Rob loves big macho alphas like pizza-joint cook Vinnie Delatucci, and he’s willing to pay what it takes for Vinnie to give him a swing on his meat… like they do in the “Old Country”!
Read it soon as an ebook!
The Pizza Guy
Tag: paid books
The Lutteur
Rob is surprised to find a traditional lutte wrestler from Senegal on his door… in Richmond, Virginia! He gets to host the legendary Ousmane Salimpé, who just might give Rob a ride on his magnificent wrestler meat! Can Rob handle it?
Read the whole thing here!
The annual Lutte Traditionelle World Championship was held in a different city on a different continent every other year — those were the “international” years. In the non-international years, it was held in West Africa, where lutte-style wrestling was most popular. But the Lutte Traditionelle League had grown popular around the world in the last decade or so, and there were plenty of fans in America.
There were even non-African contestants. A white Italian man had won two years ago, when the championship was in Sapporo, Japan. It was the first time a white person had won.
This year, it was in Richmond, Virginia, so Rob planned on seeing every match he could. He even signed up as a volunteer to help out wherever they needed him.
As the months counted down, the arena was renovated for lutte wrestling, and the big hotel downtown redecorated itself with West African and Islamic materials. Wealthy Africans filled the streets of Richmond. The city looked unlike Rob had ever seen it before.
A lot of people thought the tournament might not happen, that it might be yet another great international project stymied by war and discord. Senegal ran it, and, by tradition and according to the league’s charter, the president of Senegal also presided over the tournament. The president had been assassinated in March. A brief military coup took over the country, and nobody recognized the general as the new president. Then Amadou Dellimaollio declared himself president for life, was promptly assassinated, then was replaced by Pierre Rampeau.
No country recognized Rampeau as the president of Senegal either, so the US refused him a visa. The international lutte league’s bylaws forbade the championship from proceeding unless the Senegalese leader presided over it.
So a slow-motion international incident seemed likely. The tournament was set up, paid for and imminent but couldn’t begin without Pierre Rampeau. The US State Department wouldn’t give him a visa, nor would they allow most of his cronies and security personnel to come to the country.
The day before the opening ceremonies, Rob was certain it wouldn’t go off. Thousands of people had already come to Richmond, but no one was certain if any wrestling would happen. Multiple nations were sending military advisors. The Russians had gotten involved, which meant the Americans had to be involved, which meant the Chinese needed to insert themselves, which got the EU acting as observers, which prompted the Arab Lague to send international monitors, and then the Indians were mad they didn’t have a reason to meddle, and if the Indians meddle in something, the Pakistanis wanted to meddle even harder. It was turning into an international kerfluffle, exacerbated by the sporting world’s eyes being upon the city of Richmond, where the biggest event of the year could not technically begin until Pierre Rampeau was brought out of Senegal alive.
Rob got a call from a woman who identified herself as the “international affairs attaché for something”. The “something” was a long blur of French words that didn’t mean anything to Rob. He thought he did pretty well at recognizing “international affairs attaché”.
“You signed up to help out wrestlers in need,” she said, in her low slurry French-African accent. “So we have done to assign you Moussa Salimpée. He will need a home to stay in for at least one week. Une semaine.”
“I’m sorry?” Rob got the gist of what she was saying, but he didn’t understand her words.
Then a couple things happened at once. She said something on the phone that sounded like French — it was English, technically, but not very good English and it included several Senegalese place-names and personal names that Rob didn’t know — at the same time that someone knocked on his apartment door, and his phone beeped to indicate another phone call. Whoever knocked on the door spoke, not to him, but to whoever else was there. That person, the one who responded, had a voice so deep it boomed and echoed like a distant thunderclap.
“Uh, I, uh… Hang on a second, okay?” Rob said into the phone.
His mind raced. What was the French lady on the phone saying? Who was calling at the same time? That was probably spam, he decided, so he didn’t answer the second call. He asked the French lady to wait a moment, having no idea she had already hung up, and he opened the door.
A nicely-suited middle-aged white man stood there, flanked by a giant black man. He was Moussa Salimpée, and he was well over seven feet tall, so his head reached above the doorframe. His shoulders were broader than the threshold. His skin was black as coal in a dark room and perfectly smooth and unblemished. Rob could tell that because Moussa wore only the plain black cloth — sort of a fancy loincloth — that lutte wrestlers wore during matches.
What the fuck is going on?!
“Good afternoon,” said the white man. Moussa showed no reaction. Rob’s phone rang again. He glanced at the screen — it was a number he didn’t recognize, and it had too many digits. The white man said, “This is Moussa Salimpée.” He had an odd accent that Rob couldn’t place. Maybe German?
“Uh-huh. Hello,” Rob said. Now he was getting two phone calls from numbers he didn’t recognize, both of them having too many digits.
Are those international calls? Rob furrowed his brow at the white man.
“Did my colleague Agathe call you and explain? Please keep this over your hat,” said the man, whose English was very good though clipped and obviously not quite right — it took Rob a few seconds to realize he meant “under your hat”.
“Uh… hello?” Rob looked at his phone. More phone calls with too many digits were coming in. He had accrued nine voice mails in the last few minutes, and now text messages were coming in too fast for him to see them. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Henri Velafleur,” he said. He handed Rob a business card, which indicated he was with the Belgian delegation to the UN. Then he shook Rob’s hand and walked away, leaving the half-naked Senegalese giant at the doorway.
“Uh…” Rob looked again at his phone. It was going crazy. He had four missed calls and nineteen text messages, at least some of which were in French, and it was buzzing again with another one. The giant African man lowered his head to come into the apartment. He had a confident stride, and he pushed past Rob. His coconut-scented flesh made Rob’s hair stand on end, and his cock twitched in his pants at the sight of the African man’s asscheeks mostly bared by his loincloth. His powerful muscles flexed as though it took all of his strength just to come in.
“Je veux manger,” the African man, Moussa Salimpé, said. His voice was so deep it rattled Rob’s bones. Rob had taken French in high school, but he remembered little, and the constant phone calls were distracting him.
“The UN?” Rob was having trouble processing this. He held the white man’s card in his hand, though the white man had left. Rob shut the door. “You’re with the United Nations?”
Moussa spoke in well-practiced but awkward English. “No. I am Senegalese.” He went into the kitchen then and opened the refrigerator. He found a baggie of lunchmeat and sniffed it. “Is it pork?”
“Uh… no. That’s turkey,” Rob said. He got a text message in some African language, so he showed it to Moussa. “Is that for you?”
Moussa read it as he shoveled turkey into his mouth. “It is a death threat.”
“Aimed at me?!” Rob’s eyes opened wide. “What the fuck-?!”
“No. Me. Do not worry, they don’t know where you live,” said Moussa. “My coach is telling you to tell me about the death threats. He is telling you to be careful, but he will not…” He thought for a long time. “Give me up to the bad muvvuhfugging nigguss, yes?” His eyes twinkled — that was from a recent Hollywood movie that Rob was too confused to recall right now. “They are Monté ven Diaolu men. They are all talk and no hat.” A big proud smile dawned on his face. He made a dismissive hissing sound and waved away from himself. “No worrying to do in paradise.”
“Why are you here?!” Rob asked. It was suddenly dawning on him that he had a muscular giant in his apartment, and he blushed with desire, his dick throbbing in his pants. Rob greatly appreciated the male physique, of which Moussa’s was admirable and copious. He had physique for days. It was just hard to appreciate when Rob’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
What am I supposed to do with him anyway? Where, aside from Senegal, did he come from?
“Did not Agathe explain?”
“Uh… I didn’t quite catch all the details,” Rob said. He was only now piecing together that ‘Agathe’ was the French woman who had called him.
Moussa frowned and put down the now-empty bag of turkey. “C’était bon turkey,” he said. “I have defected. I must remain hidden until the tournament is complete. Your US State Department will come for me next week.”
“Next week? You defected?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know what that means. Defected from what?”
“My country. Senegal,” he said with a French or presumably Senegalese accent. Rob watched lutte wrestling for the men, not the culture. Now he wished he had paid attention during all those informative interstitials during the matches.
“They did tell me that you signed up to help,” he said. He opened the fridge again. “Is this pork?” He held up some leftover pasta with bacon in it.
“Yeah, that has pork,” Rob said. “Ooooooh… I-” He grew annoyed at the phone calls, so he picked it up to answer. “Hello?!”
Somebody spoke in French.
“I don’t know what you’re saying! Stop calling me! Je viens a l’école en bus!” It was the only French Rob could recall. He hung up the phone, slammed it down, then picked it up again and furiously switched it to plane mode.
Finally, he had silence.
Moussa had found a bunch of celery in the refrigerator, and he brought it to the couch in the living room — literally, it was an entire bundle of celery that Rob had bought yesterday and not yet used any of. Moussa broke off one stalk and began munching on it, his giant mouth devouring almost half the stalk at once.
“Je me fais une femme,” Moussa said. His mostly naked body spread out on the couch. His biceps were thick and firm like cords of wood, and his broad shoulders had curves that beckoned to Rob. “Do you know any women who are discrete? Not Muslim.”
“You, uh… want a non-Muslim woman?”
“I must have a woman tonight,” he said with a scowl. Moussa was intensely annoyed that he couldn’t wrestle in this tournament. There’d be too many Senegalese around, some of them no doubt loyal to one of the previous administrations in Senegal. Any of them would be glad to assassinate Moussa, so he wasn’t going to wrestle. He’d wanted to defect after the tournament, but when he contacted the State Department in the US, they’d said they could only ensure his safety if he defected before. That was why he’d put on his loincloth to wrestle in a day-before scrimmage — a sort of a rehearsal to get warmed up and to check the lights and sound. Nobody expected him to scupper before the tournament began.
And now they were searching for him. Only the US government and the United Nations knew where he was (and Rob), so that was who kept calling Rob — every intelligence agency in the West wanted to know what Moussa had to say, as he was a national champion wrestler who knew all the recent coup leaders, military generals and presidential advisors. He’d won a gold medal in the last Olympics and was well-connected in recent governments and well-known in the country.
But Moussa just wanted to get through this part of the defection so he could get back to wrestling. He had a sinking feeling that it would never be safe to wrestle again, at least not in a lutte leage, and that he would always be seen as a traitor by a significant portion of Senegalese people.
For now, he was just eager to find une femme for the night. Back in Senegal, his coach would bring him a girlfriend every night. He would never despoil a Muslim woman, which he thought wouldn’t be difficult in the US. They were not Muslim here, and their women were loose and slutty. Nearly all of them were prostitutes, Moussa had gathered from the movies he watched and the hip hop he listened to.
That was a disgusting way for a civilization to live, he thought, but he was going to take advantage of it while he was here.
“I, uh… don’t really know many women,” Rob said. A little French was beginning to come back to him. “Je ne connais pas les femmes,” he said with a proud grin.
That did not compute to Moussa. How could the small white man not know any women whores? They were on every street corner here. He had passed thirty scantily clad women in the darkly-tinted car that brought him here.
He turned the TV on. It was on the cooking network, so he watched that — Moussa was eager to eat American food and became engrossed in the panoply of meals he saw onscreen, and after a few seconds, Bobby Flay left the screen, replaced by a beautiful white woman who made Moussa’s eyes open wide.
Before he knew it, his hands were on the bulge in his loincloth. He didn’t jack off, he only touched his dick, which throbbed beneath his fingertips. His biceps kept flexing as though he was using his muscles, but he just touched his dick through the fabric of his loincloth.
“Want me to help with that?” Rob asked, blushing.
Moussa nodded without tearing his eyes away from the screen. Rob’s hands rubbed his dick through the loincloth. His seven-foot-five body took up the entire couch, and his legs were splayed out in front of him. One of Rob’s hands reached down those powerful thighs like steel girders, and Rob kissed Moussa on the nipple. His volleyball-sized pec jerked and twitched beneath Rob’s tongue.
Then Rob untied the loincloth, which bared a giant black cock as dark as night. He stroked it with one hand. It was already at full erection, as Moussa leaned back on the couch and put his hands behind his head like he expected to be serviced.
That was exactly what Rob did. He bent over and put Moussa’s cocktip in his mouth, and he worked up tons of spit that ran down his shaft in rivulets. The taste of Moussa’s manhood was savory, bright and sunny, salty with sweat from the wrestling scrimmage he had done before slipping off into the Richmond streets.
Rob throated Moussa’s cock up and down, as Moussa moaned in pleasure. He writhed, finally grabbing Rob by the head and guiding it up and down.
“Hmmm, oui, oui, more plus deep,” Moussa said. He pushed Rob’s head down his shaft. He didn’t let on even when his foot-long cock hit the back of Rob’s throat. Rob choked but stretched his mouth open. His lips writhed, then wrapped around Moussa’s throbbing shaft.
A moist gurgling sound came from Rob’s mouth. He didn’t try to pull off, though his lungs cried out for oxygen. His hand massaged Moussa’s pecs the best he could reach — the giant’s chest was so big that Rob could barely reach his nipples with his head at his crotch.
His other hand cupped and gently massaged Moussa’s heavy, pendulous balls, as he slathered spit along the length of Moussa’s shaft. His veins pulsated on Rob’s tongue.
“Hmmm…” Moussa moaned again. He pulled Rob’s head off his cock and, much to Rob’s surprise, he dragged him to his head and kissed him right on the lips. Moussa tasted his own precum. His tongue rammed into Rob’s mouth, and he wrapped Rob up his giant arms.
“Oh god…” Rob whimpered. His own cock now rubbed on Moussa’s flat belly. He was used to the men he messed with not wanting to touch his cock, so he tried to lift his body off Moussa’s ripped torso. But Moussa had one arm draped over Rob to keep him in place, and that allowed Rob to stay where he was, his dick rubbing against Moussa’s stomach and in the valley between his pecs. Moussa kissed him deeply.
Was he kissing because he liked kissing men? Or because he thought Rob wanted it? Or was he pretending Rob was a woman? Rob wasn’t sure which, but when a burst of pre-orgasmic pleasure overwhelmed him, he ensured his moan sounded feminine. That must have been the right move because Moussa grunted with desire too, a great baritone booming grunt, and one of his sausagey fingers slipped into Rob’s asshole.
“Will you szit on my couawkck?” he asked, breathless, slathering moist kisses on Rob’s cheek. His finger gently slid in and out of Rob’s ass, sending little electric tingling shocks of desire through Rob’s body. The finger was huge, like one of those fat hot dogs. It was longer and thicker than some men’s penises.
Rob nodded. “Please, please, stick it in me.” Rob’s voice was plaintive and begging, as the finger in his ass opened him up. He sucked up all the sweat and his own precum on Moussa’s chest, neck, chin and then again kissed him on the lips. His dick was slick with fluids now, as he continued humping Moussa’s smooth, mountainous body.
“Arrêter-vous-” Moussa stopped and frowning, one arm hugging Rob tightly to him. “Are you a slave?”
“No,” Rob said.
“Good.” Moussa grunted. Unlike many of his compatriots, he believed it was wrong to ram a slave in the butthole. He didn’t understand why any man would allow that, much less desire it like this small white man, but Moussa didn’t let his confusion bother him. Many white men paid for him to “ramrod” them, as the rappers say.
As long as Rob wanted it, Moussa would be glad to plow him open. As far as he was concerned, all that mattered was whose cock went in and whose hole was penetrated.
He lifted Rob with his great big hands and sat Rob onto his cock, which stretched Rob’s tight hole wide open. Rob sucked in his breath and relaxed his ass the best he could. A burst of pain hit him, but it was followed by a long slow-melting, building pleasure that made his whole body relax and tense in time with the thrusts of Moussa’s powerful cock into his ass.
Moussa’s cock slid in and out. Rob sat on his lap, sliding up and down at the same time, a little deeper with each move of his up body on Moussa’s shaft. Moussa’s hands roamed over Rob’s smooth pale chest.
A jolt of ecstasy struck Rob, who tightened his body and stopped moving. He gasped. That must have triggered something in his ass that got Moussa going at the same time, because Moussa cried out and said something in Wolof or perhaps French, Rob couldn’t tell. Moussa’s giant hands gripped Rob by the smoothness of his back, and he caressed Rob’s spine briefly before letting go.
Then Rob resumed shift his weight up and down Moussa’s dickshaft, while Rob’s own cock jabbed up and down. It was rock-hard, leaking precum, but Rob’s ass was too sensitive, spasming with pleasure for him to jack himself off. It felt too good to mvoe his hands in a coordinated way. Pangs of vivid pleasure popped off all over Rob’s body.
But Moussa wrapped one of his giant hands around Rob’s dick, and he stroked it up and down.
Rob orgasmed while emitting a series of pants. He thought Moussa would stop jacking him off, so Rob readied to grab his own cock, but Moussa didn’t slow down at all. He kept stroking Rob’s dick even as a long jet of cum sprayed from his cocktip onto Moussa’s powerful chest.
Then another cumwad reached his chin and lower lip, and still Moussa jacked Rob off, as though he either didn’t notice or didn’t care that Rob was cumming on his chest. That must be an African thing, Rob thought with a chest-rattling moan of exquisite pleasure. Most American men wouldn’t even cornhole him in this position because they didn’t want to see his dick, but Moussa obviously didn’t mind. Rob spurted a vast sheen of creamy white jizz that contrasted with the ebony muscles of Moussa’s chest and dribbled around his pecs to his ribcage. Moussa moaned too — Rob’s orgasm caused his asshole to clench and tighten, so Moussa let out a wild chest-rattling moan. That left his mouth wide open for Rob’s last cumwad to spurt onto his tongue.
That wasn’t deliberate, and Rob gasped, trying to apologize despite his mouth being full of orgasmic moans. He thought Moussa might react violently to a mouthful of jizz.
But much to Rob’s shock, Moussa both laughed and gagged as he spat out cum, as though it was just a silly prank, and he shoved Rob down all the way on his cock, so his wiry pubic hair scratched at Rob’s asscheek. Rob moaned so loud it was almost a scream, thought the sound was overpowered by Moussa’s cavernous groan of orgasmic pleaure.
A huge creamy wad of cum sprayed into Rob’s ass. Since he sat on Moussa’s cock, it all leaked right out and into Moussa’s crotch and onto Rob’s couch. That made a big frothy, sticky mess. It flowed like a river into Moussa’s groin, and it stained Rob’s couch cushions.
“Oh god…”
The scent of jizz filled the air, creamy and thick like a fog cloud. Moussa wrinkled his nose at the funk of it. The smell didn’t bother Rob, whose body was wracked by mind-numbing pleasure, Moussa’s dick still spraying a vast flood of cum up into him. He kneaded the flesh of Moussa’s powerful chest muscles, now coated in Rob’s cum, as Rob’s guts were soaked in Moussa’s endless spray of cum.
It went on for what felt like forever. Rob breathed a sigh of relief when Moussa’s cock fell limp inside him, and he leaned forward to rest his body on the broad muscles of Moussa’s chest, which was still soaked in Rob’s own cum. Rob stayed there, his whole body spasming each time another jolt of pleasure wracked his petite frame. Moussa stayed motionless, stoic and placid, letting Rob finish his orgasm impaled on Moussa’s limpening dick.
When Rob gingerly lifted himself off Moussa’s lap at last, it reawakened the sensitive flesh of both’s men’s bodies. Rob clenched his teeth, sparks of agonizing pleasure erupting from his ass like fireworks. Moussa grunted. He looked sleepy now, and he let out a long, slow yawn.
“You still hungry?” Rob asked.
Moussa nodded.
“Okay. I’ll make you something else to eat,” Rob said. He wiped his ass off with a tissue, then did the same to Moussa’s sensitve shaft. He wondered how many voice mails he was receiving right now. His phone was showing notifications for sure, but Rob turned it over so he didn’t have to see the screen. “Once you’ve eaten, then maybe you’ll want to mess around again.”
Moussa nodded. “Find me a woman,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth like a barrel of bourbon. “Or I’ll do you again.” His nostrils flared, and his shoulder muscles rippled.
Rob laughed inwardly. Did Moussa think Rob was being punished? He didn’t know if that was a threat or a promise, but he was satisfied either way. He smiled at Moussa.
The Professional Wrestler
Avery Flowers is desperate for professional wrestler meat, so when he gets behind the scenes long enough to meet up with the legendary Shane “Mudstomper” Fulton, he’s in for the ride of his life!
Read the whole thing here!
Mudstomper was built like a pro linebacker, but he dressed like a bluegrass hillbilly complete with bare feet like dinner plates, overalls with the legs rolled up and a stick of hay between his teeth. His shoulders were corded-muscle, veiny, his skin taut, his jaw square.
His real name was Shane or something, Avery couldn’t remember. He hadn’t known which wrestler he was going to like until he got here. He loved wrestlers.
And as soon as he saw the picture of Mudstomper, Avery knew what he was going to do.
He pretty much ignored the warmup match between Colonel Bling and Wyatt Wyoming. They were both reasonably sexy, but not enough to wet Avery’s whistle (he was going to try to get their autographs later, as they might be worth money if either one blew up in a couple years). Wyatt Wyoming was a cowboy and a good guy, while Colonel Bling was a heel, like an evil black version of the KFC Colonel. The best moment was when Bling pantomimed humping Wyatt’s face, and Colonel Bling’s sweat-glistening muscles set Avery’s heart aflutter.
As a fervent admirer of the male physique, Avery greatly appreciated the wrestlers and their splendid bodies. Wyatt Wyoming was especially perfect. He could be a competitive bodybuilder, for sure.
He was close enough he could see the line between Bling’s dark brown thigh and his slightly paler, fleshier asscheek. His spandex speedo was crawling up so his ass-flesh was partially visible. He could see the cheeks ripple as he picked up Wyatt Wyoming and slammed him on the ring. Avery could see Bling’s hand rubbing against Wyatt’s cock at one point — accidentally, and only for a second, but still, it made Avery laugh.
Or maybe it wasn’t an accident. Avery liked to think it was real.
Before Avery knew it, it was over. He was so focused on the men he didn’t even notice who won the match. Probably Wyatt Wyoming. If the heel won, the crowd would have booed and gone ape. All Avery heard was ordinary cheering.
And there was Mudstomper. He was the good guy in the match, up against a heel named Killer Green, a tall man with a bizarre green-and-translucent catsuit on. Avery didn’t get that choice at all. It might have been a reference to something Avery wasn’t familiar with. Probably something Japanese and on YouTube.
Mudstomper was the clear crowd favorite. He delivered a monologue of some sort — Avery didn’t listen to a word — just yards from where Avery sat, in the front row, so close Avery smelled Mudstomper’s ball-sweat beneath those overalls. He spoke with a rolling, exaggerated drawl.
“And thaaa’sss why, Killuh Green-uh, that uhhz why… I will destroy ya! I’ll ride you to the state prison like a hohse, I sweah on muh sistah’s grave!” Mudstomper roared and pounded on his giant chest, screaming over the frenzied audience. He gestured with the pitchfork he always carried but for some reason never used on the men he was trying to “destroy” (he had a back story involving a dead sister). Avery was entranced by a pearl of sweat sliding down Mudstomper’s bicep and the greasy blond tangle of hair that Avery wanted to dive into.
