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?
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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.
