MN Manmacker's mansploitation
At the brothel Lipsweet, Vivienne rules as queen, and the many roughnecks who come through are her subjects… But when her position is threatened, Vivienne finds herself on the outs, while the men around her must see to their own needs. Whether at the local jail, in a dusty backroom or in a dirty motel, these macho alphas will have to take matters into their own hands!
Bart is glad to service the more heavyset athletes at GHU, especially the legendary linebacker Gravy! He’s big, he’s thick, he’s got massive meat, and he knows how to use it! Can Bart and Gravy satisfy each other’s needs?
Read the whole thing here!
Gravy had said before, in front of his team, that he didn’t have anal sex with women because it was unbiblical. He truly believed that — Gravy was a preacher’s son, so he wasn’t about to argue with the Bible. Anal sex was wrong, as was all premarital sex. That didn’t stop Gravy from wanting it. He told his teammates that he had religious objections to cover up the fact that he couldn’t get sex anyway, not even normal sex and definitely not anal sex.
But Jimmy and Raython and them, Tuck, George, even Easy, they all had girlfriends, they all banged them all the time, and they had “sluts on the side” too. Not Gravy. The others bragged about fucking their sluts in the ass, and Gravy nodded along as though he did the same thing.
The one time he got this ex-girlfriend of his to give up the ass, it ended in failure. Davy “Gravyboat” Mitchell had a giant dick. Thirteen inches, a hefty thirteen, as thick as a coke can and then some. She took one look at it and noped right out. She said she’d give him a handjob, but then she didn’t.
But Gravy had always found it best to lean into that kind of thing — if he couldn’t talk girls into doing anal, he might as well claim he didn’t wanna do it anyway. So he’d told his teammates he wouldn’t do anal sex for religious reasons, and they accepted that, or at least they didn’t care enough to press him on it.
“Alright, freshmen and Gravyboat, get outta here, you can shower in the visiting-team locker room,” Jimmy called out as they all chanted and clapped after the last pre-tournament game. He motioned towards the door that led to the other locker room, where the freshmen were already heading.
Today the GHU Titans had finally won, made it to the state championships. Soon they might well be the champion football team in the whole state. That’s why the whole team was celebrating.
Gravy swaggered to his feet. The cheerleaders were already streaming into the locker room, giggling and blushing. Gravy tried to look nonchalant, like he was a part of this, even though he knew he wasn’t, and everyone else in the locker room must have known the same thing, if they gave it any thought.
The cheerleaders had promised to give up the butt. That was why they were being secretive, they didn’t want everyone to know. They said they would let the seniors gangbang their ass, possibly in a big orgy thing, or maybe they’d pair off, Gravy didn’t know the details. The girls said they would only do the seniors (since the freshmen weren’t playing anyway) and they excluded a handful of weirdos, skinny kickers and, of course, Gravy, both because he was too big in general and because his cock was too big for anal sex (or so Gravy assumed was the reason, since no one told him about any of this, he had had to surmise it).
That was why he was told to shower with the freshmen.
“I got that older… lady. She’s probably waiting for me, at her house, which she has a mortgage on, she’s current on payments,” Gravy said as he walked out. He babbled, but he couldn’t stop even when he realized nobody was paying attention.
He had been seen talking to a professor, an attractive older lady. He tried to flirt with her, but she shot him down, said that she didn’t date students, that she wasn’t into him, and she didn’t say that he was a big-boy freak with too many glands and armpits that smell like horse stables, but that was implied. Nevertheless, Gravy’s teammates saw him, assumed he was messing around with her on the downlow because she was older, and Gravy hadn’t corrected them. Now he tried to remind them of that, hoping they would think he was leaving to go fuck his own woman, not because the cheerleaders had rejected him.
“She’s hot for an old woman. She really loves fucking me. You know how old ladies are. Or maybe you guys don’t.”
His body was still sweaty because he hadn’t showered — the cheerleaders wanted to shower with the players, so no one had showered yet — and he tried to sound confident. The players were kissing the cheerleaders, taking their clothes off, groping their perky young breasts. They were just going right into it, damn, Gravy wasn’t…
Gravy had never done anything that just got right into the swing of things, no nervous fumbling, no awkward pauses, they didn’t even say hi first. Gravy backed out the door, eyes to drawn to the cheerleaders and their tits and asses…
“She’s not that old. She’s divorced. She has a son slightly older than me,” Gravy said. “So it’s awkward. It’s…”
“Cool, thanks, Gravy! Leave the lights on!”
“Yeah, Gravy, leave the lights on when you leave with your cheerleader!”
No one listened. No one had even noticed that Gravy did not have a cheerleader. Nobody had listened to Gravy’s words. He could have said he was off to fuck Clara Barton in her dirty butthole, and they’d have just said ‘kay, see ya, Gravy. Those cheerleaders had such perky plump tits that it was impossible to get the football players to pay attention to anything else. Gravy’s dick was stiffening even as he felt depressed and dejected.
He had overthought that. Nobody noticed he wasn’t in the gangbang. They just assumed he was banging some other cheerleader, like there was a whole bunch more cheerleaders around the corner that they hadn’t met yet. Gravy didn’t need to impress them, because they weren’t paying enough attention to him to notice how unimpressive he was.
Their feminine giggles filled the air, and Gravy could sense the sex dwindling behind him as he walked farther and farther away. The atmosphere got sexier in there after he left. He tried not to be bitter about it. His dick was half-hard. He wanted to fuck; he wanted to demolish a chick’s tight asshole; he wanted to fill her guts with his seed.
Gravy showered and changed into the civilian clothes he carried with him from the other locker room. The freshmen were mostly done showering by the time he got there, so he was alone that whole time. He’d learned his lesson, so he didn’t bother explaining to the freshmen why he wasn’t with the others.
Maybe he’d learned the wrong lesson, because he did sense the freshmen snickering. They knew he wasn’t invited to gangbang with the other football players because the cheerleaders didn’t want the fat jock. Maybe he should have given them an excuse. Or maybe that would have just made him look defensive.
The freshmen pointed and laughed at his big dick too. Gravy ignored that. He headed out of there as soon as he got his clothes on.
He didn’t get very far, however, before running into Bart Dazzle, the physical therapist for the university’s athletic department. He was short, neat-mannered man, slim and flamboyant in his way, kind of offputting at first, cuz Gravy didn’t get the artistic, theater-kid kind of personality. But Bart had grown on him, and he gave great massages.
“Is something wrong?” Bart asked when he saw Gravy. They were just passing the door to the locker room, inside which all of Gravy’s friends were gangbanging the cheerleading squad, and the sounds of that were plainly audible. There was no doubting what it was.
Though Gravy hadn’t intended to tell anyone what happened, he did, just because the words poured out of him. Once he started, he couldn’t stop unil he had told the whole story. He sat on a bench, and Bart rubbed his shoulders the whole time. He had smell, gentle hands but a firm touch, and he rubbed the tension out of Gravy’s shoulders.
“You poor baby, are those cheerleaders being bitches? Don’t worry, at least one of ‘em has chlamydia, your teammates are all going to be on antibiotics next week. They’ll recover before the tournament, but they’ll have learned a valuable lesson,” Bart said and shrugged.
“Oh. How’d you know that?”
Bart shrugged. “I know those cheerleaders. They’re like that. I have access to their medical records.”
“Should we… stop them?”
“Chlamydia’s fully curable. It’s no big deal,” Bart said.
“Oh.”
“That woman you were talking to, the professor-“
“That old lady?”
“She’s thirty-one, Gravy. That’s not exactly old. But yeah, her. She’s totally into you, you know. She was serious about not dating students, that’s a rule she follows strictly. She could be fired. But you’re graduating soon. Call her. She likes big boys,” Bart said. He held up a piece of paper. “This is her phone number.” He smiled flirtatiously as he tucked it into Gravy’s jeans pocket. His hand plunged deeper into the pocket than was necessary, and he handled Gravy’s cock and balls through the fabric. He smiled.
“Why are you giving me that?”
“Because I like you, and I like her,” Bart said, still holding onto Gravy’s cock through his pocket. He led him down the corridor.
“Oh. Where are you taking me?” Gravy always turned into a robot when someone touched his cock like that. He got touched affectionately so rarely it was nice when it happened, and he didn’t want to say anything or move in a way that might make it stop. He was stiff, leaning back a little to let Bart have easy access to his crotch.
He followed Bart down a corridor in the athletic department. He cleared his throat and asked again, his deep voice echoing and making Bart shiver with desire. “Where are we going, man?”
“Sssh… Ass is ass, Gravy, especially in the dark. I’m taking you somewhere dark enough to… well, dark enough to do whatever you want.”
“I’m not… I’m not gonna cornhole you,” Gravy said. Bart’s massages usually had a handjob component. That was the best part of his massages, and he knew perfectly well Bart wanted to get cornholed by him. He wanted to ride that massive cock.
But Gravyboat didn’t do that kind of thing. That was dirty. He wasn’t a hobo or an oilman or a roughneck, he wasn’t a ramrod.
Bart stopped in front of a closet door. He opened it and dragged Gravy in. It was a large walk-in closet, usually full of soccer equipment thought it was empty now because all of the equipment was on the north field. The soccer team had just begun practice. The women’s soccer team at GHU was full of thick girls who might date him, he hoped, so he kept going to games.
It was a dumbass sport though, boring as math. You could tell it was an old game, they invented it before anything but kicking had been invented.
Though it was a big closet, Gravy had to stoop to get in past the tight doorway, and he was crammed in there. Bart’s body bumped up against him as they both struggled to fit in. When the door slammed shut behind him, it was pitch-black in here.
Gravy’s intense body odor filled the air. It wasn’t a bad scent, it was mostly cheap deodorant, which he used copious amounts of because he was sensitive to people (mostly women) constantly telling him he was sweaty. He didn’t even raise his arms in class because people acted like his armpits smelled really bad, even when he knew they didn’t — people just made that sort of assumption about big guys like him. If he defended himself, he would just sound defensive, like he might as well admit it was true that he smelled bad.
“Man… I won’t stick you in the ass.” Gravy’s deep voice gurgled like he knew he wasn’t going to follow through on that rule. “I don’t do that.”
“I know, and I think it’s wrong to lie, I don’t approve of that,” Bart said. His voice sounded even more feminine in the dark. He stroked Gravy’s dick, which began to twitch and firm up. “But I’m not mad. I know you had to lie to-“
“I wasn’t lying.”
“Oh, so this isn’t your dick about to ram into my asshole?” Bart asked with a wry giggle. “Is it some phantom’s cock?” His pants were down now, and he rubbed his smooth ass against Gravy’s bulging crotch. Gravy let out an involuntary moan. His cock was hard now, and it was painfully tight in that jockstrap. He wished they made bigger jockstraps.
“I mean… I ain’t, y’know…” Gravy blushed. “I don’t do that. I ain’t s’posed to even jack off at all. My dad’s a preacher. It’s in the Bible.”
Bart leaned closer to Gravy and whispered, “It’s not in the Bible.”
“Well, my daddy says it ain’t right,” Gravy said. He blushed. “But, uh, I already did done mess with some girls in the past. I got sin in my heart. God forgives. I just don’t know what to do.”
“Oh hush up, I’m not letting you walk around with a hardon like that,” Bart said.
“You can just stroke me off. Put’cha mouth on it,” Gravy said. He looked down at his feet, and a grunt escaped from his throat. He watched his dick throb through his clothes as it caressed Bart’s smooth ass, sending a shiver of desire up Gravy’s spine. He had never had a girl play with his dick like this, like she really wanted to make him feel good. Bart squeezed his shaft, teasing it, making him so hard he could burst. Gravy sucked in his breath, hoping he didn’t cum too quickly.
And just like that, Gravy had changed his mind: He was definitely going to go through with it. He was gonna cornhole Bart.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Gravy said. “Lemme put it in your butt.”
“I will. In due time,” Bart said. He smirked and looked up. His fingers slipped under Gravy’s shirt and tweaked his nipples, making those mountainous pecs flex over and over.
“Huh.” Gravy grunted, and his massive belly rippled.
“You can always leave, Gravy, this door’s not locked; there’s not even a lock on it. You can masturbate. Your dormmates are gone for the night. You can go sit in front of your computer and pound your meat all night long, if that’s what you want to do. You can make sweet love to your own hand until dawn.”
Gravy murmured. He couldn’t think about anything else but that tight asshole rubbing over his crotch. Bart’s voice sounded so feminine that Gravy could nearly forget that there was no girl here; he didn’t understand why or how Bart would know what was going to happen in the future — his roommate was visiting his parents this week, so his return time was not predictable — but he was too aroused to think too much about it. He heard actual girls laugh out in the hall as they walked by. That made him choke and cough and his hands fumbled with his belt, as he was reminded of where his teammates were.
Without him.
His pants slid down to his ankles, and Gravy sighed as his dick slipped into Bart’s asscheeks. He had never felt anything like it.
At first his cock just flopped between Bart’s cheeks. Even that was enough to make him moan with desire. He humped his hips back and forth, delighting in the shockingly moist feel of Bart’s tight asshole, ready and waiting, beckoning for him to enter it.
“You ready, big boy?” Bart asked. His delicate hands slipped behind his own body, wrapping around Gravy’s shaft and aiming it for his ass.
“Yeah.” Gravy’s deep voice was hesitant, uncertain — not because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go through with it, just because he was worried he would cum too soon. That would be embarrassing.
On the other hand, it occurred to him that Bart would let him do it again. Bart would probably spend all night with Gravy if he asked, letting Gravy demolish his ass until his roommate showed up tomorrow morning.
Gravy sighed as Bart finally led his dick in. Bart sucked in his breath when it hit his hole, and the hard-as-iron tip slipped into him.
“Goddamn…” Gravy’s eyes opened wide. It was like wearing a warm glove that had been built just for him, or just for the tip of his dick, at least for right now. He grunted. His spine tingled. He bit his lip and gasped.
“Oh…” Bart moaned like a girl. He could sound very much like a girl when he wanted to, especially in the dark and when he was only moaning, not actually speaking. He whimpered like a puppy.
The pain in his ass was intense. Bart expected that though. You couldn’t get an awkwardly massive man to shove his thirteen-inch-long, nine-inch-circumference cock into a tight ass without some pain. He had smeared himself with lube beforehand, knowing that Gravy was too inexperienced to realize he needed that. Bart usually kept some lube on hand anyway.
Gravy was completely oblivious to the fact that Bart was in pain. If he had thought about it, he would have known it, but he didn’t think about it — girls were normally very vocal about disliking every aspect of his lovemaking, from his big dick to his chest hair to his belly, furry shoulders, his hot breath and the way he made baritone choking sounds like an angry ape. So Gravy was used to assuming whoever he plowed into would let the criticism flow freely. When he didn’t hear Bart complain, he kept on plowing in, struggling to feed in inch after inch of his throbbing meat. He thought about nothing but the mind-numbing pleasure shooting up from his cock.
There was resistance. Bart had trouble taking his entire manhood. When Gravy had plowed into girls, that was a problem because they complained, made him slow down or stop. But Bart wasn’t like that at all. Bart liked the struggle. He savored the pain because it made the pleasure more potent as well.
“Shit, man…” Gravy’s deep voice rocked Bart back and forth.
So Gravy was shocked at how easily he got his dick in. Despite the pain and the tightness, he just kept pushing and Bart just kept accepting it. Finally Gravy was all the way in, his whole body bucking and shaking, his knees nearly giving out, until his pubic hair scratched at Bart’s ass.
In his mind, Gravy thought he wasn’t going to touch Bart any more than he absolutely needed to. He certainly wasn’t going to make love to him. He leaned against the closet wall, and let Bart ride him up and down. His hands flailed above Bart’s body, his muscles quaking as he experienced the ultimate pleasure and did little more than watch Bart impale himself on Gravy’s manhood.
But Bart was slow and sanguine about it. Gravy couldn’t accept that. The more his desire overwhelmed him, the more Gravy’s inhibitions about touching a man melted away. He moved his body back and forth in long strokes, and he moaned with each thrust of his hips. Bart undulated too, in sync with the motion of Gravy’s massive frame. Gravy’s chest and belly rubbed on the smoothness of Bart’s back.
Finally, without even thinking about it, he grabbed Bart by the shoulder and held him in place. He pistoned his hips now, finally plowing into Bart hard, ramming in and out of him with all of his might. He didn’t know anyone would ever take his dick like this. The whole thirteen inches rammed in and out again and again, and each time it battered Bart’s prostate, sending wave after ascending wave of ecstasy to wrack Bart’s frame.
“Goddamn, man, shit! Open up, fuuuuuuucck!” Gravy’s hot breath condensed on top of Bart’s head. If Bart were taller, Gravy thought, he probably would have kissed him out of sheer habit, so he was glad for the height difference — that would have been a step too far.
Before Gravy knew what was happening, they were on the floor in the tiny, darkened closet. Gravy was too tall to fit, his head banged on the wall while his feet bumped into the door. His heavy chest and belly pressed down on Bart’s back.
This was another part where Gravy was used to girls making him stop. When he messed with cheerleaders, they usually weighed about a quarter of his own weight, so they couldn’t take much pressure from above. Gravy had to treat them like delicate pieces of china, like the slightest bit of pressure would make them shatter into a million little pieces. They complained about sweat too, and about his hot breath, his scratchy hairs rubbing against their smooth skin.
But not Bart. He loved all those things. He loved Gravy’s slightly rancid breath, and the stale and fresh sweat that made his belly slippery where it rubbed over Bart’s back. Bart turned his head to the side so he could lick up as much sweat as he could off Gravy’s chesthair.
Gravy wrapped one hand around Bart’s body and stroked his dick. He couldn’t believe he was doing that. He didn’t need to, wasn’t told to do it, but all of a sudden, he wanted to be sure Bart felt just as good as Gravy did. Bart moaned into the meat of Gravy’s massive arms, which wrapped around Bart and held him tightly. The sound of Bart’s pleasures was swallowed up by Gravy’s thickness.
“Oh god…”
“Can I jack you off?” Gravy knew he didn’t need to ask, who would say no to that?
And indeed, Bart writhed and nodded and moaned, as his cock throbbed in Gravy’s grasp. Precum flowed down Gravy’s thick fingers and onto his wrist. It was thick and creamy, and it came out in pulsations that Gravy could feel in Bart’s shaft too.
Maybe it was the clumsiness of Gravy’s unpracticed hand that brought Bart to orgasm so quickly, but as his body contorted around and within Gravy’s thickness, a surge of pleasure flowed through his veins. Bart shot his wad on the ground, a great creamy flow of it, followed by another, and another.
Sandwiched between Gravy and the floor, Bart could feel every spasm in Gravy’s orgasm. His dick was massive inside Bart’s ass, like it was getting bigger as it spewed its creamy load inside him. Gravy’s grunting was cavernous and bestial with Bart’s ears right beneath his chest.
“Oh god, fuck, man, shit…”
Bart squirmed within Gravy’s arms, gasping for air under Gravy’s mountainous torso. His face turned red. The pressure grew so intense he gnawed on Gravy’s stone-like forearm. Gravy didn’t even notice, he just moaned so loud it could be heard in the girl’s locker room down the hall — the volleyball team in there thought it was a howling dog. Gravy’s body was slick with sweat.
He slipped right off Bart, sliding onto a deflated soccer ball next to Bart. Gravy’s mind was already panicking, worried that everyone would find out what had happened and that they’d never stop teasing him. But those worries were deep in the back of his mind.
He closed his eyes. He didn’t even care that girls didn’t like him. He didn’t need girls. He had Bart. He felt so confident in that that he wasn’t even paying attention when Bart put his clothes on. He was dimly aware of Bart using the meat of Gravy’s chest for support as he stood on unsteady legs.
Gravy only realized Bart was leaving when the closet door opened. Blinding light hit Gravy, who winced and looked away.
“You’re leaving?”
Bart nodded. “I’ve got other athletes to see, Gravy.”
“Does that mean you’re not gonna jack me off again?”
Bart smiled. “No. Come see me anytime you need it, Davy. I’ll be here to help.”
Rob goes to a hockey game with some female friends, and he winds up in the locker room with all the players! That’s when he gets the incredible opportunity to experience Seven Minutes in Heaven with the studliest hockey player around, resulting in Rob’s most intense experience in Twink on Top yet!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Rob Winthrop came to the hockey game with a bunch of his female friends, but he didn’t come because he liked hockey. Hockey was boring, as he saw it. He came because he wanted to see the GHU Titans change out of their hockey gear. The women said they were going into the locker room after the game. One of his friends had an in with the team.
But the whole thing had turned into a boring, time-consuming mess. Rob left last night and spent the night in a hotel room because the traffic promised to be nightmarish both before and after the game. They had to get to the game two hours early to make it through security in time, and then the game started a half-hour late.
It frankly wasn’t worth it. While Rob greatly appreciated the male physique and he had no doubt the Titans comprised some excellent specimens of it, it seemed unlikely he’d get to do much more than catch a few peeks. The girls were already divvying up the hockey players. The players were not gonna give Rob the time of day if they were women to paw over.
He didn’t leave though, because of the aforementioned traffic. It would take him like an hour just to get to the street through the mobbish crowd, and out on the street, hooligans were lighting shit on fire, or so the rumor mill went. It happened that way — Titans fans rioted in celebration if they won and in frustration if they lost, and somehow they were justified either way. If Rob left now, he’d have to venture out mid-riot to get somewhere placid enough he could catch an uber, and then if he did so, he’d be paying surge pricing. Surge pricing. Boo!
So he stuck with it. He hung back nervously as the girls flirted with the men, who stood around in their hockey gear, uncertain whether they should strip while the girls were there. The players had just come in and were excitedly talking to each other and the girls. The topic of conversation was a party back on campus or possibly at a house, nobody was sure where or which one.
“You ladies wanna mess around?” asked a player, Derek. He was the goalie, a broad-shouldered stud with a grizzled chin and a tough look on his face. He had a crooked nose and cauliflower ears, blood trickling down his cheek from a fight that happened near the end of the game.
“Yeah, we do! You got a party to go to?”
“He probably wants a blowjob, Paula, go on and suck him off. We all know you want to!”
“You’re such a slut! “
“I bet Megan wants to lick your asshole, Derek!”
