masturbation – Mansploitation

The Gloryhole

Patrick is working as a roughneck at an oil drill site in North Dakota and enduring the hazing and horseplay that comes with the job… But that all changes when a gloryhole appears, and the workers and rednecks he labors alongside all have a filthy chance to get their motors revving.
Can Patrick perform in front of the others?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

It was Patrick’s first time working as a roughneck, but he hoped that wasn’t obvious. Some people knew, of course, but Patrick kept to himself. He didn’t want to stand out like a rookie because he knew places like this often hazing their newbies.
He wasn’t opposed to hazing, mind you, he’d do what he had to do to fit in. The best way to get the worst of it was to stand out from the crowd, so he intended to go with the flow.
Normally, Patrick always stood out in any crowd because he was six and a half feet tall, and he was built like a linebacker. He was, in fact, a semi-pro linebacker, three hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle. Not that he had a six-pack, he wasn’t that cut, but compared to most of the men on Site G9, he was built like a gym. The others were mostly older, scruffier and either much fatter or skinnier, and definitely hairier.
Patrick felt young. He had never been nervous about being naked in a group until he got to the oil drill site. He realized only as he stripped off his clothes in a ridiculously crowded rig locker room that he reason he had never been nervous as a football player was that the men he changed alongside were his teammates he knew well and that they were around his own age.
But some of these roughnecks had fought in wars. There were bikers, meth-dealers, convicted murderers released after decades in prison, disgraced cops, a gaggle of men were from some indigenous tribe in the Amazon. They were craggy and stronger than Patrick even when their muscles were smaller. They had bulletwound scars and missing toes and silver-tinged chest hair that extended over their shoulders and onto their back. Nobody on Patrick’s football team had back hair.
It was one of those, a biker named Cooter who first touched Patrick’s dick.
It felt silly to make a big deal out of it, so Patrick didn’t. In the showers, it didn’t count. That’s what everyone said working on the drill site. That was like a motto.
Cooter with the broad shoulders and mat of silver chest fur over a barrel-shaped body wrapped one hairy arm around Patrick’s smooth back. “You’re a big hoss, huh? Saw you out there hauling lineboxes like a madman, good on ya,” he said. He gripped Patrick’s dick for just a half-second. He didn’t stroke it, and he made a point of not touching his balls — he lifted up Patrick’s cock and hefted it as though to make sure it was real.
Patrick sucked in his breath. In his semi-pro football league, if you accidentally touched someone’s dick, you had to shout “no pansy!” They did it even if they just brushed near it, or you accidentally touched someone’s pubic hair. Patrick gulped. He would have asked Cooter not to touch his cock again, but it was over before it began, and Cooter moved on. Patrick felt someone else’s chest hair rub on his back, and he closed his eyes rather than try to figure out who it was.
Cooter was very hairy. Patrick had always thought of himself as hairy too — some of his college teammates called him an ape because of all his chest hair. But Cooter and some of the others here, relatively old men, middle-aged guys, a lot of them had really hairy chests and bellies, and sometimes even backs. Old guys with muscular bodies were scary, Patrick thought.
There was a tattoo of a disemboweled man on Cooter’s belly. Patrick couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Was the disemboweled man a cop? Patrick closed his eyes. Something about the scene looked oddly specific, as though it illustrated a real event.
“Come on, man, let’s wash this shit off!” Cooter again wrapped a hand around Patrick’s body and led him into the shower. Cooter was drenched in engine grease because he worked on the internal combustion coils. Somebody else slapped Patrick’s ass too, a lanky black Jamaican who leered at him as they all filed into the shower.
Patrick gulped. This was the nerve-wracking part. The shower. It was well-lit and cleaner than Patrick had expected — he was picturing something mildewy and dank like a prison shower. This wasn’t that bad, aside from the astoundingly cramped quarters.
It was obvious why that “no pansy” rule that applied on the team didn’t apply here. The locker rooms for semi-pro football teams (usually college stadiums and the attached athletic departments) were roomy and spacious. But here, the shower fit twenty or so but would have been cramped with ten.
As soon as Patrick entered, he felt limps dicks rubbing over his thighs and his ass, along wiry pubic hair, copious chest hair and frizzy beard hairs, and the smell of unwashed male armpits and ballsacs filled his nostrils. The only thing more disconcerting was that his own cock caressed Cooter’s ass — and Cooter’s ass-hair — as they filed into the shower. Patrick was terrified that he would get hard.
Despite all that, they were more or less nice — Patrick was surprised. He kind of thought there’d be fights, and maybe more, in the shower. But there was a lot of horseplay, whipping towels at each other, pretending to jack off on each other, that kind of thing, but no real fighting in the shower.
It was during that night, however, when things got real.
Men jacked off openly here. They just lay back in their bunk, which were stacked five high, with barely room to roll around in, and stroked it. Not under the covers or anything, they straight-up stroked it.
The lights were off, but there was emergency lighting out in the hall. The barrack was a long thin room with rows of bunks. The emergency lighting filtered in through the doors and kept the entire room illuminated enough that Patrick could see men pounding their meat.
Patrick resolved to pretend he hadn’t noticed. There was no way he would ever get hard enough to jack off in full view of a bunch of strangers like that. He rolled over and went to sleep, ignoring the smell of sour cum blooming in the air.
That continued for a few days. No one ever remarked on it, not even when it smelled rank of cum when they all woke up. He saw one middle-aged black man with creamy white cum dried on his belly when they all got dressed. Patrick tried to just stay quiet and fit in. He wasn’t going to be here for long.
But he got so horny. Soon he was getting random erections, for seemingly no reason. He’d never gone this long without fucking a woman.
That was when the hole appeared. He heard vague chatter about it, and when his shift was over, he and the others all went to check it out.
It was a gloryhole.
They said it was a woman who loved cock. Yes, a woman, name unknown, who sucked any dick a roughneck shoved through the gloryhole. Patrick thought that sounded like a cover – no one had ever seen “her”.
But supposedly, she came to the rig every once in awhile, drilled a hole in the middle of the night and stayed in some hidden chamber, ready to jerk off any cock that came through the hole. She was a pretty blonde woman who loved cock but didn’t want anyone to know, she was a fine Egyptian lady with a tongue for jizz, she was a Japanese lass or an Irish redhead, an Aussie with an insatiable appetite for cock. The rumors were hot and fast, and Patrick wasn’t sure if anyone believed any of it. They claimed they believed it, but they claimed it with a wink and a nod, not like something they really believed in.
The man on the side of the hole was named Rob. He had never spread a rumor that he was a woman. He would have gladly spoken to any of the roughnecks who he jerked off and would have told them he was a man. But he’d learned long ago that the best way to get men like these to let him handle their meat was to just make a gloryhole, hang out and wait.
Sure enough, one fat cock had popped through almost right away. He had recognized that as Barry Bagley, who was the convicted murderer Patrick had heard worked on the rig. Barry was a middle-aged man with gray hair and a powerful body like a painting of Zeus. He had been a prison boxer until he had been paroled this year, and the rig was the only place that would hire him — he wasn’t allowed to leave the state, which greatly reduced the options that were open to him.
Luckily, he had gotten used to being serviced by men behind bars. Doing it through a gloryhole was nicer than in person, and the man on the other end — Barry was not one who liked to pretend it was a woman — had nice, softer lips and a moister mouth than any of the men who had jerked him off in prison. The gloryhole mouth went down deep too, noze nuzzling into his crotch, eagerly, smooching it, slurping on it, hocking up massive loogies and choking up saliva by the mouthful to let it run down his sensitive shaft.
It was toe-curlingly good dome.
There was something alluring about not being able to hold onto the man’s head too. It seemed worse. Barry wished, while it was going on and while he got hard, that he could grab Rob’s head and plow in, ramming as hard as he could. But he wasn’t able to do that with the solid steel wall of the supply closet in the way. He could only try to grip the smooth surface while bucking his hips to ram the hole the best he could.
“Goddamn, Rob, you got mouth like liquid silk, boy, goddamn…” Barry sighed. He belched loudly as he finally orgasmed, and the moist sound of his cumwad overflowing filled the air. He knew he was first to use this particular hole, so he liked to make a big frothy mess that spilled out and dried on the stainless steel — which wasn’t stainless when it came to cum.
He pulled out, peered through the hole and suppressed a gag at the sight of Rob’s open mouth, full of creamy, snotty cum. Barry walked away with his dick still dangling between his legs, workjeans unbuttoned and unzipped.
“Hole’s open, boys,” Barry said to each of the groups of men as he passed them.
They all snickered, exchanging knowing glances at the sight of Barry’s foot-long cock. The more time they spent on the rig without any leave, the more often all of them found excuses to walk around naked. What started out as a bunch of awkward men who mostly didn’t know each other became a group of not-quite friends who had seen, and probably rubbed against, every part of each other’s bodies. So it seemed silly to rush to put their cocks away or to pretend to hide masturbating.
Not that anyone wanted to jack off now that there was a hole available. Rob handled dick better than any of the women at Madame Rosa Sumillo’s house — she was the brothel owner whose girls mainly catered to the rig’s workers on leave, in the tiny town of Onagnok. They were beautiful and willing and they had parts that jiggled in all the right ways. Patrick’s ears burned hearing the other roughnecks’s wau-wau about the dirty things they did.
No leave for three weeks though. It felt like forever in the future.