The actual match went in a blur of arching muscles, heaving biceps and powerful thighs shaking, tight underwear getting ridden up, visible jockstrap lines and asscheeks that thundered like Zeus. Avery’s belly rumbled, and not because he was hungry.
He wasn’t hungry at all. Say what you will about the professional wrestling crowd, but nobody could accuse them of smelling good. Avery appreciated a man with some funk to his meat, but not the fatties and nerds who predominated in the crowd. A man like Mudstomper, his sweat and his unwashed balls and armpits and all that… That, Avery could appreciate.
Anyway, eventually, Mudstomper won, and those meaty biceps shook, sweat dripping off them, as the ref held his hand up. The crowd went wild. Mudstomper cheered with them. So did Avery.
And then it was over.
The lights came up, and the cheering got even louder, and then it turned oddly aggressive.
The arena was bedlam. Fans shouted and threw empty cans of beer at the ring. People poured out and tried to get onstage, but bouncers pushed them back. Avery was jostled this way and that
Avery, however, made it through because he had a backstage pass. He had connections throughout the entertainment industry, so he could get backstage passes to nearly any event. He found the dressing room labelled “Mudstomper” and knocked on it.
“Howdy, come on in!”
Avery entered. That was surprisingly easy.
Shane “Mudstomper” Fulton was in there with a medic, who had just finished stitching up a small cut on his shoulder. His opponent’s tooth had broken his skin during one stunt gone slightly awry. A trickle of blood ran down his bicep. Mudstomper was still dressed in his overalls and nothing else, save the length of straw still between his teeth.
“You ain’t the delivery guy,” Mudstomper said. His drawl rang out like a howl, and his dimples beckoned Avery, who came as close as he could, close enough to smell Mudstomper’s sweat — so much better than the smell of those fans out in the crowd — and feel the body heat of his overworked muscles emanating from him.
“No, I’m Avery. Avery Flowers,” Avery said. “I’m a fan.” He held up his backstage pass. “I think we know someone in common though. Your agent is Tommy Ramogen, right? He also represents my friend Suzanne, she’s in Hollywood right now,” Avery said. “She’s a model. Supermodel, technically.” He smiled — he could see Mudstomper’s eyes open wide — Avery had his hook.
“Well, that’s finuh than a pig in its pen, I reckon,” Mudstomper said, his hillbilly accent now in full force — he wanted to impress Avery with his acting and his devotion, presumably.
“Yeah, she’s doing great,” Avery said. He batted his eyes at Mudstomper as the medic patted him on his momentous bicep.
“Is you an actor too, suh?” Mudstomper asked. He chewed on the length of straw in his mouth. On the table beside him sat a jar filled with unchewed lengths of straw. Avery wondered where he got them.
“Oh, no, no, I just collect celebrity autographs,” Avery said. “Do you mind?” He handed over a piece of paper and a pen.
Mudstomper’s autograph was just an X in a rough block-letter shape, as though he was illiterate and struggled even to write one X. He beamed. “Well, if’n ya friend evuh get any kinda parts in Hollywood, you give her mah email address,” he said. He wrote that on a different piece of paper — his handwriting was blockish and very neat — and slid that to Avery. He flexed his bicep as the medic finished up on his wounded shoulder. The medic headed out of the dressing room. When he saw Avery looking at it, he shrugged and said, “You wanna touch it?”
“Hell yeah!” Avery planted his lips right on it, and Mudstomper laughed a deep, nervous baritone barrel laugh. He undid one of the straps of his overalls, so they sagged and revealed one massive pectoral muscle the size of Avery’s head.
“Lemme j’st send a text so Robert don’t bust in here, interruptin’ us wit’ dat pulled pork. You know about Cajun Charlie’s? That place any good?” Mudstomper picked up his cell phone with his free hand, then awkwardly typed out a text with it while Avery passionately licked, sucked and caressed every inch of his other arm.
“No. Cajun Charlie’s sucks, it tastes like an old shoe. Go to Hoppumslaw on the east side,” Avery said. “They have the best pulled pork.”
“Awright, thankee mightily, suh,” Mudstomper muttered. He texted furiously, then put his phone down. He looked over at Avery who had licked his bulging bicep until it shimmered in the fluorescent light of the dressing room. He reached over and locked the door. “I let ya touch mah arms up, suh, if you send that lady-friend of ya’s some good word about me,” he said. He flexed his other arm, and Avery moved to that one. “Tell ‘er to come see me sometimes.”
Avery said. “Do guys pay you to do that a lot?”
Mudstomper blushed. “Boy-howdy, you don’t even know, suh, you don’t even know!” He laughed and slapped his thighs. “You like biceps?”
“I’m just trying to get bigger,” Avery said. “I thought touching someone big might help.”
“You wanna jack my dick? That might help too.”
“Hell yeah,” Avery said. He undid the other strap to his overalls, and they fell to the ground. Mudstomper wore a fine athletic very-modern jockstrap, which was almost funny to see in contrast to the overalls. Avery sucked on Mudstomper’s pecs, which made him roll his eyes and pick his cell phone back up.
After a few moments of Avery licking his chest, Mudstomper remembered to flex his pecs like a stripper. He just grunted as Avery moaned. Then one of Avery’s hands roamed to that overfull jockstrap and pulled his cock out. Mudstomper twitched and grunted.
Avery said with a giggle, “I love your arms.”
“Mah gu’hlfriend don’t like ’em cuz they hairy,” he said. “They’s as hairy as a hedgehog in a hampuh!” He guffawed. “You likin’ it? You onea dem muscle-men, huh?”
“It’s really big!” Avery said and blushed. He had both hands on Mudstomper’s cock, stroking it back and forth. It throbbed in his grasp.
Mudstomper looked away from his phone. He eyed Avery. “Why’d you say that like you was surprised?”
“I wasn’t surprised, just excited,” Avery said. “I’m not like a total size queen or anything, but I like it.”
“If your lady-friend is into big dicks, tell her I got one,” Mudstomper said.
“Okay,” Avery said. “But you better show me.” He dropped to his knees and put the tip of Mudstomper’s cock in his mouth. The smell of those sweat-soaked overalls, which still lay by Mudstomper’s feet, filled Avery’s nostrils. Yeah, he thought, he could see how those bushy sweat-soaked armpits would be popular.
But Mudstomper’s fat pale cock was even better. It tasted of pure funky manhood, like his muscles had tasted back when Avery first licked them — not tasting of saliva, but of just plain manhood. His cock tasted like that forever, even after it was soaked in spit, it still tasted like the undiluted manhood of Mudstomper’s muscles.
His cell phone chirped, startling Mudstomper, who was just beginning to really enjoy this as his cock perked up in Avery’s mouth. He looked back at his phone and cursed.
“Shithead. He says there’s a line at Hoppumslaw. No fucking shit, jackass. It’s got a line cuz it’s good. If you always pick the place with no line, you’re always picking the least popular, shittiest place. No wonder I always get crappy pulled pork on the road,” he said as he furiously typed out a response, very quickly this time because he could use both hands. “Idiot. He says the line looks dangerous — is Hoppumslaw full of black people?”
“Probably,” Avery said as he slurped his own spit off Mudstomper’s throbbing shaft.
“Then he’s being racist. Just go in, they won’t rob him. Will they?”
Avery shrugged. “Don’t wear expensive sneakers there,” he said. He kept stroking Mudstomper’s shaft and thwacked it over his face.
“Robert don’t got nothing worth a damn ‘cept that I’m his friend, and they can’t steal that,” Mudstomper said. He leaned back to give Avery better access to his cock. “Hey, where do single chicks go in this town?”
“Hmmm… I don’t know where to find girls. The Big Time Bar maybe, I always see hot chicks vomiting in the alley behind there.”
“Big Time Bar? Got it,” he said. He kept typing to his friend, his phone buzzing every few seconds. Mudstomper completely ignored Avery now, like he had forgotten where his dick was. As he moved, his cocktip shifted around in Avery’s mouth. Avery tried to swallow it deeply, but Mudstomper moved around too much.
Gasping for air, Avery smiled and thwacked his dick over his face. “There’s also Lipsweet. That’s a wrestlers bar. Mostly men, but a buncha singlet-chasing females hang out there too.”
He nodded. His dick was fully erect, throbbing and veiny. Avery licked the length of it, then gargled on Mudstomper’s balls. Precum ran down the shaft. His sac was hairy and hot, and his balls hung low and heavy. He clutched those thighs the size of car tires as he slipped between his legs to kiss Mudstomper’s ass.
There was a knock on the door. Mudstomper scowled and went to it, motioning for Avery to continue. He opened it just a crack.
It was a muscular black man whom Avery didn’t recognize, at least not from the tiny portion of his face he could see. When he heard the man’s voice, however, Avery realized it could only be Colonel Bling, having dropped character. He no longer had the stentorian call of a military dictator — that’s what Colonel Bling was, an American army officer cum military coup leader on a fictional Caribbean island — also, he wore a lot of bling.
The real Colonel Bling did too, or maybe he just hadn’t changed out of his costume yet. The bling jingled and clanked on his chest as he poked his head into the dressing room.
“Whatchoo doin’ in there? We goin’ out. I heard there’s usually females at a bar called Lipsweet, but you gotta dress bettuh than that. But you ain’t gonna fit in lookin’ like Huck Finn, and this nigga don’t spend time with a whiteboy dressed like that. Whiteboy gotta dress proper to be seen wit’ me. I gots a rep to protect.” His eyes roamed down Mudstomper’s naked body, only a sliver of which was visible through the door that was open only a crack. Mudstomper’s asscheeks quivered as Avery’s hands roamed between his legs to stroke his dick off. “You naked in there? You got a female already?”
The black wrestler — Colonel Bling — tried to open the door, but Mudstomper was prepared and had the door blocked by his body. The knob smacked him in the six-packed belly. Avery scooted to as close to the wall as he could, to be sure Colonel Bling didn’t see any part of his body or his shadow. Avery kept his head moving up and down that magnificent dick though, and it kept throbbing in his mouth. Mudstomper even pumped his hips slowly back and forth, making love to Avery’s throat, ever so slighttly so Colonel Bling didn’t see what he was doing.
“No. I’m just changing, Jackson. I know about Lipsweet, I know — there’s a singlet-chaser who told me she’d meet me there later,” he said. He had to bite back a moan of pleasure as his cock throbbed in Avery’s grasp. Avery licked his mountainous asscheeks.
“Oh. Hey, lemme in, man, you hear about the new safety thing from corporate? We can’t do the flying shoulder smash anymore. Not without a harness. It’s-“
“No, go away, Jackson,” Mudstomper said, scowling. “Just fuck off, I’ll see you at the bar-“
“You don’t gotta be an asshole, man-“
“I’m goddamn naked, and I’m changing my clothes! I don’t want to talk about the new goddamn safety regulations!” Mudstomper said. Then he saw some fans walking by in the hall. Mudstomper added, “I gots to take the purse I won to fix the family tractuh or the bank gonna take our fahm fo’ sho’!” He smiled at the women walking by. “Hey, howdy, how you doin’?”
The women giggled and all talked at once. For a moment Avery thought he was going to lose his man to a bunch of chicks. But it soon became apparent that they were more interested in Colonel Bling, who walked away with a girl on each arm. Their giggles intensified.
“Damn it,” Mudstomper said wistfully. He let the door shut and locked it again. He turned back around. “He gets all the best chicks. Hey, lemme in that ass, okay? You take it up the ass, right?”
“Hell yeah,” Avery said once again. He blushed. He turned around and pulled his own underwear down, revealing a perfectly pale ass.
“I hate that dude, fuckin’ Colonel Bling. He thinks he’s special cuz the girls love him, he’s like the most popular heel for female fans,” Mudstomper said. He had to get on his knees and scoot forward, cock in hand, to meet Avery’s ass. “But that’s hardly even a big deal, girls always love bad boys. That’s what that publicist said. For a good guy, I do really well among women.”
Before Avery could say anything in response, there was a tight pinch and intense pressure in his ass. He opened his mouth and gasped, biting at the air. He sucked in his breath.
“Sorry, do that hurt, hoss?”
“No — No, it’s fine-” Avery’s voice was tense and wavery. He took a deep breath and relaxed his ass.
“You wanna bite on muh arm? It won’t hurt, it’ll slide in gentle as a calf bein’ borned,” he said, drifting into his stage accent briefly. His own Southern accent was mild, and it was much twangy as drawly — he was from northern Nevada. He placed one of his forearms in front of Avery’s face, while using his other meaty paw to keep Avery’s hips up — Mudstomper was so tall he struggled to keep Avery in alignment with his crotch.
His cock slid in easily once he got past that initial resistance, and Avery gnawed on his ropy-muscled forearm. Mudstomper took a deep breath. He had been extremely reluctant to cornhole a man back when he was younger.
It had been so weird back then that he stopped partway through. His friends had to talk him into doing it again — they didn’t understand guys with big cocks took a lot of effort to get hard; it was easy with a girl, but when you had to concentrate to feel aroused at all, getting all thirteen inches of his meat fully erect was difficult.
But not anymore. He’d done it for money, talent-agent connections and even once, he did it for a free first-class upgrade on a flight to Tampa Bay — he thought it should be a law that companies had to upgrade big men like him first, since there was no way he could fit in a coach seat without virtually sitting on his neighbor’s lap. Over the years he’d lost his inhibitions. Now he could easily pretend he was deep in a woman.
It was funny, he thought as he watched Avery squirm beneath him, how much pleasure he could bring someone without really doing anything much himself. He could tell he had found Avery’s prostate. Avery was out of breath, wriggling, undulating, gasping, incomprehensibly begging.
Then Avery threw his head back and kissed Mudstomper on the neck, which Mudstomper gamely allowed until he became worried Avery would leave a hickey that would be obvious when he picked up chicks at the bar later. He gently redirected Avery to kissing and even nibbling on his forearm, while his lower half plowed in and out of Avery’s tight ass.
“Alright, I’m gonna cum in a minute, how you wanna do it?” Mudstomper said. He stopped moving with his dick all the way inside Avery. “What position you want?”
“Can… Uh… Can you… Lay… on your… back? With me… Sitting… facing you…”
“Reverse cowgirl? No way, your cum will get on my chest. Don’t say you’ll aim it, I know that won’t work,” Mudstomper said. Then he muttered, “Okay, for five hundred dollars, you can cum on my chest. If you stiff me, I swear I’ll beat your ass — no, I’ll have Robert beat your ass, he’s skinny and got a face like a warthog’s pussy, you won’t be turned on at all.”
“Okay, I’ll pay-” Avery said between moans of desire. He was on the verge of orgasm already as Mudstomper dropped backwards, almost like a wrestling move, pulling Avery on top of him so he could get on his back with Avery riding him, all without moving his cock out of Avery’s ass. Avery grimaced as a shock of pre-orgasmic pain hit him, and he rotated around to face Mudstomper’s chest.
Mudstomper covered his own face with his arm so he didn’t have to watch Avery cum on him. He’d seen it before. He tried to think about something else while he listened to Avery moan and felt his delicate little fingers caressing Mudstomper’s chest.
He was glad to feel his own orgasm first. If he felt Avery cum first, he might lose his erection. He groaned and his muscles rippled beneath Avery’s grasp as he pistoned his hips upward — he had to admit, the one nice thing about plowing men was that they really knew how to take it without complaint — no girl ever took his entire foot-long dick in there and let him cum inside her.
His nut sprayed into Avery, who cried out, the sound muffled by Mudstomper’s hand which he clasped over his lips. “Shush!” he snapped, glancing towards the door. He heard male voices passing by the dressing room.
Avery could sense the orgasm washing over Mudstomper’s body in the pulsating of his muscles beneath Avery’s grasp. Then, as the last jet of cum hit Avery’s insides and seeped into him, he leaned forward.
He rubbed his dick over Mudstomper’s flat belly and shaved crotch, which brought him to orgasm with Mudstomper’s dick still pressing on his prostate. Cum sprayed across Mudstomper’s broad chest and belly.
“Aaaaah…” Mudstomper grunted and covered his eyes with both hands. The young-me, he thought, would have been terrified at the thought of letting some random dude cum on his chest. Now he just thought of it as a distasteful but important part of the job. “Okay, clean it off, I ain’t openin’ my eyes till you clean it off…”
Avery was sprawled out over his chest, his limp dick rubbing over Mudstomper’s cum-soaked belly. Most of Mudstomper’s load slipped out of Avery’s ass, soaking his cock and his balls, so Mudstomper’s body was covered from the shoulder to the thigh in cum.
Avery giggled again and sighed. He found a box of tissues and thoroughly got all the cum off Mudstomper’s chest. It had run down in rivulets to his side, which Avery sopped up. Then he kissed each of Mudstomper’s nipples. “Okay, you’re clean.”
Mudstomper sat up. He scowled at Avery. “You better pay up. No check,” he said.
“I’ll have to go to the ATM. Do you wanna come with me?” Avery said. “I’ll make it six hundred if you let me play with it in the car. You drive, so I can use both hands.”
“Deal. I’m not getting hard again though, you can just play with it limp,” Mudstomper said. He stood and put his clothes on. “I’ll tell Robert to meet me with the pulled pork. What a fucking moron. He’s probably still waiting in line.”
Avery wiped his own lips off. “Probably. If he’s white and he looks like a jackass, they’ll keep getting in front of him in line,” he said. He patted Mudstomper on the side before he put a plain white shirt on. “Hey, do you like fat chicks?”
“What?”
As they walked out the door, Avery said, “Cuz I know a fat chick who would gladly let you demolish her, she loves muscular guys. I get to watch though.” He paused. “You can wait to see if you get a hotter chick tonight, you don’t have to say yes right now.”
“Okay,” Mudstomper said. He whistled — that meant he’d be guaranteed to at least get laid tonight. That was good, he always felt better about cornholing a man if he got some pussy out of it too.
Avery led him out the door with a smile on his face as well.
The Soldier
Avery is working the front desk at the legendary Night Along Motel when he runs into the soldier on leave Willie Redman. Willie is a redneck alpha willing to giving Avery a taste of his manhood, if Avery can take it…
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Every couple of weeks Avery’s job sucked. Normally he enjoyed it — a hotel clerk is a low-stress position, and with sales incentives he normally met, Avery could make pretty good money. It wasn’t what he wanted to do — own his own florist shop — but it paid the bills and came with its own perks.
About once a month, the guys from the local military base, Fort Rumblemore, had a weekend of leave. They often came to Avery’s hotel, and they were always drunk, rowdy and left a huge mess behind. Since they were price-sensitive, they almost never paid for anything from the minibar or anything on pay-per-view, so the hassle of dealing with them was not worth it to Avery.
But this night was especially bad for him. Not only did he have to deal with the Rumblemore boys getting drunk in their rooms before hitting the bars, he was depressed to begin with because his girlfriend Shawna dumped him. He had been upset but thought going to work might help — if he had known it was going to be an armyboys night, he would have called out sick for sure.
Finally the armymen all made their way out to the bars. A few drifted back over the next few hours, but they had females and went straight to their rooms. Their kissing was a little more risqué than Avery liked in his lobby, but he knew better than to ask them to stop. The best course of action was simply to let them go fuck their slut in their room and wait for them to check out in the morning.
The sound of frenzied rutting could be heard when he walked down the hall, emanating from their rooms. More than once an almost entirely naked soldier bumped into him as he drunkenly stumbled off to the ice machine, towel loosely draped around his waist. They stank of cum, and it made Avery so horny he wished he had a free moment to jack off in the bathroom.
Around midnight the last of them came back. He was Willie Redman, a Texan with the sunburnt shoulders of a real redneck, leaner than a lot of the soldiers but ropy with muscle and an elegant tattoo reading Texas-Made on his upper back. He had a loping gait like he was more comfortable astride a horse, and he sucked on his teeth in a friendly way when he nodded hello. He stopped in front of the desk.
“Can I help you, sir?” Avery asked.
“I… I don’t remembuh my room number,” he said.
“I’ll show you. Follow me, sir,” Avery said. He walked down the hall to his room, which was at the far end.
“Hey, hotel clerks know about…” He trailed off as though too embarrassed to go on. “Women? Like… Women that I can… fuck?”
Willie was not the first soldier to ask him this. “No,” Avery said. “I don’t know any prostitutes. I don’t know much about women at all. Sorry.” In truth, he did know of some prostitutes, but he knew better than to get involved — he could be charged as a pimp if the police found out, which was a felony sex crime, worse than either being or hiring a prostitute.
And Avery had no desire to hook handsome soldiers up with women. Avery had other plans for the hunky soldier in front of him.
They were in front of Willie’s door. Willie blanched and said, “I struck out tonight. I was really hoping to get laid. I only got tonight. Tomorrow I ship out to Iraq.”
Avery opened the hotel room door and held it open for him. Willie’s muscles throbbed underneath his sleeveless t-shirt (no wonder he struck out, Avery thought, women don’t normally go for the rough redneck on leave look).
Willie stepped through the threshold, then turned around. “Hey,” he said, “Do you… You can say no, it ain’t a big deal, but do you… Wanna swallow my dick?”
Avery was so surprised he didn’t have a response, but in truth he thought Willie’s redneck soldier look was so arousing he could barely control himself. He wanted nothing more than to taste his dick. He wasn’t expecting this to be so easy. Usually men require a little persuasion. “Yes,” Avery said. He followed him into the room. That was easier than he was expecting.
Soldiers were like that though. They just wanna get their dick wet.
“I never done this before,” Willie said as he sat on the edge of his bed. His head lolled on his shoulders as though he was already half-passed out.
Avery knelt in front of him and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”
He undid Willie’s camo pants, revealing those olive-green PT shorts. They were a little small, so Willie’s bulging cock and balls were readily apparent, straining against the fabric.
Willie let out an awkward moan and looked away. The smell of liquor on his breath was strong, and stale, drunken sweat wafted into Avery’s nostrils as he got started.
He licked Willie’s crotch through his underwear, tasting the salty cotton flavor. Willie laughed a little as though surprised. He leaned back on the bed, keeping his hands up by his head like he was frightened he might accidentally touch Avery.
Avery fished his cock out through the fly of his boxers, and he licked it from tip to root. It had a ruddy quality, and a well-worn thickness that reminded Avery of Willie’s redneck swagger.
His dick got hard right away despite the awkwardness of the situation and Willie’s rather advanced drunkenness. His thick shaft pulsated hotly and leaked precum down Avery’s throat.
It had all happened so fast that Avery was only just then realizing how much trouble he could get in. He was supposed to be working, and consorting with customers in their rooms was strictly forbidden.
But Willie was oblivious to any risk. He grunted as he neared orgasm already, and his balls lifted up in his sac. His eyes closed, then opened wide, then closed again. Avery worked on Willie’s nipples with one hand, using the other to stimulate his shaft.
“You gonna swallow?” Willie mumbled. Asking was a polite gesture, Avery thought, but Willie asked too late for it to matter. Before he even finished asking, cum was spurting down Avery’s throat.
