paying – Mansploitation

The Fat Redneck

Bart is at the hardware store when he hooks up with a sullen clerk. His name is Carl Slattery, and he’s a big-ass redneck with enough manmeat for Bart to worship for hours!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Bart wandered around the cavernous hardware store in search of an employee. They wore fluorescent orange vests as though they might get run over in here, but somehow, despite all that visibility, Bart couldn’t find a single one anywhere. The Home & Tool seemed to be entirely unmanned. Even the registers were self-service. No employees.
He sighed and flared his nostrils. He thought he saw a flash of orange, but then it was gone. He somehow ended up in the bathroom-fixture area, trapped in a maze of little model bathrooms, including mirrors that gave the whole section a carnival funhouse vibe. Everywhere he went he ended up back at the same mid-century modern grotto. He could even see the actual store, the non-bathroom-fixtures part of the store, but displays of toilets and sinks and toilet paper holders blocked him.
The store did not know how close he came to knocking over the displays to get out of there. For a slim, mild-mannered white man, that was a harrowing experience.
“Hello?” Bart said as he finally made his way to the main hallway that bisected the store. He was back where he had started — by the unmanned register at the paint department — and still hadn’t found an employee.
The key machine was right over there. He could see it. He even knew how to use it, but the employees needed to turn it on, and he couldn’t do that.
At the new grocery stores, they have automatic keymaking machines, no employees needed, Bart thought. He ought to have gone there. But he happened to live near the hardware store. Hardware stores have been making keys for decades, so it made sense. Or maybe forever, he didn’t know. How long had keys been an affordable consumer product? He had no idea. Whenever the world moved on from those giant jailer’s keys they use in movies, whenever that was.
He looked up and down the aisles. No employees.
He had just moved into a new apartment in Opossumtown, Alabama, which he thought sounded like a joke. “Opossumtown”? Was Hillbillyburg already taken? The one nice thing about living in a place like this was the well-staffed hardware stores — in the north, not a single person knew how to use a screwdriver, it seemed, so hardware stores were a giant barrel of useless, but in Alabama, Bart had thought he’d find plenty of handy guys.
But he hadn’t really found as many as he thought, especially not when he actually needed them. Like right now. Bart frowned.
Finally there was one. “Hey, uh, excuse me-” Bart blushed and stopped short at the sight of the rotund redneck in an orange vest, who turned to face him.
He was ungodly handsome, sending a nervous chill up Bart’s spine. He was round but strong, broad-shouldered, with plenty of muscle beneath a mountain of padding. His gait was thick and heavy, like a dreary donkey, but he brimmed with confidence like a stallion. He was heavily tattooed, with looping lines and whorls running up from his arms onto his neck. He had a thick beard too, dangling well below his neck, making him look like a biker.
“What do ya need, man?” the rotund redneck asked as he walked by. He had the swamp-set yellowhammer drawl Bart found throughout Alabama, his vowels dragged out until they overtook the consonants. The accent hung in Bart’s ears like kudzu and was as smooth, sultry and spicy as Alabama barbecue sauce.
“Uh, I need some keys made.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. C’mon,” he said. He was distinctly rude. Despite his desire, Bart was annoyed. It was hardly his fault he needed some keys.
The rotund redneck had a name-tag on that read Carl. He led Bart to the key machine, then had to radio his supervisor to bring him the key that would turn it on. He waited there, breathing heavily — not because he was out of breath, just because he was a hefty guy who usually breathed pretty heavily.
‘Be there in a minute, Carl. Consider reminding our guest of the other items on display.’
“Man, I hate this guy, ah, I ain’t realize it was Jerry on duty,” Carl said with a sneer. He rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Ya, uh, so, like… You want a keyring or something?” He gestured to the wall of dangling key-rings, key-fobs and other add-ons.
“No, thank you,” Bart said. “Your manager is a dick? He sounds like a total shit.”
“Yeah. Yeah, man, fuck him,” Carl said. He looked less annoyed now that he knew he could curse in front of Bart without getting a complaint. Carl grinned. “He’s this bow-tied yuppie freak who always looks like he got a plan to stick his dick in a dog’s ass whenever you facin’ the other way-“
Bart snickered, and Carl laughed with him, but both stopped when Jerry came little-dicking up to them from the front of the store. Jerry was a shitmuncher, Bart saw that from the shitmunching smile on his idiot face. Jerry approached like Bart and Carl were a gift bestowed upon him by a benevolent universe.
“Hello, gentlemen! Carl, thank you for showing our guest to our key department,” said the manager Jerry, a youngish yuppie with a skinny body and a handsome face, wearing a bow-tie like a hipster and a ‘110% every day!’ button on his shirt. Bart hated him too, from the moment he saw him. He just had a face you wanted to punch. It was, Bart thought, a perfectly douchey face. The manager, Jerry, smiled at Bart and picked up a ‘peace-love-tolerance’ keyring. “Oh wow, when did we get this in? This is fantastic!”
“Hmm, yeah,” Bart murmured noncommittally. “Great… keyring.” His tone was sarcastic enough to make Carl laugh — he covered it up with a cough that made his great big body jiggle.
“I could ring that up for you, if you want.” Jerry inserted the little key into the slot that activated the key machine. He beamed at Bart as though waiting for Bart to rush to claim that keyring. When it became apparent Bart was uninterested, Jerry put it back on the shelf. “Okay, well, there you both go. Ironic isn’t it, you need a key to turn on the key machine. How does that work?” He laughed like a character from a commercial who was laughing along with an interracial group of friends, like he didn’t notice neither Carl nor Bart were laughing. Bart pondered what part of Jerry’s words constituted a joke. “Don’t forget to check out our Summer Days clearance sale! It’s got everything you need to make this the Summer of You!” Jerry walked away with a plastic grin slathered over his face like clown makeup.
“Okay…” Bart smiled sickly in Jerry’s direction as he walked away, and Bart handed his own keys over to Carl for him to copy them. He wrinkled his nose. “Ew, that guy was gross… I think my dick just got smaller.”
Carl laughed and blushed. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Aw, man, you don’t even know… once I went into the bathroom when he was just standing there at a urinal, and he like stiffened up as though I was about to prison-rape him, and he totally didn’t pee, he was like scared or something. I stood there at the urinal next to him. I think he was about to cry, just stayed there the whole time with his dick in his hands. Then he turned to look at me and I caught a glimpse of it, he got like a half-inch dick, man, it was so funny,” he said. “I swear, I was laughing right there, I couldn’t even stop myself. I dunno if he knew why I was laughing, but… I think he knew. He looked at me like I just tongue-kissed his mama. Oh shit, it was hilarious-” He stopped short and looked down the aisle, where Jerry had reappeared with that big empty smile back (or still) on his face.
“Hey, Carl, don’t forget to tell our friend about the door sale! That’ll go with those keys something fierce!”
“Okay, sir…” Carl said with a sigh.
“Ugh, fierce? Did he think people still use that word?” Bart whispered.
Carl waited until Jerry was gone, then sighed again, and this time it turned into a pained groan.
“Is a door sale what it sounds like?”
“Yeah. We got a sale on doors.”
“If I’m buying keys, that suggests I already have a door. It doesn’t go with keys at all. Who the fuck buys a door as an impulse item?” Bart laughed.
Carl clasped his belly as he took the finished keys out of the machine. He put them in a bag with a barcode on it. His big firm belly shook from laughter.
“Thanks, Carl,” Bart said. He hugged Carl’s rotundness, which was warm and so thick Bart could have stayed here hugging him forever. Carl looked back and forth in the aisle and chuckled nervously. He had never been hugged by a customer before.
Was it against the rules? It was definitely against the rules to hug a customer. All physical contact aside from “culturally appropriate handshaking” was not allowed. Carl had wanted to ask about that during that godforsaken video about the “rungs of success on the ladder of customer service”, but he didn’t want to do anything that might make the diversity bitch stay here longer. Was there culturally inappropriate handshaking? Were customers allowed to hug employees?
In any case, Bart wrapped his petite body around Carl’s thickness, which jiggled when he squeezed. He lingered longer than seemed normal. Carl didn’t mind. Not a lot of people touched him affectionately these days.
“There, uh, there… li’l guy,” Carl said with a pat of his big meaty paw on Bart’s shoulders.
“Why do you still work here if that guy’s such a dick?” Bart pulled away from Carl, though he kept a hand on the sweat-dampened small of Carl’s back.
Carl shrugged. “I only work with him like twice a week. Not so bad. Anyway, I can’t quit. I need the money,” he said in his low, loping Southern drawl. He slapped his belly again. “Gotta feed the beast!”
Bart giggled. “I could help you out, you know.”
“What?”
“If you took me in the back somewhere, or wherever there’s a private spot…” Bart’s voice trailed off. “Not in the bathroom-fixtures maze, that place is spooky.” He let his hand on the small of Carl’s back drift around to the front, near but not in his crotch. Bart glanced around to make sure nobody could see. This aisle was deserted. Carl’s eyes opened wide. Bart said, “I’d be glad to give you five hundred dollars in exchange for you plowing me senseless.”
There was a long awkward pause. Carl furrowed his brow as though he thought he must have misheard Bart. Then Carl too looked up and down the aisle to be sure nobody was close enough to hear. Carl had been around the block at the Home & Tool though, he knew enough to also peer through the shelves to see if anyone was on the other side (automotive on one side, windows and window accessories on the other). It was a slow day, no customers to be seen. Then Carl said, “What!?”
“Oh, c’mon, silly. My dick doesn’t work that good, and I find that getting big men to… y’know… It helps,” Bart said with a winsome blush and smile. That part wasn’t true, he simply liked being cornholed by fat men. But guys looked at him weird if he said that, and they were more likely to agree if they thought it was helping Bart. He took Carl by the hand and led him towards the back of the store. “Is there a backroom or something?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“That’s what I’m asking you!” Bart said. “I love your physique, Carl. Can I ride on your back?”
“Uh… I guess, uh… yeah.” Carl’s cheeks were beet-red.
Bart was a thin flamboyant man who weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. That was nothing in comparison to Carl’s six and a half foot-tall towering frame of manhood. Bart felt like a child as he leapt onto Carl’s back, straddling his waist and wrapping his arms around his pudgy chest. “Hmmm… You’re so handsome.”
“You think I’m handsome? Girls don’t.”
“Girls don’t know anything. Seriously, some of my best friends are girls, and they know literally nothing about literally everything,” Bart said. “Is it okay if I suck on your earlobe?”
Carl grunted. “I, uh… I ain’t… into that.”
“I know. That’s your second-best quality.”
“What’s my first-best?”
“Your belly, of course.”
Carl snorted. “Ain’t no one think that,” he said as he carried Bart into the employee area in the back. He brought Bart to the storage warehouse, which was mostly stacks of lumber. There were plenty of shadowy spots that couldn’t be seen unless you were right in front of them.
Bart slipped down to his feet. “I like big bellies,” he said. “There’s more to love, more things to suck on…”
That made Carl both laugh and sneer, then even groan. He looked around again as though there was some chance they’d be interrupted around here. He paid no attention to Bart, who went around to Carl’s front side and kissed his chest through his vest and shirt. He slid his hands underneath his clothes.
His belly rumbled. Carl grunted and trembled. “I, uh… I ain’t into that or nothin’. Is that part of it?”
“Yeah, I gotta touch your physique or it won’t work,” Bart said. “I need to lick it all over.” He got Carl’s shirt and vest off, his eyes opening wide at the sight of that giant cavernous chest. He was hairy and tattooed and powerfully muscly, and just embarrassed enough to be ruddy and alluring.
Bart suckled his nipple and licked every corner of Carl’s belly. He slurped up the sweat that clung to the kinky brown hairs there. The only part he couldn’t get to was Carl’s shoulders because he was too tall, and Bart had to tug on his arms to get him to lower himself.
Carl gasped and sucked in his breath as Bart’s hand reached into his pants. Carl shifted his weight back and forth. Bart smiled up at him. “You’ve never done anything like this?”
“No!” Carl blurted out. “I swear, nothing.”
“Relax, relax, it’s okay…” Bart sunk to his knees. He unzipped Carl’s pants and pulled out a big hefty cock. He was worried Carl might have a small dick — fat men sometimes did, and Bart had had a sinking suspicion that might be the case for Carl, so he was delightfully surprised to see a girthy ten inches of manhood pop out of the fly into Bart’s face.
“Ah…” Carl had never taken his dick out in front of a man besides his doctor. Even back in high school when he was supposed to change in gym, he never did. He kept his shirt and boxers on. He didn’t care how sweaty he was, he didn’t want anyone seeing his manboobs and his dick.
Now it was happening regardless. He had agreed to this in a sort of a daze, he thought as his eyes opened wide and his cock slid into Bart’s moist open mouth. He hadn’t really given it any thought. The money was good, and he needed it, and he couldn’t think of any reason to say no — aside from the obvious — so he said yes. It hadn’t seemed real until it began, and now he’d already agreed.
He had agreed to nut in a man thinking that was the kind of thing he could do. Now that he saw his cock slide into a man’s throat, however, he was less sure.
He had to admit it did feel good. It felt real good.
A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine as his cock stiffened in Bart’s mouth. It turned even bigger then, making it a ten-inch slab of manhood that Bart enjoyed deep-throating. The fat shaft grew veinier as it got hard and jabbed deep into Bart’s throat. The taste of his unadulterated manhood flooded Bart’s senses.
“Oh god…” Carl sucked in his breath. It was an odd sort of purely physical pleasure. He had to not think about it, which was tough, and Carl thought he was struggling to get hard. When he did peer down around his belly, he realized he was wrong, his cock was hard as iron, and for some reason, seeing it triggered a burst of pleasure to explode in Carl’s senses.
Bart paused to thwack himself with Carl’s dick. Bart was so small and Carl so big that it was like a club, meaty enough and hard enough to hurt when he really slapped himself with it. He slammed it on his own tongue, chasing it when it bounced off, and every time his tongue touched it, Carl’s chest and belly jiggled.
His hands snaked up to play with his big fleshy body. Bart smiled up at him. He sensed Carl’s anxiety over the situation — his cock was plenty hard and comfortable, but his mind was not. Bart stroked it with both hands.
“You’re so handsome,” Bart said. Rotund guys like Carl usually needed their self-esteem boosted. He stroked Carl’s cock just a little disrhythmically to keep him horny but not on the verge of orgasm. Carl’s knees buckled, and he moaned. Bart licked the shaft and suckled on Carl’s hairy balls. He got him good and hard, leaking precum. That was how Bart knew Carl was ready to move on.
He turned around, pants down, bare ass pale as marble and beaming up at Carl, and he aimed his ass towards Carl’s crotch.
A gasp surfaced from Carl when he saw Bart’s pale ass looking up him, small but perky, fleshy, inviting. The hole looked tight. Carl grimaced and closed his eyes.
“Aaaaah…” Bart moaned, backing his ass up to swallow Carl’s cock inside. He knew enough about getting plowed into by men to not count on Carl being really involved. Men were usually too nervous their first time to touch Bart’s ass or even just pump their hips.
At least at first.
Bart was gonna hafta use Carl’s dick as a dildo. That was fine with Bart for sure. He did love a fat man’s cock, and he didn’t need the fat man to be super-involved. He slid back on Carl’s manhood, the pressure in his ass growing so intense he grunted in a most unladylike, undignified fashion. He bit his lip. About half of Carl’s cock was in his ass, and he paused to let his asshole relax and widen.
He sighed, closing his eyes, gritting his teeth and relaxing his ass, despite the heavy belly that now pressed down on the small of his back. Carl’s eyes were closed too, so neither of them could see as Bart impaled himself on Carl’s massive manhood.
“Shit-” Bart breathlessly moaned, the sound muffled after a few seconds by Carl’s hand.
I’ll get the two-by-fours, okay, you stay out there! That manager, Jerry, was coming into the storage warehouse. Carl clasped one hand over Bart’s mouth to keep him quiet.
But the motion also forced Carl’s dick the rest of the way in Bart. They flopped to the ground. For just a moment, Carl was on top of Bart — which was intense but dangerous, since Bart could barely breathe, or even squirm, with so much weight atop him.
“Oh god-“
“Shush!” Carl used both hands to quiet Bart. He didn’t mean to be so mean about it, but he was desperate not to get fired — he was only getting five hundred dollars for this, after all, it was hardly retirement money.
But Carl couldn’t bring himself to stop plowing into Bart. It was like his top half and bottom half operated independently of each other. His top half wanted to stop and for Bart to sit still and quiet. His bottom half didn’t care about getting caught and just wanted to wreck Bart’s guts with as much cock and cum as he could spew.
So instead he just kept shushing Bart even though it was Carl’s heavy breathing that was loud, and he pinned Bart on the cold concrete floor. He kept pounding, pistoning his hips, forcing his dick in and out of Bart’s ass.
Jerry whistled as he wandered through the stacks of lumber. He wrinkled his nose — it kind of smelled like semen in here, but he assumed it was his own compulsively-masturbating hands. He loaded up the dolly with two-by-fours, having no idea that Carl was plowing into Bart on the other side of the stack of wood. If Carl were standing, he would have been visible.
He thought there was a sound. “Hello? Carl? If you’re back here, I need you at the paint counter. Don’t make me write you up for being out-of-department. You know this is no way of providing a Summer of You for our guests — I mean a Summer of Them, I guess….” His voice trailed off, satisfied that, if Carl had been back here, he would have revealed himself by now. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.
The dolly’s wheels creaked and rumbled as he went out to the store with the two-by-fours. Carl breathed a sigh of relief, flopping his heavy belly down on Bart’s back once more. Bart’s hands tightened into claws that dug at the concrete floor.
His prostate came alive as they both moaned out loud. Bart’s voice was swallowed up by Carl’s deeper tones, and Carl ground his dick all the way down in Bart’s ass. His balls slapped between Bart’s thighs.
“Shit, boy…”
“Hell yeah, fill me up!” Bart’s high-pitched voice echoed. The first few wads of cum sprayed into his ass.
The storage warehouse and the store floor itself shared a ceiling — the walls separating the different areas didn’t extend all the way up — so Bart’s voice and his screeching groan of desire and orgasm were plainly audible throughout the store.
Everyone there interpreted it differently though. A few workers assumed it was a TV in the electronics section — people sometimes put porn on as a joke — while others guessed it was somebody playing a prank in the men’s room. A few guys went to the bathroom-fixtures section thinking a man and woman must be having sex in there, it was such a maze they did that sometimes and it took forever to find the man.
Jerry the manager was the only person who recognized the voice of Bart, the man who had just bought some keys. But Jerry assumed he must be in the bathroom, because where else would somebody bang a slut? (Jerry assumed Bart and Carl were double-teaming a whore).
So the entire store floor erupted into action, but no one thought to go into the storage warehouse. Bart and Carl had no idea they were audible. Carl grunted like a caveman as he pounded away, cum pouring into Bart’s ass. He kept going, drilling in and out, turning his cumload into a big frothy mess that spilled over his crotch and onto the floor.
“Shit…” Carl sighed.
“Oh god…!” Bart wriggled and clawed at the cement floor. He was red-faced, gasping for air both because the orgasm was intense and because Carl had had him pinned and unable to breathe for a minute or so, as he drained his balls deep into Bart’s ass.
Now cum trickled out and onto the floor, as Carl’s cock plopped out. It glistened hotly. Carl watched it with wide-eyed amazement. He didn’t know his cock could do that. He had wrecked that ass, he thought, watching it gape like a porn star, all whitish and overflowing. He whistled and slapped one asscheek, making more cum drip out.
“Hmmm…” Bart sighed. “Are there any other handsome fat guys who work here?”
“Not really,” Carl said. That wasn’t strictly true — or at least there were other fat guys, and Carl didn’t think Bart would say they were all ugly.
But Carl wanted to keep Bart for himself. He wanted to make whatever money Bart was going to pay in the future.
Bart stood and stretched his legs. He sighed. “Hmm… Thanks for, uh… well, making my keys. And for… whatnot.”
Carl blushed and nodded. “Hey, when you pay for them keys, the receipt’ll have a code on it. Can you fill out the feedback form and mention my name? Tell ‘em Jerry acted unprofessional but Carl was very helpful. Tell ‘em Jerry ruined your ‘Summer of You’ tryin’ to hassle you into buying a door.”
“Okay, cool,” Bart said with a shrug. He had kind of hoped he’d get the keys for free, since he was paying five hundred dollars for that dick and the fat belly. But he supposed Carl would probably get in trouble — the key machine probably kept track, and of course Jerry had seen the keys get made.
Bart handed over the five hundred dollars in cash to Carl with a big grin. He included his phone number too, which Carl programmed into his phone. “Call me when you get horny enough,” Bart said as he walked away.
“I will!”
Bart didn’t think he would actually be around when Carl called him. He didn’t plan on being in Opossumtown, Alabama, that often. It was just a homebase to stay at when he was in the area.
But it was a nice homebase indeed, with the best hardware store in the state. He was going to have to come up with a lot of home-improvement projects to work on.

