negotiating – Mansploitation

The Cookie Jar Collector

Rob is hoping for a studly white collar businessman, and he just might get what he craves! He knows a secret about Mr. Maltley, who’s willing to give Rob the ride of a lifetime in exchange for keeping that secret. Can Rob handle it?

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Read the whole thing here!

“Hello, I’d like to see Jonathan Maltley,” said Rob Winthrop. He smiled at the receptionist, who was a slim-faced loam-eye with a thin, shrill voice that made him seem less handsome once you heard it. He looked like a turtle that lost its shell in a kiln, and you could tell he didn’t have enough testosterone to grow the mustache he thought he deserved.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked the annoying assistant with a wrinkle in his nose like Rob should have already known all this. He sat back in his chair as though he was overlooking his empire, which he was, but ‘his empire’ was this waiting room. Least regal emperor ever. Your average emperor penguin is more commanding. The assistant soured up in Rob’s direction. “Mr. Maltley is a very busy man. He is a tycoon of industry. He oversees companies — companies in the plural. He doesn’t just take meetings with anyone. He’s very busy.”
“Oh, I understand, I really do. I think he’ll want to take this meeting,” Rob said. He glanced at the door into Mr. Maltley’s office, but it was a heavy door latched shut, perhaps even locked. There was no way in without permission. Rob had rather hoped to just barge in, but that was clearly not going to happen.
The waiting area looked like a ski lodge, paneled with rich wood, photos of snow-covered mountains framed and dappling the walls giving the whole area a chill, like just being reminded of a chalet was enough to make Rob shiver. Or maybe it was the overly air-conditioned air. The only part of the office that looked like what it was — an ordinary office on the forty-sixth floor of a skyscraper in Manhattan — was the cheap off-blue carpet, which looked like it had been a luxurious azure at one point years ago.
“Hmm-hmm.” The assistant smiled politely, which just made his rat-like face more weaselish. If he knew how he looked when he smiled, he’d never do it. “What can I tell him this is concerning?”
“Cookie storage.”
“Cookie storage?” He picked up a telephone receiver, but he put it down when he heard Rob say ‘cookie storage’. He smiled again. “I see. So you, uh… represent… a warehouse? Or-“
“No, sorry, this is about the storage of a small number of cookies. Not, like, trucks worth,” Rob said. “It is not a commercial venture.”
“… Is that something Mr. Maltley is interested in?”
“You’d have to ask him,” Rob said. “He’s free to say no. I’ll gladly go if he doesn’t want to see me. Please just ask him.”
His eyebrows fluttered. The assistant, whose nameplate on his desk said he was Prateek Nayka, pursed his lips. Then his eyes lit up. “Ooooh! Cookies, like on the Internet? Internet cookies?”
“No, I mean the baked good,” Rob said. “I am here to discuss with him methods of storing cookies. Chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, etc. Biscuits if you’re British.”
“Hmm.” The assistant sat there like an obnoxious mushroom, phone in hand though he wasn’t yet dialed into Mr. Maltley’s office. He waited a long time, maybe hoping Rob would clarify voluntarily or maybe just too flummoxed to decide on the next course of action.
The assistant looked at the phone as though deciding whether to ask Mr. Maltley about this on the phone or to go in his office and ask in person. He put the phone down and went in. Rob wasn’t surprised. He’d learned a long time ago that it was better to ask for something preposterous in person in a situation like this. If he’d said he was here to discuss becoming the new supplier of steel cables or “bandwidth” (Rob didn’t know what bandwidth was) for Mr. Maltley’s businesses, the assistant would never have let him in or even considered it. If you said something seemingly preposterous, the assistant wouldn’t know if it was a real thing or not, if it was code or a reference to something above his pay grade. There were a lot of possibilities that simply didn’t exist if you claimed you represented something mundane like a steel supplier.
Rob wasn’t lying though. He really was here to speak to Mr. Maltley about cookie storage.
“Mr. Maltley will see you now,” the assistant said, glaring at Rob as he opened the door. He gestured into the office like an ungainly giraffe. Rob entered and shut the door behind himself.
Mr. Maltley sat at his desk, head cocked to the side, eyebrows furrowed with a disapproving glre. He made a face like Prateek should have kept Rob out of his office, even though he would have done so if Mr. Maltley said so. He let Rob because Mr. Maltley said he did want to see him.
He did want to discuss cookie storage, it seemed.
Rob was not surprised by that. He was momentarily flummoxed, however, because Mr. Maltley was handsome. That was also not a surprise — it was the entire reason Rob was here — but it did throw him for a loop when he finally saw him in person. He was broad-shouldered and thick, black-haired but with a few silver roots as though he dyed it and needed to redye it soon. Rob was fine with him like that, since he liked the older men who maintained powerhouse physiques, especially in fine Italian suits.
Billions of dollars to his name didn’t hurt either. That would raise anyone up a notch or two.
“You’re here to talk to me about cookie storage. I don’t know what makes you think that’s an area I’m interested in.” Mr. Maltley said. “I don’t own a bakery.”
“I don’t lecture on feces either, so let’s not talk shit,” Rob said. “You let me in. If you weren’t interested, you’d’ve told that ass-heap to kick me out.”
“That ass-heap has a name.” He shifted his weight in his chair, and his eyebrows wiggled. Mr. Maltley was an eyebrow captain, but a handsome one. In an earlier era, he’d have been a salty seadog with a well-weathered face. Instead he was smooth and rugged like a painting of a horse. “I don’t remember it. It’s something Indian.”
“Under the Waxing Moon Proudfeather.”
“Wrong kind of Indian.”
“I know. He just has that ‘Under the Waxing Moon’ energy,” Rob said. “I wanted to show you something and see what you thought-” Rob busied himself with opening his briefcase. It was only two latches, but he wanted to make Mr. Maltley wait, so he pretended to have trouble with it. “Ah, there we go.” He lifted up a beautiful ornate cookie jar and placed it in his lap. It was a panda bear, arms and legs wrapped around a bee whose body was the actual jar. Its insectoid eyes were the lid, giving it an sinister vibe that was counteracted by the jolly bear with its amygdaliformic eyes.
Up until this moment, Rob had thought of the jar as just a tool to get what he wanted out of Mr. Maltley. It didn’t even occur to him to wonder why a cookie jar might be important or valuable or that it might really have an artistic statement. Once he pulled it out of the briefcase, however, he briefly saw it in the same light that Mr. Maltley did, and it made him feel flush with fear, disgust, comfort, humor, hunger, warmth, cold, all at once. It hummed and buzzed and rolled and frolicked, and when he touched it, Rob was struck with sunny warmth and the comfort of a hug, and the smell — no, not the smell, the feel, the vibe — of fresh-baked cookies wafted through his senses. The cookie jar brought him back to a childhood he’d never had, and for a moment that his mind constructed into an eternity, Rob saw the passage of his life, but not his actual life, his life if he had been born to the kind of mother who baked cookies and put them in a jar like this. He saw flashes of himself as a child, helping her cook, sneaking cookies, baking them for her for Mother’s Day, binging on them in his teenage years, eschewing them as baby-stuff, receiving the jar as a gift and filling them with his own cookies to dole out to the children this imaginary Rob presumably had, just out of sight.
He was almost reluctant to give it up. But that was the only reason he bought it, the only reason he brought it here. Of course he was going to give it up.
Mr. Maltley’s eyes opened wide. He gripped his desk tightly, then frowned and gritted his teeth. “First, I’d like to know why you came to see me about this.”
“Because I know you want it. You probably recognized it right away, didn’t you? It’s a Caranzano. They call it L’Abbraccio Eterno-“
“L’Abbraccio Eterno.” Mr. Maltley murmured with a much better Italian accent than Rob. “You believe I have an interest in cookie jars?”
“Look, you don’t have to hide it from me,” Rob said. “I know you went to Cookie-Con in 1991, and I have records from an insurance company showing you have a collection in your home-“
“How did you get that?” His silky voice turned biting and authoritative, and his eyes narrowed to slits.
“None of your business,” Rob said.
“It is precisely my business. My insurance policies are literally an example of business that I do-“
“Relax, relax, I’m not going to blow your secret. It shouldn’t matter to the Board of Directors anyway,” Rob said. He leaned back in the chair opposite Mr. Maltley’s. It was not the kind of chair that should be leaned back, and Mr. Maltley frowned, but Rob pretended he was unaware of the chair’s high-fashion design and of Mr. Maltley’s sourpatch frown. Rob licked his teeth. “But we both know it does. They don’t want a cookie-jar-collecting weirdo as CEO.” He smiled like a sunbeam at Mr. Maltley.
“Hmmm… Are you reaching a point, Mister…?”
“Winthrop.”
“Winthrop. Like Eugene Winthrop? The PayUp guy?”
“That’s my father. Eugene, not the app.”
He licked his teeth then, and he looked Rob up and down. “Is this a negotiation tactic? You think I’m gonna to give way on the processing fees for a Caranzano?”
It was Rob’s turn to throw his eyebrows way back at that. “I didn’t know about that. I don’t talk to my dad. If you’re negotiating with him, that’s not related to this,” Rob said. “I came here to talk about your collection. About adding to it. About adding a Caranzano to it.” Rob lifted the cookie jar he had brought here, the panda hugging a bee. “You don’t have any way to buy something this high-profile without the Board finding out.”
Mr. Maltley’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What do you want?”
“I want to taste your dick,” Rob said. “That’s all. Let me jack you off. I’ll use my mouth, and yes, I do swallow. And… if you want, you can cornhole me. Then you can add this fine Caranzano handmade cookie jar to your collection. They only made a hundred of these-“
“They made a hundred and ten, counting the prototypes.” Mr. Maltley frowned again — he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He clammed up and looked down his nose at Rob.
“You don’t have anything to be ashamed about. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It’s well-made, gorgeous-“
“It doesn’t need to be gorgeous. You don’t understand. A cookie jar is not just a place to store cookies. It is a living, breathing piece of art, a piece of childhood set in a fixed form. It is more than you can dream of, little man,” Mr. Maltley said. He stood and came to the front of his desk. “Why should I let you jack me off? For a cookie jar?! You would sully a cookie jar with tawdry perversion?”
“I would. Yes.”
“Let me pay you for it. The last time one was sold the price was seven thousand dollars. My cock is not worth that much.”
“I know. I think it is definitely worth seven thousand dollars,” Rob said. “I don’t get to taste a lot of billionaire dick.”
“You really want to jack me off with your mouth — which is utterly foul — instead of making seven thousand dollars?” Mr. Maltley said. When Rob didn’t immediately answer, he added, “Ten thousand.”
“Do you really want to pay ten grand instead of blow a nut?”
“This isn’t really something I do. I never spent time in a Turkish prison.”
“Oh, you should!” Rob said with a grin. He smacked his lips and slipped out of his chair. Mr. Maltley stood so close to him Rob would have been unable to stand up if he wanted to.
But he wasn’t trying to stand. He got on his knees in front of Mr. Maltley. He had jacked off enough men to know that they would say no if the answer was no. If they started trying to convince him to want something else, the answer was yes, they just didn’t want to admit to themselves that they were willing to do it without proving they tried really hard to get around it.
“You have to tell me where you got it. I can’t add it to my collection without a documented provenance,” Mr. Maltley said. “Is it stolen?”
“No! I inherited it from my great aunt. I barely knew her, this was just in a storage locker I got. Don’t worry, I have the paperwork from the will. I’ll send it to you. She paid for it, she bought it in Italy in 1994. She went there on a tour of the gigolos of Genoa,” Rob said.
“Why did she give it to you?”
“Do you really care? I don’t know, if you must know,” Rob said. “Probably she knew the rest of my family would just sell it to the highest bidder.”
“What’s wrong with that? I’m the highest bidder.”
“In dollars, yes, but I’m not looking to get paid in dollars,” Rob said. “And I have no desire for a fancy cookie jar. Or even a normal one. I don’t eat carbs.”
“You don’t store cookies in a cookie jar, that would be insane.”
“What do you do with them?”
“Appreciate them. Allow them to mature, to flourish in a spiritual way.” He pronounced ‘mature’ with a hard t, which made Rob frown.
“I see.”
“And you don’t want the money?” Mr. Maltley asked. “You’re not asking for ten grand?”
“I have plenty of money. What I don’t have is a your cock in my mouth.” Rob crossed his arms over his chest.
Mr. Maltley pursed his lips and nodded. “Fine…”
Rob slowly tweaked Mr. Maltley’s cock through the soft fabric of his slacks. When Mr. Maltley just sighed without complaining, Rob stroked it more fully, and leaned forward as Mr. Maltley sat on the edge of his desk.
He leaned back farther, both to give Rob easy access to his crotch and to reach his phone. He pressed a button. “Please hold my calls and don’t disturb us in here.”
“Yes, sir,” Prateek said through the intercom. His desire to know what was going in here was audible even through the tinny speakers, and Rob smirked. He suspected Prateek would be out there listening at the door before Rob was finished. But the door was too thick for any sound to travel through it.
When he hung up the phone, Mr. Maltley came back around to this side of his desk. He sat his plump ass on the edge of it, with the body language of a man expecting someone else to take his dick out and service it.
That was exactly the look Rob came here hoping to see.
He unzipped Mr. Maltley’s slacks and hefted his cock out. It was thick and smooth, heavy-balled, veinless or nearly so, and it was nice and meaty like a slab of beef. Rob slapped himself over the face with it. Mr. Maltley yawned and rolled his eyes.
“Have you ever been gotten a nut off in a man before?”
Mr. Maltley crossed his arms over his chest. He closed his eyes when Rob licked his shaft, then cleared his throat. “I was poor in college. I… I may have made some money in… in ways I do not tell people about now.”
“Oh yeah? I bet you had lots of fans back then,” Rob said with a shrug. “Those blue eyes… they’re the color of this sapphire on my mother’s favorite necklace.”
“The shade is called ‘endless sky’,” Mr. Maltley said as though Rob should have known that.
“I’m sure you were handsome then, but I like you better a little older.” Before Mr. Maltley could respond to that, Rob started throating him deeply, opening his throat wide to swallow every inch of his foot-long meat. It tasted warm and sunny, and it throbbed even now, fully soft, where it rubbed against Rob’s tongue.
“Goddamn…” Mr. Maltley had obviously not expected this to actually feel good. His eyes opened wide and he looked down. His face simmered ruddily and sweat dappled his chin. His chest rippled underneath his fine suit, as he licked his teeth and sparks of pleasure rocked his body.
He watched as his cock firmed up in Rob’s mouth, until it was rock-hard, veiny now, throbbing, pulsating. Rob slipped all the way down it until his nose was buried in Mr. Maltley’s dense pubic bush, which was past the fly of his slacks, so Rob’s face nuzzled his crotch in his pants.
Rob looked up at him and made eye contact as Mr. Maltley threw his head back, shuddered and bit back a moan.. He gripped the surface of the desk he sat on as though he might fall over if he didn’t hold on.
His cock popped out of Rob’s mouth, and this time, Rob did not chase it. He let it bob around in front of his face, dribbling precum onto his nose and upper lip. “You want to ramrod me? In the ass?” Rob asked, his mouth moist with precum.
“A rude way to put it. I’m not a convict,” Mr. Maltley said with a snarl, which he tried to relax into a snooty smirk. His chest rumbled beneath his suit, cock throbbing and leaking precum so fast it coated Rob’s face. Mr. Maltley leaned forward so it wouldn’t get on his suit pants. “Or a Puerto Rican.” He sniffled. “But yes. Get up and turn around.”
Rob nodded. He stood, and he bent his body over the desk where Mr. Maltley had been leaning the other direction a moment ago. He jutted his ass up.
Mr. Maltley waited. “Well? Take your pants down.”
“You do it. I took your dick out,” Rob said.
“So? Oh… fine, you prancing little shit,” Mr. Maltley said. He wrinkled his nose as though this part was distasteful, as he reached around Rob’s body to handle his belt. He undid the buckle, and Rob’s pants fell down.
Mr. Maltley squeezed first one asscheek, then the other, through his underwear. He tugged down Rob’s underwear as though it was some foul thing he didn’t want to touch. Rob sensed he had rarely or never touched another man’s underwear.
He spread Rob’s asscheeks with one hand. A little sneer came on his face, and it turned into a frown when Rob’s cheeks were bare. He looked away. “I’m not some prissy nerd, you know.”
“Uh-huh.” Rob felt the hotness of Mr. Maltley’s cock throbbing between his asscheeks.
“I went to Princeton on a scholarship. A needy youths scholarship,” he said.
“Awesome, man, is this the right time to be talking about that?”
“You probably think I’m some cleancut WASP, who thinks ramrodding is something Tupac invented after he was shot. I’m not like that.”
Rob sighed and turned his head around so he could see Mr. Maltley, who stood behind him, still spreading Rob’s asscheeks with one hand. His other hand held his throbbing erection like a javelin waiting for a go-order. Rob said, “I’m more of a Biggie Smalls guy. Are you gonna do this or not?”
“I am, I am. Just don’t get the wrong idea about me,” he said. He straightened his tie. Then he pistoned his hips, forcing his cock in Rob’s tight hole.
He slipped the knob in his ass, and a burst of painful pleasure wracked Rob’s body. Rob wasn’t ready for that. He clenched his teeth and took a deep breath through his nose, forcing his ass to relax. That let Mr. Maltley’s cock slide in far enough to hit Rob’s prostate.
As a wave of pleasure hit Rob’s body, his whole body undulated, and he cried out. Mr. Maltley pushed harder, his dick entering deeper and deeper with each thrust of his hips. He was already on the verge of cumming when Rob stopped licking it, so the tightness of Rob’s ass soon sent him to the precipice of an orgasm.
“Oh god, they taught you well at Princeton,” Rob said, his breathing jagged and panty, sensations sparkling over his body.
“Watch it. Don’t insult the Tiger,” he said, and his own chest muscles rippled beneath his tailored Italian suit.
“I didn’t!” Rob’s voice wavered because a jolt of pleasure coursed through his body. “I said they taught you well!”
Plowing back and forth, Mr. Maltley’s balls slapped against Rob’s asscheeks. He grumbled and maybe had a response, but his cock felt too good in Rob’s ass for him to hear it. Finally Mr. Maltley’s whole cock was ramming in and out of Rob’s dick, long-dicking him like, apparently, only a Princeton man could.
A wave of ecstasy hit Rob’s senses. His prostate came alive more and more, thrumming and humming, the pleasure growing with each collision of Mr. Maltley’s cocktip with Rob’s prostate. Rob cried out loud enough that fuckfaced assistant in the other room heard it faintly through the locked door and tried to guess what was happening.
A gurgling moan escaped from Rob’s lips as he felt Mr. Maltley approach orgasm. His cock pulsated like a beast in Rob’s ass, and the motion made Rob cried out with desire. His heavy balls rose up in his sac.
And then he moved suddenly, reaching behind Rob. For just a moment, Rob thought he was robbing him — Rob did a lot of rough-trade, so that happened. Then he realized that was ridiculous — why would a billionaire pick some random man’s pocket?
He had grabbed the cookie-jar. Rob leaning forward had nearly knocked it off the edge of the desk, and it would have shattered on the floor of the office. Mr. Maltley frowned and swore.
“You clumsy oaf! You almost broke it! You ridiculous mincing fool-!” Mr. Maltley gasped, his face turning red as he held onto the cookie jar with all the concentration he could muster. He shuddered and his voice broke. “Aaaaah-!
Since he was doing something else as he came, Mr. Maltley’s orgasm was strained, almost painful. He grunted. He was going to keep scolding Rob for almost breaking the cookie jar, then he stopped because the pleasure wracking his body was too intense to speak through. His cock stayed in Rob’s ass the whole time, as though he couldn’t bare to take it out for even a moment.
“Ah, oh…” he sighed and groaned, his face turning red.
Finally creamy cum sprayed into Rob’s ass, great gobs of it that spurted into his guts. At first he didn’t taste it because Mr. Maltley’s horsey cock was so big and so long that it aimed deep into his ass, further than Rob had ever experienced.
Ssome of it slipped onto his thighs, and Mr. Maltley slowly withdrew his shaft, as Rob’s cock spewed its own load. A wave of intensity overcame Rob, who adored the sensation of Mr. Maltley’s cock sliding out of him as it limpened, bringing with it a wave of jizz that plopped ontop the floor of the office.
“Ah, man…” Rob sighed as he pulled off his cock. Cum dripped down his thighs, and a shudder wracked his body.
“You… You made a mess on the floor, your graceless oaf,” Mr. Maltley said with a gasp. He gently placed the cookie jar on his desk. He frowned again, both at the cookie jar — he didn’t have any easy way of taking it home without his assistant seeing it — and because he was flummoxed by the mind-blowing orgasm he had just experienced. He never thought a man could make him feel like that. Certainly no woman had ever taken his dick in the ass as deeply as that.
“You have a nice dick, it’s just big enough to fuck with,” Rob said as he cleaned his dick off. He stood. “Thanks.”
“No. Thank you,” Mr. Maltley said. Only now did he realize his own dick dangled out the fly of his slacks, and he tucked it away. “Perhaps if you encounter any new… pieces in the future, you will contact me. I would be glad to set up future trades of this sort.”
“I will definitely let you know,” Rob said.
“Next time, please come to my home, not my office,” Mr. Maltley said. He wrote down his address. “I will instruct the doorman to let you in. He’s not as bad as my assistant.”

The Italian

Rob’s trip to Italy is interrupted by a handsome stud, Giuseppe, who’s got a bevy of married ladies on the side but also a need for someone to service his throbbing Italian manhood. Can Rob rise to the task?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