The girls hadn’t been drinking, but they giggled like they had been — they were just covering up their nervousness about being around sweaty men. They squealed and fell over each other, pretending they didn’t like the body odor of the masculine men filling up the locker room with their armpits and feet. Rob smiled and tried to play along, but the smell of these players in their sweat-stained gear got him excited. His dick painfully stiffened in his pants. He laughed with his girlfriends and tried not to look too creepy.
As predicted, the men ignored him. Rob had a feeling that, if you asked, the hockey players would have denied there being a male among the women who came in here after the game. They had situational blindness to him.
“Let’s split up,” Derek said. “There’s one girl for each guy here, right?” He paused to count. “Oh wait, we’re one short…”
Everybody looked at Rob, and all of a sudden, Rob was not invisible anymore. Well, not sudden, as the hockey players had to count, and you know how they are with math. It took a minute or two. Derek even looked around the locker room and peered under the bench most of the players sat on, as though there might be a heretofore undiscovered component of his hockey team.
His face burning, Rob extended one limp wrist for Derek to kiss it. He smirked and said, “Are you proposing something, Derek?”
It was Derek’s turn to cough nervously and turn bright red. The girls screamed peals of laughter. They all spoke at once, but the consensus was that they should totally pair up, even if that meant one of the hockey players had to be with Rob.
“Well, I don’t care, I’ll let anyone jerk me off-“
“I just need to bust a nut, man!”
“Megan wants to lick your asshole!”
“Shit, I don’t care, I just wanna talk to girls,” Derek said like that was a brag. “I’ll get off, yeah, cool, I mean-“
“Ewww, Megan loves to give rimjobs-!” Megan and Paula were falling all over each other laughing over accusations of rimjobs. The reason why is long and complicated and full of girls, so Rob was uninterested, but the gist of it was that Megan would never give anyone a rimjob, much less one of these hairy unwashed hockey players.
Despite his words, Rob got the impression that Derek, and most of the other players remaining — a few had already gone off with women — did care very much about who jerked them off. They didn’t want to be paired up with Rob. But each player had only a one in eight chance of being chosen, so each one was individually confident he wouldn’t get Rob, and no one wanted to be the one who brought the girls’ excitement down. As soon as Derek boasted and made himself look tough and macho, anyone who declined would seem weak and beta in comparison.
When Rob passed Chazz, a defenseman with a stocky body and visible jockstrap above his pants, Rob let his finger curl under that elastic strap. It was sweaty, and he felt kinky hairs there. He giggled as Chazz tensed but grinned.
“Let’s see, who do I want…?” he said, dramatizing his indecision as he walked around the locker room. Of course, he already knew who he wanted — Derek. He was the biggest, toughest and hairiest macho on the team. Luckily for Rob, he was also confident that Derek was the one the girls liked least, he had such alpha machismo that it was a turnoff for most girls, plus he was hairy, dripping with sweat and had a face that hadn’t been classically handsome even before years of fighting had bashed it into a crude, cauliflowery menace.
Then Rob stopped in front of Reybaud, the Quebecois player with broad shoulders and an intense grin. He smiled as Rob slipped his hand into the back of his pants, cradled his bare ass and even ran a finger in his asscrack. The girls all squealed on the conga line extending behind Rob.
“Wait, we should do this fairly! Spin the Bottle! Seven Minutes in Heaven!”
“Ooh, yeah, Seven Minutes in Heaven! Let’s play that!”
The girls didn’t even wait for the guys to agree. They just assumed everyone would be into it. Rob was annoyed he wasn’t going to be able to engineer a situation in which he got Derek. Shoulda chosen him right off the bat. He liked being the center of attention for awhile, that was it, he shoulda realized that wasn’t going to last. Women would never tolerate not being the center of attention.
“The men have gotta do whatever their partner says, no matter what! Even if Megan wants to lick your asshole!”
“Oh my god, you are so gross! I told you I’d never do it!”
“Once you go brown, you’re always down, that’s what they always say!”
“No one ever says that!”
The guys nervously assembled in a circle, while the girls did the same. Someone said they should alternate male and female, but the girls were too excited and the players were too nervous to really do that. In the end, it was a mixed hodgepodge, but they were in a circle. They used an empty water bottle to spin.
Reybaud spun first. He smiled when he came up Megan. Then came Nestor, who got Paula, and Chazz, who was matched up with Rachel.
And then was Derek. As he spun the water bottle, Rob prayed it would point at him.
That was exactly what happened.
Derek groaned and clutched his sides. The girls squealed and cheered. The girls who had already gotten a man — and had gone off to the individual shower stalls to do whatever they were going to do — poked their heads out to see who had been assigned with Rob.
A part of Rob was insulted that this was seen as such a spectacle, but a bigger part of Rob was excited. Despite Derek’s words, he had a feeling Derek wasn’t going to let Rob do anything more than feel up his chest, maybe — maybe — give him a handjob, but it was still exhilarating. Just standing with Derek in the tiny shower stall would be arousing enough.
A lot of college boys these days were all talk, no action. That rapper Commodore had a song about getting dome with a clear implication that he got it from a man, cuz a real tough alpha don’t care whose mouth he nuts in. Every alpha male at GHU was echoing that sentiment, but a much smaller proportion acted on it.
“Carry me, big boy!” Rob called out. That made Derek blush, but he did. He took off his hockey sweater and swooped Rob up in his arms. The other players and the remaining girls whooped, then got involved in spinning the bottle for the last couple of remaining pairs.
He carried Rob to the showers, while Rob squirmed in his arms and nuzzled his thick biceps. He smelled of sweat and a bit of blood, mixed with the clean linoleum scent of the locker room. By the time they reached the shower, Rob’s hands had explored every inch of Derek’s biceps, and Rob’s dick was rapidly firming up in his pants.
Derek was much taller than Rob, and the individual shower stall they were in was so narrow that they had to squeeze into it. Rob felt like a midget in comparison with Derek. He licked his lips, unsure how to proceed, and just stroked his hands up Derek’s chest, beneath his t-shirt. Derek took the t-shirt off and flexed his pecs, whether to make Rob swoon or out of pure anxiety, Rob didn’t know. He kissed each nipple in turn.
“You don’t have to do anything…” Rob whispered as his hands cradled Derek’s ass. He pulled down Derek’s pants and played with both plump cheeks. “I’ll tell them it’s a secret what we do in here. It’s no big deal-“
“Have you put it in his ass yet?”
“Hope you have the common courtesy to give him a reacharound, Derek!”
“Yeah, you don’t look like the kind of man who’d refuse to give a reacharound! He deserves it!”
It sounded like the girls were barely even doing anything to their men (except maybe Megan, who hadn’t spoken since going in her shower stall, and was probably sucking dick — she was just as big of a slut as her friends said). They enjoyed catcalling out to Derek, who blushed but remained quiet.
Derek sighed and shrugged. “I’ll do it… I promised,” he said. He looked hopefully towards the other shower stalls. “Just tell them I’m cool.”
Rob felt a pang of pity for him. It was hard for Rob to understand how girls didn’t eat Derek up with a spoon, but he knew they didn’t. Derek was entirely too buff and big and crude, and not at all suave. He stood there awkwardly fumbling with his own underwear, which he dropped, revealing a thick, hoggish prick.
“You’ll do what…?” Rob asked.
Derek sighed and blushed. “Whatever…”
Rob decided to take this as far as he could. It seemed Derek really wanted to impress the girls. Rob pulled out his dick and stroked it alongside Derek’s. Derek reacted like Rob’s dick was made of poison ivy. He spasmed and looked away, holding his breath and closing his eyes.
“Will you tell Megan I’m hot?”
“She can see you, sweetie. She doesn’t need me to fill her in on that,” Rob said. As Rob listened Derek whisper about how desperate he was for pussy, he snuck his hand past Derek’s jockstrap. A surge of desire ran up Rob’s spine as Derek’s dick spasmed in his hand. Poor boy must be awfully horny, Rob thought, you could feel it in the veiny throbbing of his cock.
“I just… I know she’ll fuck me, I just can’t figure out why she hasn’t done it yet. She likes hockey players, right? Everyone said she’ll fuck any hockey player.”
Rob didn’t know how to tell him that Megan liked handsome, charming dudes. She liked it when guys had smooth lines to give her, she hated chest hair, and she didn’t like guys who were so much taller than her. Derek looked like a bully even if he was nicer than he seemed to be, and his faded acne scars made him look older than he really was. He reminded Megan of her grandfather, who had a craggy face like a windswept sailor, and for Megan, that was not a turnoff.
“Ah, god, yes, f-” That was Megan, Rob guessed from the voice. She cut herself off and giggled nervously as her friends called her a slut all over again. She was probably the only one having actual sex, Rob suspected.
She was like that.
Rob put a hand on Derek’s shoulder, the sweat clinging there melting into his soul and making Rob dizzy with desire. Some of the girls were either showering with their hockey player or making their player shower before getting started. Rob wanted to feel up Derek’s muscles, which quivered nervously at his touch, and when he got to Derek’s shoulders, Derek finally stopped complaining about women.
Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. He sunk to his knees as though Rob was telling him to jerk him off — which Rob would have done if he thought Derek would agree. Rob had to suppress a gasp when he realized Derek was going to do it.
He had a thick shock of black hair that was matted to his head with post-game sweat. Rob gripped that magnificent mane as Derek, stooping to reach Rob’s crotch in the tiny shower, opened his mouth and hesitated.
Then he took Rob’s dick in his mouth, all in one smooth motion, like he’d done it before. Rob was shocked at how forward he was. He had never thought he’d get this hockey player to even touch his dick much less taste it.
In no time, Rob was rock-hard, dick rampaging in Derek’s mouth. Derek gagged when Rob’s cock hit his throat, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even seem to mind the taste all that much, he was simply unpracticed at deep-throating, so he gagged each time Rob’s dick hit his gullet. Each time it sent a wave of pleasure coursing through Rob’s veins, and Rob held his sweat-soaked head tight;y in place.
“Ram his throat, Derek. He loves that!”
“Throat him down, like a pu-uuuuuusssy!” That was Megan. She was saying pussy as an impression of some stupid movie about how women are right about everything, including how to say ‘pussy’. Or maybe someone she knew, Rob had no idea.
Rob smiled. It seemed the girls assumed that Derek would refuse to bottom. Rob whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll tell them you just let me give you a handjob, okay?”
Derek nodded, those big dumb player eyes twinkling as he deep-throated Rob. Rob’s dick pulsated in his throat as he forced his dick in as deep as he could. Rob daggered his hips into Derek, moaning as he felt that awkward tongue licking up and down his shaft.
Intense sensations rocked Rob’s spine. He gasped as he gripped Derek’s messy black mane tighter, using the big player’s body for support as his own knees weakened. Rob licked his lips. Derek was wedged against the wall of the shower by Rob’s petite body.
Then Derek stood. He gagged again after removing Rob’s dick from his mouth, and he had a sour look on his face. He frowned and choked before pulling a pubic hair out of his mouth. Rob’s dick pulsated angrily, demanding more attention, Rob wished he would have kept going but he wasn’t too surprised — he certainly couldn’t expect Derek to swallow his nut.
He was about to offer to jerk Derek off next, but much to his surprise, Derek turned around. He was so tall that his ass lined up with Rob’s belly. Rob spread those cheeks, wondering if Derek wanted a rimjob or if he was really asking to be rammed — he had to assume it was the former. Mouthing a man off was one thing, but Derek wouldn’t allow himself to be penetrated, would he?
Either way though, Rob figured he should start with a quick rimjob. He bet Derek had never had one before, and if he did want to get rammed, that would be the only lube they had available. He dived face-first into that funky asscrack.
Judging from the way Derek’s body stiffened and he jumped, startled, Rob realized with a shock that in fact Derek had been expecting to get rammed. Rob’s heart pounded as he realized he was going to get to top this gigantic hockey stud.
But first he needed to open that tight asshole up. Rob lapped at the man’s crack, sucking up all the post-hockey game grime, and he slurped, noisily and moistly, his whole way up and down Derek’s asscrack.. The few pads he had not taken off in the locker room were on the floor now, and Rob had to step on the soaked cotton to get his face into those juicy cheeks.
His tongue pressed into Derek’s ass, which was thick and hairy and choked with clean, fresh sweat. It was so salty and sour it rather tasted like cum already, just without the creamy texture. Derek grunted and shook as though he was shocked that the rimjob felt good, and he let out a pained grunt that turned into a moan of desire. When Rob reached around Derek’s body to handle his cock, it was already rock-hard.
The smell of ice from the rink filled Rob’s senses, and he smelled the coppery blood that stained Derek’s sweater, the funk of his skates, the bitter, salty sweat that splattered on his lips every time he collided with another player on the ice. All of the flavors from the match remained on his skin, dripping into Rob’s waiting mouth.
His hands roamed up Derek’s broad back, caressing his muscles as they rippled. He had even had a few hairs there, which Rob adored — it was just the perfect amount of hair.
Feeling like he had to do something nice for Derek, Rob pulled out of his moist ass. “You know… you need to shave your back.”
“What? My back’s not hairy.”
“No, it’s not hairy, but there’s some hair here. It creeps around from your chest.”
“So? It’s barely noticeable.”
“Girls hate it, trust me. Megan won’t fuck you if you have even the slightest bit of hair on your back,” Rob said. “Get a friend to shave it. Or… I’ll give you my phone number. I’ll jerk you off and shave your back anytime you want.”
“Okay-“
“I mean that, Derek. Any time you want,” Rob said with a giggle. Derek was looking behind his back at Rob, who reached around to casually stroke Derek’s dick. It pulsated like an alien beast in his grasp.
“Okay, thanks,” Derek said. He sighed. “Girls are picky.”
“Uh-huh” Rob said with a sloppy-faced grin. “You have to lower yourself now. Get lower so I can get to your ass.”
Derek crouched on his knees so his ass was low enough for Rob to reach with his dick. He took up almost the entire shower stall, so Rob had to squeeze into position behind him. He got the tip of his dick lined up with Derek’s asshole, and he lightly fingered the rim to make sure it was good and open.
“Two minutes, sluts! Rob, you better finish up!”
Rob had forgotten this game was called “Seven Minutes in Heaven”. He hurried up and rammed the tip of his dick into Derek’s ass as soon as he heard that, and Derek raised his head, his whole body tensing up at the same time.
Derek squealed and moaned, but bit his lip to avoid making too much noise. His entire body quaked as he struggled to accept Rob’s dick. Rob rather suspected that he had assumed Rob’s dick would be small because Rob was not large, but nothing could be further from the truth. Rob was significantly bigger than average, so his dick spent pangs of pain up Derek’s spine. Derek had had a surprised look on his face when he first saw it, but when he felt it inside him, he looked so shocked his face might fall off.
He assumed that Derek wouldn’t be able to get hard with a dick in his ass, but when Rob reached around him, he discovered that wasn’t true. He had to stretch to get there and stroke off Derek’s throbbing dick through the messy tangle of the man’s (curly) pubic hairs. Ecstasy erupted in both men simultaneously, arising first in Rob’s body as he thrust then seemingly transferred to Derek’s by Rob’s cock colliding with his sensitive prostate.
By the time he had just barely begun jacking him off, Rob felt his own orgasm approach. The sensation was so intense he had to bite his lip to avoid crying out loudly. It was like an echo reverberating in his body, beginning in his ass and moving in waves up and down Rob’s tiny frame.
Incredible pleasure shot through his muscles. Rob gripped Derek’s strapping back with his free hand, while his other stroked hard, sending Derek into throes of his own orgasm. They both rocked and shook there, Derek barely fitting into Rob’s thin, weak arms.
Hot cum dripped from Derek’s ass, but he didn’t pull away — or maybe just couldn’t in the tiny shower stall — so Rob stayed there. He enjoyed the feel of Derek’s dick spasming in sync with the clenching of his ass, and Rob’s dick sent a new shockwaves of pleasure running through both his own and Derek’s body with each tiny motion. Every time either one of them moved even a bit, Derek’s body vibrated in agonized bliss all over again.
It wasn’t much later that Derek shot his load into Rob’s hand. He gasped and furtively moaned. He sprayed a big wad, much of which ended up on the floor, but the rest dripped from Rob’s hands. The texture was creamy and vibrant, milky white in color, and the smell of cum filled the air.
Finally, that was it, they were done. Rob pulled out as Derek shot the last of his cumwad onto the shower floor. D erek breathed a deep sigh of relief. The other couples squealed and giggled in the other stalls.
“Why are Rob and Derek so quiet? Think they fell in love?!”
And then Paula, always the organized one, called out that the seven minutes were up. Megan — who had ruffled, just-fucked hair and smeared makeup — hurried to the shower stall that Rob and Derek were in, and she flung open the curtain as though hoping to walk in on something compromising. Her gleeful smile turned to a frown at the sight of both men casually getting dressed.
“What?” Derek asked.
“I just gave him a handie,” Rob said. “Not a big deal. He’s got the perfect-sized dick, by the way. Absolutely perfect.” He smiled and slapped Derek’s rumbling ass. “He’ll make you feel so good your pussy will fall off.”
Avery is at a diner when the massively hunky cook catches his eye. A hundred dollars later, Avery gets wrecked by this studly giant of a man in the rear pantry, which both is and is not a euphemism! Can Avery both get a full behind and a full belly?
Read the whole thing here!
Avery darted through the woods, cum still drying on his lips. He was stark naked, but he carried his clothes with him, so he stopped behind a tree to get dressed. He had lost the Texan and his buddies, he was pretty sure.
His heart raced, his mind fleeting as he tried to come up with what to do next— go home? Or stay and play? The cruising spot in the woods had gotten rough, but the Texan was gone from it now. Maybe he could return in a few minutes.
He wiped his face off and swallowed down the last few drops of cum he could get to. His own dick was hard, or at least half-hard still — he hadn’t had enough time to get his own nut off; he was saving himself for a big finale, which had never happened.
There was a street up ahead, he saw it and headed that way. He hoped he didn’t look like too gross, with jizz in his hair and stuck to his ears. He didn’t have a mirror so it was impossible to be sure. He wiped himself off as thoroughly as he could manage.
Avery was in downstate Illinois. He passed a state trooper car in a parking lot abutting the woods. Avery thought about leaving the woods for the road, but he didn’t want to do that near the police car. It was theoretically possible that the Texan had called the police, and maybe the cops were looking for him.
That seemed unlikely. The Texan was at the cruising spot doing the same thing Avery was doing. Why would he call the police?
But still, there was no reason to tempt fate, so Avery simply walked through the woods avoiding the cop car. The officer inside was watching drivers on the road and paid Avery no notice.
The forest was dense with underbrush and Avery found the going difficult. His backside was still sore from his escapades with the Texan and, prior to him, a gaggle of Mexicans, who were enjoyable but rough. He and the Mexicans were interrupted by the Texan — or the man in a cowboy hat with a Texan accent anyway, Avery was thinking of him as “the Texan” — who cornholed Avery up the duff till he cried and begged for more. Afterwards, he got violent. Avery had to run off. Avery hadn’t done anything illegal, but he high-tailed it out of there anyway, so he never got to stroke his own self off. He had been waiting to finish off the Mexicans first.
Finally, he found a secluded road and followed it. He kept a little ways off the actual shoulder of the road, so he could hide behind a tree if anyone came past. No one did. This was one of Illinois’s rural routes that saw like two cars a day.
Soon the rural route connected with a less rural route — which was paved — and then that came to a state highway, which was downright civilized. At that point, Avery looked like any other derelict walking along the side of the road. A trim, well-dressed derelict with jizz in his hair. Or maybe not, he was pretty sure he got all the jizz out. Well, not all of it, but all of the visible jizz. He wasn’t gonna look like a cumrag to any strangers, at the very least.
That was good, because Avery soon came to a roadside diner, which was smack dab at an intersection between the state highway and yet another rural route that was a dusty road. The diner was scrutably named “The Dusty Road”.
And it looked homey enough, clean enough and devoid enough of violent post-orgasmic Texans, so Avery decided to stop there. It was as likely a spot as any to relax for awhile. He went in and was instantly struck by two things.
First and foremost, the short-order cook cut a commanding figure. He was well over six feet tall, built like an ox with strapping chest muscles that flexed and rippled and writhed like a barrel of snakes beneath his thin white shirt, which was too small for his giant frame. The sleeves ended midway down his fleshy arms. He was black as plums, his very dark skin gleaming in parts with sweat and splattering grease from the grill afront him. With a dour, frowny look on his roundness, he scooped up a heap of fried eggs and put them on a plate next to a mound of hash browns. He rang the little bell.
The second thing Avery noticed was the waitress. She was a young, pretty girl with the face of an ugly girl, her head buried in her hands as she sobbed with two other girls who did not appear to work here. The waitress was trying to tell some story through her tears. The other diners were trying not to stare. The cook seemed unperturbed. The sobbing waitress wailed, and her powder blue uniform jiggled.
Avery stood in the doorway, not entirely sure what to do. Did you just go right to a table? Or was that crying waitress supposed to show him to a table? He didn’t want to seem like an ass. The waitress didn’t notice him.
In any case, it seemed she wasn’t going to do anything, so Avery just sat down at the counter. That short-order cook muscled arm-flesh jiggled and worked up and down as he finished the second of a pair of platees. That sleeveless shirt was utterly soaked in sweat. It looked like it had been white at one point, but now it was dingy gray like mopwater, and it probably stank like armpits and pancake batter. Avery wanted to suck it clean.
The short-order cook glanced at Avery, then rolled his eyes. He was about to ding the little bell again to signify that the fried eggs and the waffles he had made were finished. But he eyed the sobbing waitress — whose nametag read Polly — that petite white girl with light brown hair, and it was clear she was in no mood to deliver a meal. The cook sighed. He took the plate of eggs and waffles himself to a table near the bathrooms, where a pair of businessmen openly eyed the waitress.
Then the cook approached Avery. He curtly licked his teeth. “Whatchoo want, suh?”
Avery said, “I’d like to look at a menu.” He avoided starting at the crying waitress and also at the cook’s powerful body. That left few directions for Avery’s gaze, and he looked down at the countertop.
The cook snarled and grabbed a menu. “Whatevuh you want, suh.” He tossed the menu in front of Avery, then returned to his spot at the blacktop.
Avery took a few minutes to relax. He perused the menu, but it was exactly what he had expected — typical diner slop. He could have guessed every single thing on the menu.