The Dairyman

Bart Dazzle is at it again, this time touring Vermont for big-bodied alphas! His target today is a buttery dairy farmer with a physique so massive you could, and he might, worship it for days! Angus Butterman has got manhood, manmeat and dairy cows in equal abundance, and he has a need that only Bart Dazzle can satisfy!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Them city-folk stay useless, Angus Butterman thought to himself. He got no surprise in him to see the strange out-of-towner approach the farm only when it was too late to matter. All the smarts in the world won’t help if you’re too late to do anything.
Angus was a towering bull of a man, at well over six feet tall and as hefty as a heifer and a half. He was burly and bristly like a barrel full of push-brooms, and his big round face was windswept and dour, like a cow that outgrew its pasture. He wore only his overalls now — he took off his shirt because the sleeves were soaked with cow blood, but he had worn an apron that protected the overalls, so they were dirty only with dust and mud and dried-on whatever, not fresh cow blood. His big muscle-bulging arms flapped as he washed his hands. That was the last of the blood.
He stood by the well near the green barn as the out-of-towner approached, looking frightened of the farm, Angus thought. Scared of work, of getting his hands dirty. He probably had never seen an animal get slaughtered for food, had no idea how much work went into putting a meal on this spindly girlish man’s plate.
All that was more or less true. The out-of-towner was named Bart, and he was indeed from well out of town. Bart was here in Vermont because the governor, Hartfield Merriment, was a delicious ball of flab and machismo that Bart had wanted to worship.
Governor Merriment had turned out to be just as much fun as Bart had hoped. He was jolly and jiggly and roly-poly and he tasted like apple cider vinegar. Bart loved it. But he had gained access to the Governor’s Mansion by purporting to have great knowledge in agricultural policy. He bullshitted his way in, only to find that little lie snowballed, and Bart had to spend weeks reading up on the matter or he was gonna look like an ass and would not get to taste Governor Merriment’s man-meat. He ended up proposing a policy that had to do with calf births. It was so obscure and stupid he figured they’d just ignore it, and indeed, they did. It was a real policy, it’s how they do it in England. It was plausible anyway. Not that Bart actually wanted it implemented, it was just a way in.
That led to Bart sticking around in Montpelier to taste the roly-poly meat of the fire chief, the police chief and this short-order cook with a body like a melted brickwork, and all the while he was trading himself off as an expert in calfbirthing.
In fact, everyone in the Vermont state government in Montpelier called Bart “The Professor” because he had said he studied at Oxford in England. That was why the Mayor came to get Bart when he heard the beloved cow Daisy Sue, in a small farming town nearby, was having a bloody and dangerous labor — she gave birth first to a deformed and dead calf, then continued with a live one.
From Bart’s perspective, that was a disaster. He did not know anything about calfbirthing, and he was going to look like an idiot if he pretended.
He was dreading it the whole way, but he felt an obligation to at least try, and he hoped he looked confident as he came into the Butterman Dairy. Angus Butterman met him by the green barn, where they had planned to meet up. The birthing cow was in there.
He hoped he didn’t mess this up too badly. The worst he could do was not help, right? Just look confident and don’t do anything important. Ask for hot water. Say reassuring nothings. Clean and sanitize. Ideally without touching anything, because Bart saw a human birth once and it was disgusting. So many body fluids of every color going in every direction, and cows were way bigger than a woman. Dear god, that was going to be awful. Shoulda worn a hazmat suit.
It was probably all over and done with anyway. How long could a calfbirth take?
Cows know how to give birth in the wild. Surely they can just figure it out. It can’t be that hard for a cow to give birth to a calf. That’s like all a cow does in its life.
But as Bart approached the farm, he saw Angus Butterman standing there like an imposing statue, and Bart’s heart skipped a beat. Angus was handsome. He stood heavy and plodding, his belly substantial but not fat — he was strong enough to heft a year-old calf like it was a sac of potatoes, and he could lift a sac of potatoes like it was just a single spud. His whole body was thick all over, and Bart could already taste his hairy flesh on his tongue.
“Hmmmm…”
“Hayuh, stranger,” said Angus Butterman. He shook Bart’s hand. It was a weak, lily-livered handshake. Angus rolled his eyes.
“Hi, I’m Bart, I was sent here by the Mayor, I heard… — I heard you were having problems with a calf-“
“No. I fixed it. It’s fine. Daisy Sue is fine.” His voice was flat and rumbly like a dormant volcano. He had his thumbs hooked into the straps of his overalls, which pulled the fabric forward and made his pale, powerful chest partially visible. He was just as hairy as Bart had hoped.
“Oh. Well, thank god, cuz I don’t really know jack about calves!” Bart said. Then he blushed — Angus frowned like he didn’t appreciate Bart’s blasphemy. Bart cleared his throat. “I know more about humans, I’m not actually a veterinarian.”
“Hmm.” Angus paused. “Perhaps you could make yourself helpful and bathe me.” He snortled. He thought that would show this uppity doctor from the city — he assumed Bart would never agree to bathe someone, especially not a rural farmer with a broad body and chunky ass. It would be too humiliating.
But Bart’s eyes opened wide. “Sure! Okay. I mean… yeah. Yes. Sure. I’ll help you bathe,” he said. He smiled bashfully. “I mean… that might be a good idea. I could check you for, uh… wounds, and…” He paused for a long time, nearly drooling at the prospect of manhandling this mountain of a man. “Uh… other… issues. Anatomical… irregularities.”
Angus frowned. Bart spoke in a way he found most unfamiliar, his accent being neither New England nor New York nor Canadian — the only accents Angus was familiar with. It was vaguely British but not convincingly so. He didn’t think he was from the South either. Angus’s accent, on the other hand, delighted Bart. His baritone voice had a trace of holler and a hefty dose of yip, but it was long and low like an elegant moo. It sent a frisson of desire up Angus’s spine.
Angus cleared his throat. “Come,” he said.
He was surprised that Bart would agree to bathe, but Angus wasn’t going to turn him down. He was a big enough man that he found it difficult to bathe himself. That was more laziness than anything else, but he usually had his wife at least scrub his back.
“You have a beautiful farm,” Bart said as Angus led him into a barn. Bart’s smile faltered when he saw the “bathing” facility — there was no showerhead at all, just a hunk of steel that was an old-fashioned tank heater, attached to a hose that led to a copper tub. It looked like a torture device from a steampunk movie, Bart thought. Where on earth would Angus get such a thing?
The copper tub filled with hot water as Angus, ignoring Bart completely, drained the tank. The water steamed and sizzled, but it rapidly cooled when out of the heater. Then Angus stood and removed his overalls. The water was very hot — nearly boiling, Bart suspected, when it first came out of the tank.
Those overalls slipped to the ground, and Angus’s wide ass flapped free. It was broad and fleshy and firm and jiggly when he stepped into the tub. Bart couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was glad to see Angus had a giant dick too. It hung between his legs as thick as a calf’s thigh. It was uncircumcized and veiny, and it made Bart lick his lips in anticipation.
Angus tottered when he lifted his leg to get in the tub. He grunted and heaved, asscheeks squeezing, cock flopping and Bart blushed with hot desire.
“Hmmm… So, Mr. Butterman, is there something I can do for you? Needs you could use satisfaction on?”
“Get the soap and the brush.” He pointed to a table by the wall.
“Sure, sure, but that’s not what I meant.” Bart got the soap and the long-handled brush. The soap was foul-smelling and astringent, and the brush was wiry like a toilet brush. Bart wasn’t sure what the normal procedure was, but he just got his hands wet and worked up a bunch of suds with the soap. “I mean other than this.” He clasped his hands on Angus’s legs and began massaging vigorously.
“You… are not using the brush?”
“If I encounter a part of you that is too dirty to clean with my hands, I will use the brush,” Bart said. “But I don’t mind doing the work by hand. I do like to get my hands dirty, you know. Not all out of towners are ineffectual weaklings.”
“Hmmph.” Angus narrowed his eyes to slits, but he did not argue the point. he sighed as he leaned back in the water, and he allowed Bart’s slim hands to knead the tight, sore flesh of his back. Angus’s back muscles rippled beneath his touch. Angus let out a long low moan.
Not even Angus’s wife rubbed his back so vigorously. Angus licked his teeth to avoid accidentally smiling. Even with Bart not facing him, Angus didn’t want to smile. It simply wasn’t proper. He nodded and harrumphed, spreading his legs so Bart could more easily get all around his thighs. Bart’s delicate hands brushed up against his balls and his shaft, while Bart’s head was right behind one fleshy asscheek.
The stranger’s hands were soft and warm. They’d be good milking hands. A cow could tolerate those easy. Angus had big rough hands from a lifetime of work. He could milk a cow when he had to, but that was largely automated these days. In fact, his milking machine was on its last legs. Angus spent his time supervising the farm and the production of milk, cream, sour cream, cottage cheese and Honduran-style crema. The Butterman Dairy filled orders for companies throughout New England and in Ontario and Quebec.
Angus snorted. Bart’s massaging hands went from Angus’s thighs to his chest — he avoided the private areas for the moment. His hands caressed that barrel-shaped body, and he even planted his lips on the side. He slurped up the bathwater that clung to his now-clean skin. Angus furrowed his brow like he didn’t understand.
“So, you didn’t answer me,” Bart said. “What can I do for you? Not something medical.”
“What?”
“There must be something you want.”
Angus chuckled, his big chest shifting up and down when he did. His deep voice echoed in the high-raftered barn. “There’s a new milkin’ machine on the market. Costs a pretty penny though-“
“I’ll buy it for you.”
Angus looked down at him. “Pardon?”
“I’ll buy it for you if you do something for me,” Bart said. He blushed at Angus’s intense, sour-faced stare. His giant body loomed overhead like an idol. Bart looked down, then hugged his torso. “Will you… lay with me? Treat me like a woman. Stick your dick in me.”
Nearly toppling over, Angus jumped with a start. He was not accepting that. Jacking off was taboo in Angus’s household. He was a god-fearing man.
But in his view, obscenity was worse than some minor, harmless masturbatory indiscretions. As long as he didn’t touch another man in such a manner, Angus didn’t see it as a grave sin. He could allow the mincing stranger to service him. It was not motivated by lust, after all, nor even greed.
But Angus just nodded — he thought he would lose his farm if he didn’t get that milking-machine sooner or later — the other dairies in the area already had it, and they were able to produce twice as much milk from the same number of cows, and with fewer workers. He still stood there, ignoring Bart as though he didn’t understand what Bart had offered.
“So, that’s a yes?”
“You had better actually buy me the machine,” Angus said flatly. His hand formed a fist. “I will have you lynched, mister.”
Bart shivered in fear. Angus had said that so nonchalantly that Bart assumed it could only be a real threat. “Don’t worry, I’ll follow through,” Bart said.
The idea of jacking off with a man wasn’t entirely alien to Angus Butterman. He’d done it before. There was a worker on his dairy farm who had the silhouette of a woman in the right light, and he enjoyed servicing the meats of men with stubborn stiffies. Angus had gone to see him on many a night when his wife wanted nothing to do with him. She said Angus was too big, like trying to lay beneath a buffalo, and so their marital bed was only visited a few times a year. Angus found alternative means to satisfy his urges, in an entirely Christian way.
Bart kissed his cocktip, which made it tremble and shake. Angus smelled strongly of sweat in his crotch because Bart hadn’t scrubbed him yet, just rinsed and massaged him, and he didn’t intend to. He loved a stinky man. Angus could scrub later.
He stroked his dick while slurping on just the tip. He had a feeling it would get magnificently big and he was right — it grew from merely impressive to a full twelve-inch long monster that made Bart shiver again with both terror and anticipation. That was going to hurt in all the best ways, he thought.
“Put your mouth on it, deeper,” Angus said, reaching down to shove Bart into the position he wanted. He seemed to think Bart didn’t know how to do it. Bart didn’t correct him because he enjoyed a pushy alpha — Angus thought he was the worldly expert!
He wrapped Bart’s lips around his cock and began to pivot his hips, forcing more and more of his giant dick into Bart’s throat. The taste was salty and warm and a little bitter from the soap that had dripped into his crotch. Bart had to lean over the lip of the tub to get deep in there, which he did with his hands clasped on Angus’s trunk-like thighs.
“Ah, my…” Angus bit his lip to avoid taking the Lord’s name in vain. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. His dick was so wet it dripped — and not with bathing water either. Bart drooled over it, desiring to have every inch of it throbbing in his throat.
Angus was as hard as pig-iron now, his dick pulsating in Bart’s mouth. His massive dairyman body rippled with each wave of pleasure to wrack his frame. His biceps and thunderous thighs all flexed and relaxed in sync with the cavernous moans that came from his chest. He gripped Bart’s head and held on tight, so he could deeply hump his manhood in Bart’s mouth. His entire foot-long manhood stabbed into Bart’s throat and stayed there before he began to rock back and forth.
“Ah, yes, yes…” Angus’s baritone voice gurgled moistly. His sweaty balls slapped against Bart’s chin.
It was one of the best cockshafts Bart had ever tasted. He thought maybe rural people had better dicks. There was something tastier about their manhoods, more pleasing in the way they plowed into his throat. They acted more on instinct maybe, less self-conscious, more primal and bestial. Whatever it was, Bart adored it, and he savored the sour flavor of Angus’s manhood.
Despite his lungs crying out for oxygen, Bart opened his throat wide and let Angus take charge of it. Plowing back and forth, Angus used and abused his throat, as more moans escaped his chest, and precum coated Bart’s tongue.
Then Angus let go just long enough to step out of the tub, while Bart took a hoarse gasping breath. Angus rammed his dick back in before Bart could even get his breath back. Bart kneeled before his awe-striking body.
“C’mon, boy, take the whole thing, good, good… You’re no doctor… Are you a con artist? That Governor Merriment is a fool…” Angus said as though that was a well-known fact.
When Angus finally let him take another breath, Bart rolled away and gasped. He grinned as he wiped spit and salty precum off his lips. “You wanna cornhole me? In the ass?”
By the standards of a rural farm community like this little town outside of Montpelier, that was a very obscene way to put it. Angus flared his nostrils. Bart had no idea how offensive Angus found his words, but Angus had that New England taciturnity, and he did not say anything about it. He just grumbled inwardly about rude city-folk. He really needed that milking machine.
If that’s how people in New York talk, I’ll be glad to never see another one, Angus thought. Nobody had told him Bart was from New York, it was just where Angus assumed all out of towners were from. Maybe Canadian actually, Angus thought now, that might explain the accent.
In any case, Angus wasn’t going to turn down a chance to blow a nut, plus get a milking machine out of it. In fact, he was glad to spoil such a foul-mouthed man’s bottom, he thought. He would never have done it to someone he thought of as clean and good-hearted.
“Bend ovaah,” he said with an angry snort.
When Bart didn’t move quick enough, Angus bent him over the copper tub. He bade Bart to stick his ass high. It was an awkward position for Bart, who had to keep his face above the water, which now steamed lightly as Angus’s bodily dirt and grease floated on the surface.
“Hmmm… Spread ‘em, stranguh,” Angus said with a thick-voiced chuckle. He had to stand on his toes and lean forward in order to line his cock up with Bart’s ass. He used his other hand to separate the cheeks and then wedged his dick in.
“Oh god, damn…” Bart said, having no idea that blasphemy spurred Angus on to treat him even crueler.
Angus kneaded the soft flesh of Bart’s delicate asscheeks. He slipped his dick in and Bart cried out as a burst of pain hit his backside hard. His eyes opened wide and his face dipped into the water that stank of Angus’s sweaty body. The pain quickly melted away, leaving behind a slowly simmering sense of bliss.
The moan that escaped from Bart’s lips was an intense chest-rattle that made Angus think he was in blinding pain. That seemed right anyway. Angus had no idea that Bart genuinely thought he was handsome — people simply didn’t talk about men in that manner in rural Vermont. So Angus assumed Bart was mentally defective in some way, like a hobo or a mental patient, and that he enjoyed the pain. It was no skin off Angus’s nose.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Bart favored the physiques of big men, and he loved big cocks, and he was good enough at taking on massive manhoods that the pain lasted only a few seconds. Even the pressure was not unbearable. It was made more intense by the heavy body resting upon Bart’s thin back.
“You are… a most low man,” Angus said dourly, chewing on his lip as he struggled to ram his dick all the way in.
Finally Bart took a deep breath and took in every inch of Angus’s dick, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He again doused his face in the now-lukewarm tub of water, which exhilarated him. “Yes, Angus, get deep in me!”
Angus frowned but did so. It was also rude, he thought, to call a stranger by his given name. But if he got one of those modern milking machines, it would all be worth it.
And besides that, Angus decided, this felt good enough to do it even without the milking machine — it was just plain good. His wife never let him plow into her like this. She didn’t want to do it unless they were planning on having another child. Angus accepted that even if he disliked it.
But Bart, it seemed, would take anything — Angus had no idea Bart had a minimum weight — so Angus could plow in as hard as he was capable of. He made Bart grip the far edges of the copper tub, which rocked as Bart was rollicked back and forth by the intense feel of Angus’s heavy cock.
“Oh god, shit… I— oh fuck-!” An orgasm ripped through Bart’s body.
Angus gripped Bart by the hair hard. “Do not curse, little man, and do not take the Lord’s name in vain-” He too cut himself off, his voice breaking as he orgasmed at the same time.
Bart blushed, his mind whirring as he realized he had been blaspheming for several minutes. He was nearly bent all the way over the tub now, his head on the far side of it, so his own cock sprayed its wad into the water.
“Oh — oh-!” Bart couldn’t think of any non-curse word — was ‘crap’ offensive? He had no idea. All he did was howl and scream as his prostate sent wave after wave of pleasure through his body, which was painfully pinned in place by Angus’s powerful body pressing down on him.
Then, all in one fumbling motion, Angus went to the floor and dragged Bart with him. They were both on their sides, writhing and undulating, Angus’s strong limbs flapping around. Bart was swallowed up by his bigness and covered in the water that still clung to his barrel-shaped torso.
“Aaaaaaaah…” Angus moaned and snorted, sniffling, getting himself a nose-full of Bart’s sweat from the back of his head. But it was Bart who got more sweat in his face, with Angus’s body all around him. Everywhere Bart looked was frenzied male flesh rolling and flexing. He slurped every bit of it clean, unable to resist even as his ass cried out for mercy.
Then, it was over. Angus backed off, and his dick slid out.
“Shit…” Bart said again, then clasped his hands over his mouth. “Sorry. That’s a bad habit.”
“I should think so,” Angus said with a judgmental snort. He slapped his own belly, making his muscles ripple. Bart leaved over and kissed his hairy chest.
“I’m really sorry,” Bart said. “Maybe I could hang around your farm for a couple days and keep you satisfied.” Bart suspected there were farmworkers around too, which might give him plenty enough variety to be entertained.
“That would be acceptable. It will take you some time to arrange for that milking-machine as well.”
“Oh, right, sure,” Bart said. “Is it okay if I stay here? In this barn?”
“Here? This is where all the men come to bathe- Oh.” Angus realized that was precisely why Bart liked it. Angus smirked and stood. He waved his dick around above Bart’s face, making a few drops of either sweat or cum or both — Bart couldn’t tell — plop onto his lips. Bart swallowed them up. They were sweet and salty and delicious. “Fine,” Angus said.
He waddled away, putting on his overalls only just before he stepped outside. That left Bart in the barn alone, to work out a plan to seduce as many farmworkers as he could find!

The Private

On a layover, Avery runs into Private Edmond Samberg, who could use some cash… and a mouth on his alpha male manhood. These are the kinds of problems Avery is prepared to solve!

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Read it here!