So when Patrick finally realized what they meant about a hole appearing, he was eager to do it. That eagerness vanished when he realized there was a line. The closet was barely big enough for two people, but there were five or six in there, and five or six more stroking their cocks outside the closet getting ready.
“You wanna take a spot in line?” Cooter asked, motioning for Patrick to stand beside him.
Patrick did so. He wanted to leave and come back later, when there was no line — and hopefully when Rob had wiped down the hole, because Patrick didn’t really want to touch another man’s cum. But he was too horny to stop, and he could already feel his dick getting hard. Despite the smell of male armpits and bodyhair and both fresh and stale cum, Patrick was getting hard just at the thought of getting his nut off.
He had no sooner stood there beside Cooter that Patrick heard a man’s deep-throated moan of orgasm. It sent a chill up Patrick’s spine. That was Lem Staggerman, who cackled like it was a big joke as cum sprayed into the hole. He felt his balls slap against the steel and was disgusted — he knew there was oozing cumloads right there, now no doubt sticking to his ballsac. Lem had a thick body and a thicker cock, thick enough that some of the whores at Madame Sumillo’s house of sin refused to see him. They said he stretched them out for other men.
That was the kind of thing Lem liked to hear. Rob had had to widen the gloryhole for him too. Lem was getting splinters on his dingadingdoo, but it fit just right now, and Rob went to town all over it. Lem’s whole body tensed up, his work-carved muscles undulating and flexing as he pounded at the gloryhole with all his might.
Rob opened his mouth to show the cumwad filling it up, but the men were in too much of a hurry to even check. Lem was followed by his another of the drill site’s black men, Kale, whose fat cock barely fit in the hole.
“Ah, nasty, I heard that shit splash in her mouth,” Kale said. “She’s so foul…” He chuckled, pounding on the steel, eyes opening wide as his cock rocketed to full erection. Kale was one of those who was well aware that Rob was a man. But he had been unsure the first time he did it. A part of him knew it felt like a man, but he had been told it was a woman and Kale had been just horny enough not to question that.
If he had known it was a man, he’d have refused to do it back then, and he’d have probably never worked up the nerve. His buddies in his old hood would never let him live it down if they found out. As long as he could pretend he had no idea it was a man, however, he could do it without compunctions, without worrying about Lem’s creamy load sticking to his pubic hair, without thinking about Albert Spackle’s cock, half-hard already, rubbing against Kale’s ass.
Cooter was in the closet by then, as Kale shot his wad, and the line kept moving. Then Albert went, and he had been dry-humping Kale’s ass — no one talked about any accidental contact in the closet, that was a major faux pas — so he shot his wad quickly. Albert always did that. He liked to be efficient.
A shiver of anticipation ran up Patrick’s spine. One of those indigenous Brazilian men was behind him now, erect cock so close Patrick could feel his body heat. When he stepped into the closet, the Brazilian behind him did too, cramming in so that his dick touched Patrick’s thigh. It was hot and throbbing, and it rubbed against Patrick’s well-muscled leg.
“Sorry, I’m too horny to wait…” the Brazilian murmured. Patrick rotated his body, panicking that he was about to be ramrodded — no one had suggested that was a possibility here, it just felt too much like a prison to dismiss it as a concern — so that his ass no longer faced the Brazilian.
But that meant their cocks touched. It looked deliberate. Patrick sucked in his breath. “Oh, sorry, man-“
“Ssssssh, it is okay, yes? We are in the darkness,” the Brazilian chuckled. “Ees okay, does not count, man…” But he thwacked his dick on Patrick’s hot shaft. Then he grabbed both dicks in one hand and stroked them both together — frotting, the other roughnecks called it —his chuckle turned into a laugh at the shocked, turned-off expression on Patrick’s face.
The Brazilian’s cock wasn’t especially big, even rock-hard, as he rubbed it aggressively. Patrick was certain the feel of it touching him made him lose his hardon. He was wrong, but he was certain of it, and he couldn’t see and wouldn’t touch it, so he had no way of knowing. Precum jetted out into Patrick’s pubes, and the Brazilian roughneck’s breathing grew labored.
‘Is he gonna cum on me?’ Patrick wasn’t sure if he would be expected to fight the indigenous Brazilian if that happened or not.
That continued until the next man shot his wad, then turned around and walked out. He walked right between Patrick and the Brazilian — whose name he had never learned — so their erect dicks touched his hairy redneck thighs. Patrick gulped. In the closet, it seemed, anything really did go.
Cooter was in the hole now. He growled and rumbled, pounding his fists on the steel. “Hey, Patrick, new man, you wanna lick my asshole? Huh? Go ahead, I’ll let ya-“
They all laughed hard, and Patrick blushed. “No!” he raced to say, even though he knew that made him look defensive.
“You sure?” Cooter wasn’t even looking at the hole now, his head craned around to look at Patrick.
The other guys in the closet saw how nervous the question made Patrick and kept asking. “You sure? Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ givin’ a little rimjob-“
“Yeah, or a big rimjob. Filthy, for sure. Cooter got greasy ass, you know that!”
“Go’n and give us a lick, man, we love you forevuh for it-“
“Ain’t nothin’ dirty ’bout it.”
“No! No way,” Patrick laughed, hoping he sounded nonchalant. It was hard to think with his erect dick still touching the Brazilian man’s dick. It was uncut, and it seemed to have way too much skin, Patrick thought. He gulped and closed his eyes.
He considered leaving. It would be embarrassing, but staying was embarrassing as well. If he left, they’d tease him the same they teased him now — the only difference would be that Patrick didn’t get dome. Patrick realized only now that his own hardon had not deflated the least bit, despite the Brazilian’s hardon rubbing on it. Or maybe because of it. It did feel kinda good, in a massage-y kinda way. It was hot and stiff and it pulsated lightly like a massage wand.
Patrick didn’t want to share that observation with anyone.
So when Cooter shot his wad into the hole, Patrick decided to fit in the best he could. He got up behind Cooter, dick rubbing against Cooter’s hairy ass, and murmured, “You done yet, redneck?”
“Get the fuck off me!” Cooter said, angry and laughing at the same time, his orgasm still finishing. As he leaned back, he grabbed Patrick’s cock — making Patrick suck in his breath — and guided it to the hole. Their dicks touched, and Patrick felt the gooey, sticky ooze of cum and spit and precum and who-knew-what-else.
It only lasted a moment. But Patrick felt like he was dripping with Cooter’s cum and his filthy redneck sweat. That Brazilian man was right up behind him, stroking himself furiously for a few seconds, his fist hitting Patrick’s ass with each stroke, then let go when he realized he was going to cum too quickly if he kept jacking off. He was just keeping hard while he waited for his turn.
There was another cock on his hand — was someone trying to get him to touch another man’s dick? Patrick closed his eyes and touched the wall, as his cock finally slipped in by itself. He realized then that this was why all of them thus far had stayed against the wall as they got serviced — it was the best way to stop touching the handful of men who crowded into the closet. They all pushed in close behind him, and Patrick felt their mnahoods and their body hair and their precum leaving a layer of sweaty filth on his smooth back.
“Oh god…” Patrick was shocked that it felt this good. He had been so nervous about doing it that he didn’t give much consideration to how it would feel. He just thought he’d blow his nut and finally stop thinking about sex all the damn time.
But this was amazing!
Rob swallowed him down to the root, all in one smooth motion, with no struggle at all. Patrick had never had anyone deep-throat him like that.
“Oooooh, oh — aaaaah, shit, goddamn — ah-” Patrick laughed, which again he realized happened for the same reason the others had laughed before him — it made this seem more like a joke than the rather dirty sex act it really was. Plus nobody wanted to sound like some naif busting a nut for the first time and not knowing what it was supposed to be like.
His dick throbbed in Rob’s throat. Rob had sensed that this was a new man. He was very good at distinguishing between cocks. He remembered Cooter’s dick, for example, from a different rig owned by a different company. He didn’t know Cooter’s name, but he knew his cock.
Patrick was fresh, unserviced, and Rob tried to give him an experience to remember. He gurgled and guzzled, his nose even extending into the gloryhole, ensconced in Patrick’s unkempt pubic bush. His tongue battered his erection, which throbbed in Rob’s mouth.
Someone was touching Patrick’s back now, and he didn’t mind it. He was as surprised as anyone could be. He kind of liked the broad hairy muscles of that unnamed Brazilian man behind him, his hot cock throbbing between Patrick’s legs.
Patrick got it now. He could have gotten himself hard rubbing his dick between Cooter’s hot asscheeks — they were hairy though weren’t they? Patrick laughed quietly at the thought that he was going to have to check that during the next shower. He’d have to find someone with a nice smooth ass whose cheeks were very humpable — maybe that indigenous Brazilian, who had no body hair at all — and Patrick would try to slip in behind him next time.
“Ah, shit…” Patrick let out a long, deep moan that echoed and made the other guys in the closet burst into uproarious applause. They had all gathered that Patrick had never done this before, so they liked to embarrass him, pinching his ass when he twitched and shook.
Creamy cum flowed down Rob’s throat, and he swallowed every drop. It was salty and warm, and a little grassy as though Patrick had absorbed the flavor of the turf he played football on. Rob didn’t let go even when Patrick was done shooting and Rob’s lungs cried out for oxygen.
He waited for Patrick to pull out, his muscles all flexing at once, letting out the roar of a champion, as he did when his team had just scored a touchdown. It was a similar, victorious thrill. He knew that wasn’t entirely logical — it wasn’t like he had done anything that required any tremendous skill.
But he had gotten it. He was no longer some young pup hoping no one figured out he was new around here. He had a confident lilt to his step, and when you knew you were tough, like he did, there was no reason to be squeamish about the Brazilian man’s precum and dickcheese sitting on his ass.
‘I’m about to go take a shower anyway’, he thought as he headed into the shower. He wasn’t nervous about crowding in there either. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He was just one real man among many. He laughed and groped his coworkers as a joke, even circlejerking with them before his next leave.
He was no longer a rookie, he was a roughneck.