It was going to be difficult to proposition this middle-aged black man with the tastiest-looking chest in Illinois, Avery thought, with a weeping white girl just a few yards away. It was distracting. From what Avery got through the girl’s tears, she had been on a date with a boy who got handsy, and she was upset because he had seemed like a nice guy.
She can’t cry forever, can she? Girls can though, they have an infinite supply of tears. She’s got two friends comforting her. This could never end. It’s really ruining the anonymous-groping vibe I was hoping for. Avery glanced at the girl and smiled. Wish I was still cruising. He hoped he didn’t look like a creep. He wasn’t flirting with her, he really wasn’t. Some girls assume anyone who looks at them is flirting. Would she like it or dislike it if a flamboyant stranger came over to comfort her? Dislike it, probably.
Avery ordered a cup of coffee and scrambled eggs — he was on a low-carb diet — and sat there, hoping to get a chance to talk to the short-order cook. Damn the waffles looked good though. And they came with apple butter… Avery could eat apple butter with a spoon.
Eventually the businessman behind Avery finished his meal and got up to leave. Avery didn’t care because he was a sniveling nerdy type, and he was skinny. But Avery noticed him head over towards the waitress, who was now wiping tears off her cheeks and sucking in her sobs.
“Hey, sweetheart, how are you doin’?” the businessman said. He straightened his tie, and his eyes roamed up and down the girl and her friends. “I bet I could turn that frown upside-down. Make you feel good as a spring morning, baby…”
There was a moment of awkward silence. Then the girl covered her face and turn away, and her friend hugged her while glaring at the businessman. They all looked at him accusatorily.
“C’mon, baby, I know you lookin’ to get fresh. Why not lemme give you a hug? My hugs feel right as rain, swear to God-“
“Hey! She ain’t interessed, and she made dat clear!” The short-order cook’s voice boomed, loud enough to make the nearby stack of plates rattle. He came around from the grill into the diner, striding in big long steps, heavy feet stomping on the floor. “So you best get ya cheap-suit ass outta hee-ah!”
“What?!” The businessman’s eyed opened wide. “I won’t be talked to like that by some colored boy-“
“I dunno who you callin’ a boy, cuz this right here is a man, fixinna kick ya ass into next week!” The short-order cook stepped closer to him, grabbed the man by the tie and shoved him out the door.
Avery grinned as he watched. When it was done and the door had swung shut with the businessman on the other side, the cook turned around and glowered. The crying waitress got up and hugged his broadly muscled chest, grimacing a little at the sweat-soaked shirt she had to touch. Her arms weren’t even close to long enough to get all the way around his barrel-shaped frame.
“Oh, thank you, Eddie! You’re so nice! You didn’t have to do that, you know. Will you get in trouble?”
Big Eddie looked nervous about the white girl hugging him, and he looked around to see who was watching — just the entire diner — but he bristled and stood motionless. His deep voice grumbled. “Reckon it’s alright, Polly. Just… tell the police I was doin’ right.”
Avery cleared his throat. “I doubt he’ll go to the police. He was wearing a wedding ring, he wanted to cheat on his wife,” Avery chimed in from the counter.
“That pig!”
“Men are all pigs,” said the waitress’s friend.
The short-order cook, Big Eddie, seemed glad to be finished with the hug. He returned to the grill, which he laboriously scraped clean. Avery watched those big meaty arms shake as he did so, and he caught a glimpse of the man’s muscled chest through the opening in his sleeveless shirt.
Nobody would be allowed to wear a shirt like that in the restaurants up north, Avery thought, not while serving food. They’d be worried about armpit-hair falling into the food. Avery wasn’t worried about that at all, he would have gladly eaten some occasional armpit hair if it meant men like Big Eddie got to wear shirts like that.
There was a freshly moist sweat stain on the back of the shirt, which Avery only made out because he stared so closely. He was entranced by the flexing of the man’s firm-fleshed muscles.
Soon the cook turned around and glanced at Avery again. He stared crossly at the waitress, who was still chatting with her friends. No new customers had come into the diner. Big Eddie said, “You want sumpin’ else, suh?”
Avery pretended he couldn’t hear, and Big Eddie repeated himself. Avery smiled. “Sorry, lemme come closer.” He scooted around the counter into the kitchen in the back.
“You want somethin’ else? You finisht ya eggs.”
“Oh, no, thank you, darling,” Avery said. He smiled. “Actually, that’s not quite true, I do want something else.”
“What?”
“You.” Avery came closer and touched Big Eddie on his fat chest. Big Eddie furrowed his brow. Avery played with the greasy tee shirt’s fabric. “You’re very handsome. Can you get away from the grill for a few minutes? I’ll take you out back — or wherever you want — and let you just destroy me.” Then Avery wasn’t sure he was communicating effectively, so he said, “with your dick. I’ll stroke your dick and you can cornhole me in the ass. I’ll make you feel so good, Big Eddie, you won’t even know what hit you-“
Big Eddie looked taken aback. He seemed open to the possibility, Avery thought, but he didn’t trust Avery.
“How about I help you out some? I’ll give you a hundred dollars,” Avery said.
Big Eddie let out a throaty hollow laugh. He glanced up front at the lack of customers. He called out to the waitress. “Hey! I takin’ mah break.” The waitress said okay, and Big Eddie put one big meaty paw on the back of Avery’s neck. “You is sure nasty, mistuh. You de nastiest white man I e’er sawn.” He led Avery into the back, into a walk-in pantry filled with canned goods, sacs of potatoes, napkins and sundry other items. “No ‘ffense.”
“Oh? Are there black men who jack you off a lot?”
Big Eddie nodded. “Dey don’t pay though. And dey don’t do it like this,” he said. He lit a cigarette and leaned against one of the pantry walls. He just stood there like he expected Avery to do all the work.
“What do you mean?” Avery asked. He pulled Big Eddie’s nasty sweat-marinated tee shirt up, baring a big hairy flat and a well-muscled torso. Avery kissed and slurped on a line from his pecs to his crotch, wrinkling his nose at the intensely fruity, sour scent of his sweat. He slurped up a few drops of moisture.
Big Eddie’s mouth was open. “Dey don’t… They don’t go lickin’ on mah chest and shit, man. What is wrong wit’choo? De like… you know, dey j’st sucks a dingle and all. De makes me wear a nice shirt doh, and I gots to take a shower or dey won’t look at me twice. Make me rub dey shoulders and all. You j’st… do it?”
Avery nodded and giggled. “Why make you wear a nice shirt when I’m just gonna ask you to take it off?”
Big Eddie obediently took off his shirt. “You like big-meat colored boys?”
“I appreciate the physiques of strong men,” Avery said. “Color irrelevant.” He slurped up the sweat from Big Eddie’s well-muscled chest. His right hand snuck under his chest, to Big Eddie’s pants. He undid the belt and let them fall to the floor.
He had on tighty-whiteys, which made Avery lick his lips. Avery slid a hand under the fabric and gripped Big Eddie’s massive dick.
“I love your name,” Avery said. He kissed one of the firm pecs on Big Eddie’s chest. “Has everyone always called you Big Eddie?”
Big Eddie shrugged and chuckled. “Nah. I got that name at the Y.”
Avery didn’t really know what that meant, but he was too horny to ask for more information. His mind processed it slowly though, and he realized later that Big Eddie must have showered at the YMCA because he didn’t have hot water in his home, and the men he showered with there must have been the ones who dubbed him Big Eddie… presumably because they saw something big, something only visible in the showers…
As he sunk to his knees, he licked a trail down Big Eddie’s chest and sucked all the grime and diner-grease he could get off his skin. He tasted like breakfast sausage, Avery thought, plus a little funky and cheesy — probably because he didn’t shower often.
Avery didn’t mind that one bit. He loved his men big, strong and a little dirty — or a lot dirty.
On his knees, that broad chest looming overhead like an awning, Avery popped the tip of Big Eddie’s dick in his mouth. He was already hard, his knobbly dick jamming into Avery’s throat.
He used his ass-muscles to pound his cock into Avery’s mouth. Avery was surprised, not expecting such an aggressive throating so quickly. He relaxed his throat and swallowed every bit of cockmeat that he could. Big Eddie’s body rocked back and forth, shaking the shelves in the supply closet.
“Damn… swallow that deep, yeah… Ooh, you got mouth like silk, baby…”
It was so slick with sweat it was like guzzling saltwater. At first Avery thought Big Eddie had already cum, but he soon realized it was just sweat from working in this unairconditioned diner in heavy pants all day. His balls were positively soaked with moisture, which Avery suckled clean when Big Eddie finally pulled his dick out.
He had been nice to the girl, Avery noticed, but he was hardly chivalrous to Avery — he plowed into Avery’s throat as though punishing him. Avery wondered if that was how everyone was around here — did anyone ever admit in public to enjoying them? Maybe he was mean because he assumed he was supposed to? Or maybe that was just what he thought Avery wanted?
Or maybe, Avery thought, Big Eddie was just plain mean to non-girls. Regardless, Avery didn’t mind one bit. He loved powerful, confident men who plowed into his throat without regard for his gagging and choking. Great gobs of spit spilled out of his mouth and onto the floor of the pantry, while Avery had to grip those massive fleshy asscheeks on Big Eddie’s backside for support. His chest slapped Avery on the forehead.
Soon Avery was forced against the door of the pantry, Big Eddie using his entire body to slam his dick into Avery’s throat. His chest got in the way though, squashing against Avery’s forehead. For a moment, Avery was dizzy and thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen. He clawed at Big Eddie’s fleshy ass.
Then Big Eddie pulled away. “You aw’ight?” His voice was gruff and mean still, but Avery didn’t get the impression he intended it that way. He simply didn’t have much of a nice-man’s voice anywhere in his throat, Avery thought.
He slapped his cock over Avery’s face, chuckling throatily as he did, without even waiting for Avery to answer. Avery gasped for breath and chased Big Eddie’s dick with his mouth playfully. He suckled on those balls again, making Big Eddie gasp.
“Damn, you get nasty wit’ dem balls,” Big Eddie said. “You gonna bend ovuh and grab ya ankles?”
“Hmmmm… Yes,” Avery said, blushing. He tried to scoot out from under Big Eddie, but that chest pinned him against the door. “You gotta let me move-“
Big Eddie snarled and stepped away. He grabbed Avery and tossed him like one of those sacs of potatoes against the shelves. “Bend ovuh, whiteboy. What de fuck is wrong wit’choo?”
Avery bent over and stuck his bare, pale ass high in the air. He leaned against the lower shelf, giving Big Eddie the perfect angle to stick him in the ass. Big Eddie hefted his chest up and flopped it right onto Avery’s ass, leaving a layer of greasy sweat there.
“Ya nasty-ass boy, shit…” Big Eddie growled. “Bet yo’ daddy’s ‘shamed of you…” He spread Avery’s asscheeks and peered at his tight hole. He rammed his pinkie finger in — even that was thick and fat, and it made Avery moan in pain and pleasure.
Then there was a burst of pressure as Big Eddie’s cock slipped into Avery’s ass. It was girthy and meaty, so there was a little pain at first, especially bent over in this awkward position. Avery gritted his teeth as Big Eddie drilled into him.
He was relentless. Big Eddie believed that taking dick in the ass was a profound sin — he didn’t see it as a sin to be on top, simply on the bottom, because the man on top was doing as God intended with his cock — more or less — while the bottom was using his body in a way God never intended. So he saw it as reasonable to be aggressive, like he needed to be God’s hand in punishing his bottoms for their sin.
He plowed in, grimacing when he felt resistance and plowing harder. Soon he was all the way in, rocking Avery back and forth as he plowed into. A loud squishing sound could be heard, which made Big Eddie chuckle.
“Big Eddie! We got a customer!” the waitress’s voice could be heard.
Big Eddie shushed Avery, leaned back and opened the door a crack, so just his face could be seen. “I be up there in a sec, girl. I’s takin’ care of man-business.”
“Oh… Okay…” she said, seemingly aware that there was something in the pantry she wouldn’t want to see. She hurried back to the front.
Big Eddie growled and returned to plowing into Avery, slamming into him so hard Avery oomphed — almost crying out loud, though he managed to subdue it — and went with him to the floor. Big Eddie was so broad-bodied he took up almost the entire space there, and his chest flopped on Avery’s small, delicate back.
Avery could barely breathe, both from the intense pressure in his ass and Big Eddie’s heavy body pressing down on him. Big Eddie’s hot breath condensed on the back of Avery’s head, which Big Eddie gripped tightly to force him in place even as Avery squirmed.
A prostate orgasm arose within Avery, who finally shot his load all across the floor. Big Eddie didn’t even notice that because he was busy with his own growing orgasm.
He snorted and sniffled like an out-of-control horse, pounding at Avery’s body so hard Avery wondered if he would break a bone. Avery submitted, gritting his teeth and slurping on whatever bit of salty flesh he could get in his mouth — he was pretty sure it was one of Big Eddie’s manboobs.
Cum flew into him, huge creamy wads of it, flowing in his ass, seeping into his flesh and making him feel like a big nasty sweat-soaked cumrag. He was covered in fluids from head to toe, including even a few drops of drool that had snuck out of Big Eddie’s lips as he was in the throes of his orgasm.
Avery was soft, covered in fluids, dazed, his sore ass aching as Big Eddie finally rolled off him. There wasn’t quite enough space in the pantry to do that, so Big Eddie had to actually stand up before his dick slipped out of Avery’s ass. He slapped one of Avery’s asscheeks hard.
“Aw’ight, whiteboy, let’s see dat tenduh,” Big Eddie said. He didn’t wait for Avery, who lay limp and gasping on the floor. He pulled Avery’s wallet out of his pocket. Luckily he just took the money he had been promised.
Then he tossed the wallet at Avery’s head. He pulled his pants up and went outside to the kitchen to resume cooking.
“Clean yaself, nasty-ass honky,” Big Eddie said as he left.
Avery basked in the afterglow of his orgasm until he was ready to go. Then he cleaned himself up and headed out. That waitress gave him an odd look. Big Eddie had told her that he was doing “man business” in the pantry. She didn’t know what that was, but she assumed it was like her and menstruation — something only to be discussed with members of the same sex — so she was surprised to see Avery leave soon after Big Eddie did, she didn’t know anyone else had been back there.
For now, all she saw was the strange white man with the messed-up hair and crooked clothes smile at her as he walked out. “Have a nice day!” she said.
“I certainly will, ” said Avery with a smile on his face.
At a championship in Riyadh, the massive Norwegian shotputter Arnold Thikkerson has trouble meeting women. He’s too big, too rough and just perfect for the photographer Bart, who is eager to service all of his hard to please parts!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Arnold Thikkersen looked around the Olympic Village. It looked so utterly normal, he thought — the buildings weren’t exactly like the stacks of squat bricks that covered his Massachusetts home, but they were similar — they were pale pastel, with balconies and yellow plaster. They looked more like the apartment buildings in New Mexico, where Arnold’s ex-wife now lived. He supposed that made sense. New Mexico was a desert just like Saudi Arabia, so they have similar buildings.
He took a deep breath and looked beyond the gated boundary that he hadn’t seen the other side of since arriving here. Could he leave the Olympic Village? He was allowed to. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
What if he broke a law out there? He’d rot in a Saudi prison while the American press ran articles about how foolish he was for it. What would he even do out there? There were no bars, no drinking, no dancing, no marijuana, no popular music, no interacting with women, no churches, no strip clubs, no beaches — there was nothing that Arnold wanted.
He just felt like a loser hanging around in the Olympic Village. He thought he shouldn’t feel like that. He wasn’t a loser — literally — he had just won a gold medal in the shot-put. He could throw a heavy ball farther than anyone else on Earth.
For whatever the fuck that was worth.
He passed underneath a balcony whence came a torrent of charismatic laughter. He didn’t have to look up there to see who it was. He recognized one of the voices as Charlie McDarnell, a champion volleyball player and six-packed stud who had lost for his team. It was Charlie’s error that meant the Americans were shut out of the volleyball medals this year. Charlie should have been humiliated. If it were Arnold, he’d be kicking himself, cursing his own name, refusing to leave his hotel room. But Charlie McDarnell just ran his fingers through that goddamn mane of blond hair like a Barbie — Arnold, who had started balding when he was nineteen, hated Charlie very much — and laughed with his buddies, all of whom were volleyball jocks with perfect hair and an unblemished record of never eating a carb. The media loved them. After they lost, they all got to go on NBC and meet Ann Currie and they even got to make a statement on the Goughman issue — that was a country singer, Albert Goughman, who had made intolerant statements about Samoan people. It had no relevance to the Olympics, to volleyball, to shot-put, to Saudi Arabia or to athletics in general, but the volleyball players, as a reward for losing, got to go on TV and talk about how terrible Goughman was.
Arnold had won, and no one wanted him on TV. No one cared about shot-put. The volleyball players even had some girls up there — Japanese girls, by the sound of their twinkling laughter. No Japanese girls had come to see Arnold. At the World Track and Field Championship in Osaka last year, Arnold had been mobbed by Japanese girls and thought he was finally becoming a real celebrity, only to discover that they had no idea he was a champion shot-putter — they had probably never heard of the shot-put. They had only mobbed him because he looked like an ogre. They thought it was funny and wanted to take pictures with the massive white man with the physique of an ogre.
Arnold had never been so humiliated. And that was after winning the shot-put there too. He was almost undefeated in shot-put. Literally not a single journalist had come to him since he won the gold medal. No one cared about shot-put.
He knew it was because of the way he looked. Not just him, but all the shot-put “stars”, in as much as there was such a thing. They were all big, squat bulls like him.
Arnold was bald, scalp shaved smooth, and frumpy, unfashionable no matter what he did. He once hired an agent who put him in “hot” clothes, only to laugh at how ridiculous he looked when he was dressed. He was tall and stout, barrel-chested, muscular like a moose — not fat by any means, he was a bodybuilder, he just didn’t have a six-pack. Shot-put didn’t require a six-pack. It didn’t require him to shave his shoulders either, nor to cover up the blemishes on his skin with concealer — that was what Henri Delameur (the French volleyball star and sex symbol) did, Arnold saw him do it. He didn’t understand what made volleyball players handsome but shot-putters grim ogres. He thought he was reasonably attractive. He was balding, sure, but he shaved his head so that wasn’t obvious. He was muscular and thick all over. He worked on his body, he was in good health. But still, girls ignored him and the media treated him like crap.
Arnold stood by the gate out from the Olympic Village. There was a press conference going on outside. Some handsome Canadian runner was giving a speech or something, Arnold didn’t know. He didn’t want to see the man’s dimples or his trim, neat body.
Arnold wished he had become a runner. He didn’t have the physique for it, of course, but maybe if he had been training for that since middle-school, he would have the physique for it by now.
“Okay, sweetie, you gotta relax. Smile. Smile like you enjoy smiling-“
“I am smiling.”
“Smile better. You’re smiling like a witch who’s seen a child has fallen into her trap,” said a lilting male voice.
Arnold turned around to see a woman having her picture taken. She was a wrestler, wearing a red, white and blue singlet that accentuated her curvy body. Actually, Arnold thought as he watched her awkwardly smile, she was well-beyond curvy. She was thick like he was.
She wasn’t exactly sexy. She was certainly no Hollywood starlet. But she was pretty in her way; she was thick, buxom, rubenesque and heavy. She was brimming with a peculiar sort of beauty, a very solid, firm beauty. Her beauty had gravity — that’s not a fat joke, it’s like a serious voice has ‘gravity’ — her beauty had the gravity of a warrior, and any sane man would give it all to worship at her massive body.
Arnold sure would. But he couldn’t approach her in a place like this. Or any place. He scuffed his feet and looked down at the ground. He felt too big, like a moose among mice.
She scoffed. “I can’t do this, Bart-“
“You can! You’re so beautiful!” Bart, the flamboyant photographer — who was tiny but had a large presence — kept snapping photos as he called out instructions to her. “Pretend you’ve just seen someone you know, someone you haven’t seen in a long time. Wave to them. They’re far away. They’re farther away than that. Is that how you wave?”
“I don’t know! The more you talk about waving, the less I’m able to wave! I’m not doing this, Bart! You got your stupid fucking picture,” said the woman — Paundy Sappelslim, American silver medalist. She adjusted the straps of her singlet and scowled. She scurried away with barely a glance in Arnold’s direction.
Arnold watched her go. She was hot enough for him. He didn’t mind a thick girl — which was good because he was thick too, and small girls wouldn’t give him the time of day. He wondered if he should go after her.
Bart glanced up at Arnold. “Don’t bother.”
“What?”
“You’re trying to decide whether to go hit on her, right? Don’t bother. She won’t be into you. She just got married.” Bart sniffed. “He’s tiny. Korean. Banker. It’s weird.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Oh. Well, shit.”
“She doesn’t wear a wedding ring to competitions.”
“Ah. I see.” Arnold looked down at his feet.
“Sorry.” Bart put his camera away. He carefully packed it in its own case, then put that in his satchel. To it he added his laptop, the external hard drive for it, the four thumb drives he used to find the one thumb drive he wanted, his other phone, his charger and the ipad he always thought of as “the downstairs ipad”, even though he hadn’t kept it downstairs in years.
All the while, he sensed the heavyset powerhouse shot putter Arnold Thikkerson looking at him. Bart made sure to aim his ass in Arnold’s direction. Bart had a love for men’s physiques, and Arnold’s was an especially remarkable example of one. His heft was magnificent, powerful as a stallion and tall as a gorilla. But he had an adorable sheepishness that Bart liked as well.
“So you’re like a media guy?”
“I’m a photographer,” Bart said. “Her media consultant hired me to take pics during the Olympics.”
“Oh, so you can’t help, uh… someone else?”
“I can’t give you media advice, no. I could take your picture,” Bart said. He smiled.
Arnold blushed. He thought he should just walk away right now, but an idea occurred to him, and he wanted to try it even if it was awkward. What was the worst that could happen? Bart could say no. “Do you…? Like, I know, uh… a lotta dudes, like… know a lotta girls. Like… here. So, like, I was hoping… uh… do you know… any girls in the Olympic Village… who might like me?” Arnold’s big square face was bright red. His cheeks jiggled. “Uh… I mean… Like, for… me, I, uh…” He didn’t want to stammer, but it always happened when he was nervous.
