano on the neck while he unbuttoned his uniform shirt. “I bet you’ve been struggling with overflowing balls for a long time, huh?” He reached down and teasingly touched his cock through his uniform slacks with one hand, the other one massaging the hump of his toned biceps. “You’re so strong…”
“I need you…” He sounded like he was near tears. He kissed Desmond again, his tongue exploring Desmond’s mouth. He was firm and forceful, but gentle, his muscles hard as iron beneath Desmond’s touch. Desmond swooned, dizzy with desire, glad he could support himself on Officer Savillano’s sturdy body.
He put Desmond down, then took his shirt off while Desmond dropped back to his knees. Desmond flopped his cock out through the fly of his slacks. He was already half-hard, and Desmond kissed him right on the cocktip.
“Ooh, big boy, I can’t wait to taste your dick in my throat. Can I deep-throat you? Please?”
“Course, baby…” He pursed his lips. He moaned as Desmond flopped his cock over his face, and Desmond teased his tongue along the underside of his veiny shaft. “C’mon, baby, make it wet…”
Desmond knew he was good at getting a man off. He could get any man off in minutes if he wanted to, which he did not. He swallowed his cock down to the root right away, making Officer Savillano’s whole huge body shudder and grunt.
He had a big dick. Desmond was glad because a lot of bodybuilder-types didn’t. They either started working out because they were self-conscious about their small cocks or else their dicks got smaller due to steroid use. But not Savillano. His muscles were entirely natural, his frame naturally hefty and inclined towards fatness — he prevented that by working out every day, jogging and lifting weights for hours. That was how he had met his wife, she was a personal trainer at his gym.
His dick was rock-hard now, throbbing in Desmond’s mouth. He gripped Desmond’s head and pushed his dick in and out of Desmond’s throat. It was a throating — which Desmond loved — but it was different, more affectionate than Desmond had expected. He would have assumed Savillano wanted aggressive, even violent head, but in fact he made sweet love to Desmond’s mouth.
He swayed his hips, clucking his tongue as he worked his dick in. Desmond focused on nothing but keeping his mouth wide open, letting his nose nuzzle into Officer Savillano’s wiry pubic hair. He experienced a flood of desire every time he felt Savillano’s cock pulsate in his throat, leaking torrent after torrent of salty precum down Desmond’s gullet. The taste was so bright and sunny, so thick and creamy, Desmond could tell Savillano had been starved of a woman’s touch for a long time.
“Oh, god, babe, you got such a nice mouth, babe, damn…” Savillano said. He clucked his tongue like he was being seductive and flirty with a girl.
Desmond gently massaged his balls. He figured this was one thing Savillano’s wife probably never did right — girls couldn’t do it so well because they didn’t have balls. Desmond knew how to make it feel good.
Sure enough, it made Savillano’s whole body shake. He grunted, and his muscles all tensed. He could have shot his load right then, but he didn’t. He pulled out of Desmond’s mouth, and his knob jabbed around on Desmond’s face. He chased it with his tongue.
“Lemme in ya ass, babe, okay?”
“Sure-“
“C’mon, I’ll be so gentle… It won’t be like last time, baby, I’ll go real slow and nice-like…” He bent down and kissed Desmond on the forehead. He cooed and moaned like he needed to seduce Desmond into doing it.
“You don’t have to be gentle-“
“Shush.” Savillano’s seductive voice was gone. “Don’t talk like a slut, man.”
“Oh, sorry.” Desmond had to put himself in the mindset of a woman. “I don’t know, big boy, what if it hurts? You could tear my ass up…”
“I won’t… I’ll make you feel so good, babe.” He kissed Desmond on the lips, seemingly uncaring of the taste of his own cock there. His tongue again explored Desmond’s mouth. Desmond wrapped his arms around those broad shoulders, and mounted his chest with his arms and legs. Officer Savillano held him aloft.
Desmond stood and gripped the shelves on the side of the closet. He stuck his ass out. The fact that it was dark in here helped it go more smoothly — Officer Savillano assumed that whatever Desmond was doing in the dark was what his ex-wife would have been doing, that Desmond was shimmying like she used to and moaning for more like she did. He grunted affirmatively like Desmond was doing it right, even though all Desmond did was turn around and grip the shelves.
His hairy chest pressed against Desmond’s back, his pants around his ankles. He squeezed his dick between Desmond’s cheeks. It was hot and thick and moist and throbbing like it was its own living being, and it was so fat it didn’t even fit between Desmond’s buttcheeks much less in his hole.
“Stick it in me, big boy…” Desmond said. He opened his ass the best he could. “C’mon, I need your cock, big boy…”
“I love you.” He grunted and slammed his dick in. A part of his mind was embarrassed because he hadn’t meant to say that, but it was overcome by the part of his mind that just wanted to ram Desmond’s tight hole. All he cared about in that moment was getting his dick in there.