His name was Giuseppe Colombo. He leaned against his Vespa, his shaggy black hair, slicked back but still a tangled mess, running almost to his shoulder. He sipped from an espresso, then tossed it into a nearby trash can. Rob Winthrop watched from across the street, waiting for the perfect opportunity to talk to the hunky man with the Roman nose and the handsome mug. Rob appreciated the male form, and he was in Italy right now, looking for the perfect specimen of Italian manhood.
And he just might have found it. His name was Giuseppe Colombo, and Rob geared up to approach him.
But it was obvious that Giuseppe waited for someone, and that someone was almost certainly a female. Rob gathered that from the anticipative yet flirtatious look on his face. He would not be receptive to any advances now.
Sure enough, she showed up moments later. Her name was Sterpeta Buticularo. She was stunningly gorgeous, dark-skinned, dark-haired, tough-eyed and thick-lipped. She came striding down the street in heels and a slinky dress that was entirely too fancy for an ordinary day out. She looked like a mafioso’s wife, Rob thought, and she attracted the eye of the other men on the street. It looked like some would have hooted at her if not for Giuseppe, whose come-hither eyes simmered darkly.
And some did hoot at the way she shimmied her ass as she walked.
“Ehi, bellissima, vieni a parlare con me!”
“Tuo padre è un ladro, ha rubato le stelle e te le ha messe negli occh!”
Giuseppe nodded and puffed on a cigarette. The woman straightened her back as though to dare onlookers to catcall at her. But Giuseppe just nodded at her, and he glowered.
The silenzio between them was gravida and crescente.
Then she kissed him, and he swooned, bending her over in his arms. Sterpeta clutched at his powerful shoulders and pulled on his shirt, revealing some of his coarse black chest hair. Giuseppe showed her something in the satchel he had slung around his scooter — Rob saw a bottle of wine and a block of cheese: makings of a picnic.
They spoke then, passionately, words of love or ire or both, Rob suspected, words dripping with intensity — arguing their love or loving their discord, he could not tell. He did not hear their parola, however, because of the Italian folk band coming down the avenue. They were lean men in white shirts with the sleeves rolled up and navy blue trousers, dancing in sync to an upbeat tarantella they played on tambourines. Three older men, more distinguished, with flecks of gray in their dense heads of hair, accompanied them on mandolin, guitar and accordion.
The music was loud, and, to Rob, pleasing. He was distracted by Giuseppe and his woman, however, who scowled at first as they were interrupted by the musicians. Then Giuseppe took her hand in his. He placed his things on the back of the motorcycle, and she coquettishly took his hand.
Her shyness vanished as soon as the dance began. It was rhythmic and fluid and more than a bit sexy — Rob had eyes only for Giuseppe, but the girl attracted a crowd of her own. They kissed and stroked, reaching between each other’s legs, clutching each other’s asses and even, Rob was fairly certain, some light fingering when Giuseppe slipped a hand underneath her dress and she audibly moaned.
A couple of the buttons of Giuseppe’s shirt ripped off too, and that fur-dappled caramel chest made Rob moan along with Giuseppe’s girlfriend. Giuseppe sang then, in florid Italian, his booming voice echoing among the ancient, crumbling plaster of the Roman cityscape.
All of the cittadini who watched burst into laughter, clapping along with the band. They danced too, in singles and pairs, even trios. Men danced with women, women danced with women, men danced with men. Rob blushed because he stood out, the only one in the square not dancing.
The only words of Giuseppe’s song that Rob was able to discern was the repeated line: la ragazza con gli occhi come l’alba. He didn’t know what it meant (ragazza was girl, he knew that much), but he suspected it was a popular song, or adapted from it — the others sang along.
Then a man offered his hand to Rob, blushing, as some other men laughed and cheered him on. The man, Ettore, said, “Vuoi ballare con me, mio caro ragazzo?” It was apparent his friends had got him to ask Rob to dance as a dare or a bet.
But Rob batted his eyes and nodded as girlishly as he could. This particular uomo wasn’t alluring like Giuseppe — he wasn’t ugly, he was a chef, with bits of uncooked pasta stuck in his beard hairs, in a sleeveless apron with a sleeveless shirt underneath, his big meaty arms tufted in fur.
He twirled Rob, swooned him in his arms and then even kissed him on the lips as the other dancers stopped to watch. When he was done, both the pasta chef and Rob blushed as red as a pomodoro imbarazzato. Rob hugged his thick, firm back as the music died down.
The tarantella band continued on. Rob was still excited. He had thought this was going to continue. He hoped to dance with Giuseppe and run his fingers through his hair.
But no, it was finito, and Giuseppe had his girl over his Vespa, locking lips, like they wanted to drive away but couldn’t stop kissing. Finally he pulled off her lips.
They looked into her eyes, and he spoke, his smooth voice like cigar smoke. Rob was close enough to hear now. He said, “Ho bisogno di te” and her whole back undulated as though she was about to orgasm right there on the sidewalk.
She hopped onto the scooter behind him, holding onto his denim jacket. Rob didn’t think they made denim jackets like that anymore. The shirt he wore underneath it was incongruously fashionable, he thought, and looked expensive — made out of silk, it was a rich violet that seeped into the dark blue of his jacket. A gold chain glimmered around his neck, the crucifix on his chest ensconced in the kinky black hairs that escaped from under the shirt.
But he sighed too. As long as a female was on the scene, Rob had no chance of securing a taste of Giuseppe’s manhood. Rob had been watching because Giuseppe seemed to be sleeping around with multiple women, many of them married — including, Rob was fairly certain, this one — so he figured sooner or later, Giuseppe would get dumped by all of them when his lies caught up to him.
The scooter had barely moved an inch when it stopped short. A different, older Italian man stood in front of it.
“Sei con mia moglie, stronzo!”
All of a sudden, bedlam erupted. Rob eventually deduced that that second man — who was kind of a warm daddy-type, with a mustache and a bit of a belly — was Sterpeta’s husband. Giuseppe and the woman argued with each other as well as the man, and Rob wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the woman had said she had separated from the man, so Giuseppe felt this was not his fault?
Rob spoke a little Italian, but they talked all together and way too fast for Rob to understand very much of it. It was booming and loud, hands flying to make florid gestures. It didn’t seem they could possibly be understanding each other because they spoke over each other, bellowing, and even the woman’s voice somehow outshone the mens’s.
The men started shoving each other. The woman slapped her husband, then Giuseppe. The husband seemed about to smack her back, but Giuseppe stopped him. The men came to blows. They nearly knocked over an espresso machine attached to a nearby street vendor’s cart, but the vendor pulled his cart away at the last moment.
And then, somehow, it was all over. Giuseppe’s jacket was in the street, his hair a mess, a trickle of blood down his chin, a tear in his silk shirt revealing a toned, hairy chest. Giuseppe shouted something in Italian as the man left, screaming his own list of obscenities that Rob couldn’t hope to follow. The woman was in tow. She and Giuseppe exchanged florid words, which Rob gathered were just a string of insults on either end.
Giuseppe was left alone, his jacket in ruins and his shirt not much better. He scowled and took it off. His bronzed body made Rob’s dick stir.
It had all taken only a few moments, and the folks who had just minutes ago spontaneously danced the tarantella together now all ignored the exchange, as though non era successo niente. Rob was the only one who seemed shocked.
This, he thought, was the perfect opportunity. He walked right up to Giuseppe and spoke in English. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Rob.”
Giuseppe nodded and furrowed his brow. “What do you-uh want-uh?” His hands gestured in the direction he was about to go in. His English was not very good, but it was better than Rob’s rudimentary Italian.
“I wanted to offer you money. I’m sorry your woman left you-“
“It is, uh, none-uh of your business-uh,” he said. “She is a… A… how do you say?… Hor-ay? La prostituta?”
“Whore.”
“Whore-uh, si. She is a whore-uh.” Giuseppe spat on the ground and motioned away from himself. “It is good-uh to be away with her, yes? For her is now-uh gone?”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess so,” Rob said.
Giuseppe grabbed his dick through his jeans, which Rob guessed was — like the now-ruined shirt — worth a lot of money. A few beads of sweat shimmered on Giuseppe’s chest. “You-uh will offer-uh money-uh?”
Rob blushed. He had forgotten to actually ask because he was imagining the taste of Giuseppe’s chest hair.
“Do you want to cornhole me? I’ll give you five hundred euros and all you have to do is lie there, I’ll do-“
“You will have me-uh become-uh a prostituta like her? A whore-uh? I will not do this for any five-uh hundred-uh of euros, I want not your filthy whore-uh money-uh!” He shouted and waved his hands about above Rob’s head. Since he was shirtless, Rob was too entranced by his broad chest and thick black hair to be scared he would be violent. He licked his lips. He knew Giuseppe would do this for the right price, it was just a matter of finding it.
Rob giggled. “A thousand euros.”
Giuseppe was silent for a moment. “Si.” His anger was gone. He clasped Rob on the shoulder, then let go when he realized Rob was aroused, then put his arm back more gingerly. Rob smiled and kissed his bare shoulder. Giuseppe blushed. “Come on then-uh. I know a place, it is good for the making-uh of love, yes-uh. We can do also the dick-uh, si.”
Rob got on the back of his scooter, smiling because he got to ride up behind Giuseppe, gripping his chest and belly and even laying his face against the sweat-dappled muscle of his bare shoulder blades. Giuseppe drove off, weaving in and out of traffic as he headed out of Rome.
At first Rob was so engrossed in the firm meat of Giuseppe’s back and the hair on his chest where Rob’s hands snaked around that he didn’t notice how Giuseppe careened blindly through the streets of Rome. He went through parking lots and on sidewalks, weaving across lanes and even ignored a uniformed police officer who attempted to wave him down.
Relief flooded Rob when they finally left Rome, and the urban streets gave way to suburbs and then dense wooded glens and ponds among the septet of rolling hills around the city. He slowed down finally then, even though the roads were empty and he could have sped up.
When Rob pulled his face away from Giuseppe’s back, there was a layer of his sweat there, and it tasted bitterly of olive oil. He ran his fingers through Giuseppe’s hair too, until Giuseppe swatted his hand away.
The place he went was a vineyard a few miles outside of the city. He drove his scooter to a dirt road and down to an abandoned wooden shack. There was a big vat in it and a sour smell that was not exactly pleasant, but somehow smelled good to Rob.
“It is… how do you say… Aceto… it is wine, but it has spoiled?” Giuseppe said when he got off the Vespa.
“Vinegar?”
“Si, si, vinegar-uh, yes,” Giuseppe said. Rob had to smile — he would have never guessed what Giuseppe meant if he had said vinegar as he pronounced it: vweeneggerruh.
Rob placed the smell now. It was the scent of fine vinegar, wafting from that vat. The aroma was rich and heady, filling his nostrils with warmth. Through the slats in the side of the building, Rob could see rows upon rows of grape vines that stretched off over the sunny hills surrounding this barn.
The scent disappeared suddenly, replaced by acrid cigarette smoke. Giuseppe took a deep drag. He offered one to Rob, who declined at first, then thought when in Rome… and took it. He smoked for years but had quit eleven years ago. So when he lit it, he coughed a few times, earning a harsh scornful stare from Giuseppe, and then was momentarily struck dizzy by the rush of nicotine.
Ah, he loved smoking. Il fumo di sigaretta è il più alto risultato di aria!
For a moment, Rob basked in the warmth of the cigarette smoke. Giuseppe uncorked the wine he had brought for the picnic. He took a long drink from it and passed it wordlessly to Rob, who drank as well. It was fine wine, thick and unctuous on his tongue. It was red, very dark, mysterious and full-bodied, possessing il sapore di mille fasci di oscurità.
“Come-uh here,” Giuseppe said. His voice firm but kind. He led Rob to a grassy spot, where they sat together. The smell of grape-blossoms filled the air, mixing with the heady profumo del vino. Giuseppe smiled nervously. “Do you think I am handsome-uh?” His voice was smooth like a buttery pasta sauce, and it hung low in the air, resonating in Rob’s ear.
Rob blushed. He took a deep drag from the cigarette. He nodded. “You’re real handsome.”
Giuseppe leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Then in one smooth motion, he wrapped Rob up in one arm and laid him on the ground. The wooden floor of the barn scratched at his back.
Rob wasn’t used to being seduced like this. It happened so fast there was a certain instinctual need to protect himself, and he squealed, clutching at Giuseppe’s powerful arms.
Once he was on the ground and didn’t feel like he was falling anymore, Rob kissed Giuseppe on the lips. Giuseppe was slightly hesitant. Rob only really got cornholed by alpha males, who did not normally kiss him, certainly not as part of a passionate make-out session.
But Giuseppe had never been with a woman he didn’t “seduce”. Even when it was obvious early on that she was going to let him have sex with her, Giuseppe always went through the motions of rubbing her shoulders or feet or taking her out on a picnic or doing whatever it took to seduce her. It just felt right to him. Making love to a woman he barely knew, or making love to a woman he did know but doing it in a quick and dirty way just made Giuseppe feel like a filthy manwhore.
He didn’t want to feel like that, and he didn’t want his women to feel like that either. Giuseppe had no experience making love in any other way.
So he let Rob kiss him on the lips. Then he let Rob kiss a trail down his chest. That was weird for Giuseppe — he usually took the lead with his women, and he was the one who showered the other with kisses. It was strange and even a bit ticklish, he thought, to let a man do it.
But soon Giuseppe was laying on the ground, feeling the barn floor beneath his back, as Rob took his handsome uncut cock out and put the tip in his mouth. He looked up at Giuseppe, who made eye contact with him and moaned. Rob cooed in desire at those deep, dark soulful eyes il colore dell’ombra del carbone.
“Succhi il cazzo, per favore, ho bisogno della tua bocca su di me!” Giuseppe let out a moan. Rob couldn’t decide if Giuseppe was still being seductive or not. He had a feeling Giuseppe told girls he loved them all the time when he seduced them, and he was fighting back the urge to say that now out of pure habit.
And he popped the rest of his dick into his mouth, deep-throating him the best he could. Giuseppe was uncut, which Rob thought was hot. He rammed his head all the way down, ingoiare ogni parte della sua virilità virile, figuring that Giuseppe had never been deep-throated like that.
That was true, Giuseppe spent most of his love-making sessions licking his partners’ womanhoods — assaporando il sapore della femminilità and using his tongue to bring them the beatitudine assoluta. That was how a woman could be truly seduced, not just physically, but emotionally e spiritualmente too. He could make her his if he sucked on her pussy in just the right way.
Giuseppe found himself experiencing an orgasm more intense than he thought possible. Without even realizing he was doing it, he had grabbed Rob’s head and held on. He slammed his dick into Rob’s mouth, all the way in, deep into his spasming throat.
“Si, you are-uh… You have-uh…” Giuseppe rolled his eyes as a spasm of pleasure ran up his spine. “You have a mouth-uh, it is made of silk-uh, yes, si? I am, uh, how do you say… in love with your mouth.” He smiled down at Rob and wiped away the moisture that ran down Rob’s cheeks.
The taste of his cock got Rob as hard as a conchiglia too. Giuseppe’s cock tasted, like his sweat, of olive oil and sunlight. It was the tastiest cock Rob had ever mouthed. He relaxed his throat and trusted Giuseppe to make sweet love to his throat until that hairy ballsac slapped against Rob’s chin.
Eventually even Rob needed to take a break, and he pulled away from Giuseppe’s cock. It twitched and leaked precum down the shaft, while Giuseppe’s hairy chest muscles all flexed at once.
“Baciami. Voglio assaporare il mio amore sulle tue labbra,” Giuseppe said. He gently but firmly grabbed Rob and brought his face up to meet Giuseppe’s. Again, Rob never thought Giuseppe would kiss him so much, but he didn’t even seem to mind sucking his own precum off Rob’s face. He planted his lips right on Rob’s, and Rob swooned.
“Will you stick it in me now? Please? I need your cock!” Rob yelled out, begging as he bent over on all fours.
Giuseppe’s dick throbbed above his face, while Rob still hoarsely tried to recover his breath. He kissed every inch of Giuseppe’s thighs and sucked on his body hair, and even his balls while Giuseppe recovered from his orgasm, ignoring his question.
“Yes, I am ready0uh now,” Giuseppe said, when he had regained his composure. Those deep brown eyes were so big Rob lost himself in them, wordlessly craving another kiss, which Giuseppe provided. “I will make-uh sweet and sugared-uh love upon you, my darling-uh.”
Giuseppe enjoyed the lovestruck look on Rob’s face — it felt just as victorious and triumphant as when he made a woman look like that. He had conquered Rob just as he had conquered so many females e li sedusse completamente. Giuseppe stared at his own spit-dripping cock, waiting for himself to calm down enough that he could stick it in without blowing his load right away. He gave it one stroke with his own hand and groaned. He had never felt so horny. He just wanted to get his cock back in a tight, moist hole, and he didn’t care whose.
“I will make-uh you feel like-uh… how do you say?… A hundred-uh dollars-uh!” Giuseppe tried to say that with a cowboy accent, like John Wayne, but it wasn’t very good and Rob didn’t even notice that he was affecting an accent.
Giuseppe decided he was ready as Rob displayed his bare ass and spread his cheeks — which Giuseppe assumed Rob did only because he was so turned on by Giuseppe’s John Wayne impression.
Keeping a firm, flat smile on his face, Giuseppe gulped but pretended not to be nervous. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t pervy if he was on top — if Giuseppe weren’t so successful with married women, he’d have probably done this multiple times by now, so really, he thought, his lack of practice signified that he was more manly than those mafiosi and thugs who did it on a regular basis. Giuseppe tried to convince himself of that, unsuccessfully, as he blushed and awkwardly wedged his cock between Rob’s cheeks.
He took a deep breath. Before he could start plowing, Rob turned his head and kissed Giuseppe on the lips once more.
“Stick it in me!” Rob said, desperate for it to begin.
“I will-uh enter-uh you now. You will feel-uh much of the pleasure-uh…”
By now, Giuseppe was so aroused to begin with that he kissed back without a second thought — on the mouth this time, with tongue, and with his hands caressing Rob’s body where his tits would be if he had any. He plunged his tongue between Rob’s lips. His arms caressed Rob’s body and spread his asscheeks.
A jolt of pain shot up Rob’s spine, but it lasted only a moment, just long enough to bring the pleasure it came with to the forefront of Rob’s spine. It had been a long time since any man made him feel like this. He wanted to both cry and beg for more allo stesso tempo. He clutched Giuseppe’s well-muscled forearm for support.
Rob quivered just like a girl did when she wanted to get fucked so bad she could taste it. Giuseppe grinned. He loved bringing girls to this state, and, it seemed, he was so sexy he could do it to a man too. Giuseppe thought he should be famous on account of being so prestante.
“Vedi, io sono l’ultimo amante del mondo.”
He slid his dick in. When Rob let out a long, loud moan, Giuseppe again assumed his dick was exceptional and that that was why it felt so good to Rob. He smiled with pride as Rob’s whole body writhed beneath him, and Giuseppe could see the pressure and agony turn to bliss as his dick teased Rob’s prostate.
“Ah, si… Open your bottom-uh…” Giuseppe crooned into Rob’s ear, making Rob cringe and moan. “I will fill you up with love-uh…”
Rob was on all fours, so he couldn’t jack himself off because he used both hands for support. But he could lift his head and lean back, so he could kiss Giuseppe as he got rear-ended. Giuseppe supported his chest with one arm, giving Giuseppe perfect access while making Rob unable to do more than writhe in sync with his penetration.
Actually there was one other thing Rob could do, as his desire to cum built up to explosive levels: He grabbed Giuseppe’s hand and brought it to his cock.
Giuseppe didn’t hesitate. He didn’t know if a reacharound was a normal macho thing to do or not. Probably not, he thought as his hands wrapped around Rob’s shaft. Almost certainly not.
But in the heat of the moment, it seemed decente. Giuseppe was bragging to himself about how much pleasure he was bringing Rob, so it made sense. He had heard men in prison talk of pleasing their “prison wives” with a reacharound, and in the Italian military, officers were allowed to ram at recruits so long as they gave a reacharound (or so the rumors suggested). Giuseppe thought it might be normal in America too. It might even, he decided, be something John Wayne would do.
So he did it. He gripped Rob’s cockshaft and stroked it, somewhat awkwardly because he had never done that, never even touched a limp dick besides his own, much less a stranger’s.
He might have lost his nerve to keep stroking if they hadn’t reached a climax moments later. As soon as he touched Rob’s dick, Rob’s prostate exploded within him, sending pangs of pleasure up Rob’s spine. Rob cried out and went back to all fours, but this time Giuseppe went with him, pounding away and stroking him off.
Rob shot his wad into the dirt, ending up on his side as Giuseppe plowed in with all his potenza. “Oh god!” Rob cried out. He dug his fingers into the soil, bringing up clods of dirt as the most intense orgasm of his life wracked his body.
Cum flowed within Rob, who sighed. He loved that feeling, a man’s heavy balls filling him up, the sensation of creamy cum seeping into his flesh. He became Giuseppe in that moment, as he felt his dick turn all moist and cummy, still rock-hard where it throbbed within Rob.
And then it was all over. Rob gasped for air. His own dick was done, and he felt his climax draining away. Giuseppe’s dick still shot the last few drops of cum before it too limpened inside him. Giuseppe didn’t pull out until then.
“Damn…” Rob said. He leaned back, spread-eagled, on the dirt.
Giuseppe kissed him on the lips once more, then stood. “That was good-uh, si? You will pay?”
Rob nodded. “Yeah. Hand me my pants.” Giuseppe did so, and Rob counted out the money: un migliaio di euro.
Giuseppe took the cash. “You are… You will be in Rome-uh for some time-uh?”
“No,” Rob said. He yawned and stood, stretching his legs before putting his clothes back on. “I’m leaving soon. I’m going back home, to America” He ignored Giuseppe’s annoyed expression — Giuseppe was not used to people breaking up with him. Giuseppe might lose interest, or a husband might come into the picture, or a woman might be forbidden by her father to see him, but Giuseppe was not dumped. That had literally never happened, and Giuseppe’s mind raced to comprehend it.
But Rob was ready to move on. He’d had his fill of Italy, and he was ready to return home.

The Mechanic

Teddy is getting his car repaired at the legendary Screw Tight auto garage, and that means he gets a ride on the studly mechanic of his choice. He chooses the outrageously muscled redneck Duncan Walsh, who had no idea what kind of man-on-man experience he was in for. Can Teddy satisfy his man and get his muffler fixed?

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Teddy moseyed down the street. He was just killing time until class started again. This was such a college town that when school was out, the streets were deserted. Teddy stayed on campus through Thanksgiving by himself. It had been nice to be alone for awhile. Campus was ordinarily so crowded.
When his car had broken down, Teddy finally felt trapped. He hadn’t wanted to leave town, but now that he couldn’t, he felt a need to go somewhere, anywhere.
He knew very well that Mr. Jackson was an old, fat, greasy man, and he was a serious, non-nonsense Christian church-goer, so he would probably not allow Teddy to service his mechanics instead of paying the bill in cash. Mr. Jackson owned the Screw Tight Auto Repair Garage mechanic shop, which was where Teddy’s car sat waiting for him. He was always nervous picking his car up after repairs. He didn’t know enough about cars to know if the mechanics were screwing him over (in a bad way).
But it all went perfectly. Teddy paid for his car — it needed a couple new spark plugs — and then signed documents in front of the pretty blonde girl who worked there. The name on her ample bosom said her name was ‘Sally’. His eyes were drawn to the macho mechanics in the repair shop, which he could see through a window separating the office from the garage.
“Howdy,” said Mr. Jackson, who walked into the front office with a clipboard in hand. He handed it to the pretty blonde. Then he smiled at Teddy. “You got a nice ride out there. Could use a little work on the muffler, you know. It’s probably lowerin’ yer gas mileage, a good ten percent. Whatchoo think?”
Teddy smiled. “Maybe in a few weeks. Money is pretty tight right now. I can’t afford anything that isn’t absolutely required,” he said with a sigh. It wouldn’t be a visit to the auto mechanic without a bunch of vague claims of nonspecific faults that need to be fixed.
“If’n you agree to it right now,” he said, “We can do it for just four hundred dollars. That’s a right nice deal. Normally like eight hundred, but we gonna need a re-carburetor to get it done and we ain’t gotta order one at this moment, it’s sittin’ right there in the garage-” he pointed through the window, at his mechanics, “-next to Duncan there. So I ain’t gotta charge you fo’ that.”
“Uh… Still though, four hundred dollars is a lot of money.” Teddy was distracted by Duncan, the redneck mechanic with a body like a Marine and tattoos like a biker. He was grizzled and broad-shoulder, with a handsome face and a powerful body. Teddy was a keen admirer of the male form, so Mr. Duncan Walsh attracted his attention and wouldn’t let it go. It was possible Mr. Jackson said more about his proposal. He nattered on about something.
But Teddy remained noncommital.
“I understand. We can get it done while you wait,” Mr. Jackson said. He followed Teddy’s gaze into the repair shop. It looked like an argument had developed, and Duncan’s face screwed up tight as he screamed something at the black mechanic with the face like a bar of melted chocolate and a voice like his throat was coated in bark and splinters. The black mechanic Bunker screamed right back at the white mechanic Duncan. Mr. Jackson scowled at them both through the window, then said, “‘Scuze me for a second, suh.” Mr. Jackson opened the door into the garage. The sound of the two men arguing filled the air.
“Fuck you then! You think I can’t kick yo’ ass again!?”
“You redneck shit! I’ll pop yo’ goddamn face off! Don’t think I won’t!” Bunker Fiddle put his fists up. “I’ll beat a whiteboy down any day of the week!”
“Hey!” Mr. Jackson bellowed. His big belly shook, and his face turned red. “You two shit-fucks shut yer fuck-shittin’ mouths or I will fuck your shit up so bad yer mama don’t recognize yer shit… Fuck!”
There was a long silence. Then the two mechanics rolled their eyes and nodded.
“Yessuh.”
“Sorry, Mistuh Jackson.”
Mr. Jackson glanced at Teddy and shrugged. He looked back at the mechanics. “Hug it out, boys!”
“What?”
“No fightin’! Hug it out! Nice long hug, boys, pretend you like each other,” Mr. Jackson said. Their flesh was taut, shiny with engine oil and dried sweat. One was white and the other was black, but both had very similar skin color — the white one, Duncan, was so tan and dusky-skinned, not to mention smudged with black grease, that he was barely lighter than the black one, who was fairly light-skinned to begin with. Teddy hadn’t intended to leer at the hugging men, but he realized he had done so when Mr. Jackson chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.
Duncan shook his head. “Sorry, uh, Mistah Jackson. I-“
“Shush.” Mr. Jackson turned to Teddy. “I think I know what you need to get that muffler fixed,” Mr. Jackson said. “How ’bout you pay four hundred dollars, and one of ’em there fixes it while you… wait.” It sounded like he didn’t mean wait exactly, but Teddy wasn’t sure what he did mean.
It was hard to think about much when Teddy could see that Duncan Walsh’s powerful arms bare in his sleeveless shirt. He had a very admirable physique, and Teddy was eager to admire it in person. That made it hard to pay attention to what an old fuddy-duddy like Mr. Jackson had to say.
“Uh… Well…”
“Which one you like better?” Mr. Jackson asked. His mustache moved up and down when he spoke, and his greasy belly jiggled under his shirt. “Either one of ’em can fix the muffler. You take the one you like best. The othuh one can fix it fer you, wit’ a quickness.”
Teddy smiled. “Take ’em… and do what?”
“Whatevuh you want,” he said with a shrug. “So long as you don’t make ’em-” He paused and looked to the pretty blonde girl behind the desk. “Sally, why don’t you take yer lunch break? This is man-talk.”
She giggled and blushed. She nodded knowingly as though she was aware of exactly what was going on, but she didn’t want to admit that because a nice Southern gal shouldn’t know about this stuff. She grabbed her purse and hurried out the door. You could just tell her lunch was gonna be a twelve-dollar “coffee” that was mostly whipped cream, that she’d buy because a liquid felt lighter than a solid meal, even if the liquid had copious added sugar.
Or maybe Teddy was just being judgemental today.
Once the door slammed shut, Mr. Jackson frowned. “I don’t ‘pprove of this nonsense, by the way. A man should subdue his lusts, not exercise ’em,” he said. “But you can take a swing on whichever piece of meat strikes yer fancy. They ain’t gonna let you in they backdoor, mind you, I ain’t gonna order ’em to do nothin’. Don’t you try and stick ’em.”
“No, sir,” Teddy said. He blushed. “That’s not what I’m into.”
“I ain’t think so,” he said. He sniffled. “Which one you like?”
“Duncan. The white one,” Teddy said.
“Really? I thought you was leanin’ towards that dark meat. Mosta the swishy sorts do prefer a colored feller,” Mr. Jackson said. Then he said, cautiously, “African American.” He waited to see if Teddy was going to lecture him, and when he didn’t, Mr. Jackson nodded dourly. “Wait here.” He went into the garage. He talked to the two mechanics for a few minutes, then they both burst into laughter.
Mr. Jackson turned around and motioned for Teddy, who came into the garage. It smelled like grease and gasoline, and below that was a fainter melange of human scents: sweat, piss, spit, cum. Teddy was already starting to get hard. He always thought these sorts of handyman blue-collar repair-type places were arousing. So much better than a strip club, he thought.
He handed the key to his car over to the black mechanic Bunker Fiddle, who ran out to get it and start work on the muffler. He opened the garage door on his way out.
Duncan’s swarthy face was bright red beneath the layer of dirt that darkened his skin, and his pecs kept rippling whenever he snorted or licked his teeth, as his eyes roamed up and down Teddy’s body. Duncan flared his nostrils. He blanched and looked away when Teddy walked to him. His bulky chest didn’t fit in his filthy overalls, and his massive pecs spilled out — he didn’t wear a shirt underneath, so his chest was bare beneath his overall-straps, aside from the smudges of dirt, faded tattoos, dense hairs and twisted scars.
“You ready to go, Duncan?” Mr. Jackson said with a laugh. His big meaty hand grabbed Duncan’s crotch through his overalls.
“Yessuh,” he said, bristling at Mr. Jackson’s touch. He stood on his toes, his massive cock plainly visible in his overalls and framed by Mr. Jackson’s hand. Though his eyes flittered around, Duncan avoided looking at Teddy.
Teddy sunk to his knees, his dick rock-hard already in his pants, in front of Duncan and behind a counter that was all that blocked Teddy from view of anybody happening past. Teddy’s heart sped up. He wasn’t expecting to get to taste a throbbing slab of alpha-male mechanic meat when he brought his car in today.
With Teddy’s hands sliding up Duncan’s body and groping his powerful chest, Duncan licked his lower lip. He looked like he was eager to get his dick wet but didn’t want to look too eager. He sneered in Teddy’s direction without looking at him.
“You want me to do this here?” Duncan asked, aiming the question at Mr. Jackson.
Mr. Jackson shrugged. “I don’t care. Just don’t make a mess,” he said. Then he looked down to Teddy and said it again. “Don’t make a mess. You swallow e’rything he give you.” He walked back into the office. “Be done before Sally gets back. If she sees you, I’ll beat both yer asses.”
“Yessuh.”
“Yes, sir,” Teddy chimed in. He grabbed Duncan’s cock through his filthy workjeans and rubbed the shaft, making Duncan bristle and shift his weight between his feat.
The garage door opened and Teddy’s car slowly drove in. A loud house music beat pounded from the speakers, the entire car shaking. The music resonated in the garage, and the black mechanic driving it danced behind the steering wheel, laughing. The beat was pulsating, eminently danceable and not at all something a black redneck would listen to, so the sight of Bunker Fiddle dancing to it in the driver’s seat made Teddy laugh.
“Yee-haw, Duncan! You gonna blow a nut prison-style, toot-sweet!” The black mechanic shouted. He turned off the car once it was in place, and the music stopped. He got out of the car and activated the lift so he could get under it.
At last, Teddy unzipped the fly of Duncan’s overalls. He smiled up at him, but Duncan kept his eyes straight ahead. His fat, uncut cock popped out. It was long, greasy with dried-on sweat, and it smelled like the most potent scents in the garage, all distilled into a delicious juicy sheen from which Teddy inhaled deeply.
He stuck his tongue out, licking the shaft from tip to root. That made Duncan chuckle and shift his weight on his feet once more. He snorted. He covered his eyes with his meaty forearm. His cheeks were red, though he kept up a nonchalant face for Bunker Fiddle’s benefit.
His dick stiffened up in Teddy’s mouth. He was slow to get hard, but once his dick twitched one time, it quickly turned form as stone. Duncan’s pecs flexed, and Teddy could see the moment when Duncan realized how good this felt, when his anxieties over the situation diminished enough that he could really enjoy it.
For the first time since this had begun, Duncan looked down at Teddy. Then he frowned and turned his face away again. He sniffled. “Dang…”
“You ‘njoyin’ that, Duncan?” The black mechanic Bunker called out as he banged and rattled on Teddy’s car. He hooted and whistled in between examining the bad muffler, getting it ready for the repair.
“Hell yeah,” Duncan said with a grunt. His dick was fully hard now, throbbing in Teddy’s mouth, as Teddy slurped on the entire length of it.
“I bet. You look like you ‘njoyin’ yo’self pretty much,” said the black mechanic Bunker Fiddle. He was quiet a bit older than Duncan, and he dripped with swagger and had a delicious ropy-muscled body. Bunker clapped his hands. “You lookin’ like a piggie. Skin all pink and greasy like a hog. I wanna smoke and cure yo’ bacon, whiteboy!” He cackled up Duncan.
“You ain’t gotta keep talkin’ to me,” Duncan muttered.
“Oh, that make you uncomfortable, big boy?” The black mechanic Bunker Fiddle whistled again, like he was watching a stripper dance. “Shake yo’ ass, big boy! Lemme see it move!”
Teddy interrupted Duncan before he could respond by ramming his head all the way down onto Duncan’s cockshaft. Duncan reacted as though he had never been deep-throated, which was very possible true — his dick was so big few women would even try to swallow the whole thing. Not Teddy. Teddy prided himself on the accommodating nature of his throat, and he didn’t care how much his lungs cried out for oxygen. It felt so good for Duncan that he let out a little moan. His knees buckled and his hefty body shook, his barrel chest flexing. He groaned and grumbled.
As the smell of engine grease was replaced with man-sweat in Teddy’s nostrils, his hands patted Duncan’s ass though his overalls, and those massive plump asscheeks trembled. That made the black mechanic laugh and yell.
“Shake it some mo’, big boy! Lemme see ya move!” Bunker Fiddle walked by with a dirty rag in hand. He peered behind Duncan’s strapping body, whistled at his asscheeks shaking beneath Teddy’s fingertips. He laughed and slapped those cheeks again.
“Okay, man, it’s just an ass, shut up ’bout it…” Duncan muttered.
“Why you teasin’, huh? Take them overalls off.” The black mechanic Bunker made a kissy face, then ripped the clasps on the back of Duncan’s overalls. They would have fallen to the ground but were held aloft by Duncan’s cock sticking out through the fly. Teddy pulled the overalls down the rest of the way over his erection, and Duncan’s tattered white boxers beneath that. The black mechanic cackled at the sight of his bare ass. He slapped those cheeks again, making a porno-strip club soundtrack, whock-whock-whock as he watched Duncan’s hairy orbs bounce beneath his hand.
“Hey! One of you gotta work. I don’t care which is which, but get to it!”
“Sorry, Mistuh Jackson,” said the black man as he resumed working on the muffler. He activated the lift to raise Teddy’s car. The machinery was overwhelmingly loud for a moment, drowning out the sound of Teddy’s moist suckling on Duncan’s cock.
When it stopped whirring and making the entire garage shake, Teddy lowered his head and plopped both of Duncan’s balls in his mouth. Duncan bristled and shook like he was shocked, and a torrent of salty, funky sweat poured down Teddy’s throat. He loved the musk of a man’s underball; it made Teddy’s cock stiffen up in his own hand.
“Will you stick me in the ass?” Teddy asked. It looked like Duncan was about to say no, so before he could, Teddy dropped his pants all the way down and displayed his plump, smooth ass. “I just shaved it, so it looks just like a girl’s ass.” He shook his cheeks in front of Duncan. Teddy did not mention that he was just going to ask Mr. Jackson if Duncan said no. Mr. Jackson would probably tell him to do it.
He let out a low grunt and glanced towards the black mechanic, who had gotten deeply involved in the actual repairwork. “You is one nasty sissy,” Duncan said with a sigh as he spat on his cockshaft for lube. “My dick is dirty as hell.”
“Good. I love the dirt,” Teddy said. “That’s the best part.” He lifted his ass and winked his hole. He pushed back, trying to penetrate himself with Duncan’s cock.
But Duncan was having none of that. He smacked Teddy’s cheeks and dragged him into the perfect position, ass high in the air, head low to the ground, so Duncan could ram him without looking at anything but the ladylike curves of his pale, smooth ass.
He pushed his dick in with all his might, like he wanted to get this over with, which he very much did. Teddy moaned. Pain exploded in his ass, followed within moments by a surge of pleasure as his prostate came alive. A howl came out of Teddy, while Duncan’s grunts turned into a surprised groan.
Just like with his dick in Teddy’s mouth, Duncan was nervous and thought it would be gross, that he’d lose his hardon, right up until it happened and it felt so good Duncan wanted to beg for more. He might have done so if Bunker weren’t right over there.
Pleasure arising from deep within Teddy, it sent tendrils of sensations through every corner of his body, pleasure that mounted with each thrust of Duncan’s hips at Teddy’s ass. Teddy tried to jack himself off as he got it up the booty, but Duncan pistoned his waist more and more relentlessly, and Teddy found it difficult to keep stroking his own self off. His cock strained and begged for release.
But all he could do was submit to Duncan’s powerful rutting. His hefty body trembled as he slammed into and out of Teddy’s ass, grunting whenever it made Teddy wince and clench his ass. He grumbled.
“Fuck, Duncan! Whatchoo doin’ over there?! Mistuh Jackson ain’t say to do that!”
“He ain’t say not to,” Duncan said. He wiped sweat off his face and smacked Teddy’s ass.
The black mechanic bunker Fiddle returned to watching Duncan ram. He had a disgusted sneer on his face like he didn’t want to be here, but he watched with grave interest. After a few moments, he even got down on his knees and peered at Duncan’s cock sliding into Teddy’s ass.
“Squeal like a piggie, Duncan! Oink! Oink!” He pushed his nose back like a hog and squealed. He laughed like that was the funniest joke in the world. “You would do well in prison,” he said. It wasn’t clear if he was talking to Teddy or Duncan, but neither of them asked.
Duncan roared — more like a bear than a hog — and he pushed the other mechanic Bunker away. He grabbed Teddy’s hair with one hand and lifted his head up.
The change in position sent a wave of arousal through Teddy’s body, as well as a twinge of pain. He grunted too, almost as loud as Duncan but with a much more lilting, feminine sound to it. That made the black mechanic laugh.
“You likin’ this, boi?” he asked, peering into Teddy’s intent face.
“Yessuh,” Teddy said.
He smiled. “Oh, I like it when whiteboys call me sir,” he said, “‘ceptin’ cops and prison guards. Don’t like that one bit. You wanna taste my dick too? Don’t tell the missus.”
“Yessuh,” Teddy said. He wanted to make it sound seductive, but he was getting it up the ass so hard he couldn’t concentrate. He barely got the words out at all.
“Course you do. E’ry whiteboy love black meat, that’s just a fac’,” he said. He snorted and pulled a long black cock out from the fly of his jeans. It was not as thick as Duncan’s, but it was longer, which Teddy was fine with because he could deep-throat it even at almost a foot long.
So that was precisely what he did. He lowered his head on that salty cock, already half-hard — he must have been trying to find a way to join in for some time. He had a firm-muscled body, less meaty than Duncan’s but just as admirable, from Teddy’s perspective. Within seconds the sour-salty flavor of precum hit Teddy’s senses as his dick leaked juices all over Teddy’s tongue.
“Hey! What the fuck did I tell you idiots?!” Mr. Jackson came right into the garage. His face was redm and his nostrils flared.
“I’s done, suh!” the black mechanic Bunker Fiddle turned his head to look at Mr. Jackson, but he didn’t stop plowing into Teddy’s throat even as he did it. He scoffed. “I’s finished! It’s just up on the lift, suh!” He hesitated like he hadn’t meant to be so rude to his boss. “And this limp-wrist done ask me for a taste of my meat, suh. I ain’t wanna say no, on ‘ccount of that customer service shit, y’know. Goin’ the extra mile.” He snorted and spat on the ground. He sighed, his cock throbbing as it spewed precum down Teddy’s gullet. “Sorry, suh, I can tells him no if’n ya want-“
“Shut up,” Mr. Jackson said. “Just… Just shut up, okay? In the future, take the car off the lift when you’re done.”
“Yessuh, sorry, suh.”
“And hurry the fuck up, both of you,” Mr. Jackson bristled and straightened his tie. He lit a cigarette.
It looked like was about to say something else, but all three men started to make more noise at the same time. They each neared orgasm simultaneously. Teddy was the first to cum. He shot a thick load right onto the floor and in his hand.
The pleasure of his climax made Teddy’s mouth open wider and his ass clench tighter, which was what sent both men into the throes of their own orgasm. Teddy was overwhelmed at first by the spray of hot cum inside his ass, great gobs of it seeping into his flesh. He could feel its sticky, creamy texture soaking into him, and it made him moan.
That was followed within seconds by the black mechanic Bunker’s cock shooting his own smoky, thick load right down his throat. The creamy texture tasted strong and brought tears to Teddy’s eyes, but he suckled deeply, making sure to swallow every drop — Mr. Jackson had forbade him from making a mess, after all, and Teddy did not want to disappoint.
At last, it was all over. Teddy kept going for as long as he could, but once their dicks fell limp, both men were eager to get away from him. Bunker Fiddle just tucked his dick away and went right back to work, but Duncan looked at his cum-dripping cock with disgust. He wiped it off with some paper towels on a worktable nearby.
“The muffler is fixed?” Mr. Jackson asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Muffler is fixed,” said Bunker Fiddle.
“Thanks,” Teddy said, watching his car descend on the lift. He took out his phone and quickly paid the bill. He was too tired now to do anything more than take the car and go.
“Here’s a comment card,” Mr. Jackson said as he took the check and handed back Teddy’s keys. “If’n you got any comments ’bout the customer service you received here today, I’d appreciate it if you write ’em in here.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“And Sally gonna read this card, boy. She a nice girl. Don’t give her no education she don’t need,” he said. He winked at Teddy and walked away.
Teddy took the keys and smiled. He walked to his car, watching Duncan shuffle, naked, into the bathroom to give his dick a more thorough wipe. He waved at Duncan, who blushed, flexed his biceps and then shot him a middle finger. Teddy sighed and backed out.
This, he thought, was the best mechanic shop ever.