If people knew, they’d be shocked — everyone had told him he’d get laid all the time in the Olympic Village. They thought the Olympics being in Riyadh would mean everyone stayed in, so all those Olympic athletes would be hanging around waiting to bang. They thought any athlete, especially a gold-medal winner, would be swimming in women.
Whereas Arnold had barely even talked to a female in the entire time he’d been in Saudi Arabia.
“You want me to hook you up with a girl? Paundy there is the only woman I know here, sorry,” Bart said. “I can’t, uh…” He noticed Arnold grabbing his dick through his baggy gym shorts. Arnold’s eyes were low and dim, and Bart felt bad for him. “I might be able to help in a different way though.”
Arnold was ideal, as far as Bart was concerned, skin blemishes and all. Bart blushed as he looked him up and down. Arnold wore a sleeveless muscle shirt — was that what he wore to pick up chicks? No wonder he couldn’t get laid. Girls didn’t want to see his bulging, fleshy arms and hairy pits. He smelled like a locker room and athlete’s foot powder, and he exuded heat like a furnace.
Bart, however, was glad to be with him. He smiled at Arnold. “You wanna come with me? I’ll do you!”
Arnold’s eyes opened wide. “Really?!”
Bart was surprised that he was so eager. A lot of men were willing to get their dick wet without a woman, but Arnold was jumping to agree. Bart would have offered him money if he was reluctant. It was nice to save a few dollars. “Yeah. Really.”
“Oh shit, that’s awesome, man. Do you think I could get a cover on Men’s Fitness? They have it at my gym and I want the guys I lift weights with to see it. I really wanna be in a action movie too, and I know I got the physique for it-“
“I’m sorry, Arnold, I think I misspoke. I didn’t mean ‘I’d do you’ like I’ll be your media consultant. I won’t do that. Sorry. You have a bull face. You’re not television material,” Bart said. He felt bad saying that, but it was true, and it didn’t do Arnold any good to pretend there was some chance he’d wake up tomorrow a heartthrob. “You’re not going to be the hero of any action movie. Maybe a villain’s henchman. Maybe.”
Arnold was crestfallen. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry, I know that’s harsh, but… That’s the way it is,” Bart said. He touched Arnold’s bicep and shivered with desire. “What I was saying was that I’d be glad to make you feel better.”
Arnold scuffed his feet and wrinkled his nose. He only half-paid attention to Bart at all, and didn’t pick up on his hints. “Oh. Cool.”
“I can act like a girl in the ways that matter…” Bart’s voice trailed off because it was obvious Arnold wasn’t listening.
“Sweet.” Arnold furrowed his brow. “Do you think, if I’d been running since I was eleven, would I have a six-pack?”
“That’s such a weird question.” Bart shrugged. “I don’t know, Arnold.” He hugged Arnold around the chest — since Bart was so short, his arms wrapped over Arnold’s ribs. Bart’s face pressed into his meaty belly, and he reached up to clasp Arnold’s biceps.
“Uh.” Arnold grunted. He felt like he should be annoyed, but he wasn’t — he sort of liked it. Not many people liked him like that. Most physically small people (and children) were scared of him. A drunk, petite man had literally run screaming away from him when they bumped into each other in a darkened alley in Chicago a couple years ago.
Arnold furrowed his brow as he stood there, wondering if anyone could see Bart’s hands caressing his muscles. Why didn’t girls ever want to touch him like this?
“Do you want to get your nut off, big boy?” Bart asked. He smirked as Arnold gasped and sputtered, muscles flexing beneath Bart’s tender grasp.
“Uh, oh, uh, uh… Oh! Shit, I mean… Damn… Oh, I ain’t, uh… I ain’t no perv or nothin’,” Arnold said.
“Well, good, but you didn’t answer the question though. Is that a yes? Come on, baby.” He took Arnold’s big meaty paw in his hand and walked him into a nearby building, an apartment inhabited by soccer players. They were all at the medal ceremony now (Spain won, with Belgium getting the silver and Cameroon the bronze), so the building was empty.
Bart led Arnold’s stiff, nervous body into the common area, where there was a mostly empty utility closet. He closed the door behind them, and Arnold grunted. His mind whirred. He hadn’t agreed to this, but on the other hand, thinking about an orgasm had made his cock stir in his jockstrap prison. He wanted to get a nut off so bad.
It wouldn’t really count, would it? Arnold didn’t think so. It was just jacking off with another guy.
Before he knew it, Bart’s hand was on his crotch, stroking his dick through his gym shorts. Arnold sucked in his breath. Pervy or not, he was doing this. He needed it.
He closed his eyes and bit his lip. Bart tried to remove Arnold’s shirt, but he was too short, and after a minute or two of awkward fumbling, Arnold just took it off himself. Bart kept stroking his dick through his shorts though, and he licked Arnold’s massive pectorals.
As a champion shot-putter, Arnold had long focused on his upper arms, shoulders and pecs. Those were the muscles that propelled the shot through the air. His pecs flexed beneath Bart’s lips, while Bart’s hand slid underneath those gym shorts and into the pouch of his jockstrap.
“You’re not gonna make me kiss you with tongue, are you?” Arnold said. He blushed, then worried he might have offended Bart said, “I mean… no tongue, and not after you taste my dick. No french-kissing, okay?”
Bart giggled. It was like making out with an overgrown high schooler. “Okay. No tongue.” Bart didn’t normally try to get men to kiss, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. He hopped up and hugged Arnold’s body with his arms and legs, mounting his big barrel chest and planting his lips right on Arnold’s.
Arnold’s last serious girlfriend had been furious when he tried to have sex with her without kissing — not because he was opposed to kissing, he just didn’t think about it. It didn’t seem important. She had said it was important, that was why he assumed Bart would want a kiss — as long there was no tongue and he didn’t taste like dick, Arnold figured it wasn’t even a big deal.
He felt Bart’s lips on his. It wasn’t bad. He could feel an erect firm bulge pressing against his belly, that was a little weird and offputting. But at least Bart’s dick was still in his pants.
Arnold stood there, letting Bart kiss his mouth — which was pursed shut tightly — and caress his broad shoulders. Arnold finally had enough and let him down gently. Bart kissed until he couldn’t reach anymore, and then he kissed a trail down Arnold’s neck and his broad chest until he got to his crotch.
“Hmmmm… You’re really handsome, Arnold. Girls should give you more of a chance,” Bart said. He pulled down Arnold’s shorts and jockstrap, and that massive foot-long dick flopped right out. Bart slapped his own face with it — it was just slightly soft, which was the perfect texture to just play with it a bit, Bart thought. He giggled at the shocked look on Arnold’s face. “What…? Hasn’t anyone ever slapped themselves with your cock before?”
“No.”
“Well, you should make guys get you off more,” Bart said with a shrug. He put the tip in his mouth and suckled, loudly and moistly, letting little drops of saliva drip onto the floor of the utility closet. He didn’t try to deep-throat him at first, waiting for that veiny shaft to get fully hard first.
“Ah, goddamn, shit…” Arnold hadn’t been serviced like this in a long time, maybe ever, he thought as he watched Bart slide all the way down on his dick. Not many women even tried to deep-throat him.
They certainly didn’t do it like this! Arnold sucked in his breath and threw his head back. He held onto Bart’s head, not plowing into his throat, just gripping it and rubbing his scalp. Without even his own conscious awareness, Arnold began humping Bart’s throat gently, making Bart gurgle and moan.
“Hmmm…” Bart pulled off and smacked his lips. His tongue ran down Arnold’s shaft and he suckled on those massive long-hanging balls. The sweat was intense and salty there, and it tasted like the precum that dripped down his shaft.
Bart kept teasing him with his tongue, making Arnold’s whole body shake. Arnold’s muscles tensed as he resisted his urge to hold Bart in place and ram down his throat. His belly smacked Bart in the forehead.
“You wanna stick me?”
Arnold’s eyes opened wide again. “In the ass?”
Bart giggled. He dropped his own pants and stroked his erect dick. “I still don’t have a vagina, so yeah, it’ll have to be the ass.”
“Oh…” Arnold had never fucked a woman in the ass. He was embarrassed of that gap in his sexual history, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He didn’t realize that Bart had already guessed it.
Bart leaned over the supply closet shelf and jutted his ass back. He usually had a tube of lube in his pocket, from which he smeared some on his ass with one hand, while his other hand kept a tight hold on Arnold’s dick. Bart thought it was cute — like a lot of big, horny guys, he wouldn’t do anything with his dick in someone’s hand. As long as Bart gently stroked his erect cock, Arnold did little more than grunt and gasp and stamp his feet, waiting for his dick to enter Bart’s tight hole.
“Okay, big boy, I’m ready-” Bart was surprised by how quickly Arnold moved.
He felt like his cock was about ready to burst. Arnold gurgled nervously, but his body moved of its own accord. In moments, his dick rubbed between Bart’s tight asscheeks. That hole looked too tight to be even remotely capable of taking his dick, Arnold thought.
But Bart was an expert. Of course he would know if he could take it. Arnold grimaced, closed his eyes and slid in. He couldn’t believe he was plowing into a man — and even more than that, he couldn’t believe how good it felt.
There was nary a moment of resistance. Pleasure wracked Arnold’s body from the second he entered him, and Bart’s ass clenched around his dick.
A burst of pain hit Bart first, but that quickly melted away as his body adjusted. Arnold’s heavy upper body rubbed against Bart’s sensitive, smooth back — he loved the imperfections of Arnold’s chest, the shaved-yet-scruffy hair that collected in the hard-to-trim places (Arnold was very curvy, so there were a lot of hard-to-shave spots), the few scars and little scratchy bumpy areas. Arnold didn’t use a moisturizer.
But those imperfections were one of the things Bart liked most about thick and chunky men. He jutted his ass back harder and harder, impaling himself on Arnold’s dick, until he was entirely inside him, and Bart lost himself in Arnold’s massive arms.
“Goddamn!” Arnold grunted and groaned. His ex-girlfriend had always hated how he made so much noise during sex — not arousing moans either, but little mewling grunts like a caveman, she had said. It was nice to be with someone who wasn’t so sensitive to that.
Arnold soon realized he could ramrod as hard as he wanted — that was another thing Bart did better than any female. Arnold could ram his dick in and out with all his might, and it just made Bart moan louder and louder, begging for more.
“Stick me, big boy!” Bart shouted.
“Aaah…” Arnold felt his orgasm welling up deep within him, and he had to suppress an urge to shout — he didn’t want anyone to hear him; the building was empty, but there were still security and maintenance people around.
Bart’s prostate was alive with pleasure, sending overwhelming waves of bliss through him. His hands tightened into claws that tore at the shelves beneath him, and he accidentally knocked a roll of paper towels onto the floor. His face was covered in sweat, though Arnold’s hefty body was even sweatier. Bart could feel his thickbody sweat flowing down his chest and coating Bart’s back.
Cum flew into him, great creamy gobs of it that coated his insides and flowed throughout his body. Arnold shot a load as big as he was, his cum having been cooped up in those low-hanging balls for a long time. His cock and his sac twitched as he sprayed his wad deep into Bart’s ass.
He had never felt anything like it. Arnold wordlessly shouted, no longer needing to focus on being quiet because he was unable to make a noise if he wanted to, beyond his horse-like whinnying and nostril-flaring. He kept Bart in a tight chokehold — not actually choking him, just preventing him from moving while Arnold drained his balls deep into Bart’s ass.
“Shit…” Arnold said with a throaty chuckle. “Shit…..”
“Thanks for that,” Bart said. He slipped off Arnold and sighed as relief flooded his body. That had felt so good he was dizzy now, positively delirious with the post-orgasmic spams still wracking his body. Arnold’s muscles rippled where they pressed against Bart’s back.
“Yeah, uh… Cool. You too.”
“Congrats on the gold medal,” Bart said. He wiped up Arnold’s body with those paper towels he had knocked onto the ground. Then they both awkwardly got dressed in the tiny closet.
“So you can’t make me a star?”
“Not unless you grow a better head of hair, a six-pack and some dimples,” Bart said. “Later.” He slipped out, leaving Arnold there to sigh with a mixture of disappointment and satisfaction.
This trip to Saudi Arabia was turning out better than he had hoped, Bart thought, even if his photoshoot hadn’t gone well. He still needed to get a casual shot of her. Just one picture in which she looked comfortable and happy in her own skin.
But he was already distracted, wondering when the next shot-put championship would be. Bart planned on being there to get another taste of his favorite athlete so far.
Bart is out and about when a violent encounter leads to him meeting the hunkiest of pudgy cops — Officer Lawrence Lumpowski! Can Bart handle the voluminousness of Lumpowski’s alpha male meat?
Read the whole thing here!
Bart was tiny, and he felt like an idiot standing outside with a broom in his hand. What was he going to do with a broom? Sweep the man to death?
A few yards away, Josh Winters, a skinny white thug with a tattooed neck and a ropy-muscled body, stood in a wifebeater and jeans, shouting into a brick wall. He wasn’t even comprehensible anymore, just red-faced, blaring, spittle flecking the wall, fingers tightened into a fist that smacked against the bricks. He had so many endorphins running through his veins he didn’t even respond like he was in pain, even though he must be, his hands were bleeding.
A lesser man, Bart thought, or any woman would think Josh was the most handsome.
But Bart wasn’t into skinny guys, or even muscular guys. He appreciated the physiques of fat, stout, big or chunky men. Josh was the exact opposite of Bart’s preferred body type.
He stood in the doorway with his broom, ready to jab it into Josh’s face if he tried to come in again. Luckily it didn’t seem to have occurred to Josh to try a window, or one of the other doors into the photography studio — which, now that it was relevant to him, seemed disastrously hard to secure to Bart. There were a dozen windows on the ground-floor, and three doors.
If this was a zombie movie, he thought, there’d be no way I could keep this place secure.
There was just the one man though, not a horde of zombies. He had shown up to “speak to” his girlfriend, a plus-sized model named September. She was stunningly gorgeous, and she worked for Bart at his plus-size modeling agency. She was here to model lingerie intended for “rubenesque ladies with curves for miles”, according to the description the label had sent him. That was September. She was rubenesque for sure, or maybe a few pounds under rubenesque, which was even better for fashion purposes. She was achievable-hot for actual rubenesque women.
Anyway, Bart had been keeping Josh Winters at bay with the broom for ten minutes, waiting for the cops to show up.
“Girl, you had better get ya stanky ass out here or I swear I will smack the tits off ya body! Huh? You playin’ wit’ me? Huh? You think I wouldn’t find out about ya sluttin’ it around! You is fuckin’ every man in the state, bitch! You disrespectin’ me! I swear to Christ, girl, I will take that broom off ya bitch-ass boss and ram it so far up his ass I gonna sweep his tongue clean!”
Bart’s heart raced as he jabbed the broom at him. He had started off using the handle-end, but he soon learned that the straw end was actually very painful, and it covered a wider area. He jabbed it into Josh’s face, leaving a multitude of red marks and making him groan and scratch at his eyes. Bart tried to punch Josh while he screamed obscenities, but he only bumped into the door itself.
“Ah!” Bart squealed. He was a tiny man who had never been in a fight in his life. He didn’t know what to do about this. He swatted Josh in the face again and tried to push him away.
“Fuck you! Little bitch! I’m comin’ in there! Bitch, you had better get out here right now-!” His face was blustery as the broom handle again pushed him from the doorway.
Finally, a siren could be heard. It felt like he had called the police an hour ago. It had actually been some twenty minutes, which was a superlative response time for the Baltimore City Police Department. Bart waved the broom towards Josh, who staggered around, blinded — some of the straw from the broom had scratched his eyes.
“Fuckin’ shit! Did you call the cops on me, you bitch?! I never hit you! I ain’t never hit you! Don’t tell ’em I was ever violent, bitch! You fuckin’ bitch! I never hit you! You fell, you fall, you fell, you fell, bitch! You know that!”
Soon it was all over. Two bored-looking cops got out of their car and grabbed Josh. They seemed to know him personally, and they seemed to take offense at having to arrest him yet again. They tossed him into the wall until he stopped shouting, and they got handcuffs on him. His nose bleeding, eyes red like a stoner, bleary and cursing under his breath, he was forced into the back of the cop car.
One of the cops went in to talk to September and take her statement, while the other cop stayed with Bart. Bart had been so excited and worked up that he didn’t notice until then that this second cop had one of those physiques he craved.
He was pudgy, which was what Bart liked most about him. He was white and bald — it looked like he was balding by nature, but he shaved his head to a gleaming cue ball — with a powerful body and a layer of fat atop it. His flesh bulged against his uniform shirt.
“Uh-huh, sweet, okay, so you jabbed him wit’ the broom?”
“Only when he was trying to get in and threatening my model,” Bart said. He wondered if he should be making a statement at all — would they charge him with a crime? What if Josh was blinded by that broom?
“Don’t worry, we ain’t lookin’ to charge no one. You shoulda broke that broom off inside his bitch-ass,” the cop said. He had deep dimples like he would have been handsome if he weren’t so pudgy. He had a stentorian Baltimore accent with a souciant of East Coast stawk. His name, according to the badge on his chest, was Officer Lawrence Lumpowski.
The name was appropriate, as he was shaped like a muscle-bound lump of manmeat.
Bart wondered if he could get a taste of Officer Lumpowski. He wanted to so bad he could already imagine what it would taste like — bitter and salty and warm, fleshy, soft and firm at once. He wanted him real bad.
But how could he make that happen?
As Bart finished giving his statement, another car pulled up, followed by a second one. These weren’t police cars. A pair of young men got out, running their fingers through their fantastic hair. They wore sunglasses and sleeveless shirts that showed off their bodies. They had six-packs and perfect teeth.
They were models as well, and a few minutes later they were joined by a photographer, a makeup lady and a talent agent — they were who had rented this photography studio after Bart. Bart had forgotten that he only had the space until four o’clock. The fashion shoot was supposed to be quick in the studio, then him and September were to go to the florist shop on Elm to shoot some more pictures. The arrival of Josh Winters had delayed everything.
As the male models filed in, and September came out with her girlfriends comforting her — she had called them — Bart stood back with Officer Lumpowski. Lumpowski’s eyes opened wide at the sight of September — a big-ass beauty if there ever was one — and watched her get in her friend’s car. He didn’t stop staring until she was out of sight, and there was nothing to look at but two male models comparing abs.
“Shit… Was I starin’ at her? I shouldn’t stare at battered girls, but damn, she was hot,” Lumpowski said. “What was she doin’ with a loser like Josh?”
“Ugh, don’t even get me started. You shoulda seen her last boyfriend. He tried to get her to sign one of those consensual slave contracts, and he lived with his mom in a trailer,” Bart said. He rolled his eyes. “Women have awful judgement.”
“Yeah.”
“You like your girls thick, huh?” Bart said.
“If they look like that, hell yeah,” Lumpowski said with a low whistle aimed at no one in particular. He glanced at the male models with their oil-glistening six-packs. Lumpowski laughed and clutched his belly. “I ain’t never one day in my life have a six-pack like that. Shit, I ain’t never have a one-pack. I once had a dream ‘bout doin’ half a situp and woke up sore as a dog.”
“I prefer the physiques of a larger man,” Bart said. He cleared his throat. “In fact… I love to jack off big men.” He patted Lumpowski on the arm. “Including large cops.”
Lumpowski laughed, then cut himself off, bit his lip and blushed. His big chunky cheeks turned bright red. He realized Bart was serious. “Oh… Wait, what?”
“You actually have the perfect male physique, Lumpowski,” Bart said. “I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d gladly get you off anytime. You could treat me like a fake pussy, like your own personal fleshlight. Shit, if you weren’t a cop, I’d have already offered you fifty bucks just to let me stroke it a bit.” He threw his hands up. “But I realize you’re not into that. Sorry.” He paused and giggled. “I was just kiddin’ about offering money, Officer. That’s probably a crime, I would expect, some sort of hygiene thing, right? At least against department policy, I’m sure. And I would never ask you to violate a department policy.”
“Uh-huh. You serious? You into them…?” He grunted and covered his leering eyes, suppressing a laugh. “You’re into… like… fat… men?”
He looked so embarrassed that it made Bart laugh along with him. Luckily September was gone so it didn’t seem disrespectful. Bart clutched Officer Lumpowski’s jiggling body for support as he guffawed, and Lumpowski turned redder and redder. He watched Bart’s hands clutch his chest and belly.
“Oh yeah, yeah, I sure do-” Bart said, clutching Lumpowski’s bicep through his uniform shirt. though covered with a layer of flab, Bart could feel the giant firm muscle beneath.
“Lumpowski! Let’s go!” His partner, Heartley, called out. He was getting in the patrol car, but he stopped when he saw Lumpowski. He motioned towards the driver’s side door as though Lumpowski should already be behind the wheel. Then Officer Heartley said, “Whatchoo makin’ that face at?”
“Oh, just this dude…” Lumpowski said. “It’s a… Nothing. Nevuhmind.” He glanced at Bart. “Nevuhmind, you. That ain’t… Don’t do nothin’ Jesus wouldn’t do.” He was still red-faced and chuckling as he got in the patrol car and drove away. Bart was disappointed. He had thought that that encounter was going somewhere.
So he just went home. That photo shoot had been a bust. Lumpowski had been a bust. He never even took a single pic for the lingerie company. He was going to have to set up another photoshoot with September. He sent her a text asking how she was doing and asking her to let him know if she would be willing to do the photoshoot again, once she was ready.
He’d already paid her too. Shit…
Then he went out for his nightly walk. He liked to walk as the sun went down and it wasn’t so hot anymore, and the traffic on the road wasn’t so bad — there was no sidewalk in the area he did most of his walking. It was much easier once the day’s traffic died down, and he preferred walking in the neighborhood to using a treadmill.
He hadn’t gotten very far, however, before there was a car by his side — a police car. It pulled to a stop and the driver’s side window rolled down.
“Hey, man! Hey… you want a ride home?” It was Officer Lumpowski, his big bald face gleaming as he smiled. Heartley was gone, it seemed.
“Oh, uh, well… I was just walking, y’know… for walking.” Bart slid into the passenger seat. “But thanks.”
Lumpowski started driving again. “So, uh… I was kinda hopin’ I’d run into you,” he said. He cleared his throat.
“Uh-huh.” Bart pretended to have no idea what Lumpowski was talking about, though he had a pretty good idea where this was going.
“And, like… how you… you’re into… jacking off big guys. You know? Like… was you serious?”