Avery woke up with an aching back. He yawned. The terminal was quiet. There were sleeping travelers scattered everywhere. He was in Dulles airport, in Northern Virginia. A major snowstorm had trapped everyone here. Even the staff hadn’t left for awhile because the roads were impassable. But it looked like that must have cleared up, because there were a lot fewer annoyed employees lounging around off the clock.
He stood, stretched and went to the men’s room to freshen up. He didn’t look so good. He had gone to a Christmas Eve wedding in Guyana and was on his way home. It had been freakish to go from tropical Guyana to blizzardy Virginia in a few hours.
It was five o’clock in the morning, so very few people were even awake. None of the stores were open. No flights were coming or going. There weren’t any announcements over the PA aside from the routine reminders about minding your bags.
“Oh, hey, hey, man, look, hey, wait up, hey, sorry, sorry, man-“
It took Avery a moment to realize someone was talking to him. The airport was like a mausoleum, so the man’s deep voice resonated and felt profoundly out-of-place. Avery must have looked annoyed when he turned around — he was just surprised and confused, but he must have looked annoyed, he thought, because the man was taken aback.
“Hey, sorry, man, are you in a hurry? I just wanted to ask you something.”
“Um. Not really, no. I mean, yes, in theory, I’m in a hurry to get home, but I’m snowed in so all I can do is pace or whatever. I can’t go anywhere anyway. So, uh…” Avery’s voice trailed off because his sleepy mind finally registered what sort of man he was look at.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a square jaw, wearing Army fatigues and heavy combat boots. He had a grizzled beard and tired, dark eyes. His muscles spilled from his camo. He carried himself heavily, like he hadn’t been muscular long and it still felt weird to him. Remnants of acne scarring on his cheeks gave him a mature look despite his youthful features, but it kept him from having a babyface.
“Do you know how to FaceCall? I don’t know what that is. My wife said I can do it on my laptop, I wanna FaceCall with her and my daughter. They’re in Okinawa so it’s evening there,” he said. “I don’t see it on my computer. Is it on email?”
“What, FaceCall? No, no, that’s not an email thing. Come on, I’ll show you,” Avery said.
Avery used FaceCall all the time, so it was easy for him to set up. In a few minutes he had the soldier — who introduced himself as Private Edmond Samberg — talking to his beautiful wife Omishi and their daughter Abigail, who was only three years old.
Avery had nothing else to do, so he just sat down once Samberg was talking to his family. This seating area was almost deserted. The whole airport was quiet and dark because it was in the middle of the night. Actually well past the middle, it was going on morning. Or maybe not. Avery had little sense of time anymore. He glanced at his phone which had the time on it but it didn’t compute in his travel-addled mind, and Avery didn’t care enough to devote any of his brain’s processing power to figuring it out.
He had a book to read, but he didn’t feel like reading it. He could get his phone out too, but he had been doing entirely too much of that. He was bored of relieving boredom with his phone. There would be nothing new online he wanted to see.
At first he tried to surreptitiously listen to Private Samberg and his family — Avery didn’t want to be nosy, there was just nothing else to do right now. It soon became apparent, however, that this conversation was going to consist mainly of babytalk. Private Samberg barely even spoke to his wife because he was so eager to connect with his daughter. He sang Christmas carols softly, aiming his voice directly into the microphone so it would be loud for his daughter but quiet enough to avoid waking anyone up in the airport.
Avery very nearly fell back asleep. He probably would have if it weren’t for Private Samberg’s strapping muscles bucking and flexing beneath his camo fatigues. He was entranced by the sight, and he blushed when Private Samberg almost caught him looking. Avery pretended to be humming along to “Jingle Bells”.
“Thanks a lot, man,” said Private Samberg after saying goodbye to his family and hanging up. “I would give you something for your time, but, man, I am broke. I’ve got eight cents in my bank account.”
“No worries, no problem. It’s nice to have something to do. It’s boring wasting my Christmas in a nasty old airport,” Avery said. He smiled and cleared his throat. “I know a way you can make five hundred dollars right here. Well, not right here. In the bathroom over there. The disabled bathroom is probably best.”
“What?”
“I’ll pay you five hundred dollars to jack off with me,” Avery said.
Private Samberg looked Avery up and down, nervously fingered his dog tags, then busted up laughing. He blushed. He looked like he was about to say no, but he just blushed more. He rearranged his cock in his camo pants. He covered his face. Then he shrugged. “Uh… Yeah. Okay. You for real?”
“Hell yeah I am,” Avery said. He saluted and stood up. “I’m here to follow orders, sir.”
He scoffed as he followed Avery into the disabled bathroom, which was large and clean. Avery locked the door. Private Samberg said, “You know I’m a private, right? I can’t order anyone around.”
“I know.”
“You really like jackin’ off with guys? I hate it, me and my unit do it all the time. It’s nasty.” He leaned against the wall and groaned. He closed his eyes. “But I do need somethin’ shit! I had a stiffy on the plane before, the one that brought me here, shit! The stewardess was like crazy hot. You shoulda seen her tits, man.” He blushed. “Sorry. I love my wife. I wasn’t gonna fuck her! The stewardess. Even if she wanted it-“
“I’m not the marriage police.”
“Even if she like threw herself at me, I wouldn’t…” Private Samberg’s eyes opened wide, and a moment later they opened wider. His dick twitched in his pants. “Shit! Ah, man!”
“Relax, relax, man, it’s okay to find chicks hot,” Avery said. “You didn’t fuck her, you’re fine. Don’t tell your wife about her though.”
“I won’t!”
“Are you alright? You look tired,” Avery said. He slid his hand into Edmond’s camo pants and wrapped his fingers around his cock. He gave it a few slow strokes, and Samberg leaned against the wall by the hand dryer.
Private Samberg nodded. “I am tired. Man, after I blow my wad, I’m gonna sleep for like twelve hours, I swear. My sergeant’s been yellin’ at me, cuz of this credit card debt… Man, it’s fucked.” He sighed, dropped his camo pants and let his dick fully flop out.
It throbbed hotly in Avery’s hand. It was nice and long, a definite two-hander but Avery only used one hand to make sure Samberg was gonna beg for more in a bit. His hand ran up and down the thickness of his shaft. “Your sergeant yells at you about credit card debt?”
“They’re worried about blackmail and shit, it’s conduct unbecoming,” he said. “And so they have a right to drill it… to, have a rule — it’s in the court, of, you know, the rights…” He blushed. “I don’t know the words. Sorry. My sergeant said it, but he was squeezin’ my balls so I don’t remember ’em.”
Avery smiled and gave his balls a very gentle squeeze. “Like that?”
“Harder.” His eyes bugged out. “He did it harder, I’m not askin’ you to do it harder.”
“Sure, sure,” Avery said. He got both hands on Samberg’s dick, which was beginning to firm up. It was veiny and moist with sweat, and it thrummed with heat and with youthful desire. A shudder ran up from his crotch through Samberg’s spine, and he laughed at himself.
“Shit, man, that feels good. I really needed to bust a nut. There was a guy outside boot camp who did that,” Samberg said. “It was weird.” He looked down. “I only did it once when I was real drunk. I don’t remember it. They said I did it, and I had fifty bucks in my pocket.”
“Fifty?”
“Yeah, He didn’t pay much.”
“Guess I got ripped off offering you five hundred,” Avery said.
“But I’m sober for this.”
“That’s worth four hundred fifty bucks?”
Samberg nodded and shrugged. “You’re the one who decided that.” He groaned, his dick fully erect now, and he moved his hips back and forth to drag the knob over Avery’s face. “Sorry.” He chuckled again.
“Is it okay if I taste it?” Avery asked. He thwacked that meaty erection over his face, chasing it with his tongue.
Private Samberg nodded and blushed a little. “You’re really into that? That’s so weird.” He wrinkled his nose. “Are you a believer that it makes your dick bigger to jack mine off”
Avery shrugged. “Something like that. I don’t know, maybe.” He was noncommittal, but in fact, he was not a believer in that. He just liked jacking off men, and he knew five hundred dollars was more than he needed to offer. He would have offered a hundred if he was being stingy. But he liked Private Samberg and wanted to help out a nice young family.
Avery kneeled between his legs and swallowed Samberg’s shaft down to the root, making Samberg let out a surprised moan like he hadn’t realized this was coming. Avery swallowed it as deep as he could, until his throat clenched and he gagged. Private Samberg took off his camo shirt, revealing a sweat-stained Army t-shirt underneath.
Precum flowed over his lips. It was salty and sweet, and it tasted so good Avery drooled as he gurgled. The moist sounds caused Private Samberg to chuckle, dryly at first, then almost hysterically. The laughter made his muscles gyrate beneath his tight t-shirt and made his cock jab down Avery’s throat.
“Ah shit, I have to use the money you’re paying me on the credit card debt. I won’t be able to buy anything for my daughter,” he said with a groan. “It sucks, my wife had to pay for Christmas for Abigail. I know she’s just a baby… Nevermind, sorry, I don’t wanna think about my daughter when I get a blowjob.”
Avery made a mental note to fix that. He didn’t want to make an awkward situation any more awkward — and his mouth was full — so he didn’t say anything, but he planned to call up and pay Private Samberg’s credit card debt. His wallet was sitting right there, having fallen out of his pocket when he dropped his pants. So Avery found out which bank issued his card and paid the debt later. Private Samberg presumably never found out how or why the bill was paid off.
It was the Christmas season, so Avery was glad to help. Private Samberg’s haggard face leaned back and his worry-wrinkles diminished as he moaned. His crew-cut had grown slightly unruly since he had last tended it, which was probably the last time he had shaved too. Samberg’s muscles rippled beneath his Army-issue t-shirt.
Avery pulled off Samberg’s cock and smacked it against his lips and his tongue hanging out of his open mouth. The sour-salty taste of his unwashed manhood flooded Avery’s senses.
“Hey, you do, uh…” Samberg blushed a deep red, his big hangdog square face looking away from Avery as he whispered, “Cornholin’?”
An excited giggle spread from Avery’s mouth. He nodded. “Sure do. But before we do that…” Avery licked his shaft from tip to root. “I’ll give you another hundred bucks if you let me lick every tattoo you’ve got. I bet you have some tattoos in interesting locations.”
Private Samberg blushed. “I got… Well… Okay…” He blushed an even deeper red. “Uh…” He took off his shirt and sighed. He had an outline of the state of Pennsylvania tattooed over his left pectoral muscle. Avery traced a trail with his tongue, traveling up Samberg’s crotch to his flat belly, his bulging pectoral and the sweat that collected there. He sucked on the tattoo as though trying to vacuum it off his body. Samberg grunted and stiffened his back.
He had barbed wire over his biceps too. The tattoo on his left bicep was complete, and Avery sucked it clean. Samberg even flexed his biceps — cheeks bright red — so Avery could get the full effect. The barbed wire on his right bicep was just the outline, not filled in, but his muscle was even firmer and his sweat even saltier.
“I couldn’t afford to get the tattoo finished,” Samberg said. He chuckled dryly. “The credit card got denied.” He sighed. “And I, uh… I got one more.” This was what made him blush. He undid his camo pants, turned around and bent over — he didn’t do that in a sexy or seductive way, but Avery thought it was even hotter like this, bending over as though letting a doctor take a look at his ass. His big hairy plump cheeks were right in front of Avery’s face.
And right there on the lower part of his left asscheek was a tattoo. It was a red bullseye and words written in elegant cursive. Sergeant Powers made a man out of me and I’ll never be the same.
“I got drunk in San Diego and my buddies made me get this.” He paused and laughed. “Okay, they ain’t really make me do it. But I did it. And so he can’t ever see my ass. He said he gotta approve tattoos before we get them, the Army doesn’t allow a lotta tattoos nowadays. There’s no way he would approve a tattoo telling him to kiss my ass.”
Samberg kept going, but Avery was confused. He kissed the perky firm ass-flesh under the tattoo as he listened to Private Samberg, who explained that his friends had dared him to tattoo the words ‘Sergeant Powers’s Kissing Spot’ on his ass. Those were, however, not the words tattooed there. In fact the message was ‘Sergeant Powers made a man out of me and I’ll never be the same’. It soon became apparent that Private Samberg didn’t know what was on his ass. It was on the lower part of his left cheek, which was round and full and plump — he’d have to get in a very careful position to see it in a mirror, and since it was written in flowing cursive, it wouldn’t be easy to read even then. Samberg must have never read it. His friends had told the tattooist what to do when he was too drunk to remember.
“Part of the dare,” Samberg said with a nervous chuckle, his dick still flopping over Avery’s face, precum sticking to his cheeks and lips. “was that I gotta show him the tattoo now that it’s healed. I keep puttin’ it off. He’s gonna kick my ass, man, I swear. He’s gonna dishonorable discharge me.”
It was a funny story, and it was one that Avery didn’t intend to spoil. He didn’t tell Samberg what his ass really said. He sucked all the furry hairs there — they were thick, dark and kinky because it was the upper part of his thigh. Then Avery plopped his face into Samberg’s asscheeks.
“Oh, shit, man… I ain’t got no tattoos in there, man, but if you wanna lick my ass…” He laughed nervously and gulped. He was bent over, grabbing his ankles, his face was already red from both blushing and blood running to his head. His eyes opened wide and he looked up to see Avery’s face disappear in his ass.
He looked like he was about to laugh, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Avery’s tongue tickled his prostate and Samberg let out a spine-tingling moan. It was loud enough that, if anyone had been awake near the bathroom, they would have heard. Avery probed Samberg’s ass with his tongue, while Samberg grunted as though it felt so good it hurt.
“Goddamn, man!” He bit his lip.
Avery giggled. Samberg’s as, tasted like his battered Army-issue green boxer shorts smelled: musty and salty and savory and so delicious Avery could have cum just from the smell. He pulled away and massaged Samberg’s hairy crack with one finger. It was wet and dripping.
Samberg barked when Avery’s finger touched his asshole. He jumped back up and turned around, his fat cock rock-hard and throbbing as it slapped Avery over the cheek.
“Ah, damn, I wasn’t expectin’ that to feel so good,” Samberg said. His voice was extra-deep as he puffed up his chest. His words resonated in the linoleum-tiled bathroom. He laughed a little. “But don’t put your finger in there, that’s… weird.”
Avery smiled. “Sure, no problem. I wasn’t going to stick it in. A lot of guys are into that anyway, y’know-“
“Not me.” He glowered. He watched Avery slather spit on his cockshaft. He hadn’t really watched before, because his eyes were closed, but he was a little less nervous now. Now, his eyes bugged out. “Damn, you really go deep. My wife don’t suck like that. No way. She got the world’s tiniest mouth. You should see her eat a hot dog. Takes an hour and a half.”
That made Avery laugh. “Maybe I’ll come watch that sometime.” Once he had slobbered saliva all over Private Samberg’s throbbing crack, he decided it was time to move on. Samberg looked down to watch as though it was the climax of a scary movie and he wanted to look away but couldn’t. “Now we get to the best part,” Avery said with a laugh at the expression on Samberg’s face.
Samberg groaned and moaned. Though he looked tense and nervous, he was also excited. It was obvious he was horny and he wanted this. He kept his hands away as he watched Avery bare his ass.
Avery turned around and backed his ass up. He spread his cheeks. Private Samberg looked away, groaning and moaning as his cock slid into Avery’s ass. At first Samberg didn’t touch him at all, like he couldn’t bear to feel a man’s ass for even a moment. His hands sort of fluttered behind himself, like he was balancing on a wire and almost falling off the other way. He watched Avery’s ass break open, while Avery let out a moan of desire as a surge of pleasure and pain hit him in equal portions.
“Aw, man, man, man,” Samberg’s voice broke, as he too felt a surge of pleasure. No pain though. He finally did touch Avery’s ass with one hand, then let go as though someone scolded him. “Aww, man… that feels good!” He again sounded very surprised at that, like he thought it would be painful. “It feels real good!”
“I know,” Avery said through clenched teeth, as he struggled to take Samberg’s girthy cock.
That didn’t last long though. The first time Samberg’s cock encountered a little resistance, he grunted and his muscles flexed all at once. One of his hands grabbed his own manhood, while his other hit Avery hard on the back, pushing his shoulders down. He pulled Avery’s cheeks up to match Samberg’s height a little better.
His dick was big and veiny, thick, long, throbbing, perfect like it was sculpted to fill Avery’s body. Avery let out a long low moan and leaned back until he felt Samberg’s cold dog tag resting against his back, and his broad chest muscles rippled against Avery’s smooth shoulders. Avery grabbed it and sucked on it too, just to get the stainless steel taste and the stale sweat that collected there onto his tongue.
“Damn, you make sounds…” Private Samberg said. In this position, Avery couldn’t see his face, but it was clear Samberg was blushing again. He cleared his throat. “My wife is so quiet during sex. The first time we did it, I thought she fell asleep or somethin’. She said I fuck real good-“
“Private Samberg, I’m going to give you an order,” Avery said breathily. He gasped. He had to focus intently to form any words at all. “Stop talking about your wife and stick it in me.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I just love her so much, sorry, sorry. Sorry. Shit…” His hot breath condensed on Avery’s nape.
Avery kept pushing his ass backwards, basically penetrating himself with Samberg’s cock. But the more they both got into this, the more comfortable Samberg became. Soon Samberg was pounding into Avery just as hard as Avery penetrated himself with Samberg’s cock.
And then, at last, Avery could do little more than submit. He leaned back so that he rested his face on Samberg’s ropy-muscled chest. He was ensconced in Samberg’s powerful arms, licking and suckling on his frizzy-haired muscle. He got another taste of both those barbed-wire tattoos, both the finished one and the unfinished one — in a flash of charitable thinking, Avery promised himself he’d send enough money to finish the other tattoo, then decided not to, he already didn’t know how much credit card debt he’d be paying off, and it wasn’t like the world was waiting for yet another barbed-wire-on-bicep tattoo. But it did taste so sexy when he sucked Samberg’s curly arm-hairs and licked the bulging tattooed muscle there. His wife was a very lucky woman.
“Oh god, cum inside me, please, soldier, fill me up…”
His cringing, begging tone made Samberg laugh just as he reached an orgasm. His whole body bucked and spasmed, and his chest muscles tensed against Avery’s back. For one glorious moment that seemed to last an eternity, Avery experienced a jaw-dropping orgasm that began in his prostate and exploded outward in every direction.
A fat load of cum flew into Avery’s ass. Private Samberg moaned, his hot breath condensing on the back of Avery’s head. Avery had never felt smaller or weaker, buried in Samberg’s muscles all around him. The cum filling up his ass was hot and thick, and it seeped into Avery’s flesh.
“Oh fuck, yeah…” Avery stroked himself off and shot his own load onto the floor of the bathroom. He still had Samberg’s dog tags over his face, so he got another burst of old-sweat flavor as he sucked it clean.
He moaned again, and rubbed his back against Private Samberg’s strapping chest. Private Samberg grunted into his ear. The smell of his sweat-soaked shirt enveloped Avery as he experienced one of the most intense orgasms of his life. Spasms of bliss wracked his body.
Finally Private Samberg stepped back and gingerly pulled his cock out. He looked down at it like he was terrified of what he saw as he wiped it clean with a bit of toilet paper. He grimaced, then smiled and grunted.
“You had better pay me, man,” he said. “And that extra hundred dollars. Don’t stiff me, man.”
“I won’t, I have to too much respect for your service to our country,” Avery said with a sigh as he cleaned himself off. When he was done, he pulled out his wallet and counted out the money. Avery saluted and grinned, before handing over six hundred dollars.
“Uh, sure, yeah, no problem, man,” Private Samberg said with a blush. He took the money and saluted back. “Thanks too, for your help. I had a good Christmas after all.”

The Boxer

When Avery sees the legendary heavyweight boxer Wallace Stamper in the gym, he takes a chance and makes him an offer — he’ll pay for his gym membership in exchange for a swing on his fat alpha male meat. Can Wallace perform for Avery despite his cornerman trying to stop it?!

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Read the whole thing here!