The Inmate

Rob Winthrop bought a house abutting a prison so he could service inmates through the fence, but he never thought they’d have meat like this! His name is Tanker, and he’s got the goods if Rob is willing to cough up some dough…

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob Winthrop knew it would work eventually, it was just a matter of time. He had bought the house on Theodore Street both because it was a good investment — it was undervalued due to its neighbor — and because it abutted a prison, and there was nothing Rob loved more than hardcore prison thugs, mafioso and toughs of all kinds.
Of course, prisoners weren’t simply allowed to roam around all the time, or really any of the time. So Rob went for frequent walks along the couple of acres where his property shared a boundary with the prison, but there was never anyone outside whose attention he could get.
It was a wooded area, and on the prison side of the fence, there was a dirt road about thirty yards past the property line. Rob could barely see it from his property. That was the only thing he could see, since the trees were too dense to actually see the prison yard or any buildings.
But he could hear people talking between three and four o’clock in the afternoon — there was a distant, dull roar every day in that time. That, he deduced, was their rec time. The prison yard must have been beyond the trees somewhere.
Every day he hung out there in the afternoon, waiting for an opportunity. Finally on a Monday afternoon he saw a young black man in orange prison pants, shirtless, creeping down the dirt road. He was on the lookout for people following him, but he didn’t pay any attention to the far side of the fence, so he didn’t notice Rob standing there.
“Hey,” Rob said when he got real close.
“Aaah!” He yelped and put up his fists like he was about to box. Of course there was a fence in the way, and he screwed up his eyes.
“What’s your name?”
“What? Who the fuck are you?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Rob said. He was too nervous to think clearly. This guy was a handsome dark-skinned thug with cornrows and bluish tattoos covering most of his body below the neck. Most prominently, there was a dagger inserted in his chest above the heart, with blood seeping out and covering most of his torso. Another wound, a bloody gash, was tattooed over his sternum. Rob took a deep breath, entranced by the man’s muscles, which gleamed with sweat. “I’m sorry. I’m Rob. I live here.”
“In the woods?” He wrinkled his nose.
“There’s a house over there,” Rob said. “Are you… escaping?”
“What? No, man, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“You were creeping along like you were hiding.”
“I ain’t want no one to follow me,” he said. “I’m allowed to be here.”
“What is this road?”
“Nothin’. It’s s’posed to be a nature trail or some shit. No one ever uses it,” he said.
“Why are you here?”
“None of yo’ business, dude,” the prisoner said with a sneer like dude was a slur.
“What’s your name?”
“Also ain’t none of yo’ business.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Rob said. “Do you want me to jack you off through the fence?”
There was a long, awkward silence. The man peered deep into Rob’s eyes to see if he was kidding. His chest muscles flexed and he stepped close to the fence.
“What?”
“I really wanna get you off,” Rob said. “If you tell the others, I’ll jerk anyone off. And I swallow..”
“Anyone?”
“No diseases, no fatties, no old people,” Rob said.
“You nasty.”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “What’s your name?”
“Tanker.” He curled his lip like he was disgusted.
“Tanker? That your last name? Or your nickname?”
“Fuck you. Lick my dick,” he said. He spat on Rob’s face through the fence. Then he raised his eyebrows like he wanted to see if Rob would walk away or not. But Rob loved being spat on and treated poorly by prison thugs like him.
Rob dropped to his knees. He reached his fingers through the fence, getting just enough leverage to pull on Tanker’s loose orange pants. That lowered them. His dick flopped right out the fly of his coarse, gauzy prison-issue boxer shorts.
“You got a lighter, man?” he asked.
Rob nodded. He handed it over while licking on the shaft of Tanker’s dick. It tasted unwashed, but not exactly dirty — it tasted like cramped sweaty men, like Tanker had been spending time with other men in such a tiny area that his body, and his cock, brushed up against his homeboys and cellmates. That was precisely what Rob had hoped it would taste like. He gurgled merrily, and Tanker twitched like he hadn’t expected it to feel this good.
He lit a hand-rolled cigarette with the lighter, which he then pocketed. The woodsy smell of cheap marijuana filled the air — that must be why Tanker was sneaking into the woods by himself. He didn’t want to get caught with weed and he didn’t want to have to share it with anyone.
His dick perked up and jerked. Rob switched to swallowing the whole thing, or as much as he could since it kept getting thicker while it hardened in Rob’s mouth. Soon it was so thick Rob struggled to get more than the first inch or two into his mouth.
He paused and took a deep breath. He needed to focus on relaxing his throat, and he told himself over and over to relax. He was so excited that his plan was finally working.
“Damn, dude, I ain’t had a mouth like this in a minute,” he said, taking a deep drag on his joint. “You like homeboy meat, huh?”
Rob blushed. Thwacking that massive brown cock over his face, he smiled up at Tanker. “I like prisoner meat,” he said. “I don’t care too much about its color.”
Tanker nodded. He bucked his hips, slamming his dick forward. His entire body pressed on the fence, which swayed with his weight. His flesh pressed against the chainlink fence.
“Deep-throat that shit, man, swallow it,” Tanker said. He sounded frustrated, his fingers stretching through the fence the best he could, like he wanted more than anything to grab Rob’s head and pound him.
But Rob wanted to tease him a little. He slathered spit with his tongue all over the sensitive tip of Tanker’s dick, until the saliva dripped down onto the ground in long, thin tendrils. Rob knew how good this felt, and how powerful Tanker’s instinct would be to ram his dick into Rob’s mouth.
He didn’t though; he couldn’t. He could do nothing more than grab the chainlinks, gyrate his waist like he was humping the fence and moan loudly. He bit hit lip and bucked his hips. He fingered Rob’s hair through the fence, trying to grip it but all he succeeded in doing was pulling a few hairs out of Rob’s head.
“Damn, quit teasin’ it, man, come on, swallow it. Swallow it, man. Swallow it,” Tanker said. Rob lazily stroked it, giggling at Tanker’s exaggerated reaction.
“How long has it been since you blew a nut?”
He paused for a long time, seemingly trying to decide whether or not to lie. “I ramrodded this punk a couple weeks ago,” Tanker said.
“Who’d you ramrod a couple weeks ago?”
Tanker shrugged. “This prisoner. He Mexican.”
Rob nodded.
“He only charge twenty bucks for anal,” Tanker said. “I ain’t have the money for that though. I had to pay other ways.”
“What other ways?”
He thought for a long time. He chewed on his inner cheek. Then he shrugged. “I stabbed a homeboy. Ain’t kill him. He was a bad homeboy anyway.”
Rob relaxed his throat and deep-throated him, all in one smooth motion without warning. Tanker moaned so violently it sounded like it hurt. His humped his hips forward, pressing his crotch so hard into the chainlink fence that it bowed outward.
Precum flowed down his throat, its sweet and salty flavor assaulted Rob’s senses. It tasted frustrated and horny, exactly like a man who hadn’t had sex in months. Rob rammed his own head so far down that his nose nestled itself in Tanker’s untrimmed pubic hair.
“Ah, god-damn, boy,” Tanker swore. His entire body pressed against the chainlink fence.
He took a deep breath and snorted. He pulled away from Rob then, sneering at him. “Fifty bucks, sissy,” he said.
“What?”
“You wanna keep gettin’ me off?”
“Yeah.”
“Then pay me. Fifty bucks.”
“If I don’t pay you, you’ll just walk away?” Rob had every intention of paying him — he was going to hand over money even if Tanker hadn’t asked — but he wanted to see if Tanker would seriously claim he would walk away. Rob didn’t believe it. Tanker was too obviously horny to blueball himself.
He shrugged. “I can jack off,” he said. “I know you want it, and I know you got money. You got a taste of it. You know how big it is. Pay me.”
Rob slyly turned around. He shook his ass in Tanker’s direction. He pulled out his wallet and counted out fifty dollars — he didn’t want Tanker to see how much cash he actually had, or Tanker would just demand more.
He handed the money through the fence. “Hey, if you bring me other guys like you, I’ll pay you. If you get them to accept twenty bucks, I’ll give you the other thirty.”
“Hell yeah,” Tanker said.
“Gotta keep it low-key, or the guards will find out,” Rob said. “Make sure you-“
“Don’t tell me how to handle the prison, bitch,” Tanker said with a growl through gritted teeth.
“Oh. Okay, sorry. Just don’t get caught,” Rob said. He stuck his face into the chainlink fence, so his mouth squeezed through one of the openings. It was just big enough for his lips to fit through to the other side. He stuck his tongue out and wiggled it.
“Beg me fo’ it.” Tanker spat in the palm of his hand, and wiped it over his gleaming cockshaft as he stroked it.
“What?”
“I say beg me fo’ it. I like hearin’ pussies beg,” Tanker said.
“Please let me touch your dick some more. It tastes so good, and it’s so big and you’re so tough, I just need it. I need your dick in my throat, Tanker, sir, and I want to all of your cum. I want you to drown me in cum,” Rob said.
Tanker gurgled. He spat on Rob’s face through the fence. He stuck his dick through the fence and swayed his hips, trying to slap Rob over the face with his manhood. Rob had to move his head to be in the right position though. He moaned as its meaty thickness thwacked onto his cheeks. Tanker chuckled dryly.
Opening his mouth, Rob chased Tanker’s dick. He didn’t use his hands, he just tried to swallow it while Tanker rotated his hips to tease him over and over again.
“Chase it, sissy, huh? You gonna catch it or what?” He laughed some more.
Then Rob did catch it. Tanker stopped moving for a moment, and Rob deep-throated his dick as far down as ever. Tanker moaned and stretched. He raised his arms and gripped the chainlinks, his unwashed muscles beaded with sweat as he slammed his entire body into the fence.
The precum flowed freely. It was clear he would have cum already if there wasn’t a fence in the way, meaning he couldn’t plow the way he liked, he just kept spasming inside Rob’s mouth.
“Damn, man, I wish I could hold onto you,” Tanker said. “You’d regret this, fo’ sho’, bitch. I don’t hit boys nice in the butt. I’d be grabbin’ yo’ scalp and rammin’ you till you throw up, man.”
“I wouldn’t regret that. I’d love it,” Rob said.
“What?”
“That’s why I like prison thugs,” Rob said. He blushed and looked down. He kissed the tip of Tanker’s dick, the piss-slit winking at him as he flickered his tongue into it. “I love servicing cruel machos like you.”
“Can’t grab yo’ head,” Tanker said. He took a deep drag off his joint, which he had to hold carefully with two fingers now.
Rob had an idea. He took off his belt and passed it through the fence to Tanker. He took it having no idea what to do with it at first, then he got the idea.
Rob pressed his face against the fence again, and this time Tanker fed the belt through as well. He had to whip it around Rob’s head — Rob helped guide it — and wrapped it over Rob’s scalp. That meant Rob couldn’t back his head away. He wasn’t unable to move away, since he could still lower his head, but his head was immobilized enough for Tanker’s massive dick to throat him down.
“Take a deep breath, bitch,” Tanker said. He took one last puff on his joint, which he then swallowed without extinguishing it. Rob inhaled deeply of the scent of Tanker’s unwashed crotch.
Rob was still exhaling when Tanker jammed his dick down Rob’s throat. That now-familiar flavor of masculinity, dirty clothes and stainless steel hit Rob’s tongue, and he groaned as it shoved into his throat.
That triggered his gag reflex, but Rob was good at suppressing that, and in any case, Tanker seemed to like it. He grunted and pulled on the belt a little tighter. He held his dick deep in Rob’s throat, relentless even as Rob began to squirm and choke. Massive quantities of saliva dripped in clumps onto the ground at Rob’s feet.
One of Tanker’s hands remained on the belt to keep it taut, while the other squeezed a pair of fingers over Rob’s nostrils. It was a tight fit, since there was little space in front of Rob’s face, but he managed to do it, and that forced Rob’s throat open a little wider.
Finally Tanker allowed Rob to take a break. He let go of one end of the belt, and Rob’s body instinctively pulled away. He let out a hoarse, choking gasp for air.
“You okay?” Tanker asked as though he was unused to it, like he rarely inquired after anyone’s wellbeing.
“Hell yeah!” Rob exclaimed as enthusiastically as he could with a throat crying out for more oxygen.
Tanker looked dourly down at him. “You got a nice throat, bitch. If you was my bitch, I’d tattoo some pussylips on yo’ face.”
“I’d like that very much, Tanker.”
“You got a marker?”
“Uh… Yes!” Rob had forgotten he had his work bag with him because there was lube and some other stuff in it, including a sharpie. He handed it through the fence.
Tanker chuckled again, suppressing a smile, like he hadn’t really thought Rob would say yes. He did as Rob hoped though, and he drew some labia on Rob’s lower and upper lips. Since he had to do it through the fence, the drawing wasn’t very good — just a blurry smear of black ink really — but Rob couldn’t see it anyway, so he wasn’t disappointed. Tanker pocketed the marker.
Then he put the belt back in place again. His cock was still rock-hard and throbbing, looking even darker now that it was moist with saliva and bile and even some of Rob’s oxygen-starved tears.
“Let’s see how you manage, bitch. You can take dick, I give you dat, but can you take it right? Gonna make you throw up, bitch, I swear to god,” Tanker said once Rob was back, belted to the fence with his mouth open. Tanker hocked a big loogie into Rob’s open mouth.
This time, he didn’t just deposit his cock directly into Rob’s throat. He held onto his head through the belt and explored Rob’s gullet, humping his dick in from every direction and even moving it in a wide, slow circle. He seemed to be trying to make Rob gag — and succeeding, laughing each time — so he fucked his throat every way he could, as if it was a disreputable fleshlight.
“Love hearin’ dat sound,” Tanker said. “The sound of a bitch chokin’ on yo’ dick, ‘specially a pussy like you. Hell yeah. Choke up some more, bitch.”
Rob gurgled. He tried to say yes, sir but since his mouth was full, he succeed only in tickling Tanker and triggering a heave in his stomach. More saliva flowed over Tanker’s dick, soaking his pants.
“I think I’ve made a mess,” Rob said as he gasped for air. “Sorry.” Tanker’s orange prison pants were soaked with Rob’s spit-up.
Tanker shrugged. “I’ll tell e’ryone I got off with a bitch. They won’t care. I ain’t gonna say who you is.” He paused. “If you here all the time, man, they gonna see you. I can’t control who get a nut off, y’know, I can’t get paid if they know when you gonna be here. Why don’t you just schedule it wit’ me? Then I can send you homeboys when you ready, and you pay me.”
“Okay,” Rob said.
“You best pay me, motherfucker. I got connections on the outside. They can put a hurtin’ on you if you try and stiff me,” Tanker said. He spat again, aiming for Rob’s face. But his spitwad hit the fence, and only a few drops splattered onto Rob.
“Okay. I’ll pay,” Rob said. “No problem. I’ll be here at three o’clock every day.” He lazily stroked Tanker’s pulsating cock, which dripped with saliva. Rob spat more up and onto the shaft. “You can meet me and bring whoever you want. I’ll hide behind this tree, so if someone else comes through they won’t see me.”
Rob knew he could get more prison cock if he just hung out here. He could tell anyone who came by that he was jacking off anyone, and he’d probably have dozens of men coming through. But he didn’t do that for a couple reasons. First of all, most prisoners were really not very handsome — the average age of an inmate in America was sixty-two, and a lot of them were fat as well — but Rob felt confident that Tanker would only bring his gang buddies over. They’d be younger on average, and no doubt having a better physique than most. Besides that, with dozens of inmates crowding the fence, it was likely that fights would break out, and guards would soon learn what was happening. If the prison administration made this a solid fence, or electrified it, or just added a second fence a foot away from the first one, it’d be impossible for Rob to get anyone off.
And the most important reason to let Tanker bring him men was that Rob liked the idea of Tanker bringing men here and keeping them quiet. The only downside was that Tanker was a black prison thug whose buddies were no doubt also black prison thugs, whereas Rob enjoyed a little diversity — he would have to offer Tanker extra cash to bring rednecks, mafioso, bikers and more.
“I’ve got an idea, Tanker,” Rob said as he licked the shaft and suckled moistly on the tip. Tanker’s whole body writhed and he nearly orgasmed right then, jabbing his salty cocktip into Rob’s mouth. The belt had fallen to the ground, and Tanker was too distracted by pre-orgasmic pleasure to notice. He gripped the fence with his hands and even bit the chainlinks, dick throbbing on Rob’s lips. Rob giggled. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Rob turned around and undid his pants — since he had already taken his belt off, all he had to do was stand and his pants fell down.
“Aw, damn, dude, you want me in yo’ ass?”
Rob nodded.
Tanker chewed on his lower lip. “I promised my mama I wouldn’t do that. She don’t like ugly.”
“Oh well, you don’t have to do it,” Rob said. “I don’t wanna make you break a promise to your mom and-“
“I ain’t say no,” Tanker said. He sighed. “Gimme more money.”
Rob shrugged. “I’m not paying you more every time,” he said. He handed over the hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. Tanker’s eyes opened wide like he had never seen a hundred-dollar bill before.
“Damn, you really want my dick in yo’ ass, huh? Well for a hundred and fifty bucks, I’ll stick it in anything,” Tanker said. “Come on, back dat ass up.”
Rob got down on his hands and knees. He backed up until his ass was pressed against the fence.
“Nah,” Tanker said. “You gotta get up higher. I got some self-respect. Ain’t gonna ram a male down in the dirt, like a fuckin’ swine.”
Rob blushed but agreed. He raised his ass higher. Since Tanker was so tall, it wasn’t easy, and in the end, Rob had to stand and bend over to grab his ankles.
“Spread yo’ cheeks, bitch. I can’t get a grip,” Tanker said. He jabbed his dick towards Rob’s hole, but he couldn’t get any leverage to spread his cheeks.
This was a very difficult position for Rob. He had to use both hands to separate his asscheeks, which meant he couldn’t support himself on his hands. He was bent over, head nearly on the ground with his hands in the air behind his back.
A twinge of pain hit him, followed by a long, slow melting pleasure that wrapped over his bones in waves, emanating from his ass. It took a long time for the pleasure to build, but Tanker’s rock-hard cock explored Rob’s ass and found his prostate soon enough.
Despite his claim that he had promised not to plow a man in the ass, Tanker did not plow like someone who wasn’t used to it — that made Rob wonder if that had been a lie, if maybe Tanker only said it to get more money out of Rob.
“Keep yo’ cheeks spread, bitch,” Tanker muttered whenever Rob’s hands slipped. It didn’t slow him down any, now that his cock was in Rob’s ass. His fingers slipped through the fence and fingered his cheeks desperately, trying to get a grip on his flesh.
Soon his entire cock pulsated in Rob’s ass. Precum flowed within him, and Rob could feel the man’s dick throbbing, the orgasm bubbling under — Rob sensed it growing with each thrust of Tanker’s dick.
If Rob had any hands free, he would have been jacking himself off and would have undoubtedly cum already (at least once). But he couldn’t stop spreading his cheeks, even for a moment, or Tanker would bark at him to get back in position.
“You tryin’-a get away from me, bitch? Stay there. Stay in position, ya fuckin’ sissy,” Tanker roared through the fence.
But Rob didn’t stay in position. For the first time since this had begun, he didn’t do what Tanker said. Despite the pain it caused in his ass, Rob lifted his head and upper body.
The motion sent waves of agony through Rob’s spine as his ass moved around Tanker’s dick. Meanwhile Tanker moaned and grunted like he was surprised. He had to focus to keep his cock deep in Rob’s ass while it moved, but he managed to do so.
Rob lifted himself up until his entire upper body leaned against the fence. Tanker was still deep in his ass, and his upper body leaned against the other side of the fence. So they were close enough now that Rob could feel Tanker’s solid muscles writhing, and he could feel the sparse body hairs scratching at Rob’s smooth back skin. Just the wiry edges of the chainlinks separated their bodies.
“Oh, you down fo’ that standin’ shit, huh?” Tanker muttered. He slammed his hips, whistling in appreciation at the new position. “That’ll do nicely, baby.”
His fingers pinched Rob’s back and his asscheeks, as he tried to grab ahold of him through the fence. All he could manage was a few pinches.
But his face was right behind Rob’s head, and his hot breath condensed on Rob’s neck and cheek. Rob even rolled his head to the side, so his face was against the fence. Much to his surprise, Tanker kissed his cheek through the fence, moaning as he did. He nibbled seductively on Rob’s earlobe.
Though his words were still menacing, Tanker’s voice broke and showed some affection as he neared his orgasm — Rob could feel it coming deep in his own ass. Tanker’s cock, which seemed to be getting bigger with every passing thrust, rammed easily in and out now, like Rob’s ass had been built just to accommodate Tanker’s manhood.
“I love the way yo’ asshole feel around my dick, boy,” Tanker said softly. “It feels real good. You got a nice ass. I like destroyin’ it, boy. I love it. I think I might love you, bitch. You love me?”
“Yes, baby!”
“Good. I don’t love you, you too nasty. You too dirty,” Tanker said. “You don’t love me neither. You love my cock, right?”
“Yes! Oh god, yes, I love your cock!”
“‘Course you do. E’ryone loves Tanker’s cock ‘ventually,” he said. He gasped. “Gonna fill you up in a minute. Beg me fo’ it.”
“I want your cum inside me! I wanna feel yo’ baby batter flowing into me, please!”
“Jack yo’self off, baby,” Tanker said. He nibbled on Rob’s earlobe again, then kissed him on the cheek. Rob nearly collapsed in shock as Tanker even kissed him on the lips the best he could — since Rob’s face was sideways on the fence, it was an awkward kiss, but it felt perfect to Rob. “You love me, baby.”
The switch from calling Rob a bitch to calling him a baby was unexpected, and it made Rob croon with desire. No one like Tanker had ever called him baby before.
The sensations in his ass were incredible, mind-blowing. It felt like he was being ripped apart yet at the same time it felt so good Rob had trouble remaining upright. His knees were weak. His own dick throbbed in his fingers.
“C’mon, I wanna blow,” Tanker said. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, but I ain’t doin’ it yet, baby.” He kissed Rob on the lips again. “I wanna feel you cum, okay? I always make my prison punk jack off when I ram him, that way he clench down when he cum. C’mon, finish yo’self off.”
Rob’s mind whirred — that confirmed that Tanker was lying about promising not to be a ramrod (or at least it confirmed that he had never upheld that promise). That made Rob feel a little better, since he didn’t like the idea of making someone break a promise to his mother and pastor.
His whole body undulated as an orgasm hit him. It was the most powerful climax of his life, since it began in his prostate and kept building as Rob stroked himself off. By the time his first few drops of cum landed on the ground at his feet, the pleasure was already so intense it wracked his body like a seizure.
And then Tanker reached orgasm as well. He grunted and moaned, cursing indecipherably as he slammed his dick into Rob’s ass one last time. He held it there, unmoving, for what felt like forever, while Rob clenched and writhed.
A spurt of white-hot cum sprayed within his ass, followed by more. Then it flowed out like piss, a long, constant stream of creamy cum that felt so good Rob moaned as loud as he could.
“Take it, baby, gonna fill you up, hell yeah… Gonna drown yo’ ass in nut, baby, gonna fill you up so much it come out yo’ ears…”
Tanker’s whole body flexed, then relaxed and he groaned. He slapped Rob’s ass, sending a wave of bliss through both men’s bodies. Tanker’s balls drained wad after wad of his seed, so much so that it dripped out of his ass and flooded his innards. Rob felt it seeping throughout his body, soaking into him until it was everywhere, like he was becoming one with Tanker.
At last it was all over. Rob had no idea how long the climax had lasted, but it felt like forever. His knees were weak. When he finally pulled off Tanker’s dick, a tremendous sense of relief overwhelmed him, and he could do nothing more than stagger away and collapse onto the ground.
Tanker took a deep breath and wiped his cock off with one hand. He wiped his hand off on a nearby tree. He grimaced at Rob when he saw how his hand was now covered in sticky santorum.
“That was good, baby,” Tanker said. He sighed. “You got a nice ass.”
“Thanks. I love your cock. When you’re released, you can come see me,” Rob said. “I’ll let you stay with me. As long as you fill me up every day, you don’t have to pay any rent.”
He nodded. He frowned. “I ain’t gonna be released till I’m nearly fifty.”
Rob shrugged. “As long as you still got that dick, come see me,” he said with a giggle. “Don’t forget. You get thirty bucks for bringing me men.”
“Don’t pay ‘em nothin’,” Tanker said. He pulled his pants up and walked a few feet away. “Just gimme fifty bucks each. I’ll tell ‘em you do it for free. They’ll do it for free. Hell, I might be able to make ‘em pay a few bucks.”
“You’re gonna get paid from both ends?”
Tanker smiled broadly, and wiped the sweat off his dark brown brow. He licked his lips and squeezed his dick in those orange prison pants. “I’m a pimp, baby. That’s why I’m in here in the first place. Courts don’t like pimps.”
“That’s a long sentence for pimp.”
“Three strikes, baby, and I tried to shoot a cop.” He paused. “I did shoot a cop. He lived though.”
“Oh, cool. You’re gonna be my pimp.”
“That’s right, baby,” Tanker said. “I loves ya, and I’ll make sure you get treated just like you deserve. You do whatevuh I say, baby, or I’ll make you go find some other pimp to bitch-slap you.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Come back tomorrow at three,” Tanker said. “And bring some cigarettes. Menthol. 100s.” He walked away without waiting for a response. The bare muscles of his sweaty back flexed as he strode through the woods back towards the prison.
“Okay. Love you too, Tanker!” Rob stood there and watched him disappear into the woods, and he was so aroused by the experience that he stood there and jacked off again by himself. He daydreamed about Tanker coming to visit him outside of prison, a little older, a little grayer, but still full of all his prison thug appeal.
Rob couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