“Very,” Bart said. “Did you get my address from the statement I made? Is that legal?”
“It ain’t illegal unless I access the data in the database for an impropuh purpose,” Lumpowski said. “Ain’t illegal to remembuh what you told me and write it down somewhere othuuh than the private database.”
“I see. That’s a cute technicality. Remember to take it for a walk and feed it every day.”
“So, like… If you serious, y’know… When I was growin’ up, my Uncle Ralph, he was a biker and shit-“
“Sounds nice.”
“And he was always, y’know… He said one time — or a couple times, but y’know… like he said… you know… it ain’t wrong, like it ain’t a sin — you know, like you can still — I don’t mess wit’ girl crime victims. Okay? Don’t make me do that sensitivity trainin’ again, I can’t handle that-“
“I won’t complain. You can park there,” Bart said, pointing to his driveway. Lumpowski pulled in and stopped the car.
“So, like…” Lumpowski’s big face was as red as a cranberry, shadowy with the dim light of dusk. “So, uh… I was… My uncle… and like, my dad, and some other guys, uh… back then… They was like… It ain’t, you know, makin’ ‘em sinfulnessly… if they’s… like on top. You know? Like… tops and bottoms, you know about that?”
“Yes, I know about that.”
“So, uh… like… Do you… think that… is right?”
“Well, it didn’t make any sense, you were babbling. But your uncle sounds like a very smart man, Officer Lumpowski,” Bart said. “I think he was right.”
“Shit, so like… I want… I mean… I got a wife, you know, but uh… She don’t like me… We is on the feud… I mean… She’s at her sister’s. She say I’m… Well, she ain’t too fond of me right now,” he said. “So, y’know-” He gasped and sucked in his breath as Bart’s hand snaked over to his lap. Bart’s delicate fingers snuck under his belly and into his crotch, where he ran his fingertip over the shaft of Lumpowski’s cock, stretching against the fabric of his uniform slacks.
“How far back does that seat go?” Bart asked softly.
“Pretty far, see?” He raced to activate the lever and scoot his seat back. That gave Bart plenty of room to get his face on Lumpowski’s dick between his belly and the steering wheel.
“I think cops should blow their nut all the time. It aids in focus,” Bart said. “But of course I’d never make girls do it, that would be wrong. So I’d just have to step up to the plate and jerk all those dicks.”
“Ah, shit, man, I ain’t stick my dick in a wet mouth in like six months. My wife won’t do it anymore. She said she read on a website how it’s like… impressive.”
Bart looked up at him. “What?” He undid the belt and unzipped Officer Lumpowski’s slacks.
“I swear, that’s what she said. She can’t do it anymore because it’s impressive.”
“Oh… Are you sure she didn’t say oppressive?”
“Ah! Oh, fuck! Yeah, that makes more sense!” He lifted his ass up enough to rearrange the tight white briefs he wore, giving him enough space to pull his fat bullish prick out through the fly. It flopped onto Bart’s face. “Oh sorry, I ain’t mean to mollywop you.”
“That’s okay,” Bart said. “I appreciate a good mollywopping.” He took Lumpowski’s dick in his hand and let it slide into his mouth.
Lumpowski sighed. “Shit, man…” One of his heavy hands touched Bart’s head, spreading his mouth open. “Sorry, shit, Jesus, man, that feels good. I needed that.” He leaned his head back and sighed. His dick stiffened up quickly — he must have been very horny, Bart thought.
Soon it jabbed into the back of Bart’s throat, and Bart deep-throated him into his meaty crotch, his nose nuzzling Lumpowski’s unkempt pubic bush. He inhaled deeply of his unwashed scent, the day’s musk having built up. Bart bet Lumpowski didn’t wash these slacks every day either, they smelled stale, like they were soaked in Lumpowski’s intense scent.
“Damn… My wife never sucked me off like that, yo,” he said. “I used to know this girl who did, but she dumped me a long time ago. My wife, shit… she never deep-throated me. Or even tried to. I thought that was messed up, she was always givin’ me tips on how to lick her pussy better, and printing out these weird-ass articles about how I should watch her put makeup on cuz that’ll make me lick pussy better. She said it helped but then like a week later…” His voice trailed off into a moan, and he humped his hips up, forcing his dick deeper into Bart’s throat. “Shit, man…”
Car 91. Car 91. Are you still on the road?
“Shit!” Lumpowski grabbed the radio off the dashboard. He took a deep breath, hoping he didn’t sound like he was getting off. “Yeah. I’m still out. What’s up?”
Chief says you gotta come back, you never signed that report about the domestic violence call.
“Goddamn it…” Lumpowski said. “Hey, man, was there anything you forgot to tell me earlier?”
“What?” Bart pulled off his cock, thick tendrils of spit still connecting him to the shaft.
“I gotta go back to sign it today, which is a pain in the ass, unless I gots a valid reason for not finishing it. It’s a law,” he said. “If you forgot to tell me somethin’…”
“That guy, Josh, he called me a pussy. Did I mention that before?”
“Nah, you ain’t say that. Good. That’s good, that’ll do,” he said. He spoke into the radio. “I had to re-interview the witness, about a possible miso… misojinny hate-crime charge. I’m doing it right now,” he said. “I’ll have to sign it tomorrow.”
Ten-four.
Lumpowski laughed. “Shit, thanks, man.”
“No problem… You could say thanks another way, you know…”
“What?” Lumpowski was already trying to feed his dick back into Bart’s mouth. He grunted, his cheeks ruddy again as he was nearing his orgasm. Precum ran down his shaft, and Bart licked it up.
“Hmmm… You taste real good, but you’d feel even better in my ass,” Bart said.
“Holy shit, you’re serious? You don’t think I’m too pudgy?”
“Too pudgy? Is that a thing?” Bart said. “I’m pretty sure it isn’t. I’m an expert, and I’ve never heard of it.” He leaned his own seat back as far as it would go. Then he climbed up into the basket-seat, facing backward. The cop car was barely spacious enough for Lumpowski to fit behind him, but Bart enjoyed the feel of him squeezing in there.
“Man, can’t we go inside?”
“No way,” Bart said. “I wanna get plowed in a cop car. Don’t worry, none of my neighbors can see.” Trees and an unkillable grove of bamboo blocked the view from the road, and the only house nearby was for sale and not currently being lived in.
“It’s a tight fit,” he said, then he chuckled as he slid past Bart. He grunted and squeezed to get behind him, his rock-hard dick rubbing against Bart’s ass. “Ha, ‘tight fit’.”
Bart giggled too. “Tight fits are the best.” He didn’t make it too easy for Lumpowski to get behind him. He liked making Lumpowski work and rub all over Bart’s body as he squeezed into the passenger seat. Bart was crouched down, spreading his cheeks to give Lumpowski easy access.
“Does your wife ever let you fuck her in the ass?” Bart asked.
He snorted. “No way. She wouldn’t even let me look at her ass,” he said. “She said I got a dick like a billyclub. She weren’t never gonna let me try anal.”
“Why did you hook up with her? She sounds like a bitch.”
“Yeah… But she’s hot, and y’know… Women don’t like pudgy guys, so I don’t got a lotta choices.” he said. “And she was nice… y’know, before. Before we got married.” He wedged his dick between Bart’s cheeks. “Ah, shit, I can’t believe I’m gonna stick a dude’s butt. I seen guys do that in jail, but shit, man…”
Bart opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was a wrenching oomph as he felt intense pressure in his ass. He could understand why Lumpowski’s girlfriend was not so enamored of the way he plowed into — he was aggressive and awkward, plowing in at different angles, huffing and puffing like a tired bull, his heavy body pressing down on Bart.
But while his girlfriend might not have liked it, Bart loved being treated like a piece of meat. Lumpowski could use and abuse his ass for as long as he wanted and, ideally, a little longer than that. He groaned and moaned, turning his face so Lumpowski’s hot breath condensed on his cheeks instead of the back of his head. His hands turned into claws that dug into the upholstery beneath him.
“Shit, man, damn, lemme in, shit, don’t move, don’t move, don’t move—” Lumpowski said. He sucked in his breath and a few drops of spit escaped onto Bart’s face. Intense pressure erupted in Bart’s ass, as Lumpowski’s cock rammed inexorably deeper and deeper. You could tell he’d never fucked a woman in the ass, because he was awkward and fumbling, with the cramped quarters contributing to his struggles. Bart writhed in his powerful body, as pleasure flowed like wine through his veins.
Bart slurped it all down, and when he got Lumpowski’s thick arm in front of him — Lumpowski’s writhing atop him ended with Bart in a loose chokehold — he slurped the sweat that clung to him, and he licked Lumpowski’s dense arm hairs. The smell of Lumpowski’s armpits wafted into his nostrils. A cavernous moan of bliss escaped from Lumpowski’s throat, and he squeezed Buck tight.
His uniform scratched at Bart’s back as Lumpowski pressed down on him, cock all the way in, moving in little circles, grinding atop Bart’s prostate. Bart cried out, the sound muffled by Lumpowski’s uniform and arm. Bart jacked his own self off, reaching his orgasm as his prostate exploded in ecstasy.
Cum sprayed onto the seat, followed moments later by a burst of semen into Bart’s ass. Bart sighed and moaned, slurping on Lumpowski’s forearm hard enough to leave a hickey. The pain in his ass right now was intense, but the pleasure was even intenser, and it made Bart dizzy, giddy with desire. He could have gladly flailed beneath Lumpowski’s body forever.
But eventually he was done, and Lumpowski’s cock fell limp inside him. Great gobs of cum spilled out, but Lumpowski remained right there. He murmured “don’t move” every few seconds, though Bart couldn’t move anyway, the pleasure within him was so potent he couldn’t think of it, and there wasn’t space to move in the tiny squad car.
Then Lumpowski backed out with a chortling gasp. He struggled to back away enough to get his dick out, since he was trapped in the little space between the seat and the dashboard.
Finally, Lumpowski was out, and Bart scampered over the passenger seat into the back, where he sprawled out, exhausted and spent. “Shit…” Bart said.
Lumpowski sat back, his dick out, copious sweat beading on his forehead. “Goddamn… Hey, can I come see you again, man?”
Bart smiled. “Sure. Anytime. I’m not always around though. Text me first,” he said. “If I’m in the city, I’ll come running.”
Lumpowski nodded. He lay there in the passenger seat, dazed, while Bart cleaned himself up. Then Bart cleaned off Lumpowski’s cock, kissed him on the neck and climbed out of the car.
He hoped Lumpowski did call him, though Bart expected he might not be around. He traveled often, both to find new plus-sized ladies for his modeling agency and to go in search of his ultimate love: fat men.
Bart loves living above an auto repair garage because that means he gets to see the giant stud/studly giant Robby McCardle, a blue-collar hick with a whole lot of meat both upstairs and downstairs! Can Bart tighten his torque to a satisfactory degree?!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Bart Dazzle pulled into the spot across from his building. He wished he didn’t have to park here, but there weren’t many actual parking spots, so usually he had to pull in across the street. That was annoying because of the bird shit — the trees on the other side of the road were apparently full of birds with digestive problems. Whenever Bart parked there, he came out to a car covered in bird shit in the morning.
He didn’t want to complain, because his apartment was great, and very cheap, plus he got a discount on car repairs. Not many people wanted to live in a rickety, drafty apartment above a used car dealership and auto repair shop. It was loud and cold and a mouse magically appeared in his kitchen every time he left some crumbs out even for an hour. That was presumably because of the huge open garage area right underneath his apartment, which must have been crawling with mice. The only saving grace was that he had seen at least two snakes recently. Bart liked snakes, so he didn’t mind and hoped they would eat some of the mice.
The other reason he liked his apartment was Robby McCardle. He was a mechanic at the shop. When Bart got out of his car, Robby was coming out of the garage with a set of keys in his hand.
He was short and squat, powerfully built underneath a massive layer of blubber. He was hairy all over, even onto his back — that was obvious because he wore a sleeveless shirt, and the furry black hairs covering his shoulder poked out from the strap of fabric there. A nest of coarser black hair spilled out of both armpits.
There was a tattoo of a Confederate flag over his chest, plainly visible in the sleeveless camo shirt he wore. More tattoos, including American flags, a recreation of the Iwo Jima landing, the words ‘NECK LIFE, a silhouette of an old woman, several silhouettes of sexy women and a fat but sex Statue of Liberty, all dotted his chest and expansive belly. His fatness jiggled when he moved, and Bart could see the powerful musculature beneath the heft shift along with it.
“I tol’ you I’s gettin’ desperate, sure as shit stinks on Sunday!” Robby said, guffawing at the other mechanics. “When you grow up on a farm, you gotta get in whatever hole-” He stopped because they laughed too hard at him to hear. Robby pumped his hips as though plowing into the air.
“Baah! Baah! Baah!” One of the other mechanics baahed like a sheep.
“Is yo’ mama a sheep?”
“Not no sheep! Nobody fuck a sheep, man, they all covered in wool! I’s talkin’ ‘bout goats, homeboy!” Robby yelled to be heard over the other mechanics. Robby blushed but smiled like he wasn’t bothered. He grabbed his dick through his filthy jeans and wagged it towards the garage. Then he turned around.
He saw Bart and stopped short. He furrowed his bull-like brow.
Bart nodded at him. “Hey. How you doin’?”
Robby bit his lip, making his cheeks jiggle. “Howdy, suh.” He headed over to a Toyota, got in the driver’s seat and backed it into the garage. The mechanics made sounds that were supposed to be a goat getting plowed into by a fat hick, but they didn’t seem to really know what that would sound like. Not that Bart knew what it sounded like either, but he didn’t suppose it was that sort of pornographic grunt-moan that they did loud enough to be audible through the floor when Bart went upstairs to his apartment.
Now Bart was thinking about dicks. In his bathroom, he could hear everything going on below. Normally that was just the radio, switching between country and urban pop stations. But today he heard laughing and more baahing — they seemed to have gone back to sheep-sounds since it was easier to make.
“Damn, that ya female, Fiddle? She is fine-“
“She don’t like white meat, ‘specially not fatback pork!”
“She got ass for days-“
“She ain’t got time for yo’ thickest-hick ass, Robby! She don’t need that tiny cock-“
“Ah shit, you awakened the beast-“
Bart couldn’t make out any more words, but he could tell from the way Fiddle’s voice trailed off that he hadn’t meant to make that tiny-cock joke, and then there were scandalized shouts. Then Fiddle said something about not flashing his girlfriend — obviously they had had this discussion before, and Fiddle had learned Robby’s dick was not tiny at all. He had forgotten, hence the joke.
That made Bart’s heart skipped a beat. Had Robby whipped his dick out to prove it was big?
“He got meat, nigga! That ain’t-“
“It ain’t nothin’, man, quit lookin’ at it-“
“Put ya goddamn dick away, motherfucker! No one wanna see that.”
“That artsy fellah upstairs do…”
“Swear to god, man, you confused a big dick wit’ a big belly. This is a big dick!”
There was another outpouring of scandalized shouts. Bart was beginning to get hard just picturing it. All of those mechanics were at least kind of hot. That was Fiddle who just took his dick out — he was too skinny for Bart’s preference, but he was handsome in his way, and Bart wouldn’t have turned down a roll in the hay with him. It would have been a bony, angular roll, he thought, like making out with a coatrack, but a roll nonetheless.
“…. Circlejerk! … …”
“Ha! Do it!”
“That’s some nasty-ass shit-“
“Bend him over, Fiddle!”
“Don’t touch my motherfuckin’ dick!”
It sounded like possibly more than two had taken their dicks out now, and were they jousting? Or chasing after each other as though they might start jousting, just as a prank? That was what Bart suspected based on the sounds he heard, but he enjoyed imagining them circlejerking.
It all ended unfortunately quickly though. Fiddle’s girlfriend came into the office attached to the garage, and they all politely shut up. There was some scattered laughter, but no one wanted a girl to know they’d been wagging dicks at each other. That’s how rumors get started. Someone must have whispered something funny, because Bart heard snorting and muffled giggling.
After that the radio turned on, and they started doing work again. Bart was annoyed. That had been almost enough to get him hard, then he was blue-balled.
Bart had long wanted to jack off with Robby. He had a great love for doing it with gigantic men like him. But he had never propositioned Robby because he didn’t want to cause an awkward situation with his landlord. If Robby complained, they might evict Bart — Robby could even threaten a lawsuit claiming Bart caused an unsafe working environment.
But now that he had heard Robby complain of being horny — apparently horny enough to (presumably jokingly) imply he would fuck a goat — Bart wondered if he had a better chance than he had thought. If he would jokingly fuck a goat, maybe he would get off wth Bart in the real world.
So Bart went downstairs and told the nice lady behind the counter that his car was making a funny noise. That was accurate. It was a sort of a thwackity-thwackity sound. Bart just didn’t much care, this car was on its last legs anyway.
But the reason he said that was so she would send Robby out to go on a drive with Bart. The shop was almost closed, but Robby said he wanted to find out what the car needed so he could start right away in the morning.
Bart drove off, heading down the country road instead of the highway. He wanted to drive slowly. He pointed out the thwackity-thwackity sound and turned down the radio so it was audible.
“Hmm… I dunno what that might be. Prolly just a loose hose. You gettin’ overheated ever?”
“All the time, man, I get — oh wait, you mean the car? No, the car never gets overheated,” Bart said with a flirtatious laugh. He glanced over at Robby to make sure he wasn’t reacting badly. You never know who’s Christian these days.
Robby had a deep, throaty chuckle, and it made his hefty body shake in the seat he didn’t quite fit in. His arms were well past his own seat and the fleshy thickness of his upper arm rubbed on Bart’s shoulder.
“Well, then it prolly ain’t the coolant system,” Robby said. He lifted up his shirt and scratched his belly, which bared its bigness and the brownish hair that ran in a trail down the center of it.
“Hmmmm…. Are you still seeing that girl?” Bart asked. He hadn’t really seen Robby with any girl, but Robby didn’t know that.
“Who? Elise? Nah? She dumped me. She’s fuckin’ crazy, man.”
“Oh, that sucks,” Bart said. He sighed. “You must be lonely now.”
Robby scoffed. “Whatevuh. I put my dangle out there.”
“Well, you must at least get horny from time to time. Horny enough to fuck a goat.”
Robby blushed and laughed so hard it echoed deafeningly. “Ha! You heard that shit? Can you hear us up in ya place?”
“Mostly I just hear the radio,” Bart said. “You guys love Lynyrd Skynyrd.”
“Yeah we can all agree on them, whenever we argue about the radio we put on Lynyrd Skynyrd and everyone’s happy,” Robby said. “Shit, man, I ain’t really fuck a goat on the farm, okay? There was lots of rumors, y’know, ‘bout this one farmhand we had, and there was this Mexican on the other side of the county, e’ryone said he got caught fuckin’ a piglet.”
“A piglet? That’s like child-rape and bestiality-“
“I know, right?! I don’t think that’s true though. It’s just a rumor. Ain’t no pig farms out there anyways,” Robby said. “I ain’t nevuh fuck a goat, I swear, not one time. I don’t get that drunk.”
“Well, you can get your rocks off more easily than that anyway,” Bart said. He paused as Robby’s mind whirred. Then Bart said, “There’s, y’know… options even without women.”
“Oh, jacking off? Yeah-“
“Yeah, but, uh… with a friend.”
Robby paused. “Oooooooohhh…. Yeah. That… on the farm, y’know… I don’t mess with that shit, but y’know, some of them farmhands… My momma once caught ‘em in a barn doin’ something she wouldn’t tell me about.”
Bart giggled. “It’s fun to imagine…”
“It sound nasty.” His scraggly beard hairs shook as he gruffly grunted and looked away.
Bart cleared his throat. “So… I’d be glad to help you out, y’know.”
“What?”
“If you ever get horny enough, come on upstairs. I’m in the last apartment on the right if you come up the front stairs,” Bart said. “I’ll jack you off with my mouth if you want. You can stick me in the ass, whatever you want.”
“Man, no way. You is into that?” Robby pursed his lips and glared at Bart. “That is… That’s fuckin’ nasty.” He paused. “Man… I ain’t into that nasty shit, nothing personal.”
“Sure, sure, no problem,” Bart said. “Feel free to say no.”
“No.”
“I’ll give you two hundred dollars.”
Robby didn’t answer. He looked out the window. “Man… That’s nasty. I…”
“I’ll swallow your dick so good. I swallow cum too.” Bart paused to lick his lips and run his eyes up and Robby’s expansive frame. “Okay, I can tell you’re wondering — I love your fat. I’m into fat guys. I would love to lick your belly, and I wanna feel it flopping on my head while I get you off-“
“Three hundred bucks.”
“Deal,” Bart said. He pulled back into the shop, where there was a spot now available, so he didn’t have to park across the street. Robby was surprised — he had been so focused on Bart’s offer that he didn’t notice they were heading back. Bart cleared his throat. “You wanna come up to my place?”
“You crazy? Wait till after five. Once them asshats is gone, I’ll sneak up the back stairs,” Robby said. His fat ass heaved out of the car and into the garage without waiting for an answer.
Bart didn’t mind waiting. He got his apartment a little cleaner and queued up some porn on the computer — he made it hardcore interracial gangbang stuff with lots of big black dicks rubbing against each other, because he knew Robby wouldn’t like that.
Sure enough, he scoffed at the sight of it when he finally strode in an hour later. “Man, you ain’t put that shit on for me, didya?”
“Sorry, I don’t know what you like,” Bart said.
Robby pushed past him to type in chicks hardcore and found a video he liked. He bristled when he felt Bart’s hands on his meaty, hairy shoulders. Robby cleared his throat. “I prolly stink like a ferret, man. You want me to shower first?”
“No!” Bart blurted out. “Sorry, I mean… no. Don’t shower. I like ‘em dirty.”
“That’s nasty.”
“That’s nasty?” He pointed to one of the vaginas onscreen. “That’s where babies come from. You stick your dick in there. That’s nasty. You like plowing into a baby factory.”
“A pussy ain’t like a baby factory!” Robby said with a laugh. “You know there’s no baby in there, right?”
“Yeah, I know there’s no baby, literally, I’m just saying… If your kink was fucking women in a toy store surrounded by dolls and pacifiers and shit, people would say that was nasty-“
“It ain’t the same thing!”