He shot a huge load with a nice thickness that coated Avery’s gullet. He moaned at the savory, salty taste flooding his senses. It was intense, and Avery loved it, swallowing it but letting it fill his mouth first, so it would overflow and coat Willie’s cock and Avery could slurp it all in again. That slurping made Willie’s whole body shake because it extended his orgasm. As long as Avery worked on his cum-dribbling shaft, Willie moaned and groaned, hands fluttering uselessly above his head.
Avery kept on Willie’s sensitive shaft until he was drunkenly pulled off. Willie was already half-asleep, it seemed, and Avery wiped his dick off with a tissue before leaving. He couldn’t resist spending a moment to fondle Willie’s tight pectoral muscles and perfectly round ass, savoring their well-sculpted feel.
But that was it. Avery assumed that when this was over, it was over. Rough trade was usually that way. Willie was a beautiful sight, sprawled out there on the bed, sleeping it off. But like all beautiful things, it wasn’t going to last.
After spending the night with Willie, Avery moved on. He didn’t think there was any chance Willie would return. He wasn’t even stationed at Rumblemore, he was told by some of the other soldiers, Willie had been assigned to a classified mission and may never return to the area. The other soldiers all pretended they knew where he was and couldn’t say, but Avery was certain they didn’t know and just wanted to seem “in-the-loop”.
He resigned himself to the probability that he would never see Willie again. Avery couldn’t feel too bummed out about it. That was part of this industry, and in any case, Avery enjoyed that he met a variety of men in this job.
But then Willie did return. He came back a couple months later.
He was in the waiting room when Avery strode in, not noticing him at first. Willie stood straight and erect at the check-in counter, while Avery gave an elderly tourist couple their room key. Avery’s hands started shaking when he saw who it was. Memories of that fantastic cock filled Avery’s mind.
“Hey,” he said when he stepped forward. Willie wore only a white sleeveless t-shirt, one whose sleeves he had obviously ripped off. His strapping chest was visible from the sides. He carried a ratty old backpack slung over his shoulder. His voice was clipped and curt, as though he was either addressing a superior officer or was controlling his emotions. “I… Look, I remember what happened before, and…”
His voice trailed off. Avery’s heart started pounding just like the first time. He was surprised Willie remembered considering how drunk he had been. He had seemed blackout-drunk at the time, Avery thought. Willie bit his lip nervously.
“You wanna do it again?” Avery said, trying to hide the shock in his voice.
“My girl dumped me. I decided not to re-enlist in the Army so we could be together, and she dumped me as soon as I made it official,” Willie said, blushing so hard his cheeks matched his shoulders. “I don’t wanna try to find some slut… I mean, a female slut… I need to get my rocks off. And I’m sick of chicks right now.”
Avery smiled at his awkwardness. “Well, my boss is in right now. I have to stay up here at the desk until he’s gone,” Avery said. “But go on to your room. I’ll be there in a bit. He’s gonna go home soon, his wife has been nagging him about leaving earlier. I’ll remind him and get him out as soon as I can.”
Willie sighed in relief. He must have thought he might get in trouble, Avery thought. Willie’s muscles relaxed, and for a moment, Avery caught Willie’s musk hidden by cheap deodorant (or possibly not, Avery thought, it smelled like he had rubbed a car air freshener over his pits, that was a typical soldier move). Willie nodded as though he had been given an order, then grabbed his crotch — it looked like he was already getting hard. He sniffed at his pits. “I need to grab a shower…”
Avery blurted out, “No!” Then he blushed. “I mean, if you want to… But I wouldn’t mind, y’know, if you stank a little.”
Willie looked at him in disgust, then sighed and nodded as though he was compromising. “Okay, just come in when you can.” He did not understand people some times. Who wants a stinky man?
The rest of Avery’s shift was impossibly long. His boss was hanging around the office for even longer than usualy, and though Avery reminded him that his wife had been begging him to come home earlier, he only grunted and returned to his paperwork. It was too risky to be caught away from the front desk when Avery’s boss could leave his office anytime. Avery had been caught away from the front desk before. He couldn’t afford to do it again.
But he only had an hour and a half left on his shift, so he forced himself to wait it out no matter how arduously long it felt. Now that he knew he’d be with Willie when he get off, he couldn’t wait. He was virtually salivating at the opportunity, and he had to rearrange his pants to hide a boner several times.
Finally, just ten minutes before Avery’s shift was up anyway, his boss got a text from his wife that he couldn’t ignore, and he ran to his car so quick he had to come back to get his keys. Avery waited until he had driven away.
Then Avery knocked on Willie’s door. He heard him scamper to open it. Avery smiled. Willie must be very horny, he thought, he’s been waiting for me with baited breath.
Willie filled out the doorway, his muscular body barely fitting in it as he let Avery in. He was wearing nothing but his green PT shorts, his enormous cock bulging out of it as though he was about to burst. His whole body was dappled with sweat, and Avery saw one of those stretching arm exercise tools laying on the bed.
“I am so fucking horny,” Willie said and sighed. His muscles rippled, and his cock twitched in his boxers. “It’s been almost a week since I got my nut off. I decided to get my exercise in, is that okay? You sure you don’t want me to shower first?”
Avery didn’t even bother answering, he just dropped down and attacked Willie’s chest with his mouth. He licked every drop of salty sweat off his pecs, played with his nipples until Willie bristled with discomfort, then moved into his pits. He dived into Willie’s right armpit and sucked the sweat off his kinky black hair.
That all began so quick Willie gasped. Willie had to reach over Avery’s kneeling body to shut the door behind him.
Willie made a muffled revolted sound and twisted his torso as he gasped at the sensations roiling his body, then relented. He sneered down at Avery, who moved onto his left armpit and bicep. “You like armpits? I ain’t know any dudes was into that,” he said.
“Oh god yes,” Avery said.
“Does suckin’ armpits make yo’ own dick bigger?” Willie asked. That was the only reason that made sense for a man to do something like this. Willie wasn’t sure he believed that the sweat and jizz of a muscular man made other men stronger or tougher if they ingested it, but he assumed that was what Avery believed.
Avery nodded. He did not believe in that anymore than Willie did, but it was simpler to say he did believe it than to explain that he simply liked the odor and flavor of a man’s body.
“Thanks for not telling any of the other Army fellahs about this,” Willie said. “I never thought I’d do something like this. Definitely not a second time. I ain’t even drunk.”
Avery licked down Willie’s flat stomach to his crotch, and pulled down those stale green shorts. They smelled like a locker room, like he had kept them in the onbase gym and rarely bothered washing them. Willie’s long cock was rock-hard, reaching almost to his belly-button, pulsating, virtually begging Avery to deep-throat it right away.
Lifting Willie’s legs up as he laid on the bed, Avery swallowed both of Willie’s balls at once and suckled on them loudly. The gargling sound made Willie laugh nervously.
He moved on to Willie’s sweaty taint, his thick brownish-blond hairs plastered to his skin by stale man-musk. Avery licked every inch of it, from his thigh to his lower buttcrack. Willie’s whole body shook with intense, surprised pleasure, as Avery darted onto his cocktip and slurped on it.
Avery worked down his shaft, licking off every drop of musty sweat. He moaned, but stopped himself as Willie stiffened — apparently getting awkward because the sound of Avery’s moan reminded him he was not with a woman. He didn’t want to make this uncomfortable for Willie.
Willie said, “In Iraq, fellahs nearly all let guys get them off. As long as nobody finds out, they’re okay with it. They just pretend it didn’t happen.”
“We can pretend that too,” Avery said, hoping Willie would make this a regular event.
“They all think men are best at swallowing cock,” Willie said. “They all deepthroat. They have bigger mouths than women. That’s what this one Arab told me.”
Was that a not-so-subtle hint that he wanted Avery to go deeper? He thought so, and he was glad to try. He took a deep breath and pushed down on Willie’s shaft, getting most of his meat down his throat.
Willie grunted and stood. His knees buckled weakly but he remained upright, and wrapped both hands around Avery’s head. He began slowly working his hips back and forth, pushing his cock deep into Avery’s throat.
Avery took one of Willie’s hands and moved it to his nose, showing him how to pinch his nostrils shut. As soon as he did, Avery’s throat opened as his lungs gasped for air.
Willie closed his eyes as his cock slid the rest of the way in. Avery could feel it pulsating against his vocal cords and could feel the precum sticking to his stomach.
Avery stroked Willie’s heavy, pendulous balls just as they rose up in his sac. Moments later cum flooded Avery’s belly, filling him up inside. Avery groaned and came as well, shooting a load into his pants.
“Thanks a lot,” Willie said as he leaned back onto the bed. His moist cock plopped out of Avery’s gasping mouth. “This is a great hotel.”
Avery nodded and smiled. He left Willie there, naked and gleaming with post-sex sweat. He hoped to see him again in the morning.
But when he went back to the room, Willie was gone. Once again, he disappeared for a little while. Yet again, Avery tried to tell himself not to get his hopes up, not to lose sleep wondering if Willie would get desperate again. He was so hot, surely he could get some real pussy once he got his head right.
A few weeks later, however, Willie surprised Avery by coming back. He showed up near the end of Avery’s shift, his beard scruffy, wearing only a torn tank-top and scuffed jeans. His tanned muscles were lined with new tattoos: barbed wire, kanji characters and an ornate heraldic lion on his chest.
“Come on,” he said, no pretense of asking if Avery wanted to. He gestured down the hall towards the cheap rooms.
Avery showed him to a room he knew would remain empty. His heart thumped in his chest once again, as he felt Willie’s eyes checking out his body. He wondered if he could get some anal from Willie tonight.
“You’re still single?” Avery asked.
“I used to be able to get girls,” Willie nodded. “But not anymore. Is there something wrong with me?”
“No!” Avery blurted out, then blushed as he realized he sounded like a lovestruck teenager again. “You’re perfect! I mean… You have a perfect body.”
Avery showed him to a room and opened the door for him. He hesitated before going in.
“Whose room is this?”
Avery shrugged and said, “No one. No one rented it. The cable’s broken so it’s closed until the repair guy comes tomorrow.” He shut the door behind them. “So we got it to ourselves all night.”
He sat down on the bed. “We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”
“What? Of course I want to,” Avery said. Willie looked like he was on the verge of tears, so Avery sat next to him, not sure if it would seem too weird for him to hug. “If you don’t-“
“What’s wrong with me?”
“What? Nothing… You’re just having a dry spell, man. A guy who looks like you will be able to get laid again,” he said. “Ever since they closed down that state college campus extension on the other side of town, there hasn’t been as many hot young chicks around. You’re not the first man to notice that.”
“No… That’s not what I mean, I-” Willie stopped as though he only just processed what Avery had said, “Oh really? That explains a lot. But that’s still not really what I meant. I think I’m broken.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain. Ever since I got out of the Army, I haven’t been right. I started crying yesterday for no reason,” he said, then blushed and stopped talking.
Avery rubbed his biceps in a way he hoped was both comforting and arousing. He didn’t want to seem insensitive, but he was ready to get on to the sex. One of his hands snaked underneath Willie’s torn t-shirt, fondling his tightly toned chest.
“You’re probably just having trouble adjusting to civilian life,” Avery said. “It’ll pass, baby.”
“You think? I… I think I have PTSD. Do you know what that is?”
Avery nodded.
“I have flashbacks to… some difficult things,” he said.
“You need some good experiences to balance out the bad,” Avery said. He reached into Willie’s crotch and stroked his dick through his jeans.
“Yeah… I guess so.”
Avery took that as assent and kneeled to take his dick in his mouth. Willie shucked his pants to his ankle, and his cock stood straight out the fly of his boxers.
Avery licked his dick, which tasted clean and soapy this time, with a deliciously funky smell to it. He let his tongue run up and down Willie’s pulsating ruddy shaft.
“I need to be inside you,” Willie said suddenly. He stood up and carefully removed his dick from Avery’s mouth.
“You mean… my butt?”
Willie nodded. “Yeah, sorry, I just assumed you’d be into that. Is that cool?” Even as he spoke, he pulled down Avery’s black uniform slacks and his underwear. He lightly slapped Avery’s asscheeks and spat into his hand, rubbing it into his cockshaft.
“Of course I’m into it, stick it in,” Avery said and cooed. He pressed his ass back onto Willie’s hot, moist cock.
Willie lined his dick up with Avery’s ass, then stopped himself. “No, Jesus don’t allow it. It’s in the Bible.” But he didn’t move away, he just kept his dick right at the entrance to Avery’s ass.
“Jesus doesn’t care, baby, as long as you don’t hurt anyone,” Avery said. He pushed his ass back onto Willie’s dick, sliding it up and down and savoring the feel of its hot thickness between his cheeks. “My ass wants you so bad.”
“I guess you’re right,” Willie said. It sounded like he was talking himself into it. “Less sinful than fornicatin’ with a woman in the ass, right?”
“That’s right. Less sinful, but a hundred times better,” Avery said.
Willie plunged into Avery’s ass, jabbing it right in. That sent a shockwave of pain through Avery’s spine, followed by a burst of pleasure. Willie had a huge cock that barely fit, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just kept ramming more and more in.
“Is this how you fuck girls?” Avery asked. His voice was strained and breathless as he struggled to take every inch of Willie’s manhood.
Willie said yes but he was so horny it was barely intelligible. He sounded embarrassed by the question.
“You gotta go slow, baby. Work up to really slamming it in,” Avery said. He reached behind himself and gripped Willie’s cock. He worked it in himself.
“Like this?”
That felt a lot better, Avery thought and he told Willie so. “Focus on touching every inch of me.”
“What? My dick touches you-“
“I know it doesn’t really make sense, just focus on each piece of me. I love how your cock feels, baby,” Avery said, cooing as girl-like as he could muster. “Make me feel every inch of it. Girls don’t like it rough, Willie, you gotta be nice about it.”
As he worked back up to ramming and jamming into Avery’s ass, Willie groaned. He leaned over Avery’s body, his powerful, corded muscles writhing against Avery’s back.
“Here it comes, baby, here it comes,” Willie said.
Avery shot his own load onto the couch beneath him, just as he felt Willie cum as well. Hot semen flooded inside him, and dripped down his inner thighs. Neither of them moved at first, Avery savoring the feeling of hot cum covering his lower half and Willie’s wide muscles relaxing as his dick softened.
“Thanks for the lesson,” Willie said. His limp cock plopped out of Avery’s ass.
Avery grinned. “It’ll take more practice,” he said. “But we can keep working on it. I won’t give up on you.”
The Dishwasher
Mario Zappia is a cocky casanova and dishwasher at the Pizza King, but when he needs money, he’s willing to give Avery Flowers a taste of his guido meat. Can Avery handle it?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here
Mario sucked on his teeth and rearranged his half-hard cock as he returned from out back. His dick was painfully sensitive because he had just gotten sucked off behind a dumpster. He could barely keep the smirking grin off his face. He loved the post-blowjob strut. He was sure everybody in the kitchen at the Pizza King could tell what he’d done. He licked his teeth like he was owed that blowjob.
Which he was, in a way. He treated that bitch right.
She was such a slut, he thought, and she wasn’t even good at sucking dick. He wondered if her father and brothers knew she gave out blowjobs like candy. They’d be humiliated if they knew. He ran his fingers through his slick black hair and put the hairnet on with a scowl. His muscles flexed, gleaming. The kitchen was so hot he was covered in sweat.
Vinnie the pizza-making fucker and Robert the prettyboy fucking waiter was sneaking peeks at Mario like they knew. Of course they knew he got a blowjob. Mario gets all the blowjobs cuz he got fly hair, a six-pack and he keeps it tight. He sucked on his teeth in their direction.
‘I should’ve gotten that slut to swallow my nut. She’d have done it too, I bet. I could’ve made her show me a mouth full of cum like a porno bitch.’
The image of that was stomach-churningly disgusting to Mario, but he really wanted to talk a girl into doing it. Like a black guy in a porno. The woman out back was such a slut he barely needed to mack on her for a minute before she dropped to her knees. Mario was tough; he was handsome; he was an alpha; he could get a girl to suck him off like that, yo! — the girls around here were such prudes though.
The dishes had piled up. Of course, Vinnie ain’t did any dishes. He was supposed to keep the dishes moving while Mario was out on break, but he hadn’t, and Mario knew he was going to get blamed for it.
The kitchen was a mess. A stack of pizza boxes done fallen over. A pile of banana peppers lay sprawled out across the floor. A mop bucket sat forlorn and filthy near the walk-in. A big bowl of spaghetii grew more and more crusty by the moment, resting on the shelf by the cooking station. A pan lay coated in extra-burnt charcoal near the stove — somebody had burnt something real bad.
With a harsh frown, Mario grabbed a pizza and brought it up front to a table. He wanted to get the kitchen back up to snuff, but he couldn’t do that with orders waiting around. As always, it was up to Mario to keep this place running.
And his dick wasn’t even dry in his pants yet. He had a smirk on his face when he went into the dining room of the Pizza King.
He scoffed and snorted and wrinkled his nose as he sullenly dropped off the pizza. He didn’t say anything to the customers at the table, because he was running through in his mind what to say to Vinnie about how awful the kitchen looked. Sure, maybe Mario realized, or a part of him did, that it was his fault too. Maybe mostly. Mario was supposed to keep the kitchen clean. Vinnie took over when he was outside, but Vinnie wasn’t supposed to be monitoring the entire kitchen.
Mario should have done that the entire time before he took his break, but he hadn’t noticed how the kitchen looked until he went outside and smoked a cigarette and returned. Now seeing it set his blood to boil.
“Man, fuck you, Vinnie, you mincing little shit!” Mario shouted at him as he came back to get a shaker of parmesan cheese for the pizza he had just brought out to a customer. He sneered at the stack of unwashed dishes, growing minute by minute, as though the sink had done him wrong. “You’s s’posed to do the motherfuckin’ dishes, Vinnie!”
Vinnie said something back, but Mario didn’t catch it. Mario sucked on his teeth again and gestured for Vinnie to go fuck himself — first he gave him the middle-finger, then he raised a fist at Vinnie and patted his own bicep — a gesto dell’ombrello. Vinnie glared at him, and his mean-mugging combined with Mario’s already hot collar.
Vinnie sucked on his teeth and waved Mario off.
“Come at me, then!” Mario said. He stepped forward and pounded on his chest. Some of the customers had noticed, but Mario didn’t care. His blood boiled. He wanted to strangle Vinnie. That was how it always went, whenever Mario felt a personal slight, he kept getting angrier and angrier.
The only thing that snapped him out of it this time was when one the other cooks, Tommy Lasso, stepped in front of him. He was a big beefy middle-aged Italian man, who scowled. “Mario, get ya ass in the awffice now!” He had a thick New Joisey accent. He shoved Mario away.
Mario wanted to go back and fight Vinnie. But he couldn’t cause a scene right now, he was trying to get an advance on his paycheck and any commotion was liable to make that impossible. So he backed away, mean-mugging that fat-ass punk-ass bitch-ass fake-Italian Vinnie Delatucci the whole way. He ain’t shit.
He didn’t turn around until he couldn’t see Vinnie or anyone else up front. Then he went into the back-office, Lasso still pushing him in that direction. He was surprised to see a different man there, a slim, flamboyant white man named Avery. Mario didn’t know Avery and eyed him suspiciously.
Avery blushed and nodded, and Mario gave him a hostile nod of hello.
“Mario, I heard you’s lookin’ for money, son,” Lasso said. He had a gravelly voice and that gruffly mellifluous New Joisey stawk. He had an Italian flag tattooed on his neck. It rippled when he moved. He had a craggy face and an ugly nose. Damn was he ugly, Mario don’t get how he ever found a wife. Shit, bitches got low standards in New Jersey.
“Oh, y’know, I ain’t lookin’ for a handout, no sir-” Mario said. “I got — I got bills, you know, but I can work, I do good work, shit-” He was still worked up from the encounter with Vinnie and now he was guarded because of the stranger eyeing him like candy. Avery looked Mario up and down with hungry eyes.
“Shut up. Mistah Caprinelli ain’t nevuh gonna give you one thin dime. He told me to slap ya for askin’,” Lasso said. He laughed. He reared his hand back as though he was going to do it, and in an instant, Mario was ready to hit him back. Mario formed a fist and mean-mugged Lasso, who continued smiling like he hadn’t noticed. “But I won’t. Instead, I got work for you, so you can earn it like a man instead of groveling like a bitch.”
“I ain’t grovelin’, yo’, don’t say that shit, Lasso, don’t spread yo’ scurry-“
“Shut the fuck up, jabroni, Jesus-fuckin’-Christ, you talk a buncha shit, ya fuckin’ prick,” Lasso said. He looked at Avery and nodded.
Avery’s thin lilting voice filled the cramped office. “I’ll give you two hundred dollars to let me jack you off,” Avery said. After a pause, he added, “With my mouth.” When again Mario didn’t immediately respond, Avery added again, “I’ll do it better than any blowjob. I heard you get them a lot.”
That was followed by a long silence, cuz Avery couldn’t think of anything to add to that, and Mario just looked dumbfounded. He probably made the same face when confronted with math, Avery thought. He was quite handsome, like a swarthy raccoon, with furrowing eyes and a petite little head, nose like a biscuit, He had the serious, smoldering brownness of an ethnically ambiguous underwear model, and he looked at Lasso like Lasso’s acne-scar marring on his face was a personal affront, but in a few years Mario wasn’t gonna look like a fresh-faced punk anymore and he was gonna wish he had the gravity of Lasso. He was already twenty-four, Avery thought. Dishwasher is no longer a cute profession for a man his age, and nobody told Mario he needed to improve himself. People don’t tell men with dimples things like that.
But for now, Avery just wanted to jerk him off. Basically all the women of Springfield, Illinois, seemed to want to do the same thing. Avery had heard of Mario’s blowjob prowess through his female friends, and he heard of Mario’s financial needs through his boss Lasso.
That’s who laughed the hardest as the shocked look that took over Mario’s face.
Mario was rarely flustered, but now he just scoffed and coughed over and over, unable to decide if it would look worse for his machismo to say yes or no. His cheeks bloomed red. His dick was ultra-sensitive cuz he just got a blowjob like five minutes ago.
“I just did get a blowjob in the fuckin’ alley, yo! From a chick!” Mario said.
“What? You delivered a pizza to a table-“
“Hmmm… was she fat?” Avery asked.
“Yo, shut up, she wasn’t fat,” Mario said.
“Did you wash your hands?”
Mario smirked. “Fuckin’-A, man, I ain’t touch the pizza. Well, maybe the crust a little.” He extended his middle finger towards the dining room. “Man, fuck ’em, shit, shit, man…” He looked at Lasso like he was trying to remember a reason to want to fight him, then he feinted with a half-hearted fist like he was thinking of doing it for no reason at all.
Then he looked back at Avery, who smiled. “Think you can go again.”
“Yo, no doubt, no doubt, no doubt, shit, man,” Mario said. “No doubt, I can always get hard, yo. Dick for days.” He repeated that like it was a slogan. “Dick for days, yo, dick for days.”