The Lumberjack

When Yoder’s leave from the lumber camp goes wrong, he’s got no choice but to spend the night with Cooter! Cooter’s a filthy, hairy redneck with some curious ideas on what men can do on lonely nights…

Can Yoder handle the kind of sweet release Cooter’s seeking?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Yoder assumed he would get laid on his night out. He had spent two weeks living in a remote camp in the middle of nowhere, working as a lumberjack on a remote tree farm in West Virginia. It was just him and about two dozen roughnecks like him, no women, for weeks. The work was arduous, and Yoder’s muscles ached so bad they were numb some days. Even today, when he was off all day, he struggled to get out of his bunk. His back and his legs and his shoulders ached like a Monday morning, and he could still feel the vibrations of yesterday’s chainsaw reverberating through his body.
Needless to say, the lumberjacks all planned on fucking whores when they finally got a night off in town (the “town” being Laramy, West Virginia). They done been talking about it for weeks even before Yoder showewd up — some them working-harders been living there in the woods for a couple months already. This was Yoder’s first job of this sort, but the others was old hats at it, and some had done been lumberjacking for decades. They steady procured a prostitute on their first night off, they did declare. It was a tradition of sorts.
Or maybe “tradition” was overselling it. They was just horny, and they don’t got the patience, stature or stability needed to attract a woman as a partner. Their only outlet — Yoder’s only outlet — was a prostitute.
That made Yoder nervous. He ain’t never had been with a prostitute. He was raised a God-fearing lad, and he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. He was afrighted for his very soul.
But he don’t admire to be left out, so he shown up to the alley behind the late-night bar in Laramy at the designated time with money in his pocket. There was a pimp there — dressed in a resplendent multicolored suit — and a bevy of women.
One by one, the roughnecks did choose a woman. That included this fat-ass Pollack who talked like he had gotten one of his extra chins stuck between his teeth, a half-Mexican who was the most racist son of a bitch Yoder had ever met and a gibbering hillbilly who had Mountain Dew for brains. None them got any trouble hiring a woman for the night, or for a couple hours at least.
But Yoder done arrived there last, and by the time it was his turn, there were no women left. The pimp shrugged and said sorry, that was it, he don’t got any more hos. He walked away, leaving Yoder there, dejected and alone.
Alone save for Cooter.
Jethro “Cooter” Wilde was the tallest lumberjack at the camp and the biggest one too. He was one them with experience, having done work as a lumberjack much of his life, and he had bulging muscles, a powerful body and a hairy chest. He spoke with a hoarse, gravelly voice from his constant smoking, and he was so loud and rambunctious that Yoder considered getting a hotel room just for himself, even without a whore — he didn’t much like the idea of spending the evening in camp with no one but Cooter to keep him company.
They could have drank alone in a bar, but that seemed pointless if there was no chance of getting laid (and in this rural area inhabited almost entirely by roughneck men, the chances of getting laid by a non-prostitute approached zero — even meeting a woman was a slim prospect). It was cheaper to drink back in the camp, so that was what they decided to do.
But when they got back to the cabins they had done built — first step on the job had been building their own cabins — they had locked up the stash. That wasn’t to keep Yoder and Cooter out, it was because another fracking company crew was working nearby and they had a reputation for stealing beer. Arnie ain’t think anyone would be here tonight.
So they ate dinner and then went to bed, both Yoder and Cooter too depressed to do much else. The lack of sex didn’t seem like a big deal to Yoder really, he was ambivalent about prostitution anyway. Well, not ambivalent, opposed.
But he would have done it. He thought now he would have done it. He had a girlfriend before coming to work at the lumberjack camp, and he missed her more than he thought possible. Not just her body either, but including her body. She loved to fuck.
If nobody ever brung up the prostitute thing, Yoder would have been fine. If nobody ever done invent prostitution, it wouldn’t have even occurred to him that he was missing out on a chance to fuck this weekend. No way to get a girlfriend living as a lumberjack out in the woods, so there was no way to fuck.
But there was a way to fuck without a girlfriend, and Yoder had missed out on it. Being so close to getting laid left him horny and unable to think about anything else. He even had the money to pay for it still in his pocket.
But now here he was, trying to sleep in the cabin he shared with nineteen other men. It smelled like body hair and like sweat and engine grease and sawdust. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see that old girlfriend again. Just hear her voice.
Or maybe hearing her voice would tantalize him all over again.
“Hey… Yoder…” came Cooter’s gravely voice from his upper bunk on the other side of the cabin.
“What?”
He jumped down from his bunk. His massive body jiggled as he stretched his legs and came over to Yoder’s side. “I can’t sleep,” he said. “I’m too horny.”
“Me neither.” Yoder paused. “You wanna take a turn in the porn shed?” That was a tool shed near the living quarters. Inside was a trunk filled with old-fashioned porn magazines (it also had tools). The roughnecks took turns jacking off there at night, and sometimes they didn’t even take turns. No room for squeamishness in Lumber Camp D. Yoder thought it was gross — he did it, of course, but in his mind, men should pretend they didn’t masturbate. He didn’t see the attraction of making everyone cum on the same photo in the same magazine until the entire thing was wrinkled and soggy, pages stuck together. Yoder didn’t like to touch it.
Some of the others, including Cooter, thought it was hilarious to make it filthy.
“I don’t wanna jack off.” Cooter stood there like he was waiting for something. With only two men, the cabin had an eerie liminality to it that made the hair on the back of Yoder’s neck stand on end. He didn’t like being in camp without all the people. It felt like a post-apocalyptic hauntscape. Cooter cleared his throat.
“Okay… then I guess go back to bed?”
Cooter took a deep breath. “You wanna… do somethin’?”
“What?”
“I mean… we could share mouth.” Cooter had suggested that before. Back when he was a young man, he claimed, there was no porno shed, or at least there was no porno. The lumberjacks traded mouths to get their nuts off.
Seemed gross to Yoder. It was gross. Yoder didn’t even like getting dome that much. Sure, it’d be nice, but it was no ass. Yoder loved ass for sure.
After a long pause, Yoder said, “Are you serious?”
Cooter nodded. He sat down on the edge of Yoder’s bunk. “Come on… if you swallow my dick, you know, full mouth, I’ll let you stick me up the ass.”
“What? Really? Yeah, I mean…” Yoder blurted out without thinking about it. In his mind, he wasn’t agreeing to do that, he was agreeing that it was a good trade, it was beneficial for him — Yoder would be getting more than he gave.
He wasn’t saying ‘yes’, per se, even if the thought of getting his dick in some booty was tantalizing. Yoder’s stiffy was still tenting his boxers. Cooter had a well-muscled ass, and Yoder was no stranger to cornholing a man when he got to — Yoder was from Smashwood Trailer Park, where cornholing a hobo was a veritable rite of passage.
But Cooter? He was hairy, sweaty, big… Yoder mighta said no if he got time to think about it, but Cooter took his agreement as a yes and ran with it, and by the time Yoder was brainstorming how to say no, Cooter was dropping his drawers.
“Oh thank god,” Cooter said. He flopped his fat cock between his fingers, swaying it left and right.
This was all happening very fast. Yoder still lay on his side on his bunk, and now Cooter sat naked right next to him. His broad, plump asscheeks spread out on the mattress. Yoder looked at the hair of his ass with considerable discomfort, both because he could only imagine Cooter farting onto Yoder’s mattress right now and because he was nervous about getting up into that hairy, massive ass. He was not going to be able to pretend he was with a woman.
But Yoder didn’t want to back out. He remained on his side but curled up around Cooter’s body so his head was near Cooter’s lap. The smell of cockmeat assaulted his nostrils. Cooter had a big dick, which he whacked across Yoder’s face. Cooter laughed.
“Can you not fuckin’ hit me with your cock?” Yoder asked. He flared his nostrils, not that Cooter could see it in the dark.
Cooter chuckled like Yoder was an idiot for asking. “Sorry, I was just playin’, hoss,” He sighed at the serious expression on Yoder’s face, dimly illuminated by the dim light at the cabin’s door. “Just get to it, Yoder, don’t blueball me. Make it nice and wet.”
Yoder sighed, but he cut his sigh short because his mouth filled with humid air from Cooter’s hairy crotch, as Cooter stood and faced Yoder’s bunk, his barbaric dick dangling free near Yoder’s head.
The air tasted like cock already. Cooter was a hairy redneck with a wild bear, and his wild furry crotch was dense and bushy. His dick was even bigger than it seemed from a distance because so much of it was concealed behind his pubic hair.
But Yoder didn’t want to put this off any longer, or Cooter was going to get angry, and Yoder’s cock was crying out for ass. Yoder opened his mouth and swallowed his dick down to the root.
Instantly a few sensations overwhelmed Yoder — first, there was disgust, as Cooter’s cock tasted like distilled manhood, like Yoder was licking every inch of his body rather than just sucking on the tip of his dick. Second, it didn’t taste anywhere’s near as bad as he had predicted. Maybe it was just because he was horny, Yoder thought, but this really wasn’t too bad. It tasted a lot like dirty pussy.
Of course he didn’t want to admit that. His throat opened up as he forced himself to deep-throat Cooter, all the way to the root. He had a big cock so Yoder struggled to get it all down, but when he did, Cooter’s entire body writhed from intense pleasure. His nose nuzzled Cooter’s pubic jungle.
That veiny beefy shaft throbbed in Yoder’s mouth. He let his tongue roam up and down the shaft because he knew he liked it when girls did that to him, and apparently Cooter enjoyed it too because he moaned and arched his back as Yoder did it. Yoder blushed — he hadn’t meant for it to look like he was good at this.
“Hey… will you gimme a reacharound when you stick it in me?” Cooter asked, his voice quiet as though there was some chance someone might could have done snuck into their camp to hear him. He pulled his dick away from Yoder’s mouth, and Yoder held back a gag as he wiped off spitty tendrils connecting his face to Cooter’s cock. That made him gag again.
“A reacharound?” Yoder’s voice was clipped and moist. He drooled because he didn’t want to swallow what was in his mouth, and he didn’t want to spit on the floor of the cabin he lived in.
“Yeah. Do I gotta explain what that is?”
“Well… I suppose I can guess,” Yoder said. “I thought you wanted mouth?”
“I do. I did. I can’t conc’ntrate on it knowin’ what’s ’bout to happen,” he said. “So if’n you j’st gimme a reacharound while you do it, t’won’t be that bad..”
“Fine, yeah, I’ll jack you off,” Yoder said, glad to stop tasting his nasty dick. He stood up next to his bunk and quickly dropped his sweatpants, while Cooter got on his knees and bent over.
That’s when Yoder realized how awkward this was gonna be.