“C’mon, Wallace, you don’t need this place.”
They turned around and headed back into the locker room. Avery watched from within the locker room, then he headed away from the door so it wasn’t obvious he was eavesdropping.
He resumed mopping the locker room floor — it was his job at the Cornerside Gym, after all. He didn’t look in the direction of the man he was here to find: Wallace
It was always hard to force yourself to “look casual”, but that was what Avery did. He affected a complacent pose, idly sliding the mop about as though he had been at this for hours and had no chance of finishing soon.
A few ropy-muscled black men showered a few feet away, but Avery wasn’t interested in them, and they totally ignored him. A hunky Puerto Rican with a fledgling mustache changed into workout gear on one of the benches. Avery would have loved to jerk him off, but that wasn’t why he had come here.
He had come here to meet Wallace Stamper, the greatest heavyweight boxer in the world. Avery didn’t actually follow the sport, but he was very good and very famous.
And he had a body to die for.
And, it seemed, Wallace couldn’t afford to pay for his gym. His trainer, friend and cornerman followed him into the locker room. That was a handsome Italian man named Valdemaro. He was arousing too, in his way. Like the Puerto Rican, Avery might have jerked him off gladly if there weren’t a grade-A specimen of manhood right next to him. At the moment, though, Avery had eyes only for Wallace Stamper
“Fuck that asshole,” Wallace said with a hostile growl. He shadowboxed the air in the sauna.
“Relax, Wallace, it’s okay,” Valdemaro said. “We’ll work this out. You don’t need a gym to train anyway. We’ll go home and you can punch that mattress. You run home, okay? You run home, I’ll take the bus and meet you there.”
“Shut up, Valdemaro.” Wallace punctuated each word with a punch in the air.
“Come on, don’t be depressed. You’re gonna win on Saturday, I can feel it. With that purse, you’ll be able to pay for the gym membership for years to come,” Valdemaro said. He had a charming grin, but it didn’t look like Wallace was buying his optimism.
Avery pushed between them. He stood in front of Wallace and smiled. He made sure to seem as feminine as possible. “Hi,” he said with an impish smile. “I’m Avery.”
“Nice to meetcha, Avery,” Wallace said. His grumpy face frowned. He was big and thick-chested, with a deep barrel voice like a dragon, and he made Avery shiver in place. Wallace picked up on that. He sneered and sighed, flexing his pecs. “Whatchoo want, man?”
“Uh… I saw your match a little while ago. You’re so good,” Avery said. “You’re a legend.”
“Thank you, sir,” Valdemaro said, touching Avery on the shoulder to get his attention. He tried to hurry him along, to get him away from Wallace.
But Avery just shrugged him off. He smiled flirtatiously at Wallace. “I bet girls throw themselves at you.”
Wallace beamed. “Yeah, kinda. Some. Lotta girls don’t like big guys,” he said. He demonstrated his size by pumping one bicep. He licked his lips and chuckled when Avery grabbed it with both hands and kissed it. Avery licked Wallace’s bicep from his elbow all the way to his shoulder, then he flickered his tongue into Wallace’s sweat-moist armpit.
“Oh, hey, no way, sorry,” Valdemaro said. He pulled Avery away.
Wallace growled. “Shut the fuck up, Valdemaro.” He looked Avery right in the eye, not breaking his gaze. He was such a huge, hulking brute that Avery shivered in fear. His arms were like a stack of pumpkins, his legs thicker than Avery’s whole body, and his ass was thick and juicy like a pair of chicken pot pies. When he moved, his buttcheeks jiggled and his massive pecs shifted up and down with each step.
Despite his trepidation, Avery did not think he was in danger. Wallace looked at him like a hungry man looks at a meal, while Valdemaro continued shooing Avery away. Avery could tell Wallace wanted to bust a nut, but not where anyone could see it, including Valdemaro.
Wallace glanced around. The Puerto Rican was finishing his shower, his long, uncut cock gleaming in the moisture and steamy air. The other men had finished and were walking out the door.
“Wallace, we should go,” Valdemaro said. He kissed the crucifix around his neck. He glared at Avery, then wrapped one arm around Wallace’s wide body, hugging him close and gently pushing him towards the door.
“I said shut the fuck up, Valdemaro. You ain’t in charge of mah dick,” Wallace said. He grabbed his cock through his satin boxing shorts.
“I, uh, I’m in charge of your training, Wallace. That includes your moral development,” Valdemaro said. “I know you know the Bible. Jesus wouldn’t want you doin’ nothin’ you can’t tell ya mama ’bout.”
“Shut the fuck up, Valdemaro. God forgives, don’t he? Even the Cath-olics believe that, right? Confession and shit.”
“That’s not… You have to have real regret in your heart,” Valdemaro said. “Wallace-“
“I’ll pay,” Avery said. He pulled out the three hundred dollars in his pocket. “Is this enough to cover the gym membership?”
Judging from the look on both men’s faces, it was more than enough. Valdemaro snatched it. His Christian morals seemed to have vanished into thin air. He smiled and whistled a jaunty tune. “Okay. You two have fun. I’ll go pay at the front desk.”
He walked away. Wallace grinned at Avery. He glanced at the Puerto Rican, who was oblivious, then he looked at a door on one outer wall of the locker room. He stood up and walked towards it. From the way he walked, it was apparent his cock was already hard. Those giant asscheeks jiggled up and down with each step he took.
“C’mon, girlboy, the sauna’s in here,” Wallace said. He opened the door, and steam billowed out. His hefty body shifted as he slipped in. Avery followed. The heat and humidity hit Avery like a punch to the face.
Wallace had stopped right there by the door, so Avery’s face planted into his mountainous back. His muscles rippled and sweat dripped onto Avery’s lips. He sucked it all up, while Wallace quickly dropped his shorts and stepped out of them. His ass was framed by elastic straps.
He had on those old-fashioned white jockstraps, the strappy, unglamorous kind, dingy and worn with age. Avery moaned at the sight — he hadn’t been expecting that, but now that he saw it, he wanted to suck on it. He pulled it off Wallace’s body and put the whole thing in his mouth. The taste of old funky sweat, soaked in and wildly fragrant, flooded his senses. The jockstrap was so wet it tasted soggy, gritty with salt crystals that remained on the fabric, and the stink of Wallace’s heavy ballsac made Avery’s eyes water, not that that slowed him down at all.
“Oh, damn, you get nasty,” Wallace said. He shook his head and laughed, clutching his belly as though he needed to hold it in and it took all of his muscles to do so.
The jockstrap was sour and salty, and Avery drooled over it. While he loved the taste and the grimy feel of it in his mouth too, the hottest part was Wallace’s reaction, his big squarish face showing equal parts disgust and delight, like he was disgusted that Avery would do such a thing but delighted that his own body fluids would bring someone such joy.
Eventually though, the jockstrap just tasted like spit, and Avery dropped it to the floor. He tweaked each of Wallace’s nipples, making his pecs bounce and Avery’s heart skip a beat. Wallace still had a bemused smile on his face, and he didn’t react to Avery’s fingers on his nipples.
Since he didn’t complain, Avery shifting from tweaking his nipples to sucking on them, while his hands massaged the firmness of Wallace’s torso. His muscles flexed.
“A’ight, prettyboy, you got’cha taste,” Wallace said. “You gonna get me off or what?”
“I definitely am!” Avery said and sunk to his knees, while Wallace plopped his heavy ass down on one of the wooden benches in the sauna. He leaned back and spread his legs. He was so big he took up at least a quarter of the entire sauna, arms outstretched. His balls hung down, cock dangling. He leaned his head back and sighed.
His dick was half-hard already. Avery sensed that he was extremely horny — maybe that cornerman Valderamo prevented him from fucking any women, to keep his testosterone high for fights. His dick jumped right out of his hand when Avery touched it. Wallace gasped and bit his lip. Avery stroked it. It was moist with sweat and condensation from the air, and it twitched as soon as Avery’s fingers danced over his shaft.
“You got nice hands, boy,” Wallace said. “Nice and soft. I like the way yo’ fingers feel.” He didn’t open his eyes. He groaned, chest rumbling, tongue lolling around within his mouth.
“You got a nice cock,” Avery said, whispering like a shy girl.
That made Wallace chuckle and moan. He gently guided Avery’s head down to Wallace’s dick. Avery opened up and swallowed it in one smooth motion, lowering his head until his nose squashed into Wallace’s hairy crotch.
“Goddamn,” Wallace said. “Lordie, fuckin’s hell, fuck…” He gasped and raised his brow. His dick swelled in Avery’s mouth, moisture coating Avery’s tongue with his unwashed flavor. Wallace moaned like he was scratching an itch he’d been waiting to scratch for a long time. His whole body shook, his limbs all flexing and rippling in turn.
Avery’s hands explored Wallace’s broad chest, tweaking his nipples and playing with the network of kinky fur that covered his pecs. He was very hairy for a black man, with coarse hairs coating his pecs and running in a treasure trail down his belly. Wallace’s muscles twitched beneath his touch.
“Hey, you know Roger?” Wallace asked suddenly. He pulled Avery off his cock.
“Who? No. I ain’t from around here,” Avery said. His tongue flickered as he tried to go back to sucking, but Wallace held his head in place, just near enough that he could taste that cock but not actually resume sucking on it.
“Oh he ain’t from around here neither. He from Nashville. But he a… he a sensitive type, like you, with soft fingers like yo’s. He do slurp a nigga nut up.”
“We don’t all know each other.”
Wallace shrugged. “Okay. You handle mah dick better than him, that’s all. And you pay, I like that,” he said. “He just do it fo’s fun.”
Avery furrowed his brow at that. He assumed he needed to pay, but it seemed Wallace would do this for free if he asked nice enough. licked his dickshaft, his tongue tracing the veins that run all the way up from root to tip. Avery could tell that Wallace liked that because his cock spasmed, precum leaking out.
The salty flavor of semen filled Avery’s senses. Wallace continued to talk, telling some story about how Roger jerks him off whenever he’s in Nashville for a fight — Wallace said he never let Valdemaro know about it because Valdemaro was Catholic and snooty and he don’t approve of jacking off, whether alone or with another man. Valdemaro thought a man should save his seed for the marital bed.
“I ain’t nevuh think he was gonna ‘pprove of me dippin into yo’s ass,” Wallace said with a snorting laugh. “Guess he don’t care ’bout none of that if you got the green. Shoulda been tellin’s him all along that Roger be payin’. I thought payin’ fo’ it makes it worse, right? But Roger don’t give a shit. I don’t get Catholics.”
Avery gurgled as he happily sucked. He giggled. Wallace kept talking as though he was having a real conversation, though Avery didn’t respond at all.
“You evuh been to a Catholic mass? Valdemaro took me once. It was weird. I ain’t like it,” Wallace said. “Confession is fuckin’ strange. I ain’t tellin’ some pervuht priest ’bout my sins and shit. That’s between me and God, ya dig?” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes again. “Yo, man, can you suck on my balls a bit? You do that? Winchell Green did that. You know him?”
“I don’t know him,” Avery said, rolling his eyes. He dropped his head between Wallace’s legs and slurped on both of his balls at once. Wallace had heavy, pendulous balls and a hairy sac, which Avery loved. It was slick with sweat and precum, so moist that Avery could slurp the juices off as Wallace groaned.
“Yeah, I ain’t think you would. He in prison. Still there, ‘far as I know,” Wallace said. “He was my cellmate. He licked balls fo’ hours. Some nights he jerk my dick till I nut, then he lick my balls while I play cards or somethin’, then I get hard and he swallow up my dick again.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said around the balls throbbing in his throat.
“You evuh been in prison, whiteboy? That where you learn this shit?”
“No,” Avery said. He went back to licking Wallace’s cockshaft, working his kisses up and down the veiny underside of his meat.
“Well, you be queen in there, I swear to God. If you was my cellmate, I’d tell you I love you, and I wouldn’t nevuh pimp you out, no way. Not unless you want it,” Wallace said with a chortling laugh. “You give up the ass, right?”
“Yes,” Avery said. His voice was muffled and moistened by the ballsac he kept furiously slurping on, while both hands stroked Wallace’s fat cock. It spasmed in his fingers.
“Then yeah, you be my prison queen,” Wallace said. “Fuckin’ hell. Why don’t girls evuh like suckin’ balls, huh? I ask this girl one time and she say ‘nah’, she say don’t no one suck balls. She say no way, no how, no time, not evuh. Fuckin’sbitch.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said. He was too aroused to really pay attention to Wallace, who smacked Avery’s asscheeks. He whistled at the sight of their jiggling.
“Hmm-hmm! Hell yeah! Fuckin’ hell. You like big homeboys, right? Huh? I know this homeboy in the Tennessee State Pen’tent’ary. You wanna be his bitch? Shit, you could retire there,” Wallace said with a laugh. “You just gotta commit a state crime, ya dig? You into that?”
“No thanks,” Avery said. He rubbed Wallace’s dick over his face. He kept flickering his tongue out to tease him. Wallace smiled — he liked dragging this out as much as he could. He bent over and stuck his ass in the air. “It doesn’t matter. Just cornhole me, stick it in me, all the way in, as hard as you can….”
“Hell yeah! I will wreck you, whiteboy. You said as hard as I can, you said that and I’s gonna hold you to it, boy!” Wallace cackled and clapped his hands, then he checked the sauna door to be sure no one was coming. His fat cock stuck out from his crotch like an antenna, and then he got behind Avery. His rod stabbed Avery in the small of his back. Wallace had to bend his knees to get his cock low enough to line up with Avery’s asshole, and he wrapped both arms around Avery’s body. “You ready, whiteboy? It’s goin’ in…”
Avery gasped and jerked his head as Wallace’s cock slid into him. Pain exploded in his ass. It lasted only a second though. Wallace spat on his palm and wiped the lube off on his dick, which combined with the slickness of the steam that filled the sauna to make his dick slip right in.
Pressure erupted in his ass, followed by a twinge of pleasure that grew stronger with every passing second. It hurt too, but the pain was overshadowed by the positive sensations wracking his body. Avery slid all the way down. He rarely took such a huge dick that quickly, but Wallace pulled him by the shoulders down. Avery squealed and slipped, losing his balance so his hands and feet were both in the air. Wallace’s powerful body gripped him however, and held him in position atop Wallace’s cock. Neither man moved for a moment.
“So… this do hurt, right? Roger say he like it, but it do hurt. Winchell say it hurt and he don’t like it,” Wallace said. “You look like it hurt.”
Avery bit his lip. The pain was there, he couldn’t deny that, but his prostate was alive too, sending wave after wave of pleasure up Avery’s spine. It was difficult to concentrate enough to say anything at all.
“Yeah. It hurt. But, uh… I like it,” Avery said with grave difficulty. “It feels good too.”
“Why?”
“Uh… Sorry, can you just cornhole me? I can’t really talk right now,” Avery said, his voice clipped and desperate. He breathlessly gasped and flailed at the air in front of his face.
Wallace cackled. “Alright, sorry, man,” he said. “Let’s do this!” He wrapped both of his arms over Avery’s body, holding him tight and close to Wallace’s barrel chest. Then Wallace began to slam his hips up, virtually punching Avery in the ass with his massive cock. Avery let out a yelp that turned into a long, slow moan.
Much to Avery’s surprise, Wallace forced his head to the side. That put Avery’s face atop Wallace’s strapping chest. Wallace bent his head down and kissed Avery right on the lips. His tongue plunged in, and Wallace groaned right into Avery’s mouth. Wallace seemed to have no compunctions about kissing Avery as he slammed him up and down on his cock. He allowed Avery to suck on his upper lip and even lick his face when their fucking became too frenzied to coordinate a kiss. Wallace’s stony face trembled as Avery kissed his cheek and sucked on his grizzled neck.
“Hey! Wallace! You in there!”
“Yeah, Valdemaro! Leave me alone!” Wallace grunted and growled into Avery’s ear.
“Okay. You alright?”
“Yes! Fuck off, Valdemaro!”
There was a long pause. Avery held his breath, barely able to control himself — he wanted to scream and shout the orgasm welling up within him was so tense. But he wasn’t sure how Valdemaro would take it. He bucked his hips back, making Wallace gasp again.
“Are uh… you okay? Uh… other guy? The, uh… white one. You alright?”
Avery heard him and tried to respond, but all that came out was a choked strangle. The door to the sauna opened. Through the steam, Avery saw Valdemaro’s face poke in, but he remained facing away like he couldn’t bear to watch.
“Huh? You ain’t hit him, did you Wallace?” he asked.
“He fine, Valdemaro. Get the fuck out.”
“Yeah. Okay. I am. Okay,” Avery said, the climax boiling so intensely he could barely grunt. He bit his lip and groaned. A wave of bliss flowed through his veins, and Avery’s knees went weak. Wallace supported him in his powerful arms, which were firm with muscle and slick with sweat.
Valdemaro slammed the door shut with an audible sigh. He laughed nervously on the other side of the door, while Wallace kissed Avery some more. He groaned, his tongue lolling over Avery’s face when Wallace become too impassioned to kiss. His balls crawled up in his sac.
“You know you can’t kiss him, right, Wallace? “
“I know, Valdemaro, shut the fuck up! I won’t kiss him! Just go away, Valdemaro!” Wallace bellowed. He pounded on the bench beneath him with one massive fist. Then he kissed Avery again on the lips.
“Okay, sorry. Just… don’t, uh… We’re going to church as soon as we’re done here, Wallace.”
“Fine! Fuck off!” He paused and roared. “I know you still there, Valdemaro, fuck off! I won’t be able to nut wit’ you hecklin’ me from out there.”
“Okay, okay, sorry, I’ll go reserve the punching bag.” He paused. “I’m coming back in five minutes. That’s enough time, plenty enough time to finish up. I’ll dump cold water on you if I have to, Wallace. You need to focus on your training.”
“Valdemaro, if you don’t fuck off right now, I’m going to ram you next. Swear to god, I will shove yo’ mama’s lasagna up yo’ butthole,” Wallace said. “I will take as long as I want to.” Wallace growled into Avery’s ear. “I wouldn’t waste his mama’s lasagna, that shit’s goo-ooood!” He laughed and clapped. “I would take longer than five minutes just to piss him off. If he dump cold water on me, I swear to God I will hold him down so you can ram him. But there ain’t no way I can wait five minutes. You got ass like none other, I swear to God. I will fill you up wit’ my battuh, you gonna be drownin’ in it. You want that? Huh?”
“Yes, please…” Avery moaned. His cock spasmed in his own hand as an orgasm ripped through him. He tightened up and clenched, which was enough to send Wallace over the edge as well.
“Hell yeah, bitch, hell yeah, hell yeah, hell yeah,” Wallace moaned so loud it echoed in the sauna. His muscles all flexed where Avery rested against his back.
Cum sprayed over Avery’s belly at the same time it filled up his ass. Wallace’s hot breath condensed on Avery’s ear, his cum spraying over Avery’s prostate, which accentuated Avery’s own orgasm. Both men roared — Wallace a deep, booming baritone, while Avery lilted out a feminine growl. Waves of pleasure hit Avery hard, and he writhed in Wallace’s powerful arms. Wallace was less expressive, but Avery could feel and hear the burgeoning moan of desire in his chest, which pressed into Avery’s smooth back.
At last Avery was done. A big stinking puddle of cum rested on his thin belly, while Wallace’s meaty body pulsated beneath him. Wad after wad of cum filled Avery up, as though Wallace was piping it in from somewhere.
“Ah, damn, alright, alright, alright,” Wallace said with a chuckle. “You done there. You can get off me.”
Avery haltingly crawled off. Each movement he made sent a wave of both mind-blowing agony and body-melting arousal through his mind. He gasped and struggled to move. He slipped over and over because Wallace’s body was drenched in sweat, and the humid sauna air made everything slick.
Finally Avery crumpled to the ground. He crawled back up onto the bench, where he wrapped his arms over Wallace’s chest. Wallace bristled when he felt Avery’s limp cock press against his thigh, but he didn’t make him stop.
Wallace snorted and sniffled, like he was signaling that he had allowed Avery to cuddle for the maximum amount of time he would accept. He was too polite to tell Avery to let go, but Avery got the message.
Avery grabbed his clothes and hurriedly got dressed. Wallace was much slower. He grabbed his shorts and headed for the door, still naked, his cock not even fully limp yet — it still dripped with his own cum and remnants of Avery’s assjuice.
He opened the door, and there was Valdemaro’s serious-looking gaze.
Then a bucket-load of cold water landed on Wallace’s face, and a few drops hit Avery’s legs — the water was ice-cold. Wallace screamed in shock. Valdemaro said something about God.
Avery slid out of there before a fight developed. It looked like either Valdemaro or Wallace, or both, were about to throw a punch. Avery was done with them both.
But before leaving the gym, he wondered if that Puerto Rican boxer was still around…

