Bart’s dreary remedial driving-safety class bores him to tears, until a disruption by the massive-bodied janitor Lincoln. During a class break, Bart is ready to service Lincoln’s alpha male needs! Can he finish in time to complete his course?
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Bart didn’t want to look too bored. He wasn’t sure how “passing” was defined in a class like this, and he thought if he looked bored, the teacher — Mr. Watson — would say he wasn’t paying attention and make him do it again. This had been boring enough, Bart wasn’t willing to do it again.
So he tried very hard to pay attention. Mr. Watson was explaining how to parallel park. That seemed like an absurd thing to explain in words, Bart thought, it required a picture or diagram.
Or it could just be skipped. This was a class for traffic violators who needed to get their license back. Almost all of them had said they were in trouble due to speeding, drunk driving or having marijuana in the car when they were arrested. Nobody had been in trouble for a parallel-parking violation. Bart was here for speeding.
The whole thing was bullshit. Bart would have rather paid the fine. Ah, but the insurance costs… That was where they get ya, really. Insurance.
But anyway, parallel parking was what Mr. Watson wanted to talk about. His thin, reedy body twisted as he tried to explain, breathlessly. “So, you see, when your mirror — that’s the right-hand one, on the passenger side — see when you see into that one, to the rear of you-
Bart was a good parallel parker, and even he had lost the thread of this particular lesson. He smiled and nodded though. He resolved to remember this later so when Mr. Watson asked — as Bart was positive he would — to “reflect on” what he’d learned today, Bart would have something to say. He’d claim he’d never been comfortable parallel parking until Mr. Watson explained it so thoroughly.
Bart was sucking up just in case that helped him get through this without any points on his license.
The door to the classroom opened, and Bart straightened his back. His boredom vanished as a man walked into the classroom. He was a janitor, presumably, judging from the gray jumpsuit he wore. He rolled in with him a large trash can, which made a loud rumbling sound.
He was very handsome, that was why Bart noticed him so intently. The nametag sewn onto the front of his jumpsuit said his name was Lincoln. He was burly and bristly, snarling at no one in particular when he came in. He looked like a generally disagreeable person, not like he was upset at this moment.
He was pudgy, thick all over, and Bart instantly got a rough and rugged vibe off Lincoln, who had that “it ain’t pervy as long as you’s on top” look. That was exactly the look Bart was hoping for. Maybe it was because Lincoln appeared to be of Italian or Greek descent, or something around that region, Bart thought, and those Mediterranean guys were usually down if they didn’t have a girl at the moment. This chunky mean-looking man almost certainly was single, so Bart had high hopes for him.
“Hi, Lincoln, hello,” said the teacher, Mr. Watson, his voice annoyed at first, then patronizingly respectful. “Welcome to our learning.”
“What?” Lincoln snapped. He stopped short in the doorway. There was no reason to rattle that big trash can on wheels through the doorway. He could have left it out there. That was what the janitor last week had done. She had come in, gotten the trash can unobtrusively, then emptied it out in the hall before returning the trash can.
Was Lincoln being deliberately disruptive?
“I said, uh… welcome to our learning,” Mr. Watson said. “I think of education as a location, a state of mind and a journey all at once. So what we’re doing right here, this is learning, and I’d like to welcome you to it. Perhaps some of our learning will spill over to you.” Then Mr. Watson hastened to add, “And perhaps some of your learning will spill over to us, for I’m sure you have many wonderful knowledge… knowledges. Paths of knowledge. Ways of knowing. Folkways of… paths. Of known… learning. You no doubt… have much to teach us.”
There was a long awkward pause, and Mr. Watson blushed a bit. Lincoln the janitor furrowed his brow. “What? I ain’t here to teach nothin’. If you wanna learn from me, you best pay me.”
“Oh, well… It was more of a… psychological… milieu… uh… thing.”
Lincoln glanced over the classroom of students for the first time since coming in. He nodded at the one young black man in the first row and — for seemingly no reason — licked his teeth, aiming a harsh look at his direction. He maintained the mean stare as he grabbed the trash can by the desk. It looked to have nothing in it aside from one wadded-up piece of paper.
“Uh… Certainly… Indeed,” Mr. Watson said with a nod. He turned back to the class and resumed his “discussion” — that was the word he used instead of “class”, though so far, not much actual discussion had occurred. It was mostly Mr. Watson monologuing.