The Pilot Bottoms

Avery has long been servicing the hunky pilot Wyatt Kettenhauer, but he wants to be treated with a little more respect. He never thought Wyatt would agree to experience the glory of a twink on top!

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Avery Flowers felt his heart jump when Captain Kettenhauer made eye contact with him. He had pale green eyes like an ancient jade sculpture, and Avery couldn’t look away from them. Avery was serving drinks in first-class, so Captain Kettenhauer didn’t do anything right then. He just nodded at Avery, who ignored him, looking away as though he hadn’t seen.
This was it. Avery intended to stand up for himself today, for the first time since he was a schoolboy. But it was tough — Captain Kettenhauer was tall, muscular and ungodly handsome. He had perfect skin and a handsome, square-jawed face, dark hair and so much swagger it oozed from his pores like sweat. His chest was broadly muscled, pecs rippling beneath the pilot uniform, which was pressed and neatly done up, looking like it came straight out of the drycleaner. Which it probably did, Kettenhauer drycleaned all of his clothes, even his tee shirts.
But Avery no longer liked him. He still like Captain Kettenhauer’s physique, of course. Avery was a great admirer of the male form, and Kettenhauer’s was admirable indeed. Avery couldn’t deny that.
What he didn’t like was that Captain Kettenhauer was such a jerk. He was such a jerk that Avery didn’t see it at first, his jerkiness was too big to look at, too bright, considering him an asshole would be looking directly at the sun. He liked letting Avery jerk him off in the bathroom on long flights, and he liked ramming Avery up the ass on lonely nights in lonely hotel rooms in obscure cities.
But only when he couldn’t get a woman. He made it clear that Avery was his second choice, and he didn’t make it clear in a polite way either. He was demanding, entitled, selfish, annoying and frankly a bore. His handsomeness covered all that up, but Avery saw through the dimples.
The final straw happened on a Jetlong flight two weeks ago. Kettenhauer had told Avery to wait for him in the bathroom cuz he needed to “blow his wad”, then got distracted by a woman in first-class. Avery was entirely willing, eager even, to service him.
Avery had waited there in the bathroom for fifteen minutes, an eternity on a flight. He got written up, and Captain Kettenhauer never even came to tell him he had gotten a blowjob from a woman in the cockpit next to that idiot copilot Spelton, so he didn’t need Avery. Avery was humiliated. He couldn’t explain why he hadn’t completed his duties for so long, so the airline believed he had irritable bowel or something similar, cuz why else would he sit in the bathroom for almost twenty minutes? Avery looked like an idiot. The airline’s HR bitch asked if he needed to consider a diaper for long-haul flights.
And the first-class woman who dispensed blowjobs like cheap lipstick wasn’t even hot — the woman who sucked Kettenhauer’s dick in the cockpit (and probably sucked Spelton off too) — she looked like a sexy weasel in a cartoon. It turned out she gave a crappy blowjob, especially for a wing wench — that’s a woman who lusts for pilot cock. Giving a pilot a blowjob in the cockpit during a flight was the main goal in life for a wing wench, and this tubby-ass saggy-titted bitch couldn’t even do it right. Avery was simmering. Kettenhauer seemed to think he was being nice by telling Avery how shitty her blowjob was, thus implying that Avery’s mouth was better. That just made it clear to Avery that Kettenhauer chose her over him because Kettenhauer liked her and didn’t like him. Avery was willing to suck a nut out of him anytime he needed it, and Avery did it properly. Avery got his men off.
That was two weeks ago. Avery had only seen Kettenhauer a couple times since then, but he didn’t work one of Kettenhauer’s flights, so he didn’t have a chance to confront him about being treated like a lingering cough. Or maybe Avery was just a coward.
In truth, Avery was fine with simply jerking Kettenhauer off and not getting anything in return. Avery loved muscular, macho alpha males like Kettenhauer, and they usually treated Avery like a talkative fleshlight. That was normal. There was something altogether patronizing and dismissive about the way Kettenhauer did it though and about the way he invited Avery to meet him in the bathroom yet again on this flight.
Avery did so, despite his misgivings. He waited until he was in between beverage services, then hurried into the bathroom and shut the door. He flipped the sign to read ‘occupied’, and he waited. When Kettenhauer didn’t show up right away, Avery nervously fidgeted, his fury steadily growing.
That time, Kettenhauer did show up. No women had propositioned him. Even giants fall now and then. So Kettenhauer sneered, called Avery a pansy and shoved his dick down Avery’s throat. Then he failed to back Avery up when he got in trouble again for being missing during the next beverage service.
That was exactly how this went, and Avery once again accepted that. Kettenhauer took Avery for granted, neverminding that Avery was a busy flight attendant. Kettenhauer did it again that night, in the middle of dinner service. He just stood there by the bathroom door, tapping his feet like he didn’t notice Avery was busy doing something. He used to bring Avery to his hotel room to really ram at his ass, but that was months ago, and nowadays he barely spoke, he just saw Avery as a warm mouth he could drain his load into. And Avery allowed it. Kettenhauer had walked out afterwards without a word of thanks and even without saying goodbye. He just zipped up like Avery was some sort of masturbatory urinal, and then he was gone.
And that was, at last, the final straw for Avery. He had some self-respect.
When the plane started cruising, Avery knew Captain Kettenhauer would signal for a dalliance. And when Captain Kettenhauer came out into the cabin and made eye contact with him, his broad chest heaving beneath his uniform shirt, Avery just smiled politely.
Kettenhauer cocked his head to the side. He raised his eyebrows. He motioned towards the bathroom — he was being more forward than normal. He must have decided Avery ignoring him meant ‘yes’ then, because he went into the bathroom with one eyebrow raised, aimed in Avery’s direction. Avery finished checking with the first-class passengers, then headed for the bathroom. No one noticed that he went into the same bathroom that Kettenhauer had gone into moments before
“Finally…” Kettenhauer said, like he was annoyed but also like he was only pretending to be annoyed but also like his pretending was really for real. His furrowed brow accentuated those dimples that made Avery swoon into his powerful arms.
But Avery resisted that urge today.
Kettenhauer already had his cock out, his massive uncut manhood flopping out the fly of his slacks. He didn’t take off his pants or his shirt, which was typical for him, even though he knew Avery loved massaging his chest. He was too good to take any clothes off. Avery wasn’t worth it.
Kettenhauer said, “You better hurry. Spelton is my copilot again today, and god knows he’s gonna have to take a shit, he’ll complain if I’m not there-“
“I’ll be very quick,” Avery said, holding his hand up to shut the man up. Captain Kettenhauer threw his eyebrows back — Avery had never interrupted him. “I’m… done jerking you off..”
“What?”
“I’m not your little cum-hole. You left me in the bathroom two weeks ago. You got me in trouble, nearly fired, because you couldn’t be bothered to tell me you found someone better, someone with a nasty-ass pussy.”
“I didn’t even fuck her pussy,” he said with a snort and a sigh. “You’re still upset about that?”
“I am. I have a right to be. So I’m not messing with you anymore,” Avery said. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“I know what this is about,” Captain Kettenhauer said. He sighed. “Fine. I’ll take my shirt off. I’ll flex my muscles.” He knew that was what Avery liked, and he quickly unbuttoned his uniform shirt. He shrugged off that shirt, then lifted his undershirt over his chest — even the undershirt was pristine white, presumably drycleaned. His broad chest was laden with muscle, dappled with hair and big meaty flesh. He flexed his pecs. The sight of those broad muscles jiggling made Avery’s dick rocket to attention. Captain Kettenhauer smiled like a cocky bastard — he knew very well what effect his muscles had on someone like Avery.
Avery blushed and focused on remaining strong. He kept his face stony and dry. Kettenhauer flexed his biceps, and Avery felt dizzy as he caught a whiff of Kettenhauer’s cologne and his underlying musk.
He had to force himself not to suckle Kettenhauer’s nipples like a baby. His hairy chest was so inviting, and the bulge in his tight slacks made Avery lick his lips.
“No,” Avery said, breathing a sigh of relief that he had remained strong.
“You’re really saying no? Fine… Avery, what do you want? I’m sorry I was treating you poorly, okay? I just… I-“
“I don’t want to be your consolation prize when you can’t get a woman,” Avery said. “I get you off better than any woman, don’t I?”
“It’s different…” Kettenhauer sighed and rolled his eyes. You could tell he never really had to advocate for himself. “I’m not going to mess with you when I have a woman begging for it,” Captain Kettenhauer said.
“Then I guess we’re through,” Avery said. He tried to turn around, but that was difficult in the tiny bathroom.
“Wait… I’ll do whatever you want, Avery. Come on. Just forgive me,” Kettenhauer said. He grabbed Avery by the head and kissed him right on the lips. That was the first time they kissed — when Avery had tried a few months ago, Captain Kettenhauer rolled his eyes and said no way. He said it was unsanitary, he said he doesn’t even like kissing women. Now Avery felt a surge of desire deep within him as Captain Kettenhauer’s tongue plunged into his mouth.
“It’s gonna take more than a kiss to convince me,” Avery said. He felt dizzy from being so close to Kettenhauer’s chest, which reminded him why Avery had felt lucky when he first got to handle his dick. He was the kind of man women threw themselves after, and not just wing wenches, nice women. He was handsome, had a good job and plenty of money, a full head of hair. Men shouldn’t be allowed to have everything, Avery thought. He put his hands on his hips.
“What then? I said I’m sorry,” Kettenhauer said with an insouciant grin, like a child who thought apologizing could fix any problem.
“We have to be equals from now on. You have to bottom, not half the time, I know that’s too much, but at least some of the time. I want you to jerk me off, and you have to take it in the ass,” Avery said. He hadn’t planned on demanding that, but it felt good to say it, even if he knew that was the same as dropping Captain Kettenhauer, who would never agree.
It’s foolish to demand something you can’t get if you can’t enforce the demand, so Avery regretted saying all that. He was going to lose his bargaining position, he thought.
Captain Kettenhauer laughed, seriously at first, then performatively, then he looked into Avery’s eyes and his laughter turned into a nervous rumble as he realized Avery was serious. He flexed his pecs again, making them ripple beneath Avery’s touch. Avery blushed. Kettenhauer’s laughter turned into a scowl. “I could find someone another man willing to do it.”
Avery shrugged. “Sweet. Later.” He turned around. “Tell him I said hi.” Avery moved his hand to open the bathroom door.
“Wait!” Kettenhauer said, and Avery turned back to face him, re-shutting the bathroom door, which had only ever been open a crack. Kettenhauer sighed, rearranged the stiffy in his slacks and rolled his eyes. When he didn’t say anything after a very long time, Avery turned around again to leave, but Captain Kettenhauer stopped him. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll… do it.”
“Do what?”
“I’ll bottom for you, Avery, okay? I’ve done it before. Not since I was a teenager, but…”
“Really?”
“Really. Just hurry up,” Kettenhauer said. He squeezed down to his knees between Avery and the sink. His face, normally so placid and square-jawed, was now flushed and tense.
Avery hurriedly took his dick out the fly of his pants, exactly like Kettenhauer usually made him do it — it had always seemed extra-humiliating to jerk off a man who didn’t see him as important enough to even drop his pants to his ankles. Avery’s cock was substantial, not as big as Captain Kettenhauer’s, but big enough to make Kettenhauer’s eyes bug out. He’d never noticed Avery had a sizable cock.
Kettenhauer wasted no time in opening his mouth. He hesitated before putting it in his mouth, waiting to see if Avery would make him go through with it or just wanted to see if he was willing. Avery re-crossed his arms over his thin chest, and Kettenhauer swallowed his dick in one smooth motion. He gagged the moment Avery’s dick touched his tongue.
“Hmmm…” Intense pleasure hit Avery right away. His dick was already half-hard from being so close to Captain Kettenhauer’s bare chest and smelling the sweat beading up on his shoulders, and now that he was stimulated by that hot, moist mouth, Avery was overcome by some of the most intense sensations of his life.
It wasn’t, objectively speaking, very good. Kettenhauer’s mouth was clumsy and awkward, not to mention toothy, like a dull shark. Captain Kettenhauer towered over Avery, so in order to get his mouth on Avery’s dick, he had to awkwardly bend his head down in the tiny bathroom. He jutted his ass out, bumping into the side of the toilet.
Avery massaged his strapping back muscles, as sparks of ecstasy erupted throughout Avery’s body. There was a tattoo of an old lady’s face over Kettenhauer’s left shoulderblade. Avery had never asked him who it was, because he rarely saw Captain Kettenhauer without a shirt on in the light. But he had gathered it was Kettenhauer’s late grandmother, his grandmother, who had raised him and whom he was close to until she died a few months ago. It was sweet enough to remind him that Kettenhauer was not really a bad man. He was just selfish.
Men raised by grandmothers are like that. Grandmothers are too lenient, too loving, too unwilling to punish their babies. And Kettenhauer had probably always been too handsome to discipline.
Plus, Pilots inherently have a messianic complex, that’s what that is, Avery thought as spasms of pleasure coursed through his body. Pilots and surgeons are always arrogant bastards.
As precum leaked from his dick, Avery moaned. He threw his head back, excited to be on top and in charge for once. He didn’t think he could throat Captain Kettenhauer down like Kettenhauer usually did when the tables were turned — that just wasn’t Avery’s nature, and in any case, it might have made him cum right away, before he had a chance to get in Captain Kettenhauer’s ass. But he tried his best to get his dick down Kettenhauer’s throat, to make him choke the way he made Avery choke.
“Ewck! Gimme a sec!” Kettenhauer pulled off Avery’s cock, and he looked away from it. Another gag rippled out of him, and he spat up a mouthful of saliva, precum and a few stray pubic hairs. Avery gripped Kettenhauer by his thick black hair, which was carefully combed and parted, and he jammed his dick back down his gullet.
Since Avery was smaller than Kettenhauer, his dick fit very easily into his throat. That didn’t stop Kettenhauer from gagging. It didn’t slow him down any, and he even seemed to enjoy the experience, though Avery knew he would never admit it.
Someone jiggled the door handle then, and Avery froze. His dick was in Captain Kettenhauer’s throat, pulsating, spasming, as Avery wondered if he was about to get caught. But of course the door was locked.
“Occupied!” Avery called out, then repeated himself in Spanish. “¡Ocupado!” To him, his voice was quavering and nervous, and he thought whoever it was must realize what was happening.
But of course, that wasn’t obvious just from Avery’s tone of voice. It probably sounded like he didn’t feel well, he thought, and the person outside the door moved on to the other bathroom without saying a word. Avery breathed deeply, suddenly aware of intense bliss hitting his body. He had been so distracted he barely noticed how close he was to cumming until the interruption was gone and then the sensations were so intense Avery’s knees went weak.
Precum flowed freely down Kettenhauer’s throat. The sour flavor made Kettenhauer wrinkle his nose and scrunch up his eyes, but he didn’t stop. Avery had to stand on his toes to get his dick at the right height for Captain Kettenhauer, even with Kettenhauer stooped down as far as he could get.
Avery’s dick throbbed. He was near orgasm, but Avery slowed himself down the best he could. He wanted to make this last as long as possible.
“Alright, turn around,” Avery said, hurriedly, to get onto the next phase before he blew his load early. His delicate face and chest were bright red from both exhilaration and the intensity of his impending orgasm.
Kettenhauer pulled off Avery’s dick and breathed a sigh of relief. He wiped his face clean of his own spit and Avery’s precum, blushed intensely and pulled another pubic hair off his lip, where it got caught up with his magnificent mustache. He gagged then, and he looked away from Avery. His handsome face was hopeful, clean-cut jaw quivering. Again, it looked like he thought Avery might be willing to say he was forgiven, that he had done enough already, but Avery just nodded for him to continue.
Avery didn’t often get to top ultra-handsome machos, and he wasn’t about to give up the opportunity.
Captain Kettenhauer dropped his slacks, revealing his thick cock, which made Avery’s mouth water. Normally Avery would have fallen to his knees and demanded Kettenhauer throat him down. But instead, he made Kettenhauer turn around, grip the back of the toilet and lower his ass to Avery’s crotch-height. That was an uncomfortable position for Kettenhauer, who was so tall he had to struggle to get his ass low enough to be rammable.
Avery always kept a tube of lubricant in his pocket, for these sorts of airplane-bathroom dalliances. This was the first time he had used it on someone else’s hole though. As Avery wedged his dick between Kettenhauer’s asscheeks, he felt a surge of pride that he had stuck to his guns.
“You need to start buying the lube,” Avery said, smiling — he was on a roll for sticking up for himself. “You’re the one with the massive cock that needs lubricant, and you get paid more than me. You buy the lube from now on.”
“Fine,” Kettenhauer said through clenched teeth. Then he let out a loud oomph as Avery pushed the tip of his dick in. Kettenhauer’s voice broke.
The lube helped a lot with getting his dick in, but once he got started and hit Captain Kettenhauer’s prostate, Avery found his resistance melting away. Kettenhauer howled as quietly as he could — luckily the first-class bathroom was nearly soundproof, so only someone right next to the door would hear. Kettenhauer gripped the wall of the airplane bathroom.
He had to struggle at first, with Captain Kettenhauer gritting his teeth and trying to hide how difficult it was for him. But the more Avery rammed back and forth, the easier it got for him. It was clear that Kettenhauer felt pleasure beneath the pain, an ever-mounting sense of desire that made his nipples hard, his skin prickle and his own dick leak precum into his hand.
That’s right, Captain Kettenhauer had an erection. He didn’t know when or why it happened, and Avery didn’t even notice it yet, but Kettenhauer’s cock was rock-hard, throbbing and spewing precum into his hand, even as he endured Avery’s cock invading him up behind.
The plane hit a sudden spot of turbulence, and Captain Kettenhauer fell over. He held onto the bar on the wall, meant for disabled passengers who needed help getting on and off the toilet, while Avery had nothing to support himself on but Kettenhauer’s muscled back itself. Avery would have fallen over but for that back, and if he had fallen over, he might well have knocked the door open and fallen, dick out and on the verge of orgasm, into the corridor that ran down the center of the plane.
But Avery managed right himself, and he got his cock all the way up Kettenhauer’s behind. He laid on Captain Kettenhauer’s torso, grinding his face into that tattoo of his grandmother, which stretched over his powerful shoulderblade. Kettenhauer grunted but held him up easily with his towering legs. Avery had little leverage since his feet weren’t on the ground, but it was easier since he wasn’t crammed into the tiny space between Kettenhauer’s ass and the door. That gave Kettenhauer room to spread his feet farther, which opened his ass wider.
And that, in turn, allowed Avery to pound him like a top should. He was no longer so worried about hurting Kettenhauer, who didn’t seem to have any limit — after some initial resistance, he was bottoming like an old pro.
Finally an orgasm overwhelmed him. Avery wanted to keep going, but he knew Captain Kettenhauer had been right about his copilot Spelton. Sooner or later, his and Kettenhauer’s absence was going to be noted, and they’d both be in trouble. So Avery didn’t fight back or slow down when he felt his climax coming on.
Incredible pleasure slammed his spine, and Avery bit his lip to stifle a moan. The fixtures in the bathroom rattled as Captain Kettenhauer grunted and shook, his powerful body rattling the toilet and the sink, on which he supported himself.
Cum flew into Kettenhauer’s ass, a bigger load than Avery had ever experienced. He moaned loudly this time, blushing, praying no one outside could hear. His entire body spasmed and he went weak. He nearly fell down but supported himself on Kettenhauer’s body.
Then at last it was over. Avery drained his balls into Kettenhauer’s ass, feeling so small he was like a child in comparison to Kettenhauer’s strapping frame. Avery sighed and slapped him on the ass just like Kettenhauer did him. It sent a shiver of post-orgasmic bliss up Avery’s spine.
He pulled out and sighed. Avery grabbed some toilet paper to clean himself off, while Captain Kettenhauer winced and sat on the edge of the sink. He had to lower his head to avoid bumping it on the roof of the bathroom.
“Thanks,” Avery said. “I really didn’t think you would do it.”
Kettenhauer winced. “I’m not doing it a lot. Or ever again. I’m a top, Avery. Forever more.”
“I know,” Avery said with a big smile.
Uh, Captain Kettenhauer, where are you? I need a break.
That was Spelton’s voice, the copilot, coming over on the radio attached to Captain Kettenhauer’s uniform. He sounded strained, like he desperately needed to use the bathroom. Kettenhauer sighed and rolled his eyes. His disgusted look made Avery giggle. Kettenhauer shushed him and spoke into his radio. “Yeah, Spelton, sorry, I uh… I didn’t feel great. I’ll be up there in a minute to relieve you.”
Okay, thanks.
Captain Kettenhauer slowly rebuttoned his uniform shirt. Avery was sorry to see his chest disappear, but he was glad to have a more equal relationship. He remained naked for now, since they couldn’t leave the bathroom at the same time. He wanted to wait for there to be more room to put his clothes back on.
“Thanks a lot, Avery,” Kettenhauer said as he shoved past Avery to get to the door. He winced at the soreness remaining in his ass. “Wifey’s been a total bitch lately, so I needed this. I needed you.”
“I needed you too, Captain,” Avery said. He gave him a mocking salute while Captain Kettenhauer opened the door, checked for anyone nearby, then crept out.
“Are you gonna be on the flight to Santiago?” Kettenhauer asked, whispering from the corridor. He sounded hopeful for once, rather than entitled.
“They couldn’t keep me away,” Avery said.