Cooter was quite a bit taller and a lot heavier than Yoder. Even on his knees, the size difference was substantial, and Yoder hadta get him to lower his ass so Yoder could get it in him. Yoder was on his tiptoes to get his dick lined up with Cooter’s ass.
He felt small and skinny next to Cooter. In comparison to these other roughnecks, Yoder came across like a skinny prettyboy. That’s how they saw him. He wasn’t, not really, he just wasn’t the kind of raunchy-bearded hard-living freak who spent his whole life wandering between prison cells, work-camps and oil rigs.
And there was that hairy ass. Yoder hadn’t really thought about that until he saw it bent over before him, and now the time had come — he was going to put his dick in there. He felt like he was sticking it into a trap, but he was too horny to back out now. Besides that, he had already done his half. Quitting now would be humiliating.
He pushed his limp dick between those cheeks, nestled in the thick fur of Cooter’s hillbilly ass. Cooter grunted as though he was already in pain, though Yoder hadn’t even penetrated him yet. His body hair was coarse and unpleasant, distinctly unfeminine, Yoder was unable to pretend it was a woman’s pubic hair.
“You have a hairy ass, you fuckin’ redneck, shit…” Yoder gritted his teeth as he rubbed his dick in the hair of Cooter’s crack. Cooter laughed at him — he, like most of the other roughnecks in this camp, wore the redneck badge proudly.
Much to Yoder’s surprise, his dick got hard quickly, despite the ass-hair. The tension and anxiety flowing through his veins probably helped, but he hadta admit that Cooter’s muscular ass was arousing. The cheeks were tight, but plump, and the hair was moist with sweat, so when he could stop thinking about what he was doing, he could imagine a woman.
Yoder didn’t want to seem like he had trouble getting hard, so he quickly pushed his dick in, just the tip at first. He felt a surge of pleasure as his dick squeezed into Cooter’s tight asshole. He was not expecting it to feel this good.
Cooter grunted and buried his face in his meaty forearm. He held his breath, biting his upper lip as he struggled to loosen his ass. His toes curled against the ground.
“Open up, hoss,” Yoder said, chuckling as he imitated Cooter’s accent. Cooter grunted again, as though he didn’t appreciate Yoder’s joke, but Yoder didn’t care. He felt powerful, like he wasn’t the green rookie anymore. He felt like he had conquered Cooter, a much bigger and stronger man than he.
Yoder’s hands flailed above Cooter’s body. Cooter’s back muscles writhed, his shoulders etched like a statue; there was a confederate tattoo on his spine, and a Bible verse printed in flowing script on his ribs, extending onto his back. With the tattoos and the undulating muscles, Yoder couldn’t imagine he was touching a woman’s back, which was why Yoder kept his hands away.
But it was awkward to plow back and forth into his ass without touching Cooter. The more Yoder rammed his lower half at Cooter’s body, the fewer inhibitions he had, so his one hand separated the cheeks, ignoring the dense blanket of fur on Cooter’s ass. Meanwhile his other hand caressed Cooter’s back. His instincts took over, and all he could do was watch as his hand did what it wanted. The muscles beneath his grip writhed firmly like a layer of snakes below the skin.
“Don’t forget, hoss, you gotta gimme that reacharound…” Cooter said, his voice pinched and tense from pain.
Yoder had sort of forgotten that, or at least tried not to think about it. He sighed. His right hand moved from Cooter’s back muscles to his front. He had a hairy chest too, but Yoder moved down, through the dense thicket of fur there, until he felt coarse pubic hairs.
Then he wrapped his hand around that cock, which felt greasy and slick from Yoder’s mouth. The saliva was evaporating from the shaft, but there was still enough there to provide some lubrication. He trembled as he gave it a stroke and felt Cooter’s entire body move. The dickshaft pulsated beneath Yoder’s fingers.
Despite his discomfort with the situation, Yoder plowed harder and harder. His dick thrust into Cooter’s ass, each motion making Cooter gasp in a combination of pain and pleasure. Each thrust also sent tingles of desire up Yoder’s spine, making himg runt and groan along with Cooter.
“Damn, hoss, you go hard…”
Yoder was proud of that. He was smaller, weaker and less confident than Cooter in almost everything, so it felt good to know his dick caused Cooter some pain. He ground his dick in slowly, savoring the waves of pre-orgasmic pleasure that washed over him.
“You got a nice ass, Cooter, tight as hell… Wish you’d shave your asshole though,” Yoder said.
“Not a chance.”
The crippeting of the crickets and spring peepers outside was deafening, but Yoder listened attentively to it so he would hear if the others returned to the site. The more excited Yoder was, the more paranoid he became that the other campmates would be back early. Yoder knew Cooter had more to lose than he did, at least right now, but he remained paranoid as his dick slammed in and out of Cooter’s ruddy ass.
Yoder wasn’t sure he wanted to cum first, but he wasn’t able to prevent it. He thought it’d make him look like a wuss who couldn’t last a long time.
But Cooter’s ass was tight, and not even the forest of hair that choked his asshole could prevent Yoder from cumming. He moaned and slammed his hips hard against Cooter’s plump blue-collar ass. Cooter’s cheeks jiggled like a stripper’s.
Though Yoder would later call it weak to save face, the orgasm that wracked his mind and body was the most intense and potent of his life. His mind melted and his muscles all tensed at once. He felt victorious in a way he never had before, like he was extracting all of the manhood from Cooter, who cringed and writhed beneath Yoder’s much smaller body.
“God damn, you hillbilly fuck! Hell yeah!” Yoder was unable to conceal his excitement anymore. His spine arched as his climax roiled through his frame.
Cum spurted out and coated Cooter’s insides, his hot and creamy seed spreading within Cooter’s massive body. Yoder wasn’t sure how much he shot, but it felt like a lot, a bigger load than he had ever produced. Jet after jet of it angled into every corner of Cooter’s guts.
It dripped out and down Cooter’s legs, getting tangled in the coarse hairs of his thigh. Cooter moaned and shuddered. His fingers gripped the mattress on the bunk, and he took a deep breath as his ass filled up with Yoder’s cum.
When Yoder finally fell limp, his dick flopped out of Cooter’s ass. Yoder sighed with the power of his post-orgasmic pleasure, while Cooter sighed from relief that his ass was finally empty again.
“Get back to my dick, hoss…” Cooter said. His voice was tight like he was still in pain.
He sighed and got on his knees next to the bed, while Cooter rolled over. He winced and tentatively put weight on his ass. Yoder tried to hide how proud he was of the fact that his cock had hurt Cooter — Cooter was so much bigger than Yoder that it seemed reasonable to be proud of being able to hurt him. Yoder would have guessed that Cooter was big enough and tough enough to take any dick easily, if he had wanted to.
Cooter struggled to settle on his ass. His dick was rock-hard, throbbing and ready — it felt like it was already near orgasm as Yoder gripped it again. It seemed harder than his own dick ever was. Was that an illusion, he wondered? Or was Cooter really as hard as rock?
Regardless, Yoder swallowed it down, just like before. It tasted worse now, like salty cum as though Yoder’s load had come out Cooter’s dick. He tasted it for a few seconds before he realized it was precum.
That made him gag, but Yoder didn’t stop. Cooter wrapped his hands around Yoder’s head and held on. He slammed his dick all the way — all his gentility was gone, like he had only been gentle about it before because he wanted Yoder to treat him gently when Yoder got him in the ass, or maybe it was because he now felt he needed to reassert his masculine dominance. Or maybe, Yoder thought, he was just so horny he couldn’t help himself. He throated Yoder hard, chuckling as Yoder gagged when his dick hit the back of his throat.
He stopped moving with his cock all the way into Yoder’s throat, his shaft pulsating, the veins of his dick throbbing as Yoder sensed cum flowing towards the tip. That sensation — feeling semen flow through Cooter’s dick in his mouth, his balls crawling up in his sac, giant muscles tensing and relaxing in waves above Yoder’s head — made Yoder gag all over again.
“Ah, yeah, makin’ love to yo’ throat, hoss, that’s what that is…” Cooter said with a groan and a laugh.
Yoder had thought his own load was thick and plentiful, but that was nothing compared to what came out of Cooter’s cock. It felt like he was chugging it, and it flowed out in a constant stream. It coated Yoder’s tongue and the inside of his cheeks, and it sprayed down his gullet, while more dripped out past his lips.
The taste was sour, sweet and salty all at once. It made Yoder’s eyes water the flavor was so potent, and he could sense its heat suffusing from his stomach to every corner of his belly.
At last Cooter let go of Yoder’s head. Yoder pulled off and sputtered as cum dripped from his mouth. He held back a gag, then darted to the back door of the cabin to spit it up into the grass.
“Thanks,” Cooter called out from the bunk. “You swallow dick good, hoss.”
“Fuck you, you got a nice, tight ass. Or you did have a nice, tight ass anyway,” Yoder said with a nervous laugh, as he returned from the back door.. He stayed away from Cooter, whose limp dick still loomed large between his legs. They both tried to catch their breath.
Then Yoder’s blood froze when he heard a truck engine rumbling outside the cabin. Raucous laughter emanated from outside, and Yoder jumped to his feet. He bumped into Cooter, who did likewise, and Yoder got a faceful of funk-sweat plastered all over his skin. The salt of Cooter’s chest hair and sweat trickled into Yoder’s mouth, making his lips pucker.
Damn, those bitches is already asleep! I’m glad I got my nut off!
They were back early. Yoder felt like he was covered in cum and it would be obvious what happened. Should he take the time to wipe his face off? Or just hide under the covers?
Cooter strode outside, stark naked, totally confident, stretching his legs as he tried to hide the pain in his ass. He grabbed his shower stuff as he went — he was known for walking to the shower-tent naked, so that was a good idea. Yoder wished he had thought of it. He watched Cooter’s naked hairy ass jiggle as he walked outside.
What’s up, boys? You fuck the shit outta those ugly whores?!
You’re a damn pussy, Cooter. You could’ve had sloppy seconds, y’know.
Did you and Yoder have a circlejerk?
What?
That’s what we all guessed you was doin’ back here.
We ain’t do that. We just took turns in the porno shed.
Yoder quickly wiped his face off with his own t-shirt, then darted underneath the sheet on his bunk. The whole mattress stank of Cooter and his hairy ass, but Yoder was terrified of being caught so that didn’t bother him. Would they see cum on his face? Had he wiped it all off? Would they smell the funk?
The cabin door opened, and Yoder scrunched his eyes up to pretend to be asleep. He had, however, never been more awake in his life. He sighed and tried to pretend he was ignoring his campmates as they took their own clothes off, bragging about how hard they had fucked their respective whores.
If only they knew, Yoder thought with a wry smile as he finally drifted off to sleep. A part of him was glad he hadn’t fucked a prostitute. That would have been immoral and expensive. It was better to swing on the downlow with Cooter.
As a matter of fact, Yoder had another leave coming up in two weekends. He wondered if Cooter would be willing to take a second go. This, Yoder thought, just might make his time as a lumberjack a lot more satisfying.