“Gonna see if that cock really works on ya, son,” Lasso said. He pushed Mario forward, towards Avery. Mario gulped, and he again paced — a very tiny route, just like two feet forward then two feet back.
“Yeah, shit, fine.” Mario nodded. “Yeah, sure, fine, man, whatever.” He sniffled and snarled like he did this every day. “Course my dick works. Hell yeah. Jerk it off, man, jerk it good. You deep-throat, bitch?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Avery grinned and dropped to his knees. “Of course.”
During a brief pause, the only sound was the distant roar of the ventilation and the low thrum of conversation in the restaurant. Mario sucked on his teeth, and Avery blushed. They both waited for Lasso to leave his office and shut the door. Mario stayed in that tiny office with Avery dropping to his knees. Lasso wished Avery wouldn’t do this in his office, but it was the only private room in the joint, so it was the only option. Avery had compensated Lasso for setting this up.
Mario gulped. He wasn’t nervous, he insisted that even to himself. There ain’t not a thing wrong with a man blowing a nut, he thought. It was real-uomo old-school, tough-guy prison shit.
Not that Mario had ever been to prison.
“You been to prison, right?”
Avery shook his head. “I was in the drunk tank for a day and a half once.” Avery unzipped his jeans and let his cock flop out. Avery loved men who were a little dirty and raunchy, and Mario fit the bill — he smelled like pizza and dishwater. These were the same jeans he usually wore to work, and he didn’t wash them often; even when he did wash them, that “pizza seasoning” smell didn’t come out. The grease and olive oil and oregano and parmesan all clung to the thick denim fabric, combining with the melange of Mario’s infrequently-washed sweat-coated muscles.
That big Italian hog dangled free, filling the office with the scent of manhood. Avery took it in his hand.
“I thought only booty bandits was ever into this kinda shit,” Mario said. “You nasty.”
Avery shrugged. “You’re wrong. You do have a nice dick.” He hefted it in his hand. “Not too big, not too hard. Smells a little like cheese.”
Mario screwed up his face. “Not too big, what’s’at mean, yo? It’s fuckin’ huge, you know it!” He smirked and laughed like he was looking for a hidden camera. “You know it!”
Avery kissed Mario on the tip of his cock, and he smirked up at him.
“It’s pretty big…”
Mario clucked his tongue. “Yeah, boy, get ya mouth on it that shit, don’t play wit’ it. Jabroni.” Despite his words, he took hold of his cock and slapped it over Avery’s face. “Ain’t it the biggest you ever seen, boy? Huh? Ain’t it?”
“Well-“
“Yeah, thought so,” Mario said. He seemed to have genuinely thought Avery said yes, and Avery didn’t disabuse him of that. Mario liked slapping Avery with his cock because he had done that to a girl once, as a joke, just one time, and she got furious and left. She had said it was disrespectful. Mario didn’t see it that way. He thought she should worship his cock. That seemed proper. His father (who was now in prison) said that women were meant to worship their man’s cock. Mario scoffed. “Bet you love my dick, huh?”
“I do!” Avery moaned. He chased Mario’s cock with his mouth, then finally got it past his lips. Mario stopped moving. Avery swallowed as much as he could in one go.
It was only part firm but getting harder by the second, and it turned into a jabbing iron rod in Avery’s mouth. Avery crooned and moaned around it the intensely savory flavor exploding in his mouth. Avery tasted a hint of something bitter and fruity — a woman’s lotion or maybe perfume — but he dismissed it as soap or remnants of laundry detergent. He didn’t know that it was the remnants of the woman who had sucked Mario off in the alley during his break.
Not that it would have turned Avery off if he knew. He soon hoovered up every drop of her odor anyway, eagerly making Mario forget about her shallow and amateurish blowjob.
Mario gasped and bit his lip, a little worried until now that he would have trouble getting an erection because he had just been sucked off moments ago. He tried to look nonchalant as his cock hardened in Avery’s mouth. Mario didn’t want to look surprised, but he had to admit he was shocked at how good this felt. He would have said that it could never be as good as a girl’s soft lips on his manhood.
But Avery was actually much better than any female. That became apparent right away. Mario’s overful balls thrummed as his dick stiffened up, Avery deep-throating him from the get-go — no girl was ever this enthusiastic about deep-throating. Mario had to talk girls into doing it, and they never had throats as wide or as deep as Avery’s.
Avery knew perfectly well what effect his mouth had on Mario. He had jerked off a lot of guys in the service industry, and an awful lot of them made faces like that. He was an expert deep-throater. Men could do it better than women, Avery thought, because they had the same equipment. They knew how to treat it right.
And women were namby-pamby about servicing big-cocked-studs like Mario.
“Hey, boy, I’m-a treat you right, ya feel me?” Mario said. He looked down at Avery, ignoring his instinctual panic at the sight of a male on his cock. He sucked on his tongue. He could already hear Lasso and others outside the office, laughing, no doubt impressed at how tough Mario was. He gripped Avery’s scalp. “I’m gonna plow ya throat now, I’m gonna treat it real rough. You gonna like that?”
Avery nodded without taking his dick out. His tongue teased the veiny underside of Mario’s shaft.
“Good. I don’t need no pansy goin’ full daffodil on me,” Mario grunted and chuckled. He had to hold back a grin. No girl had ever let him throat them, not like he had seen in porno. That was what he thought a blowjob should be like.
He held on and drilled his dick in. A spasm of pleasure ran up Mario’s spine as he felt Avery choke on his dick, but Avery didn’t make him stop, so Mario kept going. He rammed his cock all the way in until every last bit of dickflesh swelled to fill Avery’s throat.
“Ya, boy, you got balls-on-chin, man, that’s nasty, yo,” Mario said with a chuckle, making his voice loud enough that the guys outside could hear. “You must love my dick somethin’ fierce. Lemme hear you say it.” He pulled his dick out and Avery gasped.
“Uh-” Avery cried out for air.
Mario lightly slapped his cheek. “Lemme hear you say it. You love my dick or not?”
“I love… your dick…” Avery opened his mouth and went back to slurping on it even before Mario had heard him say it. Mario cackled and resumed throating, drilling his dick down deep.
This time, Mario realized he could be as harsh and violent as he wanted, Avery didn’t seem to care. He humped Avery’s mouth hard, laughing every time he heard his sweaty balls thwack against Avery’s chin — he had long ago heard jokes about ballsweat on a girl’s chin and had long thought that was how blowjobs were supposed to go, but he had such a big dick that no woman could swallow him deeply enough to achieve “balls on chin”.
But Avery managed it without even breaking a sweat.
“Ah, shit, boy, goddamn, you swallow dick good,” Mario said. He cleared his throat. “I mean… almost as good as this one female, uh — ” He paused. “I mean, a couple females. You know…” He hoped that sounded believable. Really most girls didn’t like sucking dick and made no effort to do it well. Mario would never admit that this was better than a female though.
In fact, if he hadn’t had a blowjob just a few minutes ago, he would have busted a nut already. He was kinda glad that he had to work for it now, then, cuz it wouldn’t look gangsta to bust a nut that quick. He made sure the guys watching could see his six-pack.
His ears wrinkled when he realized Lasso and the others were huddled together and laughing from the kitchen area. They all must have known what was going on now. Mario wasn’t shook up, and he wasn’t embarrassed — they just didn’t get Mario’s old-school Italian ways, he thought. He sucked on his teeth. “Buncha mamby-pamby pussies,” he thought, as precum leaked profusely from his dick and coated Avery’s mouth.
“You gonna get it up the dook-chute next, Mario?” Lasso called out from outside the office, and the others out there snickered too. It sounded like they were daring each other to come in here.
“Fuck you, Lasso!” Mario said. He wanted to add more, to call Lasso old and to claim he must have a withered useless cock.
But Mario was overwhelmed then by his orgasm, which hit him suddenly, surprised by how intense it was, maybe because his dick had started off so sensitive from the prior blowjob. He held on tight to Avery’s scalp, but Avery had taken control of this. Avery nuzzled his nose all the way into Mario’s pubic hair, letting his veiny uncut shaft throb in Avery’s throat.
“Goddamn… You gonna swallow, boy? Lemme see my nut in ya mouth first,” Mario said, a smile emerging onto his face. He threw his head back, and his voice broke then as an orgasm exploded within him. He couldn’t believe how good it felt. He was sure he looked like some young punk who’d never gotten sucked off before, he was just glad no one but Avery could see.
His lithe light-tan body squirmed, his compact little muscles all flexing at once. Creamy cum flowed plentifully down Avery’s throat. He had a spicy flavor to it, like the pizza shop he worked in and the bracing red pepper flakes that Avery could taste remnants of on his cock. It was warm, salty and savory too, like raw pizza dough, and his body was firm as ice when Avery reached his hands up to tweak his nipples and make his pecs ripple.
“Shit, goddamn…” Mario’s face was red as Avery finally let go. Mario cleared his throat to sound tough, like this was no big deal. Another jet of jizz filled Avery’s mouth and overflowed down his chest, and Mario’s knees went weak. He gasped, and all them all watching laughed. Mario laughed with them, even as his voice broke and he said, “Lemme see ya — ya nasty mouff fulla my nut.”
Avery opened his mouth, which was full of Mario’s cum. That creamy, salty flavor was all his senses could focus on, and Avery craved swallowing it. He needed it.
But first, Mario thought, he wanted all those guys out there to know how big his dick was and how good he was at using it. He opened the door with his massive dick, still half-hard, resting on Avery’s face. Avery’s mouth was open to display Mario’s wad resting on his tongue. Mario pumped his biceps.
“Oh shit-!”
“Nasty!”
“Goddamn, Mario!”
Mario cackled. Lasso and the other guys looked first and cheered, then they all blushed and covered their eyes. No one wanted to see Mario’s dick or his cumwad congealing on Avery’s tongue, but none could really look away either. Mario flexed his pecs too, concealed by his too-tight shirt, but it was tight enough that everybody could see how strong his chest was.
They were impressed, Mario was sure of that.
“Nah, watch this, watch this, I can make him swallow it whenever,” Mario said. He flopped his limp dick between his fingers, making sure his friends could see it, but he acted like it was an accident that he hadn’t put it away yet. He didn’t want it to be obvious he was showing off.
He held his hand in front of Avery’s face. “Spit it out, man.”
Avery spat Mario’s cum into Mario’s palm in front of his face. Avery blushed. “I love your cock, Mario, please, let me lick it more, let me swallow your nut-“
The others laughed so hard no one could hear the rest of Avery’s begging. Mario didn’t care, he just smirked and nodded. The guys all hooted, peering through their fingers as Avery slurped that cumload back off Mario’s mouth. He swallowed it, smacked his lips and let Mario see his now-empty mouth.
“Hell, yeah, boy! He slurped that shit!” Mario thwacked Avery with his limp cock. He couldn’t believe women kept refusing to do that — it was no big deal, he thought, if some dude could do it. Mario sucked on his teeth and pumped his biceps. “And he’s gonna pay me for the privilege, shit!”
Avery handed over the money, which Mario counted standing right there, his dick still out and dangling between his legs. Mario smiled broadly. He hadn’t felt so good in a long time.
When Lasso and the others finally went back upfront to return to work, Mario put his dick away. He sneered at Avery. “That was nice, man. Thanks for the money. Not that I needed it, y’know.”
“Sure.”
“Maybe you can come back in sometimes? Like… y’know, whenever. I work most evenings, except Thursdays and Fridays,” Mario said. He shrugged. “Or whatever, you ain’t got to. I got females, y’know… begging for my meat.”
Avery giggled. “Well, maybe I’ll drop in when I can, and when you’re not too busy with your girls. I sure did enjoy the taste of your Italian sausage.”
The Private
On a layover, Avery runs into Private Edmond Samberg, who could use some cash… and a mouth on his alpha male manhood. These are the kinds of problems Avery is prepared to solve!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read it here!
Avery woke up with an aching back. He yawned. The terminal was quiet. There were sleeping travelers scattered everywhere. He was in Dulles airport, in Northern Virginia. A major snowstorm had trapped everyone here. Even the staff hadn’t left for awhile because the roads were impassable. But it looked like that must have cleared up, because there were a lot fewer annoyed employees lounging around off the clock.
He stood, stretched and went to the men’s room to freshen up. He didn’t look so good. He had gone to a Christmas Eve wedding in Guyana and was on his way home. It had been freakish to go from tropical Guyana to blizzardy Virginia in a few hours.
It was five o’clock in the morning, so very few people were even awake. None of the stores were open. No flights were coming or going. There weren’t any announcements over the PA aside from the routine reminders about minding your bags.
“Oh, hey, hey, man, look, hey, wait up, hey, sorry, sorry, man-“
It took Avery a moment to realize someone was talking to him. The airport was like a mausoleum, so the man’s deep voice resonated and felt profoundly out-of-place. Avery must have looked annoyed when he turned around — he was just surprised and confused, but he must have looked annoyed, he thought, because the man was taken aback.
“Hey, sorry, man, are you in a hurry? I just wanted to ask you something.”
“Um. Not really, no. I mean, yes, in theory, I’m in a hurry to get home, but I’m snowed in so all I can do is pace or whatever. I can’t go anywhere anyway. So, uh…” Avery’s voice trailed off because his sleepy mind finally registered what sort of man he was look at.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a square jaw, wearing Army fatigues and heavy combat boots. He had a grizzled beard and tired, dark eyes. His muscles spilled from his camo. He carried himself heavily, like he hadn’t been muscular long and it still felt weird to him. Remnants of acne scarring on his cheeks gave him a mature look despite his youthful features, but it kept him from having a babyface.
“Do you know how to FaceCall? I don’t know what that is. My wife said I can do it on my laptop, I wanna FaceCall with her and my daughter. They’re in Okinawa so it’s evening there,” he said. “I don’t see it on my computer. Is it on email?”
“What, FaceCall? No, no, that’s not an email thing. Come on, I’ll show you,” Avery said.
Avery used FaceCall all the time, so it was easy for him to set up. In a few minutes he had the soldier — who introduced himself as Private Edmond Samberg — talking to his beautiful wife Omishi and their daughter Abigail, who was only three years old.
Avery had nothing else to do, so he just sat down once Samberg was talking to his family. This seating area was almost deserted. The whole airport was quiet and dark because it was in the middle of the night. Actually well past the middle, it was going on morning. Or maybe not. Avery had little sense of time anymore. He glanced at his phone which had the time on it but it didn’t compute in his travel-addled mind, and Avery didn’t care enough to devote any of his brain’s processing power to figuring it out.
He had a book to read, but he didn’t feel like reading it. He could get his phone out too, but he had been doing entirely too much of that. He was bored of relieving boredom with his phone. There would be nothing new online he wanted to see.
At first he tried to surreptitiously listen to Private Samberg and his family — Avery didn’t want to be nosy, there was just nothing else to do right now. It soon became apparent, however, that this conversation was going to consist mainly of babytalk. Private Samberg barely even spoke to his wife because he was so eager to connect with his daughter. He sang Christmas carols softly, aiming his voice directly into the microphone so it would be loud for his daughter but quiet enough to avoid waking anyone up in the airport.
Avery very nearly fell back asleep. He probably would have if it weren’t for Private Samberg’s strapping muscles bucking and flexing beneath his camo fatigues. He was entranced by the sight, and he blushed when Private Samberg almost caught him looking. Avery pretended to be humming along to “Jingle Bells”.
“Thanks a lot, man,” said Private Samberg after saying goodbye to his family and hanging up. “I would give you something for your time, but, man, I am broke. I’ve got eight cents in my bank account.”
“No worries, no problem. It’s nice to have something to do. It’s boring wasting my Christmas in a nasty old airport,” Avery said. He smiled and cleared his throat. “I know a way you can make five hundred dollars right here. Well, not right here. In the bathroom over there. The disabled bathroom is probably best.”
“What?”
“I’ll pay you five hundred dollars to jack off with me,” Avery said.
Private Samberg looked Avery up and down, nervously fingered his dog tags, then busted up laughing. He blushed. He looked like he was about to say no, but he just blushed more. He rearranged his cock in his camo pants. He covered his face. Then he shrugged. “Uh… Yeah. Okay. You for real?”
“Hell yeah I am,” Avery said. He saluted and stood up. “I’m here to follow orders, sir.”
He scoffed as he followed Avery into the disabled bathroom, which was large and clean. Avery locked the door. Private Samberg said, “You know I’m a private, right? I can’t order anyone around.”
“I know.”
“You really like jackin’ off with guys? I hate it, me and my unit do it all the time. It’s nasty.” He leaned against the wall and groaned. He closed his eyes. “But I do need somethin’ shit! I had a stiffy on the plane before, the one that brought me here, shit! The stewardess was like crazy hot. You shoulda seen her tits, man.” He blushed. “Sorry. I love my wife. I wasn’t gonna fuck her! The stewardess. Even if she wanted it-“
“I’m not the marriage police.”
“Even if she like threw herself at me, I wouldn’t…” Private Samberg’s eyes opened wide, and a moment later they opened wider. His dick twitched in his pants. “Shit! Ah, man!”
“Relax, relax, man, it’s okay to find chicks hot,” Avery said. “You didn’t fuck her, you’re fine. Don’t tell your wife about her though.”
“I won’t!”
“Are you alright? You look tired,” Avery said. He slid his hand into Edmond’s camo pants and wrapped his fingers around his cock. He gave it a few slow strokes, and Samberg leaned against the wall by the hand dryer.
Private Samberg nodded. “I am tired. Man, after I blow my wad, I’m gonna sleep for like twelve hours, I swear. My sergeant’s been yellin’ at me, cuz of this credit card debt… Man, it’s fucked.” He sighed, dropped his camo pants and let his dick fully flop out.
It throbbed hotly in Avery’s hand. It was nice and long, a definite two-hander but Avery only used one hand to make sure Samberg was gonna beg for more in a bit. His hand ran up and down the thickness of his shaft. “Your sergeant yells at you about credit card debt?”
“They’re worried about blackmail and shit, it’s conduct unbecoming,” he said. “And so they have a right to drill it… to, have a rule — it’s in the court, of, you know, the rights…” He blushed. “I don’t know the words. Sorry. My sergeant said it, but he was squeezin’ my balls so I don’t remember ’em.”
Avery smiled and gave his balls a very gentle squeeze. “Like that?”
“Harder.” His eyes bugged out. “He did it harder, I’m not askin’ you to do it harder.”
“Sure, sure,” Avery said. He got both hands on Samberg’s dick, which was beginning to firm up. It was veiny and moist with sweat, and it thrummed with heat and with youthful desire. A shudder ran up from his crotch through Samberg’s spine, and he laughed at himself.
“Shit, man, that feels good. I really needed to bust a nut. There was a guy outside boot camp who did that,” Samberg said. “It was weird.” He looked down. “I only did it once when I was real drunk. I don’t remember it. They said I did it, and I had fifty bucks in my pocket.”
“Fifty?”
“Yeah, He didn’t pay much.”
“Guess I got ripped off offering you five hundred,” Avery said.
“But I’m sober for this.”
“That’s worth four hundred fifty bucks?”
Samberg nodded and shrugged. “You’re the one who decided that.” He groaned, his dick fully erect now, and he moved his hips back and forth to drag the knob over Avery’s face. “Sorry.” He chuckled again.
“Is it okay if I taste it?” Avery asked. He thwacked that meaty erection over his face, chasing it with his tongue.
Private Samberg nodded and blushed a little. “You’re really into that? That’s so weird.” He wrinkled his nose. “Are you a believer that it makes your dick bigger to jack mine off”
Avery shrugged. “Something like that. I don’t know, maybe.” He was noncommittal, but in fact, he was not a believer in that. He just liked jacking off men, and he knew five hundred dollars was more than he needed to offer. He would have offered a hundred if he was being stingy. But he liked Private Samberg and wanted to help out a nice young family.
Avery kneeled between his legs and swallowed Samberg’s shaft down to the root, making Samberg let out a surprised moan like he hadn’t realized this was coming. Avery swallowed it as deep as he could, until his throat clenched and he gagged. Private Samberg took off his camo shirt, revealing a sweat-stained Army t-shirt underneath.
Precum flowed over his lips. It was salty and sweet, and it tasted so good Avery drooled as he gurgled. The moist sounds caused Private Samberg to chuckle, dryly at first, then almost hysterically. The laughter made his muscles gyrate beneath his tight t-shirt and made his cock jab down Avery’s throat.
“Ah shit, I have to use the money you’re paying me on the credit card debt. I won’t be able to buy anything for my daughter,” he said with a groan. “It sucks, my wife had to pay for Christmas for Abigail. I know she’s just a baby… Nevermind, sorry, I don’t wanna think about my daughter when I get a blowjob.”
Avery made a mental note to fix that. He didn’t want to make an awkward situation any more awkward — and his mouth was full — so he didn’t say anything, but he planned to call up and pay Private Samberg’s credit card debt. His wallet was sitting right there, having fallen out of his pocket when he dropped his pants. So Avery found out which bank issued his card and paid the debt later. Private Samberg presumably never found out how or why the bill was paid off.
It was the Christmas season, so Avery was glad to help. Private Samberg’s haggard face leaned back and his worry-wrinkles diminished as he moaned. His crew-cut had grown slightly unruly since he had last tended it, which was probably the last time he had shaved too. Samberg’s muscles rippled beneath his Army-issue t-shirt.
Avery pulled off Samberg’s cock and smacked it against his lips and his tongue hanging out of his open mouth. The sour-salty taste of his unwashed manhood flooded Avery’s senses.
“Hey, you do, uh…” Samberg blushed a deep red, his big hangdog square face looking away from Avery as he whispered, “Cornholin’?”
An excited giggle spread from Avery’s mouth. He nodded. “Sure do. But before we do that…” Avery licked his shaft from tip to root. “I’ll give you another hundred bucks if you let me lick every tattoo you’ve got. I bet you have some tattoos in interesting locations.”
Private Samberg blushed. “I got… Well… Okay…” He blushed an even deeper red. “Uh…” He took off his shirt and sighed. He had an outline of the state of Pennsylvania tattooed over his left pectoral muscle. Avery traced a trail with his tongue, traveling up Samberg’s crotch to his flat belly, his bulging pectoral and the sweat that collected there. He sucked on the tattoo as though trying to vacuum it off his body. Samberg grunted and stiffened his back.
He had barbed wire over his biceps too. The tattoo on his left bicep was complete, and Avery sucked it clean. Samberg even flexed his biceps — cheeks bright red — so Avery could get the full effect. The barbed wire on his right bicep was just the outline, not filled in, but his muscle was even firmer and his sweat even saltier.
“I couldn’t afford to get the tattoo finished,” Samberg said. He chuckled dryly. “The credit card got denied.” He sighed. “And I, uh… I got one more.” This was what made him blush. He undid his camo pants, turned around and bent over — he didn’t do that in a sexy or seductive way, but Avery thought it was even hotter like this, bending over as though letting a doctor take a look at his ass. His big hairy plump cheeks were right in front of Avery’s face.