Santa Claus

Avery has long sought the ultimate alpha: Santa Claus! He never thought he’d make it to the North Pole and land that holly-jolly slice of manmeat, but a secret NATO mission north of Greenland gives him the opportunity of a lifetime. Can he satisfy Santa’s most masculine of needs?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery and his Inuit guides all thought they were seeing things when the North Pole finally came into view. The wind raged like a hurricane — it wasn’t snowing, but it felt like it was because the wind kicked up the snow that covered the ice-pack ocean surface. Avery thought for sure he’d never be able to leave. He’d been a fool to come this far. How could he go back and go through this whole trip again in reverse?
Everything was frozen. The snow and ice beneath his feet was meters thick, and beneath it was water so cold it made Avery shiver just to think about it. The boots he wore were so frozen they crackled as he walked, as did his outermost two layers of socks. The water on the sled dogs’s fur was frozen too. Avery’s bones and his blood and his heart all felt frozen solid, like he had become an ice golem somewhere between Nuuk and here.
Somehow Tukkuttok and Qannik were fine, but then, it was hard to tell because they wore insulated masks (as did Avery). He couldn’t see any of their faces. It was almost claustrophobic, Avery thought, even though he was in a wide-open wilderness. It was like he was trapped in a little room, just that little room was the insulated space beneath his layers of clothes.
The idea of traveling to the North Pole had been ridiculous even if Avery had had a serious reason for going. But it was just a joke that had gone too far. Now he had spent thousands of dollars — and he’d eaten dog meat! — all for one little tawdry encounter.
One which might not even ever happen.
He wasn’t sure this was going to work. His legs felt like they were on fire, and he was surprised with each foot forward he traveled that they hadn’t fallen off. The dogs barked. They didn’t need to be directed where to go now. They went straight for the North Pole.
“There it is, it’s amazing,” Tukkuttok said. He had a stilted, clipped accent, half-Inuit, half-Danish. Avery was pretty sure he was handsome, but he’d only seen a small part of Tukkuttok’s face. The other Inuit was Qannik, who hadn’t spoken much. Tukkuttok spoke for him. “We must hurry to enact the plan.” He glanced at Avery but didn’t make eye contact with him.
Avery was fine with that. He didn’t officially know what Tukkuttok and Qannik planned on doing. It was coming from the Danish government, and it had something to do with NATO submarines operating in the area. Avery had paid for this expedition, but he was not the reason Tukkuttok and Qannik had come along. He was just their cover story.
He was here for the North Pole. It gleamed, marbled spires rising from the frozen wasteland, and beyond those gates Avery could virtually see the warmth. He’d finally get the chill out of his bones once he got in there. He hurried away from Tukkuttok and Qannik.
He staggered to the gate. It was harder to walk the closer he got to it. The gate loomed in front of him like a beast, a burning beast of pure cold, sunlight glittering off endless heaps of snow. Awe entered Avery like a cock in his ass, and he could do little more than fall to his knees and beg for entrance. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever make it back either. He couldn’t imagine turning around and going through that again.
Now that he was here, he was here, and he both couldn’t and didn’t want to leave, or at least a part of him didn’t. Or maybe, he thought, forcing his mind to whir despite the feelings wracking his body, maybe it was just a magical enchantment coming off the North Pole. Maybe he was actually freezing to death.
On the other side of the gate, a two-foot-tall elf stood as though waiting for him. He had green skin and pointed ears. “Greetings, traveler! Welcome to Santa’s Workshop! Is Christmas in your heart?”
“Wh-What?” Avery’s mouth was virtually frozen shut. He couldn’t think about anything but getting past that gate. The warmth emanated from it like an aura.
“Do you have the spirit of Christmas in your heart?” the elf asked.
“Uh… Yes.”
The elf nodded and opened the gate. Avery toppled into the North Pole, landing on green grass. The elf beamed. “I’m so glad you said that. People sometimes laugh or make a sarcastic quip, and that’s how I know I can’t let them in. It always breaks my heart when that happens, and I have to leave them out there in the wintry cold. So I’m glad you told the truth.”
Here, it was warm and summer. Avery crawled away from the gate so the elf could shut it, snapping off the roaring wind and freezing bluster that billowed in from outside. He sighed and took a deep breath as he tried to stop shivering. He was drastically overdressed for the warm weather here, but the cold had seeped into his very soul, so he didn’t want to remove any clothes yet. He might not ever, he thought. His bones were still cold.
Finally he made it to his feet. His knees felt like jelly. A few elves had gathered around Avery, who smiled wanly.
“Are you from OSHA?” asked one of the elves. “We’ve fixed the toy chute. No one was ever in any danger, we know how to protect ourselves-“
“No, no, nothing like that,” Avery said. “I need to see Santa. Alone. It’s very important.”
One of the elves nodded and led Avery away from the gate. He walked briskly, pumping his arms as he went. Since he was only two feet tall, Avery struggled to avoid outpacing the elf’s tiny legs.
“If you’re here to get your name removed from the naughty list, it won’t work,” the elf said. “In fact, he’ll probably put you on the naughty list for next year instead.”
“No, that’s not it,” Avery said. He looked at the factory the elf had led him to. It looked like an ordinary factory. He was rather expecting a Hansel-and-Gretel-esque factory made of candy and cake and ornaments. Instead, this was just a plain brick building with smokestacks rising from it.
Avery went in the door the elf pointed to. He came in through an office, where a couple muscle-bound elves in sleeveless shirts nodded at him. They were refilling water bottles (tiny ones) at a water cooler. Behind them sat a desk, and behind that was Santa himself.
“Hi,” Avery said. The elves went back to the factory floor, leaving Avery and Santa there alone. “I’m Avery. Avery Flowers.”
“Yes, I know,” Santa said. He didn’t stop writing, seemingly making a list on a long piece of paper that rolled up as he moved down the sheet. His big bushy beard trembled.
“Uh, well, I wanted to meet you, first of all. Hi, Santa, it’s nice to meet you.”
Santa grunted. “I’m only required to be jolly to children. You can get to the point,” he said. He glanced up at Avery for the first time his stout frame shifting in the scarlet robes he wore.
“I heard a rumor that you had a problem with the International Brotherhood of Machinist-Men, Carpenters, Letter-Carriers and Wallet-Stainers,” Avery said.
“IBOMMCLAWS, yeah,” Santa said with a scoff. “Not a real problem. They’ve been threatening to go on strike for decades.” He went back to his writing. “They’re all talk.”
“Well, I think I can help. I have connections within IBOMMCLAWS,” Avery said. “I can get the leadership to make a deal. They don’t want Christmas to be cancelled-“
“No one’s canceling Christmas. The worst-case scenario is that no one gets any stuffed animals this year, that’s the only part of the factory that union covers,” Santa said. He threw his hands up and scoffed in no particular direction. “Stuffing-stuffers are in IBOMMCLAWS for some reason. Never tangle with unions-“
“I wouldn’t, I never would,” Avery said.
“They’re recalcitrant. They know — or they think, wrongly — they think I’ll give in, that I won’t let a Christmas go by without stuffed animals,” Santa said. He leaned in close to Avery. He whispered, “But you know what? I have a secret.”
“Oh-“
Santa Claus shouted. “The secret is nobody cares about stuffed animals! That was a state-of-the-art gift two hundred years ago! You know what everyone wants this year? A Tomaha Stacato.”
A long pause lay between them. Avery furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s…?”
“I have no idea! There’s thirteen thousand of them in the warehouse! I asked if they need batteries and got a forty-five minute lecture on lithium-ion cells. Do you know what a lithium-ion cell is-?”
“No-“
“Nobody does!” Santa Claus grimaced. “I’m getting too old for this shit.” He sighed. “Wait, did you say you could get me a deal with IBOMMCLAWS?”
Avery nodded. “No promises, but I have some connections. I’ll do what I can to get them to yes. I’m sure you’d rather have a deal. Some kids still like stuffed animals.”
“It’s not Thanksgiving, so I’m not gonna talk turkey,” Santa said. He looked up at Avery with a dour look on his big round face. “I’ll give it to you straight. I can’t match retirement savings-“
“I’m not here to negotiate on that stuff.”
“Oh?”
“I’m here to get your dick in my ass.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I came here so you would stick me. I want to taste your dick, I want you to stick it in me hard. In return, I’ll put in a good word for you at IBOMMCLAWS,” Avery said. “You can trust me, I swear, I know this guy-“
“I know, Avery. I see all, remember. I know of your connection to him, and I know all about the disgusting things you do — it’s on my list, of course-“
“I’m not here for judgement.”
Santa furrowed his brow. “You know this would make you officially naughty for the year, right? I’m married.”
“I know. I can skip a Christmas, go ahead and put coal in my stocking,” Avery said. He put his hands on his hips. “The price of coal is going up anyway. Could be good for me, financially.”
Santa frowned. “And you want me to… booty bandit you?”
“Nobody uses booty bandit as a verb.”
His frown intensified, and he held up a finger in front of Avery’s face. “Do not lecture Santa Claus about grammar. That’s a good way to get on the permanent naughty list. Ask Will Self if I’m kidding.”
“I don’t know Will Self-“
“He’ll tell you I’m not kidding.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Avery said. “Look, it’s no big deal, I’ve just always thought you were handsome, and you have an a amazing physique-“
“Aren’t I… a little old?”
“Well, yeah, kinda, but I like a mature man,” Avery said. “You’re what, a thousand years old?”
Santa scoffed. He stood up, rolling his eyes. “Don’t make me laugh.”
Avery laughed. “I just realized you mentioned booty bandits. What does Santa Claus know about booty bandits? Have you… been to prison?”
“They celebrate Christmas in prison, you know,” Santa said.
“Ooooooh, yeah, that makes sense.”
Santa began taking off his robe. “Fine, I’ll do it. You had better follow through. I’ll put you on all the naughty lists — you won’t get birthday presents, you won’t get Easter baskets, you won’t get money from the tooth fairy, who’s a total whore by the way. Cocktease.”
“Really?”
His broad chest was visible now, his robe untied, and the cinnamony smell of his armpits — or maybe his cologne — hit Avery’s nostrils. Avery licked his lips. He was both hungry and horny now. Avery said, “There’s a naughty list for birthdays?”
Santa nodded. He stood up and locked the door to the factory floor, then the front door. “I’ll do it. Don’t tell Mrs. Claus.”
“When would I ever talk to her?” Avery said with a giggle. He dropped to his knees in front of Santa, caressing his thick legs through those bright red pants. Santa undid his red robe, revealing dingy white long underwear that cradled his belly and powerful chest.
He wasn’t as fat as most depictions of him. He was stout, sure, and he looked like he had never had a six-pack, even when he was very young. But he was broad-shouldered and well-muscled beneath all that meaty flesh; he had a big barrel chest that shook and flexed as he undressed. He had a civilized-bear look to him, with a big jaw and a powerful face. His beard was bushy and full, and when Avery got closer, he realized the beard was where that cinnamon scent came from. Avery unbuttoned the crotch of his long underwear and let his thick cock flop out.
Avery had had a crush on Santa Claus for a long time, and he never thought he’d get to act on it. The North Pole was so far away after all, it had seemed like an impossible dream.
His dick tasted salty and sweet, with a minty bite to it — it tasted like a savory candy-cane. He smiled and slathered it with spit, licking a trail from the tip to the root. He glanced up at Santa beyond the belly and had to suppress a laugh at Santa’s harsh stare.
“This might put you on the naughty list for two years,” Santa said. Then he closed his eyes and his jolly beard quivered as his dick got hard. It perked right up in Avery’s mouth. He didn’t stop slurping on it, he just let it get bigger until he choked and sputtered.
Soon Avery had his mouth all the way down on Santa’s dick, his face nuzzling the silvered hair of his crotch, while his hands reached up to caress that giant barrel-shaped body. Santa’s muscles rippled under Avery’s touch, his pecs bouncing up and down.
“Hmmm… Mrs. Claus hasn’t touched me like this in a long time.” Santa sighed once more, and Avery could see the stress leaving his body.
“You poor baby…” Avery said, rubbing Santa’s cock all over his face. He knew men loved it when he did that. He flopped it over his mouth and nose and chased it with his tongue, giggling like it was his favorite game. “Are you ready to put it in my ass?”
Santa nodded. A jolly grin flickered across his face, then he frowned. “You shouldn’t curse, son.”
“Sorry, Santa. I’m ready for you to wreck my ass,” Avery said. He turned around and lifted his ass high in the air.
“That’s three years of naughty-list!” Santa said. He stroked his dick, gulping and looking around nervously to be sure no one was going to interrupt them. Then he gingerly stuck his dick in Avery’s ass, just the tip, right at the entrance for a moment. Santa paused.
“Santa? Are you okay?”
“Four years!”
“How is asking if you’re okay naughty?” Avery turned his head to see Santa’s face turn red.
“I’m… Just shut up! I’ve never done this, not even with Mrs. Claus,” Santa said. He closed his eyes.
“Mrs. Claus doesn’t do anal? Honestly, she looks like the type. Have you ever asked? She might like it-” Avery said.
“Five years!” Santa slapped Avery’s cheeks, which jiggled and prompted Avery to jerk. Then Avery backed up, slipping his ass onto Santa’s cock. Santa gasped. He gripped Avery’s ass and drilled in even deeper. Santa bit his lip, beard quivering.
Avery rolled his eyes. “I was just kidding. Jeez… You’re touchy,” he said. “You need a dose of holiday cheer.”
But Santa ignored him, gyrating like it took all of his concentration to do so. His eyes were closed as he pistoned his hips, slowly and awkwardly at first. But with every thrust of his cock into Avery’s ass, he got a little more smooth and comfortable with it.
Soon he was gyrating like he’d done it before, his face alternating between jolly grins and fearful grimaces, his belly slapping against Avery’s ass. Avery’s knees were sore so he scooted over until he could use Santa’s thick red robe, now crumpled on the floor, like a kneepad.
At last he felt every inch of Santa’s dick sliding in and out of him. Avery’s prostate came alive, and he let out a long, blood-curdling moan.
Yeah, he thought, this trip was totally worth it. He still he might be able to get Tukkuttok off on the way back, which would be a bonus. Avery stroked his own cock, which was on the verge of orgasm already.
Avery took the upper-hand by grinding his ass deep onto Santa’s cock. He lifted his head and leaned back — he wasn’t going to take it up the ass from Santa and not feel that jolly belly and beard. So he rubbed his back against Santa’s silver-furred belly and broad chest, while he nuzzled the beard and kissed his neck. Santa seemed to barely notice, his eyes still closed, slamming into Avery’s ass as hard as he could.
“Ho ho ho…” Santa said, his voice breaking as his dick twitched within Avery’s ass. He let out a spine-cringing moan aimed directly into Avery’s ear.
Avery shot his load then, just moments before Santa’s balls crawled up in his sac. Semen sprayed onto the floor of the factory office, while Santa’s jolly load filled Avery’s ass with creamy warmth. It seeped into his flesh, finally erasing the chill that had settled into his bones on the voyage up here.
“Ah…” Avery let out a long, low howl. He slathered his tongue over Santa’s well-muscled chest and his silver fur. Then he kissed Santa on that lips, that dense bristly beard scratching at his cheek the whole time.
It was a potent orgasm that hung in Avery’s body for what felt like forever. He sighed again as relief flooded him — this was as good as he had hoped, it had been worth the trip and the risk and everything he had spent to get here.
“Damn…” Avery said as he at last fell limp in Santa’s arms.
It was done. With Avery’s and Santa’s tongues still interlocked, Avery shot the last of his cum into his hand, while Santa’s load trickled down Avery’s thighs.
Avery pulled off and sighed. He suckled on one of Santa’s perky nipples until Santa had enough and gently shoved him away. “Alright, you had what you needed. You’ll help me with my union troubles?”
“You can call me Pinkerton,” Avery said. He giggled again at Santa’s frown. “Don’t be cross…”
“You’re about to get a sixth year of naughty-list, young man, if you don’t show a little respect,” Santa said sternly. He pulled his long underwear up and slowly donned his red robes again.
“Are you really going to deliver me coal for five years?”
Santa frowned. “Possibly. Some of the elves want to cancel coal deliveries because it isn’t green enough. We might replace the coal with something else useless, like DVDs of old reality shows.”
“Oh yeah, that’d be a great idea. I could put a lump of coal on a stand and call it un objet d’art. But a Season One DVD of Survivor would be utterly useless,” Avery said. He put his clothes back on. He sighed. “I guess it’s about time for me to be heading back. Thanks, Santa.”
“Have a merry Christmas,” Santa said before flinging the door open and striding into the factory floor. “Alright elves, I see a lot of lollygagging and grabassing! I don’t see a lot of manufacturing!” The door swung shut behind him.
Avery sighed. He was glad to have finally gotten some of Santa’s dick, but now that it was over, he dreaded the next five years of bad Christmases. What would he do with all those DVDs? He’d feel bad even giving them to Goodwill.
Oh well, he thought, he had five years to figure that out. His goal for now was to gin up the endurance to get back in the sled with Tukkuttok and Qannik.
That reminded him he still thought he could jack Tukkuttok off inside his snowpants. Avery had always wanted to try that, and he had a long voyage back to Nuuk to make it happen. He hoped his Inuit guides had completed whatever NATO mission they set out for.
The gate was opened for him before he got there. Avery hesitated, unsure if he wanted to do it. It was so cold out there. Couldn’t he live at the North Pole forever?
There was a loud boom behind him.
Avery cocked his head to the side, wondering what that was, but his attention remained looking out past the gate into the raging weather of the North Pole. The snow was piled high just a few feet away, but here, it was plenty warm.
The elves screamed, running around and wagging their arms in front of their faces. They were red-faced and sweaty. The well-muscled guards were gone — running off with weapons drawn.
“What happened?” Avery asked, but none of the elves noticed him at first. He overheard bits and pieces from them — the gist was that Santa was gone. IBOMMCLAWS had a Communist splinter group, and their affiliated local had kidnapped Santa. They were demanding that Christmas be cancelled and replaced with a single uniform gift that everyone in the world would get.
Before Avery could decide what to do next, however, he saw Santa’s sleigh overheard, nine reindeer in front of it. A big smile appeared on his face. He hadn’t thought to go find Rudolph, but there he was with the nose shining brightly.
Of course, Santa probably has security, Avery thought as the sleigh landed in front of him. There’s probably some kind of elven SWAT team around. He assumed Santa would be on the sleigh, or that he would appear shortly.
The reindeer, however, all looked at Avery. The elves stopped running around. They kneeled in front of Avery, whose eyes opened wide. “Uh… What’s up, guys…?”
“Sir, you will have to be the new Santa for now-” The elves all spoke at once.
Avery was distracted by a glorious light enveloping him and lifting him above the ground. He was deposited into the sleigh, behind all nine reindeer, who kept their heads aimed in his direction.
He wore that red robe now, and he had gained a big bushy white beard. Before Avery could even respond, the reindeer had jolted into action, and they were off.
As Avery soon learned — Rudolph could speak — there needed to be a Santa, so if the old Santa disappeared, the nearest human would turn into the new Santa. Avery had no choice in the matter, he was Santa, and that was that, until the old Santa was freed.
Avery was going to have to deliver gifts to the world.
“But I don’t… I mean I like Christmas, but it’s not, like… I like men at Christmas-“
“You don’t like women?” Rudolph asked. “You still have to deliver them gifts.”
“Sure, sure, I don’t hate them, I can deliver them gifts,” Avery said. He blushed.
“Good,” Rudolph said.
Avery had to shout to be heard over the rush of wind as the frozen northscape passed beneath them. “I just mean I don’t really do the whole Christmas thing. I celebrate it with my family, my sister, my nieces, my dickhead brother-in-law. But I’m not like… I don’t love the traditional Christmas stuff.” Avery smiled at Rudolph’s confused face. “I like men at Christmas-time. I spend most of the Christmas season looking for men. Let me tell you about them,” Avery said. He figured that, by the time, he finished explaining, this whole Santa thing would be solved. Santa’s own security will have solved this.
I’ll just be Santa for a little while…