Handjob for a Hitchhiker

Rob picks up a hitchhiker who would never let him get a grope on in exchange for a ride… unless Rob asks in just the right way!

Can Robert figure out how to get a handle on this studly born-again hitchhiker?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Rob rarely picked up hitchhikers. This man, however, seemed a worthy exception. He was a dirty-blond redneck with dirty skin, dirty clothes and a ripped, lanky body, his six-pack showing from underneath his torn t-shirt. Despite his look, he smelled like cologne because, he said, he had spilled most of a bottle on these pants a year ago and the smell still hadn’t worked its way out.
The hot Kansas sun beat down on the car, but Rob didn’t run the air-conditioner. He just kept the fan on, which was enough — the temperature wasn’t really that high, so the wind kept it cool. Once the hitchhiker’s sun-baked body entered the car, however, the heat radiating off him made the air so warm that Rob had to flick the air conditioner on.
The highway continued through the woods of northern Alabama, which was where the hitchhiker had stuck out his thumb. He’d kept walking as he hitched, thumbing out when he heard a car coming up behind him.
Rob had pulled over to pick him up, and he gave a polite nod before getting in the passenger seat of Rob’s car. The hitchhiker’s ropy muscles dripped with sweat, and the smell of his unwashed body flooded the car and Rob’s nose from the moment he stepped in. He looked homeless, or rather, he looked like he had no stable address — he didn’t look quite dirty enough to be a hobo, but he probably drifted between halfway homes, homeless shelters and various girls’s houses, maybe interspersed with an occasional kindly priest’s couch. He seemed like that type. He kissed the St. Christopher medal dangling over his chest as he settled into the passenger seat. He didn’t put his seat belt on.
“Yee howdy, thanks fer pickin’ me up, hoss, that’s a mighty kindness of ya,” the hitchhiker said with an enthusiastic grin as Rob got back onto the road. “Don’t bother me none where you is goin’ neither. I don’t have a firm destination, myself, I do declare. I got the ramblin’ bug in me. I got a need to get outta here, ya dig?”
“Yep-“
“This town ain’t big enough for me. Name’s Thomas,” he said. “You’s headin’ south. You gonna keep goin’ that? All the way to Oklahoma? That’d be with me, indeedy-doo, but not a bit further south cuz that way lies Texas, and I ain’t goin’ there. Nosir, just ‘bout e’ry sheriff in Texas has got it out for ol’ Thomas Weathers. The Lone Star State ain’t fo’ me!” He paused. “And they got a warrant out on me.” He looked at Rob, then said, having seemingly forgotten he already introduced himself, “I’s Thomas. Thomas Weathers.”
“I’m Rob.”
“Rob, nice to meetcha. You one of them god-botherers?”
“Uh… no.”
“That’s good. Reckon a preacher picked me up ‘couple miles back, and I swear to God after a couple hours of listenin’ to him sermonize, I says to him, ‘you let me out right here, rev’rnd, cuz I’d rather die in the desert than let you talk my ears into committin’ suicide’.” He cackled and slapped his knee. “We was in the desert, see. And I knew Mesa, Arizona was right down the road. Still just ‘bout died of thirst befo’ I got there, yessuh. And a rattlesnake done try and bite me, but I swear to God, mistuh, I chop that damn rattlesnake’s head right off and made a stew outta his carcass. That’s just how Thomas Weathers rolls, hoss, ya dig?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Now don’t get me wrong, suh, I is a believer, through and through. I done saved and lost my soul so many times I got a direct line to both our glorious Lord above and that sulfurous bastard down below, ya dig?”
“Yeah-“
“I just ain’t a preacher and I don’t cotton to none of that reformin’ and repostulatin’ and re-understandin’ that them God-botherers do. I ain’t lookin’ to integrate Hindus into Christ, if ya catch my meanin’.”
“Uh… yeah,” Rob said, though he had no idea what Thomas was talking about. “Right, uh-huh.”
“I got a real understandin’ of my own relationship with God, and He know the demons I got, boy, He knows it all. He puts them demons in those of whomsoever he has faith can struggle onward. A man’s gotta have a code even if he don’t often follow it.”
Finally there was a moment of silence, as Rob was still flummoxed and didn’t know what kind of response Thomas expected. This was a lot more theology than he expected from hitchhikers. The air conditioner whirred, struggling to cool the air down while heat emanated from Thomas’s body. Thomas looked at Rob and sniffled.
“You a sissy?” He even flashed a limp wrist as though Rob might not understand the question.
Rob blushed and nodded.
“Ain’t not a thing wrong wit’ that, lemme tell you.” He paused. “I mean, there’s a lot wrong wit’ it, don’t think I ‘pprove, cuz I don’t. You motivated by lust, reckon, and that ain’t right. Should be motivated by piety. But it ain’t my place to say. A lotta folk get up all up in arms ‘bout shit that ain’t none of they business, swear to God, ain’t that right, sissy? I bet you gonna make me whip it out, huh, to pay for this ride? Ain’t ya?”
“Well-“
“I wouldn’t blame ya for it, nosirree, when I was growin’ up, that’s how it went down. You could always hitch a ride with someone — trucker, most likely — but ya gotta provide gas, cash, grass or ass!” He whooped, hollered and slammed one hand on the roof of the car. “I always had grass on me in those days.” He paused. “Don’t think you gettin’ any of my ass, boy, no way, no how. I’ll visit some very bloody sin upon you, swear to God, and I will gladly do the time behind bars afterwards. I let you look at it, maybe touch it a bit, if you ask me real nice and respec’ful-like.”
“Uh-huh-“
“Now I gots rules, mistuh, lemme tell you that. I don’t do nothin’ weird, no way. Remember, I is a believer and I been saved again most recently just a couple months ago, swear to God. The Lord Jesus Christ is my personal Lord and Savior, amen and amen again!” His voice gradually rose to an emphatic crescendo. “He does warsh me in the blood and the… the, uh… love of His own very son.” It sounded like Thomas had lost the thread of his theology. “Hallelujah!”
“Oh. I-” Rob was disappointed.
“Don’t get me wrong, I is a sinner, that’s fo’ sho’. I am not gonna cast the first stone, no way, I don’t even cast the second stone. I wait, till maybe the twentieth stone,” he said with a dry chuckle. “You can play wit’ it a little, mistuh, but no butt-stuff. That’s it. Just playin’. Ain’t much sin in playin’, reckon.”
“Uh… okay,” Rob said. He loved handjobs, so he didn’t mind that at all. Besides that, he wasn’t sure there was any other way to get Thomas to stop talking.
Thomas snorted and unzipped his dirty jeans. He pulled his cock out and let it flop against his thigh. He lit a cigarette too. Rob normally didn’t let people smoke in his car, but he didn’t want to do anything that would make Thomas want to leave. His fat dick jiggled as the car vibrated underneath.
“There it is, ain’t gonna get hard for ya, don’t even hope fo’ that, man,” he said. “I can’t get hard wit’out the smell of pussy, swear to God, the stronger the smell the better. I loves it, boy, you don’t even know!” Then he added, “You definitely don’t even know.” He licked his teeth. “I don’t fornicate in a pre-marital fashion. I done give in to urges, for sure, for sure! But I ain’t a believer in that kinda perversion. A man ought save his seed for his ever-begotted wife.”
As he drove down the highway, Rob reached over and touched Thomas’s dick. When he did, Thomas’s whole body spasmed like it hurt. He snorted, took a deep drag on his cigarette and looked out the window. His cock was hot and slick with sweat, the kind of slick texture that suggested Thomas hadn’t showered in some time. Maybe weeks.
That didn’t bother Rob at all. He enjoyed a filthy slice of alpha male rough trade.
“Reckon that’s a big piece of meat, ain’t it? I know you ain’t seen a lotta white men wit’ dicks like that, have ya?” he asked. He cackled and nodded as though Rob had agreed with him even before Rob did so. He did have a huge cock, nice and thick, veiny, swarthier than the rest of his flesh.
Rob stroked it lazily as he drove. He didn’t want to rush things. As Thomas had promised, his dick didn’t get hard, at least not right away. Rob liked the squishy soft feel of a limp cock.
“I don’t get no stiffy without a female. I just can’t do it,” Thomas said. “Not unless I get real drunk, and I don’t do that no more, nosir. No gettin’ drunk for me! I shouldn’t nevuh drink so much — or at all — on ‘ccount of I do things that are unchristianlike when I’s drunk, ya see, ‘ccording to God and my mama on her deathbed and several district court judges and a rack of rev’rnds and a few teachers and a whole squadron of social workers, they all agreed on that, I can’t handle my liquor and I need to quit that. Get my life in order. I done do so. All ’bout the Lawd now!” He called out like a preacher. His cock twitched and Thomas cackled, his dusty muscles flickering beneath his torn t-shirt. He stripped it off, revealing his powerful though lean chest. He made his cock twitch again, laughing at Rob’s girlish blush. “He’s twitchin’ at’cha, boy, he sayin’ hello.”
“You sure you can’t get hard? It kinda feels like you’re getting hard,” Rob said. Tommy’s dick was definitely firming up in his hand, no matter what Thomas claimed. His thick dick was poking up now, not roping around, and Rob paused long enough to spit on his palm to provide additional lube. Then he resumed stroking with one hand, his other steering the car down the highway.
“No suh!” Thomas snapped down. He glared at Rob, even as his dick slowly awakened in Rob’s grasp. “Don’t even think that! I is in control of my meat and my decisions and my theological destination, you feel me? I don’t — I is a Christian soul, reckon, I got the power to resist the lusts and urges flowing through mah veins. I do thank the good Lord above every day that he give me something to resist. That’s how a man does prove his loyalty and his faith. You know about faith, my man?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know about faith,” Rob said. He rolled his eyes, which Thomas couldn’t see because Rob faced the road ahead. Thomas’s Christian prattling was getting old quick. When he asked if Rob was a god-botherer when he first got in the car, Rob thought that was a good sign. He thought that meant Thomas was not so Christian, or at least no aggressively Christian.
“Can you make sounds like a girl?” Thomas asked. “I might get hard if’n you can make some sounds that make me think of a girl. A pretty white girl with blond hair and… a Christian soul.”
Rob blushed. “I guess. I can try.” He moaned a little, in what he thought was a feminine tone of voice. He didn’t know how to moan like a Christian girl, but he did the best he could. When he was done though, Thomas just scoffed at him.