The Inmate

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

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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

The Rocker

Avery is at the music store at the mall when he spies a studly hard rock guy in need of some cash. That’s exactly the kind of situation Avery loves helping out with! Can he meet his alpha’s musical needs?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The Tune & String music store at the mall was one of the bigger stores remaining. Nearby was Randall’s Candles, a sad little giftshop, and several vacant storefronts. A KT Toys provided a little vibrancy for about six weeks out of the year, but it was a mausoleum most of the time. The Cinnamon Bun Hut was the most popular attraction at the Pickspring Mall for Avery Flowers, but he was trying not to go there.
The smell was damn alluring though. Last time he came here, he was so desperate for cinnamon buns he ended up making them himself. That was his compromise — no buying thirty thousand calories worth of cinnamon buns. If you want to eat that, you can make it yourself.
But his didn’t smell like the ones at the Cinnamon Bun Hut. They were good, but not that good. Avery was not a baker.
He was not a drummer either, yet Avery was here to buy drumsticks, but there was no one at the counter to check him out. His niece was getting a drum-set for Christmas, and Avery was going to give her the sticks, wrapped, under the tree, so she would open them before she saw the actual drums. Since he didn’t have any kids of his own, he looked forward to seeing that on Christmas Day.
But now there was no one in the music store. It was like a museum of music, full of display cases featuring pianos, saxophones and flutes, alongside rows of shelves of sheet music. There were DVDs too, instructional stuff, and a few odds and ends — even rolling papers and small glass pipes behind the counter.
“Hello? I need to buy drumsticks!”
He heard laughter upstairs, on the little balcony where the pianos sat. Avery craned his head up and could just barely see the clerk. It sounded like an argument up there, a rigorous piano dispute, presumably. The thought made Avery chuckle, imagining who would get into a rigorous piano dispute. He waited politely, but no clerk was forthcoming.
He didn’t want to make a scene, but Avery was ready to get out of there. He wasn’t gonna spend all day waiting to buy drumsticks.
So he went up the stairs. Avery had something else he planned on doing today — going to the other side of town, to this trashy nightclub in the ghetto, where a DJ had promised to let Avery jerk him off for money to buy recording gear. But first, he needed to buy these goddamn drumsticks.
And nobody was here! Avery had been daydreaming and didn’t notice he’d been standing at the counter for what felt like an hour. It was maybe ten minutes. Did nobody work here? He looked around the store. There was no bell to ding to get an employee’s attention.
“Hello? I need to buy drumsticks. Hello?” Avery ascended to the second floor of the music shop.
The clerk was a hipster with a goattee, a mustache and a five o’clock shadow. He was handsome though, and he caught Avery’s eye. He was probably a hit with women. His nametag read “Twig Smitten”, which just had to be a performing name.
There was another man there talking to him. He was a hard-edged hard-rock heavy-metal kind of guy, that much was obvious, with a fat mop of greasy black hair and sunken eyes. He was young, or young-ish anyway, but he had the face of a work-hard life on the road, like a handsome hobo in the Old West. He was strong, but his muscles were haphazard, not toned, you could tell he never lifted weights. He simply worked and lived hard and probably drank more beer than ate solid food. He had a powerful, tattooed chest that nearly bulged out of his sleeveless tee shirt (a black shirt with the demonic skull logo of the band Clusterfuck, which Avery suspected was this man’s band).
He was like something out of the 80s too, with that thrash-metal look, but his dirt-colored mustache — and a scruffy beard behind that — was straight out of the 70s. He was well-muscled, with a blue-collar look to his dusky skin and wind-beaten face.
His name was Logan, and he was trying to browbeat the clerk into giving him the employee discount on the guitar. Logan had a deep rumbly voice with a menacing edge to it. “Come on, man, I know you gave Roger the discount. He said it-“
“Man, Logan, it’s not like that. He used to work here. I need to make my commission-“
“Don’t gimme that shit,” Logan said. He took a step back and pointed a finger at the clerk. His face was ruddy, meaty arms flexing, eyes darting back and forth. “I know you’re allowed to do it. Roger said it’s a rule, you gotta make the sale-“
“It’s not a rule! The employee discount is for employees!”
“I know the manager!”
“Mr. Demetrius said to tell you to go fuck yourself if you ever come in here, Logan!” the clerk Twig Smitten said. He pointed to the exit to the mall itself. “So… you know, go fuck yourself. Somewhere that isn’t here.”
“Don’t be a dick, man! I can kick your fucking ass, y’know, you little punk. Come at me then-” Logan took a step towards the clerk. “I need that guitar, I got a damn show tonight! UPS ruint mine! I can’t — it’s not even here, man, come on!”
“I’ll buy it for you,” Avery said. He stepped in front of Logan, who was taken aback. Avery was so close he could smell Logan’s sweat beneath the scent of bleach, which looked to have been speckled on his black boots earlier. Pale spots now spread over the top of Logan’s feet, and some dotted the lower cuffs of his pants too. Logan’s jaw dropped as he tried to gather his wits and shift focus from kicking ass to talking to a stranger.
“What?” he snapped like he was offended by his own confusion.
Avery smiled despite the tension of the situation. He felt much smaller than either of the other two men, though in fact there was little difference between them. Neverthless Logan loomed large over the trio like a moai, and Avery felt tiny before him. Avery patted him on the side, feeling the meaty thickness of his body above his ribcage. That sleeveless shirt he wore reeked of his armpit sweat and his body hair and again of bleach. Avery said, “I’ll buy you the guitar. The whole thing. No employee discount.”
“What?”
Avery smiled. The clerk had backed way off, so Avery lowered his voice, that way only Logan could hear. “I’ll jerk you off. We’ll go in the mall bathroom, and I’ll jerk you off. Okay? I’ll swallow your dick you so good you forget how to play guitar-“
He scoffed. “I…” Logan wiped some of the sweat off his brow. “Shit… uh…”
“I’ll deep-throat you so good…” Avery sucked on his finger. Logan’s eyes opened wide. Avery could sense Logan’s dick twitching, but Logan covered it up by shifting his weight between his feet. He cleared his throat.
“Don’t you want me to like… take a shower or some shit? I just got off work, I got band practice in a bit-
“Don’t you dare shower, I like my men unfiltered,” Avery said. He took Logan by the hand and led him back down the stairs. The gawky clerk was there watching. “We’ll be back to buy that guitar. And drumsticks.”
“Drumsticks? I don’t want drumsticks-“
“Unless you came out of my sister’s vagina, they’re not for you. Let’s go.”
“I ain’t say I’d do it,” Logan said.
“Then you’re on your way out of the store, right?” Avery said. “Either way, this is the route.” He pointed towards the door out of the mall. The bathrooms were by there too.
“Uh…” Logan stopped. “You’ll really buy the whole guitar? You ain’t playin’?”
“I never play about that,” Avery said with a serious look on his face. Then he laughed. “That’s not true, I do play about jacking men off. But I’m not kidding about doing it. I’ll jerk your dick til the cows come home. Or is there a heavy metal equivalent of that? I’ll jerk you off til the heavy metal singer smiles?”
“I ain’t a metal singer. I sing rock. Hard rock. Not metal.” Logan furrowed his brow at Avery. “I don’t cotton to the metal scene. They’s all about the goths. You know about the goths? I don’t do the goths.”
“Hmm… Yeah, I get’cha,” Avery said. “I like rock too, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that — I’m not really a music aficionado.”
“You not scammin’ me, right? You got the cash?”
“I got it. And I’ll even buy you some extra strings, okay?”
Logan sighed. “Okay, but you can’t tell no one, man. I ain’t… He chuckled. “I never got a man to jerk me off when I was sober before. Usually it’s only when I struck out for the night.”
“No shit, really?”
“Uh-huh. I got this buddy, he does it when I’m drunk,” Logan said. Avery sunk to the floor as Logan closed the door. “He thinks I’s too drunk to know he done it, but I know.”
Avery undid Logan’s fly and belt. His mud-splattered jeans fell to the floor, which was good because that muffled the smell of bleach from his boots. He had had to work his community service first thing in the morning — he had mopped the floors at a ranger station in a state park, hence the bleach on his boots — before going to his regular job as a janitor.
“So what’s your band like?”
Logan’s anxiety disappeared — he was at his most confident when he was performing, so thinking about his band made him relax. “Aw, man, we rock hard as shit, man. You goin’ to the Tough One Fun Run? We gonna play at that. Cluster-F. We Clusterfuck, but they only sayin’ Cluster-F on the radio. We got a followin’, man. I got groupies and shit.” He checked that the door to the bathroom was locked, then reached into his pants around his ankles and fished out a pack of smokes. He seemed completely disinterested in Avery pulling his boxers down. His sleeveless black tee was short, so it wasn’t in the way of his cock, which bounced free and jabbed Avery in the face. Logan said, “We’s like, uh, hard rock, y’know, boogie-rock and shit, man. We all used to play AC/DC songs before we was writin’ our own-“
“Awesome, AC/DC’s great,” Avery said. He really had no special love for AC/DC, but he wanted to get on Logan’s good side.
“Yeah. We rock hard, man, swear to God. You know Black Crowes? I met them once, swear to God,” he said. He saw his dick dangling and bit his lip. This got suddenly more real, just before his cock disappeared into Avery’s mouth. His eyes opened wide. “They was arrogant shits, man, fuck them, fuck!” He groaned. “They owe me money too, like a hundred eighty bucks, man, swear to God. Buncha shitheads, and they talk a bunch of shit, they can’t back it up.” Even as he talked like he hadn’t noticed what his dick was doing, he was already pumping his hips back and forth, treating Avery’s mouth like a pussy. His dick wasn’t hard yet. That was good. Logan thought a man shouldn’t get hard too easy if there’s no woman around. Not even any porno.
Avery’s mouth was soft and warm, and it felt good. Logan sighed. He was usually so relaxed when this happened because he was drunk, and it didn’t feel real. This had felt entirely too real right up until it began. It wasn’t a big deal.
Now that it had begun, Logan felt silly being reluctant and slow to get started.
While Logan had been very drunk the first few times he let his friend jerk him off, he’d lately done it whenever he could. It just got easier the older he became, and nowadays, he’d usually whip it out even if he only had a few beers.
It actually felt even better than his buddy’s mouthjobs. His dick firmed up right away, and it throbbed hotly in Avery’s mouth. Avery was surprised that it happened so quick once it got started — Logan had been a bit slow to get into it, because he was talking about his band. But now that his mouth was shut, his dick rocketed to full erection immediately.
“Goddamn…” Logan’s throaty voice grunted.
He probably sounded good as a singer, Avery thought, nice and bluesy, like a non-hipster Tom Waits. He wanted to ask if Logan sang or just played guitar, but his mouth was full, and Logan’s hands gripped his head, making it hard to speak. Avery didn’t want to stop long enough to ask.
He opened his throat as wide as he could, letting Logan’s filthy cock slide in, even as Avery’s throat clenched and fought back. He sputtered, choking around the blue-collar filth that coated his tongue. It was a bit sour and loamy like soil, with a fresh, sunny flavor that made Avery wonder if he took his dick out on the job — it sure tasted like the outside. You could tell he worked outdoors all day.
“Shit… You do it better than my buddy,” Logan said, his voice a little wavery, almost giddy. He didn’t add — though he thought it — that Avery did it better than any woman either. He didn’t want to admit that.
Avery looked up to make eye contact with him, but Logan wasn’t looking down at him. Logan kept an eye on the door to be sure no one came in and interrupted them. Someone did try the doorknob, but the lock stopped them, and they walked away.
His arms stretched up, his hands creeping under Logan’s raggedy black tee shirt. Logan didn’t seem to notice. Avery’s hands made it to his nipples, and then his whole body twitched. Logan groaned. He lifted his shirt off and tossed it on the toilet. Moments later, it slipped into the toilet bowl. Logan’s eyes were closed, so he hadn’t noticed that yet, and Avery faced the other way, so he didn’t see it either.
Logan had nice pecs that flexed beneath Avery’s touch. He wasn’t muscular like a bodybuilder, you could tell he didn’t work out at all — his glamour muscles were underdeveloped, it was the real, actual muscles that were built up — and his arms, since he spent hours every night practicing guitar.
His right arm in particular bulged. It was as thick as Avery’s head, and as hard as rock when Avery managed to massage it without pulling off Logan’s dick. When he started to taste precum, however, Avery did pull off, just to give him a rest. He didn’t want Logan to cum too quickly.
“C’mon, man…” Logan’s throaty voice was hot and breathless, almost begging. He tried to whisper out of a general desire for discretion, even though nobody could possibly hear, and his voice was too deep anyway to really be quiet. He kept humping his hips even when his cock popped out of Avery’s mouth. He fucked the air while Avery’s mouth and lips traveled up his body.
He had never shaved his chest, so his belly had a fine trail of brownish blond hair. Avery sucked on his skin, traveling up to the much furrier valley in between his meaty pecs. Avery attacked each nipple, sucking on them both while he gripped Logan’s dick with both hands.
“Shit, man…” Logan couldn’t believe how good it felt.
His dick stayed hard, pulsating, leaking precum into Avery’s fingers. Avery’s tongue snaked over his armpit, to that massive guitar-playing right bicep. Avery wasn’t ordinarily a muscle-queen, but Logan’s arm was delightful. Avery sucked all the sweat and dust off it — since Logan had worn a sleeveless shirt today, his skin was dirty and tasted of asphalt. Avery sucked all the grime off, while Logan furrowed his brow in confusion — he wouldn’t have guessed anybody wanted to lick literal dirt off his arm.
“You wanna ram me?” Avery asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. He dropped his pants, turned around and displayed his ass for Logan — he guessed that Logan was the kind of man who might say no right up until he saw Avery’s tight pale hole.
“Shit…” Logan grunted. A part of his mind said he should refuse, or pretend to refuse in order to get more money. But he was too horny to stop.
So he didn’t refuse. He wanted to get deep in that tight asshole. Even as his mind started coming up with a plan to get more money out of Avery, his cock was ramming itself into his ass.
Before Logan knew it, he was already inside Avery, to the root, and Avery had let out a long low howl. No girl ever let Logan plow her like this. Avery kept his ass high and his head low, nearly on the cold linoleum floor of the bathroom.
“Goddamn, man,” Logan said with a loud roar. He pounded on his chest. He roared like Tarzan and flexed his pecs, and he slapped Avery’s asscheeks until the sound rang out and Avery groaned. You could see the pleasure flowing through his body in his muscles rippling, his body hair becoming matted to his skin with a fresh layer of sweat.
“Holy shit…” Avery said with a panting gasp, the sensations flowing through him so intense he had to wrench the words out of his throat. “If you play guitar as good as you plow, your band is goin’ places…”
“I wish, man…” Logan said. He heard a knock on the door to the bathroom, but it seemed distant and unimportant. He heard the security guard Gerald say something. Logan hated Gerald, who had called the cops on him last month because he thought Logan was homeless — Logan was merely sleeping on a bench near the mall doors. “Fuck off, Gerald!” he shouted towards the door. Then he lowered his head and voice, and spoke to Avery. “We better hurry up. Gerald’s a fucking moron, but he’ll get the key and come in here eventually.”
“Okay,” Avery said, his voice weak and wavery because he was already on the verge of his orgasm. He didn’t much care about getting caught either.
“Gonna put you in a headlock, don’t worry, I won’t hurtcha,” Logan said. He grimaced as he wrapped that massive guitar-playing arm around Avery’s neck. He didn’t know why he wanted to do that so bad, except that he had tried once when fucking a girl and she reacted like he did something terrible. She said his hairy body was kind of gross, she didn’t want to be wrapped up in his sweaty arms like that.
So it was nice for Logan that Avery didn’t seem upset about his hairy body or the musk of his armpits. He wrapped both arms around his face, and Logan even let Avery bite down as they both orgasmed. Avery gnawed on Logan’s rock-hard arm-flesh, while Avery sprayed a massive wad onto the floor of the bathroom.
Logan’s creamy cum flowed into Avery in great thick wads. Logan didn’t shoot a stream like most men, he sprayed in short but massive spurts that kept coming and coming. Each time he did, his whole body twitched again, muscles all tensing and rubbing against Avery’s smooth back.
“Hey! Open the door, sir! You have to let me in! This is mall security! My name is Gerald!”
Logan snorted mid-orgasm — Gerald was so self-important it hurt to hear him. Logan sighed, breath condensing on Avery’s cheek as the last few drops of his cum drained into Avery’s tight asshole.
Another loud knock on the door, which rattled in its frame. Then Gerald swore as he walked away. “Hello?! I’m getting the key!”
Logan scoffed and chuckled. He pulled his dick out, letting his entire load drip out too. He pulled Avery back and aimed his ass down so that entire cumwad would flow out onto the floor. Logan’s moist, crackling voice filled the air. “C’mon, let’s get dressed. Leave a big mess for that tubby security motherfucker.”
The bathroom was hot and humid now, or at least it seemed that way to Avery. It stank too, ina good way from Avery’s perspective. Logan was less enthused. It was the smell of fucking fat chicks at a show, he thought. That ain’t a good smell. It signifies something good, but it is not good. Logan wrinkled his nose.
“Stinks in here, man, fuckin’-A,” Logan said. His dick swayed and jiggled between his legs. Logan looked down at it, in no hurry to tuck it away. He shrugged. “You want some tickets to our next show. Gimme ya phone number, I’ll send you tickets.”
Avery was too tired to think. He just nodded and smiled, his ass aching. He stretched his legs and hurried to pull his pants on, then texted Logan so he could get those tickets. Avery was probably not going to go, he was just being polite. Logan was the singer in a rock band — at a show, he was going to have women to fuck. Avery might as well be invisible. He didn’t really want to listen to Clusterfuck’s music.
But he liked the idea. They must have something on an app, Avery could listen to it to be polite. And it was obvious the real reason Logan wanted Avery’s phone number so he could arrange a meet-up some other time, when he had a hardon and no groupie around to fuck.
It was only then that they both noticed Logan’s shirt in the toilet.
Logan laughed. “Hell yeah, Gerald gonna have to do somethin’ ‘bout that.” He turned around to leave without the shirt. “He gonna get toilet water all over himself! Fuckin’ bitch!” He spat in the direction he imagined Gerald was in, but his spit simply splattered on the wall of the bathroom.
Avery usually cleaned himself off pretty good, but he was in a hurry. Logan didn’t care — Logan tucked his dick away without even wiping all the santorum off it, and he just walked out on bare feet and shirtless. Avery raced to follow him while Logan put his shoes and socks on out in the mall.
Everyone stared at Logan’s bare chest, which was hairy and gleaming with sweat. Avery’s hair was a mess, Logan was shirtless, both their clothes crooked. Logan hopped along as he slid into those bleach-stained boots.
Gerald the security guard was on his way back with the key when they saw him. He scowled at Logan and said, “You can’t be in the mall without a shirt on, man, I’ll call the cops again.”
Logan shrugged. “Fuck you, Gerald.” He went with Avery to the music store.
Avery was a law-abiding person, more or less. So telling a security guard to fuck off and hanging around shirtless in contravention of the rules while cops were on the way was nerve-wracking for him. Logan didn’t seem to care.
The clerk took Avery’s money. He cast a sideways glance at Logan but didn’t complain about the lack of a shirt — it was Avery who actually paid for the guitar, strings and drumsticks, after all, so there was no point in kicking Logan out and causing another argument with him.
“Shit, fuck yeah,” Logan said when Avery handed him the guitar. “Gonna sound good tonight.”
Avery smiled and blushed as he followed Logan out. “What was your band’s name again?”
“Clusterfuck. All one word. Look us up, we’s on YouTube and Google and Spotify,” he said. Then he added, more shamefacedly, “And join the Facebook group. That’s good for us, for real.”
“I definitely will.”

The Basketball Team

Lance is teaching financial literacy to some basketball players when they have trouble concentrating… they need someone to service their manly needs, and Lance is eager to help out. Can Lance keep their attention long enough to finish his presentation?

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Read the whole thing here!

