paid books – Page 7 – Mansploitation

The Fraternity Man

Shane is desperate to get into a hot frat party, and that means serving his pledgemaster, even if he’s got to bend over and take whatever he has to dole out! Can Shane get through his hazing?

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Shane Gibbons had never been more disappointed than when he found out the party was strictly for members in good standing of Kappa Kappa Pi. He was still only a pledge, which meant he wasn’t going to be allowed in. He and the other pledges would have to spend their Saturday night cleaning the Omega Omicron Tau house — cleaning the house was part of the payment to get the Omega girls to show up at the party. The Omega girls had to come because otherwise, no one else would come either.
It was funny — he had thought fraternity life was silly when he first came to GHU, but now it seemed essential. He joined the frat only because he felt lonely his first few weeks at college. He became paralyzed with fear that he’d never make any friends.
Fraternity. He corrected his own thoughts. As a pledge, if he ever abbreviated it frat out-loud, the punishment would be severe. He wasn’t going to be a frat boy but a fraternity man.
Now he was reliant on the organization to give him a social life. Without the his fraternal brothers, he’d never be invited to any parties. Brenda Fallow was going to be at that party on Saturday, and Shane was sure she liked him. She was always looking at him in the English class they shared. She stared at him, then blushed and looked away when he looked back. They had barely exchanged ten words in the entire time he had known her, but he intended to invite her to the party. If he was there with her, he felt confident he’d get to third base at least.
So he was desperate to be allowed in. It’d be humiliating to show up with Brenda and get turned away at the door of his own fraternity. So when Chad — the pledgemaster for the semester — said that they were considering allowing a few of the pledges in, Shane said he’d do anything.
“Come on, Chad. You don’t understand, this is the most beautiful girl on campus, and she likes me! She really does-“
“She does not, freshie!”
“She does too!” Shane squealed. He didn’t want to sound like a desperate little boy with a crush on a girl. “I mean… She looks at me like…-“
The upperclassmen all laughed, and Shane looked down at his feet. It seemed likely that Chad would refuse to give him an invitation, but Shane couldn’t just give up. He had been dreaming about spending the night with Brenda since the first day of classes, when they had partnered up to read a Phyllis Wheatley poem and make a presentation about it.
“Come on, Chad…” Shane said. He knew he couldn’t whine — Kappa Kappa Pi had special punishments for pledges who whined — so his mind raced as he tried to come up with something to offer in exchange for an invitation. “I’ll do anything.” He blushed as soon as he said it. He had meant he’d do anything like cleaning the house or doing Chad’s laundry, but judging from the sarcastic oohs and aahs of the other upperclassmen, they interpreted it as an offer to do something gross. It was gross, Shane thought, they had dirty minds, that’s what Shane’s mother would have said. She didn’t like what she called toilet humor.
“Anything?” Chad asked with a smirk. He loved playing pranks, especially making pledges dirty. He had cracked raw eggs on Shane’s face, farted on him, and made him lick the sweat out of his armpit. Chad laughed so hard when he made a freshman gag that his face turned red. Once he had nearly cried from laughing so hard because of another freshman’s gagging at the feel of a pubic hair in the back of his throat.
Despite their teasing, Shane did not feel like an outcast. The one benefit to frat life — and it was a big one — was that he always had friends. The hazing and the relentless teasing and the chores and the humiliations of Pledge Week, all of that was just an appetizer designed to whet the pledges’s appetite for brotherhood. That had seemed silly when Shane got started in Kappa Kappa Pi. He thought he’d never feel like a real part of this organization
But somehow Shane had indeed come to feel like he was close to the men in his frat. Even the ones he barely knew like Kyle and Fringe, he felt he knew them so well because they shared the fraternity life. They had gone through the same struggles. They had been hazed the same way back when they were freshmen; they had gotten through it. They had made lifelong friends with their pledgemaster. Shane was sure he would feel the same when he got through all of this struggle.
“Make him jerk you off, Chad!”
When someone said that, they guffawed as though it wasn’t a serious suggestion, but Shane blushed. He could tell from the look in Chad’s eyes that it was a more serious suggestion than the others thought.
Chad wrinkled his nose. “Good idea! Pledge, I’ll give you an invite to the party if you jerk me off,” Chad said, his face turning red as he laughed harder and harder. The other upperclassmen howled like they had never heard anything so funny.
The hazing was optional, so Shane could have backed out. One of his frat brothers was Jules Tremor, a Jehovah’s Witness who refused to participate in any hazing, oath-taking, holiday celebrations or drug/alcohol use — he was just as much a part of the frat as anyone else, and Shane felt like he was a brother. But Jules didn’t get invited to all the parties, and he was the only senior in Kappa Kappa Pi who was a virgin.
Shane did not intend to be the new Jules.
Shane dropped to his knees. “Yes, sir, Pledgemaster-sir.” He thought — and hoped — that if he just took Chad’s dick out and made it look like he was going to do it, Chad would tell him not to. That’s exactly what Chad had done to another pledge last week.
“Is he really gonna do it?!”
“That is some old-school hazing!”
“Get him Chad! Make him do it! Swallow his cum!”
He had to suppress a gag when he touched Chad’s cock to take it out of his pants. It was big and springy, like a fleshy slab of uncooked sausage. It was thick, veiny, warmer than Shane thought it should be. He had known it was big because Chad whipped it out often — in the group showers he frequently made everyone sit through — but Shane had never realized how big it really was. He blushed.
Shane had seen Chad’s cock on numerous occasions because Chad made them all shower together. Shane had always assumed he did that because he wanted everyone to realize he had the biggest cock in the frat, but Chad justified it by saying it increased camaraderie, which Shane had to admit was true. He had felt like an outsider among the seniors until the night they had gotten drunk together, crammed into such a tight space that Shane’s thigh pressed up against Deshonte Willoughby’s, making Shane nervous until he was drunk enough not to care. Then he felt so close to Deshonte it was like they had been friends since childhood.
The fraternity house had three bathrooms, but only two with showers and only one with a large group shower — considering that there were more than twenty people living here, they had to use the group shower for most everything. They could have taken turns and rarely been in the shower at the same time as anyone else, but Chad wouldn’t allow that. “Real men aren’t squeamish about seeing other real men. We can bond by showering together, increasing the ties that bind us, encourage us to celebrate our own masculinity and our brotherhood.” It all seemed like a bunch of nonsense to Shane, an excuse to show off Chad’s massive hog — none of the pledgemasters before Chad required mass naked showering — but no one was willing to tell Chad no on this point.
So Shane had seen Chad’s naked cock on many occasions. But there was a big difference between sneaking occasional nervous glances at it when he couldn’t manage to look away any longer, and getting a good look at it up-close in preparation for putting it in his mouth. But he still hoped Chad wouldn’t make him go through with it.
He looked up at Chad, hoping he’d say not to do it. But Chad just smirked.
“Get to it, pledge,” Chad said. He turned his hat backwards and pantomimed throating Shane’s face down. His limp dick and heavy, low-hanging balls slapped against Shane’s chin and lips. He chuckled.
Shane took a deep breath, sighed and opened his mouth.
“He’s doing it! Shane’s slurping on a cock for an invite!”
“Old-school hazing!”
The taste was not really as bad as Shane had thought it was going to be — it tasted a lot like pussy, he thought — but the texture was even worse. It was limp at first, and it hung in his mouth like a dead fish. It was long and thick and fleshy.
But then when Shane’s tongue touched it, it twitched. It stiffened and perked up. This texture, he thought, was much more pleasant. It was solid, like a flexed muscle. It felt strong, vibrant, confident, and the flavor became more savory and satisfyingly sweet.
He didn’t let on that he felt that way though. The upperclassmen groaned and grunted, expressing a mixture of shock, awe, pity and shame, all at once.
“You wanna jerk me off next? You don’t have to stop there.”
But no matter what they said or how they jeered, Shane didn’t feel ashamed. He was doing this for Brenda, the most beautiful girl on the campus. If he and Brenda fell in love and got married, then this story about how he got invited to the college party at which they first hooked up would be sweet — it’d be something he laughed about, it’d be a classic story that he would clean up for most retellings, but close friends would know what really happened. It would be totally worth it.
When the salty and sour flavor of precum hit his tongue, Shane actually began enjoying himself. His frat brothers laughing at him were unpleasant, but they faded into the background. All he focused on was servicing Chad, his fraternity brother, and becoming one with him. All of those annoying brotherhood-sessions in which they sat in the shower and drank, naked, pretending they weren’t sneaking glances at each other’s cocks, all of those moments paled in comparison to this — Shane had never felt so close to another human being.
Chad had jerked upperclassmen off when he was a freshman. Maybe that was why he always brought it up and tried to come up with reasons to make it happen. He wanted to do it again, but with himself on top this time. Shane had forgotten about that story because Chad shared it one night when they were very drunk — that was one of those drunken-naked-in-the-shower-bull-sessions that everyone but Chad hated. The frat brothers who were left at the end of a party had gotten drunk, and for some reason they started to share secrets. Chad said that his pledgemaster had come to him drunk and demanded he mouth him off in the middle of the night during Pledge Week.
Now here was Shane returning the favor. It really wasn’t that bad, Shane reminded himself, even if he did sputter and choke a little when it plunged into the back of his throat. It felt uncomfortable at first, but his body relaxed and accommodated it.
Now he didn’t even want to stop. He didn’t exactly love it, but there was something satisfying about servicing his frat brother — must get out of the habit of saying “frat brother”; would you call your country a “cunt”? Then don’t call your fraternity a “frat” — and knowing that he provided all that intense pleasure wracking Chad’s body.
At first Chad had barely gotten hard at all, like he was too nervous to really feel good about the blowjob. But the more Shane did it, the more pleasurable it was for Chad, and his dick stiffened like a rod ramming down Shane’s throat. Chad’s face went from a mischievous prankster to a seductive lover, cooing and aahing as he fed his cock deeper and deeper. He looked like he didn’t want to let on how pleasurable this was for him, like it was better for his rep if he pretended he only did it to humiliate Shane.
But Shane knew that wasn’t it. He could feel everything going on in Chad’s mind through the throbbing of his cock in Shane’s mouth. He could sense that Chad loved this more than anything, that he was going to find a way to make it happen again and that he was going to move on — he was going to ram Shane’s ass.
That seemed extreme, but Shane knew he would let it happen. Not only was it worth it if it meant he’d get to spend the party with Brenda Fallow rather than scrubbing toilets at a sorority house, but he hoped it might even feel good.
“Damn, Chad, you are hardcore! You had better invite Shane to every party all year for this.”
But of course, Shane wasn’t going to make it obvious that he looked forward to getting a cock in his ass. He was still sensitive to his fraternity brothers making fun of him.
They were only teasing him because it made them nervous to watch Shane handle a cock. They tittered, peering closely at Chad’s massive, veiny shaft sliding down Shane’s throat. Shane was bigger than most girls and he had a neck to match, giving him plenty of room to swallow all of Chad’s manhood. He didn’t even struggle after some initial difficulties.
The other upperclassmen were nervous, Shane suspected, for two main reasons. First of all, they were worried about looking like they enjoyed watching this. They didn’t want to be aroused or even too interested. Secondly, some of them had likely done the same thing when they were freshmen — just less openly — and more than a few wondered if they could get away with shoving their dick down some freshman’s throat as well. The other pledges had crawled away, no doubt scared that they’d be put in the same position as Shane if they stuck around.
Sweaty balls slapping against his chin and that moist cockshaft sliding down his throat combined for an intense and pleasurable experience for Shane. He craved every drop of precum he tasted, and he loved the look of Chad’s athletic muscles writhing above Shane’s head.
Chad’s unserious laughter had given way to aroused moans, which he tried to suppress. He chuckled a little nervously, like was surprised by his well-lubed cock’s expert penetration of Shane’s throat. Chad took a deep breath.
A loud rattling sigh escaped from Chad’s mouth as he pulled his dick out. It throbbed, pulsated, gleaming with moisture. The smell emanating off it was intensely savory and mouth-watering. The judgmental laughter of the other upperclassmen faded into the background.
The sight of Chad’s bare cock again reminded Shane of all those brotherhood-bonding sessions in the shower. Chad’s cock was wet there too, plastered to the skin of his thigh. Now it was longer, harder, thicker, inviting and oh-so-tasty looking. Shane wanted to swallow it again, but he pretended to be nauseated at the sight of it.
“This is all worth it to get into that party,” Shane repeated both to himself and for the benefit of his fraternity brothers.
“Why, man? Why are you so desperate to go?”
“That girl, remember? You really think some chick is worth it!”
“She’s not just some chick! I’m sure she’ll… I think I love her,” Shane said, blushing when they all oohed and aahed like they were watching a romcom. His face turned beet red. “She’ll put out! I’m sure of it, she virtually said she would! I have to get to that party!” He felt bad about saying that because, if he and Brenda fell in love and got married, he would have to deny ever saying this. It would be totally unromantic to admit he came to the party because he thought Brenda would give up her pussy. Shane gave it no thought before blurting out, “I’m a virgin, okay?!”
The upperclassmen squealed and screamed with laughter. There was punishment in the fraternity for failing to lose your virginity by your senior year — it wasn’t technically allowed, but they didn’t kick you out, they just made you clean the house and teased you and did all kinds of terrible things, unless you were Jules and you could claim you were a virgin for religious reasons.
“Now I’ll consider giving you an invite if you get on all fours and bare your ass,” Chad said with a forced-casual laugh. Shane sighed, though he had known this was coming. He was both dreading it and looking forward to it. The other upperclassmen laughed along with Chad, with their own mixture of horror, curiosity and jealousy.
Shane was so excited he didn’t even consider saying no, even if he was also fearful of it. Just a few hours ago he would have been shocked and humiliated by this, but he wanted it more than anything now. He bent over on his hands and knees. He unzipped his belt and pulled his pants down.
“Bare that ass, freshie! You better work for that invite!”
“I hope this girl is worth it!”
Pain erupted in his ass when that massive senior cock slid into him. He sighed and hung his head low. At first he thought he couldn’t take it — this experience had all the pain he had expected, and none of the pleasure he hoped would come along with it.
But that only lasted a few seconds. Once he got over the initial burst of agony, he felt Chad’s manhood teasing his prostate. It was just the first inch or two of cock, but it felt so good Shane moaned. He couldn’t help but make it a pleasured, blissful moan that oozed desire and arousal.
The upperclassmen all fell silent. They were confused, maybe a little reverent, unsure why Shane acted as though he wanted this. It was, after all, supposed to be hazing, not a reward.
As more and more of that frat boy cock slid into him — excuse me, ‘fraternity man cock’, of course — Shane’s pain diminished more and more. With each thrust of Chad’s meat, every additional inch of fat prickmeat plunging deep into Shane’s ass, the pain was replaced by steadily mounting pleasure.
“Keep your chin high, pledge!” Chad said when he saw that Shane was hanging his head like a tired dog.
Shane lifted his head high. It was difficult to maintain his pride in this sort of situation, but the fact that he could do so despite the snickering of his frat brothers made him feel good about himself. He remembered all those lectures — many of them delivered naked in the group shower with that hoggish meatstick dangling between his muscular thighs — about fraternity pride and brotherhood. He wasn’t supposed to feel afraid or tortured or humiliated. He was among his brothers. They would support him no matter what.
Even if he turned out to love getting it up the ass.
Judging from Chad’s gasping as he finally got the last of his dick inside Shane’s tight ass, Chad was surprised at how good this felt as well. He breathed heavily, and moaned every few seconds as pangs of bliss ran up his spine.
Chad began being ginger about it, refusing to touch Shane’s asscheeks any more than necessary, looking away as though it was too disgusting to watch. But that didn’t last long.
By the time his cock was fully hard and leaking precum again, Chad was fully into it, excited, eager to plow back and forth as hard and as long as he could. He held on to Shane’s pale buttcheeks, gripping them tightly and even slapping the flesh to watch those plump orbs jiggle.
Chad took off his shirt too, to give himself more leeway. He wanted to watch his cock slide in and out of Shane, whose ass loosened to accept it.
The tortuous pain was still there, but it was distant, like a faded memory. Instead Shane was overwhelmed by intense pleasure, rolling waves of orgasmic bliss that were so incredible he didn’t even notice his own cock get hard or his own hand wrap around it.
The upperclassmen were completely silent now. If it weren’t for the grunting and the frenzied rutting of Shane and Chad, the room would be entirely silent. Even the other freshmen pledges had returned and now stood there like equals with the upperclassmen — who normally didn’t allow pledges to stand with fully-inducted brothers — watching as both men moaned in sync with each other.
Neither Chad nor Shane needed to say anything when they both approached orgasm. They were in wordless communication with each other, and Shane could pick up everything Chad thought through the throbbing of his dick inside Shane’s ass.
So he could feel it when Chad’s balls crawled up in their sac, and he could sense the tension in Chad’s muscles. He could feel the jagged breathing where his exhalations condensed on Chad’s neck and shoulders. Meanwhile Chad himself sensed the overwhelming prostate orgasm that wracked Shane so hard it was almost painful. His muscles tightened and his hole clenched tight around Chad’s cock.
“Oh, nasty, is he gonna bust!”
“He’s gonna shoot inside him?!” That was one of the upperclassmen, who got down on his knees to watch as Chad orgasmed.
Cum sprayed into Shane’s ass, a big wad of it flooding his body in undulating torrents of bliss. It was hot and thick, and it coated his insides. Shane moaned. He had never felt anything so delightful. He orgasmed at the same time, pleasure emanating out from his prostate in waves. He spurted cum onto his hand and onto the floor.
He didn’t know how long it lasted. He was both acutely aware of everything around him — the awkward breathing of his fraternity brothers, the far-off beeping of a cell-phone whose battery was dying, the hum of the air-conditioner — while at the same time unable to pay attention to anything but the mind-numbing pleasure that flowed through his veins. It could have lasted for hours, he wouldn’t have known, and it could have lasted for years, he would have been fine with that.
Except, he thought as Chad’s cock finally pulled out of his ass, if he stayed like that for years, Brenda Fallow would never see him and fall in love with him.
Once blissful relief flooded him when Chad’s cock plopped out, Shane knew he didn’t want to do this again. It was fun to do once, though he would never admit how much he enjoyed it. But he didn’t want to feel a cock inside him again.
“Okay, brother,” Chad said with an exhausted sigh. “That was pretty good.” He chuckled softly to himself. Shane could tell that Chad was shocked by how good it felt. He was downplaying it for the benefit of his fraternity brothers. From the upperclassmen’s nervous laughter, it sounded like they knew this wasn’t some hazing torture. It was obvious that both Shane and Chad had enjoyed themselves.
But no one wanted to admit that.
Instead Shane cleared his throat. “So I can come to the party? Right, Chad?” He called him Chad instead of Pledgemaster or sir, but Chad either didn’t notice or didn’t care anymore. The old rules were out the window.
“Of course,” Chad said. “If the girl you like is going to be there, then who am I to stand in the way of true love?”
They all laughed, glad that this had happened but even more glad that it was over. Shane stood up, no longer eager to be a frat boy — he was now a fraternity man.