“Some girl.” Thomas looked out the window like he wasn’t involved in the handjob Rob was still giving him.
“Sorry,” Rob said. He quickened up his handjob as he felt Thomas’s dick firming up under his fingers. Soon it was stiff and stuck up. The veins that ran up and down the shaft pulsated beneath Rob’s grip. Thomas closed his eyes like he was shocked to see his own stiffy.
A police car drove by, and Rob’s heart flooded with fear. He thought for a moment he had been made. But the cop in the driver’s seat appeared to be focused on the sports car in front of it. Rob hummed right along in the slow lane, attracting no attention. He kept an even speed, a few miles per hour below the speed limit.
A few drops of pearly, sticky precum dripped out of Thomas’s cock, slicking up Rob’s hand, and he groaned like he was disappointed in himself for getting this far. He shook his head. “Can’t believe this, man, ya hand feels like velvet, man, like an Italian whore on payday, like you don’t even know, man… or I guess you do know, it’s ya hand, I guess you’ve used… it.” His voice broke there at the end, and he chuckled at himself.
He leaned the passenger seat all the way back, so he was laying down. His chest muscles rippled, and a few beads of sweat appeared over his wiry shoulders and pecs. He was unwashed, so his sweat made his body hairs cling to his taut skin.
Rob took a break to move his hand from Thomas’s dick to his body. He caressed his muscles, which were work-toned — you could tell he didn’t get a body like this in the gym. He got it working hard on road crews, day labor, that kind of thing; when he described it, Thomas always said, “I work like a dog, man, I do the work they usually hire Mexicans for. I got nothin’ ‘gainst Mexicans, mind you, ‘cept they don’t provide much conversation in English when we’s on the same crew.”
As a wave of pleasure moved over Thomas’s body, he licked his lips and a fresh burst of precum flowed down his shaft. He murmured and groaned, at a loss for words for the first time since he had gotten in Rob’s car, maybe the first time in a long time. He blushed, the ruddiness of his cheeks barely visible through his deeply tanned skin. It was obvious he never thought a handjob could feel this good, especially coming from a man.
Thomas laughed. “This is some kinda nasty, man, swear to God. I ain’t nevuh done nothin’ this nasty, I just need a ride somethin’ fierce. A man can’t walk e’ry hour of e’ry day, ya dig? Don’t think I do this all the time.”
“I won’t,” Rob said. He imagined he could taste the precum that leaked out from Thomas’s cocktip. It would be so salty and strong. Rob had to suppress a moan just thinking about it. Thomas’s cock spasmed and twitched in his grasp, the precum flowing plentifully now.
“Now I done my share of nasty shit, ‘specially before I found God. I don’t behave that way no more, mind you,” he said. “I gangbanged this girl one time — she was a white girl who chose to get fucked by black men, not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’s just sayin’ it — and we was on this hunting trip. I just ‘bout threw up when I realized it was a gangbang. I thought we was gonna take turns, y’know, she’d wash up between each guy. I was a young whelp then, I had balls that controlled me — no, I’m sorry, that ain’t right. I wasn’t controlled by my balls. I was controlled by my lusts and my urges and by Satan hisself, ya dig? He do set traps for the most virtuous of man.”
“Uh-huh-” Precum smeared over Rob’s hand as Thomas’s veiny shaft pulsated like a heartbeat.
“But what happened right then and there was that I got this big hillbilly motherfucker right behind me, and he’s plowing her in the ass while I fuck her pussy. But I can’t even feel her pussy-lips on my dick on account of gobs of cum dripping onto my balls, hoss, I swear, I could hear that shit splashin’ when I got started. And that big-ass hillbilly was behind me, like he was gonna ram me — he ain’t get it in me, he just put it in her ass, but he was in position to ram me, and I could feel his pubes on my asscheek, man, and I couldn’t even smell that slut on account of him behind me. All I smelled was his nasty-ass armpits.”
“Sounds, uh… Kinda hot.”
“It was not hot, you is wrong and unchristian ’bout that,” Thomas said. He scoffed and leaned back. He lowered his pants all the way, and Rob took the opportunity to caress his hairy thighs and chest again. His muscles rippled beneath Rob’s fingertips. Thomas sighed. “You gonna feel me up? Fine. But you can’t, y’know… do nothin’ unchristian about it. No thoughts of a untoward nature.”
“I won’t,” Rob said with a smile. “I’ll keep my thoughts pristine.” He went back to Thomas’s cock, which throbbed mightily. The precum flowed freely.
“You got mighty pretty lips. If I was drunker or I was in lockup — rules is different in there, ya know — but if I was there, I might be able to let you put ya lips on my dick,” he said. He sounded like he genuinely wanted to but couldn’t let himself. “Lemme see whatchoo can do with them lips.”
Rob removed his hand and put his middle finger on his lips. Then he slid it slowly into his mouth, until he deep-throated it. Thomas watched the whole time, staring. Rob did the same thing with each of his fingers, tasting all of Thomas’s salty precum. He kept his face straight ahead, watching the road and the signs zoom past.
“You do real pretty things wit’ ya mouth, boy, but I’s still Christian. Don’t you try and seduce me,” he said. “That ain’t right.”
“I won’t. I’m not trying to seduce you. This was your idea, remember.”
He sniffled. It looked like he had indeed forgotten that he had brought this up first. “I dunno if I’ll be able to cum like this, wit’ you feelin’ me up,” Thomas said, though his voice lacked confidence like he was already on the verge of orgasm. It sure felt like that was the case, Rob thought when he gripped his cock again. It was spasming and twitching, precum flowing like water froma hose now.
“I bet you can do it,” Rob said. He smiled because it was obvious that Thomas was going to cum no matter what he said. Ruddiness bloomed up Thomas’s chest.
“Nah. My heart won’t let me…” Thomas said, his voice already trailing off. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I got principles, man, I won’t cum wit’ sin in my heart. I just… I can’t do it.”
He grunted and bit his lip. His wiry, tattooed muscles all flexed and shook in sync with each other, and a burst of hot cum sprayed over his chest and belly. Thomas grunted, twisting as though his orgasm felt so good it hurt. His face turned beet-red and he gasped. A second spray of jizz got up Rob’s wrist to his elbow, and it soaked into the grimy fabric of Thomas’s pants.
The smell of cottony cum filled the tiny car. Rob giggled, moaning as he felt cum running between his fingers and down the skin of his smooth wrist. He wished he could jack himself off at the same time, but forcing himself to resist was kind of hot too — he kept his attention half-trained on the road, but luckily there weren’t many cars on the highway at this time of day. Rob’s cock throbbed in his pants, demanding attention.
“Aw, fuck, man, man…” Thomas’s orgasm continued, spurting wad after wad of creamy hot cum. It coated his lean belly and scarred muscles, dripping down onto his jeans and his hairy crotch. It soaked his pants, and the sour, salty smell of it filled the car.
“Shit, you shoot a hell of a load,” Rob said, his eyes oepning wide.
Thomas grunted in a way that suggested he heard Rob’s words and maybe even tried to respond. But intense pleasure wracked his body, making him squirm in his seat as a final jet of jizz got him across the chest and even on his chin. His cock pulsated beneath Rob’s touch. No matter how animated and seemingly-pained Thomas’s reaction was, Rob kept stroking. He didn’t miss a beat, even as he felt Thomas’s erection diminish.
His cock slowly limpened in Rob’s hand. A few drops of cum continued to ooze out, and Rob knew from experience they were the sexiest, saltiest, tastiest drops. He wished he could swallow Thomas’s dick and taste his cumload. He was already fantasizing about it — in his fantasy, the car could drive itself, so Rob was able to lean over and deep-throat every inch of Thomas’s filthy redneck cock.
It would taste so good — bad, but in a good way, Rob thought. He loved a trashy man’s nasty dick and cumload. Maybe if he wasn’t driving, he thought, he’d be able to talk Thomas into getting some dome. Most men did agree. Why would you ever turn it down? Rob certainly wouldn’t.
In any case, Rob kept going with his hand on Thomas’s cock until he had gotten every last bit of cum. His dick was still hard but softening swiftly, and Rob stroked it until he had gotten every last drop. The smell was potent, and the feeling of sticky cum on his fingers made Rob moan.
Rob brought his hand to his mouth and licked up every drop of cum he could get. “You taste so good…” he said, blushing as he slurped up all the jizz on his hand.
Thomas grunted, watching Rob eat up cum. Thomas had a sickened look on his face. “That’s unbiblical, sir. You shouldn’t behave like this. God don’t like it.”
But Rob merely shrugged. Then he wiped up all the cum off Thomas’s flat belly, and he sucked all that off his hand as well. He moved slowly just like when he had sucked the precum off his finger, and just like then, Thomas watched as though it turned him on. The intense flavor of salty jizz and dirty manhood overwhelmed Rob’s mind, nearly making him drive off the road as he cleaned the semen off his hand. Thomas grimaced and sneered at him but didn’t make him stop.
“Hope that was worth it, boy,” Thomas said with a nervous chuckle. “Cuz that just might cost you ya immortal soul. I ain’t gonna judge. Ain’t up to me. Reckon you should let Jesus into ya heart.”
“Isn’t it just as sinful for you?”
“What?”
“You got a handjob just like I gave one,” Rob said. “That’s a sin on your part-“
“Don’t work like that. Sin ain’t a mathematical equation,” Thomas said with a whistle.
“So it’s not sinful to receive a handjob from a stranger?”
Thomas shifted his weight in his seat. He tucked his cock away in his tattered boxer shorts, which were plain white and thin — they looked like prison-issued boxers. He kept his shirt off. “It’s a sin to give in to lust, to satisfy one’s urges in a base and villainous way. I let you done that cuz I’s repayin’ ya kindness in givin’ me a ride. I ain’t succumbin’ to no lust. I got resistance in mah heart, you hear? I don’t surrender to the forces of Satan, no sir!”
“Oh…” Rob couldn’t dispute the theology of that, though it sounded like a loose justification. He shrugged. “Fine, whatever.”
There was a long awkward silence, then Thomas lit a cigarette. He sighed. “You got a nice hand, boy. I’m real glad you picked me up.”
“Me too.”