The Ladysman

Teddy winds up hiring the handsome Turkish gigolo Emre… Emre needs cash and is willing to pleasure anyone who’s willing to pay, giving Teddy a wild ride in gigolo action!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The convention was as boring as any convention ever was. Teddy wanted to tear his eyeballs out — he had experienced a lot of conventions, and this was the worst one yet. He had to sling drinks to dozens of businessmen in cheap suits while they tromped all over his hotel.
Of course it wasn’t really his hotel, he was just a bartender who worked at a country club that was also owned by this hotel, so he had been transferred here when the regular bartender called out sick. That sickness had continued so long that Teddy now knew every inch of this place.
Mostly the guests had come here to ski, if they weren’t here for the convention, which was for bathroom fixtures. Teddy couldn’t imagine a more boring topic for a convention. He didn’t even understand how people could have the idea to schedule a convention for bathroom fixtures without dying from absolutely boredom. What kind of person would brainstorm ideas for business ventures and think, “yes, a convention for bathroom-fixture salespersons, that would be a compelling thing that people will pay money for”? And then, the most shocking part of it all, they were right! People did pay money for it! It was a sound business venture!
Just seeing them drink after a day spent doing whatever, Teddy had no idea what someone would actually do at a bathroom fixtures convention, was enough to make Teddy bored to tears. Did they discuss toilets all day? Advanced urinal theory? Ten tricks to make a tampon disposal box more festive for the holidays?
Teddy sighed. Mostly the convention-goers were tubby men with pasty cheeks and layers of flab ensconced in cheap suits. A few sturdy women who look like they get plenty of fiber filled out the ranks. Well, he thought, they certainly look like they know their way around the bathroom. These men look like they’ve spent most of their lives sitting on the toilet trying to get rid of the Big Macs they scarfed down.
Teddy was not happy with this weekend.
“Hey, how are you doing? Gin and tonic, please,” said a throaty woman’s voice. “Make it a double. Double gin, single tonic. Don’t bother trying to upsell me on the gin, just gimme the rail. Or hell, gimme vodka that’s been stored near a spice-cabinet, that’ll do.” She put a cigarette in her mouth. “Got a light?”
Teddy nodded. He lit her cigarette and made her drink. She sipped from it. She was pretty in an upper-class, upper-age, upper-bitch way, with soft brown hair and a botoxed face. She was probably beautiful twenty years ago. He liked her already.
“Slim pickings here this weekend, huh?” Teddy said. He made sure to say it as flamboyantly as he could so she would know he was referring to males.
She chuckled throatily. “Yeah. I guess I never thought a bathroom-fixtures convention would be full of excitement, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
“You should have been here a couple months ago, we had a bouncer-event. It was pretty hot. Muscle-bound meatheads everywhere,” Teddy said. He blushed. “You’d have had your pick of men then. Assuming you like ’em big and macho.”
She nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m no muscle-queen, but anything would be better than these toilet-shaped dweebs. I wish I was in that field. Bouncers.” She scoffed. “Well, if only there was money in it…”
“There’s not many women here. What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m in marketing. I know, bathroom fixtures is a boy’s club. I’ve talked to all of the women here, and they’re all stuck-up bitches like me,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. A smile appeared on her stretched-taut face, and she sighed as she finished her drink. “Well, I didn’t come here to get laid anyway. I came here to network.” She paused. “Is there a local joint worth visiting in this one-horse town?”
“Not really.” Teddy paused. “Are you… like… horny?”
She furrowed her brow. “Uh… Well, are you propositioning me?” She laughed haughtily.
“No, not me,” Teddy said. He blushed. “Just… if you wanted to… there’s a guy here, a guy who works as a masseur for the country club next door.”
“Uh-huh.” She yawned and took a long but small sip from her gin and tonic. “I don’t normally hook up with, y’know… the help. Sorry if that makes me sound elitist-“
“No worries. He’s not really the help, exactly. I mean, he’s a masseur, but that’s just a way to meet clients and launder his income,” Teddy said. “He’s really a gigolo. The hotel looks the other way.”
“A what?”
“He’ll fuck you for five hundred dollars,” Teddy said. “And he will rock your world. He’ll make you feel so good your pussy falls off.” He paused. “Or so I’ve heard. He licks pussy like nobody’s business.”
“Are you serious?” She looked like she was going to laugh and say no. Then she fell silent. She looked around the room, then back at Teddy. “Five hundred dollars?”
Teddy nodded. “Just call to the front desk. Ask for a massage. Ask for Emre. If you don’t ask for Emre, they’ll send you this fat Polish lady. I don’t know what she’d do for five hundred dollars, but you probably wouldn’t enjoy it as much as Emre.” Teddy shrugged. “He’s Turkish.”
Her eyes lit up. She didn’t respond right away. She was a smart, well-adjusted businesswoman. She wasn’t here for some prostitution.
But on the other hand… if she were ever going to pay a man for sex…
Teddy had another customer then, so he had to walk away. He watched the lady at the bar consider the possibility for a few moments before she got up. She smiled at Teddy and walked out into the hotel lobby.
Well, there’s a hundred dollars. Teddy could virtually smell the horniness wafting out from under her skirt. She was definitely going to do it.
The rest of the convention was uneventful. Teddy served drinks and pointed men towards the one brothel in town when they asked about women — which they all started doing a little after midnight. Teddy didn’t get paid per client for the brothel, so he wasn’t too enthusiastic about referring them. Emre, however, paid him for each client he sent that way.
Teddy saw the woman — Wendy Allister — the next morning, looking shame-faced yet relaxed. Emre had treated her right, that was clear. He always did. Teddy wished he could watch sometime. Emre made women feel “like liquid gold”, as one lady had told him.
Teddy blushed when he nodded at Emre, who came over to the bar and surreptitiously slipped Teddy his hundred dollars — that was Teddy’s commission for sending Emre a woman.
“Thanks for the lead,” Emre said. He had a dense spatchocking accent, all clutters of consonants and staccato vowels that made Teddy lose himself in those dimples. Seeing Emre smile at him always made Teddy blush and stammer over his words. “She was a very good client.”
He kept talking, but Teddy was entranced. Emre was so arousing it hurt. He had an incredibly thick mane of black hair, densely curly, extending up and down and out all at once. He was strong but lean and ropy-muscled, not at all bulky, with a square jaw and a hooked nose whose imperfect shape made his face all the more handsome.
Teddy was drawn to those sterling green eyes, so bright they were almost fluorescent. Teddy had insisted for months that Emre must wear colored contacts, but Emre denied it.
“She was a very good woman,” Emre said with a grin. “She was a little old, but I do not mind. Old women need loving too.” He pulled out a lottery ticket. It was a winner — two hundred dollars — but he hadn’t cashed it yet. “She gave me this too.” That was a lie, but Emre was a well-practiced liar. It didn’t even occur to Teddy that Emre had been holding onto the lotto ticket for months.
Emre had a gambling problem.
No one knew about it. Teddy knew that Emre occasionally gambled on sports, and he had seen him scratching lottery tickets, but no one knew that Emre barely managed to keep it together — every month, he paid his bills and then spent most of the remainder on lotto tickets, scratch-offs, betting or even trips to the casino on the Indian reservation nearby.
So that four hundred dollars he made this weekend went away pretty quick. He paid off a debt to his bookie. It meant he wouldn’t be able to pay his rent on time this month, but he could get past that. There was going to be a human resources convention next weekend, and Emre thought he’d make plenty of money then.
He’d held onto this winning lotto ticket for months now. He could always cash it. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was winning. Emre had read somewhere that that was one technique to reduce “problem gambling” — not that Emre believed he was a problem gambler — because he could pull it out anytime and feel like he had just won. He would maybe not feel compelled to gamble if he could feel like he had won anytime.
Once he had it in his pocket for a couple days, he didn’t even think about cashing it. It was only two hundred dollars. No problem. He didn’t need the money.
He did need the feeling. He needed to have it in his pocket, so he could finger it and look at it and anticipate what it would be like to cash it in. The way they would look at him at the lotto place — he could go to any gas station and cash it in, but he wanted to go to the lotto office. It felt righter to do it there. They knew how to do it right. They’d look at him like a winner. He’d feel like a winner.
And as long as he didn’t do it, he could savor that feeling.
Regardless, it was that next weekend that the HR convention was in town. Emre figured a human resources director convention would have to be ground zero for gigolos. So many lonely women! He could make bank.
But then that HR convention didn’t happen. The HR directors didn’t show up — the convention was cancelled after a freak snowstorm shut down the airport for the whole weekend. Emre had no way of making money. He needed a couple hundred bucks to pay his bills this month. He’d counted on that HR convention and spent some money he probably shouldn’t have.
Okay, he put money down on a basketball game. A couple basketball games. And he lost every dime.
Not an app either. Emre had been banned from all the sports betting apps because he showed “problem behaviors” and sent a manic avalanche of emails to the developer of one app, when he found a bug — a real bug, he identified how it worked and everything. He’d told the developer about it in emails sent through LinkedIn, which got him banned both from that app and from LinkedIn, and he even got a “stop harassing people” email from GMail.
Anyway, Emre had a bookie, and he now owed that bookie a hundred dollars. Not that much, but he also was late on rent and had these medical bills due…
He was expecting to make at least two grand out of these HR ladies. That should have been easy. If the HR convention happened, he would have, no problem.
But as he pondered his situation, Emre could think of only one way to make the minimum he needed to pay off his bookie and get up to date on his rent.
Teddy wiped the bar down at the end of the night. It had been slow tonight because there was no convention, just a few dozen lonely businesspeople having small meetings or rendezvousing with their mistresses. Emre watched Teddy clean the bar as the night drew to a close.
Unlike Emre, Teddy was glad the HR convention was canceled. He could think of nothing more boring than spending the entire weekend with a bunch of HR ladies. What did they talk about? The mind boggles. It’s probably a marathon of threats to add things to “the permanent record”, endless self-evaluations and probing questions asked by idiots.
But at least Emre was here. Teddy snuck glances at him as he shut down the bar.
Emre was good at flirting with women. He did it without even thinking about it. But how did he flirt with a man? Emre had no idea. It didn’t come naturally to him, and the more he thought about it, the more he didn’t think he could do it.
He flashed a dimpled smile, hoping to get Teddy’s attention. It worked, but then Teddy just went back to cleaning the counter as though he hadn’t noticed — he hadn’t realized that seductive smile was aimed at him. Teddy was so used to seeing Emre flirt with women he didn’t recognize when he was the actual target.
Only gradually did Teddy realize there were no women around. The bar was empty of women. Who was Emre smiling at?
“Hey,” Emre said when Teddy got near him again.
“Oh, hi. Slim pickings, huh?” Teddy said, laughing to himself — that was the same conversation-starter he had used with that woman. Emre didn’t get why it was funny, but he laughed too.
Emre smoothed his hair and straightened the collar of his shirt. “There was a lady in here earlier who seemed like a good prospect, but then she got all mad at me. Said she’s Mormon. I guess they don’t do gigolos.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Mormons don’t do most things.”
A long silence sat between them at the bar. Teddy was ready to take the cash drawer into the back, to put it in the safe, but he sensed Emre wanted to say something more than small-talk. Emre licked his teeth and looked down the drink he was still finishing. Then he knocked back the rest of his brandy and tonic.
Finally, Emre cleared his throat. “I could use a client this weekend for sure. So, uh… you’re… you’re nice, uh.. In the hair.”
“What?” Teddy screwed up his eyes. He had never been complimented like that. He didn’t even understand that Emre was complimenting his hair at first, then when he did get it, Teddy ran his fingers through his hair.
Emre blushed. He was never flustered like this. Women took compliments better than that. He straightened his collar again. How do you compliment men? “I just mean, your hair is nice. Your-“
“My hair? What are you talking about? It’s the same it always is.”
“Sorry, I mean… I just wanted to say, y’know, I know you’re… You have, uh… good… qualities,” Emre said. He was trying to think of things women complimented men on. They always mentioned Emre’s hair, which was dense and jet-black and perfectly wavy, and they liked his dimples and his muscular body. But Teddy was slim and had ordinary white-man hair. Emre wasn’t sure what to compliment on a man like that.
“Okay.” Teddy’s eyes were open wide like he was mystified by what was happening. “Thanks. I guess.”
“Sorry. I, uh… I was just…”
“Do you want to say something to me? Just say it.”
“Will you pay me five hundred dollars to jack me off?!” Emre blurted out. He blushed. He was never that direct. He didn’t even raise his price to give himself room to negotiate down. Teddy knew that was the same price Emre gave to women, but surely it would make sense to charge more for a man. Emre had just forgotten, and now he was leaving money on the table. He couldn’t raise the price now. Oh well, that was enough to get caught up. Five hundred bucks would suffice. He cleared his throat again. “I mean… you know what I mean, right? You do the… You get me off. And pay me. I’ll, you know… treat you like a woman. In ways that you want. That you’ll enjoy.” Emre clammed up. He never got like this with women. Was this how women feel when he made them tongue-tied?
“Hush, you’re babbling,” Teddy said. “You want me to pay you to jack you off?” Emre nodded. Teddy’s mind raced. He had an instinctive desire to say no and tell Emre he’s an arrogant asshole, that Teddy didn’t want him that bad, that he’s not God’s gift to dicks. But Teddy could hardly pretend he didn’t want Emre, and he certainly wanted to do it. “Fine.” He cursed himself immediately because he thought he could have talked Emre down on the price — obviously, Emre was only doing this because he needed the money, so he must have some flexibility.
They both walked away annoyed with themselves for not negotiating more, but neither were willing to call it off for a minor monetary dispute.
And so that was how they ended up in the storage closet just after the bar officially closed. The last of the drinkers had only just left, and the door was locked. The waitresses hadn’t all gone home yet, and some of the tables had yet to be bussed.
Nevertheless, Teddy led Emre into the storage closet in the back, and nobody noticed them sneak in there. In that enclosed space, the reek of Emre’s exotic cologne — something Turkish, vaguely funky, sunny, zesty, like a stretewise lemon — assaulted Teddy’s nostrils and made his dick twitch in his pants. Emre’s solid frame seemed bigger in the dark, his muscles bulging through the fabric of his fancy clothes.
He dressed well, in a Moroccan-style suit. Teddy had never noticed how nice Emre’s clothes were. So few men dressed up these days…
Emre was used to seducing women, and in the dark, he simply did what he would do with a female. Teddy was rather feminine in both shape and mannerisms, so Emre thought he could pretend. He kissed Teddy right on the lips.
Teddy got lost in Emre’s warm arms, and he swooned. He kissed Emre back as his hands explored Emre’s broad chest and shoulders. Their tongues met in Teddy’s mouth.
“Aaaaah…” Emre let out a moan. It was forced, but he knew women were aroused by that sound, so he thought Teddy might be as well.
Teddy’s fumbling fingers undid the buttons of Emre’s shirt, and Emre shrugged off that Moroccan suit. His chest was bare, gleaming in the dim light, and his muscles were firm beneath Teddy’s touch. Teddy’s lips sucked a few droplets of fresh, sparkling sweat off Emre’s broad shoulders.
His kisses traveled down Emre’s body. Emre was glad to get some mouth on the one hand because he very rarely got to do that. When women paid you for sex, he thought, they didn’t want to suck dick. Emre preferred to make love in the womanhood anyway. He stood there, stately and elegant though Teddy couldn’t see him in the darkness, while Teddy kissed a trail down his body.
“Oh, yes, your lips feel so soft and sweet on me…” Emre gulped, hoping he sounded natural. This was the kind of thing he would say to a woman. Somehow it come across as stilted aimed at Teddy, but Teddy either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
It was nice how little effort Teddy required. Women required such constant affirmation, an endless dose of assurances and reassurances and comforting. Every time something was less than perfect, Emre had to apologize and make up for it. With Teddy, all that mattered was his body. It was a tool for Teddy’s pleasure, and it required so little from Emre.
Then Teddy undid Emre’s pants and pulled his dick out. It was big enough to be hefty but not so big as to be painful or intimidating. Teddy thought it was perfect. He kissed it right on the tip, then popped it in his mouth.
Emre moaned. He hoped nobody walked past the closet right now or they would definitely hear him. Normally he moaned in a fake, seductive way — he’d learned what turned most women on — but this time, he had no reason to be seductive. Teddy wanted him already, Emre didn’t need to work to make that happen, and he didn’t even especially want Teddy to like him too much. That would be awkward, and it meant the pleasure suffusing his flesh was more intense and visceral than he was used. His moan was genuine, and it surprised even Emre himself.
His dick stiffened up. Emre shifted his weight into his feet and leaned against the wall of the closet. Precum flowed down Teddy’s throat. Teddy guzzled it greedily, craving every drop. It tasted sweet and sunny, like the Mediterranean islands Emre claimed his ancestors came from (which was a lie, his family had worked in a goat slaughterhouse in urban Istanbul, not that Teddy knew that).
“Ah, man…” Emre sighed. He was surprised by how good this felt. He felt like a teenager again. He wasn’t used to feeling genuinely out-of-control pleasure, rather than carefully-meted out pleasure that he had designed to maximize his clients’s desire for a second go-round. Teddy’s mouth worked up and down on his cock, sending wave after wave of pleasure to rock Emre’s handsome frame.
This time, it was a real orgasm.
He grunted and shook as intense bliss ran through his body. It felt like a real mouth — it was, of course, it was just strange to feel it, no performance, no exaggeration, no seduction, just a real, genuine, authentic climax — and it made Emre’s knees weak. He held onto Teddy’s head for support as he sprayed his cum down his throat.
That was another thing the women who hired him never did: blowjobs. A lot of them just wanted to be eaten out, but even among that minority who wanted to suck his dick, not a single one had ever wanted him to cum in their mouths. So it was nice to shoot his wad directly into Teddy, focusing entirely on his own pleasure for once. His seed coated Teddy’s throat and sat hotly in his belly. Teddy swallowed every drop and begged for more when Emre finally pulled out. Remnants of jizz stuck to Teddy’s face. That was delightfully unclean, so unlike making love to a woman. It made Emre chuckle.
“You taste so good… Let me taste you some more, please?” Teddy crawled to him and thwacked Emre’s till-sensitive cock over his face. That made Emre jerk and twitch. He chased the shaft with his tongue, while a few final drops of cum dribbled from his cocktip. Avery chased those with his tongue too.
Emre grunted and pulled his pants up. He had to pull his cock away from Teddy. “Not now,” he said. “You got what you paid for.”
“And I got my money’s worth!” Teddy blushed and smirked, taking in the body heat emanating from Emre’s body. He stayed where he was though, in that closet, arms wrapped around Emre’s well-muscled body. He had a six-pack like Teddy had never seen on anyone besides movie stars and models before he met Emre. His muscles rippled beneath Teddy’s touch, until eventually he felt he had done enough for the money, and Emre extricated himself.
“Thank you,” Emre said as politely as he could muster. His hair was mussed up now. He’d have to fix it before he headed out there, just in case he found any more women before going home tonight. He hoped he did meet a woman, because the money Teddy gave him was burning a hole in his pocket.
After all, he could stop at the corner shop for a lottery ticket. Or more than one. Surely at least one would be a winner…

The Couchsurfer

Rob lets a studly young alpha sleep on his couch, as long as Rob gets to swing on his big black meat. Can Rob handle his tenant’s huge throbbing rent payment?

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Read the whole thing here!