The Rugby Jock

Lachlan is a rugby jock promised a happy ending in a massage parlor, but he assumed he’d have a woman as a masseuse… Instead he has a twinky American masseur who is willing and ready to give Lachlan a mouth he can ride like an unruly kangaroo! Can Lachlan handle this masseur’s welcoming manhood?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“Bloody hell, mate, this place is fancy as!”
Lachlan smiled and played along with his teammates, but he was nervous. The entire minor-league rugby league side he joined a few months ago were on a trip to a match together, and Coach Marshall purchased them all a massage… with a “happy ending”. Lachlan knew what that meant. It made him very nervous, but he didn’t dare back out. The team had been acting like “thirsty yobbos” lately, in Coach Marshall’s words, and he thought the happy ending would help settle them down.
He had only ever rooted two sheilas, and one of them barely counted — he shot his load after just two minutes inside her, and that was how he lost his virginity when he (and she) were eighteen years old. He was deeply embarrassed by that premature ejaculation, though lucky his then-girlfriend was also a virgin and didn’t know it was supposed to take longer than that. The other woman he rooted had been his girlfriend for nearly two years, but that was all over now. No one on the team knew how few women he had ever fucked.
But now he was very worried that his lack of experience would show.
What if he didn’t know how to satisfy the masseuse? What if she made fun of him for cumming too soon? He’d look like an idiot if that happened, if even a root rat made fun of his sexual prowess. His teammates would never let him live that down.
Somebody clutched his ass — Ian, one of his teammates — and cackled as he went down the line doing the same to each player. Ian was a larrikin, so that wasn’t surprising. He thought it was funny to put chilli powder in someone’s jockstrap. Which it was. Lachlan was too nervous to find anything funny though. Ian’s fingers gripped Lachlan’s round asscheeks hard, and his finger even dropped beneath Lachlan’s shorts, fingering his sweaty crack.
“Rack off, mate,” Lachlan murmured.
“Who else is hard already?” Ian asked with a big cocky grin across his face. “I could nearly ram Lachlan here if he wasn’t such a hairy bastard.” To prove his point, Ian attempted at Lachlan’s ass, humping his still-clothed cock at Lachlan’s asscrack, which was cradled by powder blue rugby shorts. Ian gripped Lachlan’s waist and moaned out an exaggerated orgasm. Lachlan blushed and yelped, pushing Ian away. He really was hard, Lachlan could feel it, Ian’s cock, pulsating against the meat of Lachlan’s ass.
“Ah shit, mate! Ian’s gonna ram the new guy!”
But Lachlan didn’t complain about it. If Ian knew you were bothered by something, he’d never stop doing it. Second, Ian had the biggest cock on the team and was always waiting for an opportunity to whip it out — he always went nuddy first in the locker room, and he put his clothes on last, searching for any reason to go running through the gym or across the field, uncut cock waving in the wind. Lachlan just wanted to be left alone. He wasn’t embarrassed of his cock, but he didn’t like showing it off either.
“I’m about to bust too,” Lachlan said, forcing a grin on his face as he turned around, faced Ian and humped him back — since they were face to face, their bulging shorts just bumped into each other. Lachlan was still soft, and his jockstrap-cradled cock and balls brushed up against Ian’s rock-hard manhood. The feel of his erect cock made Lachlan shudder with disgust. At least, he thought, they weren’t all gangbanging the same trashy bogan together, which other rugby teams did heaps.
Then a beautiful Asian woman appeared from the back. The whole side jumped back to their seats and st properly, as though the Asian woman was their kindergarten teacher. They exchanged nervous looks, and more than one of them audaciously checked out her ass, which was plump and juicy, or so it looked to Lachlan. He was one of those who checked her out. How could he not? She made his dick tingle.
She must have noticed the rugby jocks all checking out her ass and the bosom stretching the fabric of her top, but she didn’t complain or let on in the slightest. She wrinkled her nose and scrunched her eyes at the team, taking them in one by one. She reviewed a clipboard with some forms on it with Coach Marshall, then she cast her judgmental eyes over the players once again. She blushed when she got to Ian, who must have made some kind of face at her, maybe licked his lips. Ian was like that, as massive flirt, seemingly unable to prevent himself from doing it. It was the only way he knew to interact with women. Everybody on the team knew not to let him be alone with their girlfriends.
After going over the rules of the spa, that Asian woman called for whoever was first. She was joined by a thin, effeminate man whose name-tag read ‘Avery’. But Avery faded to the back of Lachlan’s perception, as he had eyes only for the pretty woman.
After a few moments of silence, the other players erupted in excited whispers and audible horniness. It was Ian who piped up first. “Seniority! I’m goin’ first,” Ian said, running past the others. He shook his ass in Avery’s direction, or maybe in Lachlan’s direction but Avery was in front of him, so that was also Avery’s direction.
Lachlan was both annoyed and relieved. It seemed everyone was okay with going by seniority, which meant Lachlan would be last. He didn’t really want the others to see him going back with a girl — they’d tease him as he went, as they did Ian now (don’t be impotent, Ian! Is your cock soft yet? He likes being pepper-sprayed right at the moment of orgasm, ma’am!). But going last had its own drawbacks: if he was slow to finish, everyone would know because they’d be waiting for him.
Then three more Asian women came out, each one more beautiful than the last. They each left with one of the rugby players, and the waiting room dwindled. Lachlan hoped they would all be that beautiful. Then they continued coming out in small groups, duos or trios mostly, until finally, only Lachlan was left there in the lobby.
He felt very alone and cold. Even Coach Marshall had gone, either back to the parking lot or maybe he had gone in for a massage and happy ending of his own. Lachlan’s dick had never felt smaller. He knew it was only because he was the newest member of the team, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of personal rejection over being last to be chosen.
“Come along, sir, are you ready for your massage?” That man, Avery, appeared in the waiting room. He smiled at Lachlan, who nodded and hurried after him.
“Uh, yeah…” Lachlan followed the man into the back. His mind raced, concluding that he was being brought to the masseuse. Maybe she didn’t like to leave her massage room, he thought. Once he got into the corridor, he heard his teammates talking trash to each other through the walls.
“Aw, shit yeah!”
“Damn, I bloody love Asian girls!”
“You’re such a dag, mate!”
Lachlan could hear moist sucking sounds in the rooms he passed. They were all women though, he could tell from the feminine sounds they made. He was sure of it. He was positive there’d be a woman waiting in the room the man showed him to.
But there wasn’t. There was just a massage table and a counter covered with fragrant oils, near a bouquet of flowers. A CD player in one corner played New Age music with an Asian flair to it. The man, Avery, nodded at Lachlan, and gestured for him to get on the table on his back.
Lachlan slowly stripped off his shirt, revealing his powerful rugby-toned chest. His pecs rippled nervously and his nipples turned hard as though it was cold in here, even though it was actually humid and warm. He smiled nervously at Avery. “My name is Lachlan,” he said. “Where’s the masseuse?”
“Hello, Lachlan. I’m Avery,” he said. He bowed again. “I’m going to give you your massage today.” He had a very thick American accent.
“Oh. I, uh… I thought it’d be a girl,” Lachlan said. He took off his shoes, but hesitated before dropping his pants.
Before anything else could happen, however, Avery undid Lachlan’s belt in one smooth motion. He pulled down Lachlan’s underpants and again motioned for him to lay on his belly on the table. He moved in a clinical manner, no sexuality here, Lachlan thought, like he was a doctor or a scientist rather than a masseur.
“No girl. Sorry, it’s just me. We ran out of female masseuses today,” Avery said. “I know your Coach paid for a happy ending. It’s okay. Don’t be worried..”
Lachlan was unsure what that meant. Maybe he was just going to give a massage, and then a girl would come over for the happy ending part. That was a reassuring thought. He got up on the massage table and laid on his belly. His bare asscheeks jiggled when he moved.
“Oh yeah, she’s beggin’ for my meat, mates, you wouldn’t even believe it. She bein’ quiet as, because she’s Japanese, but she’s beggin’ me for it!”
“My one loves my dick!”
When the massage began, Lachlan moaned in surprised pleasure and pain. A part of him did feel good, but he didn’t like a bloke touching him so intimately, and it made him uncomfortable. The pain, however, came from the extreme pressure Avery exerted. He massaged as though trying to rub the shoulders right off Lachlan’s back.
Lachlan straightened and stiffened, and he considered calling it off. But the moaning coming from the other rooms made him reconsider. His teammates all had girls, and judging from the sounds they made, they were having a good time. He didn’t want to be left out, and he was now even more confident that Avery was here for the massage while a girl would be coming for the end — Avery acted like a serious masseur. Lachlan would rather have just skipped the massage, but he could live with it so long as a girl came in for the happy ending.
Relaxation flooded his body. Lachlan felt so tense he would never have thought he could relax with a bloke rubbing his back, his hands now just inches from Lachlan’s plump, rugby-player ass. But Avery was actually a very good masseur, and the stress melted away from Lachlan’s back.
“Aah, damn, this girl is swallowing the whole thing, mate!”
“My sheila’s loose as, mate!”
“Roll over,” Avery said. His voice was soft, but he spoke with confidence and authority, so Lachlan could hear it over the hooting catcalls of his teammates.
Lachlan did as he was told. If he hadn’t been suddenly flooded with endorphins, he would have said no. He would have told Avery he’d wait for a girl to come in the room, and he’d roll over for her.
Avery did not put a towel over his crotch, as Lachlan had thought he might. He just began kneading the meat of Lachlan’s pecs and shoulders. Lachlan’s bare dick wiggled when Avery manipulated his flesh. Again, he used so much pressure it was painful, and Lachlan grunted.
“This Asian skank is horny as, mate! You fuckers manage to get hard yet?”
Lachlan blushed as he realised his dick was twitching into full erection, either from his anxiety or from his awareness of the beautiful Japanese girls being fucked all around him, even if he couldn’t actually see any. His hands flailed uselessly above his body. Avery frowned.
“You’re doing okay. Your happy ending is coming soon. You are a football player, right? American football?” Avery said. He didn’t mention Lachlan’s burgeoning hardon.
“Uh, no, rugby. This is Australia, mate. We don’t play American football-“
“I met a quarterback one time. Carolina Panthers-“
“Yeah, that’s a different sport, mate,” Lachlan said, but his voice was weak and strained (he was annoyed that Avery mixed up rugby and American football though — he hated when Americans did that). Avery’s hand was so low on his belly he touched Lachlan’s pubic hair, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“He was very nice. You’re a quarterback? Or the rugby equivalent?”
“Uh… yeah, I’m a quarterback, or something like that…” Lachlan said. He didn’t want to confuse the two sports — it angered him when people did that — but he couldn’t think of anything else to say with his mind focused like a laser on his hard dick just centimeters from Avery’s fingers.
That was when Avery grabbed Lachlan’s manhood with one hand. He held it firmly and stroked it, his rhythm low and slow, his slanted eyes looking at Lachlan like a piece of meat. Lachlan moaned and bucked his body, practically “fucking” Avery’s hand.
“You are going to the Super Bowl?” Avery smirked — he liked pretending to be more ignorant than he really was. It kept Lachlan focused.
“Uh… No, mate that’s a different sport, a different country. Do you know what country you’re in?” Lachlan snapped. His eyes were trained directly on his cock, which throbbed in Avery’s hand. He was surprised he didn’t lose his erection. He certainly didn’t feel sexy.
“Relax… You’re getting a happy ending,” Avery said. He gently pushed on Lachlan’s chest, trying to get him to lay flat on his back. “Quarterbacks are always handsome. They get all the girls, right?”
“Yeah, mate.”
“Oh yeah, this slut knows exactly what she’s doing!!!”
That sounded like Ian. He was always so loud, it annoyed Lachlan, who wondered if the Asian girls were insulted by his teammates shouting out insults like slut. Avery didn’t have any reaction to the sounds from the other rooms, which include some barely audible girlish moaning behind the macho laughter and braying trash-talk.
“Hey Lachlan, how’s yours? You aren’t makin’ a lotta noise, mate? Somethin’ wrong with yah dick? Limp as, huh?”
“Uh, it’s great, she’s, uh… really something!” Lachlan called out. He blushed. That did not sound like something a rugby player would say when having sex with a prostitute. Maybe the others didn’t notice though.
Then Avery bent over and put Lachlan’s dick in his mouth. Lachlan threw his head back, hands hovering above Avery’s head — he had an instinctual urge to hold onto Avery as he licked and slurped on Lachlan’s cock, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch a bloke. So he kept his arms elevated nearby, like any minute now he would push Avery away and start jacking himself off instead.
But he had to admit this felt amazing. It felt more better than the blowjobs his ex had ever given (that was the only person who had ever given him a blowjob, so Lachlan had no idea if she was better or worse than average). Avery’s tongue moved all up and down his shaft, and Lachlan moaned out of genuine excitement. His dick throbbed in Avery’s mouth.
“Yeah, now I hear it, Lachlan, ya got it!”
“We’re all proud of you, mate!”
Lachlan bucked his hips again, slamming his dick down Avery’s throat. He was surprised again to see Avery swallow every inch of Lachlan’s manhood. Apparently, Lachlan realised, this masseur could deep-throat like a porn star. His ex had never gotten more than the first few inches of cockmeat in his mouth.
That sent waves of pleasure up Lachlan’s body. His muscles all writhed and contorted at once, while Lachlan began breathing shallowly, nearly hyperventilating. His face turned a bright red.
Then at last Avery pulled up and off his dick. Lachlan gasped as his dick spasmed in the suddenly cold air. He writhed on the massage table.
“You need some ass, right? Your coach didn’t pay for it, but I know quarterbacks need it. You won’t play right if you don’t drain your balls,” Avery said.
“Um…” Lachlan lifted his head up, eyes opening wide. “Not, a uh… quarterback…”
Before Lachlan knew what was happening, Avery crawled up on the table, spreading his legs. He had taken off his pants at some point, and Lachlan saw his bare white ass.
“Oh, uh…” Lachlan realised that Avery was about to sit on his cock, and he knew he could stop it — all he had to do was slide right off the massage table. But a part of him didn’t want it to stop, not at all, even if his mind told him he should. His full-to-bursting balls were in control now.
“Your coach bought this happy ending, right? You still want it?”
“Uh, yeah…” Lachlan said, his voice sounded weak even to himself. His hands were now above his head so he didn’t even come close to accidentally touching Avery, whose whole body flexed and contorted as he got into position above Lachlan’s crotch.
Then Lachlan gasped again, and he moaned out loud as his dick slid into Avery’s ass. Avery’s cheeks were tight and toned, just like his body, without a single ounce of fat. They were like slightly chilled bowling balls, moving down his cockshaft.
He was astonished that he was doing this, and that he was enjoying it. It was disconcerting and strange but Lachlan wouldn’t have given it up for anything, not now in this moment. Intense pleasure wracked his body, and Lachlan gritted his teeth.
“Oh yeah, who finished first, motherfuckers?!” That was Ian, of course. Why would he brag about that? It’d be better if he could go slower, Lachlan thought, and in any case, Ian started first, so it wasn’t surprising that he finished first. Not hardly anything to brag about, but the rest of the team cheered and clapped as though having sex with a prostitute was as impressive as killing a monster.
“Go for it, Ian, fuck that bitch full!”
Waves of potent sensations shot through his body, and Lachlan found himself grabbing ahold of Avery’s hips regardless of his discomfort with this situation. He felt thin, fine hairs on Avery’s upper thigh, which made reminded Lachlan he was with a bloke, but even then, he couldn’t stop himself from keeping a tight grip on Avery.
Avery moved expertly, swaying his hips up and down, the entire length of Lachlan’s manhood. He faced away from Lachlan, which spared Lachlan the sight of Avery flogging his own cock. That definitely made it easier for Lachlan, though it was obvious that was what Avery was doing. He could see the corded muscles of the bloke’s back writhing as he stroked himself off.
When he felt his orgasm coming, Lachlan blushed. He could hear a moist grunting noise emanating from his throat, but it sounded like somebody else was making those sounds. It felt even weirder a few seconds later, when at least two, maybe a half-dozen or more, of Lachlan’s team came all at once. They moaned and grunted loudly, the sound resonating in the massage parlor’s corridor. It made the hair on the back of Lachlan’s neck stand up.
There was clapping, cheering, oohing and aahing. “Swallow it down, lady, no spilling!” It sounded like they were not being perfect gentlemen — Coach Marshall made them all promise to behave like gentlemen, but no one was doing so, except maybe for Lachlan, who was too nervous to be rude.
His back arched, and he threw his head back again as his orgasm overwhelmed him. He grunted and spasmed. He slammed his dick all the way up Avery’s ass.
Then wad after of creamy-hot cum sprayed within Avery’s gut. Lachlan’s muscles rippled and flexed all together, while spasms of bliss ricocheted up his spine. He clutched at Avery’s back.
“Aw, fuck…” Lachlan’s voice was breathless and hoarse.
With his fingers resting on Avery’s back, Lachlan could feel very clearly when Avery shot his own load. The smell of semen filled the tiny massage room. The muscles in Avery’s back rippled and writhed as an orgasm overtook him as well. Avery shot his wad into the palm of his other hand.
At last they were both done. Lachlan laid back limp and spent, too tired now to be self-conscious about what he had done and who he’d done it to. He wasn’t sure what to do next — his dick limpened inside Avery, who showed no sign of getting off him.
“You feel good now, right?”
“Uh, yeah…”
“You can say to your friends that I was a girl. That’s okay. You’re last so they won’t see,” he said.
“Oh. Okay.”
“You make a good quarterback, I think. You have a nice cock,” Avery said. “And big balls. Football players must have big balls.” Avery suppressed a giggle — he knew perfectly well Lachlan was annoyed by the references to quarterbacks, but Avery thought he was cute when he was annoyed.
“Yeah, football,” Lachlan said. “I’m a good quarterback…” His mind was too focused on his dick in Avery’s tight ass to think about anything else to say.
Finally, just when he thought he couldn’t cope with it any longer, Lachlan breathed a sigh of relief when Avery pulled off him. He still moved in a cold, clinical manner, as though this was simply the last stage in a proper massage. He wiped his ass with a tissue.
Lachlan sat up, then hurriedly put his clothes back on. He felt better when he wasn’t naked anymore.
“Well, thanks, Avery,” he said. He blushed.
“You’re welcome. Tip is ten percent. Standard,” he said. “Eight dollars Australian.”
He certainly knows what country he’s in now, Lachlan thought to himself. “Coach Marshall already paid-“
“Tip is ten percent,” Avery said. “That’s not part of the coach price.”
“Oh, uh… okay,” Lachlan said. He stuffed a few dollars in Avery’s hand and hurried out the door. He didn’t really want to tip him, but he didn’t know what Avery would do if he didn’t — he probably would stop showing discretion about this, at the very least, Lachlan thought, and he might even tell the team what had really happened.
He gingerly poked his head out the door. Nobody was in the corridor, so he hurried out, not even Avery. He felt tremendous relief at the realisation that now he was indistinguishable from his teammates. Even if they knew one person had been with a male masseur, there was no way of knowing who was in which room.
“How was that pussy, mate? Tight as?” Ian asked as Lachlan emerged from the shadowy hallway. Everyone looked at him, and for a moment, he thought they might all know. Maybe this was a big prank, and they were going to tease him forever for not turning Avery down.
“Uh, yeah. Tight as,” Lachlan said softly. His spirit brightened when his teammates burst into cheers. They didn’t know, he thought with a deep sigh of relief.
“She give up anal?”
Lachlan smiled. “Yeah. I got anal.”
“Good on ya, mate!” Ian said as they both headed into the waiting room to meet up with the others. There they shared stories of the prostitutes they had just messed with, or so they claimed to each other.
Avery watched them file out the door into the sunny Australian summer, not a single one of those rugby jocks aware that none of them had done anything with a woman beyond shake her hand. They they had all cornholed a man. The women here were just a show but a useful one for sure. Basking in his satisfied glow, Avery smiled and cleaned his massage room.
A footy team would be coming in soon. Their coach had set up an appointment and said they all needed to get a happy ending, or else they’d keep hooting at waitreses. That was a problem Avery was eager to help with.