The Space Marine

When Avery is rescued by a heroic space marine, he didn’t realize he was in for a taste of sweat-nasty alpha male military meat! This is his most incredible adventure in down and dirty man-on-man action yet!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here

Avery knew that the Space Marine Corps would come rescue him, but that didn’t make it any less scary. Or at least, not all that much less scary.
His ship had been overrun by the Beta-Rezzedian bug-people, who were a sort of gooey beetle-like species of human-genociding monster.
When the Beta-Rezzedian people swarmed into Avery’s mostly empty ship, he activated the switch that released a poison gas. They quickly died, while Avery waited it out in space. It was pretty grody, the beetle-people’s bodies leaking fluids onto the floor of the ship, their carapace disintegrated and their innards flowing like spilled spaghetti onto the floor.
Avery didn’t much care about the ship though, so he wasn’t worried about the mess. He was going to abandon it. He was the only person on board, and he had already sent out the rescue signal. He waited with a spacesuit on, sitting on top of the ship while the beetles died inside.
The stars shone in the inky blackness of space, which was suffocatingly silent, the only sound Avery could hear being the pump of his own oxygen tank. Inside the Beta-Rezzedians melted from the inside out, but Avery didn’t hear that. He just waited.
Space was not beautiful here, Avery thought. It was just an inky black vastness. Even with the spacesuit on, Avery could feel the sheer nothingness all around him, nothingness so profound it would turn him to nothing too. In some parts of space, it had a calm, sepulchral beauty to it.
But not here, he thought, or maybe it was just the knowledge that the ship beneath him was filled with liquified bug-people. Maybe knowing that put him in a foul mood and tainted everything he saw.
Finally, just when he was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t going to happen, there was the UFW Joseph Conrad, a ship from the United Federation of Worlds. They were simply a beam of light at first, a mote in the infinite blackness of space. Avery hurried back into the ship even though he had hours to spare before the Joseph Conrad made it here.
The bugs were gone, the ship covered in goo. The poison gas smell lingered (it wasn’t toxic to humans, though it would be nauseating in large doses). Avery quickly grew bored waiting. He practiced his distressed wail.
UFW Joseph Conrad to Private Ship XKIL233234, do you read me?
“Yes, sir… I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know how to work this radio. Are you getting this?” Avery tried to sound helpless.
Yes, we heard you, sir. We have received your distress signal and are en route.
Avery went to the pilot’s pod, the only part of the ship not covered in Beta-Rezzedian innards. He waited there.
“There he is, we got you, sir-“
“You have nothing to fear, all the buggers are gone!”
Avery was disappointed that some shirtless hunk didn’t carry him to the rescue ship. But their sensors still read poison gas, and they beamed aboard well before they could determine that the air was safe. They wore biohazard suits — distinctly unsexy. Avery wasn’t even positive that the person who carried him was human until they got aboard the Joseph Conrad.
“Everything’s gonna be alright, sir, we gotcha!” said the scruffy-bearded space marine when his helmet was finally off.
“Oh, I… I… I don’t think I’ll ever feel right again!” Avery said, pretending to feel faint so the space marine would hold him in his arms.
He was Private Wojohowitz, but everyone called him Wojo. Once he took the protective suit off, he was down to his skivvies and a tee shirt that was so stained it was black. He didn’t have time to put more clothes on because he wanted to get Avery to sickbay right away.
Besides that, it was ungodly hot on the Joseph Conrad, and there were no women. So more than one space marine went around fully naked all the time. Avery spied one such man just before being whisked into the sickbay.
“Oh, I’m feeling much better-“
“Well, I’ll need to monitor you for awhile. You had a traumatic experience, after all,” the doctor said. He was handsome and steely-eyed, but he was a little old for Avery’s taste, and he was no space marine.
Avery wanted Wojo.
But he waited until the doctor was done, or at least had walked away. Then Avery got up, detached the needles and monitors from his body and headed out.
He went off to find the man who had rescued him, that square-jawed steely-eyed man, Wojo. He found him in the gym, playing a game with another studly young man. It was something rather like squash or racquetball, Avery gathered, but with flashing multicolored lights that appeared to mean something. By the time he thought he was starting to understand it, it was over, and Wojo had won.
He came out of the room shirtless and sweaty, bucking his hips and chanting. “I’m the champion once again!” He pounded on his chest and bumped the man he had just beaten, who scowled, hair matted to his head.
Then Wojo saw Avery standing there, fully-clothed and not at all looking like a space marine. “Oh, hey, you’re looking better.”
“Hmmm…” Avery grinned and looked Wojo up and down, blushing as he was overwhelmed by the body heat and the intense macho aura emanating from Wojo’s body. “I wanted to say thank you for rescuing me.”
“You ain’t gotta do that.” Wojo was visibly jazzed up. His pecs bounced a few times, seemingly without his awareness, and he shifted his weight on his feet. He would always deny it, but Wojo got a thrill when he realized Avery was checking out his body. “It’s our duty, you ain’t gotta say thanks.”
“Well… not say it. I wanted to demonstrate it,” Avery said. He sucked on one finger while his other hand grasped Wojo’s sweat-soaked shirt. He pulled gently on the fabric.
Wojo’s eyes opened wide and he nodded. He licked his lips as he looked Avery up and down. He shifted his weight between his feet, then moved to pull his workout shorts down but stopped short — he had forgotten they weren’t somewhere private.
He checked that no one was watching — there were others preparing to work out, or to play this squash-like game next, but no one facing this way right now. He gripped Avery by the lip and spread his mouth. He examined it briefly — whether checking for disease or whether it would be big enough to deep-throat him, Avery couldn’t tell — then grabbed his ass through his clothes. He slipped one hand into Avery’s pants, fingered his asshole very lightly and then nodded. He wiped his finger off on Avery’s shoulder. He looked dubiously into Avery’s eyes. “You’re into that?”
“I am… Do you have any women on this ship?”
Wojo scoffed. “No. It’s not allowed, no women aboard a Corps vessel. The presence of women saps men of their power.”
“Hmm… I can do that too. I love sapping all kinds of things out of men,” Avery said with a giggle.
“Come then.” He grabbed Avery by the wrist and dragged him off. He walked awkwardly like he had a hardon already, and it kept getting worse in his pants. Avery teased him by breathing heavily so he could hear it, and moaning softly into his ear from behind.
“You’re going to ram me, right? Do I get to eat your ass too?” Avery stuck his tongue out and licked his lips. Wojo faced the other way so he couldn’t see, but he could hear it and his ears pricked up. Avery smiled — he knew he had him.
Wojo stopped short. “You serious?” His face turned from serious to giddy, then serious again. He took a deep breath. “Hell yeah, that’s nasty. No one can find out though, they’ll make fun of me for rammin’ a man.”
“Sure. Is it against the rules?”
“Sorta. It’s not a big deal, but, like… I don’t wanna get caught anyway.” He licked his lips and grabbed his cock through his satiny shorts. Avery tried to touch them too, but Wojo stopped him and continued.
Wojo led him out of the gym and into the locker room. Beyond that was a long row of showering stalls. Avery was annoyed to see that they were all individual stalls. Usually space marines had big shared showers, and that, he thought, was always sexier.
As he walked through the showering area, Wojo dropped his shorts, not even willing to take the time to stop walking first. Avery tried to get a grope of his ass, but Wojo walked more quickly than him and he couldn’t really get a touch. Finally Wojo stopped and Avery bumped into his sweaty back. His asscheeks jiggled as Avery had to clutch them for support.
“You really gonna eat my ass? And jerk me off, aw, fuck yeah,” Wojo said, his voice increasing in volume now that they were alone in the shower. He had a big grin on his face. He loved to ram, and he didn’t get to do it very often. Avery’s hand stroked those hairy asscheeks so plump and full of power.
There was a tattoo there on Wojo’s lower back, an outline of a spaceship and a phrase in an ancient script: Honor Is the Only Virtue.
“Some of the nice-lookin’ guys get their ass eat up by girls, like whores.” He blushed, licking his lips like he couldn’t wait to start. “I’m too hairy, they won’t do that to me.”
“You poor baby…”
They went to one of the shower stalls in the middle — since there were two entrances, one at either end, those were the remotest showers. The stalls were not completely enclosed, however, and the walls only went up to chest height (on Wojo; it extended up almost to Avery’s shoulders).
“Goddamn, man, I really need this. Get on your knees, okay? C’mon, get on your knees. Let’s go it, let’s go,” Wojo said, excited like a little boy on Christmas.
No one else was showering at the moment, and since the room wasn’t hot or humid, and Wojo didn’t seem concerned, Avery guessed this was not a designated showering time. That was good because Avery didn’t want to get interrupted and caught. Once they were safely behind the little curtain — which only covered about a foot of vertical space, just barely enough to conceal most men’s groin and butt regions — Avery dropped to his knees as Wojo turned the water on.
It was scorching hot at first, and Avery yelped. He crawled away, and Wojo fell, nearly on top of him.
It was a good thing that Wojo was already slick with sweat or he would have toppled right onto Avery’s leg and probably broken it because he was so heavy. His muscles were dense and leaden, and he fell on the threshold between the tile flower and the shower tub. Instead he just slid over Avery’s ankle and then his heavy, fur-covered thigh landed on Avery’s chest.
Intertangled as they were on the ground — which was freezing cold linoleum right up to where the water spray made it burning hot — Avery finally got a really good grope of Wojo’s ass and trunk-like thighs. Wojo reached up to turn the cold water up as he struggled to his feet in the slippery shower.
He furrowed his brow at Avery, who blushed, his hands caressing Wojo’s tattooed muscles. There was a flower, something similar to a tulip, on Wojo’s thigh. It was a brilliant flash of green leaves and rich violent petals, just fingernail-sized and right on his inner thigh.
“What’s that? Why’d you get a flower tattoo?”
He blushed. “It’s nothing. It’s… just part of being in this unit,” he said. He was in the shower spray now that the water had cooled down enough that it was merely hot, not scorching. Avery pretended to have difficulty standing and used Wojo’s sturdy body for support. Clean water flowed over them both, and Avery licked some of the sweat off Wojo’s chest before it was washed away.
Wojo didn’t need to explain. The space marine corps had an informal rule that any man who was caught having sex with a very fat woman — like, very, very fat, probably morbidly obese — had to get this very tattoo somewhere on his body. Wojo had presumably chosen the inner thigh because it was unobtrusive and not very sensitive to pain. There were other colored tulips that members got tattooed to signify that they were caught in flagrante delicto with a nonhuman alien, a man, an old woman and even an animal, as well as variously embarrassing acts like touching another man’s balls when gangbanging a woman or cumming in one’s pants when getting a lapdance.
That thought made Avery giggle — he loved military men and their sophomoric machismo. He wondered if Wojo’s solitary tattoo signified that he was sexually inexperienced, or if he just never got caught doing any of the things that would warrant another colored tulip.
If he were caught ramming Avery, he’d have to get a pink tattoo of a tulip, which was called a “Pinkslit Tulip”.
“Oh, come on… tell me what it means,” Avery said with a laugh.
“Shush.” Wojo frowned. He looked very serious now. Reminding him about the tattoo had made him realize how much he didn’t want to get caught doing this. He didn’t think about not doing it — having not seen a woman for weeks, and having no chance of seeing one for weeks more, he was desperate to get his dick wet. “I ain’t allowed to explain it,” he said, his voice flat and unwavering. “It’s just a tattoo, it’s not important.”
Wojo gently but firmly pushed Avery to his knees, while he kept an eye out for anyone coming into the shower. A few voices could be heard out in the locker room, but Wojo wasn’t concerned.
Avery shrugged. He thought it would have been hot for Wojo to admit he fucked an extremely fat woman and had been caught by his friends. He’d liked to know what led to it happening — probably a prostitute, Avery guessed — but it seemed clear Wojo wasn’t going to be forthcoming with that.
So he finally got on his knees and popped Wojo’s dick in his mouth. Wojo didn’t look down, he just closed his eyes for a moment and grunted. Shower water streamed over his head, washing his sweat down over Avery’s face.
“Goddamn, yeah, get your tongue on it… Shit…” Wojo closed his eyes. The hot water felt so good in his greasy hair, and his cock throbbed as it came to life. He had to fight back an urge to shout and pound on his chest — he always wanted to be loud during sex — but he knew that would attract attention from the others. That was how he had gotten caught with the fat whore, whom Wojo adored and missed and looked forward to seeing again; he had yelled fuck yeah as he came so loudly that one of his squadmates, having just finished fucking a different prostitute, came to see what was happening. He had been dragged to the tattooist moments after blowing his wad inside her.