And right there on the lower part of his left asscheek was a tattoo. It was a red bullseye and words written in elegant cursive. Sergeant Powers made a man out of me and I’ll never be the same.
“I got drunk in San Diego and my buddies made me get this.” He paused and laughed. “Okay, they ain’t really make me do it. But I did it. And so he can’t ever see my ass. He said he gotta approve tattoos before we get them, the Army doesn’t allow a lotta tattoos nowadays. There’s no way he would approve a tattoo telling him to kiss my ass.”
Samberg kept going, but Avery was confused. He kissed the perky firm ass-flesh under the tattoo as he listened to Private Samberg, who explained that his friends had dared him to tattoo the words ‘Sergeant Powers’s Kissing Spot’ on his ass. Those were, however, not the words tattooed there. In fact the message was ‘Sergeant Powers made a man out of me and I’ll never be the same’. It soon became apparent that Private Samberg didn’t know what was on his ass. It was on the lower part of his left cheek, which was round and full and plump — he’d have to get in a very careful position to see it in a mirror, and since it was written in flowing cursive, it wouldn’t be easy to read even then. Samberg must have never read it. His friends had told the tattooist what to do when he was too drunk to remember.
“Part of the dare,” Samberg said with a nervous chuckle, his dick still flopping over Avery’s face, precum sticking to his cheeks and lips. “was that I gotta show him the tattoo now that it’s healed. I keep puttin’ it off. He’s gonna kick my ass, man, I swear. He’s gonna dishonorable discharge me.”
It was a funny story, and it was one that Avery didn’t intend to spoil. He didn’t tell Samberg what his ass really said. He sucked all the furry hairs there — they were thick, dark and kinky because it was the upper part of his thigh. Then Avery plopped his face into Samberg’s asscheeks.
“Oh, shit, man… I ain’t got no tattoos in there, man, but if you wanna lick my ass…” He laughed nervously and gulped. He was bent over, grabbing his ankles, his face was already red from both blushing and blood running to his head. His eyes opened wide and he looked up to see Avery’s face disappear in his ass.
He looked like he was about to laugh, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Avery’s tongue tickled his prostate and Samberg let out a spine-tingling moan. It was loud enough that, if anyone had been awake near the bathroom, they would have heard. Avery probed Samberg’s ass with his tongue, while Samberg grunted as though it felt so good it hurt.
“Goddamn, man!” He bit his lip.
Avery giggled. Samberg’s as, tasted like his battered Army-issue green boxer shorts smelled: musty and salty and savory and so delicious Avery could have cum just from the smell. He pulled away and massaged Samberg’s hairy crack with one finger. It was wet and dripping.
Samberg barked when Avery’s finger touched his asshole. He jumped back up and turned around, his fat cock rock-hard and throbbing as it slapped Avery over the cheek.
“Ah, damn, I wasn’t expectin’ that to feel so good,” Samberg said. His voice was extra-deep as he puffed up his chest. His words resonated in the linoleum-tiled bathroom. He laughed a little. “But don’t put your finger in there, that’s… weird.”
Avery smiled. “Sure, no problem. I wasn’t going to stick it in. A lot of guys are into that anyway, y’know-“
“Not me.” He glowered. He watched Avery slather spit on his cockshaft. He hadn’t really watched before, because his eyes were closed, but he was a little less nervous now. Now, his eyes bugged out. “Damn, you really go deep. My wife don’t suck like that. No way. She got the world’s tiniest mouth. You should see her eat a hot dog. Takes an hour and a half.”
That made Avery laugh. “Maybe I’ll come watch that sometime.” Once he had slobbered saliva all over Private Samberg’s throbbing crack, he decided it was time to move on. Samberg looked down to watch as though it was the climax of a scary movie and he wanted to look away but couldn’t. “Now we get to the best part,” Avery said with a laugh at the expression on Samberg’s face.
Samberg groaned and moaned. Though he looked tense and nervous, he was also excited. It was obvious he was horny and he wanted this. He kept his hands away as he watched Avery bare his ass.
Avery turned around and backed his ass up. He spread his cheeks. Private Samberg looked away, groaning and moaning as his cock slid into Avery’s ass. At first Samberg didn’t touch him at all, like he couldn’t bear to feel a man’s ass for even a moment. His hands sort of fluttered behind himself, like he was balancing on a wire and almost falling off the other way. He watched Avery’s ass break open, while Avery let out a moan of desire as a surge of pleasure and pain hit him in equal portions.
“Aw, man, man, man,” Samberg’s voice broke, as he too felt a surge of pleasure. No pain though. He finally did touch Avery’s ass with one hand, then let go as though someone scolded him. “Aww, man… that feels good!” He again sounded very surprised at that, like he thought it would be painful. “It feels real good!”
“I know,” Avery said through clenched teeth, as he struggled to take Samberg’s girthy cock.
That didn’t last long though. The first time Samberg’s cock encountered a little resistance, he grunted and his muscles flexed all at once. One of his hands grabbed his own manhood, while his other hit Avery hard on the back, pushing his shoulders down. He pulled Avery’s cheeks up to match Samberg’s height a little better.
His dick was big and veiny, thick, long, throbbing, perfect like it was sculpted to fill Avery’s body. Avery let out a long low moan and leaned back until he felt Samberg’s cold dog tag resting against his back, and his broad chest muscles rippled against Avery’s smooth shoulders. Avery grabbed it and sucked on it too, just to get the stainless steel taste and the stale sweat that collected there onto his tongue.
“Damn, you make sounds…” Private Samberg said. In this position, Avery couldn’t see his face, but it was clear Samberg was blushing again. He cleared his throat. “My wife is so quiet during sex. The first time we did it, I thought she fell asleep or somethin’. She said I fuck real good-“
“Private Samberg, I’m going to give you an order,” Avery said breathily. He gasped. He had to focus intently to form any words at all. “Stop talking about your wife and stick it in me.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I just love her so much, sorry, sorry. Sorry. Shit…” His hot breath condensed on Avery’s nape.
Avery kept pushing his ass backwards, basically penetrating himself with Samberg’s cock. But the more they both got into this, the more comfortable Samberg became. Soon Samberg was pounding into Avery just as hard as Avery penetrated himself with Samberg’s cock.
And then, at last, Avery could do little more than submit. He leaned back so that he rested his face on Samberg’s ropy-muscled chest. He was ensconced in Samberg’s powerful arms, licking and suckling on his frizzy-haired muscle. He got another taste of both those barbed-wire tattoos, both the finished one and the unfinished one — in a flash of charitable thinking, Avery promised himself he’d send enough money to finish the other tattoo, then decided not to, he already didn’t know how much credit card debt he’d be paying off, and it wasn’t like the world was waiting for yet another barbed-wire-on-bicep tattoo. But it did taste so sexy when he sucked Samberg’s curly arm-hairs and licked the bulging tattooed muscle there. His wife was a very lucky woman.
“Oh god, cum inside me, please, soldier, fill me up…”
His cringing, begging tone made Samberg laugh just as he reached an orgasm. His whole body bucked and spasmed, and his chest muscles tensed against Avery’s back. For one glorious moment that seemed to last an eternity, Avery experienced a jaw-dropping orgasm that began in his prostate and exploded outward in every direction.
A fat load of cum flew into Avery’s ass. Private Samberg moaned, his hot breath condensing on the back of Avery’s head. Avery had never felt smaller or weaker, buried in Samberg’s muscles all around him. The cum filling up his ass was hot and thick, and it seeped into Avery’s flesh.
“Oh fuck, yeah…” Avery stroked himself off and shot his own load onto the floor of the bathroom. He still had Samberg’s dog tags over his face, so he got another burst of old-sweat flavor as he sucked it clean.
He moaned again, and rubbed his back against Private Samberg’s strapping chest. Private Samberg grunted into his ear. The smell of his sweat-soaked shirt enveloped Avery as he experienced one of the most intense orgasms of his life. Spasms of bliss wracked his body.
Finally Private Samberg stepped back and gingerly pulled his cock out. He looked down at it like he was terrified of what he saw as he wiped it clean with a bit of toilet paper. He grimaced, then smiled and grunted.
“You had better pay me, man,” he said. “And that extra hundred dollars. Don’t stiff me, man.”
“I won’t, I have to too much respect for your service to our country,” Avery said with a sigh as he cleaned himself off. When he was done, he pulled out his wallet and counted out the money. Avery saluted and grinned, before handing over six hundred dollars.
“Uh, sure, yeah, no problem, man,” Private Samberg said with a blush. He took the money and saluted back. “Thanks too, for your help. I had a good Christmas after all.”
The Catcaller
When Avery sees a swagger-heavy thug catcalling women, he intervenes to help, because he’s a good feminist… and because he loves alpha male ebony manhood! That gives him a chance to turn the tables and taste Jaycee’s hot, throbbing ass!
Read the whole thing here!
“Woo-hoo! Hey, girl! Hey!”
The black men on the stoop fell over each other laughing when the girl quickened her pace and hurried away. One of them stepped forward and wolf-whistled after her.
That was the one with the most masculine shape and face. He was Jaycee. He was tall, with short braids and a powerful body.
He was gloriously thick. That was why Avery liked him. Avery loved any man with a massive, incredible ass, and Jaycee’s was bigger and plumper than seemed possible. He was a naturally heavyset man but worked out enough to keep himself an imposing figure, not fat at all, just hefty and curved and chunky in all the right ways.
He turned around, aiming his ass at one of his buddies. His jeans sagged low, so about half of his asscheeks were covered by nothing more than yellow boxers. He patted his ass, making his own cheeks jiggle and his friends laugh — he must have been making some kind of point about how nice his ass was, Avery thought, and how much girls wanted to taste his badonkadonk. It wasn’t a fantastic ass at all. Avery appreciated it, but it was not a Hollywood-hunk ass, not the kind of thing people would normally brag about.
It was juicy as hell though. Avery keenly appreciated the male physique, of which Jaycee’s was a remarkable specimen.
Avery took a few steps towards Jaycee, but then another girl appeared on the street. Avery cursed under his breath — he couldn’t hardly bait a man with a girl around. He didn’t want to attract attention by turning around, so he kept going, walking past Jaycee and the other black men hanging out on the stoop.
“Hey, girl, what’s ya deal? Huh?” Jaycee’s deep voice was low and resonant. The woman looked at him like she considered answering. Jaycee lifted his shirt to show off his chest and laughed — he didn’t have that kind of body, he had a little pudge and a big broad chest like a gladiator, not a six-pack. “Give a playa a squeeze, c’mon! Lemme holla!”
She walked away with a shake of her head.
“Tease.” Jaycee grunted and turned around again. As he did, he grabbed his cock through his jeans, and Avery saw the outline of it.
Avery kept going, now walking funny because his own dick got hard. He still hadn’t come up with a very good plan to get Jaycee alone somewhere so he could proposition him.
When Avery turned around — pretending to wait for a bus — he saw Jaycee pantomiming sex to his friends. He patted an imaginary girl on the ass as he pistoned his hips, ramming his dick in and out of her. Then he said something that made his friends laugh as though they were disgusted by him. Jaycee smirked and mimed out spreading wide asscheeks in front of his face, as though he was going to lick the ass of a truly gigantic woman. He even extended his tongue, licking her imaginary asshole.
Or was it her pussy? Avery had to giggle as he tried to gauge whether Jaycee was spreading imaginary buttcheeks or pussy-flaps. Avery hardly knew how one went about eating pussy. Was it like that? He didn’t think so, he thought that was ass. He had said something about a rimjob before as well, which got Avery excited — maybe Jaycee enjoyed receiving rimjobs as much as Avery enjoyed giving them.
Maybe he didn’t much care who gave him a rimjob. That thought sent a shiver of anticipation up Avery’s spine.
Indeed, as Avery got on the bus, he saw a girl approach Jaycee. She was thick, a little older than the ones Jaycee had been hooting at, with a lot of makeup on her face. Jaycee looked at her hungrily but shared an annoyed glance at his friends.
Avery didn’t need to be there to pick up on the subtext — the woman was not sexy. She was fat, and not in a good way, and she had limp, greasy hair and a broad, squat face. She wasn’t ugly, but she was hardly a hottie. She came up to Jaycee and teasingly fingered the waistband of his boxers. Jaycee looked aloof, like he didn’t want his friends to know he had already messed with her.
Then Avery couldn’t see because the bus had gone around the corner. Avery sighed. He waited until the next bus-stop, then got off and walked back to the stoop.
“Hey, baby, I’ll lick yo’ asshole if you lick mine! Hey! You a tease or what?!” Jaycee’s deep voice called out. At first Avery thought Jaycee was calling at him, and Avery was shocked, exhilarated, excited. He’d had dreams that began similar to this.
But no, there was a hot girl behind Avery. She quickened her pace, crossed the street and ignored Jaycee. Avery blushed. He had just walked past Jaycee, then gotten on a bus and stared as it drove past Jaycee in the other direction, and now he was back again to walk past him once more; even through all that, Jaycee didn’t seem to realize this was the third time he had seen Avery.
“Hey,” Avery said. He blushed and made sure to speak in a feminine manner. The men snorted softly. Jaycee lit a foul-smelling cigar — a Black & Mild — and he glared at Avery. “I’m Avery.”
Jaycee took a deep drag and exhaled right on Avery’s face. “Huh.”
“I heard you like rimjobs?”
Jaycee stopped with the cigar in his hand. His mouth was full of smoke. He again exhaled on Avery’s face. “What?”
“You’ve been asking girls to lick your ass. Does that ever work?”
Jaycee scowled as his friends laughed. Someone slapped Jaycee’s ass through his pimp-heavy jeans. He looked like he wanna say something but his homies kept interrupting him by busting on him.
“Jaycee’s got a fat girl-“
“Nigga, shut up-“
“She real thick and she lick his ass-“
“I said shut up, you don’t gotta tell the nerd my business-“
“She ugly as fuck too, she was just here-“
“She smell like asshole-“
“How much asshole she lick e’ry day man?”
“One!” Jaycee growled at his buddies. He sucked on his teeth and cocked his head to the side with a confident shrug. His pecs rippled like he thought he had a perfect physique and she was showing it off like a stripper, but the rippling of his muscles just accentuated the chunkiness of his body. “Nigga… It don’t matter when you got a tongue in ya asshole-“
“But you got ya tongue in her asshole too-“
“Nigga, shut up!”
“That’s nasty. She prolly tastes like Taco Bell.”
“I seen that bitch wit’ a stain on her shirt on the small of her back, like right above her ass, like a brownish-green stain, like baby poop, she been poopin’ on her shirt-“
“You know she nasty-“
“Shaniqua say that fat bitch once took a shit at the McDonald’s and it was huge, it like overflowed the toilet rim and there was a rat in it-“
“Nuh-uh, nigga, shut up-“
“You lickin’ that ugly bitch-“
“You seen her makeup? She look like a ho tryin’ to use up all her makeup so her pimp’ll buy her more-“
“She look like a shaved bear, man, you sure she ain’t-!”
“Shut up!” Jaycee roared. He pounded on his chest. “Swear to God, nigga, no disrespect, but I’ll fuck e’ry one of you shitwipes up! Say that shit again.”
There was a long awkward silence. Then someone tittered, “She got Godzilla-feet.”
Jaycee growled and stepped towards his friend. “Nigga, I will wallop you, c’m’ere! I told you it don’t matter what she look like. You can’t even see her face when she lick yo’ asshole-“
“You lick her asshole, Jaycee! She said it-!”
“Yeah, well, a real nigga do what it takes to get his dick wet, man, she just — it’s all pink on the inside.”
“You sure she ain’t all greenish-brown on the inside? Cuz you’d know.”
“Yeah, Jaycee, just stick your tongue out so we can see what her insides look like-“
They stopped talking suddenly because there was a droning blare. They all turned around to see a police car pull to a stop. A whoop-whoop siren called filled the air. Laughter ceased, and all the men on the stoop suddenly looked serious. The men all shuffled to stand with their backs to the wall, while Avery gulped.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, is there a problem here?” a cop stepped out of the car. “We’ve received reports of offensive whistling and fighting on the stoop. Women claim you’ve been making lewd offers and accusations. Somebody was grabbing their crotch so women could see their cock?”
Nobody answered at first. They all looked at each other. A few of them glared at Jaycee. He was the one who really took it too far. He was no doubt the one the complainer had been talking about. But Jaycee looked innocent as a cartoon bear, sitting there on the stoop, casual as could be, as though he was merely contemplating the city street and didn’t even notice the cops glaring at the men on the stoop.
Then Avery cleared his throat and said, “Yes, that’s right, Officer. There was a problem with a man here wolf-whistling at females. I was very offended by it, because I think women are goddesses. But I went to get my friends, and Jaycee here scared the man away. Jaycee has tremendous respect for women. He’s my hero.” Avery wrapped one arm around Jaycee’s broad waist. Jaycee twitched but didn’t argue it. “A real feminist champion.”
“Is that so?” The cop chewed on his lip. It seemed like he didn’t entirely believe Avery, but he didn’t have any proof he was lying.
“It is. Women are great,” Avery said. “They do, like… so many important things. Babies. And, uh…” In the heat of the moment, Avery couldn’t think of any other activities to list — he didn’t want to say something sexist like “sewing”, so in the end, all he said was, “and work. Working jobs. At… workplaces.”
“Uh-huh.” The cop grunted. He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I don’t really give a shit. If I get more complaints about hollerin’ at females, I’ll rumble the lot of you, capiche?”
“I’ll keep Jaycee busy,” Avery said. He took Jaycee by the hand and led him into the building, past his friends, who eyed him suspiciously. It looked like they wanted to keep teasing Jaycee, but then the officer made a harsh face at them. They quietly scattered in all directions, leaving Jaycee and Avery alone to enter the building.
“Shit, man,” Jaycee said when they got in. He took his hand back so Avery wasn’t holding it anymore. “Thanks. You good at gettin’ rid of cops.”
“The cops here are dumb,” Avery said. He smiled. “So… what I was asking before, back when your friends-“
“Just so you know, I don’t lick that bitch’s asshole. She nasty. She smell like movie theatre popcorn,” Jaycee said. He sounded defensive and lying, but Avery just nodded like he believed it. It’s no skin off Avery’s bones. He thought it was kind of hot, and he’d have enjoyed watching Jaycee lick out that woman’s ass.
He’d prefer to watch Jaycee lick out a more attractive, or at least cleaner, woman’s ass, but still, it’d be hot either way.
“Well…” Avery blushed. He held his fingers in front of his mouth in a little circle and inserted his tongue in it. He was about to verbally offer a rimjob when one of the apartment doors opened, and a little old lady stalked out, glaring at Jaycee.
She looked at Avery and muttered, “Whiteboy crackhead motherfucker.” She hobbled through the mess of men, who parted for her. She glared at them too.
“Why does she think I’m a crackhead?” Avery said when she was gone.
“Cuz you a whiteboy,” Jaycee said. “Ain’t no other reason you’d be here.” He chuckled. “You sayin’ you wanna lick my asshole?”
Avery nodded. “I wanna lick it real bad. I’ll lick your ass so good…” He stuck his tongue out to demonstrate how long it was — he had an abnormally long tongue.
“Ah — shit!” Jaycee’s brow was furrowed, then his eyes opened wide. He had been going to tell Avery to fuck off, but seeing that tongue sent a shiver of arousal up his spine. That was amazing. Girls could usually barely get their tongue in his ass at all. Jaycee liked it deep, but most girls were unable or unwilling to do that — Jaycee’s ass was thicker than their heads were deep, so their tongues barely reached his asshole at all. The only reason he messed with that ugly, fat woman was that she had a nice big tongue like Avery’s and it could reach well into Jaycee’s asshole. That’s going to feel so good inside me. He might not even make me take a shower first. He smiled.
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you let me lick it,” Avery said. He smiled and touched Jaycee’s chest through the white tee shirt he wore. Then his finger dropped lower to Jaycee’s waist.
Jaycee slapped his hand away. “Quit talkin’, whiteboy, you gonna attract attention.” He scowled. “Yeah, fine, but quit actin’ all fairy in public. C’mon. You ain’t comin’ in my place.” He pointed to a utility closet at the end of the hall. It was locked, but Jaycee had long ago learned that there was a spare key behind the fire extinguisher.
He unlocked the door and they quietly crept in. They were just in time too, because a whole family came in the building then and would have seen. The door had just latched though, and Avery’s heart raced.
The utility closet was spartan, just a few shelves with paint cans and some odds and ends, a row of four hot-water heaters, and a fuse box near the ceiling. The floor in here was cold cement.
“Awright, whiteboy, if you wanna lick butt, lick some butt,” Jaycee said with a throaty chuckle. He turned around and lowered his pants and boxers, just enough to bare his ass, like he didn’t really think he would enjoy this. He stood there, upright and motionless.
He had a ridiculous badonkadonk, Avery thought when he jiggled the cheeks. Jaycee scowled but allowed it — he didn’t get anything out of Avery playing with his cheeks, but since Avery was paying, he figured he couldn’t complain too much even if it was boring. His cheeks rippled, each one bigger than Avery’s head. The soft brown skin was hairless, slick with the day’s sweat that clung to his body.
Avery sucked down each droplet of sweat he could reach. It was salty and sour and it smelled of coconut — presumably from Jaycee’s soap — but more overwhelmingly of funky manflesh. It had that savory meatiness that Avery loved. He moistly, noisily kissed every inch of his cheeks.
“Will you bend over-?”
“Nah. I stand.” Jaycee grunted like that was a firm rule Avery should have already known. He hadn’t planned on refusing to bend over — he knew he would get a better rimjob if he did — but he was becoming more self-conscious. He didn’t want to feel like some trashy street hustler, and he didn’t want to get on all fours for a white man. “Ya ain’t makin’ me bend over.”
Avery shrugged. He knew Jaycee would bend over soon. They always did.
He spread Jaycee’s cheeks and let his tongue flicker over the crack. He didn’t get deep in there, just tickled him a bit until Jaycee shook. Then Avery plunged his tongue in deeper.
And deeper still, until finally his tongue was all the way in, sliding up and down his crack. There was a little hair there, coarse and black and stinking of ass. Avery inhaled deeply of it — the sound of him sniffing made Jaycee laugh, which in turn made his cheeks shake. He had bent forward just a little bit by then, out of instinct, but didn’t notice it.
“You gonna lick me fo’ real, man?” Jaycee said. “Cuz you just playin’ wit’ it right now. If you was a female who wasn’t payin’, I’d be tellin’ you to hurry up and get to it. I ain’t need someone licking my cheeks, damn.”
“I was just getting you ready,” Avery said. He hocked up a big mouth full of spit right onto the small of Jaycee’s back, so it slid down his crack. The fetid aroma of saliva hit Avery’s senses. “You want my tongue in your ass?”
Jaycee sniffled like he didn’t care. “You payin’, man. Do what you want.” Then he hastened to add, “wit’ ya tongue! I ain’t — you ain’t stickin’ nothin’ else in there.”