The Cocky Football Jock

Raython is a college football star who needs something from twinky barber Desmond. If Raython’s going to get into the frat of his choice, this cocky football jock has gotta let Desmond have a taste… and more of Raython’s throbbing manmeat! Can handsome prettyboy Raython perform when he really needs it?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Desmond knew who Raython Lake was before he came into the barbershop. Raython was the starting running back for the GHU Titans, and around here, that meant everyone knew his name. Desmond didn’t have to watch college football to know who he was. Raython entered the City Barbershop one sunny Saturday with the cocky strut of a man used to having skinny white girls on each arm. With dimples like those, Desmond knew that was exactly where he got that strut from. He was the kind of stud that girls fell head over heels in love with and guys hated from the moment they laid eyes on him. He looked arrogant, mean, bullying, haughty. Despite his handsomeness, Raython turned Desmond off from the moment he walked in.
Or rather, he turned him on, but also off. Desmond appreciated Raython’s physique, as probably all people did, you’d have to be a sociopath not to be allured by him, but he was mentally turned off by Raython’s personality and indeed his very demeanor. Something about the way he carried himself made Desmond want to punch him in the face. And then rub his shoulders and jerk him off. Then maybe punch him in the face again.
Raython was that kind of man.
“Yo, hey, you Desmond, right, my man?” Raython said. He flashed a grin and slapped hands with Desmond. He spoke like he was used to charming people and had no awareness that some people found him grating and off-putting, like he wasn’t even aware it was possible to dislike him.
“That’s right. I’m Desmond,” he said. He looked away and pouted, rearranging the selfies he had posted over his mirror, hoping to look nonchalant. Desmond didn’t like to let alphas like Raython have unbridled power over him. Raython did have such power over him, which was why Desmond spent so much energy acting nonchalant. He knew what Raython wanted, so he was going to make him work for it. Raython happened to arrive while the other barbers were out at lunch. Desmond was minding the shop alone.
“Well, I’m Raython, I was hopin’ you might jack a nigga dick, y’know… whatever….” He sniffed. “And you know… whatever.” He shuffled his weight between his feet like a man who was not used to being unsure of himself. “I got… other requirements, or whatever.”
“Requirements?”
“Yeah… You know… It’s, uh… Can we go in the back to talk?”
“I’m not really supposed to leave the front room until the other barbers get back,” Desmond said. He crossed his arms over his chest. He let out a wan smile. “Besides, I’m not sure I want to jack you off.”
“What? Why not?” He furrowed his brow. He had definitely not been turned down very often. He looked around as though there must be some emergency preventing Desmond from agreeing. He snorted and rubbed his nose.
Desmond shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re kind of a prettyboy. Not my type. Have you got the goods?”
Raython dropped to his knees and pulled his shirt off. He had a perfect chest, six-pack abs and a v-shaped torso. Again, he looked around the empty room as if this might be a secret-camera reality show. He flexed his biceps. “Yo, come on? You know it.” When that didn’t immediately work, he kissed each bicep, and he flexed each pec in turn.
And again, or rather still, he bestowed his arrogant gaze upon Desmond, who shrugged.
“Hmmm… Nice…” Desmond pretended to ponder it — Raython was a jerk, but Desmond did want to taste every part of his body. The college school year had only just begun, so a lot of new niggas were coming in this way. Desmond’s barbershop was the closest black barbershop to the GHU campus. It sometimes took awhile for the black men from away to discover where to get their haircut, but they inevitably came a-calling, and Raython was no different. Plenty of them probably had Cityside Barbershops back in their home ‘hoods. Most likely they all did. Most inner-city neighborhoods had a Cityside Barbershop, and most of those locations had a barber like Desmond, a small twink with a smooth, hairless body, a girlish shape and a willingness to service the alphas, thugs and jocks who came by to get their hair cut and their needs serviced. Raython had an expectant face on. Desmond’s hand roamed over Raython’s solid pectoral muscle, which throbbed beneath his touch. Raython smiled, flashing those dimples. Raython picked up Desmond’s hand and kissed it like a proposing prince.
Raython leaned forward and kissed Desmond on the earlobe, making Desmond’s taut twink body shudder with anticipation. His lips stayed on Desmond’s sensitive skin, and Raython gently nibbled the earlobe. That made Desmond suck back a howl of desire. Raython’s muscles rippled and exuded heat behind him. Raython chuckled, his voice smooth and dry as a wind-swept rock, and he whispered in Desmond’s ear. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you want my dick. I can see it in yo’ eyes.”
He picked Desmond up in his powerful running-back arms and carried him into the backroom. Once they actually got past the door, it wasn’t realistic to carry him like that — the corridor was lined with shelves and was too narrow. So he hefted Desmond up over his bare shoulder like a sac of flour. Desmond squealed, and he clutched Raython’s powerful shoulders to stay on his back.
They went to the back storage area, which had a little more space. Raython put Desmond down and pulled a clipboard out of his bag. Desmond was dizzy. He kept his grip on Raython’s body for support, his hands slipping under Raython’s pants to tease his juicy asscheeks.
“Yo, uh… You gotta sign this.” Raython handed over the clipboard as Desmond goosed his ass, which Raython ignored.
“What?” This was the part Desmond knew about — he’d been in this area for awhile, and he knew about the Kappa Kappa Pi initiation procedures — but he didn’t let on that he was already aware of what was going on. He read the paper on the clipboard like he had no idea what it said.
The gist of it was that Raython had signed a bet regarding his skill at throwing a football, there was more football jargon involved, but Desmond skipped over it. The upshot of the bet was that some cheerleader was gonna fuck him in the locker room. The downside of the bet was that Raython had to cornhole “the man of his choosing, with light foreplay and a reacharound” — the document was written in some no-doubt weed-induced late-night fit of semi-serious pseudo-legalistic wording — if he lost.
As had come to happen, Raython had lost. He probably fucked the cheerleader in the locker room anyway. Desmond certainly would, if he were Raython or if he were a cheerleader.
“So you have to cornhole me ‘with light foreplay and a reacharound’? And I have to sign this thing, since none of your teammates wanted to come watch to verify it?”
Raython flashed his dimples again and shrugged. “Yep, that’s it. No big deal. They thought I’d be upset about it or some shit. I ain’t.”
“Have you ever done it before?”
“Nah, nigga. I got girls,” Raython said as though that should have been obvious. “I got females beatin’ down doors to get they mouths on my meat. Swear to God. White girls. Nice white girls.”
“So what counts as ‘light foreplay’?”
Raython groaned. “That’s, uh… up to you. But you can’t put nothin’ in my asshole. No way. And I ain’t putting my mouth on yo’ dick, nosirree. But that’s, you know… you can do basically anything else.”
“Hmm-“
“And no fingerin’ nothing — you can grope, but no fingers, and no, you know… No doin’ nothin’ gross. No peepee. None of that nasty-nasty, you know, like prison booty bandit shit. I ain’t no nigga’s fool,” Raython said. “I keep a firm veto. But you can do whatevuh.”
“I see… You said I can’t put nothin’ in your asshole, but does that include my tongue?”
Raython chuckled. His eyes opened wide. “No. That’s fine. You can do that. Rimjobs is fine.” He paused. “That ain’t ‘light foreplay’ though, nigga. That’s heavy. Medium at least. Girls don’t do rimjobs as foreplay.”
“Girls are dumb as donuts,” Desmond said. “And I don’t do light foreplay.” He licked his lips. “I start at a heavy medium.” He stepped forward and planted his lips on Raython’s. Raython jerked and stiffened, his muscles all flexing. He stood up straight, requiring Desmond to jump up and mount his muscular torso to keep his mouth on Raython’s.
That was not a problem for Desmond, who enjoyed climbing up Raython’s powerful body. The more Desmond wrapped his body around Raython’s torso, the stiffer Raython was and the more Desmond had to climb all over him in order to kiss him on the lips. Raython bristled, and he scrunched his eyes up, but he didn’t make Desmond stop.
Raython stood straight up like a statue. He didn’t kiss Desmond back either. Desmond gripped his shoulders and wrapped his feet around Raython’s chest. His tongue plunged into Raython’s mouth. Still, Raython just submitted as though he was paying attention to something else, like this kiss was a purely physical exercise of no more importance the bicep curls he no doubt performed daily in front of a mirror. His arms stiffly dangled at his side.
“Kiss me back. That’s part of foreplay,” Desmond said. He licked his lips. “That’s not how you kiss a girl, is it?”
“Nah, nigga.”
“Then kiss me properly.” Desmond kissed Raython on the neck with enough fervor to possibly leave a hickey, which was enough to get Raython to react.
Raython wrinkled his nose and nodded. He planted his tongue in Desmond’s mouth. He was actually an excellent kisser, Desmond was surprised because very handsome men were often bad kissers in general and were almost always bad kissers when Desmond got his lips on them, they got enough girls that they weren’t used to pretending to be passionate when they were not. Raython, however, kissed like he had been waiting for this moment.
No wonder all the girls on campus loved him. Desmond had no proof that was true, but he was certain it was.
Desmond lost himself in Raython’s arms and his mouth. Raython finally gripped Desmond’s back and ass with his hands, supporting him so Desmond could focus on kissing him. His strong hands dug into Desmond’s perky asscheeks, making Desmond wonder if he held onto girls’s asses so firmly. Desmond hoped so. That was exactly how he liked to be treated.
Eventually Raython gently pulled away. He licked his teeth with a cocky sneer on his face. “You kiss like a girl,” he said.
“And you kiss like a man. You’ve never done this before?” Desmond asked.
“Nope.” He put Desmond on the ground and turned around. He put both hands on the wall as though he was being arrested. He jutted his ass out.
Desmond pulled his pants down, baring that plump brown ass. It was perfectly round, soft and firm at the same time, with just a bit of hair on the crack. Desmond kissed each cheek, making them jiggle. Despite being cooped up in his pants until moments ago, his skin tasted clean and fresh.
A groan came from Raython, who spread his legs like he was expecting to be searched. Or maybe he just really liked Desmond kissing, licking and slurping on his asscheeks and didn’t want to show it, so he covered up his moan of desire with that annoyed groan. His looping, arching back muscles all flexed at once above Desmond’s head.
“You’re a lot more comfortable with this than I expected,” Desmond said. He spread Raython’s ass and dove his tongue right in. Raython’s hole was tight, and Raython yelped when Desmond’s tongue entered it. Even this deep in his ass, Raython tasted very clean, he must have scrubbed up right before coming here. He tasted of cologne, cocoa butter and soap, like a fancy girlish soap with flowers and fruit in it.
“My brother got a nigga…” His voice trailed off like he hadn’t meant to share this, but was distracted by the pleasure in his ass. “I mean…” Raython said, mumbling as he endured Desmond’s rimjob. Desmond giggled, glad to get Raython nervous again. He was just so arrogant and handsome that Desmond felt a deep, abiding urge to make him nervous.
Desmond rammed his tongue in deep. He used a finger to tease the rim, and Raython didn’t complain. Desmond didn’t actually push his finger in, since Raython had said only his tongue was allowed, but Desmond did rub his asscrack and the edge of his hole with one delicate pinkie finger. Raython’s voice rumbled like he was thinking about finishing his story about his brother’s nigga, but then all that came out was another simmering groan. Raython jutted his ass back, giving Desmond better access to lap at his butthole.
“Your brother has a nigga?” As soon as Desmond said that, he jammed his tongue in and aimed it right for Raython’s prostate. He slapped his tongue at it, making Raython’s whole body ripple as pleasure coursed through him.
“He-eeeeee…” Raython tried to answer, but when Desmond’s tongue got deep in there, his words turned into a meaningless moan, as he was unable now to hide how good this felt. Raython even lifted one of his feet like a dog getting scratched in a sensitive spot. Raython’s knees buckled and he almost fell over. “Fuckin’ hell, man… When girls lick my asshole, it ain’t like this…”
“Girls probably lick your ass, not inside your asshole. Girls don’t lick prostates,” Desmond said. “Or at least, not the kind of girls you’d go for.” He smirked and did it again. This time Raython moaned and grunted so passionately his knees did buckle. Raython went down to the ground on all fours, his ass high in the air to give Desmond easy access to it. Desmond ran his tongue all the way from Raython’s taint to the small of his back.
“Yeah… Damn…” Raython said. He cleared his throat and chuckled. “Shit… Okay, swallow my dick now, damn.”
He got up on his feet again, and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes. Once again, that arrogant jock look was back. His fat cock was rock-hard — he must have really enjoyed that rimjob — and it twitched, visibly on the verge of spewing precum. Its twitches were synced with the rippling and flexing of Raython’s broad chest.
Raython opened his eyes when he realized Desmond hadn’t started yet. He touched his dick, then let go, then touched it again, then let go, and his hands fluttered in the air above Desmond’s head.
“And I’m just supposed to kneel on the concrete?” Desmond asked. He pointed to a pile of blankets on one of the shelves. “Make a little bed for us.”
“Man, I was just on all fours, I ain’t complain…” Raython rolled his eyes and sighed like a kid being told to clean his room, but he did what he was told. He got the blankets down and spread them over the floor. He even added a small pillow for Desmond’s knees. Then he laid down on his back at Desmond’s direction. “Man… We ain’t makin’ love, nigga. Like my brother.”
“What? Tell me about yo’ brother.”
“I ain’t s’posed to say nothin’. No snitchin’, y’know.”
“Your brother’s carrying on with a cop?!”
“No!”
“Then it’s not snitching, technically-“
“What do you know about snitching? You ain’t a gangsta? You a sissy.”
Desmond stopped with Raython’s cock in his hand, the spongy tip rubbing over Desmond’s lips. Desmond wasn’t really upset about being called a sissy. If you worked in a Cityside Barbershop and specialized in jacking off guys, it happened a lot. Desmond wasn’t worried about it. But Raython was a well-spoken and articulate young man in college, he should have known better. And besides that, Desmond thought he could get something more out of him if he made a big deal out of it.
“Donchu call me a sissy-“
“What? You is a…” Raython looked at his dick, throbbing in Desmond’s hand, and he flexed his hips to fuck Desmond’s hand, like he was only slowly figuring out why he didn’t feel Desmond’s mouth on his cock. “You’re mad?”
“You still haven’t told me about your brother and his nigga,” Desmond said. “Now I really wanna know,” Desmond said. He mounted Raython’s crotch and jousted his cock with Raython’s. Raython had a hefty piece of meat, but Desmond’s was substantially thicker. Raython wrinkled his nose like he was disappointed at the sight, and then he wrinkled it even harder when their precum mixed on his shaft. Desmond played with both dicks with one hand, while his other hand massaged Raython’s chest. “If you’re gonna call me names, we might have to move that foreplay up to ‘severe’.”
“Man…”
“I’m gonna keep jousting with you until you tell me what you were gonna say about your brother-“
He snapped, “My brother just got a nigga, okay? When he got outta lockup a couple years ago, he found some sissy dude. He brought him over. He live in my mom’s garage now. He rams his… He rans his ass all the damn time, man. He say it’s how real niggas is. He says thugs should have a couple females and one male. He out there in the garage goin’ at it, nigga. He do ram that boy so hard he knock shit off the walls in the house, man. Don’t you tell no one. He said I can’t spread it around. He said a man should have a couple females and one man but he should keep all but one female a secret. He ain’t keep his females a secret though. Or even his man really. Fuckin’ pansy-ass sissy… man.” His voice trailed off as Desmond swallowed his dick, just the tip at first but Desmond slathered his tongue upon it, and he choked up mouthloads of spit that ran down the shaft. Raython groaned and sighed, muscles relaxing now that he was being serviced again.
Desmond deep-throated him until his nose nestled in Raython’s hairy pubic bush. Desmond kneeled next to Raython, perpendicular to him. But as he kept working on Raython’s meat, he gradually spooned Raython until his cock was rubbing against Raython’s firm bicep. Raython either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Desmond’s precum smeared over his tattooed arms.
Precum flowed down Desmond’s throat, the bright salty flavor assaulting Desmond’s senses as Raython let out a rumbling roar of arousal. Raython gripped Desmond by the ear, guiding his head up and down at a slow but accelerating pace. He sucked on his lips and inhaled sharply as he did, like he had never felt this good. Desmond was proud of himself — that was his specialty, after all, he could make any man beg for more.
Eventually tears welled up in Desmond’s eyes, and he had to take a break to breathe. He gasped for air, stroking Raython’s dick furiously with both hands, while thick tendrils of spit connected Desmond’s face to Raython’s shaft.
“Holy fuck…” Raython moaned. “Shit… Why don’t girls do it like that?”
“Ugly girls do,” Desmond said. “Pretty girls don’t need to impress you with skill.” He giggled and massaged Raython’s chest before resuming his deep-throating. This time he openly humped Raython’s arm as he did. Raython still pretended he didn’t notice, even when Desmond’s dick smeared precum over his bicep, tricep and forearm, and Desmond even humped his armpit til it was greasy with precum.
Eventually Desmond was ready to move on, lest he blow his wad too early. He licked a trail from Raython’s cocktip to his root, then up his muscular chest. He nuzzled Raython’s neck, while Desmond’s bare cock spewed precum on Raython’s side, jetting it up to his ribs and all over his asscheek. Raython’s pecs flexed, one after the other.
“Wait… Are you gonna kiss me on the lips? You’ll taste like cock…”
“Does your brother kiss his man?”
“Yeah… He does nasty shit wit’ him. He says he only tops, but… I seen ‘im in there makin’ out and shit. Is that…?”
“Don’t worry, Raython. Don’t be so worked up about technicalities,” Desmond said. He kissed Raython on the lips again. This time, Raython was hesitant, especially when Desmond’s hard cock again pressed against Raython’s. Their precums mixed.
Raython was so focused on the kiss that he was surprised when Desmond sat down on his rod. His cock slid easily into Desmond’s ass. Desmond mounted him, facing him at first, but when Raython winced, Desmond knew that wasn’t going to work — Raython had to give a reacharound, but he wouldn’t do it if he had to watch as Desmond shot his load onto Raython’s face and chest. So Desmond had to ride him in a reverse-cowgirl position, facing Raython’s feet.
His ass hurt a little as Raython’s cock slipped in, but that lasted only a moment. His manhood throbbed and awakened a tingling sensation in Desmond’s asshole. Desmond winced and struggled to stretch himself open enough gradually he worked more and more of Raython’s meat into his ass. Each inch stretching into him sent a new wave of sensatiosn through Desmond’s body.
“Alright, nigga…” His hand hesitatingly closed around Desmond’s dick, which throbbed beneath his fingers.
Desmond giggled. He so rarely got a reacharound, it was always hot when it happened. He lifted his ass up and down, impaling himself on Raython’s cock while Raython began to stroke his rod. Raython’s thick hands wrapped around Desmond’s cock, which he didn’t need to handle much because Desmond was moving.
It was an awkward handjob, both because Raython was unpracticed and because he wasn’t watching himself. He didn’t want to see his hand wrapped around another man’s cock.
“Does your brother give his man a reacharound?”
Raython murmured, “Yeah, nigga. I think so. He eats his cum,” Raython said. “You can’t tell no one that. Tell everyone I gave you a shitty reacharound too.”
“It is a shitty reacharound.”
“Really?” Raython sounded like he had never been criticized. To his credit, he tried. He sped up his stroking and even used his other hand, holding onto the base of Desmond’s cock and teasing his balls with a gentle touch.
“That’s better, thanks,” Desmond said. Then he threw his head back and moaned. He lowered his shoulders until he rested on Raython’s chest. He turned his head to the side and licked the sweat off Raython’s nipples as he squirmed atop his cock.
At last both men reached orgasm at much the same time. Desmond used all of the focus at his disposal to delay himself until he felt Raython’s rod spray his nut deep into Desmond’s ass. It was a thick, hot load that coated Desmond’s prostate in creamy goodness. It flowed into him in spurts, and each time Raython’s whole body gyrated, his massive muscles all flexing at once, swallowing Desmond up in his arms while filling him up with jizz.
Desmond shot his nut onto his own chest and belly, not to mention Raython’s hands. Raython groaned with the power of his own orgasm — and no doubt a little disgust at the cum dripping from his fingers. Desmond’s load spurted into the concrete floor, while Raython jetted burst after burst of cum inside him.
As soon as he was done, Desmond scooted up on Raython’s chest. He kissed him again on the lips. His body was especially hot right now, its heat seeping into Desmond’s flesh. Desmond wanted to curl up on his chest and sleep there like a cat.
But when Raython felt he had kissed him a reasonable amount, he gently deposited Desmond onto the blanketed floor. Then he jumped up and jogged in place for a minute.
“Alright, nigga, sign that shit. We went well beyond ‘light foreplay’. Don’t put that on there, just sign it,” he said. He sighed. “You best not tell no one ’bout my brother. Or ’bout me. Or ’bout nothin’ at all. Just keep yo’ mouth shut till I come back to fill it again.” He laughed his cocky laugh and wagged his dick between his cum-dripping fingers.
“Okay, sure.” Desmond was too tired now to keep teasing him. He signed the paper.
“You got a shower in this place? Or at least a sink? You can watch me shower,” Raython said with a wink. “I know you want to.”