Rob Winthrop wanted to let Lamar sleep in, but it was tough to resist touching him. Lamar’s eighteen-year-old body gleamed, sprawled out on the couch he barely fit on. It was a big couch, but Lamar was tall, with limbs like catapaults. He was sound asleep. He hadn’t even been home that long, Lamar only returned from his friend’s party a few hours before sunrise.
He wore only boxers, and the sheet he had covered himself with had fallen onto the floor. Rob could catch a few tantalizing glimpses of his dick through the fly, through which a couple stray pubic hairs were visible.
Rob gently tweaked Lamar’s nipple to see if he would wake up. But he didn’t. He was passed-out cold. He pulled Lamar’s soft dick out from within the boxers he had passed out in. Even limp as cooked spaghetti, it was almost a foot long and meaty, even heavier than it looked. Rob thwacked it against his palm.
Still, Lamar didn’t wake up.
Lamar was just eighteen years old. He had come to Rob last month to say that he heard Rob paid money to jack off black guys with big dicks, in hopes of it making Rob’s dick bigger. Rob had explained that that wasn’t exactly true. Rob did appreciate men with superb physiques, but he was not especially into black men and did not believe doing it would make his own dick bigger. But Lamar didn’t believe him. He kept referring to Rob as a lover of big black cock.
Regardless, Rob had given him money then so he could get a tattoo.
That was the words THUG LIFE tattooed on Lamar’s bicep, in short block letters that ran all the way around his arm. While Lamar remained unconscious, Rob slurped some of his drunk-night-sweat off that tattooed bicep. Fully erect, his dick was more than a foot long and so thick Rob couldn’t circle his fingers around the whole shaft. As Lamar stayed unconscious, Rob grew bolder about groping his muscular body.
Then Lamar finally stirred and smiled like a cocky bastard after Rob rammed his fingers into Lamar’s pants and started stroking. His cock was sweaty and soft — spongy-soft, like he had fucked until he couldn’t anymore. That was probably exactly what happened at that party Lamar went to.
“Pretty big, huh?” Lamar asked with a groggy groan and chuckle. Now that he was awoke, his dick twitched in Rob’s grasp.
“Yeah.”
“You like this nigga dick, huh? Well you don’t get to swallow it, not for a li’l tat,” Lamar said. He kept telling Rob that over and over as Rob jacked him off — even though Rob hadn’t tried to put it in his mouth. “You want it so bad, I can tell. You got nigga-lover written on yo’ forehead, honky. You feel me? Huh? You feel my meat throbbin’ in yo’ fingers. That’s happenin’ fo’ you. That’s my present to you, man. Ain’t no way you get to swallow it though, nuh-uh.”
Then he gasped and shot his load in his pants. It coated Rob’s hand and trickled down his wrist. He wanted to lick it off, but Lamar stopped him.
“Nah. Go wipe yo’ hand, whiteman,” he said. He licked his lips and moaned. “I ain’t lettin’ you taste my nut. That’s nasty. Girls only.” He stood there and watched, thick trunk-like cockshaft swaying between his legs, as Rob looked forlornly at the tasty cum all over his hand but wiped it off with a paper towel. Lamar left then, climbing into some white girl’s car just seconds after tucking his dick back into his pants.
Rob had watched his ass through the shorts that were visible above his sagging jeans. Rob wanted more than anything to taste his dick and feel it inside him, but Lamar had said no. That was before he showed up on Rob’s doorstep a few days ago. He said he was running from the po-po, though he later also mentioned a fight with his stepdad. “You can swing on my dick,” Lamar said with a crude sneer. “But I ain’t touchin’ you. No way.”
“Okay,” Rob said with a shrug. He knew he could get something more when Lamar was drunk enough.
Now he wondered if it was time to get a taste of Lamar’s cock. He had let Lamar move in and sleep here for two days, and all Rob had gotten out of it was the sight of Lamar’s tight body and a few handjobs.
Anyway, Lamar went out clubbing with that white girl or maybe different white girls, then came home at dawn once more. Rob had already given Lamar money, enough that he could easily buy himself beer and pay the cover charge to get into some bar. Lamar had used up all the money though, paying for not just his beer but also his friends’s and of course fruity cocktails for girls with juicy asses.
When Lamar had returned to the house early yet again, with the sun peeking over the horizon, he had staggered in drunkenly. He’d plopped onto the couch and slept awhile before getting up to vomit. Then he managed to brush his teeth and drink a glass of water before returning to the couch.
And now here was Rob yet again, trying to stimulate his unconscious couchsurfing roommate to erection. He’d said it was fine if Lamar went out partying every night, but he didn’t think Lamar would actually find a party “fulla mad bitches” every single night.
At least tonight, Lamar’s cock had slipped out from the fly of his boxers, which made it easy for Rob to stroke it. It was like a dead snake in his hand, a long tube of dark muscle that was firm even in its soft state. Rob licked his lips as he flopped it between his fingers.
Lamar was still passed out cold. When it was clear he wouldn’t wake up, Rob bent over and licked Lamar’s cock from the root to the tip, which he then put in his mouth. He again looked up. Lamar didn’t awake, but he did move his head to the side.
That gave Rob an idea. He got his own dick out. His heart pounding, Rob put it on Lamar’s lips. Rob’s cocktip throbbed on Lamar’s mouth.
His handsome brown face was still calm and asleep, and the coarse hairs of his unshaved cheeks and chin rubbed against Rob’s shaft. Lamar wrinkled his nose in his sleep. Rob flopped his rapidly firming dick around on Lamar’s face, and he attempted at Lamar’s mouth but didn’t force it in, lest the sensation wake him up.
Lamar stirred. He moaned and wiggled his ass, but he didn’t wake up the rest of the way. He murmured and grumbled. Rob sensed him waking and took his dick away, just before Lamar let out a little gag.
Holding his breath, Rob waited to see if Lamar realized why he had gagged. He was definitely waking up now. But Lamar must have figured it was lingering drunkenness.
Rob leaned in and inhaled deeply of Lamar’s musk. He inserted his nose the best he could between Lamar’s tricep and his chest, and he sniffed the musk of his armpit. It was an intoxicating, heady aroma that made Rob moan.
He licked the tight muscle of Lamar’s pecs. They were not huge — he was no bodybuilder — but they were like taut balls of rock-hard flesh beneath soft skin, brimming with power and body heat. Rob lapped at the soft flesh, which rippled beneath his touch.
“Aw, damn, baby…” Lamar murmured. His eyes gradually blinked open. He kept wiggling, and his breathing hurried up as Rob caressed his shaft.
His dick twitched beneath Rob’s fingers. Rob gave it a stroke, and it started to get hard.
“Oh. Oh, damn,” Lamar murmured. He had obviously forgotten where he was and thought it was a woman on his dick until he opened his eyes fully. Now he was full of nervous gasps and sucking in his breath. He swayed as though the couch under him moved, too dizzy from drunken surprise to react. “Ew, nasty, man, shit…”
Rob’s tongue traveled down Lamar’s taut stomach. Now that he was awake, Lamar giggled like he was ticklish but trying to hide it the entire time Rob licked at his flesh. His muscles writhed beneath Rob’s tongue. Letting out a moist gurgling sound, Lamar wrapped his fingers around Rob’s head and pushed him towards Lamar’s crotch, but then Lamar let go — feeling Rob’s short haircut reminded Lamar he wasn’t with a girl. He covered his face with one forearm, while his other hand gently guided Rob to his crotch.
After a night of drinking, Lamar’s body was covered with a sheen of dried sweat. That was perfect for Rob, who loved the taste of his flesh. It was clean, slightly soapy, yet salty from sweat and tasting just a bit of cocoa butter.
“Yo, you gunna ssshwalluh my nut?” Lamar’s voice was weak, though he tried to sound tough. He was too nervous to stop laughing though, and he could only cover that up by flexing his muscles and growling intermittently. He couldn’t stop writhing to the sensation of Rob’s tongue traveling over his body.
“Yes,” Rob said. “I am.” He kissed the tip of Lamar’s dick, which throbbed and twitched like it was begging him to swallow it. “Tell me about last night. Did you have fun?”
“Yeah,” Lamar said. His forearm was still over his eyes so he didn’t accidentally see who was on his cock. A drunken burp escaped from his mouth, and he scrunched his eyes shut even though his gaze was blocked by his forearm. Now that he was fully awake and had taken a deep breath, his throbbing erection helped bring him down from the drunken dizzies, and he could speak clearly if he concentrated on his words and not the throbbing of his cock in Rob’s mouth. “It was cool. My nigga got this bitch to give up the booty, man. We ran a train on her in the bathroom of the club. Nasty-ass bitch.”
“Oh? You fucked her there in the bathroom?” Rob pulled off Lamar’s dick just long enough to ask his question, and then he thwacked Lamar’s erection all over his face like a billyclub.
Lamar nodded like a cocky bastard and ran his tongue between his lips and his teeth. “Yeah. She was on her knees on that piss-stained floor, like a fuckin’ slut. I had sloppy seconds — or like sloppy fifths, I think, fifths in her pussy anyway — and it was all drippin’ out. Made me gag and shit.”
“Why’d you do it?” Rob asked as his tongue slathered spit over Lamar’s ribs while his hand flopped Lamar’s cock around. He part lost his erction every time Rob let it go for a few seconds, which Rob enjoyed because he liked playing with a half-hard cock. Lamar was desperately horny, that much was obvious from the way he gasped every few seconds as he talked, and his hips kept bucking like he was fucking the air. Rob stroked his dick, which was just meaty enough to feel solid as Rob thwacked it against Lamar’s flesh and his own face.
“What?”
“Why’d you do it if you had to take sloppy-fifths?”
There was a long silence. “That a trick question? It was pussy, man. She gave it up,” he said.
“Oh, I thought it sounded gross.”
“It was gross.”
“I guess I just don’t get it,” Rob asked. He spat loudly, covering Lamar’s dick with his saliva, which made Lamar groan. Rob licked all that spit up. “Did you joust with your buddies?”
“Joust? Oh, you mean, like touch dicks in her mouth and shit? Yeah, me and my nigga Killer always do that shit. He was the fourth, you know, he was the one who shot his load right before me-” He paused. “Wait, I gotta do somethin’.” He reached down for the pants he had thrown down onto the ground. He pulled out his cell phone.
“Is something wrong?”
“I gotta tell Killer somethin’, you can keep strokin’ my dick. You gonna swallow my nut or what?” He said as he dialed.
“I just like to play with it first. It’s so big,” Rob said smiling at how Lamar proudly bristled and arched his back. Rob stuck out his tongue and licked Lamar’s dick from root to tip, very slowly, slathering spit the entire way.
That made Lamar moan uncontrollably, and his cock rocketed to full erection. Killer, on the other side of the line, laughed — he must have heard the moan as soon as he answered the phone. Rob couldn’t hear Killer’s words though, just his laughter.
“Thought you should know my dick is like three shades lighter,” Lamar said. He chuckled at Killer. “Yeah, yo’ nut stained my shit, Killer! I know it was yo’s — nah, you know that nigga ain’t got — oh — Fuck dat shit, nigga!” Lamar went on, laughing and carrying on, but he and Killer talked over each other so much that Rob couldn’t follow the conversation. He gathered that Lamar and Killer had made an inside joke last night, something to do with all the cum sticking to Lamar’s cock after he had sloppy fifths and staining it until it was a lighter shade.
Rob kept on stroking it though. He wanted Lamar desperate to blow his nut.
“Yeah, nigga. Okay. Peace, one love,” Lamar said and hung up the phone. He glared at Rob and tried to sit up, but Rob chose that moment to put the tip of his cock in Rob’s mouth. He suckled on the piss-slit and slathered a huge wad of saliva that dripped down the shaft. A wave of pleasure hit Lamar, who moaned and leaned back, laying down again on the couch, the same position he had been asleep in just a few minutes ago. “Yo, honky, you just playin’ wit’ it. I’m lettin’ you swing on that shit, you best handle it proper. Don’t you blueball me.”
“I’d never do that,” Rob said. “You want me to swallow it now?”
Every fiber of Lamar’s being told him to say yes. He writhed on the couch, cock throbbing in Rob’s hand. But still, Lamar didn’t. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“If you want, I ain’t into that nasty-nasty, and I got females all over,” Lamar said, even as he gasped and writhed beneath Rob’s touch. “I, uh… I mean… I’m just doin’ this for a couch to crash on. If’n you okay wit’ just swallowin’ a nut, I ain’t tryin’-a, y’know, do nothin’ wit’ you, I ain’t swallowin’ nothin’.”
“I would never make you swallow anything,” Rob said. He kept stroking Lamar’s shaft, but he kept his rhythm slow and inconsistent so Lamar’s body cried out for a warm, wet mouth.
Lamar murmured. “You best pay me,” he said. He laughed at himself, and at Rob, as he covered his face with a pillow to avoid seeing Rob’s masculine features.
“You want money?” Rob said. “How about I let you borrow my car? Is that okay?” Rob could afford plenty of money, but he had a feeling admitting that to Lamar would end up poorly for him. So he was pretending to be poorer than he was.
“Borrow your car, like anytime?”
“As long as you live here,” Rob said. “And let me keep playing with your dick.”
“Fine, fine,” Lamar said. “Okay. Just get me off…” His voice was muffled because of the pillow over his face.
Rob put the tip back in his mouth again, and he suckled on it loudly. Lamar moaned and his back arched. He nearly leapt off the couch. Then Rob removed his mouth and giggled. “You want me to swallow or spit?”
“Swallow, swallow, man, come on, just do it,” Lamar said, his attempt to show reluctance now forgotten. He roared in frustration and bit the pillow in front of his face. His youthful muscles cringed, and his dick reached up into the air, searching instinctively for a hole to penetrate. “C’mon, man, I gotta blow my load-“
Rob mounted Lamar the best he could as he laid on the couch, so that Rob’s dick and Lamar’s met. Lamar looked away and groaned, while Rob began frotting both cocks together.
“Let’s cum together,” Rob said.
A loud sucking sound came from Lamar’s mouth. He’d jousted with his niggas before in a bitch’s mouth, but he’d never frotted before. He looked at his massive cock rubbing against Rob’s, which was smaller but not small enough that Lamar could really make fun of him for it. Lamar looked away. “C’mon, man, nah, nah-” He grunted.
“Your dick is so big…” Rob said with a smile.
“I know but — I know but — I-” Lamar didn’t want to ruin a good thing by refusing or hitting Rob, though his hand formed a fist like he might do it out of instinct. Really Lamar wouldn’t have minded frotting — it was gross, but for a place to sleep, he could live with it — as long as he could guarantee Rob wouldn’t cum on his face or go any farther than this. And Lamar wished he could sober up and eat something first.
“Sorry, sorry, can’t help it…” Rob said, his voice warbling and breaking, as he shot his load. Pleasure wracked Rob’s body, and a jet of jizz spurted out. It plopped onto Lamar’s dick and into his crotch hair, but then Rob aimed it up to his six-pack and beyond.
Lamar groaned in disgust, and cum sprayed over his powerful brown chest. It made his tattoos gleam as his muscles flexed. Pleasure shuddered through Rob’s body, making him shimmy and shake, and his cock pulsated where it rubbed on Lamar’s own dick.
“I won’t cum on your face,” Rob said, but even as he said that Rob leaned back and moaned again, and his last spray of cum got as far as Lamar’s chin.
“Ew, man, shit…” Lamar let out a nervous chuckle as he wiped his chin off. He faced away from Rob, so he didn’t get more cum on his face and didn’t have to watch his cock frot with Rob’s. “You gonna swallow my load, right?”
Rob did so without another word. He jammed his own head into Lamar’s crotch, swallowing as much of that massive shaft as he could get in his throat. Rob gagged and choked, but kept going until he had nearly every inch. He tasted Lamar’s machismo in the precum trickling down his throat, its salty flavor and creamy thickness overwhelming his senses.
“Aaaaaaaaah….” Lamar moaned like he was finally scratching an itch he had been trying to reach for a long time.
Then Lamar grabbed Rob’s head to plow down on his throat. Rob loved that, and Lamar normally did too, but as soon as he did, Lamar knew it was a bad idea. That’s because Rob had very short hair, and when Lamar touched it, he was reminded of the man on his dick.
Lamar groaned with disappointment. His dick didn’t get any softer, but it did slow down. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, since Rob thought he could still take this farther. But for now, Rob thought, Lamar was disappointed that Rob wasn’t a girl.
“Damn, man, I can’t forget you ain’t a bitch,” Lamar said. “Hang on, lemme call this fat chick.” He dialed another number on his phone. “Yo. Hey, baby. Nah, I can’t tonight. I got, uh, y’know, a meetin’ to go to.” The plump girl on the other end was Miranda, and Lamar made sure to emphasize meeting in a way that suggested it was some sort of gang activity. Miranda was a rotund white girl who loved bad boys, so she giggled at the thought of Lamar at a gang meeting. Her voice made Lamar grunt, and another few drops of precum coated Rob’s tongue. Lamar removed the pillow from his face.
Rob moved down to slurp on Lamar’s balls. He put them both in his mouth and gargled loudly, making Lamar laugh into the phone even as he talked to his booty call.
“I know it’s early, baby. I just wanted to hear yo’ voice. I been, y’know, I been in trouble and shit,” Lamar said. His voice kept trailing off, distracted by the feelings of pleasure arising from his sensitive balls in Rob’s mouth. Lamar’s voice cracked. “Yeah, baby. I’m in jail. Uh-huh. I be out soon. My lawyer is comin’ to bail me out. Uh-huh. Can you talk me off? I’m jackin’ it right now.” He paused and laughed. “Yeah, there’s some whiteboy here cryin’. I think he okay, he just glad I ain’t gonna beat his ass.” He paused and affected a charming smile. “Yeah, I’s talkin’ ’bout you, whiteboy. If there wasn’t a phone in here, I’d be beatin’ you to shreds just to pass the time.”
As Lamar talked, showing off to his female friend, Rob continued slurping on his balls. Then he moved back up to the shaft. His tongue traced the pulsating veins all the way from root to tip.
“Yeah, you gonna give up the booty, right? Maybe I skip that meeting tonight, after I get bailed out. Maybe I come over. Uh-huh. You gonna let me tap that ass, right? No condom. Uh-huh. I wanna taste yo’ titties, girl,” he said. He groaned. “Maybe I titty-fuck you for a bit. You know I love thick-ass bitches and I am — no, wait! Baby! Baby!” He screamed into the phone, which he then threw onto the ground. “Fuck you! Fuckin’ hell!” He roared and slapped his own thighs. His dick throbbed in Rob’s mouth. “Fuck!”
Rob pulled off his dick. “What happened?”
“I called her a thick-ass bitch,” Lamar said. “I sorta forgot she was white and she gonna take that as an insult. Ain’t no insult!”
“Oh, that’s too bad, baby…” Rob thwacked Lamar’s erection against his face.
“She ain’t even listen to me explain. I was in jail, y’know, I prolly heard all kind of bad words. I just forgot to moderate myself, y’know,” he said. He groaned as he started to grind his hips, shoving his dick back into Rob’s mouth.
Rob pulled away, gently stroking Lamar’s dick even as Lamar flexed his hips, trying to get his knob wet again. Rob said, “You’re not in jail.”
“Yeah, but she thought I was!” Lamar said. He squirmed, his body overly energetic from both horniness and anger. “Ain’t fair. You can’t hang up on a nigga who call you from jail, just cuz he use some bad words. It’s fuckin’ jail!”
“Sure, sure,” Rob said. He licked Lamar’s dick from root to tip. Once again, Lamar grabbed his head and tried to force it back into position to swallow his whole shaft. Rob resisted. Lamar didn’t even seem to be aware of the fact that he was trying to force his dick into Rob’s mouth, he just kept talking about how angry he was at the girl and his cock and his hands worked on autopilot.
Rob enjoyed teasing him. Every few seconds, he’d let Lamar ram his dick down his throat. Lamar would moan and let go of Rob’s head. Then Rob would pull off and Lamar would swear some more before doing it again.
“That fuckin’ bitch, she don’t know jack shit! She think she my girlfriend, she think I just fuck other females cuz my niggas expect it. That’s what I tell her. She dumb as shit. She dumb as her own fat ass.”
“Are you gonna go back to her and apologize?”
Lamar thought for a moment. “Yeah. I prolly will. Not fo’ awhile. Give it a month or two, and I’ll go over there in the night, tell her I been in lockup and I need a woman’s touch. I be back in her asshole right quick, I tell you that!” His anger was gone now. He laid back and let Rob lick his cockshaft.
“Speaking of assholes…” Rob said.
“You want me to stick you?”
Rob nodded.
He sighed dramatically, and recovered his face with his forearm. “You gotta buy me somethin’. There’s a gold chain wit’ a platinum crucifix on it. Got rubies and some shit. Fair-trade mined in Kenya,” he said. “You gotta buy me that.” He paused. “And Netflix, man. Why ain’t you got Netflix?”
Rob laughed. “I just don’t watch a lot of TV. I’ll get Netflix, I’ll buy you that chain, no problem.”
“You ain’t fuckin’ wit’ me, is you?”
“I swear,” Rob said. “You gotta do something else for me too though.”
“What’s that? I ain’t touchin’ yo’ dick, whiteman. Don’t even try and ask me fo’ a reacharound.” He groaned and slapped his dick over Rob’s face.
“No, not that. Call my dad.”
“What?”
“Call my dad and tell him what’s going on,” Rob said. He explained about how much he hated his father and how he loved humiliating him.
Lamar looked dubious at first, but then he smiled. He and his friends often made fun of this crackhead named Greenbelly, and Lamar did a spot-on impression of him. He was so excited to use that impression that he wasn’t even nervous as Rob’s ass slid onto his cock.
It was only as he dialed that Lamar realized he could feel Rob’s short ass-hairs on his dick. With wide eyes, Lamar watched Rob slide up and down. The feeling was disgusting — faint, but still, Lamar could feel it too strongly to pretend he was with a woman. He turned his head away so he wouldn’t have to see it.
“Hello?”
“Yo, you got a son who a real bitch? I got my dick in his ass, and he keep squirmin’. What’s up wit’ dat, honky? Huh? I’m tryin’-a smoke some crack while I dip my dick in ‘im, and he don’t sit still.”
Rob was distracted by the pain and pleasure in his ass, but he still laughed. Lamar’s crackhead-impression was great, with a frantic, clipped tone like he was really angry Rob was interfering with his crack-smoking. Rob’s father didn’t say anything on the other line, but his scoffing and his annoyed breathing were audible.
“Huh? You gonna make him sit still? Gonna burn yo’ boy wit’ dis crack pipe. He pay me eight dollar, honky, and I tells him dat, fo’ eight dollar, you get my dick and you get my hepatitises and you get my Lucy on yo’ back — I calls my crack pipe Lucy — she say I gotta smoke her e’ry day. What? What do you call yo’ crack pipe? Oh, you don’t name it? It ain’t gonna know it’s special if you don’t-” Lamar paused. “Oh, he hung up.”
“You’re really good at that,” Rob said as his prostate exploded with pressure and intense pleasure. Lamar’s cock throbbed in his ass.
“Yeah, that’s my Greenbelly impression. He this crackhead I know back in the projects, always sellin’ wifebeaters and shit,” he said. He snorted and sat up. Rob was sitting on Lamar’s crotch, so Lamar had to struggle to rearrange himself. “Gonna blow a nut in ya. Then I gotta take yo’ car and go visit my parole officer. You buy Netflix and make sure you got a credit card you can charge two grand on. When I get back, we goin’ to the mall so you can buy me that chain.”
“Okay,” Rob said, wincing as he moved with Lamar’s thirteen-inch cock inside him.
Lamar swayed as he got up on his feet — he hadn’t stood since last night — but he regained his balance quickly. He took a deep breath and slammed his dick in and out hard.
It was an intensely awkward position. Lamar alternated between trying to pretend he was a hardcore thug who knew how to treat a man like a prison bitch, and pretending he was so utterly macho he was disgusted by what he was doing. In reality, the truth was in between — he wasn’t disgusted, really, just awkward and glad his friends weren’t here to see.
Lamar forcefully pushed Rob’s face to the floor, while he lifted Rob’s hips. It was an awkward position for Rob, who took Lamar’s dick with such force he had trouble keeping his feet on the ground, meaning a large portion of his weight was supported by his own head.
Now that he was in position, Lamar drilled his cock in deep. He bellowed and pounded on his chest while he used all his weight to slam his dick in deeply. He chuckled and looked around as though waiting for his niggas to laugh with him, but of course they weren’t here.
Then he grabbed Rob’s hips and gyrated his crotch. He slammed his dick in a few times before he realized he was touching Rob’s mannish body. He let go and pounded freestyle for a couple seconds.
“Damn…” He grabbed Rob’s hips again to steady him, but then dropped him again. Every time Lamar felt Rob’s male body-hair, it reminded him he wasn’t with a woman, so he let go.
He felt like that slowed him down, like every time it happened he got farther from his orgasm. But that wasn’t really true. Lamar was too young for much of anything to slow him down — it just slowed down his mind.
So he was still thinking that he had to struggle to cum when an orgasm hit him suddenly. He grunted and yelped, embarrassed at his own animated reaction — he had thought he’d barely be able to do it at all, but he actually shot one of the biggest loads of his life.
His tight young muscles all flexed at once, and he groaned. Rob moaned in harmony with him, which made Lamar nervous because he could hear the masculine twinge to Rob’s voice. Pleasure ran up Lamar’s spine, so intense it made Lamar shudder and shake.
A torrent of cum flooded Rob’s ass. It came in thick waves, great gobs of cum flowing into him. Lamar groaned as he spewed more and more, laughing at himself and at Rob — was this a normal amount? He thought he might just be surprised because he was with a man, and it wasn’t really a normal sensation for him.
The cum just kept on coming, and it filled up Rob’s hole. It dripped out the sides of his ass, coating Lamar’s cock and dripping in gobs onto the floor.
Just when Lamar thought he was done, Rob shuddered. That caused a couple things to happen all at once. First, an intense orgasmic aftershock hit Lamar. Second, the motion made a great clump of cum plop out and into Lamar’s hairy crotch. Third, the sight of that happening made Lamar gag. So all at once, Lamar both experienced a second mini-climax and was overcome with such physical disgust that he retched.
And all that combined to make him laugh. Lamar always laughed at things that made him uncomfortable. He gingerly removed his rapidly limpening cock, and the sight of it covered in pearly white cum made him gag again.
“Yo, I gotta get a picture fo’ Killer,” Lamar said, his discomfort totally gone now. He grabbed his phone and snapped a photo of his cock, which was white with the semen that still soaked into it. He sent the photo to Killer with the caption, ‘this is what I looked like after sloppy-fifths. That’s yo’ nasty all over my dick, nigga’.
He stood up and ignored Rob, who laid there with his ass in the air, exulting in his own post-orgasmic pleasure. Lamar wandered off towards the bathroom, watching his gigantic dick throb and shake as it limpened.
“Gonna take a shower, honky,” Lamar said. “Don’t forget to buy Netflix.”
“Okay,” Rob said, his voice weak and breathless.
Lamar sauntered into the shower, already dialing his parole officer to make excuses for being late. He wasn’t late yet, but Lamar assumed he probably would be.
Besides, he thought as he stepped into the shower, there was a black slut who lived near the parole office. He could stop by and see her beforehand, get his dick wet in a real pussy and probably smoke a blunt. She usually had weed.
‘Oh, that reminds me! I should’ve asked for that!’ Lamar poked his head out the bathroom door, just before he stepped in the shower. “Yo, honky, leave some money on the counter for me. Like eighty bucks. I wanna buy some weed too.”
“Okay!” Rob said. He smiled as he put the cash out for Lamar and fired up his long-canceled Netflix account.

The Foreman

When Rob meets factory foreman Ezra McCormick, he didn’t know he was in for a ride on his massive, muscular meat! Can Rob accept Ezra’s hot, throbbing authority?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob’s eyes opened wide when he saw Ezra McClintock. He wasn’t expecting someone like that. He knew it was silly when he walked into the factory — he had the assumption in his head that a factory that made specialty graphing calculators was probably full of bespectacled nerds with pens leaking over their pocket protectors, their whiny singsong voices drowned out by the whirr of the machinery.
But that wasn’t the case. Just because it was used by nerds didn’t mean it was manufactured by them.
Mr. McClintock was statuesque and powerfully built, that was why Rob was shocked — also he had arranged this meeting through email with a woman named “Kendra”, so he was predisposed to picture a bunch of nerds and women. But that wasn’t Ezra McClintock. Kendra was just an office manager. Mr. McClintock was a rough-edged black man in his mid to late forties, with big burly shoulders and a broad barrel chest. His hair was jet-black and trimmed neatly — it was so black that Rob suspected it was dyed, since Ezra seemed old enough he ought to have a few gray hairs.
His most attractive feature, however, was not the way he barely fit in his workshirt and dickeys, it was his mustache.
Nobody wore mustaches like that these days. It was a glorious mustache, 1970s-style, making Mr. McClintock a man out of time, Rob thought, phenomenally huge and bristly, like he had a push-broom on his upper lip. It trembled as he shook Rob’s hand.
“What can I do for you? We got some older types around, but I dunno how they can help ya,” Mr. McClintock said. He led Rob into his office but then he sat on the edge of his desk. “We don’t advertise in magazines.”
Rob was momentarily flummoxed. Mr. McClintock sat on the edge of the desk, with one foot resting on the chair at the other side of the desk — meaning there was nowhere for Rob to sit. If Rob weren’t distracted by the massive bulge in Mr. McClintock’s workpants, he would have realized that he chose this position to block the chair and get Rob to leave more quickly.
That bulge was huge. His cock was at least a foot long and it looked as thick as a beer can. Maybe that isn’t his dick, maybe he had something in his pocket, Rob thought.
“Oh, uh… I’m not selling advertising,” Rob said. He blushed, his voice wavering because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the cock-bulge in Mr. McClintock’s workpants. They were thick, canvas-like pants, stained with bleach near the ankle and a big grass stain on the left ass and thigh, like he had been wearing them when he slid into home during a baseball game.
He kind of looks like a baseball player, Rob thought. He was too thickly built for basketball, and probably not swift enough for football, even back when he was younger. He had a heavy, plodding way of moving and talking; he was solid, all heft and mass, shifting his weight as though he found his own muscles tiresome. He chewed on his lower lip.
Rob cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry, I, uh… I didn’t say I was selling ad space. Our magazine is aimed at older readers, and uh…” He blinked his eyes a few times, his purpose here today vanishing from his mind. He blushed. “Uh… An article on factories! We’re doing an article on older people who work in factories, and we wanted to find some workers to interview.”
Mr. McClintock grunted. “How old is older?”
“Sixty-five.”
“We got one, he ain’t gonna be yo’ type though, mistuh,” Mr. McClintock said. When he spoke his mustache worked up and down like an excited bat, even as his face and his voice remained flat. “He a good worker, but… He don’t even work on the factory floor, he’s in the mailroom.”
“Oh, well, still…”
“He got Down’s Syndrome.”
“What?”
“He got Down’s Syndrome. He disabled as shit, man,” Mr. McClintock said. “He livin’ in a care home and e’rything. You wanna interview him? You go ahead. I dunno if he got anything to say that might be relevant to yo’ readers. He do talk though, he ain’t one them non-verbals, he talks, he do.”
“Oh… I mean…” Rob tried to be diplomatic. “I’m sure, uh… his experiences are… Uh… full of useful-“
“You don’t gotta be politically correct.”
Rob smiled awkwardly. “I don’t want to interview him. That won’t be… maybe sometime in the future, we are planning a disabilities issue.”
“Well, sorry, man, he the only over-65 we got workin’ here,” Mr. McClintock said. He sniffled like that was the end of the conversation, and he expected Rob to leave. He picked up a stack of papers off his desk. He rifled through them before looking up at Rob once more.
Rob’s mind whirred. That mustache was amazing, he thought, and he would give anything to see that fat cock sliding into his own mouth. He wanted him so bad he could already taste it.
But how to tantalize him? Rob often offered guys money for a chance to swing on their meat, but Mr. McClintock was already a foreman at a large factory — he probably wasn’t in need of cash, and he might be offended at the suggestion that he was.
“You need somethin’ else, man? I gotta get back to work. Can’t be hangin’ out wit’ some journalist all day,” he said with a throaty chuckle and a sigh.
“Oh, I’m not a journalist,” Rob said. “I own the magazine. We only have three employees so far, and I’m doing a lot of the research and-“
“You own the magazine?” He lowered his eyes. “You rich?”
“Well… I have a lot of money tied up in assets,” Rob said. He laughed a little nervously. “Most of those lose money though. Like the magazine is notionally worth a half-million, but if I tried to sell it today I’d be lucky to get fifty grand. It’s technically cash-flow positive, but, uh… It’s complicated. Anyway, I-“
“Uh-huh. So you lookin’ for new business opportunities?”
“Always,” Rob said. “But I have a business manager I have to justify things to. Don’t expect me to, you know-“
He waved Rob away. “I gots an opportunity for you. You gonna have to seize it real quick. You wanna sell some graphing calculators?”
“What? That’s not a market I’m in…”
“Well, man, I gots an idea. I was tellin’ my boss ’bout this, but he weren’t… he wasn’t open to new ideas at the time,” he said with a knowing frown. “When we get supplies, like the computer chips and the plastic cases and all that, we always get a couple extra in case some got damaged. We can make them into actual calculators. The only thing we don’t got is the batteries — we buys ’em from Duracell in bulk and put ’em in the package with the calculator, but Duracell don’t give extras. Mr. Bossman don’t wanna make a separate product line that’s the same thing ‘cept without the batteries pre-installed, ya dig?”
“Right…”
“But we already gots ’em, and the supplies don’t cost nothin’. We could churn out another five-hundred calculators a month at no extra cost beyond a few bucks in overtime pay,” he said. “You feel me? You gettin’ where I’m goin’?”
“Not exactly…”
“Well, man, we can make them calculators and sell ’em to you. No batteries, no logo. You buy ’em for us at twenty bucks each, you can sell ’em to college brats like my idiot stepson for two hundred bucks each.”
“Is that… legal?”
“Ain’t breakin’ no criminal law, nosir,” Mr. McClintock said. “This is our property, and we’s allowed to sell it. My contract with the company don’t really allow for that, but it ain’t a crime. Worse they can do is find a new factory, but we the only factory in North America that makes graphing calculators. They ain’t gonna wanna build a new one, cuz this is a dyin’ industry anyway. So they gonna look the other way, if they ever find out — they prolly won’t cuz no one gonna know. You could put ‘Made in Vietnam’ on the package, ain’t no one ever gonna think to check.” He paused. “That part is illegal, that’s on you, if you wanna mark the packagin’ incorrectly, I ain’t gonna make my boys do that.”
“Hmmm…” Rob tried to think. The math certainly worked out. This would be a good profit-making opportunity, if only he could get away with it. But there was also a chance he was being scammed, he thought. Maybe Mr. McClintock was trying to offload a couple hundred calculators that didn’t work.
“Maybe I could sweeten the pot,” Mr. McClintock said when Rob hesitated. He pointed to the chair, on which his foot still rested — Mr. McClintock sat on the edge of the desk, so when Rob sat there, he faced Mr. McClintock’s crotch.
Mr. McClintock rolled his eyes. He was annoyed with how much some men appreciated his physique. It was kind of funny, he thought, when he was young, he didn’t mind getting jerked off because he was horny and they were easy and he could do it without going out on dates or sweet-talking a female. But some men swished in his direction all the time — they liked older men. The older Mr. McClintock got, the more he noticed men checking him out, blatantly staring at him, fat slobby perverts blushing as they begged for his dick — he always said no — while the kind of pretty girl who used to go crazy for his muscles became more and more turned off by him. Nowadays most young women thought he was creepy, not sexy. Girls are prudes these days.
Though it was annoying, Mr. McClintock didn’t mind letting men jerk him off. He always made a big deal out of it because most of them would pay if they thought he was reluctant, and because if he seemed too eager, they’d want to do more than just handle his dick. Mr. McClintock had given handjobs before, and he didn’t like to think about that. If he wasn’t desperate for cash, he wan’t going to do it again.
But to offload these useless calculator parts? And to make a profit off it that he could keep for himself? He’d gladly let Rob jerk him off every month when he picked up the calculators, and hell, he thought, he’d kiss Rob for that.
“I’d like to make this happen, man,” Mr. McClintock said. He looked up and unzipped his workpants. He let his dick flop out. He sensed Rob’s eyes opening wide. He crossed his arms over his chest, which made a few hairs visible over the upper edge of his shirt — there, Rob noticed, were the gray hairs he suspected Mr. McClintock dyed off his head and his beard.
Rob’s heart fluttered. That dick was just as big as he had thought, the bulge wasn’t an optical illusion at all. It was like a massive brown cucumber, he thought, no, bigger than any cucumber, but firm like one even though it wasn’t hard. Rob touched it gingerly to see how Mr. McClintock reacted, but he just grunted and ignored Rob.
One of his fingers ran up and down the shaft, tracing a bluish vein barely visible against the deep brown of his skin. He had a lot of dickskin too, Rob thought with a suppressed laugh as he wrapped his hand around it, it was still limp and that skin moved along with his strokes. It put out a palpable wave of heat, and it pulsated in Rob’s grip. He leaned in and smelled it.
The scent was musky, zesty, spicy, glorious. Rob took a huge deep sniff of it, then blushed because Mr. McClintock looked at him like a loathsome slug. Rob kept both of his hands on the shaft though, and he kept stroking it slowly, not trying to get it hard, just sort of petting it.
This dick might be more than a foot long, Rob thought, it might well be the biggest dick I’ve ever touched. He blushed and said, “it’s so big…”
Mr. McClintock sniffled. “Won’t get hard if you just play wit’ it. You gotta swallow it.” He stood up straighter. “And you gotta get deep on it too, get it real nice and wet. Go deep on it.”
Rob nodded. He didn’t want to go too fast though. He slapped himself with Mr. McClintock’s dick, which was so thick and heavy it really almost hurt to be hit with it, like it was a warclub. He stuck his tongue out and chased it, getting a few tastes of his funky, cocoa butter-scented dick but not actually tasting it yet.
“Hmm-hmm, see you just playin’ wit it,” Mr. McClintock said. “I got no time for you to play around, man. Just do it it if you gonna do it.” His mustache twitched.
“It’s gigantic, I wanna play with it some, okay?” Rob said. He put the tip in his mouth, playing with the loose skin there, while Mr. McClintock rolled his eyes. “You’re all business, Mr. McClintock. Relax-“
“No.” He grunted. He leaned back and took his dick away from Rob. “I got work to do. If you ain’t serious-“
“Fine, fine, I’ll do it,” Rob said. He tried to grab Mr. McClintock’s dick from him, but he slapped Rob’s hand away.
“Fo’ real?” He shook his head and stroked his chin. “Goddamn, wussy-ass sissies always play fuckin’ games… can’t just do what they want, y’know.” He forced Rob’s jaw apart and slid the tip of his dick in there. “Unless you can really deep-throat the shit outta me, there ain’t much point. Lemme just jack off on ya tongue.”
“That’s not as hot-” Rob said, his voice muffled and cut off by Mr. McClintock’s dick slipping into his mouth. He struggled to take it because it was so thick. He had to stretch his mouth. He tried to say, “will you ram me in the ass?” But his mouth was full, so all that came out was a confused jumble of sounds.
“Hmmm-hmm… If you do this, I’ll let you get a nut outta me off e’ry time you come pick up the calculators, okay? It’s gotta be you, I don’t wanna deal wit’ delivery guys or whatevuh,” Mr. McClintock said. He kept one callused hand on Rob’s head, trying to ram Rob’s throat though his dick remained only partially hard. It coiled like a big black rope all over Rob’s face. “You can jerk me off then e’ry time, okay? No anal. I’ll let you play wit’ it a bit, and you can touch my muscles. But just for a few minutes, okay? I ain’t yo’ boyfriend.”
“No anal…? Come on…” Rob said with a winsome smile. “Can I tell you a secret? I’m a great deep-throater. I can swallow your entire dick and beg for more, and I’ll choke down every drop of your cum like no woman ever has-“
“Yeah, right.” He chuckled, ropy dick twitching where it rubbed over Rob’s face. “You can’t even swallow half of it. I shoot big loads, man.”
“If I get the whole thing in there, or enough anyway that my nose hits your pubic hair,” Rob said. “Will you kiss me when we’re done?”
“You want me to kiss you?”
Rob nodded and blushed. “I’ll swallow first, it won’t taste like cum.”
“Ya lips’ll still taste like cum,” Mr. McClintock said. He sighed and flared his nostrils. “Fine, whatever, you won’t be able to do it anyway. If you can’t, if you fail, you gotta lemme just jack off in your mouth real quick, cuz you ain’t gonna get me hard any other way.”
Rob nodded. “Deal.” He opened his mouth as wide as he could and let Mr. McClintock flex his hips, forcing his dick down Rob’s throat. Rob relaxed himself as much as he could, even as he felt suffocated and his lungs cried out for oxygen.
He really was a very good deep-throater. He had been playing around — Mr. McClintock was right about that — but when he loosened up his jaw, he was able to slide inch after inch of rapidly hardening black meat down his throat. Mr. McClintock looked at him directly for the first time since this began, watching his dick fill Rob’s throat.
“Goddamn, whiteboy,” he said. He let out a whistle. He was about to add more, but then a wave of pleasure hit him and his dick finally got hard. It was quick once it got started. Before Rob knew it, he had to lift his head because Mr. McClintock’s dick was as straight and immovable as a crowbar. His heart sped up, and Mr. McClintock groaned at the realization he had lost that bet. He wished if he was going to kiss Rob that it would be before the dome, not after.
He couldn’t deny it that he had done it before though — not with a man, but when he was growing up in Chicago, kissing a girl after she sucked you off was a sort of a rite of passage. It was disgusting but it was dirty and sexy and raunchy and a lot of guys bragged that they did it — they bragged both that they did it and that they thought it was gross, so it was a fine line to hew. You had to do it willingly while being unwilling to do it.
A grunt escaped from his clenched lips. He frowned and tried to pretend he wasn’t as impressed as he was — he didn’t want to give Rob the wrong impression. His dick throbbed in Rob’s throat, which clenched around it. Rob gripped Mr. McClintock’s asscheeks through those thick workpants, clutching them to hold on as his lungs cried out for air.
Mr. McClintock pulled his balls out through the fly of his workpants — which he realized now he had been wearing the last few times he let a man get a nut outta him as well. They must reek of his cum, he thought.
His balls slapped against Rob’s chin. Rob was dizzy from lack of oxygen, but he refused to pull off until he absolutely couldn’t take it. Then he gasped for air and held his mouth open so Mr. McClintock could see how good he did it, how open his throat was and how his mouth was coated in Mr. McClintock’s precum.
Then he went back to stroking, to deep-throating that massive shaft, while stroking his balls with one hand to bring him to orgasm. Rob throated that shaft until his nose pressed against Mr. McClintock’s fleshy crotch, nuzzling his pubic hair and rubbing his chin against his ballsac.
At last he felt those balls rising up in the sac, and Rob gagged uncontrollably. Mr. McClintock’s dick throbbed as though it was coming alive. Mr. McClintock had been rather absent for most of this dome, letting Rob do the whole thing, but now as an orgasm shuddered through him, he grabbed Rob’s head and held on tight.
“Oh fuck yeah, boy…”
Cum flew down Rob’s throat, right into his belly. Mr. McClintock’s shaft was so deep in him that Rob didn’t even taste it right away. He felt it flowing hotly into him, but it didn’t touch his tongue. He sensed it in the pulsations fo Mr. McClintock’s cock on his tongue and the rising up of his balls as he prepared to bust one of his fat wads.
It was hot and creamy, and it seeped into Rob’s flesh like nothing else could. He moaned and choked and begged for more all at the same time, and Rob’s hands clasped Mr. McClintock’s trunk-like thighs. A baritone grunt came from Mr. McClintock, who thrust his hips one more time, making his balls slap Rob in the chin.
“Goddamn, boy, swallow that shit…”
He shot a huge load, especially for an older, mature man, Rob thought, his mind reeling as his lungs cried out for oxygen and his throat spasmed painfully. He thought he might lose consciousness before Mr. McClintock withdrew his dick slowly.
He moved very slow. Mr. McClintock loved this part of dome, but women never let it happen like this — he pulled out slowly, using both hands to force Rob’s head to remain in place — and to cover his face so Mr. McClintock didn’t have to see it. Rob squirmed, his throat squeezing as he tried to take a breath, but Mr. McClintock’s dick didn’t allow it, and he removed it arduously slowly. Every inch to get squeezed on was a new source of pleasure that wracked Mr. McClintock’s body.
Finally Rob tasted it, salty cum coating his tongue when Mr. McClintock’s cocktip finally reached his mouth. Rob took a deep, hoarse breath and spat up a mouth full of cum that spilled out over his mouth and lips. He gurgled and smeared it over himself before sucking most of it off his fingers.
That thirteen-inch dick throbbed limply over Rob’s face. Rob nudged it with his nose, giggling at the exhausted look on Mr. McClintock’s face. Rob smacked his lips and opened his mouth again to demonstrate that he had swallowed.
Then he stood. “Kiss me…”
Mr. McClintock looked like he might back out. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing, his lips grim and tight. Rob had swallowed his cum, but Rob’s face and lips still glimmered. He was definitely going to taste like it.
He had kissed men, and he had kissed women who tasted of his own cum, but he had never kissed a man who tasted of his own cum. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, thinking he should just get it over with. Then he let out a loud croaking gag when he got close and smelled Rob’s breath — he smelled like a brothel and a well-used jockstrap, Mr. McClintock thought — was that what his dick smelled like? No wonder his wife refused to suck him off anymore.
But he wasn’t going to shirk his duty. He had agreed to kiss Rob, so he did so, even as he let out another baritone gag. It was just disgust, after all, he frequently had to deal with nasty and even painful stuff here at work. He could deal with it.
Rob’s mouth tasted snotty and sticky, his lips sour and cottony. He could tell right away that he was going to taste this for a long time, he wouldn’t be able to wash it away. Their tongues interlocked in Mr. McClintock’s mouth. Rob’s tongue moved around, but Mr. McClintock didn’t move anymore than he thought he absolutely had to.
He only pulled away when Rob began sucking on his upper lip and the mustache there. Mr. McClintock gagged again, but then resumed his stiff, dour look, his soft dick still dangling out of the fly of his workpants.
“You okay?” Rob asked.
Mr. McClintock nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak because he thought he might gag again, and he didn’t want to look weak.
“Well, then, I guess we have an agreement,” Rob said. He kept playing with that huge dick until Mr. McClintock scowled and tucked it back in his pants. Then he stood, kissed Mr. McClintock on the neck, and walked out of his office. “I’ll see you on the first of the month to pick up the calculators.”
Rob was exhilarated as he left. There were a lot of hot older guys in this factory, he noticed. The average worker was about forty or forty-five here. Rob had a lot of opportunities, he thought with a squeal of glee.
Coming back here every month was going to be fun. He could mess with Mr. McClintock for calculators, then jerk off the rednecks and blue-collars for beer money. They’d probably even gangbang him for a big enough payday, he thought with a shiver of anticipation.