Bart had a pen near his lips when he caught Lincoln’s eye. Lincoln snorted and huffed as he emptied the trash can, then he stood there with a hostile glare on his face still aimed at the young black man in the front row. Bart slipped the pen into his mouth, subtly at first. Lincoln loudly snorted as he made an arduously over-long and over-loud production of emptying the mostly empty trash bin into the larger trash can. Mr. Watson again stopped leading his “discussion circle” to wait for the clamor to end, which seemed to be taking forever.
Then was when Lincoln made eye contact with Bart, who sucked on his pen like a lollipop. It made Lincoln stare his asians right at him, squinting like he didn’t believe what he saw. Bart pursed his lips around the pen and swallowed it like a very thin cock, demonstrating how deep he could go.
He even pantomimed playing with a pretend-ballsac beneath the pen. Lincoln scowled and loudly tossed the trash can back onto the floor. It rattled and clanged. Lincoln kept his eyes aimed at Bart as he noisily backed out of the classroom with the large trash can on wheels.
The door slammed shut. Mr. Watson frowned and rolled his eyes. “Okay, let’s get back to it. I wanted to have a free and open discussion about the importance of diversity in traffic safety.”
Bart’s dick was stiff. He was sure Lincoln wanted it. He even saw Lincoln’s head in the little window in the door, staring right at Bart, his sour face frowning, his hands in front of his body — was he touching his cock? It was impossible to see through the door, but Bart was pretty sure he had grabbed his dick through his jumpsuit. He wagged it aggressively at the door, presumably either to signal to Bart he wanted to bust a nut or to pantomime forcing Mr. Watson to do it — Bart couldn’t tell which. Maybe it was a bit of both.
Lincoln hated Mr. Watson because he was an intellectual pussy who had said he thought truckers drove poorly. Lincoln had been ruminating on that ever since he overheard Mr. Watson say it to a different classroom. Lincoln used to be a trucker, but had been fired due to complaints from other drivers, whom he imagined were much like Mr. Watson.
So Lincoln really hated him, and enjoyed disrupting his class.
It was especially fun because Mr. Watson was the kind of liberal do-gooder who would never have criticized Lincoln or asked him to be more quiet. Mr. Watson was on the side of the working class, even when the working class was not on Mr. Watson’s side. So Lincoln could be as disruptive and obnoxious as he wanted, and Mr. Watson would not stop him.
But today, he was more interested in that smooth boy. Lincoln had gotten used to plowing into males when he was a trucker, and he didn’t want to pay for the lot-lizard prostitutes who hung out at truck stops.
That wasn’t a huge problem for Lincoln, who preferred to sodomize without thinking about his bottom anyway. Man, woman, it didn’t matter, so long as they were willing and wet or could be made wet. He wanted to plow in and use and abuse whatever tight hole he could get his dick in. Very few women were willing to let him do that, even if he did pay them.
Lincoln went outside and smoked a cigarette. He waited until he heard noise in Mr. Watson’s classroom — the school was closed for today, so no one was here except for the traffic school. An explosion of chatter signaled it was time for the class’s lunch-break.
He waited outside, smoking his cigarette down to the filter, as students filed out. Most of them left. Even the ones who had brought their own lunch didn’t want to eat in there, which Lincoln assumed (mostly correctly) was because they didn’t want to risk having to talk to that pissant Mr. Watson while they ate.
He hoped to see that pen-sucking freak, but he didn’t come out. Had he misread the situation? Lincoln had assumed that slurping on his pen was a signal. Lincoln went in. The little man wasn’t in the classroom, where that shitheel Mr. Watson was eating something that looked terrible — it was some sort of couscous salad, and it made Lincoln’s mouth taste bad just looking at it. He shoveled it in like his fork hated him.
Where did he go?
Lincoln shrugged and went towards the back door. He thought maybe he had gone out the back. Before he got to the door, however, he saw that slim white man going through a hall as though looking for someone. Maybe he had gone in search of me, Lincoln thought.
He headed into a supply closet.
Bart minced down the hall, in search of that janitor. He was annoyed that this had become more difficult than seemed reasonable. They only had twenty minutes for lunch. Bart was already skipping eating in hopes of getting a taste of that studly janitor, but now the time was slipping away quickly.
He had a ham and muenster sandwich to eat. He was really looking forward to it when he made it this morning.
A door opened right in front of Bart, and Lincoln’s hands reached out and gripped him on the shoulders. He pulled Bart into the supply closet and slammed the door shut before Bart could react.
Lincoln was powerful — he fancied himself an amateur bodybuilder though he was far from perfectly muscled. He had a little beer belly and plenty of heft on his thickheavy thighs. He had a deep growly voice and a scruffy beard. “Hey,” he said. “Whatchoo in here for?”