The Married Cop

When Avery is robbed, he meets up with a cop with a wife and a physique Avery could… and just might worship for days! Officer Heartley is a bull-headed macho cop who needs to get a little relief, and Avery is all too happy to help out!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was furious about his hotel room being robbed. It was only eighty dollars, but still — having security to prevent this sort of thing was exactly why Avery was loyal to the chain. He had explained this to the manager in no uncertain terms, and he had gotten a refund as well as a free day in the room. That was worth more than what he had lost.
There was nothing to do now, however, but wait and pace. The police were on their way, supposedly. Avery knew the police wouldn’t do anything for eighty dollars, but he wanted to make his statement. This was an annoying distraction when he was trying to be more productive in his life. He wanted to hurry up and file his complaint so he could get back to work.
When the cops arrived, however, Avery was at a loss for words. His blood ran hot and his cock twitched in his pants, his annoyance at the robbery having vanished. One of the officers was a skinny young woman, but the other was a sturdy older man. He was Officer Malcolm Heartley, and he had a square jaw like a superhero.
“Sorry to hear about ya troubles, sir,” Officer Heartley said with the most delightfully full-bodied voice, all baritone echoes emanating from beneath his scruffy throat, a somewhat awkward tremble to it — he was one of those delightfully strong men who weren’t swaggerous and cocky. Avery thought a note of unconfidence made him even more handsome. “So you sure there ain’t nothin’ else missin’?”
“Yeah, that’s it, thanks,” Avery said. He blushed a little because he could feel Officer Heartley looking at him. He wished he could come up with a reason to make Officer Heartley stay.
“Alright, thank you for callin’ it in,” Officer Heartley said. Avery could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t think they would find the money. The woman cop said they would keep looking for the culprit, but Avery didn’t find her very convincing. It was only eighty dollars, after all, Avery thought, surely there were more important crimes in this city.
“Thank you for your help, officer,” Avery said. He clasped Officer Heartley’s well-muscled arm in hand. He shook the woman’s hand too, but he was so blinded by Officer Heartley’s strength and the body heat radiating off him that he shook her hand in an automaton trance.
And that was that, Avery’s distemper was gone, and the hotel-room robbery seemed like a memory from his distant past. Avery loved older men with fantastic physiques, and Officer Heartley was a perfect one. He was dark-skinned, thick and jowly, but not fat, just muscle and meat all over, you could tell he was used to home-cooked meals in a warm home. His face had a few wrinkles under the eyes, and his beard hairs were flecked with gray.
“We’ll call you if we learn anything,” said the perky blonde cop. She was hot too, beautiful really, Avery thought, but he had no interest in her. She was lost in the alluring aura emanating from Officer Heartley.
But he couldn’t stick around. The florist trade-show was over. It was time to go back home. He checked out of his room.
He sat down in the hotel lounge to work on the novel he had promised himself he’d finish a rough draft of on this trip. It took a few hours to get his focus back. He took several breaks, and drank a ton of coffee in a coffeeshop next to the hotel.
He finally got a little writing done around eight o’clock, and he went down to the hotel bar to celebrate afterwards. He was just about to sit when he realized he shouldn’t reward the hotel for letting someone steal from his room. He should go to a different bar.
He had no sooner walked outside, however, when he saw a police car pull into the parking lot. It was Officer Heartley, and he rolled down his window. “Hey, there you are. We caught the guy who had your cash, we can give it back if you come with me. You gotta fill out some forms.”
Avery got in. “Really? You caught him?”
“Yeah, I’m as surprised as you. But he hit a couple hotels in the area, apparently he hacked a swipe card that works in any of them. One of the hotels caught him on camera,” Officer Heartley said as he drove away and Avery buckled his seat-belt.
“Where’s your partner?”
“Oh, we’re off now. She’s out with her hot new boyfriend.”
“Oh, you’re off-duty?! That’s so sweet of you to come get me!” Avery said.
“Well, you know… I don’t like out-of-towners gettin’ the wrong impression ‘bout my town,” Officer Heartley said. “You single?”
“Yes I am,” Avery said. He cleared his throat. “What about you?” He made sure to speak in a slow, seductive tone. Officer Heartley had to know what that meant.
“I’m separated. My wife left me.”
“Oh you poor baby, it must have been a long time since you’ve been with a woman,” Avery said. He patted Officer Heartley’s well-muscled forearm.
He nodded.
“Well you know, I have a magical power,” Avery said. “I can make guys forget about their wives. Who’s got a mouth, an ass and a need to please? This guy!” Avery pointed to himself.
“That’s… I don’t do that, no thank you, sir,” Officer Heartley said, but with a nervous tremble to his voice. Avery could tell he wanted to do it. He was responding to Avery’s flirtatious tone. But a lot of guys did that because they liked the attention, it didn’t mean they were interested. Especially once they were married, many guys were desperate for someone to call them handsome.
“Hmm… That’s unfortunate. Tell your wife I’m going to steal every inch of her husband.”
After a long pause, Officer Heartley said, “I’m not going to tell her that.”
They pulled into the police station then. Avery went in with him, filled out the requisite paperwork and saw the skeezy-looking guy who had been caught. He was sitting there in a hallway in handcuffs. Avery didn’t know that’s who it was until Officer Heartley pointed him out.
When he had his eighty dollars back, Avery headed out to the parking lot. Officer Heartley brought him to the police car. Then he sat behind the steering wheel and didn’t say anything. It looked like he was waiting.
“Officer Heartley?” Avery wondered if he had done something wrong. “Hey, uh… are you okay? You don’t have to take me back to the hotel, I can afford a cab. Or an uber. Or I can walk, it’s like five blocks.”
“Shush…” Officer Heartley said with a desperate gulp. He opened the door for Avery to get in. “I ain’t pervy.”
A long pause ensued. Avery wanted to say fine, but he had just been shushed, so Avery didn’t say anything.
Finally Officer Heartley spoke again. “You, uh… My wife… My wife used to be so different, y’know. I don’t think I changed that much since we got married. We used to go out and she wanted to, y’know…” He glanced at Avery. “Like… she wanted to suck me off, y’know, in the bathroom.”
“What?”
He blushed. “No, I mean, she don’t have a bathroom-fetish, I just mean we’d go out somewhere and she’d wanna bang in like a closet or bathroom or something. She’d wanna suck my dick.” He paused. “But now, she just like… She don’t even wanna look at me. She got kinda fat and her hair is always a mess and she don’t shave her pussy no more, she barely even shaves her armpits, and if I mention it at all, she freaks out, but she is always calling me a fat-ass and when I fart she calls me a nasty shit.” Then he whispered hoarsely. “It makes me feel bad.”
“Oh, you poor baby…” Avery said. He patted Officer Heartley’s belly. He wasn’t fat, but he had a belly there. He looked like he probably had a six-pack back when he met his wife, so any amount of fat might have seemed like a beer-gut to her. Officer Heartley’s muscles rippled beneath his uniform shirt. “You can tell her how you feel. Tell her it hurts your feelings.”
He rolled his eyes. “I, y’know… I can’t say that.”
“You said it to me.”
“Yeah, but you’re… you know.”
“So you can tell a guy you barely know, but not your wife?”
He shrugged. “She won’t care. She’s…” He whispered again. “She’s such a bitch.”
“Do you want me to-?”
“Shush. Don’t say it,” he said. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest of his squad car. It was parked in a row of other squad cars. No one was behind them, just a solid fence with barbed-wire atop it, so they couldn’t be surprised. In the main part of the parking lot, officers currently on-duty met with their partners and sipped coffee before getting in their own squad cars and driving off.
Officer Heartley unzipped his slacks and pulled his cock out. It was big and fleshy, and Avery thought you could tell just by looking at it that no one had been treating it right in a long time. He bet Officer Heartley’s wife even got mad if he jacked off to Internet porn, so Heartley was probably in a world of frustration.
Sure enough, it twitched as soon as Avery touched it. “Oh, it’s so big! Your wife must have loved taking it in her ass when you two were just dating!” Avery smiled at the frustrated look on Officer Heartley’s face. He suspected that, if he kept bringing up anal sex, Officer Heartley would be unable to resist. “I know I couldn’t resist begging for it in my tight asshole if we dating and I was a girl. I would crave this cock all up in me. What was her pussy like?”
His dick twitched beneath Avery’s fingers. Officer Heartley moaned. “Ah, shit, man, it was velvety and smooth and… damn, I want that again. Shit…”
Avery breathed heavily, and he tried to sound as girlish as he could. Officer Heartley’s eyes were closed, his great cavernous chest heaving as he breathed and Avery stroked his dick, slowly and unctuously at first, sliding his hand up and down. He paused to spit onto his palm, which made Heartley moan again when Avery resumed stroking.
“Were you a cop when you met her?”
He shook his head. “I wanted to be. I told her that on our first date,” he said. His voice sounded croaky and tense, his eyes still scrunched shut tightly. “But I was just a painter then.”
“Oh?!” Avery snaked his other hand into Officer Heartley’s pants, from which his cock stuck out through the fly. He handled his sweaty balls.
“Shit, man, that feels so good…” Officer Heartley said. He settled back in his seat like he was ready for this to last a long time.
“I know. I think you’re really handsome in that uniform. And I bet you’d be just as handsome in anything else,” Avery said. He unbuttoned the bottom of Officer Heartley’s uniform shirt, making his undershirt-clad belly visible. He bent over and kissed his belly, blowing a raspberry as though it was a baby’s hairy belly. Officer Heartley laughed and his dick twitched in Avery’s hand. “You’re so manly, your wife is stupid if she doesn’t suck you off all the time.”
Officer Heartley glanced at him, his eyes open now. He watched his cock pulsate, a few drops of precum leaking out and lubricated Avery’s fingers. “Man… I dunno.”
“Nothin’ wrong with men makin’ each other feel good. You just close your eyes and let me make you feel good. Is it okay if I put my mouth on it, sweetie?”
He grunted and gritted his teeth as though being called sweetie turned him on. He shook his head. “Wait… I mean…” His pecs bounced beneath his shirt. “I mean…”
Avery could tell he was wavering. Avery moaned right in his ear. “Oh, sweetie… Your dick needs to get wet, I can tell. It’s so dry. Your balls are so full they’re going to burst, you poor baby.” He unbuttoned his uniform shirt the rest of the way. “What if I just put the tip in my mouth? Okay? Just the tip? I won’t do nothin’ else until you tell me it’s okay.”
His voice was breathless and jagged. “Yeah. Just the tip, okay. Okay.” He put one meaty hand on the back of Avery’s head and guided him down to his cock. Avery opened up and put his cocktip on his tongue, then slurped exuberantly. He spat up plenty of spit that ran down Officer Heartley’s shaft and soaked his crotch.
Now that he was so close to Officer Heartley’s body, he could smell his unwashed clothes — was he in trouble with his wife? Staying in a motel? Possibly, Avery thought.
“Just the tip, okay?” Officer Heartley said, his voice a low throaty rumble.
Avery made eye contact with him, but Officer Heartley immediately closed his eyes. Flopping his hard dick over his face, Avery let out a long cooing moan and called Heartley his baby again. “My sweet little baby… Ooh… Your dick tastes like candy, baby, I wanna make love to your cock.”
“Just the tip.” His voice sounded like he wanted to be firm and confident, but it came out as weak and wavery.
“‘Course, baby, just the tip,” Avery said, trying to hide his disappointment. He used one hand to stroke his shaft, while he kept his mouth on just the tip, suckling loudly, moistly. He had to cram his head in between Officer Heartley’s massive body and the steering wheel.
“Hey! Alan! You in there?”
“I’ll go see, he probably knows where it is.”
Avery heard that, but he couldn’t see because his head was in Officer Heartley’s crotch — and he didn’t even know Heartley’s first name was ‘Alan’. He assumed it was other cops getting into a patrol car. But when he heard their voices getting closer, he lifted his head.
Luckily, the sun shined into the windshield; it would have been blinding, but these patrol cars had glare-canceling windshields. It did make it impossible for anyone outside to see into the car from this angle, however, which was good because Avery saw a pair of uniformed officers some thirty feet away. If it weren’t for that glare, they would have seen Officer Heartley leaning back and then seen Avery’s head pop up from his crotch.
“Shit! Someone’s coming,” Avery said.
Officer Heartley opened his eyes, roared in frustration and jumped into action. He forced Avery’s head back down where it couldn’t be seen, his hard dick still leaking precum onto Avery’s face. He turned the engine on and rammed the car into drive.
“Shit!” Officer Heartley grunted, his voice desperate and plaintive, dick leaking precum over Avery’s cheeks. He drove to the right — which was not the way out of the parking lot, but did mean the officers would be on the driver’s side, so they wouldn’t see Avery without coming very close to the car.
“Where are you going, Alan?”
“Hey, did you see that memo from the DA? We wanted to ask if you knew about the plea forms, how does that work? Sheila said she never heard of them.”
Officer Heartley’s face was ruddy. He rolled down his window and waved as though this was normal, and nothing was wrong. “Hey guys,” he said. His mind whirred, his cocktip now back in Avery’s mouth. “Uh… Yeah… Plea forms are the same thing as those D9s. Just tell Sheila that, you need D9s.”
The other two cops exchanged glances that were both confused and enlightened — that was a helpful answer to their question, they were simply confused because Officer Heartley had a tense, pained expression on his face. But they just assumed he wasn’t feeling well, or had gotten in a fight with his soon-to-be ex-wife on the phone — perhaps, they thought, that was why he had been sitting in his car in this parking lot for a long time.
They just watched the squad car drive all the way around the parking lot, finally leaving onto Poplar Avenue and nearly going the wrong way on it until Heartley realized what he was going. He drove south into downtown.
“You still got your hotel?”
“No, I checked out,” Avery said.
He barely even noticed his hand pressing down on Avery’s head. He didn’t really intend to get deep-throated. That was an uncomfortably pervy idea to him. But he had an instinctual urge to push Avery all the way down on his shaft, plus he wanted Avery to keep his head down. So he did it without thinking about it, without even noticing until he realized Avery’s nose was in his pubic hair.
“Oh god…” Officer Heartley moaned.
His cock tasted amazing: salty and warm and musky, Avery crooned and sucked it all down. He didn’t care about his own throat crying out for oxygen and relief. He wanted to taste Officer Heartley until he had had enough and couldn’t take it anymore.
He drove to the most rundown motel in the bad part of town, a motel that was well-known as the epicenter of the city’s red light district. That was where all the hos brought their johns. Officer Heartley felt disgusted with himself going there at all for non-law-enforcement purposes, but it was where he had driven without thinking about it.
“I’ll get us a room,” he said. He took a deep breath. His cock ached. He wanted to get go at it all night like his wife used to do. He wanted to have so many orgasms it made up for the years his wife had been ignoring him.
But first, he had to awkwardly put his dick back in his uniform slacks and get out of the patrol car. It must have been obvious he had an erection, and he was pretty sure there was even a wet spot on his crotch — he was too excited and exhilarated and mind-bogglingly horny to even look down.
He raced into the front lobby and virtually tossed some cash at the dour-faced man behind the counter. “I need a room!”
“How many hours? Officer?” the man asked. He looked at Officer Heartley as though he thought he was catching him doing something wrong. He probably assumed a cop would only be here because he was getting free services from a prostitute. But Officer Heartley was too horny to stop and explain that he was just jacking off.
“Uh…” He had no idea what was normal. “Overnight.”
“You’re thirty bucks short,” the man said.
Officer Heartley cursed and scowled and handed over his credit card. That hardon wasn’t going away, it just kept throbbing painfully in his clothes.
It took forever, but finally Heartley got his key. He darted out into the parking lot again, and motioned for Avery to come to him. They scampered to the room, Officer Heartley’s pants already coming off even before he opened the door.
He dove onto the bed on his belly — which caused intense pain in his still-erect cock — then he rolled over onto his back. In seconds, his dick was out the fly and in Avery’s mouth. He let out a long, low sigh.
It took a few seconds for either of them to notice that the door was still open. Avery had barely gotten the fresh taste of precum in his mouth before he got up to slam the door shut. He returned to swallowing Heartley’s shaft.
“Oh god, yes…” Officer Heartley held onto Avery by the back of his head, fucking his throat deeply.
It was all over in seconds now. Officer Heartley’s balls crawled up in his sac, and his veiny shaft pulsated in Avery’s throat. Hot, creamy cum coated his mouth and slicked down to his belly. It was thick and warm, and it sat hotly in his stomach.
He tasted salty and sour and a bit sweet, with a strongly musky taste that Avery adored. There were flavors of steel and copper and unwashed fabric, cocoa butter and cheap deodorant. Avery guzzled down every drop, smiling at the sight of Officer Heartley writhing violently beneath him.
Then at last he pulled off, grinning at Officer Heartley’s shocked expression. “That was not just the tip,” Avery said coyly. He stroked his limp dick.
“Yeah, well… I changed my mind.” Officer Heartley groaned. “I paid for this room all night and I busted a nut in about five seconds.”
Avery giggled. “You didn’t think this was all over already, did you? I’m going to stroke your dick until it falls off. And then I’ll find another penis to attach, and I’ll stroke on that till it falls off.” He playfully groped Officer Heartley’s chest beneath his uniform shirt.
“You got spare penises?” He chuckled dryly. He was about to speak again, when there was a loud moan in the hotel room next door.
They both blushed and smiled. This motel rented rooms by the hour to prostitutes, and it seemed there was one such transaction going on right next-door. Officer Heartley sighed and stood up. The moaning from next-door was not too loud — they could only hear the man, whose deep voice was easily audible. Avery could hear a woman’s practiced heavy breathing only when he pressed his ears against the wall.
He yelped and stepped away when a woman let out a little yelp. “I said not to pull my hair,” she said. “Quit it, get off me.” There was a loud thump, it sounded like she had pushed the man off her and he fell off the bed.
“You bitch! I paid for an hour, you best believe I am getting all sixty minutes! I swear I’ll call Bernard-“
“He says no one can pull my hair, not for no amount of money, cuz my hair could fall out-“
“I wasn’t gonna pull ya hair out, you fuckin’ cunt! I just needed somethin’ to grab onto. Ya tiny-ass titties ain’t enough-“
“Oh, you’re complainin’ ‘bout my size? I thought you stuck your nipple in my pussy until I opened my eyes!”
Avery listened to the argument with wide eyes and baited breath. Should he call the police? He realized he didn’t need to just as Officer Heartley was redoing his belt and running out the door. “Stay here,” Heartley said.
Avery didn’t want to get in the way, so he followed orders. He stayed with his ear to the wall so he could hear. Both the man and Officer Heartley shouted at once, as Officer Heartley pounded on the door. Then when it was opened, there was more shouting, with the woman joining in this time.
“Shut the fuck up! You don’t know what was going on here!”
“I do know! I could hear every word-“
“Oh? What were you doing in this place? Huh?”
“Not any bit of your business, motherfucker, it was totally legal,” Officer Heartley said.
Avery poked his head out the door and was shocked to see that the man being led away in cuffs was another cop. Officer Heartley had arrested a state trooper. The woman in the hotel room glanced at Avery without noticing him.
Then Avery just sat and waited in the hotel room. He was glad to have the chance to recover. After a few minutes, he went over and talked to the prostitute. He helped her fix her hair and makeup. She said she didn’t want to file any report about the cop who had attacked her, but Avery talked her into doing it. Some other officers arrived then — Heartley had shown up at the police station, his uniform shirt still unbuttoned and askew, his hair a mess, so he had endured great ribbing and later got written up for dress code violations.
He told them about the state policeman, so others came out take a statement from the prostitute.
Finally the door opened, and Officer Heartley returned to the hotel room. He had fixed his uniform and his hair only to realize he had waited until too late — by the time he came out of the station men’s room looking like a professional, he was no longer needed. He was off-duty again. So he had gotten scrubbed up just to come back to Avery.
“Goddamn,” Officer Heartley said when he saw Avery sitting there on the bed. Avery immediately dropped to his knees and grabbed for Heartley’s crotch as though he was in desperate need for more cock. He didn’t even let him drop his pants, he just undid the fly and started slurping on it until Officer Heartley made him stop long enough to take his pants off.
“Do you wanna stick me in the ass?” Avery asked. He shook his ass towards Officer Heartley. “Please? I want to feel your cock inside me… You can ramrod me so hard, harder than your wife ever let you, I bet. I’ll never make you stop. And you can cum inside me, okay? You can drown me in cum…”
“Shit, boy, don’t talk like that, you’re gonna make me nut…” Officer Heartley closed his eyes again. He stood there, impatiently waiting as Avery took his pants off.
Then, at last, Avery got to back up on his dick. Like a lot of guys, Officer Heartley didn’t really know how to plow a man in the ass, so Avery had to take charge. Heartley just stood there by the bed while Avery lifted his ass up.
He ground his ass against Officer Heartley’s cock, letting it rub against his asshole. He clenched his hole too, making Heartley grunt and writhe. Avery reached behind himself and guided it into his ass.
“Oh, god, it’s so big!” Avery exclaimed. That was not a lie — it was big — but Avery only said it to puff up Officer Heartley’s ego. Besides that, he knew the position he wanted and it might take some effort to talk him into it. “Oh… I don’t know if I can do this,” Avery said.
“You said you could take it no matter what-“
“I didn’t know it was gonna be so big… You’re gonna ruin my ass, it’ll feel so good I never wanna do it again,” Avery said with a plaintive wail. “Hmm… Here, give me your arm.” He backed himself up farther, making Officer Heartley’s whole body shake as his dick sank deeper onto Avery’s ass. Avery took Officer Heartley’s well-muscled arm and wrapped it around himself, in a loose chokehold. That both provided more support and allowed Avery to lick and kiss every inch of Officer Heartley’s arm. “There you go, you’re so strong… I’m sure I can take your dick as long as I feel your strong arms around me, sweetie. That way I’ll know you’re keeping me safe.”
“Hmmm…” Officer Heartley grunted and bucked. His voice broke in Avery’s ear.
Avery loved getting plowed by older men like him. Officer Heartley was so handsome and macho and desperately horny. He craved affection — his wife was mean to him, and his fellow officers always gave him shit, and the civilians he interacted with almost universally hated him — so when Avery moaned and begged for more cock, that was nearly enough to make him cum all by itself.
“Oh god, get it deep in me!” Avery cried out. He wondered if there was anyone else in the motel who could hear that. That made him giggle, burying himself back on Officer Heartley’s cock.
He was all the way in now. Officer Heartley’s ex-wife had never taken it in the ass like this. She’d let him put it in her butt when they were dating, but only a few times, and only until it started to hurt — with a cock like that, it hurt right away. So he’d never had anal sex to completion, never got his entire shaft in her ass.
But Avery took it easily, with just a bit of struggle. Avery exaggerated it over and over to puff up Heartley’s ego. “It’s so big!” He even bit down on Heartley’s forearm, prompting a grunt from Officer Heartley’s lips.
Then they both went down to the bed, Avery squashed by Heartley’s massive bear-like body. Heartley finally began plowing without Avery needing to take charge. He pounded away, sticking his entire foot-long dick in, then pulling out and marveling at Avery’s asshole twinkling, begging for more.
“I’m gonna nut…” He grunted right into Avery’s ear. His wife used to like it when he said that. It was enough to trigger her orgasm, as it triggered Avery’s right now. But now she thought it was gross when he said it, or when he said anything else during sex, or anything at all about sex any other time.
Cum flowed into Avery’s ass. Even though he had already shot his wad once, he shot a huge load again — he must have had a lot built-up in his balls, Avery thought. It dripped out Avery’s ass and onto the motel mattress.
Finally he was done. Avery pulled off him. He had shot his own wad onto the mattress too, and it was now soaked.
Avery wrapped one arm around Officer Heartley’s meaty belly. “We made a big mess, and we’ve still got all night.”
Officer Heartley kissed him chastely on the cheek. “I’ll rent another room, baby. You’re worth it.”
Avery sighed and kissed each of Officer Heartley’s hairy asscheeks. “Let’s make this one filthier first.”

The Cops

Avery works at a coffee shop with a couple police officer regulars, and when they need some cash in a hurry, Avery is all too willing to help them out in exchange for a swing on their alpha-cop meat!

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Read the whole thing here!