Bart giggled. He had gotten Robby so worked up he had barely noticed Bart stroking his dick through his jeans. Now his cock twitched, and he couldn’t help but notice. His eyes opened wide, and his cock throbbed in Bart’s grasp. Bart dropped to his knees, and Robby aimed the computer chair away from the desk so Bart could get his head between those massive thighs.
He stank like the garage downstairs, like cold steel and warm engines rumbling, with the acridity of the oil and fluids that had stained his jeans many times over. The smell brought tears to Bart’s eyes even before he had unzipped them and let Robby’s fat cock flop out.
A lot of fat men have small cocks because most of their shafts’s lengths gets subsumed by the fatty tissue’s growth in their crotch. But Robby didn’t have that body type, or maybe his cock was simply so huge that it still looked big even with much of it swallowed up by his heft. Regardless, a ten-inch slab of thick, veiny, greasy dickmeat flopped out over Bart’s face.
Robby jumped as though it hurt him. His eyes were intently trained on the computer screen, but kept peeking down at his crotch. It was weird, cold, ticklish when Bart’s tongue snaked out.
“Hmmmmm….” Bart let out a moan, then swallowed Robby’s cocktip. He suckled on it loudly, and Robby shook. Bart deep-throated him. Robby leaned back, his face turning red. His hands flailed and his heavy belly shook.
“Goddamn, man… Ah, shit…” Robby hyperventilated like he couldn’t take this. His dick wasn’t even hard yet — though it was rapidly firming up — and he already found himself enjoying this. He had thought he wouldn’t be able to, that he’d be so turned off by the knowledge it was a man’s mouth on his dick that he’d struggle to get hard.
That hadn’t happened at all. His cock throbbed, pulsating in Bart’s throat. Moisture coated his shaft. Bart’s nose nuzzled his fat crotch, that entire girthy dick stretching his throat.
“Shit, man, shit!” Robby opened his eyes wide. He squirmed. He licked his lips. He remembered Bart saying he liked the idea of Robby’s belly flopping over his face, so Robby did so. His girlfriends always made him shower and wash his balls before they’d even think about touching him. It was fun to watch his belly slap Robby’s forehead, leaving a layer of greasy sweat there.
Just as Robby had lost enough of his inhibitions to touch Bart’s forehead and plow down his throat, Bart pulled off and licked his belly. Robby looked at him grossly, but he lifted his shirt up to make it easy. He watched Bart slather his belly with spit, then suck on his manboobs and nipples.
“Ew…” Robby grimaced. He wasn’t ashamed of his body. He was happy and comfortable in his own skin. However, it was a little weird and gross to see a man licking his hairy fatpad, and even slurping the sweat out of his stale armpit hair.
“I wanna taste your fat balls…” Bart whispered right into Robby’s ear, which startled him. He yelped, and his dick twitched in Bart’s hand.
His cock and balls were moist, dripping with saliva and precum. The whole area smelled rank, like a jizz-sock, Bart thought. He loved that. He slurped up as many fluids as he could find, then lowered his head until he could take in Robby’s heavy sac. He swallowed it down, gurgling on the sweaty balls.
The taste was exquisitely raunchy. It tasted like pure dirt, and it was gritty with salt and who-knew-what-else. Robby’s ballsac was so moist with sweat it was like swallowing a mouthful of sweat, like downing a shot of it and gargling on it so it overwhelmed Bart’s senses. He moaned moistly, the sound of which made Robby gag because he could almost taste his own balls.
“Ugh… Man…” Robby grunted. He squirmed on his seat. The hot-chicks porno had stopped, and the browser automatically switched back to the interracial gangbang video again. Robby noticed, but his hands were busy flailing around — he wanted to touch Bart’s head to guide him back to his cock, but that felt too weird; the texture of Bart’s hair made it obvious he was a man, and Robby couldn’t pretend it was a female on his cock.
Finally Bart pulled away from Robby’s balls. He giggled at the shocked look on his face, and he pulled a pubic hair off his lip. “You ready to stick it in me?”
Robby bristled. His machismo wouldn’t let him say no, of course, but he would have rather continued getting jacked off.
That changed when Bart actually turned around and bent over. Robby’s first thought was what were you nervous for? His ass looks like a perfect female- He cut his own thought off because that was horrid to him — Robby was raised to be very religious and to think any masturbation was a sin. His mother would be scandalized if she knew he jacked off even alone, much less with another man (his father wouldn’t, Robby suspected, but only if he knew Robby had been paid — his father resolutely believed men should do whatever it took to avoid going “on the dole”, so he forgave any man for being motivated by poverty to do something immoral — his father would also approve better if Robby lied that he robbed Bart rather than accept the money that had been agreed upon — not that Robby was going to tell either parent about this).
Bart’s ass was smooth and perky like a porno-star. Robby had daydreamed about plowing into asses just like this one. His hole winked like it was begging Robby to do it. In real life, Robby couldn’t get trim girls to look at him, much less offer up their tight little asshole. Robby occasionally got girls as thick as him, and he once had gotten a female to give up the ass — he lied about how often that happened, but it had actually only ever been once, and she had been a nasty fat-ass who stank like a fetid pond.
This was nice, Robby thought but would never admit. He didn’t have to worry about his fat-ass turning the girl off, or about accidentally getting so sweaty she made him stop and shower a second time (which had happened before). He stood up and bent his knees, ramming his dick into Bart’s ass without hesitation — he thought it would be easier if he just did it quickly, like ripping a band-aid off.
At first it was awkward and unpleasant. Robby grunted. Then a surge of pleasure ran up from his cock as it was swallowed up — was Bart pulling it into his ass? Was that possible? Or was Robby’s body working on instinct to get deep in there? — and Bart howled.
He sucked in his breath. “Damn, you got one tight ass…”
“Hmmm… You can ramrod me hard, and let your belly crush me, okay? I wanna feel you on top of me…” Bart whimpered as Robby slowly weighed down on him.
It kept feeling like he was going to really crush Bart, that he’d be turned into a pancake. He was so tiny, and his back was so clean and smooth. Robby felt like he was corrupting something pure as he slipped his cock in, and his hairy belly left a layer of grease and spit on his back.
Robby chuckled. He was going to say something about Bart liking it nasty, but his dick had slid the rest of the way in, his balls slapping against Bart’s asscrack. It felt so good Robby couldn’t quite concentrate enough to say anything.
So he just let out a long low moan. He slapped Bart’s asscheeks because that made him squirm and clench. Robby licked his lips, leaning down with both arms to pin Bart in place as he used all of his weight to slam in and out of Bart’s ass. Pangs of intense pleasure ran up his body.
But the pleasure was even greater for Robby, who writhed in exquisite agony. Wave after wave of prostate orgasm hit him like a truck. He cried out loud, and he was glad there was no one left downstairs because they would have definitely heard.
Bart’s hands turned into claws that dug into the carpet beneath him. The pressure was intense, and still Robby’s cock slammed in and out, shooting load after creamy load of hot cum that coated his insides. Still there was more coming, as though Robby had built up cum he needed to get rid of, and he sprayed it all deep into Bart’s ass.
A little of Robby’s fatty flesh spilled over the side of Bart’s face, so he could turn his head and slurp all the sweat and spit there. It was deliciously flabby, hairy, greasy.
Bart shot his own wad on the carpet. He was laid out flat, squashed by Robby’s hefty body, which still plopped over and over on him even as Robby’s cock fell limp inside him.
“Ah, man, come on….” Robby bit his lip, grabbed Bart by the back of the head and rolled over, so Robby was on his back, his limp dick still in Bart’s ass. Bart struggled stay in position, riding him and massaging his fat belly.
At last, Bart couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled away, but kept slurping Robby’s fat until Robby’s moist dick finally flopped out. That plump load plopped out too as Bart squatted over Robby’s crotch. Robby gagged at the sight of a huge wad of santorum and cum coat his limp dick.
“Shit, man… That’s nasty, you made a big mess…”
Bart giggled and blushed. “I’m sorry. I think you made the mess though.”
Robby belched. “I think I should take a shower.”
“Okay, go ahead,” Bart said. “But I get to watch.”
Robby grumbled but agreed and went in the bathroom. Bart settled down there on the edge of the tub, chasing Robby’s hairy asscheek with his tongue. Robby tried his best to ignore him as he showered, then eventually thwacked his limp dick over Bart’s face a few times.
Bart smiled. He had gotten what he wanted, and he had a feeling he might get it again before too long. Robby was a lot less reluctant now than he had been when they started.
Bart couldn’t wait.
Zeke is one exhausted cowboy, but luckily, there’s a young man on the ranch ready, willing and able to service every inch of his filthy manmeat!
Read the whole thing here
After arriving back at Prairie Stone Ranch from the cattle drive, Zeke Auberly was sore and exhausted. He hated to admit it but he was too plum-tired to carouse tonight.
Well into his thirties, Zeke was beginning to realize that he weren’t no young buck no more. He certainly wasn’t old, but for a working cowboy, he was growing pretty long in the tooth. Most of them cowboys who worked alongside him — or for him, as he liked to think of it, though he weren’t in charge official-like — were ten years younger.
But he got experience, he was smart, he knew the route and the Injuns and the sheriffs along the way. He felt like an old man, like he got an old man’s mind with a lifetime’s worth of accumulated experiences, trapped in a somewhat youngish man’s body.
He wished he could just go right to the barn as soon as he had returned from the cattle drive. He was exhausted, sweat a-drippin’, his entire body one bruise. His flesh was turned to liquid, his knees held together by overslackened straps, and every step was arduous. He was always at his most tired as soon as he arrived back at the ranch, once he got off his horse Betsy Lou, and rest was in sight.
First, he had had to go to Mister Goodman and report on the cattle drive. Zeke sat there, sweat dripping from his brow, stomach churning because he was desperate for food and water and sleep and cleanliness.
Even if he ain’t have to talk to Mister Goodman right away, Zeke couldn’t bathe immediately like he wished to. Nothing technically stopped him from doing so, it simply wasn’t advisable — all the cowboys went right to the barn, behind which was a smoldering campfire. Mister Goodman always started the fire when they were due back from the cattle-drive. There was a large metal tub that could be filled with water and heated with the campfire.
With the sun going down by the time the water was warm and the cowboys were ready to bathe, the air was chilly, the sky falling dark and low upon the horizon, and the bath was as inviting as a peek at a petticoat. Zeke knew from personal experience that it felt amazing. There was nothing like sliding into that bathtub, even having to share it with another cowboy.
Zeke ain’t want to share it now. He was older and he was in charge of the others, so he waited for them to be done. He was worried it diminished his authority to bathe with the others — he wasn’t technically the boss, but he was the most experienced cowboy, so he was the most knowledgeable, and Mister Goodman expected him to keep the greenhorns in line. That was easier to do if they saw him as larger than life, and that wasn’t possible if they batheed with him like a servant.
It was ironic, he thought, because, back when he was a young greenhorn, he wished he ain’t have to share. He thought it would be cleaner if he could wait and bathe alone after the others. That was what the older cowboys had done when Zeke had been new.
Now that Zeke was an older cowboy, however, all he wanted was to sit in the bathtub with another man. He wouldn’t mind his legs interlocking with someone else’s, feet rubbing against his balls and his ass. He wouldn’t even mind jackin’ off with a cowpoke, somethin’ he ain’t never enjoy as a young man.
Back then his very own hand was enough, plus the local fillies did give him the time of day. Zeke was young and handsome as a plate of beans, he was! Women came a-humming and a-thrumming, so when the older cowboys on a cattle drive deep into the wild yonder under starry skies that went on forever did want to fumble and grope through the night, Zeke said no. He would save himself for the splendor of womanhood, and he went to sleep with hardons a-plaguing him, he did.
Now he was that older cowboy wanna to rub rods with a younger man, and the young men do say the same thing, that they got a girl in every town waiting for ’em, with come-hither legs and come-hither eyes. Nobody ever told Zeke he was gonna be one of those silly old cowboys one day. Somebody shoulda warned him.
‘Course, Zeke ain’t tell the young pups they was gonna get old one day. They oughta know. Damn fools, tarnations to ’em!
Anyway, Zeke did finish the report on the drive with Mister Goodman and he did hand over the dollars from the market. Mister Goodman counted and recounted, and Zeke stood there as though he didn’t ache with the fire of a thousand camps. He wished to bathe and sleep and do nothing for a spell, not in that order. He stone-faced for Mister Goodman though.
Mister Goodman always counted coins twice, and he insisted Zeke stay there so as to account for any errors. But because of that, Zeke always counted twice as well, back at the market when he sold the cows, so he was confident the count would come back correct, and it did. Mister Goodman deemed that good enough, and he shook Zeke’s hand.
That was that. The drive was complete, and it was good. At last, Zeke went to the barn. His muscles ached mightily, and even his eyes was tired. He wanna sit somewhere dark and drab and cool, and he wanted to sit there clean.
The other cowboys had dumped the bathtub. Zeke was relieved on the one hand because it meant he was alone and would have a tub full of clean water, but on the other hand, he was annoyed because it meant he would have to wait for the water to heat up again.
His muscles felt like hot tallow. Zeke saw the well off in the distance and he knew he needed to go there to get the water, but he couldn’t even think about moving in that direction and lugging the bucket of water — they used a very large bucket for this, so it was extraordinarily heavy when full of water. It took two trips to fill the tub completely.
Could Zeke do it? For the first time, he considered just passing out. Was he really getting old? When he was a young man, no matter how exhausted he was, he would always bathe and go out to the saloon where he’d seduce some fine woman (or more often, pay Mister Gregarian for a night with a woman at the saloon Lipsweet).
But now he was just too tired. Aside from feeling like a slick of grease stuck to the bottom of his boot, he would have gladly just crawled into the barn over there and slept among the goats. He wanted to do nothing more involved than rest.
“Hello?”
Someone was coming. Zeke’s heart sped up, and he jumped to his sore, blistered feet. There was someone coming closer, carrying something heavy.
It was a man, a slim, somewhat feminine man with big doe eyes. He struggled to carry the bucket, full to the brim with water. Some of the water sloshed out as he went to the fire, which was flaring as the wood Zeke had added enflamed. The man placed the bucket on the grates above the fire.
“Howdy, pardner,” said the man. “You must be Mister Auberly.”
“Zeke.”
“Zeke, howdy, I’m Pat. I was hired by Mister Goodman as an assistant-“
He kept talking, but Zeke stopped listening. Pat’s feminine voice rang out in Zeke’s ear. He sounded a lot like a woman, and he kind of carried himself like a woman, all curves and stately elegance, with a thick pair of plump asscheeks that were plainly visible hugged by his tight pants. He seemed awfully womanly. In the dark, Zeke might have mistaken him for a woman.
Zeke’s mind vaguely registered who he was. Mister Goodman had mentioned hiring an assistant to help with running the ranch. He had said the assistant was not a cowboy, so Zeke hadn’t really cared too much. He’d be doing the numbers, presumably. An accountant or something similar. Mister Goodman always counted twice.
But now, it seemed the assistant would be out here, assisting him, looking so much like a girl that Zeke wanted to lay with him in front of a campfire.
But he didn’t say that. He gulped that down. He didn’t do things like that. On the trail, things were different, the rules were different. On the trail, a girlish cowboy like that would never be cold or lonely at night.
A slim, girlish cowboy like that on the trail wouldn’t make it in the first place, which was why slim girlish cowboys weren’t who Zeke was used to sharing his bedroll with. The vaqueros — Mexican cowboys — they brought along ‘ranch-bunnies’ on cattle drives to ram.
“I just bathed the others but I thought you would want fresh water,” Pat said. He patted Zeke on the back. “Oh you poor baby, you feel so tired, I can sense it in your muscles. You have a nice strong back, huh?” He sounded just like a girl. His hands casually rubbed Zeke as he stood there silently, trying to decide whether to make Pat leave or not. Zeke couldn’t bear to make him go. He craved affection and companionship, and he really wanted Pat to smell like one of Mister Gregarian’s girls.
It was dark enough now, he thought, he could just pretend Pat was female.
“Lemme help,” Zeke said when Pat tried to dump the hot water into the tub. Together they emptied the water, and it let out a billowing cloud of steam when it filled the metal tub.
“You can go ‘head in the water now,” Pat said. “I’ll just go’n fill the bucket again and fill the tub up the rest of the way.”
But Zeke felt a chivalrous need not to allow that. It was just like a woman, he thought, Pat was basically a woman. He acted like a woman and he smelled like a woman and he even mostly looked like a woman — just a woman with short hair, wearing men’s clothing. Zeke couldn’t sit idly by while a man like Pat struggled to carry a bucket of water.
His muscles were revitalized enough to make it easy, or easy enough anyway. With two people carrying the bucket, it was not a problem to fill it at the well and bring it back to the campfire. The water that was already in the tub was still too hot to really be comfortable yet.
“How was ya cattle-drive? Did you lose any cows?”
“Of course not,” Zeke said with a snort. “I never lose any head.”
“I bet. Everyone said you’re so strict. The other cowboys I mean. They said you’re not nice,” Pat said. He shrugged. “But I think you’re nice. You helped me carry the water. The others laughed at me struggling, and they threw rocks at me-“
“Who threw rocks at you?”
“Well… The tall one? With the dark hair and green eyes.”
“I-” Zeke bit his lip. “I recognize him from the dark hair and green eyes. Curly. He is… I will deal with him.” He blushed. “I do not…” His voice trailed off. “I will deal with him properly.”
Pat hugged him. The second pot of water was boiling now, and he rubbed his face against the sweat-plastered shirt sticking to Zeke’s back. It was salty and stiff, the leather soaked with layers of moisture from sweat and rain and river-water. “Thanks. You’re not mean.”
Zeke grunted. He pulled away from Pat and ain’t let him help him carry it to the tub to dump it in, Zeke did it himself, one last burst of muscular energy before he finally rested.
At last, he thought with a sigh, he could bathe. He raced to strip off his clothes, uncaring of Pat there watching. He hopped in. His foot-long cock flopped, sticking sweatily to his thigh.
The water was painfully hot at first, but it wasn’t scalding, and it soon cooled down just enough to be a bit uncomfortable. That was where Zeke liked it. The tub was good at holding heat, so it would stay at this temperature for awhile.
“I have my own soap,” Pat said. “Is it okay if I wash you?”
Zeke hesitated. That wasn’t so strange. He and the other cowboys usually washed each other’s backsides. But he knew them well; it was a little weird to let a stranger do it. The reason they let each other do it was because they knew each other well, they trusted each other — they couldn’t make it together on a cattle drive without innate and implicit trust in each other.
Zeke nodded anyway. Since he was not going to go see Mister Gregarian tonight, he thought, he might as well get some affection where he could get it. Pat’s hands flirtily caressed Zeke’s body.
He started to realize that Pat was going to do more than wash him, and Zeke couldn’t bring himself to decide not to do it. He felt strongly that he needed it — his dick throbbed with desire, yet he was too tired to go into town or talk to ladies, even whores; Pat was right here, and he was so womanly.
He was virtually a female.
Zeke had even promised to punish Curly Harrow for throwing rocks at him — that was something he would do for a man who threw rocks at a woman, not a smaller, weaker man. Zeke had always believed weaker men should submit to stronger men.
But he also believed, more and more intensely with every passing day, that stronger men should not take advantage of weaker men, or throw rocks at them.
And Pat was virtually a woman anyway.
His hands touched Zeke’s back. Those hands were so smooth and warm, and inviting, soft, cottony, like a freshly laundered shirt (something Zeke hadn’t touched in years). He licked his lips and closed his eyes. He leaned forward in the tub as Pat’s hands roamed lower. His muscles rippled beneath Pat’s touch.
The filth and sweat flowed off Zeke’s body. He instantly felt cleaner, and with every passing moment, his exhaustion vanished. He was always surprised by how much energy he got when he had finally bathed. He felt like a new man.
“Lean back, sweetheart,” Pat said softly. His voice was loud though because his mouth was right next to Zeke’s ear, and it rang out in his mind.
Zeke did lean back so Pat could wash and rub and sweetly caress his chest. He sighed.
He kept his mind focused on the warmth seeping into his bones and the tender touch of Pat’s fingers on his chest. So he was only dimly aware of Pat’s lips sucking the trail-dust off his ear.
But his body was aware. His hefty cock twitched in the soapy water. Pat could sense it, even if he ain’t see it in the dark of night — the tub was illuminated only by the moonlight and the fading firelight.
Pat reached into the tub and touched his cock. Zeke ain’t react. Pat gave it one long, slow stroke, and it was instantly at full erection in his hand. Zeke closed his eyes even tighter.
Pat had done this before, so he knew well how to take off his clothes surreptitiously. Zeke never realized he was doing so; he just kept his eyes closed and moaned every minutes when Pat stroked his cock in just the right way.
His hand was better than any female, Zeke thought, even Caitlin at the brothel, and Caitlin was supposed to have specialized in using her hand. Zeke always thought that was pointless.
But Pat’s hand felt perfect, like it had been made just for Zeke’s cock. He wanted to lay like this forever, sprawled out the best he could in the cramped tub, letting Pat’s hands massage him. Pat’s left hand tweaked his nipples while his right stroked his manhood, making Zeke moan and shake.
Pat climbed into the tub with him. Zeke was surprised to see he had gotten naked. His body had a very feminine shape, but Zeke just closed his eyes. Pat felt feminine too, all smooth, hairless skin and soft flesh.
Disappearing under the water, Pat had to curl up atop Zeke’s body in order to fit. He placed the tip of Zeke’s manhood in his mouth and he let his tongue run up and down the length of Zeke’s shaft.
The flavor was strong and tough, despite the water all around, like the trail and the sweat had suffused into Zeke’s flesh. Pat suckled on it until he needed to take a breath, then he lifted his head above water just long enough to breathe before returning to savor Zeke’s manhood.
“Ah…. Damn…” Zeke sighed. He placed one hand on the back of Pat’s head.
Of course Pat couldn’t stay underwater for long because he couldn’t breathe. But it felt like forever. His mouth was sticky and tight, his tongue massaging every inch of Zeke’s thick meat.
Before long, Pat had to come above water to breathe. He stroked Zeke with both hands while gasping for air, and he clutched Zeke’s hairy chest. He kissed his neck passionately.
For the first time, Zeke was intimately aware of Pat’s manhood — his dick touched Zeke’s leg. Pat’s lips touched Zeke’, and their tongues interlocked in Pat’s mouth. Zeke hadn’t thought he would kiss Pat. He ain’t even always kiss his females because he knew prostitutes kissed many men, and it seemed a little perverse. Zeke always thought he could taste other men on their lips.