None of that was technically allowed. Neither pre-marital sex nor any kind of interaction with a prostitute nor any tattoo that communicated a message “incompatible with the mission of the Space Marine Corps” were allowed. Most of those rules, however, were enforced roughly never, certainly not on a bucket of bolts like this drifting through outer space. The brig on this ship had been turned into overflow shortage for canned food since the replicators had stopped working after about a week.
But aside from the tattoo, the only punishment for getting caught would maybe be a few weeks cleaning the shower — which Wojo would only do half-assedly anyway. It was mainly the teasing he wanted to avoid.
“Hell yeah, swallow that shit deep, man,” Wojo said, trying to keep his voice low despite being a big man with a chest-rattlingly deep voice. It resonated in the shower room. Luckily no one was around to hear it, though Avery heard voices talking and laughing not too far away.
Soon, Wojo’s manhood was rock-hard. He grunted and flexed his hips to ram Avery’s throat as hard as he could without making any noise or moving his head too much, since he wanted to keep an eye out. Avery reached up to massage his plump nipples; his pecs rippled, but then he swatted Avery’s hands away because they could be seen.
Creamy precum stuck to Avery’s lips and flowed down Wojo’s shaft. Every time Avery suckled a few drops off his veiny manhood, Wojo grunted again and his spine shimmied. He moved a lot because he thought it helped him avoid making noise — it didn’t really, it just felt quieter in Wojo’s mind because he was focused on his body instead.
Salty precum coated Avery’s tongue. He played with it, smearing it over his face and making a big mess with it, so when Wojo finally glanced down he beamed giddily and opened his eyes wide. “Shit, you love that nut, huh?” He chuckled dryly.
“I do… I love it so much…” Avery giggled every time he saw Wojo’s body trembling with desire and arousal. He was so horny Avery was pretty sure he could have brought him to orgasm with just seductive dirty-talk. Every time Avery moaned or begged for more, Wojo’s whole body shook. “Can I lick your balls, please? Please? Please?” Avery teased him by begging as Wojo frantically nodded yes.
“Do it, do it!”
Avery moved down to slurp on his balls, again making him shake. His dick throbbed and precum flowed like water from a hose. He gargled loudly on the precum that had coated his hairy sac, giggling and making Wojo scowl. “Shush!” Wojo scolded him even though Wojo was much louder than Avery was, and since Wojo had a deep baritone voice, it carried much more and echoed more resonantly in the showering area.
Avery backed up betweens Wojo’s legs, licking all the way, his tongue slathering spit over Wojo’s muscled thighs and slurping on his balls the whole way. He kept going, licking a trail to Wojo’s ass
By this point, clean water had rinsed away all of the sweat but there was still just enough funk to keep the flavor spicy enough for Avery. He plunged into Wojo’s hairy crack and slurped a trail up to his back. He was pinned behind and beneath Wojo’s massive body.
“Goddamn, boy, you really get in there! Not a single one of the whores’ll do that, I can barely get ‘em to touch me at all,” he said. “They say I’m too hairy and rough.” As if to prove the point, he belched, which made his whole hairy torso shake beneath Avery’s body. He laughed.
“What’re you laughing at, Wojo? Ya nasty-ass balls?”
Wojo hadn’t noticed Cowlick Squad coming in to shower. He had forgotten Cowlick Squad had a showering time now They had no reason to go past this shower stall, so he thought he was still safe. It was hard to be sure though. He wanted to be quick and get this over with, but he couldn’t tell Avery that now that more people were here. Besides that, his mind wanted to finish up quickly, but his cock wanted to bang for hours.
“He’s goin’ space-crazy-“
“He’s goin’ girl-crazy, ever since Lysette wouldn’t fuck him because his chest was too hairy-“
Wojo roared in anger. “Fuck you! I get ingrown hairs, okay? I’m not even allowed to shave my chest cuz they don’t wanna have to give me antibiotics-” He bit his lip because they were all just laughing at him, not listening.
Wojo’s whole body shook around Avery’s delicate fingers stroking his thighs and his ass. He reached up to rub his lower back too, which meant his hands were technically visible — just the fingertips, and with the shower room filling with steam, there wasn’t much risk — to the other space marines that swaggered through. They slapped each other’s asses and made jokes about dropping soap in the tiny showers they shared with each other.
“Get ya dick off my ass, boy!”
“Quit tryin’ to back ya ass up onto my cock!” A fight broke out in one of the other stalls. Two hairy men grappled naked with each other, exchanging punches and making the back-wall, which connected all the shower stalls, shake.
The noise of that fight drowned out the sound of Wojo trying not to cum right now. He didn’t want to cum before he got to ram Avery in the ass, and anyway, he didn’t want to get caught. He rumbled and rubbed his ass over Avery’s face. He couldn’t believe how good it felt to have someone’s tongue in his ass. He’d thought it would tickle or maybe barely feel like anything at all, but instead the most intense pleasure of his life wracked his body.
All he could do was stand there in the shower spray and hope he didn’t look weird as his whole body struggled to remain still, pleasure coursing through his veins. Avery slurped at his ass and covered it with spit.
The Cowlick Squad only used the first couple shower stalls. Surprisingly enough, they shared showers — that was another tradition among the Space Marine Corps, even though there were plenty of stalls open, they were supposed to share with their immediate squadmates as a sign of brotherhood and intimacy. Don;’t bend over in the shower — that was a “motto” of sorts of Wojo’s class of cadets, just eighteen year-olds who had never showered with other men before. The first time Wojo accidentally touched another man’s dick, he had gasped, and that other older man, a long-time drill sergeant, had laughed and called him a pansy. To prove it, right there in the crowded locker room — that hadn’t been this ship’s relatively spacious accommodations, that had been the boot camp’s cheap shared showering area — Wojo’s drill sergeant had bent over and taken one of his fellow officer’s dicks in his mouth. It was just for a moment, a chaste, dry thing, not even sexy, just to demonstrate that he could do it and not be embarrassed.
That had been the older generation though.
The shower room filled with steam as Avery moved his tongue back to Wojo’s dick, trying several times to touch his mountainous pecs. Each time Wojo swatted his hands away so they wouldn’t be seen. Wojo licked his lips. He realized he couldn’t wait for the other guys to leave because it would be obvious he was still in the shower; he’d have to cum right now.
So Wojo grabbed Avery by the shoulders, and tried to get him to change positions — so he could ram him in the ass — without saying anything or moving his head or shoulders.
“Hey, Wojo, did you see the orders about Garlaxon 9?”
“Yeah,” Wojo said. He bit his lip. He couldn’t concentrate as he tried to get Avery to move. His hand shook as he poured shampoo onto his palm. He washed his hair yet again.
Finally Avery realized what he wanted. He had to rather awkwardly bend over in the shower so he couldn’t be seen above the little half-wall. He gripped the slippery linoleum and jutted his ass up to meet Wojo’s crotch.
Getting rammed by big men was always awkward, even when they were experienced at it. Wojo was not, and he was stuck in a small space trying not to move anything above the shoulder. So that made it extra difficult for Avery, who had to handle all the movement, forcing himself onto Wojo’s cock.
He struggled, his ass straining to accept every inch of Wojo’s throbbing manhood. He practiced deep breathing as pain and pleasure enveloped him in equal amounts.
Avery grunted, but Wojo shushed him. Wojo shuddered too, barely managing to keep his head still, as a bolt of pleasure shot through his body. His dick slipped deeper into Avery’s ass.
“Wojo! Hey, Wojo! Wojo, man! Yo! Hey!” one of the other space marines shouted from another shower. He was very tall, so the half-wall barely extended past his hairy navel, and his pubic hair was plainly visible despite the wall. He had been yelling for Wojo for some time. Finally Wojo looked at him, steam filling the air between them, which concealed Wojo’s rolling eyes. The other space marine frowned. “What do you think of the Garlaxon rules of engagement?”
“Fine.” Wojo took a deep breath. “I mean… it sucks. It’s… it… Uh…” He felt his orgasm approaching, and even though people were looking at him right now, he couldn’t slow it down.
“Yeah, we gotta get permission from our squad leader just to go in a village-“
“We don’t even need a translator, it’s fucking ridiculous!”
“They said we can’t smoke anywhere on the planet either-“
“And we’re the ones saving them from the Beta-Rezzedians!”
“Uh-huh.” Wojo tried to sound like he was involved in the conversation even though he wasn’t paying any attention. He gripped Avery’s hips and drilled his dick in deeper and deeper.
Avery’s own orgasm began, heightened by the anxiety of the situation. He didn’t want to be responsible for getting Wojo in trouble or embarrassing him, but it was obvious Wojo was about to get caught no matter what, and it was even more obvious that Wojo didn’t want to stop.
Wojo didn’t notice himself slowly losing control or making it obvious he was doing something secretive. He pounded away, and leaned his head back. He let out a moan, which wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the shower water, but the nearest couple of space marines could see him moving.
“What are you doing, Wojo?”
“Are you beating your meat?”
They rushed forward to see — masturbating in the ship shower was a Fairlight Tulip, which was yellow, and was a tattoo that almost all of them proudly had over their heart (Wojo was an exception because he had always been relatively discrete). They laughed and cheered. Even though nearly every one of them had been “caught” previously, they still loved doing it and carrying a compatriot’s naked body to the tattoist.
Wojo realized he was about to be caught. That was going to be annoying, but he wasn’t going to blue-ball himself — there was nothing to be done about it now.
So he plowed deeply into Avery, slamming into him and even hitting him against the wall of the shower. The other marines were quiet for a moment, trying to figure out who he was, then they began to laugh.
“Ah, fuck! Wojo’s a booty bandit’!”
“He gonna get a pink tulip!”
The others laughed and tried to think of any other tulips that might apply to the situation.
Wojo blushed, but he was beyond trying to stop it right now. He was just glad he didn’t have to subdue himself; he could plow back and forth with all his might and with all the passion that flowed through him. He rammed his dick all the way into Avery and held on as his orgasm overwhelmed him. Avery came too, and his ass clenched on Wojo’s dick.
Thick, creamy cum coated Avery’s ass and dripped down to his legs. It filled him up, great jet after jet of warmth seeping into his flesh and flowing through every corner of his body. Avery shot his own wad onto the shower floor.
Avery moaned, but the sound was weak and thready compared to Wojo’s baritone roar — he figured that the least he could do at this point was sound like a real hardcore alpha when he came. The other space marines cheered and clapped, though they teased him at the same time.
“Oh shit, Wojo’s gone to the pink side!”
“What would Commander Darius say?”
One of them imitated Commander Darius’ stuffed-shirt voice. “Now see here, Mr. Wojohowitz, you represent the Space Marine Corps out there-” They howled with laughter. “And you had better have the common courtesy to give that man a reacharound.”
“Of course!” Wojo said, his voice breaking. He pounded on his chest with one fist, while his other hand reached around. He gulped — he never thought he’d be touching another man’s cock, but he knew this would be funny — and touched Avery’s dick. He gagged at the feel of snotty cum on his fingers, since Avery was mid-orgasm at the moment.
“Goddamn…” Avery’s whole body bucked. He was breathless and exhausted, his whole face turning ruddy.
Wojo’s squadmates laughed so hard they fell over each other’s naked, soaped up bodies. Wojo kept ramming though, and he even touched Avery’s dick again. It spasmed in his touch.
Avery could do little more than twist and writhe. Wojo’s dick was right on his prostate, and Avery’s orgasm continued at full intensity until he at least slid off Wojo and landed in the pool of shower water on the ground.
Wojo stood there, making sure his laughing compatriots could see that he wasn’t embarrassed — and that he had a huge cock, he always made sure they could see that. Of course, he was embarrassed, but he thought he had hidden it pretty well.
He looked down at Avery. “Thanks,” he said.
“Sorry you got caught,” Avery said. He struggled onto his knees, kneeling next to Wojo so he could wrap his arms around his body and lean his face against his thigh.
Wojo shrugged. “Whatever. It was worth it. Are you gonna stick around?”
“No,” Avery said. He stood and stretched his legs. He kissed each of Wojo’s nipples. He would have kissed him on the neck too, but he couldn’t reach. Avery smiled. “It’s time for me to move on, I think.”

Jacking off is only okay if you got hard accidentally and needed to do it to “relieve an erection”

Bill was all about erections — he said a man shouldn’t be guided by lust, and jacking off too much was being guided by lust.

Bill’s hand delicately wrapped around Thumper’s shaft. He ain’t stroke it, he just held it light as a egg, and Thumper slowly rubbed his dick back and forth to hump his hand.
Bill gulped and closed his eyes, then he stepped away from Thumper. “No. You’re not… you don’t have a complete erection, so…”
Bill was all about erections — he said a man shouldn’t be guided by lust, and jacking off too much was being guided by lust; “too much”, he said, meant getting yourself hard deliberately. Jacking off was only okay if you got hard accidentally and needed to do it to “relieve an erection”.
Mormons is crazy, yo.

From Thumper on Parole