“Okay, guys, I know this isn’t fun,” Lance said. “But it is important. You won’t be able to play basketball your whole lives, so the money you make now needs to work for you for a long time to come.”
The team sat in front of him in the locker room. Lance would have rather done this in a more formal environment, but Coach Thickman had said that if you take the players somewhere else, like Lance’s office, after the game, a lot of them will sneak away. ‘You gotta git ’em when they still in the locker room’, Coach Thickman had said.
“Alright, before we talk about your options, let’s go over some terminology,” Lance said. “First off, risk. I’m sure you all use the word risk, but in finance it’s a very important concept. All investment is about balancing risk, and-” Once he got into the flow, he could tune out any distractions. He had perfect tunnel vision for this presentation. After having given this exact spiel plenty of times, he had it more or less memorized.
But he was mid-monologue when he realized most of the team wasn’t paying attention. They were either on their phones or chatting with each other, and one was distractedly rolling a joint as though it required all his concentration. None of them even seemed aware that they were supposed to be paying attention to Lance, like they thought he just came here to monologue about finance in an empty locker room and was willing to do it around them. Lance’s voice trailed off.
“Hey, gentlemen, shut up!” Coach Thickman barked, his voice weary and glowering. He jumped in front of Lance and meanmugged at the players. They did shut up, but they glared at Coach Thickman, whose broad, bare chest gleamed as he stared his team down. “This is an important presentation, and y’all gots to hear e’ry word of it.”
A long pause followed. Lance wasn’t sure if this was normal, or if the players were seriously challenging Coach Thickman’s authority. Thickman furrowed his brow in expectation of utter obedience and furrowed it deeper when the players looked at him like a crazy person for telling them what to do. A few rebellious snickers underhushed, and someone muttered, “Shut that ol’ nigga up.”
“Get’cha butts in the sauna!” Thickman said. “Now!”
The players groaned but stood. They clucked their tongues against their teeth as they sauntered away. More than a few glared at Coach Thickman and licked their teeth, punching fists into the palms of theit other hands, but they all did as told.
They didn’t move quickly though. They sort of sauntered in, all except for the one white player on the team, who hurried in first. Lance wondered if this meant his presentation was over.
When Thickman barked at the others, they hustled into top gear. “I ain’t say mosey into the sauna like sleepy glaciers, did I? I said get’cha booties in the sauna right now, pissheads!” They darted into the sauna, and all conversation stopped.
Lance blushed and bristled. Was that it? Did Coach Thickman think Lance was so useless as to make the presentation irrelevant? Lance was surprised how little of a chance he got. He hadn’t grabbed their attention in the first thirty seconds, and Coach Thickman had just given right up? That didn’t seem fair.
Then Coach Thickman’s hefty hand clasped Lance’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, hoss, they don’t wanna pay attention to nobody. You can give your spiel in a sauna, right?”
“Uh… in a sauna?”
“They’ll be naked, you comfortable wit’ that? You ain’t gotta be naked too. I mean… you can’t really go in there in a suit, you gonna get heat stroke fo’ real. But you can go in there in yo’ drawers,” Thickman said, walking away. “They won’t listen anywhere else. Too many distractions.”
Lance’s heart started pounding. He certainly didn’t mind hanging out in a sauna with a bunch of naked basketball players — Lance was a keen admirer of the male form, so he would enjoy that very much. He’d never given his financial-risk spiel in his underwear though. Would they mind if he was in there with them? What if he got a hardon?
The boisterous chatting of the players made it easy for him to find the sauna, which was at the far end of the locker room. Lance folded his clothes and left them on the bench outside the sauna. He kept his boxer shorts and a t-shirt on, since he knew his body would look pitiful in comparison to the players’s. He wasn’t in bad shape, but he was skinny and short by comparison.
“Yo, Coach, where dat white man at? My balls is stickin’, nigga! I gots bitches beggin’ me to come over, man! Let’s hurry dis shit up!”
When Lance walked in, one of the players — Trent Wyatt, a power forward — was standing right in front of the door, stark-naked, pantomiming aggressive action, he must have been who was bragging about bitches through the closed door. He bucked his hips into an imaginary woman, his thick cock flopping with every thrust of his body. His toned ass was dappled with sweat from the humid air of the sauna.
They all stopped laughing at Trent and looked at Lance. Everyone was quiet for a second.
Then Trent said, “So I told her it’s s’posed to hurt, you s’posed to bring along a girlfriend to lick yo’ pussy at the same time. Ain’t mah fault women hate you too much to get on that girl-girl trip wit’ cha.” That made his team burst into laughter all over again.
It finally died down after a minute or two, and the men all looked to Lance. He blushed, both from embarrassment and from overheating in the crowded, steamy sauna. Trent moved out of the way so Lance could address the whole team. Lance’s bare chest gleamed with sweat.
“Okay, guys, this is really important,” Lance said. “I know it feels like you’re gonna have this income forever, but you won’t. You can’t play until you’re old men. You-“
“But we’s gonna have sponsorship deals and shit, right?”
“Uh, well, some of you probably will, but not all of you, and that won’t pay like-“
They all cheered and clapped their hands as if that ended it. Lance waited until they were done before speaking again.
“That won’t last as long as you think, guys. Unless your name is Michael Jordan-“
But they weren’t listening again. They were talking over his words, bragging about what they intended to do with the money when they finally got it. They spoke of buying islands, of mansions around the world, servants by the fleet and yachts by the flotilla.
“Hey! Hey! Hey, guys!” Lance yelled until he had their attention again. “Please, y’all, let me get through this. You’ll make enough to retire as long as that money is wisely invested. Not in boats or tropical islands, but in income-generating assets. Who knows-“
“I got some income-generatin’ assets waitin’ for me back at the crib,” said one of the players. He chuckled a deep, raspy laugh, and the others joined in with him. “She about this tall, and she got a ass that ain’t nevuh quit.”
The door to the sauna opened. Coach Thickman barged in. The players all fell silent at once. Their eyes were downcast, avoiding contact with either Lance or Coach Thickman. Thickman wore his sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt, and his shirt became soaked in sweat from the steamy sauna.
“Hey, you goddamn shitwads, shut yo’ fuckholes and listen up! Cuz I know from personal experience that at least a half-dozen of you gonna call me in the next year, and be all ‘oh Coach Thickman, I spent all my money at a casino in Vegas and buying high-class whores fo’ mah niggas and now I needs you to pay mah child support or else I’s goin’ to jail and can’t play next month.’ And I ain’t havin’ that. Not even a li’l bit, nah,” Coach Thickman said. He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Put yo’ jockstraps on anyway. Mr. Williams here don’t wanna look at yo’ wingwangs.”
“Reckon he does…” someone said.
Lance didn’t see who said that, but it was obvious that someone had guessed he was into that. It was hard to hide his interest surrounded by jocks. Lance had managed to avoid getting a hardon, but it must have been apparent from the expression on his face and his body language that he enjoyed the physiques of the men around him.
“Hey! Nah!” Coach Thickman barked. “Don’t accuse the nice white man of nothin’.” When some of the players nodded their agreement, Thickman paused. He looked at Lance and raised his eyebrows. Lance blushed. The players hooted. Thickman frowned. “Okay, well, maybe, but still, you best shut yo’ mouths til he finishes his talk.”
“C’mon, old nigga, we got this,” Trent said. He stood up and wagged his dick, swaying his hips to make it slap against each thigh in turn. “Y’old man…”
Lance’s eyes were drawn to Trent’s massive cock. It was nearly a foot long and thicker than Lance’s forearm, and it was moist from the humid air, so it gleamed, the dark skin of Trent’s shaft practically glowing in the well-lit sauna.
“Hey all y’all shut the hell up,” Thickman said. “The league says you gotta listen to this white man’s speech. You gotta have financial advisement, fellas. Tomorrow I gotta fill out a little piece of paper and send it to the league. It’s gonna have the name of every nigga here — and you, Dirk — every nigga who listen up about finances. Whichever motherfucker ain’t on that list, ain’t gonna be playin’ till next season. Got it?” No one spoke, not even Dirk, the token white guy. Then Coach Thickman cleared his throat and opened the door. “So all you niggas best shut the hell up. And you too, Dirk. Listen good.”
“Thanks for rememberin’ me, Coach,” Dirk said with a laugh as the door shut.
For a moment all was silent. Lance was nervous. He felt like a bad substitute teacher who needed the teacher from the classroom next door to keep his students in line. Everyone looked at him.
The heat had begun to get to him as well. His underwear and shirt were plastered to his skin with sweat. Lance cleared his throat. “Okay, well… I’m going to assume that you guys know absolutely nothing about financial investing. That’s probably not true, but I don’t know what you do know, so-“
“Yo, math nerd!” Trent called out. “Nobody gives a shit. We all know what to invest in.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah,” Trent said. “I gots a recording studio, man. I got-“
“You have a recording studio? Does it make a profit?”
Trent paused. “I mean… I got an idea for a recording studio. Alright?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a place you record-“
“No, I know what a recording studio is. What’s your idea for one?”
“Gonna record all the rappers in town, man, all of ’em. I got connects with everyone around here, man. Ain’t gonna be Crips-only or Bloods-only, gonna get ’em all.”
“No you won’t,” Lance said. The sauna was silent for the first time since he had walked in. “You won’t get a single one. Recording studios are one of the riskiest businesses out there. The major record companies can offer multiyear, multimillion-dollar guarantees. You won’t be able to match that, and in any case, recorded music is barely profitable to begin with. Even if you win, you’ll lose money,” Lance said. “You know you’ll have to hire a dozen sound engineers to run that properly right?”
“I can do that.”
“Cuz your multimillion dollar salary from the league is paid out over a couple years,” Lance said. “Those sound engineers are gonna start costin’ you thousands a month on day one — they aren’t cheap. They demand salaries. They demand a guarantee of a job — they won’t move from here for some basketball player’s month-long whim. You’re gonna have to guarantee them a job, one that pays as much as your job is gonna pay. And you know what? They won’t sign up a single rapper. In addition to spending all your money opening a studio and spending all your time hiring sound engineers, you’re gonna have to spend all your time signing those rappers. Oh, and I almost forgot, your professional basketball career will take up essentially all of your time,” Lance said. “I’ve seen hundreds of athletes try to open up a recording studio. You know how many have made a profit?” He paused for effect. “Wait… fuck that, you know how many actually built a functioning recording studio that created at least one actual commercial recording? Zero. Not a single one. Fact is, it’ll take like a third of your salary over the next ten years just to build the recording studio, that’s before you buy any equipment for it, hire anyone to work it or start recording a single song. Again, there’s no money in recorded music anyway. You’d be better off opening a bar that books live acts.” Lance paused. “But don’t do that! Bars are an awful investment!”
There was a long pause. Everyone looked at Trent, whose eyes were downcast. Lance blushed. He hadn’t meant to go off on a rant like that. Every athlete he spoke to these days wanted to open a recording studio, and it was a dismal failure every single time.
“I’m sorry,” Lance said. “But really, I want you guys to succeed. You will be making enough money that you can retire. You can have fun in a recording studio. You can give money to your friends. You can buy jerseys for the little kids in your old neighborhood. But first you have to learn about mutual funds, not fantasize about glamor businesses. The most profitable businesses are boring, behind the scenes things, companies you’ve never heard of.”
Lance cleared his throat. He had their attentions now, but now he was so sweaty — and a bit horny — that he had trouble remembering his spiel. He closed his eyes and went over the beginning again in his mind.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk about a few words you should know. Who can tell me what inflation is?”
“Yo, I’m too horny fo’ this right now,” said one of the players, a light-skinned man with a handsome face and bouncing dreadlocks. “Trent was talkin’ ’bout his bitches ‘fore you walked in, and now I can’t stop thinkin’ ’bout ’em.”
Another player jumped in. “Plus you made me think about girls. Who’s gonna see that new Sally Anne Whitaker joint, huh? I’s ’bout to bust mah nut just thinkin’ ’bout that bitch. She gimme stiffies for real.”
That caused another bout of laughter and boasting from the players. This didn’t last very long, however, before Trent yelled for silence.
“Hey, y’all niggas shut the hell up. If we let ‘im finish, we can all go fuck our bitches,” Trent said.
“Let’s just ram ‘im, he obviously wants it,” said a player. Lance couldn’t tell who it was who said that, but as soon as he did, Lance shuddered a little. Then he smiled as they all laughed — it was obvious Lance wanted it. That comment helped to shatter the awkwardness of the situation.
Everyone fell silent, waiting for Lance to respond. Lance couldn’t think of anything to say at all, he couldn’t bring himself to get on his knees and start servicing them all, even if that’s what he wanted to do, and he couldn’t remember how to continue his presentation. He was utterly dumbfounded, couldn’t agree, couldn’t disagree, couldn’t do anything but stand there in his boxers like a nerd.
“Alright, well let’s do it,” Trent said. He jumped to his feet and approached with his cock in hand. He gave it a stroke. His team chittered, as though they thought he was all-talk.
Lance dropped to his knees. He had a feeling this was going to turn out to be a big prank, like Trent was going to throw a cream pie in his face instead of his cock, but he couldn’t just decline.
“Go’n nigga, damn!”
“Throat the honky down, Trent!”
The other players oohed and aahed, which turned into whooping and hollering when Trent fed his dick down Lance’s throat. He had a cocky smile on his face like he was glad to be the most adventurous player on the team.
The taste of sweaty cockmeat overwhelmed Lance. This was all happening so quick that he gagged on the flavor, then began excitedly deep-throating. Trent’s cock was only just starting to firm up, but he swallowed it as deep as he could get it, making the other players cheer and laugh. He nestled his nose in Trent’s thick pubic bush.
“Lemme in there, nigga,” said one of the other players. He thwacked his cock against Lance’s cheek. Trent grumbled, but he didn’t say no, not even when their cocks glancingly touched each other, which made both men wince and look away. Both looked like they would have objected, but nobody wanted to get called out as squeamish by the others.
Lance moved from Trent to the next player, Jashwan, a tall and lean thug who sneered at Lance. He gripped Lance by both ears and began plowing his face. “Take it, bitch, you little nerd, damn…”
“Force it down that bitch’s throat!”
“Lemme in there-“
“-feels like a shallow pussy-“
“Damn, honky got throat, yo!”
They were in a circle around Lance now, and they laughed as they passed his head between them. Each person grabbed him by the ear, pushed their dick into his throat until he gagged, then passed him onto whoever was next.
“Damn,” that Jashwan Mitchell said, “I ain’t nevuh had a whiteboy on mah dick ‘cept a prison bitch. They actually handle a dick pretty good when you ain’t forcin’ it.”
His teammtes all laughed, but stopped just a moment later when someone shot his load already. It was a burly, mustachioed black man named Deontay, who appeared to be embarrassed at cumming so soon. He sprayed his load right over Lance’s face and a little even got on Trent’s cockshaft before he pulled away.
“Yo, I oughtta beat yo’ ass fo’ that, nigga! You got yo’ cum on me!”
“Damn, that nigga lasted about three minutes…”
Trent’s anger vanished as the rest of the team laughed at Deontay, who stroked his limpening cock like he didn’t notice them guffawing at him. His creamy cum dripped into Lance’s mouth as Lance licked every drop off.
“Taste sum white meat now, honky!” said Dirk, the team’s only white player, causing a burst of hilarious laughter from the others. He rammed his dick in Lance’s mouth. Lance got the distinct impression that this was Dirk’s first time with a man, and that he wouldn’t have agreed except everyone else did and he didn’t want to be left out. His dick was soft, but it jerked to full attention once Lance started working on it.
Soon enough Dirk was in the same circle as the others, laughing as they pulled Lance from cock to cock. Precum coated Lance’s tongue, the salty flavor combining with the general air of sweatiness in the cramped sauna. He loved that taste, and he licked the sweat off their heavy scrotums.
“Hey, let’s bukkake the math nerd!”
It was Trent’s idea, but everyone was into it. They thought the idea was hilarious, and no one asked Lance if it was okay with him. It was, of course, but it would have been nice to be asked. Also, Lance wasn’t a math nerd. He was a business nerd, and he used to work as a merchant marine and even a lumberjack, but it didn’t feel like a good moment to bring that up, and his mouth was full of dickmeat.
“Oh, nasty! This sauna gonna get real gross real quick!”
He loved it when guys painted cum all over his face. That was precisely what center Khyree Pankhurst did just a moment after they agreed to bukkake. He grabbed Lance by the forehead and sprayed cum all over Lance’s face.
It dripped over his body as Lance jerked Khyree’s dick until it was totally limp and had no more cum dripping off the tip. He thought that was it, that no one would touch his face now that it had cum all over it, but the next player to go was Lamar, the one they call a prettyboy cuz he had Nickelodeon dimples and few tattoos. Despite his prettyboy face, he had no compunctions about smearing jizz over Lance’s nose and cheeks with his dick, which he then jacked off into Lance’s mouth. When he came, he pulled out to spray his nut all over Lance’s already cream-coated face.
“Damn, that nigga touched that cummy face! Fuckin’ gross!”
“Buncha little babies,” Lamar grumbled as he stepped away. “How y’all ever gangbang a bitch if’n you ’boutta explode every time you get a little nut on ya?” He wiped semen from his fingers onto Lance’s shoulder.
After Lamar, the men burst one after another in quick succession. They cared less and less with every passing second about touching each other’s cum. Two of them even shot at the same time then, both big pulsating shafts resting on Lance’s face as he stroked them off with both hands. Their fleshy cocktips touched as they sprayed salty seed over Lance’s face.
“Nigguz make a mess, damn!”
Then came Dirk, who blushed as he approached. He definitely avoided touching Lance’s face, right up until he actually orgasmed. He closed his eyes and his dick twitched until it touched Lance’s lips. A big ball of sticky cum dripped there, touching Dirk’s finger and cocktip.
That made him shudder in disgust. Even with his eyes closed, Dirk could tell what was happening, that his cock was touching other men’s cum. His discomfort made it obvious to the other players as well, and they laughed away the awkwardness.
“White man gettin’ nasty too, nice!”
It was Trent who approached with his cock, still rock-hard since he had been saving himself to go last, and wrapped one arm around Dirk’s still-orgasming shoulders. “Come on, whiteboi,” he said. “Don’t tell me you never gangbanged a bitch befo’?”
Then Trent put his limp cock on Lance’s face right next to Dirk’s throbbing white member. Dirk blushed and gagged in disgust but didn’t complain, even as Trent’s ropy muscles left a layer of sweat over his body and Dirk’s cock dribbled the last of his cum all over Trent’s cockshaft.
“Lookit that whiteboi blush, he ain’t nevuh jousted dicks befo’, huh?”
A part of Lance felt bad about making Dirk uncomfortable — the rest of the team acted as though no man had ever become an adult without jousting cocks in someone’s mouth — but Lance was so aroused he couldn’t resist. He took both cocktips in his mouth at once, mashed them both together and flickered his tongue in both pissholes.
“He’e it cums, white man, you gonna taste this fo’ real…”
Before Dirk could pull away, Trent had his own orgasm. He sprayed his load all over Lance’s tongue and teeth, and Lance kept his mouth moving so the entire wad of nut coated Dirk’s limpening cockshaft. Lance sucked it up, then spat it out over both Dirk’s and Trent’s dicks then sucked it up, then spat it out, and he only stopped when they both pulled away.
Lance sat there for a moment, savoring the feel of cum covering his face. He barely even noticed that he was masturbating himself, not until that moment, when he shot his own load onto the floor.
“Ew, nasty-ass pervert, gettin’ his own nut e’rywhere!”
Pleasure undulated through his body, along with a potent sense of shame as the team laughed at him. He blushed and looked down, embarrassed even as an incredible orgasm washed over him. He laughed with the others though, as they swatted dicks and flicked jizz at each other.
At last it was all over. Lance slowly licked all the cum off his face as the players wiped their dicks clean, breathing heavily and speaking quietly — their boisterousness was mostly gone now.
Lance rose to his feet. “Uh, okay…” The men all laughed at his awkwardness.
“Go on, man,” Trent said. the whole team fell quiet. “We need to know this shit. What is inflation anyway?”
“Yeah. When you’re done, can we do that again? I’ll be ready to get hard again,” said Lamar.
Lance blushed and smiled. He gathered his breath. “Absolutely,” he said to throngs of cheering. “And if you want… every time you come to my office to talk about your options, I’ll jerk you off again.”