“Right.” Avery teased his tongue over the rim, making Jaycee shudder and shake. His asshole was so sensitive, Avery thought with a smile, this was going to be fun.
Avery had a pierced tongue, and the little stud, which was barely noticeable, had a big effect on his rimjobs. Avery would never tell a man like Jaycee why, but it was essentially a tiny dildo. So when Avery licked the funky tight rim of Jaycee’s ass, his metal stud hit the sensitive flesh of his sphincter and Jaycee howled.
He covered his mouth to avoid making too much noise. Jaycee gasped. A wave of pleasure crashed over him. He wiggled, lowering his ass to give Avery a better angle of access — that also bent Jaycee over a little more.
Avery stuck his tongue in slowly. He could have plunged all the way in at once — tongues were soft enough they could squeeze into the tightest of virginal holes — but Avery preferred to go slow, to give himself time to taste it all.
In no time, Jaycee was bending over more and more, until at last he was on all fours. He held his breath, the pressure in his ass incredible. For a moment he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not — did it hurt? A little, he thought, but there something else he could feel too: ticklishness? Soreness?
He grunted and yelped like a puppy. A jolt of pleasure hit him so hard it hurt. Jaycee bit his tongue. He’d never gotten a rimjob like this. He turned his head to look, and Avery’s whiteboy face was entirely invisible, buried by Jaycee’s thickness.
“Shit, boy, goddamn-” Jaycee wrenched his head back and forth, nearly slamming it on the concrete. He pulled his shirt up higher when it threatened to interfere with the rimjob.
Avery lapped at his insides and at last reached full penetration. He had to spread Jaycee’s cheeks with both hands, and each cheek was so thick and fleshy it was like holding back the sea. Avery had to dig into his flesh, and luckily Jaycee’s asshole felt so good he didn’t worry about Avery’s claw-like fingers holding his ass apart.
“Goddamn-” Jaycee was breathless and mewling. He was unable to prevent himself from being loud, but that didn’t matter so much because the sensations roiling his body were so intense he couldn’t think anyway.
He only now realized he had gotten on all fours, with his ass high in the air and his face on the floor — he had started this off thinking this position was humiliating; he had refused to do it, and now he couldn’t dream of doing it in any other position. It gave Avery perfect access to him. Jaycee couldn’t bring himself to move. Every motion he made intensified the feelings throughout his body, and he was unable to handle it.
He panted and gasped, while Avery laughed at the potency of his reactions. Avery finally reached between Jaycee’s thunder thighs, under that deliciously juicy badonkadonk butt, to grab Jaycee’s dick.
He didn’t need to stroke it for long. Jaycee’s prostate was being stimulated like he had never experienced, with Avery’s pierced tongue battering it over and over. Jaycee shook like he was having a seizure, and he bit his own lip hard enough to draw blood.
“Goddamn, eat that ass, man, shit, goddamn, goddamn!” He shouted the best he could into the concrete floor. He pounded on it with his fists.
Finally an orgasm hit him. It felt like Avery had been rusty-tromboning him for hours, but he knew it hadn’t been that long — Avery had actually only stroked Jaycee off for barely two minutes. The rimjob had brought him to the brink of orgasm even before he handled Jaycee’s cock.
It occurred to Jaycee only when he rolled over and rammed his spasming knob into Avery’s mouth that he shouldn’t be letting Avery slurp him off — Avery hadn’t paid for that, and Jaycee could probably get more money for it.
But it was too late. Jaycee just wanted to cum, and he knew Avery would want to swallow it. He rammed his dick all the way in, in one smooth motion, pistoning his hips and forcing it until Avery gagged and Jaycee’s balls slammed against his chin.
Avery clutched Jaycee’s asscheeks tightly, holding on as Jaycee ground his dick within Avery’s throat. “Goddamn, ya fuckin’ whiteboy, you got… shit… aw, goddamn! Holy fuck!” Jaycee knew it didn’t make him look tough to have a really animated orgasm with a man — but he couldn’t help it.
It was the most powerful climax of his life. No girl had ever made him feel like this.
He howled and pounded on his sweat-covered chest. He knew he was being too loud now, everyone in the building could probably hear, but he didn’t care. He gripped Avery’s head and swayed his dick back and forth in his throat, smiling at the sight of Avery choking on it.
Mountains of cum spilled out of his mouth and onto the cement floor. There was more cum than Jaycee thought possible — and am I still cumming?! He thought so — and his ass felt wet too, like there was still spit flowing out of there.
A loud heave escaped from Jaycee’s lips as he let go of Avery’s head and fell back, sitting his bare ass on the moist puddle of fluids on the floor. That was gross, so he rolled over, while Avery collapsed back the other way, then rolled towards Jaycee. Before Jaycee had even taken a deep breath, Avery had rested his head on Jaycee’s plump asscheek.
His big brown orbs arose like hilltops. Avery giggled and kissed each one once again. Jaycee’s ass smelled like spit and cum now. Avery slurped up whatever fluids he could, while Jaycee lay limp and groaning on the floor.
“Shit, man…” Jaycee let out a throaty laugh. “You ain’t gonna tell no one about this, right?”
“No way,” Avery said. He smirked. “But if you know any guys who want a rimjob, send ‘em to me. Don’t tell them I pay. I’ll tell them you refused, because you get so many hot chicks licking your ass all the time.”
Jaycee nodded. “Fine.” When Avery took out his wallet to give him a hundred dollars, Jaycee took the wallet. He removed all of the cash in there — a hundred and forty bucks — and gave it back. “There. I ain’t say you could touch my dick, so I’m takin’ the extra forty for that.”
“I didn’t ask for that!” Avery said with a laugh. He kept caressing those bare cheeks as he talked. “You just stuck it in my mouth.”
Jaycee shrugged. “You still gotta pay,” he said. “Get off me.” He stood, pushing Avery to the ground. He was embarrassed now, smiling shame-facedly. He pulled his pants up and tucked his dick away. He opened the door a crack, made sure no one was out there and slipped out. He made eye contact with Avery before going. He put a finger to his lips. “Hey, call me first next time.”
Reacharound From a Parole Officer
Adam’s on parole, which mean he has to do anything Mr. Gerald says. When Mr. Gerald comes home drunk and angry about his divorce, he’s ready to put that to the test, demanding Adam bend over and take it whether he wants it or not! Can Adam stay on the straight and narrow path of parole compliance?
Read the whole thing here!
Adam yawned as he filled a glass of water. He was the only person still awake in the house, and he was about to go to bed. He wore only a pair of boxers, slippers and the ankle-monitor he wasn’t able to remove.
He liked the halfway house at night. During the day it was full of his five parole-mates, none of whom were friendly or even slightly likable. But now the house was quiet and inky dark, silent except for the distant snoring of one of the five other guys.
Then, headlights filled the living room with light. Someone pulled into the driveway. No one was normally here at night — aside from Adam and the other parolees.
I wonder if someone’s in trouble. It looked like Mr. Gerald’s truck. He was the chief parole officer in charge of this house. He was stern but fair, and Adam rather liked him even if he was also intimidated by him. That’s because Adam was a slim white man and Mr. Gerald was a six and a half-foot tall powerhouse black man, who was a boxing coach for at-risk youth in his spare time.
He came in a minute later, looking more disheveled than Adam had ever seen him. He always had a thick, bristly mustache, but that was usually his only facial hair. It looked like he hadn’t shaved today though, so now he had a layer of scruff over his chin. He wore a button-down shirt unbuttoned to reveal a hairy chest and a few tufts of hair sticking out from underneath his sleeveless shirt.
He smelled of liquor, and Adam was scared. Mr. Gerald was always so in-control. Adam wished he had gone to his room and pretended to be asleep, but it was too late now.
He belched loudly. He came into the kitchen. “How yu dooooin’, Adam?” He was definitely drunk.
“Okay…” Adam gulped. “Are you alright?”
Mr. Gerald stared sullenly into Adam’s eyes. “Mah wife leff me.”
“Oh. Sorry… uh… to hear that.”
Mr. Gerald sighed and shrugged off his unbuttoned shirt. “We been sssheparated.” He had a broad chest, muscles rippling beneath his tee shirt. “You’s a good boy, Adam. Yu should… yu gotshta know I don’t act like thissh normuhly. Yu don’t… Don’t, y’know… Chussssht chill out, okay?”
Adam couldn’t tell if Mr. Gerald was really making no sense, or if Adam was the confused one. He mumbled but no words came out. Mr. Gerald was so big, and he smelled like cigarettes and liquor and sweat. He smelled like a strip club, not a nice one either.
“Sssh…” His shushing was moist because he was drunk, and the sound made his mustache vibrate. The drunk-sweat on his temple glistened in the dim light of the kitchen. Mr. Gerald placed one heavy hand on Adam’s shoulder. He pushed down firmly, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that Adam had to work to stay standing. “Shush, boy, yu ssssho good…”
“What? What are you doing?”
“Shush. Don’t sshay nuffin’. I need yu to do me a favor, sson,” Mr. Gerald said. He stopped to belch. For a moment it looked like the belch was going to trigger him to vomit, but then he didn’t. “Go’n now. Don’t be diff’cult. Yu wooon’t git in no kinda troubble, I sshwear.”
Adam found himself sinking to his knees even though he still didn’t want to. Mr. Gerald clucked his tongue. He looked down at Adam kneeling before him, and Adam looked down at the floor like he was being judged. Adam just prayed he didn’t end up in prison. Adam spent three days in prison before being released on parole — he was sentenced to three months, but he had some time in local jail before he pleaded guilty, and they let him out early to save on costs. So he only did three days and never even went into gen-pop. He stayed in the new-prisoners area his first night, then they transferred him to the imminent-release cell block.
And now here he was, quaking as he prayed Mr. Gerald would just tell him what to do. He looked up at his parole officer, who let out a moan — of desire? pain? it was hard to tell — and, without another word, he undid the fly of his slacks.
A massive black cock flopped out. Adam gulped. He closed his eyes as Mr. Gerald’s fingers massaged his lips. He smelled those fingers, which reeked of liquor and lime wedges, and behind that, an odor of dick and the unclean-sweat smell of Mr. Gerald’s balls, and Adam cringed.
“Oaaah, yu got nisshe lipssss…” Mr. Gerald murmured softly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of lip gloss. It was cherry-scented. “Here,” Mr. Gerald said. “Put summa thissh on.”
Adam did so. He tried not to cry, not to make any noise. He didn’t want to wake anyone else up. He didn’t want the others to see his shame. He wondered if he was targeted because he was white or just because he was the first person Mr. Gerald had seen. Adam wished he had gotten a glass of water ten minutes ago instead.
Now the kitchen stank of artificial cherry scent, or at least Adam’s lips did. That was all Adam could smell now. Mr. Gerald moaned once more, even though, once again, nothing had happened to cause it. He pried Adam’s lips apart.
“Shuuusssh, don’t make no noisshe, boy, ooooh yu sho nice, yu ssho good to me… I love ya boy, I do…” Mr. Gerald slipped his dick in, and clucked his lips when Adam gagged violently. His spongy-soft dick filled Adam’s mouth. “Aw, shuuuuush, don’t be like that. Yu playin’, huh? You playin’ wit’ch me like yu don’t like it?” He fed more in, despite Adam’s clenching throat. “Loosen up, guuul, show me you love it like-” Mr. Gerald’s voice broke and he grunted.
The taste of stale, rapidly-firming dickmeat filled Adam’s senses. He could tell that Mr. Gerald’s cock had been hard until recently, maybe multiple times — Adam didn’t know if it was possible to tell that, but he felt sure the flavor on his tongue was that of a blueballed cock. Mr. Gerald rammed it limply at his mouth, and it roped out over his face as it got firmer and firmer with each thrust. Adam gagged each time.
He grabbed ahold of Adam’s head. Adam felt an explosion of liquid in his mouth, and he assumed it was Mr. Gerald cumming, but it was actually just precum and Adam’s own gagged-up eruption of saliva. Mr. Gerald’s dick tasted like old-man musk and sweat, and even cigarette smoke though he didn’t smoke. Adam choked and erupted in a violent retch, but even then Mr. Gerald held onto his head, so he couldn’t spit that cock out.
“Hmm, you orgazzzshmin’ in ya throat, guuuul, I hear that, you makin’ noissshe!” Mr. Gerald said, his voice low and murmurant. “Ssssh though, don’t wake thossshe other niggasz up or they gonna join in.”
Mr. Gerald’s callused fingers touched Adam’s cheeks, and he moaned yet again. He applied more of the cherry-scented lip gloss, smearing it over Adam’s lips and face. It smelled so good. It reminded Mr. Gerald of his wife.
Ex-wife.
“Here, I’m-a let ya breave, sshllurp it up, sszhlurp it up, baby, I love yu, shay it-” He withdrew his dick and looked crossly as Adam heaved for air and tried to pull away. Adam crawled a few feet towards the door before Mr. Gerald stopped him. “Where yu goin’? I thought yu loved me, baaaaby, come on. Shlurp it up, yu know how I likes it-“
“Please, stop, stop, stop, sir, Mr. Gerald, I’m not your wife!” Adam said as loudly as he could — which wasn’t very loud because he couldn’t catch his breath. He hoped somebody else would wake up. Even if the other parolees in the house didn’t stop Mr. Gerald, at least they would witness what was happening. This had to be against the Pillars of Respect, which Adam had watched a video about when he moved into Mr. Gerald’s parole house.
Mr. Gerald stopped and slapped Adam. “I know. We role-plaaayin’, man, c’mon.” His dick dribbled precum onto the kitchen floor. “Yu ain’t v’ry good at ssshwallowin’ dick.”
“I’ve never done it before!”
Mr. Gerald looked away. An awkward pause filled the air. Then Adam realized he was looking at Adam’s ass. Mr. Gerald reached out and grabbed it. He let out a growl. “I’m-a get a little unchristian on ya now, boy. Chill out and don’t make a buncha noise, okay?”
“Man, what-?”
Mr. Gerald clamped one hand over Adam’s mouth. “Hey, shush, shshshush, okay? Don’t wurry, it won’t be bad. I’ll be ssho gentle, it won’t be like it is in the moviez, okay? I know how to make it nishe. Kneel fohwuhd-” Adam tried to squirm but Mr. Gerald was heavy and big and just forced him to lean forward, on all fours with his ass in the air. “There yu go, yu got it-“
“Quit it! Get off me-!”
Mr. Gerald took off his shirt and pushed it into Adam’s mouth. “Bite on dat.” He grabbed Adam’s hands and wrenched them behind his back. “Don’t make me get muh handcuffs, whiteboi. I be crosssh wit’cha.” Adam kept squirming, and Mr. Gerald had trouble getting his dick in his ass. He couldn’t force the sweat-soaked tee shirt into Adam’s mouth while also holding his hands behind his back.
He got up. Adam thought he might be free. But he was dizzy and by the time he almost got to his knees, Mr. Gerald was back there again. He wrenched Adam’s hands back again and slapped him in handcuffs. “There, don’t wurrrrry, sshush-” He shoved his shirt in Adam’s mouth deep enough it was difficult to remove, especially since he jammed Adam face-first onto the grimy linoleum floor of the kitchen. With his hands behind his back, Adam was on his knees, head on the floor, ass high in the air.
Mr. Gerald got up, whistling. “Damn, you look good all trussssshed up there. Don’t worry, Adam, I know yu sshcared. Yu don’t gotta be, I ain’t gonna hurt’cha, I know yu ain’t muh wife. I can make it feel real good. It won’t hurt a bit, I swear.” He had a tube of lube, which he showed to Adam. “Shee, look? This isssh like medical grade lube. I can sshlide a fucking Toyota in your asssh and you wouldn’t feel it.”
Adam screamed into the shirt. Mr. Gerald pulled down Adam’s underwear, then his finger smeared cold lube on his asshole. It was freezing and slimy, and he did it in an extremely unaffectionate way, just sort of rubbing it in like it was sandpaper. His fingertip was callused and painful.
“Wink at me, nigga. I know it’ssh cold- Here, wait.” He slipped the tube under his armpit for a minute, while he rubbed the rim of Adam’s ass. “Don’t shquirm too much. Quit freakin’ out, man, it ain’t a big deal. Take it like a ma’, this is part of bein’ a parolee in the shystem. I’m-a talk to yu like muh wife when we get started, don’t worry, I know yu ain’t her. I just ain’t fuck no other woman — I mean — yeah, I fucked other women, I was always fuckin’ ’round on her, I’m just… I mean I ain’t really feel like fuckin’ other women, ya feel me? I ain’t feel like it-” He slipped one finger in and Adam bit down hard. He writhed in agony. “I ain’t feel like it rilly count. Muh wife don’t see it that way. But ya know, if it’s just somethin’ dat happens, you know, not somethin’ yu doin’ — I ain’t seduce no kinda woman, nosir,” Mr. Gerald said. “I don’t seduce guuls. But you know, they like me, like yu — I know yu into me.” He squirted more of the now-warmed-up lube on Adam’s ass. He withdrew his finger and smiled at the tight hole, which he lubed up copiously. “See? This stuff is expensive too, I don’t wanna hurt’scha. Disssh ain’t bad, it jussst how it goe for whiteboys in muh house, and I know you been lookin’ at me.”
He slipped the tip of his dick in. The first inch or so did slide right in without any resistance because of the lube, which Mr. Gerald took to be confirmation of everything he had thought to be true. He chuckled. Massive pressure erupted in Adam’s ass, and he couldn’t make any noise because of the gag, but he did wiggle.
“Yep, there yu go, I feeeeel dat, you been wantin’ to get ssum nigga-meat, huh?” He pistoned his hips, and Adam’s whole body erupted in pain. He spasmed and gagged on the fabric in his mouth. Mr. Gerald saw all his little muscles flex at once. Adam’s toes curled and his hands clawed uselessly above his back. “Don’t wurry, I’m doin’ it right, okay? Yu gettin’ nigga-dicked the right way, sshwear to God.”
He grabbed ahold of Adam’s hair. It was just long enough he could grab and pull. He could tell Adam liked that because of the way it made him moan into his shirt. Or maybe groan in pain. He mighta been crying. Mr. Gerald don’t care. All he wanna do was feel the pleasure of his dickmeat invading a hole too tight for it.
That was perfect. A low rumbling moan of bliss came outta Mr. Gerald, who pushed his dick deeper and deeper with each thrust of his hips. Mr. Gerald knew ramming an intact ass was like ripping a band-aid off. It was better to just do it, quickly, all the way in, to break that asshole open in one motion. Then he could go slow and really enjoy it. So he drilled in, holding Adam in place with one hand. He undulated his hips, continually forcing more of his foot-long cock in.
“There yu go, almost all the way in. We won’t be dun yet, but yu be dun wit’ the beginnin’, sshon. Don’t wurry… Yu lovin’ it, righ’?”
Adam shook his head violently. His face was still jammed into the tee shirt crumpled up in his mouth, but he managed to say something that sounded like no.
“Hmmm… I hear dat,” Mr. Gerald said. “Yu take it sho good, baaaaby, hmm… I love yu sho much. Shay you love me too.”
Adam kept shaking his head violently — he figured that was the body language equivalent of shouting. He banged his own head against the kitchen counters. He bucked his hips but that just made the pain worse.
A howl, muffled by the cloth, escaped from Adam’s mouth sounding like a moan.
“Damn, you orgaszshmin’…” He chuckled. “Okay, I’m all the way in ya. You wanna shay shumm’in”? Don’t sshout. You know those niggaz gonna wanna come join in, and I won’t sshtop ’em. Once yu bin got bitshched out, they gonna bitshch yu out.” He paused. His dick was all the way in Adam, but he had lost his seductive vibe from earlier — he looked at his cock in Adam’s ass like he had no idea how it got there but intended to make the best of it. “I won’t move fo’ a sshecond, I’ll lisshten. You wanna shay to do it differently, I’ll do it, I’ll sshwitch positions, I ain’t hurtin’ ya,” Mr. Gerald said. He pulled Adam’s head up by the hair and took the shirt outta his mouth.
“You. Are. Hurting. Me.” Adam said, blushing.
“Nah, yu wuzsh into it, man,” Mr. Gerald said with a drunkenly lolling laugh. “I shshaw that, I could shee it in you. Why’d yu wink ya asshhole at me if yu ain’t like it.”
“It hurts! Please! Stop!”
“But if yu ain’t wanna do it, I be sho disappoint-” Mr. Gerald’s voice broke again. “Oh, shorry, I’m rammin’-” His hips pumped, he was so close to orgasm he couldn’t help but do it. He let out a loud moan, a moist crackling sound that made Adam gag.
Mr. Gerald’s whole heavy body slammed down on Adam, who flattened onto the kitchen floor. Mr. Gerald sucked on Adam’s ear. Adam wanted to shout, but he couldn’t concentrate or take a deep breath. Mr. Gerald’s entire dick was in his ass, his hips moving in little circles as he sucked the spit off Adam’s cheeks.
“Yu taake dick real good now, man, I sshwear, yu want shumm’in’ fo it? I bring yu ssum fry chicken or shumm’in’, shwear to God,” Mr. Gerald said, whispering right into Adam’s ear. “Danks, danks sho much, I rilly needed it. Shay yu love it, okay? Please? Say yu love it-“
Adam wanted to avoid a repeat of last time, so he just did it now. “I love you, I love it, I love your cock in my ass! Please just stop! I’ll say anything.”
“Hmmm… You taste sho sshweet, guul…” He sucked on Adam’s cheek — not kissing it, because he was both too drunk and too orgasmic to do that. He slurped his own spit and drool off it. “Thanks sho much fo’ givin’ up the booty, you got the nishest-“
“Sir, please-” Adam shuddered. He could feel Mr. Gerald’s dick through every corner of his body. This seemed to be taking a long time, or at least it felt like forever to Adam. Every time Mr. Gerald plowed into him, Adam thought he could feel a jet of cum filling him up as well. It was just precum though, and Mr. Gerald continued to ram Adam into the floor.
“Sssssssh…. I almoszt done-” Mr. Gerald gritted his teeth. He panted heavily as he slammed his dick into Adam’s ass and slammed Adam’s whole body onto the floor. “Jussht chill out-“
“It hurts-!”
“Sssssssh….” Mr. Gerald moaned, the sound making Adam’s hair stand on end. Cum flowed into Adam’s ass, a great, constant flow that filled Adam’s body. He could feel it sloshing around inside him, seeping into him.
Adam’s toes curled. This was all so moist, he thought with a gag as Mr. Gerald’s tongue slathered spit on his face, his hairy chest soaked Adam’s back in sweat and his ass filled up with a great torrent of sticky semen.
“Please, stop-“
“Ssssssh, almoszsht done, just nuttin’ now, yu done real good, sson-” Mr. Gerald cut himself off and grunted. He flexed his hips. Another jet of cum filled Adam’s ass. “Goddamn yu move nice, sson.” His voice broke. “Aaaaaah…. Shit yeah.”
His whole hairy body slammed down on Adam. His dick pulsated in Adam’s moist asshole. There was a loud squelching sound too, and Adam felt cum sliding down between his thighs.