The only reason anyone worked nights was that someone had to be there to receive deliveries. So they might as well be open. That someone was Avery. The delivery truck came anytime between two and six o’clock in the morning.
He didn’t mind working nights. He did hate how boring it was, but he liked being up at night. Most of the time, not a single customer came in before five o’clock. Aside from the delivery drivers, the raving homeless and an occasional cop, only two actual, civilian customers had ever come in between two and five in the morning.
So Avery was bored most of the time. Even when the delivery arrived, all he had to do was sign for it and watch the delivery guy drop the boxes off. That happened at the coffee shop all through the dawn. It was just boring enough to make Avery long for the comfort of his bed.
Then there was Officer Tripiani. He was a regular. The regular, really. He came in most nights for a cuppa coffee and a donut, and he usually wound up chatting with Avery. Avery found him compelling, and his sturdy physique attracted Avery’s eye. Tripiani was an olive-skinned dago with no neck and a well-muscled body — he was an amateur bodybuilder when he found time to lift weights, which wasn’t often. He was squat and tattooed, with a craggy chin and a thick mess of black hair.
Tripiani and usually one or two other cops sat in the coffeeshop to talk, usually around three o’clock in the morning. It was the closest thing to excitement Avery got to witness most of these night shifts. They never did anything interesting, but it was more compelling than the empty store.
“Yo, hey, yo, I’ll shake it as I walk ovuh there, if you get me a laage brew cawffee with cream, no sugaa,” said Officer Tripiani, in his smooth New Jersey stawk, accent that fit him like the fitted baseball cap he wore when he was off-duty. He spoke so suddenly, appearing behind Avery in the front door, that Avery yelped and jumped. His heart raced.
It took Avery a moment to realize what he had said. Officer Tripiani shook his ass like a stripper in Avery’s direction as he walked to the table where the other cops sat. They hooted and laughed, and Tripiani sat down.
Avery got him his coffee, and he put it down in front of him at the table. Tripiani’s broad shoulders stretched his shirt, and his cheeks burned a bright red.
“Hey, Avery, Trip here was hoping to kiss you on the lips-“
“You wanna make out? He just wants to cuddle-“
“You’s guys can go fuck yaselves,” Tripiani said. His dimples flashed a smile at Avery. “They’s just a buncha assholes, hon, don’t worry about ’em.”
They all burst into laughter. Avery blushed and walked away.
Something similar happened a couple days later, then a couple days after that. The other cops, pudgy as pillows, all of them, thought Tripiani’s muscular body was funny.
As a keen admirer of the male form, Avery didn’t object. He didn’t think Tripiani’s muscles were funny, he thought they were ideal. Avery would have gladly kissed and cuddled with Tripiani. But he rarely got more than a quick grope of his biceps or of the meat of his torso, which was hot and firm and usually a little moist with sweat, and Avery could feel his body hair underneath the fabric of his police uniform.
That was as far as it went until one morning, soon after midnight — that was earlier than the cops ever came in. Avery had only just come on duty.
Officer Tripiani stepped in. He smiled goofily. “Hey, man, uh… hey.” He looked around the shop. “I’m glad no one else is here.”
“Hi,” Avery said. He liked it when Tripiani came into the Darling Donuts. He had a warm solidity to him, and he made the whole place feel cozier.
“So, like… I’m trying to save some money, man, I got real financial problems. I got two ex-wives and three cars I’m making payments on,” he said. “It’s messed up, I don’t even got any of those three cars, I wrecked one, my wife wrecked one and she took the third.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, I, uh, I gotta save some cash,” he said. “Or maybe make some money. You know what I mean?”
“Uh-huh.” Avery blushed because Tripiani came even closer. He could smell his toothpaste-scented breath.
“I thought, maybe… you might want me, y’know… I know you want it… I thought, like…” Tripiani blushed, leaned in and whispered in Avery’s ear. “You could jack me off, man.” He chuckled as Avery shuddered, his knees going weak. He instinctively reached out, grabbing Tripiani’s barrel-chested torso for support. Tripiani licked his lips. “You gimme free coffee every night when I come in here. I’ll let you jack me off as much as you want. Huh? Whatchoo think man?” He stepped even closer, his bulging crotch pressed against Avery’s thigh. “I know you want it, baby. Know dat! Know! Dat!” He snapped his fingers.
“Uh… Well… Isn’t that illegal?”
“Nah. Nah, don’t worry ’bout that, man. You just givin’ coffee to a friend. At worst, that’s misunderstandin’ ya store policy. And you just givin’ out handjobs to that friend, ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ two sober, consentin’ adults doin’ the ol’ handy-tug tango, ya feel me, homeslice? So you see, there ain’t no crime goin’ on here.” He paused. “Don’t tell the other cops though. If they ask, tell ’em I don’t pay cuz I gots a tab on account of I did some work for the owner.”
“Okay.” Avery was in a trance. He ‘d been daydreaming about doing something similar, but he assumed Tripiani would turn him down.
Before he knew what was happening, they were in the bathroom in the back of the store. The door wasn’t closed so Avery could hear if someone came into the shop. Tripiani dropped his slacks and his boxers. His uniform shirt covered his cock though, until Avery reached underneath and pulled his foot-long dick out.
Trip raised his eyebrows like a cocky bastard. Avery stroked it slowly, while Trip threw his head back and moaned. His dick twitched right away in Avery’s hand.
“You have a giant cock,” Avery said. His free hand explored under Trip’s uniform shirt, massaging his muscles. Trip’s nostrils flared when Avery touched his nipple, but he didn’t make him stop.
“I know. You can tell people that part, tell ’em you begged me to see it and I whipped it out for you,” Officer Tripiani said. He chuckled.
Avery dropped to his knees. “Is it okay if I put my mouth on it?”
“Nah, nah, that’s sailors and convicts.” He bristled and sniffled. “And black guys.”
“Just the tip? Come on…” Avery blushed. He had never had to talk someone into dome before. He stroked more quickly as Trip sped up. Avery considered trying to slow Trip down, to prevent him from cumming too soon — that way he might let Avery jerk him off.
Tripiani smiled down at him. He began flexing his hips, fucking Avery’s hand like a pussy as precum began leaking down his shaft
“Hey, come on, use both hands, man…” He firmly guided Avery’s free hand to his dick as well, and Avery began stroking with both hands.
Trip had a nice, huge cock that pulsated in his fingers. Avery arranged his hands to jack him off right onto his face. Trip grinned at that, and moaned, his whole body twitching, muscles flexing beneath his uniform.
His pants, up to this point, had been bared just enough to let his cock come out through the fly of his boxers. But all of a sudden, the weight of his gun and utility belt made his pants fall to his ankles.
As if that was the trigger he was waiting for, Officer Tripiani moaned and writhed. He grabbed Avery’s head, pushed his mouth onto his cock, then grunted and laughed at himself like he hadn’t meant to do that.
“God, sorry-” His voice broke.
Avery got about a tenth of a second to taste to the tip of his dick as Tripiani rubbed the cocktip over his tongue, but then he just barely touched Avery’s lips. Finally he came like that, the tip of his dick right at the entrance to Avery’s mouth.
But since Avery wasn’t actually swallowing anything, his mouth wasn’t open, so all of Tripiani’s cum sprayed over Avery’s face and coated his lips. It dripped down his neck and onto his own uniform polo shirt.
“Ah, shit, ah, shit, ah, shit, man, you give good handjobs… Shit… lick it, okay? Shit, swallow it, no wait, just put the tip in ya mouth-” He was already mostly done orgasming when he said that, but Avery didn’t mind. He rammed his head down on Tripiani’s cock. “I mean, just a little, just slurp on it… I mean, don’t do nothing with it, but put it in your mouth… Just put it in your mouth a bit…”
It was too big to deep-throat, but Avery swallowed the first couple inches of it, getting Trip’s last few cumwads in his mouth. Trip shook as though it hurt, having one of the most animated orgasms Avery had ever seen, even grabbing the wall behind himself for support as he nutted.
Finally he was done. Avery giggled as he pulled off his cock. Since Trip had tried not to cum in Avery’s mouth, most of his semen had spilled. It now soaked Avery’s uniform polo shirt and Trip’s uniform slacks.
“Shit,” Trip said. “I’ve got spare pants out in the car. Can you go get them?”
Avery had to change his shirt too, but his coffee shop had a box of spare shirts in the back. Trip just stood there, pants around his ankles, gasping for air, still too overwhelmed to do much of anything. He hadn’t even taken his belt off yet even though he would need to in order to put clean pants on.
“I’ll go out there for you if you let me have a lick,” Avery said. “Just one lick.” He got back down on his knees. He made a big show of planting his tongue on the tip of Officer Tripiani’s cock, which made his whole body shake as it reawakened his orgasm, and then Avery licked all the way down his shaft, to his balls, and then he awkwardly crawled between Tripiani’s legs above his soaked pants — making Trip grunt and flare his nostrils, demanding again that Avery go get him pants — before he licked up Trip’s bare, hairy ass.
Avery had promised to only lick him once, but Avery intended to make that lick last as long as possible. Once Trip realized that, he sighed. Since he had still never taken his shirt off, Trip’s body was not easily accessible. Avery didn’t mind, licking him while moving his uniform out of the way so he could crawl back and forth between his legs.
Finally, Avery lost his balance and his tongue came off Trip’s asscheek. Trip sighed. “Okay, that was one lick. Damn, man, come on, go get my pants.”
Avery took the keys from him. “Okay, but one last rule. You gotta watch my ass as I walk away.” He didn’t verify, but he shook his ass and he was pretty sure Trip watched. Avery wondered if he could get Trip in his ass eventually.
He thought he could. It would just take a little time.
Luckily he had plenty of time. Tripiani came back most every night that he worked and sometimes even on his off nights. He always livened up Avery’s shifts.
Officer Tripiani was a friendly and charming man. Avery thought it might have been awkward to interact with him once he started giving him handjobs for free coffee — what a strange trade, Avery thought. But Tripiani was always charismatic, and he didn’t seem to be in the least bit awkward about it.
The other cops knew. Tripiani had said not to tell them, but it seemed Avery didn’t need to. They whispered about him, they made jokes about getting a free donut in exchange for letting him jerk him off. It was obvious Tripiani had told, or maybe they had guessed.
That only changed when Avery ran into Tripiani outside of the coffee shop. He was walking out of a nightclub on his night off. He snuck out into the alley, where he was blinded by flashing blue lights. There were cops right there on the main street. Avery came forward only to see that he was blocked, trapped in the alley by a cop car.
It was Officer Tripiani, standing there by his car with his partner, while another gaggle of cops pushed a trio of screaming Puerto Ricans into three separate cars. It looked like the Puerto Ricans had been drunkenly brawling just moments ago. Tripiani and his partner, Officer Heartley, were on crowd control, so they just watched as the other cops trundled off with perps in cuffs.
“Hey, Trip,” Avery said. “You wanna move your car? Or should I just shove it up your ass and tickle your prostate with it?” He paused and grinned. “Or should I just climb over the hood? I’ve had two drinks, not much but enough that climbing over a cop car might be difficult.”
“Oh, shit, Avery! Hey!” Tripiani threw his hands in the air. “Holy fuck!”
The black cop, Heartley, looked nervously at Avery. He bit his lip and shifted his weight. Tripiani looked at him and gestured towards Avery.
Heartley older than Tripiani, and he wasn’t a bodybuilder, so he didn’t have that squarish, blocky shape. But he was naturally thick-bodied, with a bristly mustache and a powerful frame that made Avery drool.
“You said you listen to hip hop, right, Avery?” Tripiani asked. Avery was trying to find a graceful way to climb over the cop car out of the alley, but it looked impossible from any angle. He would likely dent the hood any way he went, and he’d look like a clumsy imbecile.
“Yeah.”
“Heartley here is a rapper,” he said. “He raps, like Eminem-“
“Watch it.”
“He’s so good, he used, like, all the rhymes.”
“Man, shut up, Trip, we ain’t on a blind date,” Officer Heartley said. “I’m not a rapper. I just got this-“
“He is so a rapper. He rapped for me like an hour ago-“
“I’m not a rapper, Trip! I sing along with the radio too, I’m not a singer-“
“You didn’t just rap along with the radio, you were freestyling-” Officer Tripiani said.
“That don’t make me a rapper!” Heartley rolled his eyes. “Trip, just mind your own business.”
“My own business was not tellin’ you jack-shit. If you pay that bitch Kendra this month, it’s only because I ain’t mind my own business-“
“You don’t gotta talk me up like a fucking wingman!” Heartley said with a growl. He looked at Avery. “Look, ignore Trip, he’s a fucking retard. I ain’t like him — I know you give him handjobs.”
“Fuck you, Heartley!”
“I need two hundred dollars, man. If I don’t pay my child support on time… well, I’ve put men in handcuffs for less,” Heartley said. “So, uh… I was gonna come find you later-“
“No you wasn’t. You don’t know him, Heartley. I was going to help you, on account of me being so nice-“
“I knew which coffee shop he worked at-“
“He wouldn’t pay to jerk you off if you’re just some random stranger-“
“Oh like you’re some kinda of expert, Trip, come on! You know how often guys check me out? I’m a black man with a nice ass, I could get paid for a nut every time I go to the gym!” Heartley straightened his uniform. “Not like you, you fucking dago troglodyte.”
For a moment it looked like a fight was going to break out.
Then Avery, still a little confused, said, “what?” He was still trapped in the alley by the cop car. The arrest was complete now, so Heartley and Tripiani had no reason to remain here.
Heartley turned to look at him. “Sorry. I ain’t mean for him to be so blunt about it-“
“Oh please, Heartley-“
“Shut up, Trip!” He glared at him, then forced a charming smile aimed at Avery. “I need money and I heard, y’know…” He sighed. “I was gonna be subtle, just so you know. I was gonna seduce you. It wasn’t gonna be some grimy shit. This is Trip’s fault, he just came right out and said it-“
“Heartley, damn it, I will smash your goddamn teeth in!”
“I need two hundred dollars for child support or I’m going to jail next month,” Heartley said. “Can you do it? You can jerk me off.”
“Oh, uh…” Avery’s mind raced. He wanted to do it, of course, but could he afford it? Even as his mind considered his finances, his mouth kept on going. “Hell yeah!”
Heartley smiled, and Tripiani howled with laughter. Heartley hopped over the car hood and walked deeper into the alley. Avery followed, leaving Trip there to holler — it was obvious he was either nervous or maybe a little upset that Avery hadn’t argued about Heartley being more handsome than him.
But Heartley and Avery ignored him. There was a spot behind the dumpster in this alley where men often came to bust a nut after leaving the nightclub. That was where they went now. There was even an old ratty pillow there for Avery to kneel on.
He unzipped the fly of Heartley’s uniform slacks, and let his big, veiny cock flop out. Heartley sighed like he had been waiting a long time for this.
“Is my dick bigger than Trip’s?” Heartley asked when Avery jerked on the tip. Just like Trip, Heartley only unzipped his slacks to let his cock flop out.
“I don’t know, maybe. You’re both big. You’re both about the same size-“
“I’m bigger, we’ve compared it. I’ve got about a quarter-inch. Ask that Asian prostitute on Canal Street. You know her?”
“Oh yeah, there’s nothing I love more than female whores. We talks about boobs and vulvas all night long, and there’s nothing I love more than a vagina that smells like bread.”
“Okay, you don’t need to be bitchy. Well she measured, and she said I was bigger by a quarter-inch. She was very precise.”
Avery smiled. “Well, she is Asian. They’re good at math,” he said. “Can we stop talking about girls now? I wanna jerk you off-“
“Fine, yeah.” He let Avery resume jerking, then hollered out to Trip. “He said mine’s bigger! He said you were wrong, black dicks taste better!”
“I didn’t say that, Trip!” Avery yelled.
“Man-” Heartley was about to complain to Avery, but then Trip shouted a bunch of insults into the alley. Heartley shouted back to him, and stood there yelling at his partner while Avery got him hard.
He only stopped when his dick twitched, fully erect now, and a few drops of salty precum hit Avery’s tongue. Heartley grunted and writhed like he was surprised at how good this felt, but didn’t want to admit it.
“Damn, man, I swear, you do that pretty good. Not bad at all,” Heartley said — which sounded like a major overstatement. Avery knew he was good, he was certainly better than the trashy girls who usually jerked Heartley off. Heartley smiled. “Almost as good as this stripper I used to fuck wit’-“
Trip bellowed — he had come closer, though he faced away so he didn’t have to watch, making his voice loud — “is he talking about Destiny? She was a plus-size stripper, Avery. She was this thick!” Avery and Trip both faced away from each other, so Avery couldn’t see what gesture he was making.
“I ain’t embarrassed, man, I love big girls. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!” Despite his confident words, Heartley sounded embarrassed. “That just means there’s more cushion for the pushin’.” He cackled. “Hey, man, hey man, hey, can I throat you down?” He asked like he thought Avery would say no.
“Yeah, please,” Avery said. He had thought that was assumed.
Heartley clapped his hands. “Ah, shit, ah, shit, alright,” He gripped Avery’s ears. He was so excited he danced a little on his feet, making his balls sway and slap against Avery’s chin. He had a big dick, so girls rarely let him do any throating. His eyes opened wide as pleasure visibly coursed through his body, and he kept daggering his hips, making love to Avery’s throat over and over.
It all ended up only lasting a few seconds, but it seemed like forever to Avery, who loved every moment of it. He submitted as Heartley pounded at his throat, making him gag and sputter and choke. The taste of his throbbing, precummy cockshaft made Avery moan and stroke himself off, soon shooting his wad onto the garbage-strewn alley floor.
Avery opened his throat as wide as he could, letting Heartley plow away at him. His hands flailed, massaging Heartley’s plump ass and his uniformed muscles. Finally, as Avery began to get dizzy from lack of oxygen, he felt Heartley’s balls crawl up in his sac.
Then creamy, salty cum filled Avery’s throat. He didn’t taste it at first because Heartley’s dick was so deep in his neck, he just shot his cum directly into Avery’s belly. It sat there hotly, filling him up with warmth.
“Oh god, yeah, fuckin’ swallow it, girl, swallow it, shit…” Heartley murmured. When he called Avery girl, it made Trip laugh and clasp Heartley on the back. Heartley’s whole body rippled underneath his uniform shirt as he shot another burst of jizz down Avery’s gullet.
Every time Avery tried to pull off his cock, Heartley like the motion caused a sensation too intense to feel good, and he tensed up, standing on his toes and sucking in his breath. That accompanied another cumwad spurting into Avery’s throat, and then Avery didn’t pull off until he was thought he was done. Then it happened all over again. Heartley must have been horny as hell, Avery decided, that was why he shot such huge loads.
Finally he was done. Avery kept going as long as he could, but soon Heartley pushed him off. Avery took a deep breath, then cleaned the cum off his face. Heartley’s sweaty face was tense, his eyes closed. It was obvious he hadn’t really thought it would be that good of an orgasm, but he didn’t want to let on in front of Officer Tripiani.
“Well, shit,” Heartley said. “You got mad skills, whiteboy.” He sighed. He let his dick dangle between his legs for awhile, looking at it like he didn’t understand why it wasn’t doing anything. It lay limp, moist and gleaming, so overstimulated you could practically see the lines of post-nut ache emanating from the shaft. It was dark and glistened until Tripiani wiped it off with the tail of his uniform shirt. Avery played with it a bit too — there was something wonderfully alluring, Avery thought, about playing with a limp penis. Hartley watched him flop his dick left and right, making no effort to take it away and put it back in his uniform pants. “Thanks. That was… Don’t forget, you owe me two hundred dollars.”
“Just come by the coffee shop tomorrow night. I’ll go to the ATM,” Avery said. He kissed the tip of Heartley’s limpening cock. “And maybe I can play around a little more before I hand it over.”
Heartley wrinkled his nose, then he finally tucked his dick back in his pants. He zipped up the fly and straightened the belt. “Maybe,” he grunted. “We’ll see.”

The Mechanic

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

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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

The Redneck

Avery is working as a florist when a hunky redneck comes in late on Mother’s Day. There’s not many bouquets available anymore, but Avery is willing to do him a special deal… in exchange for a ride on his alpha male meat!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery counted down the minutes until he could close the shop and go home. The day had been long and crowded with customers because of the holiday — Mother’s Day. He now worked at a florist’s shop here in Sacramento, and it was only a few minutes until closing time.
There was one bouquet sitting on the counter waiting. Avery had made that one for himself. If he rang it up at full price, it would cost more close to two hundred dollars. But Avery used cast-off flowers and other bits that nobody would notice was gone, stuff that would have otherwise simply been thrown away. Then he just charged himself for a discount bouquet, and with his employee discount and a loyalty card, it barely cost a thing.
Now that bouquet of rhododendrums, roses and tulips beckoned. Avery needed to take them to his mom later, since today was Mother’s Day. The shop had been busy all day, because Mother’s Day was the single biggest day of the year for florists. This was the only part of the year where the shop made an actual profit. The rest of the year it barely broke even.
The bell above the door tinkled, just as Avery headed over to lock it. Outside, the sun was going down, but a few rays of light still extended over the street. A man walked in from the shadowy sidewalk. He stood awkwardly in the doorway.
Avery’s first thought was that he was annoyed someone would come in literally one minute before the shop closed. His second thought was oh my god, he’s handsome!
His name was Duncan Walsh, judging from the nametag sewn onto his overalls. He was dressed in gray, smeared with black oil and grease, a few drops of white paint on his ankles and some pale bleach-stains over his belly. He had a grizzled chin, square jaw and an iron cross tattoo on his neck, which was sun-stained to a permant rosy glow.
“Howdy,” he said in a thick Southern drawl. “You still open, right?”
If he hadn’t been so handsome, Avery would have said no. It’s not like he made commission, he had no reason to care about making this sale.
But he didn’t want to make Duncan leave. Avery greatly appreciated the male form, and Duncan’s was an excellent one.
So Avery smiled and nodded, pretending he wasn’t annoyed to get a customer two minutes before close. “You look like you just got off work,” Avery said. “You must have rushed right over here. I couldn’t close on you. What can I do for you?”
Duncan blushed and looked down at his feet. “Well… honestly, suh, I don’t wanna lie or nothin’… I ain’t just now get off work. I know it look like it, but, uh… I lost track of time” He blushed. “I gots an organization problem, for real, man, and there ain’t no clocks or calendars in the garage. I’s a mechanic, see?”
“Uh-huh.” Avery was entranced by the man’s muscles, which flexed beneath his overalls. He was big enough that he didn’t easily fit in his overalls. His biceps bulged out of the too-small tee-shirt he wore under the overalls — he wasn’t bodybuildery, but his arms were thick and fleshy, gleaming with day-long sweat. Avery could see a few armpit hairs peeking out from the armhole. Avery shivered with desire.
“Well, uh… I need a bouquet. It’s Mother’s Day.” He blushed intensely, like he didn’t want to come across as a mama’s boy, though he pretty clearly was. His muscles rippled under his tight clothes. “I was s’posed to be there an hour ago. I missed dinner at the restaurant, but I can still get the flowers and meet my mama at her house.”
“Oh, okay, well, we have a couple bouquets available. It’s the end of the day so we don’t have a lot of options. There’s a lovely bouquet for teachers over there — your mom’s not a teacher, is she?” Avery asked.
“Nah, she ain’t a teacher,” Duncan said, his thick drawl shining through. He looked at a shelf of lily-based bouquets. “Those is nice.”
“I see. Well, those are for funerals, don’t bring lilies for Mother’s Day,” Avery said. He looked around behind the counter. “Let me see what I have that looks lively and mother-ish. Your mom’s not a chrysanthemum lady, is she?”
“I dunno what that is. What about that one?” he pointed to the one Avery had made for himself, sitting on the counter.
“Oh, well… That one’s not exactly for sale,” Avery said. “I made that for myself.”
Duncan looked around the shop. “I want that one, man. C’mon, that’s a roodie, right? My mom loves ’em.”
“Roodie? You mean rhodie? That’s a rhododendron, yeah,” Avery said. “You know flowers?”
“My mom’s into ’em,” he said. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “She’s like… crazy into flowers. She be puttin’ ’em in books, you know?” He pantomimed closing a book. He made a face like books were preposterous.
“You mean she dries them in books?”
“Yeah! She crazy,” he said. He cocked his head to the side. “Wait, is that a thing?”
“Putting flowers in books to dry them? Yeah. It preserves their color and shape, albeit in two-dimensional form. You can make-“
“Shit, man, I always thought that was some weird bullshit she did. Like scrapbookin’, man? She’s into scrapbookin’.”
“She didn’t make that up either, Duncan,” Avery said.
“I know, I know, she just crazy ’bout it,” he said. “So come on, ya mama don’t need that bouquet, right? She must get alotta flowers from you.”
“I don’t know…” Avery said. He smiled as he had an idea. He hurried behind Duncan to close and lock the door, then he shut the blinds. He came back to the counter. “I could, maybe, be persuaded to give the flowers up.”
“Sweet.”
“But, uh, you gotta pay for ’em.”
“Well, yeah, I was gonna pay, man. I know how a store works,” Duncan said. He got out his wallet.
“Not in money,” Avery said. “Are you a believer in the ‘it’s-okay-if-you’re-on-top’ theory?”
Duncan’s eyes opened wide. “Oh! Well, uh… I mean… Yeah, sorta, technically, I mean… I know, uh… Uh, I don’t do that none, so you know… uh… I was a Marine. I know how to get my dick wet.” The more he stumbled over his words, the more his dirt-streaked face turned reddish and sweaty. His redneck drawl grew stronger too.
“Why don’t I just get started on extracting payment,” Avery said. He dropped to his knees. “If you’d rather buy one of those bouquets off the shelf instead, you can pay cash money and leave. If you want that special bouquet I made just for myself, you can pay in services rendered.”
He grunted. His dick twitched in his gray overalls. He closed his eyes. “Ah, man… You best believe I ain’t kissin’ you or nothin’, man. Not a bit, I swear. Don’t you even try it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Avery smiled. He had had a feeling Duncan would be gettable. He just seemed like the type who had such a big dick that needed so much attention he’d be willing to do anything to get his nut off. Avery suspected he could have gotten this for a lot less than that bouquet — Duncan seemed nervous, but not like he was considering saying no.
And he was a Marine. They’ll stick their dick in anything. That, Avery thought, was the best of a Marine.
Avery was glad to see a huge cock pop out through the fly of his nasty old overalls. They stank of sweat and engine grease, which made Avery swoon — he loved blue-collar guys, and raunchy, musky action. That was exactly what Duncan smelled like. He had that cool foresty scent that redneck men always have, he smelled like a hunting trip, like a farmer’s clothes, like hay rotting in a barn. His crotch was hairy, his dick big and veiny and throbbing from the moment Avery planted his lips on it. Duncan smelled like he had been unwashed for some time — that wasn’t true, it was a scent that lingered on his overalls, not his flesh. But Avery inhaled deeply of it just the same.
Duncan’s eyes bulged out. This was all happening very fast. His dick was wet now, sitting in Avery’s mouth. Duncan’s heart leapt into his chest as he realized it was possible he’d be unable to get hard.
Then he felt a surge of electric energy and pleasure shoot up his spine. He breathed a sigh of relief, and he let out a horsey sigh — even his sighs had a redneck accent to them. His dick firmed up a little in Avery’s mouth, and he sniffled, crossing his arms over his chest, which accentuated the size of his pecs.
Duncan had virtually grown up in a garage. His father was a mechanic and also owned several cars. Duncan had been working on them since he was big enough to pick up a wrench. Throughout that time, his coworkers had been making jokes about how they would (or in some cases, have) cornholed a man in prison, or gotten jacked off by a man when they were drunk — there was a biker bar outside of town that was notorious for that. Duncan had never gone there, but his motorcycle-loving coworkers swore that weird dudes hung around in the bathroom jacking off anyone who came in. Most of them insisted that it was fine as long as you were on top. Of course, most of them also teased each other about it and accused them of not being on top.
But Duncan had begun to feel like he didn’t fit in because he hadn’t done it. He had never really ruled out the possibility of doing it, but he didn’t typically get that drunk or spend time in prison.
Now he wondered if he could even tell the guys about this. Would he seem like a manwhore? Like a street hustler? Would they even believe him?
He watched his dick get hard in Avery’s mouth, and Duncan both sucked in his breath in excitement and sighed in relief that he wasn’t embarrassing himself. He was fully hard now, his dick squeezing into Avery’s mouth, and the soft warmth of his throat sent waves of pleasure to wrack Duncan’s body. He wasn’t expecting it to feel this good.
“Awright, awright, awright…” Duncan said. He would have kept on babbling, but he blushed and forced himself to stop. It really feels like a girl but even better. Avery deep-throated him like no girl ever had.
There was a black man who worked with Duncan — Bunker Fiddle was his name — and he always said there was a dude who paid him to jack him off under the impression that it would make his dick bigger — he had also insisted over and over that men swallowed cum better than women. Nobody ever believed him. Or maybe they did believe him but preferred to pretend otherwise.
Was that weird? Paying for a present for your mom’s birthday with jacking off? It wasn’t like it made the flowers worse, Duncan thought. She’d never know.
“Ah, sheeit, man, you swallow as deep as a well, boy,” Duncan said with a loud cackling laugh. “Yee-haw!” He hadn’t really meant for it to be that loud, he was just reacting to a shiver of pleasure that ran through his veins.
He grabbed ahold of Avery’s head and held on tight. That made it difficult because, even with his eyes closed, Duncan could tell he was with a man — he could feel the short hair. And even beyond that, Duncan thought he could tell it was a man’s scalp and a man’s lips encircling his rod. There was something distinctly unfeminine about it, even though Avery himself was effeminate.
Goddamn, I’ll be pissed if I do this and Mama is still salty wit’ me. I’ll tell her I had to stay late at work to suck up to Mr. Jackson. She’ll understand that. It’s sort of true anyway.
He tried not to think about that. He couldn’t help but worry that his mom would know that he hadn’t gotten these flowers through normal, morally-upright means. But how could she know?
It shouldn’t feel this good, he thought, cuz it felt amazing, better even than any blowjob from a woman. Avery swallowed his dick to the root, and his throat massaged the sensitive shaft of Duncan’s cock. Duncan groaned, his knees growing weak, and his hands fluttered then gripped Avery’s head again then let go once more.
Duncan gulped. Thi should be more like a job I have to work at. This guido who used to work with Duncan said that whenever he got drunk and there was no girl around, he would plow into his weak middle-aged neighbor. He always made it seem, when telling the story later, that he struggled, that he only did it because his massive Italian balls were on overdrive and because his neighbor was too weak to resist. Duncan had assumed he was just exaggerating — Italians like him bragged constantly about their dick, their balls, their skills in sex and in seduction. It was all bullshit.
This certainly didn’t feel like Duncan had to work at it, he thought. Even knowing he was with a man, totally sober, and feeling his male haircut as he got head, Duncan was so aroused it felt like his cock might explode. He grumbled and sucked in his breath, standing on his toes as Avery massaged pleasure into his cock.
Avery’s hands cupped his balls too, giving them a gentle squeeze. That felt good too, and it was s surprise because Duncan was used to women treating his sweaty ballsac as gross and untouchable. But Avery not only played with the sac, he even pulled off Duncan’s cock long enough to slurp the sweat off his scrotum. That felt almost ticklish, not really sexy but arousing. Avery moved right back to his cocktip, which he worked on good, choking up mouthfuls of spit that ran down Duncan’s shaft.
Then Avery pulled off him. He giggled. “You taste real good,” Avery said. He again licked a trail up and down Duncan’s dick, following a blue vein, and he slurped up then spat out all the saliva he’d hocked up to coat Duncan’s shaft. Duncan groaned, his eyes fluttering. This felt so good he wanted to shout, but he managed to subdue the urge. Avery grinned. “But I wanna feel you inside me. You know how to ramrod a man, right?”
Duncan gasped. He hadn’t expected to do this stranger up the ass, but he supposed it shouldn’t be surprising. That Bunker Fiddle told him they all do it, the limp-wristed types. They like to take it up the ass. Duncan hadn’t been sure he believed that, but he damn well believed it now.
His dick leaked precum onto the floor, even with no one touching it. Duncan just watched with baited breath and eyes open wide. His dick was so sensitive a gentle breeze on it made him moan with desire.
He had only had anal sex with one girl ever in his life. He had often bragged about it with his buddies in the garage, but he had only actually done it a few times with that one woman, and she hadn’t taken his whole dick in her tight ass. He told his fellow mechanics that she did, but she said his cock was too big.
He closed his eyes, praying that he got through this without embarrassing himself. When I tells this story, assuming I do tells folks ’bout it, he thought, I’ll say my dick was too big for him. He tried to take it, but it hurt too bad. All of a sudden, Duncan remembered how that braggy black mechanic Bunker Fiddle bragged about ramming men in the ass in the biker bar, and he often claimed his dick was too big for their asses. Was Bunker lying just like Duncan intended to?
His dick was big, but Avery didn’t care. He loved that. He didn’t mind the challenge of accepting Duncan’s thick shaft up his ass. With a grin aimed up at Duncan’s shocked face, Avery smeared plenty of lube on his ass and laid on his back over the counter.
At first, Duncan just looked at him like he didn’t know what was going on. He touched hsi dick with one hand, then let it go, and his broad redneck shoulders tensed. He moved the bouquet Avery had made off the counter, placing it gently on a table nearby. Then he came closer.
Sensing that he needed to take charge, Avery took Duncan’s cock in hand. He gave it a few strokes, and his manhood must have been very sensitive because that made his knees weak and Duncan let out a moan that turned into a grunt.
When he guided Duncan’s dick in, there was a jolt of pain in his backside. Avery gulped.
But he didn’t stop. The pain, he thought, made the pleasure better. Duncan had still not taken those filthy overalls off. He just approached the counter with his dick out, and he leaned forward so he could plow it into Avery’s ass. Avery rested his feet on Duncan’s sunburnt shoulders.
“Oh god…” Duncan muttered to himself. He wasn’t aware that he had said it out loud, so he blushed when he realized Avery had heard it. His cocktip barely fit in Avery’s ass. Duncan groaned. His eyes opened wide, as Avery screwed up his face with pain. Duncan stopped pushing his cock in deeper. “Ah, shit, man, are you… okay?”
Avery grunted. “Gimme a sec.” He took a deep breath, and his ass loosened. The pressure diminished, replacing with a burgeoning bliss that grew and grew until it consumed Avery’s senses.
At first, it was awkward for Duncan. He moved gingerly until a spark of pleasure made him suck in his breath. His dick twitched and slid in a little more. He groaned and pushed in more. He thought he was hurting Avery, it sure seemed like it should hurt, but Avery looked like he was exactly where he wanted to be. Avery gasped.
“Hmm, keep going…” Avery moaned exquisitely, Duncan’s cock reaching his prostate and triggering a spasm of pleasure that ran through Avery’s whole body.
“Really? Hmm-hmmm… yee-haw!” Duncan blushed, still trying to force his entire dickshaft in there. But the more he pushed in, the more intense the sensations that exploded up from his cock. That slowed him down, but it didn’t stop him.
At last, Duncan was entirely inside him — even the girl he had ass-fucked never quite took him in as deep as all this. It got easier then. Avery was wide open, and Duncan gripped his legs in place.
Soon, both he and Duncan inhaled together. Duncan clutched Avery’s legs, holding his ass in place, as he began pistoning his hips. He worked his manhood back and forth.
The most surprising thing, Duncan thought was how easy it was now that he had gotten over his initial discomfort. He would have thought that knowing he was with a man, seeing his flat chest and even his dick would make it difficult to stay hard. But it didn’t, it felt even better than with a girl because he wasn’t so worried about messing things up — plus, of course, Avery took every inch of his throbbing mechanic cock and begged him to pound as hard as he could. No woman ever begged for anything like that.
Duncan bit hit lip and jacked in his breath. It felt so good it hurt. Every centimeter of dickshaft that slid into Avery’s ass sent a new wave of pleasure through Duncan’s body. He couldn’t believe it felt this good. It hadn’t felt this good with that girl, he thought, or with anyone else ever.
Obviously, he thought, I can’t tell anyone it felt this good. I’ll tell them it was okay. I’ll tell them he couldn’t take it in the ass cuz it was too big, so he jacked me off and it was a sloppy nut and oh god this feels so good!
He moaned loudly, checking the door over and over to be sure they weren’t interrupted. He slammed his cock the rest of the way in, glad to be with a man for a moment at least — no woman, he thought, would let him pound her this hard. But Avery didn’t seem to have any compunctions about it.
Avery’s ass was loose enough now that Duncan could plow back and forth with abandon. Every thrust increased the exquisite bliss flowing through Avery’s veins and Duncan’s too.
The pain in Avery’s ass was still there, and it had grown in intensity. But it had diminished in Avery’s mind, turning into a tiny little afterthought overwhelmed by the sheer volume of pleasure arising from his prostate. Duncan’s manhood slid in and out past it, cornholing Avery so good he writhed and screamed.
He clutched the counter beneath his back, his toes curling up against Duncan’s tattooed neck. Duncan closed his eyes and groaned. His muscles all flexed beneath his stained overalls.
For a moment, neither man moved. It seemed to last an eternity, Avery thought. All he felt, every sense in his body attuned to it, was the bliss pumping into his ass.
Cum filled him up. Duncan began humping again once it flowed, and Avery shot his own wad over his belly and chest. He clawed at Duncan’s broad chest but could barely reach it Great creamy wads coated his insides and sent a wave of warmth to waft through his body. Duncan howled and grunted, while Avery clenched his mouth shut, hands kneading Duncan’s powerful pecs beneath the overalls he had never taken off.
The orgasm that rocked Avery’s body was so intense it hurt. He writhed and squirmed beneath Duncan, whose face turned ruddy as he climaxed too. His deep baritone grunting harmonized with Avery’s more flamboyant yelping. More and more jizz spurted into him, the creamy texture of it seeping into Avery’s body. Avery cringed and moaned and begged for more.
Duncan cornholed Avery’s cummy hole so much and so hard that most of his cumload slipped out, making a big frothy mess on the counter. It spread over the glass, and still Duncan shot more and more cum.
Finally, it was done. Duncan was again motionless for a moment, his cock throbbing inside Avery’s sensitive ass. Avery felt such exquisite pleasure it was all he could do to rub his head against the counter beneath him, gasping and heaving for air. The tense pressure in his ass grew, keeping his orgasm going for what felt like eons.
And then, at last, Duncan pulled out. He grimaced and smiled at the sight of his gooey, cum-covered dick. He gulped, taking a deep breath. He grabbed some tissues from the counter and cleaned his cock off.
“Well, sheeit, man, yee-haw! That was… I mean… that was-“
“Was it a good deal for a bouquet?”
“Yeah,” Duncan said. Then he startled. “Shit, I gotta run, man, or I gonna be even later.” He grabbed the bouquet and took a step towards the door. “Oh, I guess I should put my dick away.” He tucked it back into his overalls.
“Hey, what garage do you work at?” Avery asked.
Duncan paused. Would he get made fun of if Avery came to the garage?
“I just might need some work done on my car,” Avery said. “And maybe I could give you a tip… by taking your tip in my mouth?”
Duncan blurted out, “Screw Tight Auto Repair.” He paused. “Don’t say, y’know… uh… Just come on weekends, okay? That’ll be better.”
“I’ll see you then. Tell your mom happy Mother’s Day.”