Pain erupted in Desmond’s ass. He moaned, his whole body tensing at first. The agony lasted only a few seconds, however, before it melted away, replaced by an intense, overwhelming pleasure. His moan turned into a closet-shaking cringe of desire.
“Shush, it’s okay, baby, I love you, I love you, I’ll never hurt you…” Officer Savillano said. He again sounded like he was on the verge of tears, and he kissed the back of Desmond’s head. “Here, baby, you can bite me.” He wrapped one arm in front of Desmond’s face, giving Desmond perfect access to bite on the muscle of his forearm.
Desmond didn’t want to bite down though. He just nuzzled it, licking and jerking all the sweat off the surface of Savillano’s forearm. The sensations in his ass grew as Savillano worked his dick in deeper and deeper.
“Oh god, yes, ram me, big boy, ram me harder!”
Savillano grunted and grinned. “Hell yeah I will. You ready?”
“Yes!”
“Shush, don’t be so loud. Them kitchen folks could hear,” Savillano said. He kissed Desmond on the cheek and slammed his dick in. He pulled it out, grimacing and shushing Desmond as he did, then pistoned his powerful hips again.
Desmond slammed against the shelves, which shook, making more noise than Desmond ever had. But Officer Savillano didn’t seem to notice. He rammed harder and harder, grunting more with each thrust of his hips.
Wrapping his hand around his own dick, Desmond reached orgasm as Savillano’s cock rammed into his prostate over and over. The waves of pleasure wracking his body made Desmond tremble like the shelves. Beneath the bliss was just a little pain, enough to make the pleasure even more intense.
But it was also enough to make it difficult for Desmond to stay still. He danced between his feet while he sprayed his load over the shelves. Savillano lifted him up as he rammed, picking Desmond off the floor, just a foot or so, enough to give Savillano complete control over his ass.
“Oh god, yes, do it to me, big boy!” Desmond couldn’t control himself anymore. He was off the floor now, supported entirely by Savillano’s muscles and his manhood. Desmond’s bright red face gasped as the most incredible orgasm of his life hit him hard. Officer Savillano kissed him again as he too climaxed, groaning, moaning into Desmond’s waiting mouth.
Cum flowed into his ass. It had been months since Savillano rammed — he hadn’t gone more than a week or two without sex since high school, so he shot a massive load. It kept coming, filling Desmond up and seeping into his flesh.
Since Desmond wasn’t supporting himself, all of that cum slipped right back out, making a big frothy mess as Savillano kept gyrating. Even as his cock limpened inside Desmond’s ass, Savillano continuing humping, groaning and grimacing as he did. He nibbled on Desmond’s nape, while his callused hands roamed over Desmond’s chest and belly. He even glancingly touched the sensitive tip of Desmond’s cock, reawakening Desmond’s orgasmic shudders and moans of delight.
“Ah, baby, yeah… take it…” He bit his lip. He kept on grinding his dick within Desmond’s ass, while spasms of post-orgasmic pleasure ran up his spine. He made a big frothy mess of all that cum, which bubbled out and soaked into his slacks.
“Shit…”
“Damn, you okay?” Officer Savillano grunted. He was exhausted, disappointed that it was over — he had an instinctual and emotional urge to take Desmond out with him to go on a date, take him to a movie and a fancy restaurant, then ram him again in a cheap motel room.
But he couldn’t do that. Of course.
“I’m perfect….” Desmond moaned. The pressure in his ass was too intense to say anything else.
Then Officer Savillano pulled his cock out. “So… like… we still cool, right? You was like… into that?”
“So into it.”
“Good. Maybe, y’know… Maybe…” Officer Savillano was nervous like a schoolboy. “Maybe, like, we could… you know…”
“Do it again?”
“If you want!”
“You just let me know when, baby.” Desmond said breathlessly. He pulled his own pants up.
Officer Savillano was about to do the same, then realized that all of his cum had spilled onto the pants and underwear that were around his ankles. He groaned. “Oh. Can you go to my locker and get my spare pants?”
“Sure, baby.” Desmond paused. He opened the door to leave, but then didn’t go just yet. “Can I kiss you again?”
Savillano paused and sighed. There was light in the closet now, which made it more difficult to pretend he was kissing his wife. He hadn’t intended to kiss Desmond at all, and he certainly hadn’t intended to say he loved him.
But he didn’t want to be a jerk, and he didn’t mind the kiss earlier. He could just close his eyes. So he planted his lips right on Desmond’s, and their tongues interlocked. Desmond squealed and jumped up, wrapping his legs around Savillano’s bare chest again. His skin was slick with sweat.
Finally Desmond pulled away. “Thanks, big boy. I’ll be right back with clothes for you.”

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.”