The Worker

Robby is desperate for a job, so when he shows up for an interview, he’ll do whatever it takes to get it… even if Mr. Taggart has some interesting ideas on how to meet his needs. Can Robby perform under pressure?

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Read the whole thing here!

Robby went to the house on Morning Street dressed to work. It was not a business address, it was a private house. Robby tried not to feel nervous about that. He brought along his old toolbelt and a toolbox with almost nothing in it, because he didn’t own very many tools. He read somewhere that you should dress for the job you want, not the job you have. But Robby didn’t have a job — he was an out-of-work carpenter — and the job he wanted was to be a stuntman in Hollywood — he couldn’t exactly wear a burn-suit to meet a potential client.
He liked calling the people who hired him his clients. It sounded highfalutin’. Robby was a general laborer, doing whatever he could to make a few dollars. He was always on the lookout for something he could do to earn money. His mechanical skills made him useful in a lot of situations, it was just hard to find folks — or sorry, clients.
So he had no idea who his client was, but he sounded like a blue-collar kind of guy on the phone, probably middle-aged or older. That was why Robby went dressed to work as a carpenter. He figured someone like that would want a sign that Robby was a serious worker, not a newbie trying to learn on the job, not a hobo wanting to get paid upfront so he could drink all day, a serious worker who came on the first day ready to do whatever needed to be done. That was the kind of worker Robby was.
Or at least the kind of worker he wanted to seem to be.
The client was some guy who said on the phone that he needed a deck built. He had the plans, the permits, the wood, the nails, and everything else that was needed. He just needed someone to do the work. Robby could do that work. He was a carpenter by trade, stuntman by lifelong goal.
Robby knocked on the door.
“Howdy, you must be Robby,” said Mr. Taggarxt, a thickly built middle-aged man with deep, dark eyes and a bristly mustache. He was very tanned, with remnants of perpetual sunburn on his nape and shoulders, and his craggy face was weathered like a soldier, which Robby suspected he was. He had the vibe of an ex-military man.
“Yep. Yes, sir. Hello,” Robby said. “Howdy.”
“Come on into the back, I’ll show you what it is,” Mr. Taggart said. “I got all the wood out back ready for you-“
“Oh sorry, is this… did you…?” Robby wanted to ask if he was hired, but he wasn’t sure if that would seem weak. Had Mr. Taggart already decided to hire him? He had definitely suggested on the phone that he was going to see some other laborers too.
Mr. Taggart screwed up his eyebrows at him. “You okay?”
“I, uh…” Robby didn’t want to suggest someone else might be hired for the gig. “I just wasn’t sure you wanted me to start today. But that’s no problem, I’d rather do it today. I need to make a payment this week.”
“A payment?”
Robby nodded. “I got this debt… It’s child support, honestly, lemme be totally honest wit’ you. I’m a good worker, for real, I just… I got these daughters, man, I ain’t even sure they’s mine, I swear,” he said. “Mother’s a fuckin’… Well, we don’t get along, and she always tellin’ the judge I make a shit-ton of money. Buncha lies and shit.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I gotta make a payment this week.” Robby blushed. He realized only now that talking about this stuff was probably not a good way to get hired for the gig — it didn’t make him sound stable or reliable. But it was too late now.
“I can understand that, yessuh,” Mr. Taggart said. “Go’n then.” He chewed on his lip, like he wasn’t really interested in Robby’s problems but was willing to listen to him talk about them. He opened the sliding glass door to the backyard and pointed to the wood.
He spent the next twenty minutes explaining exactly how this deck was supposed to go. Mr. Taggart was knowledgeable on carpentry, but he didn’t have the time to do it himself. That was inconvenient for Robby — someone who knew how to do it himself was likely to both pay less and complain if it wasn’t quite perfect. Those who didn’t know would accept any price offered, generally speaking, and they wouldn’t even know what to look for to decide if it was well-done.
Not that Robby was going to do a poor job. He was a good worker.
Despite Mr. Taggart’s gruff nature, he came across as fair. He offered an okay price, and he listened gamely when Robby tried to negotiate. He didn’t accept Robby’s counteroffer though, forcing Robby to embarrassedly agree to what Mr. Taggart had offered to begin with.
“Thank you, suh, and I promise I’ll do the best work I can, I swear to God. I’m a good worker, no kidding,” Robby said.
Mr. Taggart nodded like he didn’t really care. He was the kind of foreman who had a way of getting the work he needed from the men who worked for him. He would get it one way or another.
He left Robby to get started on his own. Robby liked that part. He really wished he could work like this and not worry about anything else. He could do the actual building, any kind of mechanical labor would be fine with him. He’d gladly work twelve hours a day if it came with a promise he’d get paid enough to live. It was all the other stuff, the showing up on time, the interviewing, the “probationary periods”, the police, drunk driving laws, safety regulations, all of that stuff made it difficult.
It felt right to work with his hands, to use his muscles to survive and build a deck. He liked seeing the pieces come together.
Of course, not that much actually came together today. It took almost all day to cut the wood to size. He got the posts in the ground for the foundation, and by then, he was exhausted. He was drenched with sweat, his dirty blond hair plastered to his forehead. His shoulders ached, and his thumb throbbed because he dropped a bunch of slats of wood onto it. He kept sucking on it, until he realized he would look like a baby sucking his thumb in Mr. Taggart’s eyes.
Most clients would have come out to check on him at some point, but Mr. Taggart never had. Robby came tentatively to the house and stepped in. He wasn’t sure if Mr. Taggart was the kind of guy who didn’t want his workers in the house more than necessary.
“Hey, uh, Mister Taggart?” Robby called out.
He heard movement down the hall and went that way. Was that moaning? It almost sounded like a woman moaning. Robby was just wondering if he was about to walk in on something when a bedroom door opened.
Mr. Taggart walked out. He left the door open, and the sounds of porn filled the air. A woman’s moaning voice was plainly audible, but it was clearly a recording, not a real woman. Robby blushed, but Mr. Taggart seemed nonchalant.
“You done for today?”
Robby nodded. “Yeah. I think I got pretty far today, you wanna see?”
“Nah. I’m busy now. I’ll look at it tomorrow,” Mr. Taggart said. He glanced into the bedroom. “Sorry. I’s just watchin’ a movie. You wanna see it wit’ me?”
Robby shrugged. He had no idea why he said yes. He hadn’t watched porno with another man in more than a decade — that just wasn’t a thing anymore, now that Internet porn was so common, he thought. Who even watched porno videos on a TV screen? But it was an alluring option. For one thing, it would help cement a relationship with Mr. Taggart. He might be more willing to hire Robby agaian.
This was clearly a VHS tape. That was obvious when Mr. Taggart fast-forwarded it. Robby blushed. Mr. Taggart has a VCR. Who has a VCR? Robby sat back on the bed, on one edge, while Mr. Taggart sat on the other side, then scooted close to the middle.
“You ain’t got no pro’lem beatin’ ya meat wit’ a man, huh?” Mr. Taggart said. He aimed his dick in Robby’s direction and have it one stroke. He chuckled throatily
Robby’s eyes opened wide. “I, uh…” He hadn’t thought they were going to circlejerk, but he kind of did want to do it. The idea held a certain allure to it — it would be exciting and grimy, and the punk-rock girl at the convenience store he had a crush on would think it was sexy.
So maybe, he thought, he should do it. It wasn’t too weird. They probably wouldn’t even touch. Probably.
Would they?
The porno movie was some sort of amateur underground thing. Did the women even realize they were being filmed? Robby got an uncomfortable feeling like they didn’t know. The man definitely knew, the mustachioed freak with the huge dick, he was angling his body so the camera could clearly see his cock where it slid between this one woman’s huge tits. He titty-fucked her, groaning and moaning for the camera’s benefit.
But Robby found it hard to pay consistent attention to the movie. Mr. Taggart’s body heat seemed to fill the bedspace, and Robby couldn’t bring himself to look directly at his dick, yet he couldn’t stop sneaking peeks in his periphery either.
Mr. Taggart flopped his giant dick out as though it was nothing, as though he did this every day. He didn’t drop his pants, just lowered them enough to take his cock out. Robby gulped. There was something about it that demanded he look at it. He couldn’t look right at it because he thought he’d look weird. He couldn’t look away either. He stared at it intently out of the corner of his eyes. That didn’t satisfy either itch — it still felt uncomfortably weird, and he still wanted to look at it straight on.
Was Mr. Taggart expecting him to stroke it?
But Mr. Taggart didn’t say so. He just watched the screen. He hadn’t even noticed that Robby hadn’t taken his own dick out yet. Mr. Taggart was deeply engrossed in the porno. The “college girls” on screen had a pillow fight in their dorm, and Mr. Taggart licked his teeth as the bras popped off and the pillows went flying.
Finally, when Robby was sure Mr. Taggart wasn’t watching, Robby did take his dick out. He was glad he had a big cock. He was sometimes embarrassed by how big it was. Once guys knew, they kept demanding he take it out.
Robby considered leaving. He could just go — he doubted Mr. Taggart would hire someone else instead. By the time he called more people in and found a new guy, Robby could have already finished the deck.
Mr. Taggart took off his shirt. He had a thicker body than Robby, and he was probably stronger. His skin was a rich ruddy tanned-brown, suggesting Mr. Taggart must tan shirtless often. Robby felt small in comparison to Mr. Taggart, but he was younger and had a six-pack, which helped even it out.
“Man, ain’t that chick hot?” Mr. Taggart asked.
“Uh-huh.” Robby had barely paid a lick of attention to the porno. He hadn’t even noticed that he was still totally limp while Mr. Taggart’s dick was rock-hard. He was going to look like a fool if he didn’t get hard.
“You havin’ trouble gettin’ hard? Huh? You wanna play around? I can get you hard.”
“Uh… I’ve never done anything like that,” Robby said. He blushed.
“Oh yeah?” Mr. Taggart asked with a throaty chuckle. “Ain’t gonna hurt. Just men doin’ what they gotta do. It’s always better to have another hand, ain’t it? Feels better than ya own.”
“I, uh… I dunno…” Robby sucked in his breath as Mr. Taggart reached over and gripped his dick. Robby hadn’t taken his shirt off, nor even lowered his pants any more than he needed to. Mr. Taggart’s shirt was off and his pants had migrated to his ankles.
Without taking his eyes off the porno, Mr. Taggart grabbed Robby’s cock and stroked it. Robby gasped.
The most surprising thing, he thought, was that it really did feel good. Mr. Taggart had been right. This did feel better than masturbating alone would have.
His dick quickly firmed up in Mr. Taggart’s hand. Robby had his eyes closed, so he didn’t see it when Mr. Taggart came closer to him, not until he felt Mr. Taggart’s body heat. Then Mr. Taggart grabbed his hand and brought it to his own cock.
“Aaaaah…” Mr. Taggart moaned into his ear. “Ain’t that good, son?”
“Yeah…” Robby had to admit it was good. His own cock felt better than it had last time he had actual sex, and not much had even happened. His own cock felt so good he didn’t pay much attention to his own left hand on Mr. Taggart’s dick.
It was very thick, impossibly so, Robby was shocked by that. It felt fleshier too, like there was tons of loose skin and extra meat in the shaft. He rubbed his hand up and down but that reminded him of what he was doing.
So Robby stopped moving. Mr. Taggart, however, kept jacking him off and pumped his hips in sync with his hand. That way Robby could just grip his hand and Mr. Taggart humped his grip. It barely even felt like he was giving a handjob. His cock throbbed and pulsated.
“You ready, son?” Mr. Taggart murmured. “You gonna feel real good today.”
“Yeah…” Robby winced. What was he agreeing to? He didn’t know, but he wanted it to happen. He was desperate to get his rocks off. No girl had made him feel like this in a long time.
Mr. Taggart knelt down and popped Robby’s dick in his mouth. It wasn’t romantic or sweet, Robby thought, he did it like it was his job. Moist warmth suffused into Robby’s body through his shaft. He moaned too after a few seconds, like he was so nervous about this that there was a brief delay before he actually felt Mr. Taggart’s lips close around his shaft.
But then felt it better than it had any right to. Definitely no woman could ever swallow dick like this.
For one thing, Mr. Taggart was bigger than most women, with a deeper and more cavernous throat, meaning he could simply swallow way more cock. Robby’s eyes bugged out, and he gripped Mr. Taggart’s roughly-trimmed hair. His hands dug into Mr. Taggart’s scalp.
He didn’t plow into his throat though, despite Robby’s instinct to do precisely that. He wasn’t sure Mr. Taggart would be okay with it for one thing, and even more importantly, Mr. Taggart was already swallowing him to the root. There was no need to throat him down. Mr. Taggart’s nose rammed into Robby’s crotch.
“Ah, god — oh — oh shit, damn — I mean — Ooooooohhh…” Robby wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.
His hands flailed above Mr. Taggart’s head, then gripped his scalp again. Then he wasn’t sure Mr. Taggart liked that and stopped. This time, Mr. Taggart grabbed his hand, still without pulling off his dick. He led Robby’s hands back down to his crotch.
Robby gulped and gripped Mr. Taggart’s cock. Mr. Taggart was curled up, so he could swallow Robby’s dick with his upper half ensconced next to his Robby’s body. That meant Robby could easily reach over Mr. Taggart’s body to his rod.
It was rock-hard, precum glistening on the tip. It leaked goop onto Robby’s fingers.
“Shit…”?
He didn’t know why he had been so nervous about this. Mr. Taggart was weird — and his masculine body smelled like Robby’s father — but his mouth felt good on Robby’s cock. Robby couldn’t hold back his orgasm.
But Mr. Taggart didn’t let him cum just yet. Just when Robby was about to blow his wad, he got up and pulled his mouth from Robby’s dick. Robby gasped and for a moment tried to drag Mr. Taggart’s face back to his shaft.
“Gonna sit on ya dick, son, that okay? Jack me off, okay?”
“What? Uh… No way, I dunno…,” Robby said without giving it a second thought. He was nervous, but after having let Mr. Taggart jack him off, he didn’t see any reason to refuse to plow.
Not many girls let him do it in the butt on account of that huge cock — and his penchant for not showering sometimes — but Robby loved it when he did. He had never really thought about cornholing a man instead. It seemed like a reasonable idea now — ignoring all the societal ramifications, he thought, an ass was just an ass. Mr. Taggart had a thick, wide ass like Robby loved.
He sat on Robby’s dick. That was a position that Robby had never tried. His cock was too big for any girl to want that. Robby gulped when it started, his confidence wavering, because this position reminded him how big Mr. Taggart was.
He was thickly built, his muscles flexing as he squatted above Robby’s body. His smooth chest gleamed with sweat, the smell of which had filled the bedroom. Robby no longer noticed it like he had when he first came in and thought Mr. Taggart smelled like his dad. He sure didn’t smell like that now.
He smelled like funk now, and Robby liked it.
Mr. Taggart bit his lip and sunk down lower on Robby’s dick. Robby gasped and lifted his upper body up. He jacked on his breath. Again, just like when they had started jacking off together, Robby couldn’t bring himself to look away from Mr. Taggart’s dick.
It was half-hard now, his erection having diminished as he eased onto Robby’s dick. Now it flopped up and down. It looked huge and meaty. It twitched when Robby looked at it.
He gripped it and gave it a stroke. It was wet with precum, and it was slippery in Robby’s hand. He gulped. He had never thought he could be talked into doing this — the weird thing was: He hadn’t even needed to be talked into it. He had wanted to do it, in a way. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Robby couldn’t wait to see what it was like.
As Mr. Taggart began rising and falling on his dick, Robby again managed to almost forget he was jacking a man off. Even though he couldn’t look away, he still managed to think about the pleasure in his cock instead of that. But every time it twitched, or Mr. Taggart let out a moan, Robby was again aware of its veiny, iron-like shaft throbbing in his fingers. It was slick now with precum and sticky as hell. Some of it dripped onto Robby’s chest.
“Ah, yeah, stick it in me…”
He knew he was going to get cum on him. He couldn’t decide if he should be grossed out or not. He was glad he hadn’t swallowed Mr. Taggart’s dick or taken it up the ass — that was the rule he had set, and he had lived up to it. But getting cummed on was kind of a gray area, wasn’t it?
Robby hadn’t made a decision yet when it was rendered irrelevant by his own orgasm. It felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything else. Mr. Taggart’s ass clenched down on Robby’s cock, as he sunk all the way on it. It pulsated against Mr. Taggart’s prostate.
“Damn son, you hump nice….” Mr. Taggart let out a long, cringing moan.
For some reason the low vibrato of his voice was enough to send Robby over the edge. A few drops of cum sprayed into Mr. Taggart’s ass, then more and more. Robby felt it flow and wondered how it could be so much — he’d never shot a load like this. He writhed so intensely he wondered if he looked like a wuss — this felt rather like the first time he’d been with a woman, and had never felt anything so incredible.
He bit his lip and grunted. “Shit, man!” He gripped Mr. Taggart’s hips with both hands and drilled his dick in, grinding it deeply into Mr. Taggart’s body.
Mr. Taggart was expecting that — men who gave him a reacharound usually ended up stopping right as they both orgasmed, which was the worst time to stop from Mr. Taggart’s perspective.
But he was ready so he didn’t get blue-balled. He gripped his own dick and brought himself to orgasm in seconds. An explosion of pleasure erupted in both men. Robby let out a plaintive howl of desire, as his cock throbbed like a beast’s heart. Mr. Taggart groaned like a beast of burden caught in mud, and he threw his head back far. His powerful muscles all rippled and flexed.
A torrent of creamy cum shot out and over Robby’s chest and neck. Some of it splashed on his chin, but Robby’s eyes were closed and he was busy squirming with the intense pleasure shooting through him, so he didn’t notice. He just grunted and sucked on his teeth again.
Finally they were both done. Mr. Taggart remained deeply impaled on Robby’s dick until he had taken in every drop of cum, and squeezed out every drop of his own, each pearly drop dripping from Mr. Taggart’s callused fingers to Robby’s hair-dappled belly.
“Shit, son… Hell yeah,” Mr. Taggart said. He throatily chuckled. He massaged Robby’s chest muscles, smearing his own cum all over it.
Robby didn’t open his eyes until Mr. Taggart finally pulled off his dick, which fell limply against his thigh. Robby sucked in his breath as he watched Mr. Taggart lean down and lick his chest clean. He swallowed up all that cum he had spilled, slurping it noisily, making Robby gag just from the sound alone though he was glad to get the cum off his chest — he decided he wouldn’t tell anyone about that part and he definitely wouldn’t mention that he could taste salty cum on his lips too. Some of it must have splashed up there from his chin.
Finally Mr. Taggart pulled away from him, and Robby slipped off the bed, pleasure still coursing through his veins. He blushed and looked down. “I, uh… I… That was pretty good.” Robby heaved for breath. Now that that was over, he was much more tired than he thought he’d be. The adrenaline drained away, and all that was left as an intense need to lay his head.
Mr. Taggart snorted. “I know.” He reached over to open his nightstand drawer. “How much of a child support payment you got due?”
“Uh… Six hundred dollars.”
Mr. Taggart whistled. “Goddamn, son.” He handed over six crisp one-hundred dollar bills, then placed the stack of more money back in the drawer. He nodded at Robby. “Don’t think you can come back later and rob me just cuz you see my cash, son-“
“I wouldn’t! I swear!” Robby opened his wide. “Promise. No way. I’m not like that.”
“I got security you can only dream of,” he said. He smiled, flopping his limp dick between his fingers. He squeezed out a few drops of cum that he smeared over his shaft. “But if you gots more payments due next month, come see me again. I just might have more work for you.”
“Yessuh,” Robby said. He held back a smile because he didn’t want to seem too eager. That might come across as weird.
“Go’n now, get outta here. I’ll see you tomorrow mornin’, ready to work.”
“Yes, sir,” Robby said. “I’ll be here.”