The Aryan Bottoms

When Moshe confronts the neo-Nazis protesting his synagogue, he didn’t know what he was in for! That’s cuz he winds up with Tower, the hardcore alpha with a secret need for a twink like Moshe to climb on top!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

When Moshe saw his new neighbor — ‘Tower’ was his name, according to what Moshe had overheard — among the crowd of men near the synagogue, he marched right up to him and confronted him about the things he had said. Moshe had tried to look the other way when it only affected him, but now Tower was protesting the synagogue, and Moshe couldn’t tolerate that.
He had heard Tower through the paper-thin walls separating their apartments, ranting and raving last night about the Jews, as he talked with someone on the phone. Moshe hadn’t done anything particularly Jewy when they met, so Tower had no way of knowing Moshe was Jewish until they made eye contact there at the synagogue.
Moshe didn’t want to look the other way anymore. Rabbi Kaplan’s words of wisdom today had made him feel like he needed to become a man of action, not timidity. He should confront evil and replace it with good: a simple idea, but one that was hard to put into practice.
“I’ll have you know that those things you said last night — I could hear them through the wall — those things were wrong, and you are an anti-Semite and a big jerk and… and….” Moshe stammered over his words as the other neo-nazis hooted at him. “You shouldn’t protest us. We are kind and gentle, and we don’t want to hurt anyone.” The neo-nazis jeered and sneered. At least they moved away from the synagogue Temple Man Asaf, which let the last few elderly folks inside scurry off to the parking lot.
Tower, on the other hand, remained firmly planted to the ground, his face placid and stony. He was the biggest neo-nazi there, at well over six and a half feet tall, skin white as oyster shell, bedecked with colorful tattoos and a big square jaw like an action hero. He towered over the small, thin and delicate Moshe. He would probably not have confronted Tower if he had realized how big he was. His dimpled face and strong cheekbones would have been handsome if it weren’t for the Aryan gang tats reaching up his neck to his chin.
He actually was handsome, Moshe realized. It was hard to see because of his prison muscles and anti-Semitic tattoos, but it was there — a handsome face. Tower had sweet eyes and a potent jaw and high cheekbones like a Roman emperor.
It looked like the more Moshe spoke, the more Tower hated him, and the other neo-nazis jeered louder and louder. So Moshe just darted away. He blushed. He was glad the neo-nazis couldn’t see him anymore. He felt like an idiot even as he tried to tell himself that he had done what was right — he had expressed his beliefs, he had remained true to himself and spoken righteousness in the face of evil. He just wished he wasn’t such a thin, small man, then he might have had a chance to intimidate some of the nazi scum.
By the time he got home and made himself some dinner, the humiliating incident with the neo-nazis seemed like a distant memory. He had gone to synagogue today, which he often was too pressed for time to do, so he tried to remain proudful of that. He had been attempting to reconnect with his Jewish heritage this year. He sighed as he got the oven started, then went upstairs to change his pants.
As he opened the door, he saw a large man in his bedroom, creeping forward. He halted when Moshe saw him, and then realized it was Tower. He was here, in Moshe’s house, in his bedroom. Moshe screamed, only for Tower to dart forward and clamp one meaty palm over Moshe’s mouth.
His hand was enormous, and it easily covered Moshe’s entire face. His cries of fear were muffled by the man’s gigantic palm. His fingers were tattooed, spiderwebs covering the interior of his middle and ring fingers, so it looked like the space between those fingers was infested with spiders.
“Sssh,” Tower said. “I ain’t gonna hurt you, Jewboy.” He hissed through gritted teeth, and his other hand caressed Moshe’s tender neck. “I ain’t here to hurt ya. I’m-a give you somethin’ I’m pretty sure you’ll like.”
He lowered his hand but kept a tight grip on Moshe’s face and neck. Moshe was intensely aware of Tower’s muscular body, which was intimidating — he was a large man whose sleeveless shirt showed off his thick barrel chest and powerful frame. Neo-nazi tattoos covered his entire body, almost every scrap of flesh from his neck to his ankles.
“What… What do you want?”
“I wanna tell you somethin’ for starters,” he said. He spoke directly into Moshe’s face, so close they were virtually kissing. His big dimpled smile made Moshe swoon now that he was so close that Moshe couldn’t see his cue-ball head or his offensive tattoos. Moshe’s heart fluttered. Tower smiled menacingly. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry, about what I said and what happened earlier. I don’t want bad blood wit’ my neighbor. I ain’t really a neo-nazi. I mean… Yeah, I joined the Aryan Way. I did that in prison a couple years back. I had to do it to survive, man.”
“Okay…” Moshe voice faltered, weakly wavering. He barely even listened to Tower’s words because he was so terrified of what was going to happen. “Take whatever you want-“
He sighed and cocked his head to the side. “I ain’t here to rob you, man, I- But since you said that, I am gonna rob you. Ain’t a robbery if you gimme permission, so don’t go calling the police.”
“Fine!”
“But that ain’t why I came here, man. What’s yo’ name?”
“Moshe.”
“I’m Leopold. That’s my real name. Not Tower.”
“Okay, Leopold… Leopold?”
“It’s a family name.”
“Oh, I… Okay, I don’t-“
“I don’t believe in none of that neo-nazi shit. I got these tattoos to fit in.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Well…”
“Nevermind, it don’t matter,” Leopold said. “I only stay in the Aryan Way to make money, Jewboy. They got the meth market in this town locked up.”
“Oh. Okay,” Moshe said. A part of him did believe Leopold. It was hard to accept, but Leopold’s general mien right now came across more like a hardened thug who adopted a neo-nazi look to fit in. He smiled self-effacingly, deep dimples flashing in the dim light of Moshe’s bedroom.
Pretending to be neo-nazi in order to sell meth was hardly morally superior to genuinely believing in neo-naziism while coincidentally selling meth, Moshe thought. It wasn’t much of an excuse.
“I want you to do somethin’ for me,” Leopold said. He smiled at the sight of an iPad on the nightstand. He scooped it up and put it in his baggy jeans pocket. Then he sat on the bed and slowly untied his heavy military boots.
“Uh, what are-“
“Get down on the ground, on your knees and open your mouth, Jewboy,” Leopold said. His nostrils flared. “If you’re still here in a minute, we’re gonna mess around, prison-style. One of us might cry a little. One of us is gonna taste a whole lotta cum. One of us just might beg fo’ mercy. You might be able to guess which is which. You can run away if you want. I’ll just hurry up and rob you, then get out. But if you are still here when I get my clothes off… well, we gonna have a little fun. At least one of us is gonna enjoy it. Fair warning: it won’t be kosher.”
Moshe’s mouth dropped. He had always loved skinheads — not the racist kind — shaved men, smooth skin, he loved it all. Tower — or Leopold as he thought of him now — was so muscle-bound and intense he was entirely too much for Moshe, who told himself over and over to leave. Moshe greatly appreciated a sturdy male physique like what Leopold had.
The safe thing to do was run away. He could grab his cell phone out the door, and he could run to the McCloud family down the street. He knew they kept their front door unlocked, so he could just run in, and make noise, wake them up, call the police. He’d be safe.
He didn’t run away. He kept telling himself to do so, but he wanted more than anything to service this hot alpha male. He wasn’t going to be able to force himself to give up on that. He was beginning to believe him about not really being an anti-Semite.
Leopold had taken off both of his boots. He sneered at Moshe. “You fuckin’ pervert. You so nasty, boi. You want me to spit on you?”
“Yes-“
He spat before Moshe could finish answering. He let out a huge wad of saliva that splatted all over Moshe’s face. Moshe sputtered and Leopold guffawed. Moshe was mesmerized as Leopold took off that sleeveless shirt. He had massive pecs, which he flexed and laughed when he saw Moshe’s hungry look.
“I hate weak men,” he said with a hiss that sent a chill up Moshe’s spine. “Take off your clothes. All your clothes.”
Moshe trembled as he unbuttoned his shirt and slowly took it off. Leopold simply undid his belt and let his black pants fall to the ground. He stepped out of them, scratched at his massive cock through the plain white boxers he wore, then pulled them down as well. They were, Moshe suspected, prison-issued underwear.
He was so scared that he didn’t quite process what happened as he dropped his own pants: Leopold simply climbed on the bed and laid on his back on the edge, so his head hung down. There were more spiderwebs tattooed on his face and even spiders tattooed crawling out of his eye sockets — Moshe wondered, terrified, if the spiders represented murder. That was what tears meant when they were tattooed in, he thought, but what did spider-tears mean?
Leopold was so tall he didn’t fit on the bed when he laid crossways. His feet dangled off the edge. He grumbled. “It’s like being in prison again, man. I was seven inches too tall for them bunks. It was like fucking torture after a few months man. I couldn’t stretch my legs at night. It seems minor but it ain’t.”
It was only as he talked that Moshe realized Leopold was laying on the bed as though in position to get throated. In a position for Leopold to get throated. Not Moshe.
Leopold lay on his back with his head dangling over the side of the bed. Moshe shook as he approached. This surely wasn’t right?
“Come here, pervert,” Leopold said. He reached out and grabbed Moshe’s dick with one of those huge hands — Moshe’s dick was not small by any means, but in comparison with Leopold’s massive paws and his large head, Moshe looked like a miniature person. He had to stand on his toes to get his crotch lined up with Leopold’s head. Leopold smiled, flashing deep dimples that would have been handsome if they weren’t on a menacing tattooed face.
Then he opened his mouth and swallowed Moshe’s dick down to the root. He gagged as though he hated it, but his tongue ran up and down Moshe’s shaft like he had extensive practice at it. Moshe was so shocked he yelped and screamed, but muffled the sound himself.
He leaned back a little, as though he’d get in trouble for touching a neo-nazi man’s tattoos. But the man’s body beckoned. Leopold struggled to keep Moshe’s dick in his throat, and every time he gagged, his corded chest muscles roiled. Those softball-sized pecs flexed and relaxed in sync — was that what massive muscles normally looked like? Moshe had never seen anything like that in person. Even as he told himself this was dangerous and he ought to run away, his hands roamed forward and grabbed those nipples.
They were hard beneath his touch. Leopold’s body stretched to accommodate Moshe’s dick, and Moshe writhed, barely able to support himself on his toes as his manhood hardened and sent throes of passion through his limbs. His knees were weak.
The sound of moist suckling filled the air. Moshe could tell he was leaking precum into Leopold’s mouth, but that somehow didn’t seem to bother him. Leopold continued enthusiastically even as his throat sputtered and choked. Leopold managed to stick his tongue out past his lips and flickeringly touch Moshe’s balls with it.
Then at last Leopold pulled off. He growled at Moshe. “I don’t like you, you little bitch. You talk like a goddamn pussy.” Leopold’s eyes narrowed. He jumped to his feet on the bed, his body so big Moshe wondered if he was going to shatter the bedframe. He crouched low, glaring at Moshe, his heavy-hanging balls dangling just in front of Moshe’s face. He had a girthful cock with a red and black swastika tattoo on it. He spat again on Moshe’s face. “I was just… I wondered… Uh… You were strokin’ my dick, and, uh…-“
Leopold jumped down from the bed. He marched forward, his chest bumping up against Moshe as though challenging him to a fight. Since he was so much taller than Moshe, Leopold bumped his chest and belly against Moshe’s face. He outweighed Moshe by more than a hundred pounds of solid muscle, so Moshe could do little more than stumble backwards, pinned against the bedroom wall.
‘Oh damn,’ he thought to himself, ‘am I about to get jewbashed now? Had I been given the gift of one outrageous muscley smooth-bear jerking me off and I squandered it? I shouldn’t have said anything.’ Moshe cursed himself.
“Lemme be clear. I would never swallow no dick,” he said through gritted teeth, stepping even closer with every word until his sweaty belly-meat smacked into Moshe’s face. Moshe could taste the sweat from the giant swastika over his bellybutton, which seemed to taste different, more sour and rancid, than the rest of his sweat. “I’d rip yo’ dick off and choke you to death with it before I touch your dick like this-” he grabbed Moshe’s dick with one callused hand. His rough-hewn fingers stroked it, and he laughed at Moshe’s pale face and frightened shake. “Don’t you ever suggest I might do that. I ate Jews like you up when I was in prison.”
“Oh, okay. Sure. Sure, uh… Leopold,” Moshe said. His voice sounded weak and pinched, and he knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll uh… Sure. You’re not into that. I realize that. You would never jerk me off-“
“Quit talkin’ about it, Jew,” he said. He saw Moshe’s jewelry box nearby, and picked it up. He looked at the handful of cheap necklaces and bracelets, sneered and tossed them on the ground near his pants. “They ain’t worth jack shit.” He sniffed like he was offended. “I’m still gonna steal ’em. Cuz fuck you, that’s why.” He spat on Moshe’s face again.
“Okay. Yeah. I’m sorry. I don’t have any nice jewelry. You might get a few dollars for-!… uh… for that, uh, one… gold bracelet there.” Moshe’s voice trailed off because Leopold grabbed his hand and shoved it behind himself, in between Leopold’s own asscheeks, which were plump, juicy and tattooed with crude statements about various races, inviting them to lick his ass.
Moshe rather wanted to act out some of those statements — Leopold had a round, firm and delicious-looking pair of cheeks, aside from the rude tattoos. But Leopold forced Moshe’s pinkie finger to separate from his others, and before Moshe realized what he wanted, he pushed Moshe’s pinkie into his ass.
Leopold gripped the dresser in front of him, leaning forward a little to separate his cheeks. Moshe gulped nervously. He inserted his pinkie back and forth, slowly at first as Leopold yelped and breathed heavy, struggling to accept it. His broad back muscles rippled, sending distortions up and down the intricate tattoos that crisscrossed his flesh.
“Deeper, Jew!”
As Moshe fingered him, Leopold slowly, painfully moved his body around. He opened each drawer of the dresser and threw all of Moshe’s clothes onto the floor. He stopped only when he found a wad of cash — Moshe’s emergency money. He threw the money onto the pile of clothes and jewelry he intended to steal.
Then Leopold roared, his bullish nostrils flaring. He gripped Moshe’s wrist and held on tight, digging his nails into the flesh. Moshe yelped, thinking he had made a mistake — now, he thought, Leopold’s violent side would come through.
“Listen to me, Jew, since you ain’t got a lotta nice stuff to give me, I’m gonna have to punish you.”
But instead of hitting him, he guided Moshe’s hand to more violently finger his ass. Moshe slipped a second finger in, and Leopold groaned with a mixture of agony and rage. His face was ruddy now, the color spreading down to his massive chest, which was shaved perfectly smooth though Moshe got the impression he was hairy by nature.
Then he jumped around in a full circle to face Moshe, whose fingers left his ass. Leopold’s face was crimson, and he scrunched up his eyes as he roared in frustration and hatred. Moshe’s balls crawled up in his sac, and he was overcome, yet again, by certainty that this was it, that Leopold was about to reveal his true nature.
But Leopold simply made a face like a Hulk, and he flexed his arms like he was trying to terrify Moshe (who could not possibly had been any more frightened than he’d been ever since Leopold appeared in his home). He grunted loudly, then spat once again on Moshe’s face. He stomped angrily back to the bed and bent over it.
It was both obvious what he wanted and obvious that he didn’t want it at all. Leopold was in position to get it up the ass, that was clear. He bent face-first over the bed and stuck his ass in the air. He spread his asscheeks.
But he was obviously, blatantly and drastically too tall for Moshe to ram him in that position. His ass was well above Moshe’s head. Moshe stood there like an idiot, looking up at Leopold’s ass and dangling cock and balls.
“Whatchoo doin’ back there?!” Leopold barked. He turned his head and realized that Moshe couldn’t reach his ass. “Oh yeah,” Leopold said with a dry chuckle, “I forgot you was a fuckin’ weak-ass midgetty Jew.” He lowered his ass, dropping his hips and resting on his knees, his entire upper body splayed over the bed. He sneered at Moshe.
Moshe stood there with his dick behind Leopold’s ass, too terrified to actually insert it.
“I hate limp-wristed Jews like you,” he said. He spat towards Moshe again, but this time his head was too far away. He ended up just spitting on the bed.
Then before Moshe could respond, Leopold jutted his hips backward. He grabbed Moshe’s dick to keep it in place as he backed his ass onto it. Then he let go and gripped the bedspread, letting out a long, slow howl of pain. His giant body shook and vibrated.
Moshe gasped. He once again leaned back, unwilling to touch Leopold in any way that Leopold didn’t initiate. But as Leopold ground his ass and lowered his head, it was apparent that he needed a pair of hands to guide him. Moshe tentatively grabbed the man’s wide fleshy asscheeks, trembling at the feel of their vibrating thickness. His fingers dug into a tattooed invitation for Asian people to swallow Tower’s farts. He closed his eyes, certain that that would be it, that Leopold was going to attack him.
But he didn’t. He kept working his hips back and forth, even as he continued to grumble about blacks and Jews. It sounded like he was in too much pain to speak clearly, but that didn’t stop him from spitting invective at Moshe.
“Fuck you, you little squealing piggie. If we was in prison right now, I’d pimp you out to the mud-people,” he said. He hung his head low, cradling it in his biceps as he struggled to accept Moshe’s dick. His other hand crept lower and stroked himself off.
As Moshe began plowing harder and harder, he realized that Leopold wasn’t getting upset about him touching his ass. So he kneaded those jiggling orbs of tattooed flesh, then let his hands roam upwards, massaging Leopold’s rippling back muscles.
“You really don’t buy into that nazi stuff?” Moshe asked.
“Not at all,” Leopold said. “I just like making money. Ha! I bet you know about that, Jew. If your people bought more meth than the nazis, I’d have a fucking yarmulke tattooed on my face.”
“Really?”
“Well… Probably not that specifically,” he said, wincing but covering up the pain with a firm jaw. “Aren’t tattoos forbidden? But anyway, I’d be Jewish. You wanna taste my cum, Jew?”
“Uh…-“
“I thought so,” he said. Then he threw his head back and moaned. His asshole clenched, sending Moshe over the line into the throes of the most intense orgasm of his life. He gasped as Leopold lifted his upper body, so he was kneeling now, next to the bed, head upright.
Leopold’s muscles all flexed at once. Moshe clutched his thick torso, face planted in the meaty swastika tattooed over the center of his back. It was all Moshe could see as his climax erupted deep within him. Their size difference made ramming difficult when Leopold had been bent over, but now that he kneeled, it was impossibly awkward. Moshe had to clutch him like a tree trunk he was trying to shimmy up, in order to keep his spasming dick inside Leopold’s tattooed ass.
Cum sprayed within Leopold, who groaned and grunted as his hole tightened hard around Moshe’s dick. Sweat dripped down his German-tattooed skin, its salty flavor overwhelming Moshe’s senses. He had never experienced anything as intense as the feeling of cum pouring into Leopold’s tight fat ass. His body undulated beneath Moshe’s tiny delicate fingers.
A loud smacking sound could be heard — Moshe was so overcome by passion that he didn’t process it right away. Then pain exploded in his face, followed by a surge of salty cum flavor: Leopold had slapped him hard, with a hand covered in nazi cum. He smeared that wad of semen all over Moshe’s face, and pushed him to the ground. He stood over Moshe with his dick in hand.
His phone rang. Leopold grabbed it from his pile of clothes. He sneered at Moshe and used one toe to rub the cum around on Moshe’s face. “Yo,” he said into the phone. “Yeah. I’m still in there. The Jew was complainin’ like a whiny little Jew, so I had to pop him one. He ain’t got much money, for a Jew. But he got a bit. I took a shit on his pillow. He’s tied up in the bathroom now. Fuck you, man, I’m sending a message to fuckin’ Israel. The message is ‘eat shit, Jews’. What’re you in a hurry for? You got a hot date with some Jew? Ha, yeah, okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”
He quickly threw his clothes back on. When Moshe moved to do the same, Leopold glared at him. He didn’t need to say anything to know that wasn’t allowed. Moshe remained there on his knees, cum drying on his face.
“You can clean yo’self up in eleven minutes,” Leopold said. He set the alarm clock by Moshe’s bedside. “You sit there wit’ my cum on your face until then, Jew. You nasty-ass Jew. Get forgiveness, and find Christ.”
“Okay-“
“Shut up. And when you call the cops, you tell them it was a black guy, okay? If you tell them it was a black guy, I’ll come back. I’ll teach you a lesson about Jewry you never forget. Got it?” He raised his eyebrows like he was asking whether Moshe understood what he was really offering — to keep coming back and getting wrecked by him at night, so long as Moshe didn’t tell the cops who it was.
“Oh, uh… okay.”
“Good. Now sit there and think about how nasty you is,” Leopold said. He hefted Moshe’s belongings in a sac and headed out the door.
Moshe sighed and leaned back. He wasn’t going to stay in this spot for eleven minutes, but he saw now reason to clean off his face. He wanted to bask in the smells and sensations of Leopold’s cum on his face, and he wanted that to last as long as possible.