“Hmmm… Yu okay?”
“It hurts!” Adam let out a little mewling moan and his whole body twitched. “Please-“
Mr. Gerald writhed and moved his limp dick around in Adam’s ass, reawakening all that agony. Mr. Gerald grunted and howled quietly, aiming it right into Adam’s ear. “Ah, shit, boy, yu moved and got me — uh, yuh — yu got me goin’.” He rocked his body back and forth, again causing a moist sound, that squelching that could only come a cum-caked asshole. Mr. Gerald loved that sound. He shook it again, making Adam twitch and yelp.
That squelching sound churned Adam’s stomach. How much cum had he shot? It felt like so much. It flowed in great gobs out of Adam’s ass, big white bubbles of snotty cum that burst and formed a puddle beneath him on the floor. “Let it marinate into ya… Shusshhh…”
“Please-” Adam panted, unable to catch his breath because Mr. Gerald was still on top of him. He was pinned down, utterly at Mr. Gerald’s mercy, and Mr. Gerald’s soft dick was still inside Adam’s ass.
Mr. Gerald belched loudly. Adam shuddered. Mr. Gerald’s dick finally slipped out of his ass, and a river of cum came with it. Adam suddenly felt cold, ashamed, his asshole gaping wide open. He wondered if anyone in the house had heard that. It sounded loud to him, but he had a feeling most people didn’t hear it.
But Mr. Gerald didn’t pull off Adam. He still lay atop him for a moment, moaning, breathing heavily into Adam’s ear. “Hmmm… boy, yu was sho nishe to me…” He kissed Adam’s cheek. “I’m-a suck up ya tears, boy. That wuz good. That wuz real good.”
“It hurt,” Adam whispered.
“I know, but it wuz wort’ it. You dun real good, okay? Shay yeah.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, glad I could ram yu sso good. You gonna go sisshy now?”
Finally he got up. Adam tried to take a deep breath and get on his own feet, but his knees were sore and the sight of a giant puddle of cum on the floor and on his belly made him gag. The movement reawakened the pain in his ass.
Mr. Gerald’s strong arms held him up. His mustache scratched against Adam’s neck as he kissed him again. Adam gagged and closed his eyes. “Sir, stop-“
“Ssssh, we ain’t dun makin’ love, boy. I got good news fo’ yu. My wife be gone for awhile, so I’m-a be rammin’ you real good. Only at night though, don’t worry, and az long az yu quiet, no one gunna ever know.” He grunted. “Sshit. Ssshtay right there.” He grabbed a sponge and quickly wiped up all the cum off the ground. Adam gagged again at the sight of his huge cock — it seemed even bigger now, dangling between his legs. He couldn’t believe he took that in his ass.
“Please, don’t. I didn’t, uh… I don’t wanna do that-“
“Den why’d yu ssheduce me, boy? Huh? Cuz you wanted summ nigga dick. Don’t wurry, yu gonna get plenty.” He thwacked his dick against Adam’s cum-encrusted asscheek. Then he scooped Adam up in his arms like a newlywed.
Adam was still dizzy and overwhelmed, so he didn’t do much more than writhe as Mr. Gerald brought him to his room. He deposited him gently on the bed and climbed in next to him. He kissed Adam on the cheek.
“I’m-a move in wit’cha. Don’t tell no one,” Mr. Gerald said. His dick twitched where it pressed against Adam’s thigh. He wrapped his arms and his legs around Adam’s body. “Yu okay?”
“Please… I don’t want to-“
“Yu can’t change ya mind now,” Mr. Gerald said. “Shshshsush. Move on, sson. We into it now. This here our honeymoon.” His kisses moved down Adam’s chest. “I’m-a get you off now, sshon. What kinda cruel man get his boy off? Huh? No kind.”
He popped Adam’s dick into his mouth and gurgled on it moistly. Adam was so shocked he couldn’t think of anything to say. He just watched his dick get hard and rub against Mr. Gerald’s mustache.
He had no sooner gotten hard however, when Mr. Gerald pulled off him. He kissed a trail up Adam’s belly to his slim, delicate chest. He licked the sweat off his body there, and one hand stroked his dick. He wrinkled his nose as if somebody was forcing him to do this.
His lips planted on Adam’s neck. Adam was so tense he didn’t even breathe, just laying there, hoping he could cum without embarrassing himself. Mr. Gerald sucked on his neck, giving him a prominent hickey, as that callused hand stroked his dick.
Finally a desultory orgasm hit Adam, who bit his lip. Mr. Gerald grunted. “I feel dat, whiteboy. Yu likin’ it?”
“No…”
“Sssssssh.” Cum poured over Adam’s belly and Mr. Gerald’s hand. Mr. Gerald wearily, dizzily lifted himself up and mounted Adam. His massive black cock flopped against Adam’s still half-hard, much smaller member. He chuckled. “Yu got whiteboy dick. Sshee how li’l it is? Huh? Yu sssshee that?”
“Yeah…”
“Hmmm-hmm. Whiteboys wit’ little dicks love nigga wit’ mandingo meat, ya know dat? Sshwear to God, it’s sshciencshe,” he said. He chuckled. Then he laid down next to Adam on the bed. “Hey, yu wanna lick my assshhole in the mornin’?”
“No.”
“Hmmm… Good night, baaaby. In the morning, I might be ssshober enough to punish you fo’ seshducin’ me tonight. Know I’s just playin’, I know it ain’t ya fault.” He chuckled dryly. “But dat ain’t gunna sshlow me down ‘t all.”
The Cocky Guido
Avery is at the Jersey Shore, where he finds himself servicing a cocky guido named Freddie. He can’t get enough of that Italian slab of manmeat!
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Read the whole thing here!
Most guidos were actually fat or skinny. They were arrogant, orange-skinned prettyboys who weren’t even pretty. The men at the gym had turned out to be a bitter disappointment.
That was the Cornerside Gym of Northtown Meadows in Seaside Heights, New Jersey. Avery worked there. Cornerside Gym had a reputation nationwide as a place for serious meatheads, weightlifters, boxers, etc., and the gym didn’t even accept women as members except where legally required to.
Seaside Heights, New Jersey, was not one of those places, so no women ever came into Cornerside except as cleaners at night. Avery didn’t mind that one bit. He enjoyed watching men work out, and he greatly appreciated the physiques of the men who worked out here. Seaside Heights was on the Jersey Shore, so a lot of those men were guidos.
It wasn’t like the guidos from that teevee show though. In the real world, most guidos were fat, or at least the ones who came to Avery’s gym were pretty tubby. They didn’t seem to realize it though. They carried themselves like they had good bodies they wanted to show off. One of them even once pulled up his shirt and smacked on his protruding belly as he insulted a skinny nerd in the locker room, even though the skinny nerd was in better shape than he was.
It was disconcerting. More than once, Avery wondered if he had wandered into an alternate reality where the standards for having a good body had changed. Still though, there was something about their cocky confidence that was arousing even when their bodies weren’t perfect, and sometimes they had both the perfect body and the cocky confidence.
Those, of course, were Avery’s favorites. One of them was Freddie Rizzoli.
Freddie walked out of the weight room one afternoon wearing nothing but sandals and a pair of sweat-marinated basketball shorts. Freddie was short and squat, too muscular for his body size, like he had trouble supporting so much muscle, yet he didn’t have that awkward-bodybuilder shape either — he looked too muscular only because he was so short, he packed more power than seemed possible into a small space.
“That’s right, man, fuck it! I told them how it is!” He pounded on his chest, talking to some friends as they all headed into the locker room. His bare chest flexed. He ran his fingers through his greasy slicked-back hair. “I don’t even play like that, man, swear to God! No disrespect, baby!”
Avery blushed and looked away. He hoped he didn’t look too obvious. He went about his business, ignoring Freddie and the other guidos. He heard them grunting and encouraging each other as they did bench presses. They were touchy, gripping each other’s muscles and casually masaging each other’s shoulders in between sets. When walking by, he even saw Freddie laying on that bench press with those sweat-soaked shorts clinging to his flesh. The outline of his huge, uncut cock was clearly visible pressing against the fabric of the shorts. It left nothing to the imagination.
When Freddie lifted, he grunted and his dick twitched. Avery drooled a little. He hurried away. Avery’s own cock was rock-hard, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Freddie. He rushed home to jack off.
But then he didn’t see Freddie at the gym next time he went. Avery was disappointed.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that he saw Freddie again, still with those same couple of friends — he seemed to spend all of his time with them. Freddie ran his fingers through that over-brushed mop of straight, crunchy hair as he went into the locker room, having finished his workout, muscles drenched in sweat and cradled by the too-tight tank top he wore. Avery wondered if he could come up with an excuse to go into the locker room to check Freddie out. He blushed even though he was alone, not wanting to feel like such a lush.
But Freddie and his friends remained in there for only a minute or two. They returned with towels around their waists, having taken off their shirts. Avery watched sweat gleam on Freddie’s chest — which was freshly shaven, and not at all orange (Freddie actually tanned using sunlight, unlike most of his friends).
“Man, it’s just head,” Freddie said to one of his buddies, with a haughty chuckle, “you shouldn’t be picky about head.” He grabbed his dick through the towel around his waist.
“Why not?”
He laughed as though the answer should be obvious: “Cuz then you might get less. A mouth is a mouth, after all. So long as it’s warm and wet, who cares what she looks like?” His friends snorted and agreed with him, except for the one who had asked the question. Avery didn’t mean to follow them, but they went in the same direction he went. They went to the sauna, whereas Avery intended to walk past the sauna to go to the employee lounge. Freddie glanced at him and nodded his chin in his direction. “Fat girls love suckin’ dick,” he said quietly, like he thought Avery would scold him for being crude.
“Ain’t that nasty?”
“You ain’t gotta look down, do ya?” Freddie said as he went in the sauna, friends following behind him. They guffawed and slapped Freddie on the back. Freddie’s dimpled face, wide-eyed and exhilarated, was visible through the little window in the sauna door.
Wow, he is a champion douchebag… That was one aspect of guido life that came through on TV loud and clear. Avery didn’t like men because they were nice though.
He liked men with muscles and machismo and manhood to spare, and Freddie as exactly that sort of man.
Avery was disappointed that he didn’t get to watch Freddie any longer. Unfortunately, the sauna was one of the few spots in this gym where he couldn’t justify simply walking in whenever he wanted. Staff normally stayed out of there, and there was no storage or anything else he might have been able to use as an excuse. Plus, he had some actual job responsibilities he needed to get back to eventually.
For now though, he kept an eye on the little window in the door though. He was able to watch Freddie’s shoulder muscles flex as he laughed. The sight of his muscles and the sound of his arrogant alpha-male laughter made Avery’s dick twitch and harden up in his pants.
Avery was about to walk away to jack off alone when he heard some low murmured comments in the sauna, followed by more chortling laughter. It was very loud this time, loud enough to startle Avery from his daydream. From the tone, he guessed somebody had made some sort of scandalous joke. Something about the sound made him stand flat against the wall, listening the best he could.
A part of him could tell that they had been talking about him. The hairs on the back of Avery’s neck stood on end. He couldn’t put his fingers on what made him think that until he heard their words, but he was certain of it even before he listened.
“Man, that ain’t what I’m sayin’!” Freddie insisted, his voice audible through the door. It sounded like he was trying to stay light-hearted, to prove this wasn’t a big deal, whatever it was. Avery could hear him rolling his eyes in there as his friends laughed at him, a forced smile on his face to make himself seem easygoing even though he wasn’t. “A mouth is a mouth is all I’m saying. That’s how they did it in the Old Country-“
“As though you know, man.”
“Fuck you, bitch, say that to my face!” Freddie barked and everyone fell silent. That part was clearly audible outside the sauna. Then Freddie cleared his throat and chuckled like he hadn’t just snapped. “Yo, I been there, you know that. In Sicily, man, if you act like some disrespec’ful punk, man, you get on ya knees, boi! Verità!” He laughed cruelly. “I ain’t done it myself, but I know how shit goes down. My uncle got this one punk who owe him money, man, he puts that bitch in his place e’ry day, man!” He paused. “‘Cept on Sunday, man, he don’t do that. That’s God’s day.”
His friends murmured quietly in response, but nobody challenged him. It sounded like Freddie said this frequently and they tolerated it but didn’t approve. They exchanged glances with each other, and they laughed politely at Freddie’s antics. As always, he had taken it too far. Freddie always took things too far. When his friends laughed, he laughed harder. When his friends bullied a nerd, Freddie got too mean about it and did time in juvie. When his friends smoked weed or drank beer, Freddie smoked or drank until he puked. When they insulted a pimp, Freddie insulted him so bad the pimp tried to stab him.
The one thing Freddie couldn’t do was stop himself.
Freddie didn’t like the idea of his friends thinking of him as a braggart — he liked the idea of being old-school, hardcore, not behaving like some “prettyboy”, as his father would have called his friends. Only pansies worried about projecting an image; a real man trusted that reality would show off his manhood to everyone who needed to see it. His body streaked with sweat, he made sure his friends could all see his muscles. He kissed first one bicep, then the other, and he let his towel “accidentally” fall away to reveal his gigantic dick.
He knew he had the biggest dick among his friends. He made sure they never forgot it. His shaft was more than a foot long, veiny as fuck, and it was thick like a coke can.
“Man, Freddie, admit it, you playin’, right? You wouldn’t do nothin’ like that, and we all know it,” someone said, and everyone else fell quiet. They all shared knowing snickers with each other. “This ain’t the Old Country-“
Freddie scoffed loudly. “Yo, you don’t even know, man. No disrespect, but you don’t get how a real man is, ya feel me?” He sniffled and laughed to show how little he cared for that suggestion. He shrugged like it was no big deal. “If you got a real man’s cock and balls like me, you need to use ’em, y’know. That’s how Italians do, man, ya gotta drain ya nuts.”
“That’s why you get fat girls, man-“
“Yeah, well, fat chicks suck dick the best, everybody knows that. They know how to get deep, and they don’t get pissy about it if you force it in deeper.” He imitated a girl’s plaintive voice begging for more cock, and he pumped his hips, shadow-fucking a woman’s mouth. “Oh, it’s too big, don’t make me deep-throat it, Freddie, I can’t take the whole thing. But it tastes so good… Oooh, I want more…” He switched back to his own voice. “When I get a woman, I get inside that pussy, man. It’s all about the pussy.” He paused. “Or ass, ‘course, if she a dirty bird.”
“You could get some ass right now.”
“Yeah, do it, Freddie.”
Freddie snorted. “What?”
“There’s that dude out there, right? The one who works here? The little flamboyant one?”
Avery blushed. Am I caught? They must have noticed me checking him out. Avery was the only one who worked at this gym who might be described as a “little flamboyant” man. Avery held back a giggle.
“Yeah, he wanna slurp yo’ balls, man. He looked at you like a fat kid looks at cake.”
“So let ‘im.” Freddie shrugged. He wagged his pecker towards his friends. He guffawed too, slapping his knee at the sick look they made — they didn’t like being reminded that he had the biggest cock in the whole crew.
“Yeah, that’s some Old Country shit, Freddie. Does ya dick work or not?”
They all laughed, all except Freddie. He bit his lip and scoffed again, like this wasn’t a big deal and of course he would do it, like there was no doubt, even though the hesitation in his voice was palpable. “I mean… yeah, like… Uh-huh…. He prolly ain’t allowed to.” He cleared his throat. “Gym prolly got rules and shit.” Then he let out another forced laugh, like that ended the conversation and he wasn’t going to continue it. “So what’re you’s doin’ tonight-?”
“Uh-huh, you scared?”
“He is, he’s worried his dick won’t work-“
“Probably worried the creep gonna have a bigger dick than him.”
“What if the dude makes him bend over and ramrods him like a prison bitch?”
“That’s prolly what’ll happen-“
“Freddie gonna bottom for him-!”
They all laughed, all again, except Freddie, who roared and bellowed. “Man! I could kick that punk’s ass!” Even as he said it, he knew it made him sound weak — it was obvious he could kick that punk’s ass, that’s why his friends had suggested otherwise as a joke. Freddie knew he made himself sound defensive and weak, but he couldn’t help himself. He hated it when anyone questioned his masculinity, even a little bit. “I could do it, no problem. No disrespect, but I could knock that boy’s block off.”
Having a feeling that Freddie was about to come out of the sauna, Avery stepped away. He went to the closet just down the hall and made it look like he had just brought the mop bucket there and needed to move stuff around to make space for it. Since he wasn’t near the sauna anymore, he couldn’t hear what they said, but they kept laughing and chanting while Freddie listed excuses.
“Man, you know how I am, I don’t like, y’know… This gym is real important, I don’t wanna ruin it, y’know, get kicked out and shit. Gotta get my gym on, pump up the muscles, y’know-“
“Uh-huh, Freddie, just admit it, you’ve never jacked off in a dude’s mouth-“
“And you never would-“
“And you know fuck-all about how they would do it in the ‘Old-Country’-“
“All you’s guys can go fuck yaselves,” Fredde said with a grimace. He flexed one bicep and kissed it again, showing off a dimpled smile — for no clear reason that Avery could tell, Freddie was just unsure of himself and filled up awkward pauses with bluster and self-worship. “Course I’ll do it. Ain’t nevuh said I wasn’t gonna do it.”
Finally Freddie came out of the sauna. He had only a towel wrapped around his waist. He blanched at the sight of Avery like he had hoped maybe Avery would have left by now.
But Avery was there by the closet, fiddling with the mop bucket. He smiled at Freddie.
“Hey, uh, yo…” He sounded like he was going to ask a question politely. But then he heard his friends all clustered by the door to hear, poking at his back and teasing him under their breath. He felt he needed to maintain his macho image. So he grabbed his dick through his towel. “Yo, freak, you wanna slurp my meat?”
Avery blushed. “Uh…” His first reaction was, of course, to say yes, but he instinctually wanted to avoid looking too pervy, and Freddie was such a jerk Avery had an unquenchable desire to tell him no, even if he really wanted to say yes. So he played coy. He giggled and touched Freddie’s nipple, making both pecs flex in sync with each other. Freddie furrowed his brow. “I don’t know,” Avery said with another girlish giggle.
“Course you do.” Freddie scoffed. He took a deep breath and dropped his towel, standing there cockily in the hallway like he expected Avery to be so turned on by his foot-long dick that he couldn’t help but start swallowing it down right then and there. He was almost right, but Avery kept a nonchalant look on his face, despite desire blooming deep within him. When his posing didn’t result in Avery dropping to his knees, Freddie just scowled and said, “Come on.” He opened the door to the sauna.
Avery blushed but came in. The other guidos were rushing to get their own towels over their waists — they had been wearing the towels, but they hadn’t bothered to keep them secured, so most of them were loose; now that there was a stranger in the sauna, they made sure to fix the towels.
“Ah, shit, is he really doin’ it?”
“Oh damn, Freddie!”
“Bow-bow-chicka-wow-wow!”
Avery and Freddie were in the center of the sauna, which forced the other guidos by the door. They all clustered together as though worried they’d get splashed on. Though they thought it was too weird to be near Avery, they didn’t mind bumping into each other, clasping each other’s sweaty muscles and getting so close together they could taste each other’s bodies. Avery could even see one man’s towel ride up enough on his thigh that his dick protruded and rubbed against his buddy’s hairy orange-tanned thigh — they were all so engrossed in watching Freddie that no one noticed.
“Well, get on ya knees, boi!” Freddie said, pumping his biceps for the benefit of his friends. He even kissed one bicep, which made Avery giggle. Freddie ran his fingers through his greasy black hair. “You’s guys thought I wasn’t gonna do it, you thought I was just playin’!”
“Freddie’s fo’ real!”
“Aw, shit, baby!” one of them shouted, ran forward a few feet and smacked Freddie on the ass — that seemed to be some kind of inside joke — before going back to his compatriots. As he did, his towel fell, baring a splendid orange-brown ass, gleaming with sweat in the overheated sauna. Avery wondered which of that guido’s friends spray-tanned his buttcheeks.
“Get ya naked ass outta here-!”
“Don’t let your dick touch me!”
They shoved him away, and the one who had run away from the group looked behind his back. He didn’t want to pick up the towel that he had dropped because it would mean he had to bend over, ass facing either his friends or Avery and Freddie. Finally he squatted awkwardly, covering his crotch with one hand, picked up the towel and wrapped it around his waist again.
Avery sunk to his knees. He blushed, embarrassed at the leering, laughing guidos who surrounded him. Freddie had a nice big cock. His pubic hair was trimmed, which Avery was not a fan of — he preferred a more natural man — and his chest was shaved as smooth as a billiard ball. But that gym-toned body was perfect enough to make up for any disappointment in his lack of hair.
When he took Freddie’s dick in his mouth, Freddie gasped but tried to cover it up by sternly grunting, so his friends didn’t think this was a big deal for him. He crossed his arms over his pecs and flexed his muscles, making Avery giggle and blush again.
“See? You’s guys is a bunch of pansies, gettin’ all squeamish like girls,” Freddie said with a scoff, as though this had happened a hundred times and Freddie was fed up with their response. “A mouth is a mouth, boi!” He flexed both biceps over Avery’s head.
But Avery could sense the nervous energy in the thrum of Freddie’s muscles and the tension even in his relaxed limbs. It didn’t bother Avery none, as he focused on slurping that rod down deep.
“Damn, Freddie…”
“Get deep in his throat!”
Ruddy arousal bloomed over Freddie’s face and chest, his tanned neck turning burgundy. His tongue lolled around inside his mouth. Sweat covered his body. Freddie tensed up because he was worried he would cum too quickly. He had been raised to think being on top made him tough but cumming too quick would make him weak — a real man should take a little time to fuck his bottom’s throat.
But taking a break or otherwise slowing down directly would look weak too. Freddie’s instinct was to grab Avery’s head and fuck his face aggressively. He didn’t entirely want to to do though, because it would require touching his head and reminding himself he was with a man. In any case, he was sure that would make him cum right away.
“Swallow it, yo…” Freddie paused and added, in poor Italian, “Succhiare il mio cazzo!” He thought a little trash-talk would be a good compromise — it would make him look tough without making him cum more quickly, and that sentence was one of the few Italian things he could say confidently. So he said it again, “Succhiare il mio cazzo!”. He chuckled. Ain’t nobody else here knew what that meant, so Freddie flexed his pecs to make them bounce and sneered down at the weak man slobbering on his knob. Spit dripped down the shaft and soaked his pubic hair. “Aw, shit, you gonna play with it like a tubby bitch, huh? You best-” His voice broke, which he only barely managed to cover up by coughing. A shiver of potent pleasure ran up his spine. Freddie blushed — it wasn’t obvious because he was very tan and he was ruddy anyway from the heat in this humid sauna, but he could feel it, and he grew antsy trying to affect a nonchalant attitude in front of his friends. “You best deep-throat that shit, baby…” He winced as his friends laughed — he hadn’t meant to call Avery baby. That was a step too far, he thought.
“Baby? You two gonna fall in love?”