But not Pat. He tasted like apple cider and sunshine, Zeke thought. Once his tongue touched Pat’s, he moved closer, wrapping his arms around Pat’s body and hugging him close. He pressed his muscles against Pat, nearly shoving him under the water in his haste to be on top of him.
Their cocks rubbed together under the soapy water, and Zeke passionately, loudly kissed a trail down from Pat’s mouth to his delicate neck, while his hands caressed Pat’s smooth chest — he had no bosom, of course, but Zeke found that he felt so feminine in texture and shape that he ain’t mind the lack of actual breasts.
“Oh god, you’re so big and strong,” Pat said, gasping as Zeke smothered him with kisses. “Will you be gentle with me?”
“Yes.” Zeke let out a throaty growl. He rolled Pat over, aiming his face down to the ground outside the tub. Pat bent over and stuck his ass high in the air, almost out of the water entirely.
That gave Zeke the perfect angle to drill his dick in. He sighed when it shoved into Pat’s tight hole. He had rarely been with a woman this tight — there were a lot more males than females in north Texas these days, so the women around here was either married or prostitutes whose holes were well-trafficked.
But Pat was tender and tight and moist and welcoming, and he bit his lip, mewling a bit, when Zeke entered him, but he ain’t complain. Zeke petted the back of his head and made soothing noises.
“Ssssssshush, it’s alright, pardner,” Zeke said. He kissed the back of Pat’s neck. “It’s alright. You gonna feel jest fine, yessuh.” He stroked Pat’s hair and rubbed his asscheeks, holding his cock still, just barely inside Pat’s ass.
When he felt Pat’s resistance diminish, Zeke pistoned his hips and pushed in deeper. Pat grunted, his ladylike demeanor vanishing for just a moment. That made Zeke chuckle, especially when Pat let out a pleasured moan.
“There you go, it’s alright, it’s gonna be jest fine, yessuh,” Zeke said. He whispered, but his voice seemed impossibly loud, echoing against the nearby barn and the night sky.
“Oh god, stick it in me, please, stick it in so deep… I need you inside me…” Pat said over and over, his voice a plaintive wail. The sensations roiling him were too intense to speak more confidently.
Zeke had rarely been able to go at a woman this hard, even a prostitute. They often complained that he had a large manhood and made him slow down. But the faster and harder he smashed, the more Pat seemed to enjoy it.
Every thrust of his cock into Pat’s ass awakened his prostate a little more, and sent a wave of pleasure through his body. Pat cried out loud, and it would have been audible even beyond the barn — where some of the other cowboys drank, having already gambled away most of their wages — if he weren’t in such throes of passion as to make a muffled, quiet sound. Zeke’s grunts were louder, but less distinct, and they blended in with the bleating of the sheep and goats that filled the barn.
“Goddamn, boy…” Zeke sighed, nibbling on Pat’s earlobe. He had never felt anything like this. He wasn’t exhausted at all anymore; he felt like a young man again, making love to his first female, feeling such unimaginable pleasure that he knew now that nothing would ever be the same again.
“Hey, boy,” Zeke whispered into his ear, hands caressing Pat’s chest and belly. He moaned loudly, moistly, grunting all over Pat’s face. “Hey, boy… Don’t mess wit’ no other men, okay? While you work here, just… be wit’ me.”
“Yes, Zeke,” Pat said. “I don’t want to be with anyone but you.” He turned his head to the side and kissed Zeke on the cheek. “I won’t be here forever though. This is only a temporary position for me.”
Zeke was disappointed, but in the throes of his orgasm, the bad news ain’t really sink in. He just grunted his understanding and flexed his hips again, forcing his cock in and out. He slathered Pat in kisses, his grizzled chin scratching Pat’s smooth skin.
“Aaaaaaah…” Zeke sucked on Pat’s cheek — he intended to kiss him, but the most intense climax of his life erupted within him then, and it took all his concentration just to rub his face against Pat’s.
Creamy cum flowed into Pat’s ass, making him cringe and undulate beneath Zeke’s muscle-bound body. Pat was crushed against the edge of the tub, and he moaned so loud the cowboys on the other side of the barn heard — they assumed it was a distressed goat, but they fell quiet for a moment to listen for more, to be sure it wasn’t someone trying to steal livestock.
Wave after wave of pleasure washed over Pat, whose hands tightened into claws that dug into the rim of the iron tub. He tensed and clenched as Zeke smashed his dick back and forth a few more times, then fell limp.
“Shit, boy….” His dick was still hard for a moment, stimulating Pat’s over-sensitive prostate until he couldn’t take it anymore.
Then Zeke slid back and his cock popped out, instantly washed clean by the still-warm tub of water. Pat let out a long, cringing moan as his ass recovered. He curled up next to Zeke’s chest and nuzzled his neck.
“Damn… I gots a room in town,” Zeke said. “Above the apothecary. You know where that is?”
“Yes…” Pat said, his voice a soft tenor that hung in the air and resonated in Zeke’s ears.
“When you done wit’ ya work for the day, you come see me,” Zeke said.
“Every day?”
“E’ry day till forever, hell yeah. But I can’t have no one seein’ it, that’s why you gotta meet me there, not here,” Zeke said with a chuckle. He kissed Pat on the forehead. “You is one special boy, and I’s gonna make you feel special. You ready for that?”
Pat kissed his lips. “Of course.”
Bart Dazzle is at it again, this time touring Vermont for big-bodied alphas! His target today is a buttery dairy farmer with a physique so massive you could, and he might, worship it for days! Angus Butterman has got manhood, manmeat and dairy cows in equal abundance, and he has a need that only Bart Dazzle can satisfy!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Them city-folk stay useless, Angus Butterman thought to himself. He got no surprise in him to see the strange out-of-towner approach the farm only when it was too late to matter. All the smarts in the world won’t help if you’re too late to do anything.
Angus was a towering bull of a man, at well over six feet tall and as hefty as a heifer and a half. He was burly and bristly like a barrel full of push-brooms, and his big round face was windswept and dour, like a cow that outgrew its pasture. He wore only his overalls now — he took off his shirt because the sleeves were soaked with cow blood, but he had worn an apron that protected the overalls, so they were dirty only with dust and mud and dried-on whatever, not fresh cow blood. His big muscle-bulging arms flapped as he washed his hands. That was the last of the blood.
He stood by the well near the green barn as the out-of-towner approached, looking frightened of the farm, Angus thought. Scared of work, of getting his hands dirty. He probably had never seen an animal get slaughtered for food, had no idea how much work went into putting a meal on this spindly girlish man’s plate.
All that was more or less true. The out-of-towner was named Bart, and he was indeed from well out of town. Bart was here in Vermont because the governor, Hartfield Merriment, was a delicious ball of flab and machismo that Bart had wanted to worship.
Governor Merriment had turned out to be just as much fun as Bart had hoped. He was jolly and jiggly and roly-poly and he tasted like apple cider vinegar. Bart loved it. But he had gained access to the Governor’s Mansion by purporting to have great knowledge in agricultural policy. He bullshitted his way in, only to find that little lie snowballed, and Bart had to spend weeks reading up on the matter or he was gonna look like an ass and would not get to taste Governor Merriment’s man-meat. He ended up proposing a policy that had to do with calf births. It was so obscure and stupid he figured they’d just ignore it, and indeed, they did. It was a real policy, it’s how they do it in England. It was plausible anyway. Not that Bart actually wanted it implemented, it was just a way in.
That led to Bart sticking around in Montpelier to taste the roly-poly meat of the fire chief, the police chief and this short-order cook with a body like a melted brickwork, and all the while he was trading himself off as an expert in calfbirthing.
In fact, everyone in the Vermont state government in Montpelier called Bart “The Professor” because he had said he studied at Oxford in England. That was why the Mayor came to get Bart when he heard the beloved cow Daisy Sue, in a small farming town nearby, was having a bloody and dangerous labor — she gave birth first to a deformed and dead calf, then continued with a live one.
From Bart’s perspective, that was a disaster. He did not know anything about calfbirthing, and he was going to look like an idiot if he pretended.
He was dreading it the whole way, but he felt an obligation to at least try, and he hoped he looked confident as he came into the Butterman Dairy. Angus Butterman met him by the green barn, where they had planned to meet up. The birthing cow was in there.
He hoped he didn’t mess this up too badly. The worst he could do was not help, right? Just look confident and don’t do anything important. Ask for hot water. Say reassuring nothings. Clean and sanitize. Ideally without touching anything, because Bart saw a human birth once and it was disgusting. So many body fluids of every color going in every direction, and cows were way bigger than a woman. Dear god, that was going to be awful. Shoulda worn a hazmat suit.
It was probably all over and done with anyway. How long could a calfbirth take?
Cows know how to give birth in the wild. Surely they can just figure it out. It can’t be that hard for a cow to give birth to a calf. That’s like all a cow does in its life.
But as Bart approached the farm, he saw Angus Butterman standing there like an imposing statue, and Bart’s heart skipped a beat. Angus was handsome. He stood heavy and plodding, his belly substantial but not fat — he was strong enough to heft a year-old calf like it was a sac of potatoes, and he could lift a sac of potatoes like it was just a single spud. His whole body was thick all over, and Bart could already taste his hairy flesh on his tongue.
“Hmmmm…”
“Hayuh, stranger,” said Angus Butterman. He shook Bart’s hand. It was a weak, lily-livered handshake. Angus rolled his eyes.
“Hi, I’m Bart, I was sent here by the Mayor, I heard… — I heard you were having problems with a calf-“
“No. I fixed it. It’s fine. Daisy Sue is fine.” His voice was flat and rumbly like a dormant volcano. He had his thumbs hooked into the straps of his overalls, which pulled the fabric forward and made his pale, powerful chest partially visible. He was just as hairy as Bart had hoped.
“Oh. Well, thank god, cuz I don’t really know jack about calves!” Bart said. Then he blushed — Angus frowned like he didn’t appreciate Bart’s blasphemy. Bart cleared his throat. “I know more about humans, I’m not actually a veterinarian.”
“Hmm.” Angus paused. “Perhaps you could make yourself helpful and bathe me.” He snortled. He thought that would show this uppity doctor from the city — he assumed Bart would never agree to bathe someone, especially not a rural farmer with a broad body and chunky ass. It would be too humiliating.
But Bart’s eyes opened wide. “Sure! Okay. I mean… yeah. Yes. Sure. I’ll help you bathe,” he said. He smiled bashfully. “I mean… that might be a good idea. I could check you for, uh… wounds, and…” He paused for a long time, nearly drooling at the prospect of manhandling this mountain of a man. “Uh… other… issues. Anatomical… irregularities.”
Angus frowned. Bart spoke in a way he found most unfamiliar, his accent being neither New England nor New York nor Canadian — the only accents Angus was familiar with. It was vaguely British but not convincingly so. He didn’t think he was from the South either. Angus’s accent, on the other hand, delighted Bart. His baritone voice had a trace of holler and a hefty dose of yip, but it was long and low like an elegant moo. It sent a frisson of desire up Angus’s spine.
Angus cleared his throat. “Come,” he said.
He was surprised that Bart would agree to bathe, but Angus wasn’t going to turn him down. He was a big enough man that he found it difficult to bathe himself. That was more laziness than anything else, but he usually had his wife at least scrub his back.
“You have a beautiful farm,” Bart said as Angus led him into a barn. Bart’s smile faltered when he saw the “bathing” facility — there was no showerhead at all, just a hunk of steel that was an old-fashioned tank heater, attached to a hose that led to a copper tub. It looked like a torture device from a steampunk movie, Bart thought. Where on earth would Angus get such a thing?
The copper tub filled with hot water as Angus, ignoring Bart completely, drained the tank. The water steamed and sizzled, but it rapidly cooled when out of the heater. Then Angus stood and removed his overalls. The water was very hot — nearly boiling, Bart suspected, when it first came out of the tank.
Those overalls slipped to the ground, and Angus’s wide ass flapped free. It was broad and fleshy and firm and jiggly when he stepped into the tub. Bart couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was glad to see Angus had a giant dick too. It hung between his legs as thick as a calf’s thigh. It was uncircumcized and veiny, and it made Bart lick his lips in anticipation.
Angus tottered when he lifted his leg to get in the tub. He grunted and heaved, asscheeks squeezing, cock flopping and Bart blushed with hot desire.
“Hmmm… So, Mr. Butterman, is there something I can do for you? Needs you could use satisfaction on?”
“Get the soap and the brush.” He pointed to a table by the wall.
“Sure, sure, but that’s not what I meant.” Bart got the soap and the long-handled brush. The soap was foul-smelling and astringent, and the brush was wiry like a toilet brush. Bart wasn’t sure what the normal procedure was, but he just got his hands wet and worked up a bunch of suds with the soap. “I mean other than this.” He clasped his hands on Angus’s legs and began massaging vigorously.
“You… are not using the brush?”
“If I encounter a part of you that is too dirty to clean with my hands, I will use the brush,” Bart said. “But I don’t mind doing the work by hand. I do like to get my hands dirty, you know. Not all out of towners are ineffectual weaklings.”
“Hmmph.” Angus narrowed his eyes to slits, but he did not argue the point. he sighed as he leaned back in the water, and he allowed Bart’s slim hands to knead the tight, sore flesh of his back. Angus’s back muscles rippled beneath his touch. Angus let out a long low moan.
Not even Angus’s wife rubbed his back so vigorously. Angus licked his teeth to avoid accidentally smiling. Even with Bart not facing him, Angus didn’t want to smile. It simply wasn’t proper. He nodded and harrumphed, spreading his legs so Bart could more easily get all around his thighs. Bart’s delicate hands brushed up against his balls and his shaft, while Bart’s head was right behind one fleshy asscheek.
The stranger’s hands were soft and warm. They’d be good milking hands. A cow could tolerate those easy. Angus had big rough hands from a lifetime of work. He could milk a cow when he had to, but that was largely automated these days. In fact, his milking machine was on its last legs. Angus spent his time supervising the farm and the production of milk, cream, sour cream, cottage cheese and Honduran-style crema. The Butterman Dairy filled orders for companies throughout New England and in Ontario and Quebec.
Angus snorted. Bart’s massaging hands went from Angus’s thighs to his chest — he avoided the private areas for the moment. His hands caressed that barrel-shaped body, and he even planted his lips on the side. He slurped up the bathwater that clung to his now-clean skin. Angus furrowed his brow like he didn’t understand.
“So, you didn’t answer me,” Bart said. “What can I do for you? Not something medical.”
“What?”
“There must be something you want.”
Angus chuckled, his big chest shifting up and down when he did. His deep voice echoed in the high-raftered barn. “There’s a new milkin’ machine on the market. Costs a pretty penny though-“
“I’ll buy it for you.”
Angus looked down at him. “Pardon?”
“I’ll buy it for you if you do something for me,” Bart said. He blushed at Angus’s intense, sour-faced stare. His giant body loomed overhead like an idol. Bart looked down, then hugged his torso. “Will you… lay with me? Treat me like a woman. Stick your dick in me.”
Nearly toppling over, Angus jumped with a start. He was not accepting that. Jacking off was taboo in Angus’s household. He was a god-fearing man.
But in his view, obscenity was worse than some minor, harmless masturbatory indiscretions. As long as he didn’t touch another man in such a manner, Angus didn’t see it as a grave sin. He could allow the mincing stranger to service him. It was not motivated by lust, after all, nor even greed.
But Angus just nodded — he thought he would lose his farm if he didn’t get that milking-machine sooner or later — the other dairies in the area already had it, and they were able to produce twice as much milk from the same number of cows, and with fewer workers. He still stood there, ignoring Bart as though he didn’t understand what Bart had offered.
“So, that’s a yes?”
“You had better actually buy me the machine,” Angus said flatly. His hand formed a fist. “I will have you lynched, mister.”
Bart shivered in fear. Angus had said that so nonchalantly that Bart assumed it could only be a real threat. “Don’t worry, I’ll follow through,” Bart said.
The idea of jacking off with a man wasn’t entirely alien to Angus Butterman. He’d done it before. There was a worker on his dairy farm who had the silhouette of a woman in the right light, and he enjoyed servicing the meats of men with stubborn stiffies. Angus had gone to see him on many a night when his wife wanted nothing to do with him. She said Angus was too big, like trying to lay beneath a buffalo, and so their marital bed was only visited a few times a year. Angus found alternative means to satisfy his urges, in an entirely Christian way.
Bart kissed his cocktip, which made it tremble and shake. Angus smelled strongly of sweat in his crotch because Bart hadn’t scrubbed him yet, just rinsed and massaged him, and he didn’t intend to. He loved a stinky man. Angus could scrub later.
He stroked his dick while slurping on just the tip. He had a feeling it would get magnificently big and he was right — it grew from merely impressive to a full twelve-inch long monster that made Bart shiver again with both terror and anticipation. That was going to hurt in all the best ways, he thought.
“Put your mouth on it, deeper,” Angus said, reaching down to shove Bart into the position he wanted. He seemed to think Bart didn’t know how to do it. Bart didn’t correct him because he enjoyed a pushy alpha — Angus thought he was the worldly expert!
He wrapped Bart’s lips around his cock and began to pivot his hips, forcing more and more of his giant dick into Bart’s throat. The taste was salty and warm and a little bitter from the soap that had dripped into his crotch. Bart had to lean over the lip of the tub to get deep in there, which he did with his hands clasped on Angus’s trunk-like thighs.
“Ah, my…” Angus bit his lip to avoid taking the Lord’s name in vain. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. His dick was so wet it dripped — and not with bathing water either. Bart drooled over it, desiring to have every inch of it throbbing in his throat.
Angus was as hard as pig-iron now, his dick pulsating in Bart’s mouth. His massive dairyman body rippled with each wave of pleasure to wrack his frame. His biceps and thunderous thighs all flexed and relaxed in sync with the cavernous moans that came from his chest. He gripped Bart’s head and held on tight, so he could deeply hump his manhood in Bart’s mouth. His entire foot-long manhood stabbed into Bart’s throat and stayed there before he began to rock back and forth.
“Ah, yes, yes…” Angus’s baritone voice gurgled moistly. His sweaty balls slapped against Bart’s chin.
It was one of the best cockshafts Bart had ever tasted. He thought maybe rural people had better dicks. There was something tastier about their manhoods, more pleasing in the way they plowed into his throat. They acted more on instinct maybe, less self-conscious, more primal and bestial. Whatever it was, Bart adored it, and he savored the sour flavor of Angus’s manhood.
Despite his lungs crying out for oxygen, Bart opened his throat wide and let Angus take charge of it. Plowing back and forth, Angus used and abused his throat, as more moans escaped his chest, and precum coated Bart’s tongue.
Then Angus let go just long enough to step out of the tub, while Bart took a hoarse gasping breath. Angus rammed his dick back in before Bart could even get his breath back. Bart kneeled before his awe-striking body.
“C’mon, boy, take the whole thing, good, good… You’re no doctor… Are you a con artist? That Governor Merriment is a fool…” Angus said as though that was a well-known fact.
When Angus finally let him take another breath, Bart rolled away and gasped. He grinned as he wiped spit and salty precum off his lips. “You wanna cornhole me? In the ass?”
By the standards of a rural farm community like this little town outside of Montpelier, that was a very obscene way to put it. Angus flared his nostrils. Bart had no idea how offensive Angus found his words, but Angus had that New England taciturnity, and he did not say anything about it. He just grumbled inwardly about rude city-folk. He really needed that milking machine.
If that’s how people in New York talk, I’ll be glad to never see another one, Angus thought. Nobody had told him Bart was from New York, it was just where Angus assumed all out of towners were from. Maybe Canadian actually, Angus thought now, that might explain the accent.
In any case, Angus wasn’t going to turn down a chance to blow a nut, plus get a milking machine out of it. In fact, he was glad to spoil such a foul-mouthed man’s bottom, he thought. He would never have done it to someone he thought of as clean and good-hearted.
“Bend ovaah,” he said with an angry snort.
When Bart didn’t move quick enough, Angus bent him over the copper tub. He bade Bart to stick his ass high. It was an awkward position for Bart, who had to keep his face above the water, which now steamed lightly as Angus’s bodily dirt and grease floated on the surface.
“Hmmm… Spread ‘em, stranguh,” Angus said with a thick-voiced chuckle. He had to stand on his toes and lean forward in order to line his cock up with Bart’s ass. He used his other hand to separate the cheeks and then wedged his dick in.
“Oh god, damn…” Bart said, having no idea that blasphemy spurred Angus on to treat him even crueler.
Angus kneaded the soft flesh of Bart’s delicate asscheeks. He slipped his dick in and Bart cried out as a burst of pain hit his backside hard. His eyes opened wide and his face dipped into the water that stank of Angus’s sweaty body. The pain quickly melted away, leaving behind a slowly simmering sense of bliss.
The moan that escaped from Bart’s lips was an intense chest-rattle that made Angus think he was in blinding pain. That seemed right anyway. Angus had no idea that Bart genuinely thought he was handsome — people simply didn’t talk about men in that manner in rural Vermont. So Angus assumed Bart was mentally defective in some way, like a hobo or a mental patient, and that he enjoyed the pain. It was no skin off Angus’s nose.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Bart favored the physiques of big men, and he loved big cocks, and he was good enough at taking on massive manhoods that the pain lasted only a few seconds. Even the pressure was not unbearable. It was made more intense by the heavy body resting upon Bart’s thin back.
“You are… a most low man,” Angus said dourly, chewing on his lip as he struggled to ram his dick all the way in.
Finally Bart took a deep breath and took in every inch of Angus’s dick, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He again doused his face in the now-lukewarm tub of water, which exhilarated him. “Yes, Angus, get deep in me!”
Angus frowned but did so. It was also rude, he thought, to call a stranger by his given name. But if he got one of those modern milking machines, it would all be worth it.
And besides that, Angus decided, this felt good enough to do it even without the milking machine — it was just plain good. His wife never let him plow into her like this. She didn’t want to do it unless they were planning on having another child. Angus accepted that even if he disliked it.
But Bart, it seemed, would take anything — Angus had no idea Bart had a minimum weight — so Angus could plow in as hard as he was capable of. He made Bart grip the far edges of the copper tub, which rocked as Bart was rollicked back and forth by the intense feel of Angus’s heavy cock.