The Bodybuilding Coach

Donovan tutors football jocks, but he didn’t know their hunky coach Bagworth was willing to give him a taste too! Can Donovan satisfy his new favorite college football coach?

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“I’m tellin’ you, man, it just don’t make no sense to me. My brain don’t work like this,” said Gravyboat — David Mitchell, but everyone called him ‘Gravyboat’ — running his fingers through his hair. He was a heavyset linebacker, just a junior in college but already balding, thick as a barrel of meat, with a big face, all the parts of which were too big for each other . He scowled and sighed.
“You’re doing a lot better. Remember when we started you couldn’t do any of these problems. Now you did half without any help from me, and you got most of the rest with just a little assistance,” Donovan said. He was a sophomore now and a tutor for jocks like Gravyboat, which had seemed more exciting in the abstract though. In reality, he’d spent most of his tutoring time sitting in quiet libraries and study rooms. “You’ve come a long way. You’ve improved so much-“
“I hate word problems!”
“You said before you didn’t like math because it’s not useful, but word problems show you how you can use it.”
“I don’t need to know which train will arrive when! That ain’t somethin’ I gotta do! I can look at the schedule, man,” He shook his head. “I can’t learn this shit.”
“You already are, Gravyboat,” Donovan said. He sighed. He was frustrated, but he managed to hide it from Gravyboat, who was easily discouraged about his intellect. Donovan patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s call it for today. You really are doing good, Gravyboat. Just come back on Wednesday.”
“Coach Bagworth said I don’t gotta do it on Wednesday because I have practice.”
“You have practice every day,” Donovan said as he leaned back in his desk chair. The study room was small and cramped, and it had nothing in it but a whiteboard, a trash can and four small desks. It was attached to the gym, so Donovan could hear the basketball team practicing in the gymnasium next door.
“Yeah, but on Wednesday he said-“
“I ain’t say nothin’ of the sort!” Coach Bagworth appeared in the doorway. “Don’t you spread no lies, Gravyboat!” He wagged his finger and scowled at Gravyboat, who blushed and looked down at his feet. Donovan felt tiny sharing a room with these two — Gravyboat was a college linebacker who was hefty even for college linebackers, while Coach Bagworth was a former quarterback, tight end and bodybuilder. They were gigantic, and Donovan was dwarfed by them.
But it was Coach Bagworth who really attracted his eye. He was a big burly man who was so macho it hurt, and he had a handsome face, with his bodybuilderish body looking too big to fit his mug. Coach Bagworth didn’t have a perfect body, but Donovan preferred men with that sort of physique over the Hollywood-handsome six-packed types. Bagworth had a little heft, a little thickness, and a whole lot of swagger. He grabbed Gravyboat by the back of the neck.
“Coach, get off me!” Gravyboat twisted away from his coach.
“What’d you say? You tryin’-a get outta tutoring? Huh? If you fail ya damn math class, you gonna get cut from the damn team, you damn fool, and don’t think I’ll do a damn thing to save ya damn fat ass!” Bagworth barked at him. “You wastin’ time, Gravyboat!”
“Coach, come on!” Gravyboat pushed away from him. Bagworth shoved him against the wall.
Donovan backed up to the window to stay away from them. Was a real fight about to break out? It seemed like it. Both men were giants — Gravyboat was six-foot, eleven-inches tall, while Coach Bagworth was a bit shorter but better muscled. You could tell that Bagworth’s padding concealed a barrel-shaped vat of muscle, while Gravyboat was just heavy all around.
There was something alluring about Coach Bagworth. Donovan enjoyed the sight of his body bulging from the ill-fitting tee shirt and pants, which were somehow both too big and too small for him.
The argument ended without turning into a fight. Gravyboat sulked out of the room after agreeing to return for more tutoring on Wednesday. Donovan blushed and nodded his understanding, his eyes drawn to Gravyboat’s meaty ass shaking when he walked.
Coach Bagworth had a little salt in his pepper hair, which Donovan wanted to run his fingers through. His body was big and burly, thick all over, the kind of body Donovan could and gladly would worship for hours. But there had to be a rule against that. GHU had a rule against anything worth doing, Donovan thought.
When Gravyboat was gone, Coach Bagworth looked at Donovan, his deep eyes taking him in as though he never noticed him before. He smiled crooked, awkwardly. “Thanks a bunch for all ya help… Donovan.”
“Oh, you’re welcome…” Donovan blushed coyly, batting his eyes in Coach Bagworth’s direction. He wondered if he could get anywhere with him.
GHU might have rules against anything fun, but nobody followed them. Bagworth did not seem like a stickler for the rules.
“I lost four players last year to academic ineligibility,” Coach Bagworth said, his eyes narrowing into furrows, which accentuated the cragginess of his face. “I wanna give you somethin’ as a thank you, since we just about to start the playoffs and we only gots a good chance on account of you bein’ so helpful. Davie Raython passed his pre-cal test.”
“That’s awesome, I’m glad to hear it,” Donovan said. He was surprised. Raython Lake was an idiot. He must have cheated, Donovan thought but didn’t say.
“So, uh… I was thinkin’, as, uh… like a thanks, I could give you tickets to tonight’s game. Front row, fifty-yard line. You’ll be right in the action,” Coach Bagworth said. He grunted like he was unused to speaking nicely to people.
That was true. Not only did Coach Bagworth speak mostly to his athletes — whom he was never polite to — he was usually only nice to women and children, and Donovan was neither. Coach Bagworth had been a bully when he was young, felt bad about it now and always overcorrected by being nice. Besides that, he had an instinct to protect women and weak men.
“That’s very sweet,” Donovan said. “But honestly, I’m not sure I’d enjoy that. I’m not really a sports fan.”
“Oh. I thought you volunteered for this cuz you was into it.”
“Nope. I had my own motives,” Donovan said. “I enjoy sports players more than I enjoy sports.” He licked his lips and came closer to Coach Bagworth. “I was kinda hoping that maybe you could thank me… in person.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He cleared his throat and said, more solemnly, “Thank you.”
“No, uh… not like that,” Donovan said. He walked slowly, seductively around Coach Bagworth’s towering body. He touched the small of his back, and Coach Bagworth quaked. Donovan reached up to his shoulders. He gave a massage the best he could with Coach Bagworth standing there, unmoving, unbending, and much too tall for Donovan to easily reach.
Coach Bagworth grunted. His body tensed up. His muscles were rock-hard, and they stayed that way.
“I would like it if you just sat down right there and let me service you.” Donovan kissed the small of his back through his sweaty tee shirt. The funkiness of his body odor assaulted Donovan’s senses, and a shiver of desire ran up his spine.
“Service…?” Bagworth asked as though he didn’t know what Donovan was suggesting. The way his cock was twitching in his pants made it clear he did understand and that he was eager for it to happen.
But he didn’t say so.
“I’ll lick you all over, I’ll swallow your dick all the way down,” Donovan said. “To the root.”He lifted up that grimy tee shirt and kissed the meaty flesh of Coach Bagworth’s back. He had a strong, well-muscled back, albeit slightly padded. His muscles flexed beneath Donovan’s touch, and his pecs rippled.
“Uh… Oh…” Coach Bagworth plopped onto the desk. It was an ordinary student’s desk, small for a college and especially small for Coach Bagworth. His ass barely fit, and he had to sit sideways, legs spilling out into the little walkway between his desk and the one next to it. He leaned against the side-arm of the desk.
Though he tried to look relaxed, he was all tense. Coach Bagworth closed his eyes.
When he was a young man, he worked on a farm in the summers. Some of the farmhands there cornholed each other — or to be more precise, they made lots of jokes about cornholing each other — but never went through with it — while only ever actually cornholing one of the farm’s workers, Carlos. Carlos didn’t work the fields, he was an accountant, and he was flamboyant and he wore women’s clothes and he had beautiful long hair and he spoke like a woman.
Coach Bagworth wished he had gone through with it then. Carlos had wanted him bad, but Bagworth always said no. It seemed like such a big deal at the time.
Now he regretted it. He had been so horny and frustrated back then — at the time, women rarely put out, and Coach Bagworth had remained a virgin until he was nineteen. He could have felt better anytime, if only he had gotten off with Carlos. He could have spared himself a lot of frustration.
So a part of him really wanted to do it with Donovan now. But he didn’t want to say it.
Back in the day, Coach Bagworth had had a six-pack to die for. When he got out of the Army, he had a six-pack without even trying, and that was before there was even a word for it. While some women were open to his advances, Coach Bagworth had long ago resigned himself to be unappealing to most women — not ugly by any means, but too old to be young and virile, not clean-cut enough to be a handsome older gentleman, he was too thick and heavy for most women, but not tautly-muscled enough for those who liked muscles, his charisma seemed to diminish every day of his life, and he hadn’t sweet-talked a woman in years. He seemed to have forgotten how in his haste to focus on commanding the players under his aegis.
“You, uh… what’re you doin’? You ain’t gotta rub my shoulders.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to,” Donovan said. He kissed the back of Coach Bagworth’s neck, where his flesh had curled up into little rows. Donovan loved muscular men whose necks did that. “You’re really handsome.”
“You just sayin’ that.”
“No, I’m not! I swear!”
“Shit… I sure wish females would see it that way.”
“I bet I can make you forget about women,” Donovan said. “Arms up, let’s go.” He lifted Coach Bagworth’s tee shirt and spoke with such firmness that Bagworth did it right away. His broad chest rippled in the chilled air of the tutoring room.
His nipples turned hard too, even before Donovan had reached out to tweak them. When he did, he smiled, and his cock throbbed in his pants. Donovan kept his crotch far enough away that Bagworth wouldn’t feel his erection but close enough that Donovan could feel the body heat emanating from Coach Bagworth’s firm torso. A grunt came out of his mouth. Coach Bagworth obviously liked nippleplay, and it made his whole body twitch. Donovan let his tongue trace a line up and down Coach Bagworth’s back.
Next door, the basketball team erupted in shouts and whistle-blows. There had been a fight, or an argument over a foul, something like that was going on. Donovan’s heart raced because he was fearful of being caught — if basketball practice ended up early, those guys would fill the halls and possibly see in here. He’d be fired from his tutoring gig for sure, and Coach Bagworth likely would be as well.
“I think you have a perfect body…” Donovan moved to the front of Coach Bagworth’s desk, and he sucked some of the stale sweat that clung to his chest. It was salty and warm, and it made Donovan’s dick tent his pants. He had to fight the urge to jack off right now.
“You don’t gotta say that.”
“What, it’s true!” Donovan said with a blush. “You probably think you need a six-pack, right? I confess that has its allure too… But for me, I like my men a little meaty and finely aged.” He kissed the furry part of Coach Bagworth’s bare belly.
Bagworth furrowed his brow. He still didn’t entirely believe this. He had hoped to say thanks for helping, but now he was about to get his nut off — that didn’t seem like a thank you. It seemed like something else he would have to be thankful for. Bagworth wasn’t used to anyone appreciating his body for more than its utility.
So he squirmed a little uncomfortably as Donovan pulled his pants down. Coach Bagworth had a fine, girthy cock that was veiny and warm. It twitched as soon as Donovan touched it — from anxiety, not arousal, yet. It was just slightly firm, soaked in sweat. His whole crotch was moistly humid, and the fragrant smell of his groin filled the air when Bagworth’s pants were down.
“Are you okay…?” Donovan asked because Coach Bagworth looked scared.
That was just because he was shocked at what he was allowing to happen. He’d never done anything like this. Back as a young farmhand, refusing to mess with that man had been what made him different from the others. They all messed around, he waited for the woman who would later become his now ex-wife. He was a god-fearing Christian man then and still technically was even if he had stopped living by that code in a lot of ways.
So now he couldn’t stop thinking about that, about the orgasms he had abstained from as a youth. He was letting Donovan go to town all over him, and he liked it. All those other farmbucks who had teased him back then would think it was hilarious that he did it now.
His dick popped into Donovan’s mouth. It was just the tip at first, as Donovan gauged how anxious he was about it. Coach Bagworth shifted his weight and grumbled, but he didn’t say anything. He just covered his face with one meaty forearm and leaned back in his desk-chair.
“Hmmmmm…” Donovan moaned around the cock in his throat. He could tell that sound was exciting Coach Bagworth because it made his whole body twitch and his pecs bounce, so he kept making it. He made as much noise as he could, spitting up on that shaft and then swallowing the mess he had made. The taste of his cock was musty and salty, and it made Donovan crave more.
“Ah, goddamn…” Coach Bagworth shifted around in his seat. It was uncomfortably small for his giant ass, and he struggled to remain still as his dick rocketed to erection. He was still nervous, but now those feelings were subsumed by an intense desire to get his rocks off. “Shit… It’s been a long time since I got off like this…”
Donovan knew that. Most men said something similar when Donovan got on their dicks. That’s because he was better at throating than any woman. Donovan’s throat was nice and long, and he was eager to use every inch of it. He knew exactly how to bring a man to orgasm right away — not that that was what he normally did.
He liked to draw this out as long as he could. He liked to tease his men, make them work for it.
Once Bagworth was hard and throbbing and leaking salty precum onto Donovan’s tongue, Donovan slowed down. He kept going, but he teased Bagworth with his tongue. He licked the shaft and slurped the sweat off his balls. He slathered Bagworth’s manhood in spit and went as low as he could, until he had Bagworth’s balls on his face so he could lick under there, teasing his sensitive taint.
That made Coach Bagworth shake and moan, his deep voice ringing out loud and making Donovan’s whole body crave him. Donovan was deep under his balls, slurping down all the sweat there. He loved this position because it meant Bagworth’s cock was right in front of his face and Donovan could worship it, while Bagworth’s balls throbbed in his nose and precum flowed onto Donovan’s fingers, Bagworth’s thighs quaking as he struggled to hold them aloft.
Then Donovan pulled away and dropped his pants, baring his pale ass, which Coach Bagworth kneaded with one of his thick-callused hands. His touch was rough enough to hurt but soft enough to feel good, and Donovan moaned out loud. Coach Bagworth moaned again, and his heavy legs stomped onto the floor. His dick jutted up angrily, precum flowing down the shaft. Donovan hurried to sit on his lap.
“Oh god, you’re not gonna hurt me too bad, are you?” Donovan asked winsomely, trying to make his voice sound as feminine as possible.
“Nah, I’d never hurt you, baby…” Bagworth blushed — he hadn’t mean that to say it in such a warm, caring way, like he was telling a girlfriend he’d never hurt her. He couldn’t believe he had called a man baby.
But he had only said it out of habit. As a big, macho man, Coach Bagworth had long ago learned he needed to be extra soft and nice to women if they were going to stick with him. So he made kind cooing noises and whispered sweet nothings as Donovan sat on his dick and aimed it into his ass.
It was just the tip at first. Donovan bit his lip. Coach Bagworth had a thick body and a thick dick to go with it. It wasn’t even all that long — though it was plenty long — it was just thicker than Donovan had seen in a long time, and its girth was more impressive than its length. He faced the front of the tutoring room and reached behind himself to guide Coach Bagworth’s cock. Donovan slid himself back.
“Damn.” He tensed up and struggled as a jolt of pain hit him.
“You okay, sweetie-?” Coach Bagworth cut himself off. Then he spoke more gruffly. “You alright, man?”
“I’m fine, just gimme a second…” Donovan groaned through gritted teeth. He loosened his ass and slid a little deeper.
Ah… There it was… A surge of pleasure ran up Donovan’s spine, and he shivered. The pain diminished into a dull, distant roar that he easily ignored. He slid down deeper, until he could feel Coach Bagworth’s unkempt pubic bush rubbing against his ass.
When Bagworth’s manhood hit Donovan’s prostate, he moaned and squirmed. For a moment, it looked like he was in pain. Coach Bagworth rushed into action, seeking to pull him off.
“No, wait, it’s-…” Donovan moaned so loud it made him blush. Coach Bagworth had stood up, and he held Donovan in place. Now that he didn’t know what to do and couldn’t tell if Donovan was in pain or not, Coach Bagworth just held him up.
Donovan was entirely off the floor, leaning against Coach Bagworth’s towering chest, rubbing his face against his muscles, while both of Bagworth’s hands held him aloft. He squirmed in his touch.
Coach Bagworth was so focused on his own uncertainty about what was happening that he didn’t even realize how good this felt for him. No woman had ever let him fuck her in the ass all the way down deep.
He pounded in and out with Donovan in his arms. He’d seen this position in porno, but didn’t think anyone would ever do it. He could control Donovan’s ascent and descent on his dick utterly, his angle, his timing, his depth of penetration. It felt better than it ever had with a woman, even — in a purely physical sense — his bitch of an ex-wife.
As his orgasm hit him, Coach Bagworth tried not to moan too loud. He was so big that he had a deep voice, which carried. He didn’t want to be heard by the basketball team next door.
“Shit… Aw, yeah…”
But it was hard to be quiet with the most potent orgasm he’d experienced in years coursing through his veins. Coach Bagworth grunted right into Donovan’s ear, and his hands dug into Donovan’s soft, smooth flesh.
Donovan shot his own load at the same time. He was cradled in Coach Bagworth’s arms, so he could use both hands to stroke himself off, spraying his wad onto the floor. He shot a big, creamy load that plopped into a puddle there on the floor of the tutoring room.
“Goddamn!” Coach Bagworth hadn’t expected it to feel this good. Worried he would drop Donovan, Coach Bagworth brought him to the ground and bent him over as he was cumming. He mounted Donovan from behind, his dick still all the way in there, throbbing and spewing his creamy load.
It seeped into Donovan’s flesh, gob after gob of hot juices flowing into him. Donovan felt it trickling into his body. The sensations wracked his body were so intense he couldn’t even cry out or moan anymore. All he could do was lay there stiffly, feeling Coach Bagworth’s hefty body writhe above him, his hot breath condensing on Donovan’s cheek.
At last, he was done. “Sorry, I crushed ya there,” Coach Bagworth said as he pulled out. His goopy dick rested between Donovan’s tender asscheeks. Bagworth kissed him on the back of the next, making Donovan sigh as endorphins ran through his bloodstream.
“Hmmmmm…. You don’t have to apologize, you’re beautiful,” Donovan said.
Coach Bagworth blushed. No one had ever called him beautiful before, not even when he was young and had a six-pack. He pulled away from Donovan. He took a deep breath and was about to say something else when a loud shout could be heard from the gymnasium next door. That was followed by a whistle blow.
Then there was a series of shouts, grunts and banging sounds. The whistle blew over and over, then got cut off in mid-blow. “Hey! Hey! Hey!”
“They’s fightin’ again,” Bagworth said. He shook his head. He couldn’t go over there naked, of course, so he raced to put his clothes on. When he heard more shouting, now sounding like people were concerned that someone was hurt, he ran for the door with nothing but his boxers on. His dick flopped, not even totally soft, in his drawers, which were soon moist with all the juices that clung to his crotch.
Donovan quickly put his own clothes on before sneaking to the double-doors leading into the gymnasium. A fight had definitely broken out among the basketball players. It had ended, however, because of Coach Bagworth, not because he had yelled for them to stop — though that was certainly part of it — but because they were shocked to see him nearly naked, and with a moist pair of boxers being the only clothes he wore. It looked like he had pissed himself, and that was what the players later told everyone had happened.
“You little halfwits had better shape up! Quit snickerin’, ain’t you evuh see a real man before?! If ya team was playin’ ya heart out, I could forgive a little grab-ass in the gym, but you motherfuckers ain’t been playin’ worth a half a damn! You got some kinda explanation, huh? Punks! Why do you got that stupid sneer on your dumb faces?! You been carryin’ on like hooligans again? Huh?!”
The gym was silent, and Donovan giggled as quietly as he could. Bagworth’s muscles tensed, all ruddy and sweaty — the players assumed that was because he was furious, but Donovan knew it was post-orgasmic excitement. He wished he could go in there and lick Coach Bagworth’s whole body as he scolded his players.
But he wouldn’t do that, even if he could get away with it. Donovan had another tutoring gig to go to.