“Ooooooh! Freddie’s in love!”
“Fuck you, man, you’s guys-” Freddie pumped his hips one time, cutting off his own words because his dick rammed all the way into Avery’s throat and an explosion of pleasure like nothing he had ever experienced wracked his body. It felt so good it hurt.
He had never been deep-throated like this. He couldn’t admit how unprecedented it was because he had been bragging to his friends for years about how he made his girls deep-throat him. He said that they loved it. He specifically said that his balls rested on their chin when he came. That had never been true until now.
His balls slapped against Avery’s chin, and Freddie let out a tortured crying wail as an orgasm erupted within him. Already his friends snickered — that had taken maybe three minutes — and hooted as they slapped his ass.
He grunted, his orgasm so intense it almost hurt, and he gripped Avery’s head tightly, ignoring his short, masculine haircut. He grimaced and sprayed a massive wad down Avery’s throat, filling his belly up with creamy warmth.
The taste was salty and savory, and Avery guzzled down every drop. He loved straight boy cum because it had a vibrant, spring-like quality that made him crave more even as he swallowed Freddie’s load and licked every drop off his limpening shaft.
It just kept on flowing, more and more. Freddie’s eyes opened wide as he watched. His friends peered closer — they’d never really seen someone cum before. Of course they’d watched porn and they’d fucked their girlfriends alongside each other — they even once gangbanged this older lady who had begged for Italian meat — but they had always been distracted by their own desires and the female flesh around them. Not this time. They had no reason to look anywhere else, and like people unable to turn their heads away from an accident, they stared as Freddie’s dick throbbed and pulsating.
Great creamy gobs of cum spilled out and over Avery’s face. He saw all those eyes staring at him, and he thought to make a big mess, letting most of the cum in his mouth overflow. That embarrassed them all.
“Aw, shit-“
“Lookit that nasty!”
“Oh it’s all over his face! It’s all over his face! You the man, Freddie!”
“Ah, shit, yo, damn…” Freddie said. He shook his head and sighed, trying not to reveal how surprised he was by that big load. Avery had really pulled it right out of his balls. Freddie shrugged as though that was how much cum he normally shot. “Damn… Alright, I was, y’know… You can go now, man-” His voice broke and his friends laughed at him. “We done, you, uh… I used you as quick as I could. I wasn’t tryin’ to take a lotta time, so now you gotta go.” Freddie again knew he sounded defensive; he sounded like he was embarrassed about how quick that had been (which he was), but he couldn’t stop himself. “Man, that was what they call a cazzo veloce in the Old Country.”
Avery remained sitting right there. Freddie was so focused on demonstrating to his friends how macho he was and how he had forced Avery to slurp his dick then leave that he didn’t notice that Avery hadn’t left. Avery sat next to Freddie and clutched his muscular body. Freddie was too uncomfortable to make him leave, so he endured it until he and his friends had finally had enough of the sauna.
Then they left Avery there to remember the taste of Freddie’s fine Italian cock. That, Avery thought, had been unici deliziosi!
The Bodybuilding Coach Bottoms
When the tutor Donovan is approached by some football jocks, he thought he’d be servicing their hot, throbbing needs… But it turns out they have another plan! Coach Mike Bagworth has lost a bet, which means the whole team gets to watch as Bagworth endures a twink on top!
Read the whole thing here
As he walked into the locker room, a part of Donovan was worried that this was all a trick. He was used to being pranked and teased by the seniors, the jocks and the bullies at Goldendale Hills University, and the three guys who had come to get him were all of those things. They simply said that Coach Bagworth needed him and that Donovan was to come with them.
Coach Bagworth was the head of the athletic department at GHU, and Donovan had jacked him off a couple times. Bagworth was in charge of the whole department, but he actually coached football. Football was the only sport that mattered at GHU. The only sport that mattered to Donovan, on the other hand, was gymnastics — he was here at GHU on a gymnastics scholarship.
The only reason Donovan didn’t believe right away that he was being pranked was that all three were shirtless, covered in sweat from the practice they had just finished. They were three big buff black studs who made Donovan’s knees weak. He was so distracted it wasn’t until he was in the men’s locker room that he began to get nervous. The football players wore shorts that barely concealed their jockstraps, no shirt, their bare chests dappled with sweat — it looked like they had just finished a practice when they came to get Donovan.
“Come on in here,” said one of them, snickering as he showed Donovan to the lockers.
But he hadn’t even known that he was going to the locker room when he followed the three black jocks. His heart started pounding as he realized that’s where they were going, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw the entire football team clustered at one end of the locker room. This was a prank, wasn’t it?
“There he is, you ready, Coach?!”
“He’s fuckin’ tiny! What’s he weigh, like eighty pounds?”
“I could lift him with my cock.”
They all whooted and hollered as though they were excited to see Donovan, who didn’t know any of them. They all sat there in their jockstraps and not much more.
Hair and beefy muscle spilled out everywhere, and the best thing about it was the way they touched each other. Men crowded onto narrow benches, their bare asses spilling out from their jockstraps and touching their neighbors’s sweaty bottoms. A few of them rested their arms around their buddies’s broad shoulders, and as Donovan walked in, that gigantic Samoan linebacker Poahi goosed his buddy’s ass, making everyone around him laugh.
Coach Bagworth was in the back of the locker room, against a wall. He wore the same shorts and shoes, no shirt, as the players, though he wasn’t sweaty like they were. Donovan didn’t really care for football, but Coach Bagworth was famous in his heyday — and he still retained his professional athlete figure. It was slightly concealed by a thin layer of pudge, which was just the right amount as far as Donovan was concerned. He had a few tattoos inked on his chest, dismal gray ones mostly, but there was a brilliantly colored American flag as well, and a large football on his belly.
The players only stopped the hooting when Coach Bagworth lifted one hand up and snarled as though he was going to order them to run laps. Their booming voices and chortling laughter faded away. Donovan’s heart pounded, and his dick stiffened in his pants, from anxiety, from horniness at the sight of so many nearly-naked football jocks, and from arousal at the smell of their untreated musk, overflowing jockstraps exuding their intoxicating scent into the humid air of the locker room.
“Donovan… right? That’s your name? You’re on the gymnastics team.”
“That’s right.” Donovan smiled. Coach Bagworth was pretending to not know Donovan well, even though Donovan had jerked him off — and more — on numerous occasions. Donovan wasn’t surprised. Most men he serviced did the same.
“He got swishy hips and everything!”
“Lookit him, he’s drooling and shit!”
“Well, Donovan… You may know we won an important game last night. A game that I… before the game, I said I ain’t think we would win. Nobody thought we had a chance, they was s’posed to be a better team, so I told the team I ain’t expect much from ’em,” he said. He took off his GHU cap and lowered his head. “For that I’m sorry. I was wrong. I should’ve had faith in my boys.”
They cheered and pumped their fists. Donovan saw that one, a six-packed white redneck in the front row, grabbed at his crotch as though his dick was hard. What was going on here? Donovan thought the air was filled with tension.
“And, uh… I made a bet,” Coach Bagworth said with a chest-rattling sigh. “A bet I gotta pay up on right now.”
“What bet, Coach Bagworth?” Donovan asked. He was trying to butch it up the best he could — he simply didn’t think it was a good idea to be flamboyant here in the locker room.
“Tell ‘im Coach!”
“His lack of faith was disturbing!”
“I bet these motherfuckers that they’d lose,” Coach Bagworth said over the nervous giggling of his players, his voice grim and pained. “And they proved me wrong. What I bet was… my ass.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna give it up. You can stick it me, Donovan, any way you want,” he said. “Right here in front of these fuckers. The only rule is that we never mention this again. It don’t leave this locker room. That’s why they picked you, cuz you got a reputation for being a discrete… person.”
“Take it, Coach!”
“Oh my god, are you for real?” Donovan asked. His eyes opened wide. But no one could hear him over the sudden eruption of masculine laughter and good-natured jeering. Someone pushed him forward, again and again until Donovan stumbled into Coach Bagworth’s chest. Donovan got a faceful of chest hair, meaty pectoral muscles and weary flesh that tasted of cocoa-butter soap.
“Stick him! Stick him! Stick him!”
“Make him like it!”
Coach Bagworth again held one hand up for silence. The football players all dutifully did quiet down, though an underhushing of jeers and cheers filled the locker room. Bagworth looked dourly down at Donovan and rolled his eyes as though considering backing out now. But he didn’t. He just raised his eyebrows as though asking how to get started.
“Uh… Well, do you… uh? I mean… will you… uh, let me… lick… and-“
“You gotta just tell him what to do, man!”
“He’ll do anything you want!”
Donovan blushed as the players all laughed. Donovan took a deep breath. He knew he was going to look like an idiot if he didn’t develop some confidence. He sighed and took off his shirt. He was about to drop his pants, then smiled and told Coach Bagworth to do it.
“Oh damn, shit’s getting real. Drop those pants, Coach!”
“Do it! Do it!”
Coach Bagworth dropped to his knees, sighing as the locker room slowly filled with silence, everyone watching with baited breath. It seemed a lot of players still thought Coach was going to back out, but he didn’t. Coach Bagworth had massive sausage-like fingers and he fumbled with the tiny button of Donovan’s jeans. They were tight, so he had to shimmy them down to Donovan’s ankles.
Everyone burst into laughter again at the sight of Donovan’s bright pink briefs. He wouldn’t have worn them if he knew he’d be baring them in front of football jocks. Donovan was so small and twinkish in comparison to everybody here — likely he weighed a third of anyone else in the locker room. Donovan felt small and weak in comparison, but that wasn’t a bad feeling for him. Donovan preferred to be among massive men with big meaty manhoods, and his own trim, almost feminine, body helped to allure them.
“Honey, you better start licking before you take my drawers off, cuz I don’t think you can handle jumping right into it. My dick is not for beginners,” Donovan said when things had quieted down enough for him to be heard. That caused another uproaring of laughter, and that Samoan Poahi clasped him on the back as Coach Bagworth closed his eyes and kissed Donovan on the bulge of his underwear. Donovan shuddered in anticipation at the feel of the Samoan’s giant jock hands on Donovan’s smooth shoulders.
Coach’s thick lips planted on Donovan’s dick through his pink briefs. That sent a shiver of pleasure up avery’s spine. Coach Bagworth looked away as though he was going to gag, but then he didn’t. He licked the entire length of Donovan’s dick through those briefs and rolled his eyes at the rollicking players in front of him.
“He kissed it!”
“How’s that taste, Coach?”
“Fo’ us it taste like victory. For him, it taste like defeat!”
Donovan moved away and leaned against the wall, forcing Coach Bagworth to turn around. That meant Donovan faced the rest of the team, who were now mostly standing, clustered so close together their bodies were pressed against each other, hands gripping each other, jockstrap-clad cocks dragging against each other’s bare asses. They all crowded in together so they could see their coach’s humiliation.
Donovan cleared his throat. “You know, boys, it’s considered rude to watch without taking your cocks out,” he said. “I wanna see all your meat.” They laughed, nervously this time, but one by one they did take off their jockstraps, their cocks flopping like limp baseball bats, while Coach Bagworth slowly lowered Donovan’s pink briefs. Donovan’s erection popped free. They all hesitated to drop their jockstraps at first because no one wanted to be first — what if they accidentally got hard? — but once someone had done it, no one wanted to look self-conscious either, so they all did it.
“God damn, boy, I was not expectin’ that,” Coach Bagworth said when he saw Donovan’s big dick. Donovan blushed and thwacked his dick across Coach Bagworth’s embarrassed face. Coach frowned and turned around. “You fellahs said you picked him cuz he was discrete. You actually picked him cuz he got a big dick, ain’tcha?. He gonna tear my ass up.”
“Swallow it, Coach! Swallow it deep!”
True to his word, Coach Bagworth opened his mouth and let Donovan’s bare dick plump down his throat. He gagged loudly, and his bristly beard hair scratched against Donovan’s shaved crotch. Donovan sucked in his breath, as bursts of pleasure exploded throughout his petiteness.
“Oh damn, he doin’ it! Coach is swallowin’ dick!”
The players realized that Donovan was aroused by the sight of their naked bodies. Some of them were embarrassed and covered their dicks with their hands but otherwise flexed their biceps and wrapped their hands around each other’s backs, showing off their pecs and sweat-dappled shoulders.
“Slam ‘is face, Donovan! Make him take it like a porn star!”
As the players egged him on, Donovan gradually lost his inhibitions. He wrapped his hands around Coach Bagworth’s fat head and ground his hips until he could get his entire dick down there. The pleasure running up and down his spine was incredible, mind-melting, making it hard for Donovan to focus on the entire football team standing naked before him.
They all were so close that their dicks touched each other. Every few minutes someone angrily demanded someone else quit touching them with their cock, and a fight almost broke out. But they were too glad to see Coach Bagworth humiliated to stop watching and fight. Donovan spied a few dicks twitching and growing half-hard.
Everywhere Donovan looked he saw a naked body, in every shade of brown, pink and tan. He writhed, his knees buckling as his crotch sent waves of pleasure through his twiggy limbs. He tried to pound Coach Bagworth like the team kept demanding, but he was too weak, not to mention too small, so he could do little more than stand there as Coach guzzled his dick deeply.
Precum flowed down Coach Bagworth’s throat, making him gag and sputter over the din of his cheering players. Coach Bagworth snarled around the cock in his gullet. Donovan gasped and trembled at the incredible pleasure wracking his body so powerfully it almost hurt.
“Make him gag, Donovan!”
“Woot-woot! He’s really doin’ it!”
“Never thought he’d go through with it…”
Coach Bagworth was more than a foot taller and at least a hundred and fifty pounds heavier than Donovan, making it awkward for him to reach Donovan’s dick with his mouth. Even being on his knees wouldn’t be enough, he had to stoop as low as he could go. The more he swallowed, the more he shifted until he was nearly laying on his belly, just lifting his head up far enough to reach Donovan’s crotch.
That left his plump ass, beneath his dingy gray shorts, ready for Donovan to slam it in. He could have cum down Coach Bagworth’s throat anytime, but Donovan knew he’d likely never have the chance to pound a football coach like him in the ass ever again and he didn’t want to give that up. He concentrated on backing away from his climax, while his cock throbbed and his hands explored Bagworth’s well-muscled chest and thighs. Donovan wanted to reach down and feel up Coach’s ass, but he was too short to reach, so all he could do was caress the meaty muscle of his back.
“Alright, Coach Bagworth, stand up, turn around and grab your ankles,” Donovan said. The last few words were drowned out by a torrent of cheers from the team, but Coach Bagworth himself was close enough to hear his words. Donovan knew that position wouldn’t really work, he just wanted to make Coach try it.
He hung his head as he stood, stretched his sore legs and bent over to grab his ankles. His gigantic asscheeks parted in front of Donovan’s face as he got in position, but he was so tall that his ass kept rising until it was in perfect position for Donovan to lick it.
“Damn, Coach, you tall as shit. He can’t even reach yo’ ass like that.”
And so that was what Donovan did — he didn’t have any lube, after all, so if he were going to pound Coach Bagworth in the ass, he was going to need to do something to loosen things up. Besides, it ought to slow down Donovan’s throbbing erection, so he didn’t blow his wad too quickly. The team gasped, and even Coach Bagworth snorted like he had never heard of a rimjob. Donovan could feel the snort in the rippling of his ass muscles and the tightening of his sphincter as Donovan’s tongue plunged in.
Coach Bagworth lifted one leg like a dog and his whole body trembled, in a combination of pain, shock and intense pleasure when Donovan’s tongue hit his prostate. Donovan’s face buried itself in Coach’s ass, so he didn’t see his face, but judging from the laughter and comments from the other players, he must have had a funny look in his eyes.
“Lookit him! Can’t tell if he loves it or if he’s terrified!”
“Both, I think.”
“Nasty-ass shit… Crazy!”
Donovan lapped at Coach Bagworth’s sweaty ass, which was choked with coarse black hairs. Donovan suckled all the salty sweat off while producing enough spit to lube him up. The taste was musky, savory, so hot that Donovan wanted to jack himself off — but he forced himself not to touch his dick, so he could last as long as possible. His tongue rammed in and out of Coach Bagworth’s ass like he was trying to get at the center of a lollipop.
“Alright, now you’re going to have to get down lower,” Donovan said. He kissed each of Coach Bagworth’s plump cheeks, then slapped his ass as he lowered it. Coach Bagworth shuddered. Donovan slapped it again, like a coach encouraging his players.
But Donovan focused on getting Coach Bagworth down low enough to get in his ass. Once again, his height was an issue — Donovan had to stand on his toes, even with Coach Bagworth on all fours. He kept his ass low and his head high. Donovan spread Bagworth’s buttcheeks.
“Stick it in ‘im! Stick it in ‘im!”
Donovan’s dick was throbbing hard, nearly ready to cum already as he lined it up with Coach Bagworth’s ass. Then he pushed it slowly in, adding some spit to make sure it slid in easily enough. Coach Bagworth grunted and bit his lip. His head dangled and he lifted that foot again until Donovan made him lower his leg — he was so big that moving one asscheek to raise his leg made it impossible for Donovan to penetrate him.
“Stick ‘im harder, man!”
Donovan was a bottom by habit. He appreciated the physiques of men like Coach Bagworth, and he enjoyed servicing them. He rarely got a chance to top though. It was intimidating to pound it into someone so much larger and stronger than Donovan. It felt wrong. Coach Bagworth was so big Donovan felt like he was going to be swallowed by his massive ass, which retained all of the power from his pro football days, now comfortably padded and able to take every inch of Donovan’s dick.
“Damn, he destroyin’ that ass.”
“I ain’t know li’l dudes could plow like that.”
Donovan beamed with pride. The pleasure rocking his body was so intense Donovan moaned out loud, the sound ringing out and echoing in the linoleum-lined locker room and overpowering even the hooting and hollering of the football team. They clapped, encouraging Donovan to be even louder and pound Bagworth even harder.
Donovan had never felt physically smaller yet emotionally larger, like his primitive mind thought he had overpowered Coach Bagworth. His heart skipped a beat as pre-orgasmic throes of bliss made all his muscles spasm. Coach Bagworth grunted and covered his face from the watching team.
He didn’t know how long he kept pounding at Bagworth’s wide ass. It felt like forever to Donovan, but at the same time, it seemed to be over in a flash. He wished he could have stayed deep in Coach Bagworth’s ass until the end of time.
But his orgasm overwhelmed him soon enough. Donovan’s fingers curled and he gripped Coach Bagworth’s thick back muscles. He held on, mounting him so high that his feet were no longer on the floor. Supported entirely by Coach Bagworth’s athletic body, Donovan used all the power of his hips to slam his cock down.
The awkward positioning and the lack of leverage made the whole thing hotter for Donovan, who grunted and groaned, losing all of his femininity. His body was assaulted by waves of orgasmic energy, making him throw his head back and scream even before the first drops of cum sprayed into Coach Bagworth’s ass.
“Fill him up! Let’s see it drip down, boy! I wanna see that nut in his ass!”
And then it actually happened. His body shot jets of cum, copious gobs of it, more than Donovan had ever shot before. It was a pity he shot it inside Bagworth’s ass, he thought, because it would have been impressive to see it puddled on his back or somewhere like that.
The orgasm was so incredible that Donovan howled like a wolf, and the team joined in, harmonizing with him. They hollered and slapped each other on their backs.
“C’mon, Coach, make a hobby out of it! You did so good with Donovan, why give up now?!”
“That’ll teach you to think yo’ team ain’t gonna win!”
Donovan’s body went weak, and if he weren’t laying on Coach Bagworth’s back, he would have collapsed to the floor. Instead he limply lay atop Bagworth’s spasming back muscles as he moaned into the meat of Bagworth’s shoulders. Donovan clutched his body tightly.
“Damn, he fillin’ you up, Coach!”
“You sure he ain’t pissin’ inside you?”
“I see it dripping, here it comes! Here comes the cum!”
Donovan lay there for as long as he could. He enjoyed the taste of Coach Bagworth’s back-sweat and the feel of his ass clenching around Donovan’s dick as Coach Bagworth struggled to accept all of that cum. Donovan felt his semen dripping out of Coach Bagworth’s thick ass, sticking to the hair that it matted to his skin. Donovan licked Coach Bagworth’s ass until he stopped him.
“Okay, you had your fun,” Coach Bagworth said, his voice booming to be heard over the jeers of the team. He stood up, wincing as pain erupted in his ass and Donovan slid down, his big dick flopping out. Coach Bagworth burned with embarrassment when the team clapped and hooted, again shaking their own dicks in his direction.
The cum flowed out of his ass and dripped onto the floor. Donovan instinctively reached out to grab it, stroking his fingers in Coach’s taint and soaking up all the cum he could get. Coach Bagworth grunted but ignored him as Donovan wiped the cum off all over his giant ass.
“Woo-hoo! You got stuck, Coach!”
“How’s that feel for ya!”
“You ain’t nevuh gonna underestimate us again, huh?!”
Coach Bagworth again used one hand to demand silence. Everyone fell quiet — even getting cornholed in front of them wasn’t enough to ruin his sense of authority — and he opened his mouth to speak, then winced as Donovan’s hand brushed past his tender asshole. Coach Bagworth bent his knees and supported himself with his hands on the bench in front of him. When a few tittering laughs filled the air, he again held his hand up.
“Shut your fucking mouths,” he said with enough authority that they all clammed up immediately. The humid, cummy-aired locker room was so silent Donovan could hear the water running in the pipes — girls must have been showering in the other locker room. “Remember this is it. Once this boy here — sorry, I can’t remembuh yo’ name right now — once he leaves, nobody says nothin’ about this again, or I’m kickin’ you off the team.”
He shook his ass, forcing Donovan’s hand away. He turned his head and glared at Donovan, who for a moment thought he was in trouble. Then he saw the players smiling and clapping silently now that Coach Bagworth wasn’t facing them. They held a fist up in the air in a show of solidarity with Donovan.
Donovan decided to be bold — he stepped forward and kissed Coach Bagworth on the lips. He only stayed there for a second, because he knew Coach would push him away once he had a chance to react, and Donovan wanted to end this on his terms. It was a short, sweet kiss. Donovan wished he could have dragged it out.
Then Donovan pulled away and walked towards the door. He didn’t even bother to put his clothes on as he went. The team cheered and clapped, and this time, Coach Bagworth didn’t stop them.
“Yeah, you go, Donovan!”
“You can stick Coach anytime you want, you got my permission!”
Once he was near the door, Donovan breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until he was away from all those gigantic alpha males. He grabbed his spare clothes from his locker at the other end of the locker room, then got dressed, abandoning the clothes he had come here in back there. He left his clothes both because it made his exit more dramatic to sway his bare twink ass and because it gave him an excuse to come see Coach Bagworth later.
Donovan had a feeling that Coach Bagworth would be willing to reclaim his masculinity by topping Donovan, and Donovan planned on giving him that opportunity tonight. He smiled and whistled a jaunty tune as he walked out of the locker room, already formulating his plan for this evening.