“Oh god, shit… I— oh fuck-!” An orgasm ripped through Bart’s body.
Angus gripped Bart by the hair hard. “Do not curse, little man, and do not take the Lord’s name in vain-” He too cut himself off, his voice breaking as he orgasmed at the same time.
Bart blushed, his mind whirring as he realized he had been blaspheming for several minutes. He was nearly bent all the way over the tub now, his head on the far side of it, so his own cock sprayed its wad into the water.
“Oh — oh-!” Bart couldn’t think of any non-curse word — was ‘crap’ offensive? He had no idea. All he did was howl and scream as his prostate sent wave after wave of pleasure through his body, which was painfully pinned in place by Angus’s powerful body pressing down on him.
Then, all in one fumbling motion, Angus went to the floor and dragged Bart with him. They were both on their sides, writhing and undulating, Angus’s strong limbs flapping around. Bart was swallowed up by his bigness and covered in the water that still clung to his barrel-shaped torso.
“Aaaaaaaah…” Angus moaned and snorted, sniffling, getting himself a nose-full of Bart’s sweat from the back of his head. But it was Bart who got more sweat in his face, with Angus’s body all around him. Everywhere Bart looked was frenzied male flesh rolling and flexing. He slurped every bit of it clean, unable to resist even as his ass cried out for mercy.
Then, it was over. Angus backed off, and his dick slid out.
“Shit…” Bart said again, then clasped his hands over his mouth. “Sorry. That’s a bad habit.”
“I should think so,” Angus said with a judgmental snort. He slapped his own belly, making his muscles ripple. Bart leaved over and kissed his hairy chest.
“I’m really sorry,” Bart said. “Maybe I could hang around your farm for a couple days and keep you satisfied.” Bart suspected there were farmworkers around too, which might give him plenty enough variety to be entertained.
“That would be acceptable. It will take you some time to arrange for that milking-machine as well.”
“Oh, right, sure,” Bart said. “Is it okay if I stay here? In this barn?”
“Here? This is where all the men come to bathe- Oh.” Angus realized that was precisely why Bart liked it. Angus smirked and stood. He waved his dick around above Bart’s face, making a few drops of either sweat or cum or both — Bart couldn’t tell — plop onto his lips. Bart swallowed them up. They were sweet and salty and delicious. “Fine,” Angus said.
He waddled away, putting on his overalls only just before he stepped outside. That left Bart in the barn alone, to work out a plan to seduce as many farmworkers as he could find!
Madhu is a doctor servicing roughnecks from an oil rig, but when one of them comes to him with a major problem, Madhu is eager to help out… That’s because he’s gonna get to climb atop this hairy roughneck, giving him an adventure in Twink on Top!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Madhu Sharma came home, exhausted. He had only just moved in, so his apartment didn’t feel like home yet, it still felt like a poorly maintained hotel room. But today’s shift at the medical center was twelve hours long, so he was too tired to care. This was the first time he had come home to this apartment and not felt like he was stepping into someone else’s house. He needed to take a shower and make himself some dinner, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t even have the energy to take his shoes off. Madhu plopped onto his couch, too tired even to turn the TV on, only to be interrupted seconds later by a knock on the door.
“Goddamnit…” He wheezed like an old man as he got up.
It was Harley Willard from down below, he realized after pulling himself up to look through the peephole. Harley was an oil rig worker who lived in the lower part of this duplex. He had a hairy chest, hairy arms and legs, a scruffy beard and a hairy back. The only part of his body hair that he trimmed was his beard, which Madhu thought was ironic. He didn’t try to explain the irony to Harley.
In the tiny town of Onagnok, North Dakota, virtually everyone was a male oil rig worker with tattoos, hairy bodies and rough demeanors. Madhu was one of very few people in town who were not roughnecks. Madhu was a medical resident, working at the town’s only clinic.
He opened the door, realizing as he did that Harley was nervous, like he was waiting for bad news. Harley tapped one foot on the patio as Madhu took him in. “Hi, Harley,” Madhu said.
“Hey, uh… Can I ask you for a favor?”
“Um… I guess so. What? I’m really tired. I just got off work,” Madhu said. He didn’t want to sound mean, he wanted to be on good relations with his neighbor. But he was off-duty. He didn’t want to talk about medicine right now.
“I know, I been waiting. I got an ‘ppointment for next week, but, I, uh… I found a lump,” he said. His eyes trembled like he was near tears.
“What?”
“A lump,” he said quietly, his brown, rugged face turning bright red. “On my, uh… testicle.” It sounded like he had never said the word testicle out loud before.
“Oh, well… Uh, you really need an actual appointment, I can’t do a full exam here,” Madhu said. He sighed — he wanted to be close to Harley, so he had a feeling he was going to talk himself into it. A testicle lump was serious, after all. If Harley needed to see a urologist, it would be better to find out now and get him a referral as soon as possible, rather than waiting for next week. It didn’t take any special equipment to palpate a testicle, just a pair of gloves (and even that wasn’t really necessary).
“I know, I gots an appointment, next week. I just… My dad died of cancer. Not, y’know ball cancer, but still… Can you just tell me if I should be worried? Or if I should go right to an oncologist?”
Madhu sighed. “Fine. Come on in,” he said. “Drop your pants.”
Harley must have been really nervous, Madhu thought, because he was already taking his belt off as he came in. He put both hands on the side of the couch and gripped it tightly. His pants were around his ankles, and those thick thighs were covered only by dingy white briefs. The vast layer of thickly choked leg hair pressed against the fabric of his underwear. His muscles were all tense.
He smelled strongly of sawdust and engine oil, a scent that sent a frisson up Madhu’s spine. He inhaled deeply of the invigorating aroma, every whiff of which woke him up a notch.
Craving caffeine, Madhu tried to wake himself up more. He had an ethical duty to do his best, even for something like this — it wasn’t a big deal from Madhu’s perspective. It was a big deal from Harley’s perspective, that was true. After all, it could be something serious. But it probably wasn’t, and all Madhu could do was feel a lump and refer Harley to a specialist. Madhu didn’t need to actually diagnose it and in fact couldn’t do more than say “yep, that’s a lump”.
Madhu had an emergency kit by the door, so Madhu grabbed a pair of gloves and slid his hand between Harley’s legs. Once he got the gloves on and had an array of medical equipment in front of him, he felt more alert and more professional, like the gear had triggered feelings from his medical school.
A sigh rattled out of his throat.
He palpated each testicle thoroughly. He turned on the doctor part of his brain and the part of his brain that loves hairy roughnecks went to mute.
There was no lump. He felt again, but there was nothing. Had he made a mistake? Madhu had done a urology residency already, he was confident in his ability to feel a lump (which was really very simple — a lump was a lump, you couldn’t miss it). There was an ingrown hair on the rear part of his scrotum, near the perineum, but that was it.
“Uh, Harley, where’s the lump? I don’t feel it.”
“It’s right there, in the back.” He reached between his legs and pointed to that ingrown hair.
“That’s not a lump. First of all, that’s not even your testicle, Harley, that’s your scrotum.”
“Yeah, but that’s the same region, right?”
“Well, yeah, same region, but there’s a big difference. That’s just an ingrown hair. Are you a chimney sweep?”
“A what?”
“A chimney sweep, like in Victorian England? In the past?”
“Am I from Victorian England? No,” he said. “Green Bay, Wisconsin. The present.”
“Scrotal cancer is very rare, basically unheard of except if you’re a chimney sweep, they used to get scrotum tumors,” he said. “The scrotum is just skin, so you can get skin cancer there, but you rarely get skin cancer without exposure to the sun, like a lot of it. So scrotums are pretty safe.” Madhu pulled out a pair of tweezers and pulled the ingrown hair out. Harley winced in pain. “That should be fine. Come in for your appointment anyway, sometimes these things get infected. Keep your crotch dry and clean. But you don’t need to worry, you don’t have testicular cancer.”
“Oh, thank god!”
“I’m glad you’re doing self-exams though,” Madhu said.
“How can I repay you?”
“Uh…” Madhu wanted to say that the obvious answer was to pay him with money, which he desperately needed right now, having just paid a lot to move into his new place. But that would seem greedy, he thought, and in any case, if Harley could afford to pay money, he wouldn’t have asked how to repay him.
“I mean… I can’t afford to pay anything in money,” Harley said. He turned around, showing his bare cock and hairy crotch. “But you jack off, right?” He flopped his dick between his thick fingers. “You’re into that, right?”
Madhu nodded.
“Well… There ain’t many women in town.”
“I noticed.”
“So, if you wanted to taste my dick, I’d be fine with that,” he said. Despite the hesitance in his voice, Madhu suspected he’d be more than ‘fine’ with it — he was horny. He wanted to blow a nut and didn’t mind where it came from.
But Madhu was annoyed at having to do work for free, when he was supposed to be off, especially silly work that would have been unnecessary if Harley knew the difference between a scrotum and a testicle. So he shook his head. “I’m not that kind of guy,” he said. “I’ll jack off with you if you wanna get a nut off, but I’m on top. You gotta get me off and take it in the ass.” He shrugged, assuming that Harley would never agree to anything like that.
“Fine,” Harley said, barely giving it a moment’s thought. He looked around Madhu’s apartment as though checking for witnesses. No one was here. In this remote part of North Dakota, there was virtually always no one around, wherever you looked — that was the main feature of this region.
But while there were few people generally, there were even fewer women specifically. That meant men like Harley were plagued with stiffies.
There was a long pause as Madhu tried to figure out if he was joking. “What?”
“I mean… I just wanna get my nut off, and I can tell you’s into it,” he said. “Back on the rig, me and the fat sonuvabitch Gerry got drunk and messed around cuz we was both so horny, and you know… there wasn’t nothin’ else to do. But that was gross. I ain’t like that one bit.” He blushed. “Jerry’s big and hairy, and he smells like feet. I discottoned to that. Since you a tiny little twink and you look like a girl anyway — no offense, darlin’ — I thought you’d be easier to take.”
“Uh, well… Okay,” Madhu said, so shocked that he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You will get me off, right? We can sixty-nine? I have gotta bust a nut. I’ll just pretend I’s on the rig.”
“You guys really do that on the rig a lot?” Madhu said. He took his gloves off and tossed them in the trash
“Nah,” Harley said with a chuckle. “Well, some guys do. Kinda. It don’t count on the rig. That’s sorta… you ain’t sposedta be squeamish about it, you know, if some guy wanna get off on you, you should let him.” He put both hands up. “I don’t truck with that. I like pussy. I fuck the everloving shit outta some pussy.”
“Hmm-hmm,” Madhu said. He felt small next to Harley’s broad-muscled body, which was bare now, muscle flexing with each breath he took. He was remarkably nonchalant about it, you could tell he got naked among strangers several times a day. He had the body language of it. He stood there, swaggering and sorta grabbing at himself as though to check all his body parts were still there, and he stretched his rough-hewn face too, like he was loosening up for a performance. Harley’s chest was tattoed, but they were old and faded and overgrown with body hair like a shut-in’s garden.
“What? Why you lookin’ at me?” Harley said. “Don’t laugh ’bout that shit on the rig — that’s how it goes — and don’t tell nobody, what happens on the rig stays on the rig, homeboy! That’s a rule!” He wagged his finger at Madhu. “I got that doctor-patient confidential, I got confidentials all over that one.”
Madhu nodded. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Everybody gets stiffies.” He paused. “Well, not women.”
Then he grabbed Harley’s dick, which immediately jumped to attention in his hand. It was a long cock, a fact that Madhu didn’t really notice until he had it in his hand and had switched from doctor-mode to jack-off-mode. His exhaustion after a hard day’s work disappeared in a haze of anticipation.
Harley’s wiry muscles and dingy, amateur tattoos trembled as he closed his eyes and Madhu dropped his own pants. Madhu’s dick was not as big as Harley’s, but it was nothing to sneeze at, and Harley looked at like he wished it was smaller. Madhu hefted his dick in one hand and thwacked it against Harley’s, which made him wince.
“Don’t even try ’bout puttin’ nuttin’ in mah ass, homeboy,” Harley said. His country accent was thicker now, as though he had either been speaking more properly when asking for a favor and getting medical advice or his arousal was making his Southern accent return to the forefront of his voice. He leaned back, as though ready to fall over if it weren’t for Madhu holding onto his dick, which remained flaccid so far.
Stroking both cocks at once, Madhu licked Harley’s nipples. Harley began flexing his hips, fucking Madhu’s hand like it was a pussy. Meanwhile his dick jerked, beginning to get hard as Madhu’s own cock leaked precum down his shaft. “You guys don’t do butt stuff on the rig?” Madhu asked. He let both dicks angle around together, while his hands explored the rippling muscles of Harvey’s chest. Harvey ignored his touches, and he just sat there like Madhu was here to bestow an erection upon him and he needn’t be involved beyond providing the dick.
Harley nodded. “Some fellahs do, it’s gross,” he said. “No offense. I mean… I ain’t in prison, I don’t wanna do no booty bandit shit. I was in prison too, a couple years ago, I know how that goes. I done watch this big-ass black fellah get turned inside out, shit, man, he was either howling for less or begging for more, I never found out, shit was crazy. I don’t fuck with that.” He paused. “No offense. It wasn’t a racial thing. Black guys was who was on top of him. It was all-black.” He looked down as though he only now noticed his dick was hard. “Thanks. You look like a girl anyway. Barely counts. There ain’t no females for miles around. That’s another rule. Once there’s no women around for a hundred miles, you have to give up the ass. It’s a roughneck rule.”
“There are women around-“
“Prostitutes don’t count.”
“There’s still a couple women around. Williston is less than a hundred miles away,” Madhu said.
“Well, that’s why I don’t do butt stuff!” Harley said. He took both dicks in his own roughly callused grip, and he stroked them together. Madhu’s hands continued exploring Harley’s well-muscled frame. As Harley masturbated both shafts together, his muscles flexed as though he had to use all of them to stroke both cocks together.
Madhu licked his lips, leaning in close to partake of Harley’s masculine musk. He smiled and sucked on each of Harley’s nipples, licking those thick work-toned pecs as he worked his way down to Harley’s half-hard cock. He kissed the tip, smiling as it jiggled and spasmed in excitement.
Gently pushing Harley to the couch, Madhu laid him down on his back. Then Madhu climbed atop, his thin twink body barely fitting on Harley’s massive frame. He had to delicately balance himself in the scrap of couch that was not covered by Harley, and Madhu nearly fell as he lowered himself onto Harley.
He pointed his cock into Harley’s mouth, surprised that Harley wasn’t resistant at all, and didn’t even seem too disgusted by it. He did wrinkle his nose as he tasted Madhu’s dick, but he didn’t resist, and his wide throat easily swallowed every inch. He gagged as it hit the back of his throat.
Madhu kissed Harley’s cock, slurping on the tip and licking up the precum that dripped down the shaft. Harley’s dick spasmed and shook. The veins of his manhood throbbed within Harley’s mouth, and the taste of his unfiltered manhood — a mixture of sweat, precum, and stale grease — wafted into Madhu’s aroused nostrils. He inhaled deeply of the intoxicating aroma.
They sixty-nined there for what felt like a very brief period to Madhu, but seemed like forever to Harley. He was so wide and broad-shouldered that he barely fit on the couch when laying down, and it was awkward to have Madhu on top of him. Madhu loved the feel of the man’s crude muscles writhing beneath his smooth twink body, and he especially loved his balls resting on Harley’s crooked, oft-broken nose, a remnant of his wilder bar-fighting days (or so he had told Madhu when they first met).
When he felt his own orgasm coming, Madhu got up. Harley growled like he was horny as Madhu’s cock pulled away from his mouth, as though he wanted to taste more of it. He seemed to forget he was straight for a moment. Thick tendrils of spit connected Harley’s mouth to Madhu’s dick.
“You’s a pretty boy… If’n I evuh get locked up again, I’m gonna hope my cellmate looks like you,” Harley said, his voice equal parts aroused and menacing. He bent over the couch and stuck his tanned ass in the air. He spread his legs wide and hung his head in a mixture of shame and anticipation. “Be gentle, boy.”
“I will. You can tell me to stop,” Madhu said. He smiled at the sight of Harley’s asshole, which was thick with dark blond hair. It winked as fresh cold air washed over it, and Harley’s whole body shuddered. He even moaned like he was in pain even though nothing had happened yet.
Madhu spat on his hand to use as lube, then when he felt how tight it was with his finger, he knew he needed actual lubricant. Luckily, his medical bag was already next to the couch, and he had a tube of lube ready there — it was actually more effective than the consumer-grade lube, so Madhu thought it would be ideal for a near-virgin like Harley.
“This’ll be cold,” he said, then dribbled lube onto the top of Harley’s asscrack. He squealed and shuddered, those perfect tan asscheeks shaking. Madhu gently rubbed the lube down Harley’s crack and to his tight hole. His finger hesitated there at the entrance, waiting for his sphincter to open up.
Then it did and Madhu let his finger push in. Harley winced and lifted one leg up like a dog about to piss. Madhu smiled to himself as Harley’s body slowly adjusted. He switched briefly back to doctor-mode, just long enough to feel Harley’s prostate — which was perfectly spongy, just the right size, a healthy young man’s prostate. Then he began moving his finger inside and out.
After a few minutes of that, Harley’s moan moved from pained to aroused, and Madhu knew that was it. This was his cue. He withdrew his finger and lined his dick up with that twinkling hot hole — he had to get up on his toes to reach.
Madhu pushed his dick in and sighed. Harley’s hole was tight, and he had to keep adding lube to get himself in. He hit resistance at the first inch, then the third, and it was a struggle to keep going.
Harley bit his lip and howled. Though it was clearly a pained sound, Madhu detected a faint note of pleasure as well. It wasn’t all bad for him, Madhu suspected. Harley’s voice broke as he submitted to inch after inch of Madhu’s dick. He kept raising his left foot higher and higher until Madhu had to push it back down — Madhu was so much smaller than Harley that the elevated leg made it difficult to keep going.
“Oh god, thanks, Harley, I really needed this,” Madhu said, clutching the big man’s broad back muscles. He had a few tats that looked amateurly done, either when Harley was in his youthful rebellion phase or in prison; either way, they were faded pictures of a naked woman, a Confederate flag and a rampaging bear, all of them wrinkled and writhing as pleasure and agony alike suffused Harley’s body.
The phone rang. Madhu thought it was his phone at first, but when he pulled it out of his crumpled-up pants, he saw that his screen was dead. Harley grabbed for his phone in his pants on the ground. He winced when he saw who it was.
“I gotta take this, it’s my boss,” he said, his voice resigned and annoyed. “Hello? Yeah. No, man! I ain’t taking a shit, I just… I sound weird cuz I don’t feel good right now, and I just stubbed my toe. That’s it,.” He winced and gritted his teeth as he talked. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah, sure, whatever. Of course I did. Tell him he’s just gotta tighten it. I am not. He knows how to do it. Get a vertical wrench, he can do it. I ain’t comin’ in. Don’t even say that. Nope. Just tighten all four corners. It’ll work. That’s all I’d do, that’s all I know how to do. I don’t know how to fix it, I’ve told you that a hundred times, all I know how to do is tighten all four corners! Then shove the wrench up your ass, maybe that’ll help, I ain’t comin’ in!” He hung up the phone and tossed it on the floor. He buried his nose in the couch cushion and moaned, his tone showing both anger and desire.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just stick it in me!” Harley exclaimed, his voice muffled by the couch. Madhu couldn’t tell if he exclaimed because he was enraged, horny, impassioned or agonized, or maybe a mixture of all four. He bit his lip and hung his shaggy head low. Madhu caressed his thick mop of hair, which was greasy with the day’s sweat.
He began working his dick in and out, sighing as pleasure again suffused him. Madhu’s tension about a long day at work, and his discomfort in his new home, faded away. He felt his orgasm coming on, and he had a feeling Harley wasn’t that far away either.
“Gimme a reacharound,” Harley said.
“Are you sure. I thought you wanted to cornhole me when I was done?”
“Just do it, I don’t care,” Harley said, hanging his head. “I just need to get my rocks off now.”
Madhu grabbed his dick and stroked. Madhu was so much smaller than Madhu that he had to struggle to reach all the way around; his arm barely reached. But when he did get a grip on it, Harley’s whole body shivered and jerked. His dick pulsated, and Madhu could feel the imminent orgasm coursing through the prominent veins of his cockshaft.
Harley reached orgasm just seconds later, as though Madhu had flicked a switch. Cum sprayed over Madhu’s brand-new couch, and into Madhu’s fingers. Harley’s muscles all tensed at once, vibrating like a rickety car at top speed. He held his breath, grunting over and over with every pump of Madhu’s dick inside his guts.
“Oh damn, boy, that was nice…” Harley said, then blushed and bit his lip as though he hadn’t meant to admit he enjoyed it.
Before Madhu could respond, he shot his own load, and hot cum filled up Harley’s ass. Madhu’s thin twink body writhed just like Harley’s had, the movement making Harley twist as Madhu’s dick touched every corner of his insides.
Madhu pulled out and sighed. “Damn, Harley…”
“Fuck, I needed that,” he said. He blushed as he pulled away and wiped his ass off with a tissue. He breathed a sigh of relief when Madhu’s cock plopped out of him. “Fuck… I thought for sure I wasn’t gonna be able to cum wit’ yer dick inside me.” He blushed even harder as he verbalized what had happened. He avoided eye contact with Madhu.
“It’s okay, everyone enjoys prostate stimulation,” Madhu said. “That’s a medical fact.”
“Yeah, well… thanks. Don’t tell no one,” he said. “You can tell ‘em I let you jack me off. That’s fine, ain’t nobody care about that. But don’t let ‘em know I… y’know, did anything.”
“Don’t worry, I’m your doctor, Harley. This is all confidential,” Madhu said. He patted Harley on the ass. “You can put some aloe on your ass and Neosporin on that ingrown hair. They’ll both feel better soon.” He smiled as he watched Harley dress and head out the door.
“See ya,” Harley said quietly. He didn’t wait for a response, he was already gone.
That was fine with Madhu. He didn’t really want to hang out anyway. He just wanted to wait for Harley to come back for a second visit, or maybe one of the other roughnecks around here, Madhu thought, would be willing to come by and give him another exciting adventure.