Reacharound From an Aryan

Zach had to join an Aryan gang in prison, and now that he’s released, his only option is to move in with his hulking gangmate Tower. But it turns out sharing a bed with someone like Tower can result in a touch-filled night of man-on-man action! Can Zach succeed in satisfying Tower’s needs?

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When Zach Waters joined the Aryan Way in prison, he was surprised at how low-key it was. Aryan prison gangs in the movies were always full of muscular skinheads bristling with tattoos and machismo, always on the verge of beating someone to death, so he assumed that was an accurate depiction of them.
But they were very relaxed. They encouraged him to shave his head and get tattoos but didn’t require it. He thought they might make him do something terrible like kill someone. But they never required anything from him except a few minor chores, mainly acting as a lookout while they ran a craps game. Zach got through his nine month sentence without any traumatic experiences. The worst thing was that he was responsible for losing a volleyball game against a mafia gang, and all of his fellow Aryans were given one free punch to punish Zach for his error. They mostly held back their punches, so it hurt, but it wasn’t agonizing and he didn’t have to go to the infirmary afterwards.
Zach had been so focused on getting through prison without being stabbed that he gave very little thought to what he’d do on the outside. That meant that when he was finally released, he needed to make a plan in a hurry.
And the easiest plan was to move in with Tower — Leopold Sales was his real name. Tower had been one of the Aryan Way’s main commanders behind bars. He was big and muscular, a porcelain-skinned marble-hard giant of a man with a carved body and crude Nazi tattoos covering his flesh. He had been released the same day as Zach. They were the only two white inmates to walk out of the state prison that day.
“You wanna stay with me?” Tower asked on the bus as they rode away from the prison. Zach had come to trust Tower well enough, so he said yes. He’d lived in the same cell block as Tower for nine months in prison. It seemed like no big deal to move in with him on the outside too.
It was only at that point, when Zach moved in, that he was required to shave his head and get an iron cross tattoo on his back. Tower said that he needed to adopt the uniform of his new tribe, and Zach had felt like an Aryan skinhead for so long that he didn’t complain.
He simply submitted that night to Tower shaving his head and drawing the iron cross to be tattooed at a later date. Only one tattoo shop in town would do white supremacist tattoos, so they had to wait for an opening. Zach was glad because he was in no hurry to get any tattoos, much less a nazi one.
“We’s skinmates now, brothah,” Tower said when he was done. He had a rough, ragged voice with an oddly black accent.
Before night fell, Zach’s sensitive skin tingled on his now-bare scalp. His head was so cold he shivered even in the warm night air.
He kept rubbing his bare head as he tried to sleep. When Tower had offered him a place to stay, Zach assumed he’d be sleeping on a couch somewhere. But Tower had a “safehouse” set up — it was just a ramshackle old shotgun-house outside of the city, with little furniture and not even a working refrigerator (there was a broken one, which kept cold things cold for awhile just because it was so well-insulated). The walls were stained with who-knew-what fluids. It looked like a crackhouse or an abandoned meth lab, but Zach didn’t want to ask what it was.
But Zach didn’t have a lot of choices, so he settled in and allowed Tower to shave his head. Then Tower presented him with drawings of several iron cross designs to choose from when he got an appointment with the tattooist.
The most pressing problem, however, was not the tattoo. The most worrisome factor was that there was just one bed. It was a double-sized mattress laying on the floor, no sheets or bedspread, just one ratty old blanket.
Zach had assumed he was going to sleep on the floor, and Tower would take the bed, but when Tower decreed it lights-out at nine o’clock, Tower motioned for him to get on the mattress. Zach did so, wincing and shrinking back as Tower brushed his teeth and showered.
And then Tower joined him on the busted old mattress.
“You scared of me or what?” Tower asked when Zach scooted away from. The thickness and firmness of Tower’s body made him seem so huge next to him.
“No, I mean… I trust you. It’s just…” Zach gulped.
“Then shut the fuck up. We been showerin’ togethuh for months, Zachary,” Tower said. He wrapped one powerful arm around Zach’s body, meaning Zach got a faceful of his armpit hair. Zach hated the name Zachary, but Tower had been calling him that since they left prison. “Don’t tell me you gettin’ squeamish now.”
“No.”
“Good. It’s a war, y’know, even out here. You probly just thought the Aryan Way was about prison, but that ain’t right. The war extends everywhere. We gotta fight, man, we gotta keep the struggle going. That means we spend our time and money winning, not buying extra beds or worrying about touching each other’s cocks,” Tower said.
“Oh. Okay. That, uh, makes sense,” Zach said. He never bought into any of that stuff about race war. He didn’t want a race war. He had only joined the Aryan Way for protection in prison and, now, outside of it.
“You know, in prison, we gotta protect ourselves from deviance,” Tower said. “That’s why we don’t allow nobody in if they get penetrated by a colored man.”
“Yeah.”
“But that ain’t a problem out here, where we don’t gotta get involved in no colored man,” Tower said. He lay on his side now, so close Zach could feel his body heat and his breath condensing on Zach’s cheek. The warmth of his heft cock was palpable too.
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Out here, we see women all the time, don’t we? You saw that slut walking down the street earlier, right?”
“Yeah.” Zach felt nervous, and excited, about where this was going. Tower had pointed out the girl a few hours before. She was stunningly gorgeous, dressed like a cheap whore. She was Latina, and Tower had spewed out a litany of abuse, which she luckily was too far away to hear.
“So we get tempted a lot, right? But we can’t be distracted by females. It’s their virtue we fight this war for,” he said. “Fine white European virtue. Hmm-hmm.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now that we ain’t in prison, Zachary, we ain’t gotta worry about the feds. But we do gotta worry about females distractin’ us from what’s proper.”
“Okay.”
“So how you wanna do that?”
Zach squirmed as Tower placed one meaty hand on Zach’s chest. He just rested it there at first, then slowly rubbed the smooth flesh. Zach shook with anxiety, dick throbbing as he realized what was happening. Zach murmured, “What, uh… what do you mean?”
“I mean, Zachary, that I want to get my nut off tonight,” Tower said. “Don’t worry, I won’t ramrod ya. I ain’t ramrod ya in prison, did I? I coulda. I ain’t want to, cuz I knew you would say no and I’d hafta force it. But out here, if you let me in that ass, I’ll give you a reacharound and won’t nobody be around to know you did it.” His hand crept under that blanket and grabbed Zachary’s dick. It was felt small to Zachary, but that didn’t slow Tower down at all. He gave its limp shaft a few strokes. “Sssh, Zachary… Relax, okay?”
“Well…” Zach sucked in his breath
“It’s okay. I won’t tell no one. Everyone in the Aryan Way does this, y’know,” he said. “It ain’t a big deal. I won’t bring it up ever again.”
“I mean… I guess so,” Zach said, his heart thumping.
“Oh, thank you, my man, this means a lot to me,” Tower said. He leaned down and kissed Zach on the cheek, much to Zach’s shock. Then before Zach could even respond to that, Tower straddled his chest. Tower was a good foot and a half taller than Zach and at least a hundred pounds heavier — a hundred pounds of solid muscle, shaved smooth and inked with amateur prison tattoos.
He had on a disintegrating pair of cheap, gauzy prison underwear, which he dropped as soon as his crotch was in front of Zach’s face. He had a massive cock — Zach had noticed that in the prison shower — which he flopped between his fingers. He wiped it across Zach’s lips and laughed at Zach’s gagging.
When Zach opened his mouth, Tower shoved it right in. It was already growing hard, as Tower’s prison-starved horniness took over. It tasted like sweat, Zach thought. Tower’s cock was salty and sour, and it brought tears to Zach’s eyes. He gagged to cover up a moan when that fat manhood pushed into the back of his throat.
Tower let out a chest-rattling moan, a sound midway between a grunt and a roar, but low and rumbling. The sound itself made Zach gag again because he could not only hear it in his ears, he could feel it in the throbbing of the cockmeat in his mouth. He was surprised to find his own cock had swelled to full erection.
“Oh damn, you’s a good skinmate, man,” Tower said. He sounded genuinely grateful. His massive pecs flexed. “Sssh, sssh, skinmate. That’s what we call Aryan brothers who spent time in prison together. Skinmate. You’re my skinmate, Zachary,” he said over and over, as though Zach was trying to say anything, or could have with Tower’s cock overflowing from his mouth.
Tower grabbed one of Zach’s hands and brought it up to Tower’s chest. He was a truly massive man, broad as a motorcycle, and each of his pecs felt like an overinflated basketball beneath his tight skin. He placed Zach’s hand on his nipple.
That seemed like too much, Zach thought — was he expected to play with Tower’s nipples? Surely Tower wouldn’t allow that. But then, he thought, Tower had kissed him on the face. Indeed, Tower had Zach play with his nipple, which grew hard beneath his grasp. Zach had never felt such a solid breast, with all the hardness of prison-sculpted muscle rather than the meaty goodness of a female tit.
Tower groaned again as he leaned forward. He grabbed the wall behind the mattress for support, and he began humping his hips forward. He throated Zach like that for what felt like an eternity.
The sour flavor of precum assaulted Zach’s senses. He guzzled it down and sputtered as Tower worked his dick deeper and deeper with every thrust of his hips.
“Yeah, you’s a good soldier in the race war, Zachary,” Tower said. He guided Zach’s other hand to Tower’s other nipple, which made Zach choke all over again. He could barely reach those mountainous pecs, which bristled with so much power that Zach felt like a weakling in comparison. “Spit up a little, okay?”
Zach didn’t even quite comprehend those words, but Tower had such an authoritarian vibe and he had been giving Zach orders for so long that Zach did as he was told without thinking about it. He let a big ball of spit roll down Tower’s shaft and collect in his thick nest of pubic hair.
“Good… Now gimme a finger,” Tower said. He grabbed one of Zach’s hands and slowly lowered it. “You remember what I said about this being a secret, right? That’s a secret that runs both ways. You gotta keep yo’ mouth shut too — I mean, shut once yo’s mouth is done workin’ on my dick.”
Zach nodded, the motion reawakening his gag reflex all over again. Tower’s dick was so moist now it made loud crackling sounds as it pushed down his throat, his balls dripping with wetness when they slapped against Zach’s chin.
Much to Zach’s surprise, Tower led his hand around to his ass. He had a thick, plump pair of cheeks, the flesh of which was cold and solid, like overset jello. Zach’s hand disappeared between those cheeks, and Tower separated his pinkie finger from the others.
The idea of fingering a giant alpha male Aryan like Tower was so unthinkable that Zach assumed he had some other plan, right up until his pinkie disappeared into Tower’s ass, guided by Tower’s own hand. It was so tight that Zach couldn’t get it in any farther than the first knuckle, but that was enough for Tower’s whole body to buck and squirm. His dick spasmed in Zach’s mouth.
“Yeah, Zachary, you know how to treat a skinmate right…”
Zach had barely inserted his pinkie a few times before Tower groaned as though he was orgasming. He bent his head back and slammed his dick all the way down Zach’s throat.
Tower’s voice was pinched and tight, like he experienced intense pain from the pinkie in his ass but still was overwhelmed by orgasmic pleasure. His dick pulsated in Zach’s throat, and Zach realized he was about to cum as the man’s balls lifted up in their sac.
“Hey, Zachary, I’m gonna blow my nut in a minute,” he said softly. He grunted a few times before continuing. “You gonna taste it. I know this is humiliatin’ for you, and I’m sorry to ask you to do this. It ain’t right. This is my fault, okay? I’ll get forgiveness fo’ it. You ain’t got nothin’ to feel bad about. You just showin’ respect for a man who’s been helpin’ you out since you got locked up. Okay?”
Then cum began to flow down Zach’s gullet. He savored the taste even as he choked on its sourness, the sticky texture coating his insides and flowing into his belly. He felt its warmth settling inside his roiling stomach.
“I know I promised you a reacharound when I ram you,” Tower said softly, breathing heavily as he finished his orgasm. His asshole clenched around Zach’s finger. “I’m still gonna do that. I steady nuts twice when I ain’t nut in a long time.”
As his dick stopped spewing cum, Zach thought Tower would pull out of his mouth. But he didn’t. Zach found himself unable to avoid reacting, and he choked again and again. Tower’s dick grew limp and clammy in there, but still he didn’t move.
It wasn’t until he was completely soft and relaxed that Tower pulled his cock out. Zach choked up a big ball of cum and saliva, which landed on the filthy mattress beneath himself. He was bright red from both embarrassment and lack of oxygen.
“You doin’ great, Zachary,” Tower said. He backed his body up just a bit, his sweaty ballsack resting on Zachary’s chest. Tower was breathing heavy too, those powerful pecs now dappled with his sweat. Zachary still tweaked one of his nipples, his other hand still finger-penetrating Tower. “You doin’ real great. And you ain’t actin’ like a new-skin at all. I’d nevuh accuse you of that. You actin’ like a guy showing respec’ to a bigger, stronger man. That’s right. That you fulfillin’ yo’ proper role. You believe me?”
“I dunno, Tower-“
“Hush, keep thinkin’ about it, man. Now take that finger out,” Tower said. He smiled, which was barely visible in the darkened room. He held onto Zach’s hand, keeping the pinkie finger extended as he brought it back to Zach’s face. “Lemme see you suck on that. That’ll get me going again. I wanna watch you taste my ass on yo’ finger, Zachary.”
“Oh god-” Zach said before Tower guided his finger in. He didn’t force it, he just showed it the path and Zach didn’t resist. The sour flavor of Tower’s asshole assaulted Zach’s senses as his finger entered past his lips. It tasted of ass-sweat and coppery body hair, and Zach’s entire body rumbled as he gagged.
The sight and sound of Zach’s gagging apparently turned Tower on — his limp dick jerked to half-attention as soon as it happened. Zach licked on his own pinkie finger, hoping he didn’t look too excited.
“Alright, I can tell you want this, you ready for it,” Tower said. He gave his own limp dick a stroke, and his body spasmed like it was painful for him. He was covered in sweat, and since his body was so smooth (above the waist at least), he was slippery as he slid behind Zach. He pushed Zach onto his side and settled down on the ratty mattress behind him.
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” Zach said, his voice weak and wavering.
“Here, you can bite me if it hurts too bad, Zachary,” he said. He kissed the back of Zach’s head. His forearm was so sweaty that the salt brought tears to Zach’s eyes.
Then that rapidly firming cock pushed into his ass. Zach spasmed as pain erupted within him. He was shocked by how hard it was considering that Tower had just shot a nut a few minutes before. But his dick showed no evidence of that, aside from the smell of saliva it had before inserting itself into Zach’s ass.
Zach moaned again as he tasted sweat and forearm meat, and his ass screamed in pain-cum-pleasure. He felt like he was being torn in two, every nerve crying out with every sensation he could think of. He did scream in pre-orgasmic bliss, his prostate sending waves of pleasure through his body, but the sound was muffled by Tower’s forearm in front of his face. Tower grunted and snuffled like an animal, his sounds sounding impossibly loud because Tower was right in front of Zach’s ear. His chest was so smooth — shaved every other day — that it slid against Zach’s back like a wetwipe on a glass wall.
Tower’s other arm wrapped around Zach’s upper chest, very near his neck, and held him close. It was half-hug and half choke-hold, but not so tight as to impair his breathing. Zach squirmed as pain and pleasure overwhelmed him simultaneously.
When that hand on his chest drifted down, Zach didn’t know what was coming. Even though Tower had said he would give a reacharound, Zach was too engrossed in his own experience to remember that.
Until Tower’s hand actually wrapped around Zach’s dick. In that moment, three things happened at once — first Zach realized Tower was serious about giving him a reacharound. Second, Zach realized with an embarrassed shock that he was rock-hard already, from the stimulation of his prostate. The pain was so intense he hadn’t noticed his erection until Tower touched it. The third thing was that Tower laughed at him.
“You already heard, boy? You wanted this all along, huh?” Tower said. Zach couldn’t form any words because the sensations overwhelming him were too intense. All he could do was bite down hard on Tower’s forearm. Tower sharply inhaled but didn’t complain no matter how hard Zach gnawed on his muscular arm. “I’m gonna ram you hard then, Zachary, since you seem to be enjoyin’ this so much.”
Tower took a deep breath then, and he pounded his dick all the way into Zach’s ass. Zach bit down hard on his forearm, tears welling up in his eyes. Tower groaned loud and began ramming his dick in and out with long powerful thrusts.
His other hand furiously jacked Zach off. He had a well-practiced hand — Zach wondered how often he had given a reacharound — but his fingers were callused from work, from digging with a splintery wooden shovel handle on a prison crew. Despite the rough texture, it felt amazing to Zach, who experienced both agony in his ass and intense pleasure in his crotch.
Zach wished that he didn’t cum so quickly, but once Tower began stroking him off, his orgasm approached and Zach couldn’t resist. He spasmed and squirmed in Tower’s arms, but Tower shushed him and kept going. The thwump-thwump of his balls slapping against Zach’s ass seemed impossibly loud.
“Oh god, Tower…!”
Semen sprayed over Tower’s fingers and all over Zach’s thin chest. Tower laughed as it happened, and Zach squirmed. He gasped, his tongue slathering spit on Tower’s solid forearm. Tower didn’t express pleasure vocally, but Zach sensed it in the rippling of Tower’s polished chest muscles pressing against Zach’s back.
“Taste it, man,” Tower said softly as Zach recovered from the aftershocks of his orgasm, the agony in his ass only growing worse now that he didn’t have pleasure in his cock to distract him. Tower quickly rubbed his hand along Zach’s belly and chest, scooped up all of that cum and then smeared it over Zach’s face. “Taste yo’ nut.”
Zach gagged all over again, feeling like he was swallowing dick once more. He sputtered over the salty flavor, which was more intense now since he tasted it directly on his tongue rather than shot all the way down his throat. His face was covered in his own sticky goo.
Then Tower let out a low groan and stopped moving for a moment, with his dick deep inside Zach. He lifted his dick almost all the way out, and slowly reinserted it, inch by inch. Zach could tell this was it — he felt the cum flowing through the man’s cock as it filled up his ass again.
But he was distracted when it actually happened because Tower kissed him. It was the most shocking part, Zach thought, because it seemed genuinely affectionate. Tower kissed him right on the lips, inserting his tongue into Zach’s mouth and didn’t even mind tasting the semen that still coated Zach’s face.
Cum flowed into Zach’s ass. He was surprised at how big the load was, since Tower had already cum once. It was a torrent of thick, hot juice that trickled into every corner of Zach’s body. There was so much of it that Zach imagined he could taste it all over again.
Then it was all over. Zach didn’t know how long it lasted. He winced and blanched laying there in Tower’s sweaty, tattooed arms, feeling cum flow into him and drip down between his legs.
Finally Tower let his limp dick flop out, which was followed by a leaking flow of jizz. But he stayed right there with his arms around Zach, breathing heavily and letting his hot breath condense on Zach’s cheek. Zach groaned as relief flooded him. His ass had never felt better than it did in the first few seconds before a dull ache appeared within him. He squirmed again, but Tower squeezed him tight.
He kissed Zach again. “Thanks, Zachary,” he said. “That was nice. We’re gonna sleep like this, okay?”
“Uh… okay,” Zach said, mainly because he couldn’t think of a reason to say no, given everything that had already happened between them.
“Good. I promise, from now on, I’ll just ram you once at night, okay? No more double-duty,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll put a swastika on your chest too. We’ll get some guns. We got big plans, Zachary,” he said. “Tomorrow, we start gettin’ shit done.”
Zach’s heart pounded. He nodded, but didn’t say anything. He really needed to find a different place to live. While he enjoyed getting rammed by Tower, he didn’t want to use guns for any plan that Tower might come up with. It wasn’t worth the risk.
He lightly patted Zach on the cheek. “Don’t worry. As long as we’re together, it’ll be okay. You’re gonna take so much cock, boy, you gonna feel like a chicken coop soon. You’ll learn to love it. And we’ll have money from robbing Mexicans, we won’t be poor for long.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Ssh, now go to sleep. If you want, you can wake me up with a handjob. I love that,” Tower said. He nuzzled the back of Zach’s head as he settled in to sleep. His sweaty chest still pressed against Zach’s back.
Zach sighed and closed his eyes. All he could think about was the limp dick throbbing between his asscheeks, the stone-hard pecs and nipples rubbing against his shoulderblades and where else he might live.
For now though, he didn’t have any better options than to fall asleep in the man’s Aryan-tattooed muscles…