Gettin’ Dome at the Barbershop

Desmond cuts hair in his barbershop, and he often gives his studlier customers a “happy ending”… But when one encounter with a wannabe rapper leads to a hit song name-checking Desmond’s oral skills, this downlow arrangement becomes more out in the open than Desmond expected! That leads to a series of man-on-man encounters with some of the toughest and handsomest alpha male thugs, ex-cons, jocks and even strippers around!

Read it now as an ebook!

The Idiotic Lifeguard

When Rob seeks some work as a ghostwriter, he didn’t think it would involve interviewing a hunky but dim-witted lifeguard! His name is Gavin, and he’s willing to get down and dirty with Rob in exchange for a little consideration…

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Nobody hired writers who seemed like businessmen, even if that’s exactly what Rob was — he’d started a business as a ghostwriter. Clients hired writers who seemed like J.D. Salinger or Stephen King: a little socially awkward, a little artsy, a little weird.
And the nerds who filled the Dynamic Enterprise offices were more than a little socially awkward, not to mention weird, themselves. They would have likely been intimidated if Rob said straight up, “hey, I can write ten thousand words in a day so I’ll write your stupid thing in a week rather than dilly-dallying for months like most writers”. So instead Rob dressed in a flared cuff and a colorful shirt, accentuated his flamboyant side and spoke of how his “muse spouted a stream of inspiration to fill the world with words”.
They seemed to like him. He was probably by far the coolest person to ever come into this place — which was an IT company that provided support for something to do with the Internet — Rob didn’t quite grok it when they explained what it was. He would figure it out as he wrote the “biography” of their company.
“Do you think that would work? Or does it need to be the story of a specific person? Sorry, I dunno how that works,” said a bespectacled man in an ill-fitting suit. “I don’t, uh, read a lot. Except for, like, technical manuals.”
“Certainly, certainly, people do write books about a company, rather than a specific person, sure. I find it interesting-” Rob leaned forward and put one finger on his lips as though pondering. “-that you used the word biography. Fascinating. That’s the story of a life, and I think a company can have a life… can be a life, a growing, adapting, evolving thing-“
“Yeah, like a shark.”
Everyone in the conference room turned to look at the man walking in, and they all exchanged knowing glances. Rob’s jaw dropped because the newcomer was handsome — Gavin, a blond god with broad shoulders and a square jaw, dimples like a heartthrob and a smooth chin. He had a goofy grin like a cartoon character, and his eyes flitted brightly around the room as though expecting his shark comment to get a big reaction.
He was so handsome he made Rob’s heart skip a beat, but everyone else sighed inwardly, rolled their eyes and looked away. Did this guy have a reputation?
“I, uh… I’m sorry?” Rob said.
The blond man, Gavin, came in, carefully carrying eight coffees in two cardboard holders. He didn’t seem to have realized he could carry them like a waiter, on his forearms, and instead he awkwardly leaned back and pinned them against each other. It looked like they might spill at any moment.
“Oh, uh, I- Uh — ” Gavin was distracted by setting down the coffees. “You said something about growing and evolving, right? I have this game on my phone-“
“Yeah, thanks, Gavin-” said one of the programmers.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“-And it’s about a shark, like… you’re a shark — you’re not really a shark, I mean, you’re, like, totally playing as a shark? You see? There’s evolution. Cuz you can eat like… fish and, uh…” He spaced out for a moment, chewing on his lip. “Bigger fish, and like… like, you spend points on growing and evolving.” He ran his fingers through that incredible blond mane reaching almost to his shoulders. It was ragged and uncut, and it made Rob’s eyes open wide. He wanted to run his fingers through that hair. “So, uh… sharks do that. Grow and evolve. They can evolve into killer whales, I think, at like level 30. I don’t think real sharks do that.”
“Thanks, Gavin, for the coffee.”
“Thank you, Gavin.”
They all repeated that, one by one, until Gavin got the hint and left. Then they snickered, each of them seemingly thinking of all the snarky comments they didn’t want to say. Were they being nice to Gavin because they were nice people? Because he was nice — if ditzy? Because they were told to be nice to him?
“Sorry,” one of them said. “He’s… a great guy. Not the best assistant.”
“He’s the worst assistant. Totally incompetent.”
“Honestly we only hired him because he was a lifeguard who saved Mr. Winthrop’s daughter at the beach.”
Rob’s ears perked up. Finally, one of the nerds had said something interesting. A beachfront rescue by a lifeguard is worth writing about. Rob could stretch that into 15,000 words, maybe 20k. “Can I ask him more about that? That would be a great scene for the book.”
“Really? It’s a bad business decision. He’s not even a good assistant,” the man said as he sipped from the coffee and sighed. “This is definitely soy milk. Jerry, this is for you, he mixed us up again.” He rolled his eyes. “We have two Jerrys and a Barry, and that blond dumbass can’t ever keep us apart.”
They traded coffees until they got the ones they wanted, and Rob took a few more notes. Of course, they hired him, and they didn’t even balk at Rob’s rate. He would have this written in less than a week, he thought. When Rob had floated “something like a novella”, they nodded along, so he was going to write it at maybe 40,000 words. He could bang that out in a weekend if he went to a coffeeshop with broken wifi.
Even more excitingly, they arranged for Rob to meet with Gavin at lunch the next day, to find out more about Gavin’s heroic rescue of the little girl. Rob got a skeleton of the book written containing just the facts — that was already fifteen thousand words — and wrote down some questions to ask Gavin.
That near-drowning-cum-job-offer was the only human-interest story in the company’s history, so it was going to have to have a lot of emotional resonance, Rob thought. He hoped Gavin had something interesting to say. Without that, this corporate bio was going to be dry as a desert. Nerds are boring, and the companies they found are even worse.
Rob and Gavin met up at a coffeeshop near the company’s headquarters, where Gavin filled (incorrectly) coffee orders for most of the programmers. Rob was a little early, to get his laptop set up. Gavin showed up and went straight to the counter without noticing Rob.
His ass filled out his slacks nicely. He had big thumping thighs too, Rob thought, and his shirt hung off him like a dream. He must have the most exquisite back. He was a lifeguard too, he probably has great shoulders. Rob straightened his tie.
His physique was probably stupendous. Rob was picturing it as he waited for Gavin to notice him. When he did, he nodded and waved like they were old friends, and he almost forgot to pick up his coffee and key lime pie.
“Oh man, you’re outta them? Shit, dude, that’s… ah, totally lame,” Gavin said. “Do you have more in the back?” He loved the key lime pie here. He batted his eyes at the portly girl behind the counter, who blushed and licked her lips. Gavin had no idea he was flirting. He acted that way with most girls, and he just assumed he was charismatic. The portly girl batted her eyes and ran into the back to get more of the key lime pies.
Finally Gavin sat down with a slice of key lime pie and a “coffee” that was more whipped cream than anything else. It looked like a milkshake. He must burn off so many calories to eat like that and have a body like this, Rob thought to himself, wondering if he still worked as a lifeguard. That would explain it.
“So, uh, Gavin, thanks for meeting me here. Can you tell me more about Mr. Winthrop’s daughter?”
“Oh, yeah, man, she’s sweet as pie-” He pointed to the key lime pie. “And, uh, she’s like, nine, I think, or something. She really likes the boy band Slap Five. They suck though, really, it’s like so awful.” He beatboxed his impression of a tinny pop melody. “So lame.”
“Sorry, Gavin, I’m not asking about her in general. Can you tell me more about the time you rescued her from downing?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, totally,” Gavin said. He took a big bite of key lime pie, leaving a brilliant green streak across his lower lip. “I was like, a lifeguard, like, on this beach, you know, on the Pacific Ocean. I was still living in Southern California then. And so-” He again paused to take a bite, then spoke with his mouthful. “There’s like, all these swimmers and shit, and Robby Munter said his cousin once got, like, nibbled on by a shark or something, but he didn’t get eat up cuz he drank a lot of coffee and that makes you taste bitter to sharks or whatever, like-“
“Gavin?”
“Yeah, sorry, I mean, Jean. She was like… a little girl. And I swam her into shore. And the other lifeguard on duty was this chick who got knockers out to here, man, seriously, I saw ’em once, shit, they were like fireworks, sherrrrplooowfat! And-“
“Gavin?”
“Totally, totally sweet, man, she’s got big nipples too. She’s got a boyfriend though, I think they’re married now. He’s like Persian or something. It’s ridiculous.”
“Can we get back to the story?”
“Is Persia where the cats come from? My mom has a Persian cat, it’s name is Rample and it smells like cheese.”
“Okay, Gavin, can we please talk about Jean?”
“Yeah, sorry — can we go outside? I hate being inside,” Gavin said. He flashed those big dimples and got up before waiting for an answer. Rob sighed and went with him. It was kind of cold outside, and it wouldn’t be as easy to use his laptop with the glare and the wind. But he could just record Gavin and write down what he needed later. Besides that, it was hard to say no to someone with a smile like Gavin’s.
And the way his arms nearly bulged out of that button-down shirt. It made Rob’s heart flutter. He loved macho men, and Gavin was one of the best he’d seen in a long time.
Gavin fidgeted with his tie as they sat down at the coffeeshop’s patio. Then he frowned and quickly untied it. “Is it okay if I take off my tie, sir?”
“Um, yeah. You know I’m not your boss, right? I don’t care what you wear-“
“Thank you!” Gavin quickly unbuttoned his shirt, then leaned back to display his chest for the sun. He was bronzed a deep tan color, and his body was perfect, shimmering a little in the sunlight, his six-pack rippling, his pecs flexing as he stretched. “I hate wearing shirts, man. I was a lifeguard for nine years. Shirts are like prisons for your chest, man. Totally.”
“Yeah. Cool. Okay. So… uh, Jean?” Rob looked around. This wasn’t the kind of coffeeshop that would tolerate a diner drinking coffee shirtless, but he didn’t tell Gavin that.
“Right, yeah. She’s cool. She’s sweet, man.”
“Tell me about the rescue, Gavin.” Rob was still a bit turned on from the sight of Gavin’s bare chest, but his annoyance was enough to make him wrinkle his nose. Gavin was so dumb and so easily distracted, it was a wonder he ever even functioned as a lifeguard.
“I don’t know, man, she was like waving her hands and stuff.” He shrugged. “There’s not much to say. I swam out there, brought her back to the shore. She was fine. She told her daddy she almost drowned, and that was the same day I got in a fight with my boss about boobs and I got fired. So he gave me a job here.”
Rob rubbed his forehead. “You got in a fight about boobs?”
“Yeah. He said Lindsay Tanner had better boobs than Sally Anne Whitaker-“
“The actresses?”
“Yeah.”
“And he fired you because you disagreed?”
“It was total bullshit! Lindsay Tanner looks like she has manboobs-“
“Gavin… I’m going to leave that part out of the book,” Rob said. “I’m just gonna say you were late a lot, so you got fired, okay?”
“Cool. I was late a lot. He said that was a reason to fire me too. Did you see Sally Anne Whitaker in River of Screams? Man, in that white blouse when it got wet? You could see the full tit, man, totally. Nipple and everything. Don’t you think she’s hotter than Lindsay Tanner-?”
Rob smiled. “But yes, I agree with you, Sally Anne Whitaker has marvelous breasts. I’d love to lick them or whatever.”
“Yeah, licking’s cool.”
“Okay, well…” Rob sighed. “I’m going to have to add something to make this a more interesting story, okay? Something besides ‘she waved so I swam out there’. Was there a bad undertow in that area? Rumors of sharks? Electric eels? Stinging jellyfish? Drug cartels in motorboats? Industrial pollution? Was she injured? Was she mentally ill? Did the beach management play a negligent role?”
Gavin said no to all that, and when Rob ran out of ideas, Gavin cleared his throat. “Hey, man, so you’re like… totally into stuff, right?”
“Yes.” Rob didn’t know what Gavin was referring to, but he was a great admirer of the male physique, and Gavin’s was remarkable, so Rob intended to agree with him as much as possible. He liked agreeing with handsome men.
“So, like… I know this guy… He was like totally, like, he was really cool, but like… he knew this guy who was like older… older than you, but older than him too, and… totally… like, I, uh… he said that, like, this guy… like… sometimes did like… where he paid money… uh for things, like…” Gavin’s deep voice grew increasingly pinched as he rambled and blushed. “For… things… you could do. Like… for… in exchange for money… Do guys really do that?”
Rob scrunched his eyebrows. “Yes, that’s right. Guys sometimes exchange services for things.”
“Really?!” His big blue eyes lit up.
“Yes, Gavin.” Rob smiled and patted Gavin on the bicep. “Do you want to go somewhere more private?”
“Yeah! I live right over there,” he said. He got up and nearly left his shirt and tie on the chair. Rob got it for him and followed him out the door. The shirt smelled of him, of sunlight and seaspray and sand. Rob walked a little behind him so he could see his ass sway in his tight slacks, and his brown back glisten in the sunlight. He went across the street to a small apartment building.
When he had opened up the door to the lobby of his building, he looked back at Rob a little fearfully. “So, uh… what do you want to do? I mean… jacking off, right? You’ll swallow my cum, right? Girls never want to do that.”
Rob smiled. “I would be glad like to jack you off and swallow your cum, Gavin. I’ll give you-” Gavin blushed and pumped his biceps, cheering himself on. Rob waited for him to stop, by which point they were at his apartment door. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”
“Oh.” Gavin looked crestfallen as he opened the door. “Ryan Delgado said he got two-fifty, y’know… to cornhole a man.”
“Oh? You’d be willing to do that — fine, that’s a lot of money, but I’ll do it,” Rob said. “I didn’t think you’d do me up the ass.” Once the door to Gavin’s apartment swung shut, Rob came up behind him and kissed the broad, smooth flesh of his back.
Gavin laughed a little nervously, which made his back muscles flex beneath Rob’s kisses. “Sweet, sweet. You’re not gonna tell the guys at work about this, will you? They’ll make fun of me.”
“It’s our little secret,” Rob said. “Why don’t you sit down, sweetie?”
Gavin obediently sat. He blushed until his tanned cheeks were almost burgundy, and he unzipped his slacks. He kicked his shoes off, and in seconds, he was down to his boxers. He sighed like he had been waiting do that for a long time. “Shit, I love a mouth. I don’t care who jacks me off. There used to be this chick who’d get me drunk and suck me off. She was like… super-nerdy. Like you don’t even know, like… she was weird. She did math. For fun! Like homework, but like… no school! It was insane! And, uh, like… she looked like a total nerd. She wore glasses. But she loved my cock-“
“Uh-huh. Don’t talk about ugly girls when I am on your dick,” Rob said. He got down on his knees in front of Gavin on the couch. His hands reached up to tweak Gavin’s nipples, making his pecs ripple and bounce. A nervously aroused laugh came outta Gavin, whose cheeks turned red. Rob pulled his fat cock out of the fly of his boxers and put the tip in his mouth.
Gavin murmured, “okay, sorry,” and put his hands behind his head. He leaned back on his couch as his dick stiffened up in Rob’s mouth. “Sorry, sorry.”
What was he apologizing for? If Rob’s mouth wasn’t full, he would have asked. Rob slurped on the tip of his still only part hard cock, and Gavin again laughed like a teenage girl with a baritone voice. His movement made his dick jab around in Rob’s mouth, which also made it hump the surface of Rob’s tongue.
That sent a wave of pleasure into Gavin’s body and a wave of arousal into Rob’s. Both men’s dicks raced to full erection, and Rob energetically slathered spit up and down the shaft. Gavin su ked in his breath.
Soon his was rock-hard, throbbing, leaking a few drops of precum down his throat. It was salty like the sea, warm and smooth. Gavin kept laughing every few seconds, sounding almost like he was ticklish though Rob could tell that wasn’t it — he was nervous.
“Shit, man, you feel just like a girl, that’s awesome. Ryan Delgado said his dude had a mustache and it scratched at his dick-” Gavin made a face like that was the grossest thing he had ever heard. “-but you have a smooth face, that’s nice…” And his voice broke, making him groan and grip Rob’s face. He plowed into and out of his mouth all without missing a beat as he talked. “And you’re not as old as he is. That’s cool, I dunno if I could get jacked off by a really old dude. Like really old. That’s so weird. Like… maybe if he paid a lot of money, y’know.”
Rob pulled off his cock and smacked his lips. He nodded, but he mostly ignored him as Gavin kept talking about how weird it’d be to be jacked off by an old dude. Rob was mollified that he apparently did not count as an “old dude”, though Gavin did call him “too old for college girls”, and Rob explained that there was no such thing. Rob may have appreciated the male physique, but he enjoyed the feminine one as well.
But with Gavin’s cock now fully erect and throbbing in Rob’s grip, both men were ready to move on. When Rob touched Gavin’s cock just a bit, the result was a painful-looking spasm of sensations erupting within Gavin’s body. The sound he made may have been a moan originally, but it turned into ironically moaning laugh partway through.
Once Rob had lubed up his ass carefully, backed himself up and lowered his ass onto Gavin’s dick. Gavin remained seated on the couch, head leaning back, like he didn’t want to touch Rob any more than necessary. His eyes opened wide as his knob teased the rim of Avery’s asshole.
But he kept talking, even as his dick throbbed and spewed precum. “Old people are crazy, like my grandmom goes to the cable company to pay her bill. Like she actually goes to the cable place. Like in a car. Like… in person. They have, like, a window.” His broad chest muscles rippled as he suppressed another nervous laugh. “Ah, shit, I love anal, girls never wanna do it, damn…”
“Uh-huh.” Rob had to lean with one hand on Gavin’s firm chest, holding onto him for support. An intense pressure shot through his body, and Rob let out a little, desperate grunt. Gavin’s muscles rippled, and Avery gripped the flesh of his bicep. He had rarely felt skin that musucular.
That touch finally made Gavin shut up for a couple minutes. He even lifted his head to watch, eyes slowly widening, as his dick squeezed into Rob’s tight ass. He watched as though flummoxed, like he couldn’t understand why his dick was doing that.
“Oh that’s so weird — it’s like… just like a girl, totally,” Gavin said. He scrunched his eyes shut tightly. He now faced Rob’s back as it slid up and down, but his eyes remained shut like there was a horror film on he didn’t want to see. His hands roamed in the air above Rob’s back. “Oh god — shit.” Gavin’s voice broke again, and turned serious. “Goddamn, man.”
Rob had to laugh, now that Gavin had stopped, as though Gavin had thought this was all a joke right up until this moment, when he felt an intense pleasure gathering deep in his loins. Rob stroked himself off with one hand, while the other leaned back and kneaded Gavin’s chest.
An explosion of pleasure in Rob’s body made him throw his head back and moan. Obviously, Gavin’s dick was knocking on Rob’s prostate, which always felt even more amazing when the top didn’t understant what he was doing.
His ass rose up and down, Gavin’s cock stroking his insides and sending shiver after shiver of pleasure up Rob’s spine. His whole world exploded in sparks of desire, and Rob writhed like he was in pain impaled on that spider’s spiked body, Rob cried out, muffling the sound at first before remembering he didn’t need to. He let out a howl as he reached his own orgasm just seconds before Gavin did the same.
Cum flew out of Rob’s cock and into his free hand, while Gavin’s load filled him up. It sprayed through every corner of his insides, sending a wave of mind-numbing pleasure through Rob’s body. It kept coming too, over and over, as Gavin’s dick moistly explored his ass. Rob had never felt anything quite like this.
His orgasm seemed to last an hour, and there was fluid everywhere. But somehow, intolerably long after it began, it was over, and Rob fell limp. There was so much cum inside him Rob could smell it, even though none had spilled and in fact Gavin’s cock remained in his ass, limp and spent. So why could Rob smell it? It wasn’t his own cum. Whatever it was, it was strong, and it made Rob want to fuck some broad.
Gavin’s ass wetly slid out of him and flopped onto his thigh. Gavin let out a sweat-soothing groan, while Rob squeezed next to him on the couch. Gavin’s body heat enveloped him.
“Shit, man,” Gavin finally said. “It’s so cool, that, like… I can do that and it isn’t even gross, y’know, I can just picture a girl. Totally.”
Rob leaned in to kiss Gavin on the neck. “Yeah. I did it better than any girl though, didn’t I?”
Gavin blushed. “Yeah.” He looked down. “I still like girls though, totally. With boobs — hell, yeah-“
Rob shrugged. “I just wanted to point out that I’m better.” He wiped his dick clean, as Gavin did the same thing with a paper towel. Rob went to his wallet, stretching his sore legs. “Let me give you the money.”
“Cool. Awesome,” Gavin said. “Are you gonna… wanna do this again?”

The Boyfriend

Forrest is a studly alpha trying to impress his hippie neopagan girlfriend, leading to an incredible man-on-man encounter! Forrest has gotta prove he doesn’t have any hangups, even if that means letting a man taking a hardcore swing on his manly meat!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“I’m sexually open,” said the other neopagan, the one who wasn’t hot. “I think that part of having a really open view of everything is being able to see the beauty in all people.”
“Yeah, totally…”
“That is so true! Beauty is all around us!”
Avery sighed. He hadn’t really wanted to spend this much time here, but one of the guys had such an amazing physique he couldn’t bring himself to leave. They were all shirtless — even the women were topless — and some of the women had gotten completely nude (or “skyclad”).
The one man Avery couldn’t tear his eyes away from was dappled in twilight sweat. He didn’t fit in with the others, and he sat apart from them at a picnic table, near the girl he had come here with. Avery watched him out of the corner of his eye, as he nodded along with the rest of the coven.
“Sexual expression is the holiest mode of art, after all,” said another one of the neopagans.
“The prudish media will never allow the sexual power of someone like me to be seen,” someone else said, a lumpy woman with an asymmetrical haircut and an acne-scarred face. “Because once they lose their monopoly on beauty, true power will flow to the people.”
The neopagans all rushed to agree. The only one who didn’t seem full-throatedly in concordance was the one Avery liked. His name was Forrest, and he was a burly, hairy-chested alpha male, a minor league baseball player who laid asphalt by day and was, seemingly, a neopagan. His strapping body had bulged from his overalls before he took them off and revealed his powerful torso and thunder thighs. He didn’t look like a neopagan, Avery thought.
Avery was also not neopagan. He had happened upon this coven when he was out for a walk in the park. He was removed from the situation, so for him, it was painfully obvious that Forrest wasn’t here because he had an earnest interest in the Wiccan holiday of Samhain.
Forrest was here for only one reason: to bang Vicky Suncross. She was the hot chick with the big, juicy nipples and an ass like a welcome-home sign.
It was clear he had only come to hang out with these neopagans because he wanted to bang Vicky. Pretending to celebrate Samhain was simply what he needed to do to get inside her. Men would do a lot for a woman like Vicky, who was soft and nice and had tits like sweaters. Forrest kept looking at her and blushing as if he hadn’t yet approached her and was working up the nerve.
Avery was less interested in her. He liked Forrest, the macho work-hard with a Southern accent, rippling muscles and an iron cross neck-tat.
Forrest was hot, big, horny, and he looked like the kind of guy who might give Avery a taste of his meat with the right incentive. On the other hand, Vicky seemed like the high-libido free-love kind of girlfriend, and she might even give him blowjobs. She seemed like the type. Sex-positive. Not picky about locations and settings. Probably likes getting caught. You can always tell the ones who like getting caught.
“Yeah, I think, uh… open… uh… sex is, like… okay.” Forrest said. He blushed like a shy cranberry and bit his lip. His baritone voice didn’t meld with the other women and lightweight men like Avery. You could tell from his voice he did something with his hands for a living, he was used to shouting over machinery.
Vicky touched his arm and whispered something softly that Avery didn’t quite hear. She was doing hand motions over some candles. She had explained the purpose, but Avery couldn’t have feigned interest in that even if she had put a gun to his head. It was a neopagan thing, some sort of ceremonial activity to garner, who knows, good luck or some dumb bullshit like that. Vicky might have mentioned “fertility”, like she was some kinda farmer who cared about how productive the landscape was. Bet she never grew a vegetable in her life.
He had only really agreed to come to the celebration to be polite and to eat the food. But the food turned out to be vegan, so he lost interest after a few bites. That wasn’t a bad thing, really, he had gone for a walk in the park to burn calories. Eating a big meal on the walk would have been counterproductive. But he did not enjoy the vegetables and quinoa he had eaten. It was not even very good by vegetables-and-quinoa standards, which were very low indeed.
The only reason Avery had stayed was Forrest. And now, as the coven began to thin, Avery was desperate to find a way to offer him money for a chance to swing on his dick.
Forrest’s deep, barrel-chested voice shocked Avery out of his reverie. “I got this cherry fuckin’ El Camino, in perfect condition. This guy literally cleaned the engine, the actual engine. He cleaned it… with like… a rag,” Forrest said. He went on to describe the car thoroughly — he had gotten his boss to front him the last two hundred dollars he needed in lieu of a Christmas bonus — which he was very excited about. Avery didn’t care about the El Camino, but he did care about Forrest’s rumbling voice and the sweat clinging to his bare chest. There were smudges of paint on his biceps and forearms from when he had participated in some sort of Wiccan ceremony before Avery arrived. Forrest ended his story with an angry afterthought. “But I ain’t realize they gonna charge me an arm and a leg for the insurance, man, that shit is messed up,” he said. “Now I might not be able to keep it. Insurance is messed up. Man. Right? Whole thing is messed up.”
Nobody else much cared about Forrest’s car either. They coughed, smiling politely. Forrest noticed how poorly he fit in with Vicky’s friends, and he looked down at the picnic table. He rolled his eyes and sighed. He wished he hadn’t told the story. Vicky patted him on the well-muscled arm.
After that, a big chunk of the others excused themselves — they all drove together, so they left together — which triggered a few others to head home too. The coven dwindled. The body odor problem improved when that thick bundle of “Lithuanian pantheon” neopagans left. Apparently Lithuanian neopagans don’t believe in Jesus or deodorant.
Finally, before Avery knew it, the coven was down to him, Forrest and Vicky.
“So, were you serious about what you said? About sexuality being open and stuff?” Avery asked Forrest. “Because that was really cool. Profound.”
“Yeah, it was, sweetie!” Vicky said, patronizingly supportive. She squeezed Forrest’s bicep, which bulged like Popeye.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, man. I mean… Yeah.” Forrest blushed and ran his fingers through his dense, tangled mop of black hair. He kept his arm low like he was trying not to bare his armpit.
“Well… if you wanted some help paying for the insurance on that El Camino, I have a proposition,” Avery said. “If it’s okay with your girlfriend.” He paused. “Will you give me a chance on your cock? I’ll PayUp you a thousand dollars to let me taste your dick. I’ll swallow. I always do. I’ll go deep.” This was not the kind of thing Avery would normally mention in front of a woman, but he sensed that Vicky would approve. She said her last boyfriend was black, and you know what that means as far as ramrodding goes.
She probably watched.
His eyes opened wide when his ears caught up to Avery’s words. Vicky squealed and giggled like she had never heard anything so silly. They both blushed. She blushed a bright red immediately, then laughed. His eyes bugged out, and he blushed very slowly, growing from tan to ruddy to bright red over the next few minutes.
Forrest blushed. “Oh, uh…” He looked at Vicky as though hoping she would forbid it, but it was clear she was into it. “I, uh…”
“Oh my god, you need this, sweetie,” she said. She looked at Avery. “He’s got a really big dick. He wants me to throat it down, but I’m like, no way. I’ll swallow half your pinkie finger, that’s it, that’s my limit.” She laughed; she held up one of her pinkies to demonstrate. Forrest wrinkled his nose like he was annoyed at her. She put her pinkie in her mouth as though to demonstrate that it didn’t fit.
Avery smiled. “Big cocks are wasted on you, you crazy bitch,” he said, which made her laugh harder. She slapped her knee. Avery looked up at Forrest’s beet-red face. “You alright? You into this?”
He took a deep breath. “Yeah… Fine… Okay… Whatever, sure. Okay.” He closed his eyes and sighed again. He looked at Vicky. “Are you sure this is okay with you? You won’t be jealous…?”
“No, oh my god, no! This’ll be so hot. I’ll play with myself while you do it, okay? You wanna watch me?”
“Yeah, okay,” he said. “I can do that. It’s just… A mouth is a mouth, right? It doesn’t matter. Okay. Sure. It’s just a stranger’s mouth. No big deal.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “Cuz, uh… sexuality is ’bout the… earth mother, and stuff.” He leaned back on the picnic table and snorted. He undid the fly on the overalls he had put back on, and Avery got down on the ground in front of him.
Forrest stared straight ahead at his girlfriend, as though he would get hurt if he accidentally saw his dick in Avery’s mouth. Avery unzipped his jeans and popped his cock out. He was glad to see that Vicky was not kidding about him having a big dick — sometimes nice girls like her didn’t know what counted as “big”, but Vicky had been right on the money. His dick was at least ten inches long even before it was hard, and it was as thick around as a baseball bat.
A grumble escaped from Forrest’s lips as his dick flopped onto Avery’s face. It tasted clean and soapy, warm, inviting and meaty, like a nice stew, with a strong umami to it. A shiver of either discomfort or pleasure or maybe a mixture of both ran through Forrest’s body, and he even when he shook he kept his eyes deeply trained on his limp dick roping around over Avery’s face. He moved his forearm near his eyes like he wanted to block his view but couldn’t bring himself to do it, either because he didn’t trust Avery and wanted to watch or him or because he wanted to watch his girlfriend finger herself. His eyes were wild and frantic, and he held his breath even as his whole body stayed still, watching Avery lick the funk off Forrest’s fat shaft, his tongue encircling it and slathering spit all up and down it.
“Ah, damn, alright then, alright, alright,” Forrest said. His face was a bright red, and his neckless shoulders were beading up with sweat. He licked his lips. His shoulders were as hard as rock — he was tense, muscles firm like a statue. He stared at Vicky as though his life depended on it, like the slightest view of his dick in Avery’s mouth would be a disaster.
Forrest gurgled and choked nervously when Avery’s fingers reached up to his bare chest. His muscles didn’t throb or ripple because they were tensed and unable to relax even for a moment. His pecs were like boulders beneath Avery’s grasp.
“Are you okay, Forrest?” Vicky asked.
“Yeah.” He sounded like he was about to vomit and had to physically hold himself back. He gasped but cut it off mid-gasp by biting his lip. He hadn’t taken a full breath or possibly any breath in some time.
Despite his obvious terror, Forrest’s dick jerked up in Avery’s mouth. It felt purely physical, like Avery could tell from its fleshy texture that Forrest was not aroused by choice. Forrest’s eyes were firmly trained on Vicky’s wet pussy, but it looked like he didn’t register what he was seeing. All of his concentration was aimed at not looking at, touching or interacting with Avery in any way.
Then his cock spasmed, and Forrest moaned like it hurt. He gripped the picnic table with both hands as though trying to rip it to pieces. Or he felt an intense urge to grab onto Avery’s head and plow into his throat, slamming into him until his balls slapped against his chin, but he couldn’t do that both because he didn’t want to touch Avery’s head and because Vicky was too much of a hippie to be turned on by that.
“Oh, god…”
“Does that feel good, baby?” she asked, her voice a low, slow croon. She fingered herself slowly, just a few yards away so Forrest could watch.
“Yes.”
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
“Does his mouth feel good-?’
“Yes.” His voice stayed tense as a guitar string.
“Relax, baby, relax,” she said. She came closer and kissed him on the lips, making sure to stay out of Avery’s way.
That seemed to help a lot. As soon as Forrest came into contact with Vicky’s mouth and body, he sighed. His muscles relaxed like warm pudding, and Avery got a mouthful of precum. He gurgled and suckled on it loudly.
Avery grabbed one of Forrest’s meaty, callused hands. He guided it to the back of his head. Forrest didn’t notice at first, focused instead on kissing Vicky, but when he realized he touched Avery’s hair, Forrest dropped his hand away.
A sharp gasp escaped from Forrest’s lips. Avery giggled. It was always fun to tease an alpha.
Avery moved lower on Forrest’s cock, licking his veiny root. Then he got into his hairy crotch and filled his mouth with both of Forrest’s plump balls. They were sweaty and dingy and they tasted like the essence of manhood. Avery loved it. He gurgled and loudly drained every last drop of fluids from his scrotum.
“Aw, man, he’s slurpin’ my balls… He’s slurpin’ my balls…” Forrest’s deep, rumbling voice sounded weak and plaintive. He kept his eyes trained directly on Vicky, who cradled his head in her arms.
“You can tell him to stop, baby,” Vicky said. “It’s okay. I’m sure he’ll stop.”
Forrest shifted his weight on his plump asscheeks. He took a deep breath. “No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s okay. It’s cool and all, no problem. I’m, uh… It’s okay. No big deal. Just… I ain’t know that was a thing… you know, that people did… that guys did, y’know, that they did that… I didn’t know balls were… like… a thing… You know, whatever. I’m not into none of the… It’s okay though, I mean… free sexuality and all that, you know, like tolerance. And stuff. All that. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine,” he said. He forced a wan smile aimed at her. He gasped and bit his lip, a shiver of pleasure running up his back. His veiny shaft throbbed in Avery’s mouth. Forrest seemed even more nervous, like Vicky had caught him in something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. “It’s all that… uh… spectrum stuff, and energies… Like the energies you were talking about, the female and the… the spirits… spiritual energy. It’s… uh… yeah.”
“Does it feel good, baby?”
“Yeah.” That sounded like a lie. He blushed intensely and sputtered. “I mean, it’s okay. It’s cool. It feels good. Yep. Not as good as you, sweetie. I like you. I like girls. I like you. Girls in general, and you specifically. Girls. Women! Ladies! Females! No, women. Yep. This is fine. It’s okay. I can do it. Yep, no problem.” He forced out a very unconvincing moan — it was strictly amateur theater, and it made Avery giggle. Forrest cleared his throat. “I prefer you though. I still prefer girls. You. One girl. You, I mean. You’re special. I, uh… I’m not… I’m, uh… Just… uh… Girls… Yep. Women.” He paused. “Pussy. No! Vaginas.”
Vicky giggled too. She kissed Forrest on the cheek, her tits brushing over his muscled chest. He groaned and relaxed. She caressed his shoulders. “Relax, baby, just relax and enjoy it.
“Yep. Okay. Fun.” Forrest squirmed.
The more Vicky touched him, the more Forrest’s cock throbbed and leaked precum. It was salty and thick, coating Avery’s throat. He loved it. He had jacked off alphas while they messed around with a girl before, but he had never done it like this.
He pulled off Forrest’s cock before he came. He let him recover, while Avery licked his nipples and his pulsating pectorals. Forrest still hadn’t looked at Avery since this began, and now he stared right at Vicky’s tits. His heart raced beneath his mountainous chest, which rippled under Avery’s teasing tongue.
Avery turned around. He was glad he had shaved his ass just last night. He knew from personal experience that the best way to scare off an alpha was to have a hairy ass or chin. Forrest would have freaked out if he felt hair on his cock.
His cock plopped into Avery’s tight hole, sending a wave of pleasure up Avery’s spine. A few beads of sweat appeared on Forrest’s broad shoulders, and for just a moment, he touched Avery’s ass to guide his cock in. Then he let go and held his hands in the air as though to prove he wasn’t touching Avery.
“Oh shit! Baby! You see that? Baby, he’s got it in his ass!” Forrest was plaintive, like a boy tattling on his brother. He clapped his hands one time above his head.
“That’s so sexy, sweetie,” Vicky said. She guided one of Forrest’s fingers to her pussy. She kissed him on the neck.
Forrest closed his eyes as his manhood slid into Avery’s ass. Avery threw his head back and moaned, making sure to sound as feminine as he could muster. Forrest’s dick was rock-hard despite his discomfort.
“Oh, great Earth Mother…” Vicky continued her prayer, but she whispered it into Forrest’s ear. He must have liked hearing her voice — and she licked his earlobe a bit — because he twitched and sighed. Avery heard her say something about masculine energies, and he suspected she puffed up Forrest’s ego with her words.
A jolt of pain hit Avery, both because Forrest had a huge cock and because the positioning was kind of awkward. Avery had to guide himself up and down, and Forrest’s huge body was sprawled out, taking up all of the space on the picnic table. There was nothing for Avery to grab onto for leverage, except for Forrest’s trunk-like thighs.
“Oh, yeah, man, stick it in me,” Avery said with a flamboyant lilt to his voice. He looked back at Forrest, whose face was red and tense, eyes closed, lips pursed. Avery giggled and stroked his chest. “I’ll give you another thousand dollars to give me a reacharound.”
All was silent, except for the moist squishing sound of Avery impaling himself on Forrest’s cock. It wasn’t clear that Forrest even heard Avery’s words. Forrest was slouched; he could have almost looked like he was asleep if it weren’t for his tense muscles.
Then all at once, he sat up, abs rippling. He looked at Avery like he was crazy.
“Oh, baby, you should do that! Oh my god, two thousand dollars! You need that money,” Vicky said and squealed. “And it would be so hot. I’d cum all over you if I got to see that.”
“I, uh…” Forrest gulped nervously.
“Come on, I’ll let you lick my pussy while you do it,” Vicky said. “You don’t even have to watch.” She straddled Forrest’s chest, standing over Avery’s head with her pussy in front of her boyfriend’s face. Forrest lapped at her womanhood. She giggled. “He licks pussy so good. He’s like an expert, oh my god. You are, Forrest, you’re so good at this. You should give lessons, like on YouTube.”
It sounded like she did believe that but only really said it to puff up Forrest’s ego. It worked. He bristled and rammed his tongue into her pussy like he wanted to fuck her violently with it.
That was fine with Avery. He thought it would seem awkward at first, but Forrest was so tall that he could lick her pussy while leaving his entire broad chest and crotch open for Avery to play with. So Avery leaned back until he rested his head on Forrest’s rippling chest muscles. He guided one of Forrest’s callused hands to his cock.
Forrest’s arm was utterly stiff. His muscles were heavy, his fingers tough and callused. Avery arduously placed his hand in position. Forrest shuddered when he felt Avery’s cock, and he moaned into Vicky’s pussy, making a muffled moist sound.
“You can do it, baby,” she said softly, rubbing his scalp.
His hand awkwardly gripped Avery’s dick. He didn’t move. He didn’t jack Avery off. He just held Avery’s cock in his hand very lightly, barely coming into contact with it. He held on just enough that he could say he touched it.
Avery didn’t mind so much. On the one hand, it was the worst reacharound ever, in a strictly objective sense. It was like trying to get jacked off by an unconscious person. But Avery loved alphas, and the awkwardness was part of the appeal.
Besides that, Avery moved himself plenty as he slid up and down on Forrest’s cock. That was enough to move his dick in Forrest’s hand, and it sent a wave of orgasmic pleasure up Avery’s spine.
Forrest groaned as he finally orgasmed. Avery waited until the last possible minute before letting himself go as well, that way they both came at once. Forrest sprayed his hot wad into Avery’s ass, groaning the whole time because his hand was covered in Avery’s cum.
“Aw, fuck, baby, I’m doin’ it, I’m doin’ it, I’m bustin’…” He groaned like it hurt.
The smell of semen filled the air. Forrest shot a huge load inside Avery, great big jets of it spurting into every corner of his body. It was hot and creamy, sticky, seeping and flowing throughout him. Avery moaned so loud it made Forrest shudder.
At last they were both done. Forrest fell limp, his muscles relaxing for the first time since before Avery touched him. Forrest let out a great sigh of relief. Avery’s head swam, dizziness overwhelming him as he began to remove himself from Forrest’s cock.
“Get off me, you’re done,” Forrest said with a crude grunt. He pushed Avery to the ground. Avery crumpled up in the dirt and moaned.
“Baby, be nice,” Vicky said softly in his ear.
Forrest wrinkled his nose. He sniffled. “You best pay up, man. Don’t stiff me.”
“I won’t,” Avery said. He stretched his legs and went to his pants. He slowly filled out the payment details on PayUp. For the purpose, he wrote long-dickin’ it and giggled when Forrest saw it and frowned. He didn’t complain though.
“That was so hot, I’m so glad you did that.”
“I ain’t doin’ it no more. I had an open mind. I did it.”
“Okay, that’s-“
“I swear to God, girl, I did it. I did it. Don’t make me do it again,” he said. “I love you and all, but… Don’t make me do that again.” He blushed.
“I won’t, sweetie, I’m glad you tried it,” she said. She kissed him on the cheek. He was mollified by her tits pressing against his chest.
Avery would have loved to stay there and cuddle with Forrest’s muscled body, but it was clear Forrest’s tolerance had run out. Avery quickly dressed and headed towards the parking lot.
He was glad he had gone for a Samhain walk.