“You dragged me in here,” Bart said with a flirtatious giggle. “I don’t know what you wanted.” He straightened the zipper on Lincoln’s jumpsuit and tweaked one of his nipples through the fabric. “Maybe you needed some help figuring out how to use this broom.” He grabbed a broom and pretended to sweep awkwardly, brushing the broom over Lincoln’s feet. “My teacher made it pretty clear you don’t know anything about anything-“
“Yeah, he a dick.”
“Oh my god, he’s so douchey! I want to slap the pussy off his face every time he speaks,” Bart said. “He said he wouldn’t let us watch that video with all the gory car accidents because he was worried it would traumatize us — but that’s the one part of the day I thought might be good! The rest of it is just him babbling about the importance of showing respect to Hindu people when parallel parking!”
Lincoln laughed so hard his face turned red. His big hairy belly rippled and jiggled, bumping into Bart and knocking him against the door. “Sorry,” Lincoln’s deep voice rang out. He was quiet, but his voice was so deep it echoed against the walls of the supply closet.
“You want me to jack you off?”
“Hell yeah, boy. Go for it,” Lincoln said. “You a freak.” It wasn’t clear from his tone of voice whether that was an insult or not.
Bart gripped the zipper on Lincoln’s jumpsuit with his teeth, and he pulled it down. It was awkward to unzip the jumpsuit that way, but it turned him on. Bart lost the zipper every few inches and had to chase after it. He clutched Lincoln’s stout body for support, while Lincoln rolled his eyes.
“You playin’ games now, boy, hurry up,” Lincoln said with a snarl. His belly was bared, and his powerful chest muscles rippled. He had plenty of flab under his jumpsuit, a big meaty torso, and under that the musculature that Bart had sensed. He put out power and radiated heat, and it sent a frisson of desire up Bart’s spine.
Bart liked to tease him, so he didn’t hurry, even though Bart was the one pressed for time. He even stopped partway down and licked a trail from Lincoln’s belly to his neck, slurping up all the sweat that clung to his body. He would have kept going but Lincoln slapped his head away before his lick turning into a kiss.
Dropping to his knees, Bart pulled the zipper down the rest of the way. Lincoln wore tattered white boxers, which Bart also tried to pull down with his teeth. Lincoln’s plump ass got in the way, however, so Bart struggled, nuzzling the pubic hair that stretched out from the waistband of his boxers.
When Lincoln got tired of Bart playing around, he dropped his boxers unceremoniously and flopped his dick on Bart’s face. He had a big fat slab of meat, and he mollywopped it over Bart’s cheeks. Bart reached up to towards his chest, which he couldn’t reach, so he just clutched Lincoln’s belly with both hands as he slurped up the stale sweat that clung to his cockshaft. Lincoln snarled. “Quit playin’ wit’ it, boy.” He frowned crossly at him. “If you wanna jack me off, do it.”
“Okay, daddy.”
“Don’t call me daddy, that’s nasty,” Lincoln said. He had a fat cock just like his belly, and he slapped it over Bart’s cheeks. Pervs always played games, he thought, he had learned that in all those truck stops. If you let them, they would just lick you all over all day long, jacking themselves off. You had to hurry them along, Lincoln thought, so he spread Bart’s lips and plowed in.
Bart loved teasing alphas and making them ramrod his face like that, so he kept playing until Lincoln finally forced his dick down his throat. Then Bart opened his mouth as wide as he could so Lincoln could ram into him however he wanted. He was an expert at slurping big dicks and could deep-throat nearly anything.
He was glad to let Lincoln initiate this, Bart thought, because it meant Bart didn’t have to offer any money. It was nice to do it for free. Bart had a knack for tracking down hefty plus-sized alphas with meat to spare and a need for his wet mouth, soft hands and tight ass, but he usually had to pay them to ride the thickness-carousel. Lincoln was desperate enough to do it for free.
He couldn’t see Lincoln’s face because of the fat belly above his head, but Bart didn’t mind. He could hear Lincoln snorting like an angry hippo, huffling, chuffing as he sucked on his teeth and his dick stiffened up moistly in Bart’s mouth.
“Ah, goddamn…” Lincoln sighed. This felt good. His frustration at having to deal with that punk-ass shit Mr. Watson vanished. That all seemed so unimportant. Lincoln’s anger-management counselor, his parole officer and his other parole officer all agreed he needed to learn how to let things go, but it seemed so hard sometimes. About the only thing that did it was going to town on some bitch’s throat. That had been difficult to accomplish ever since leaving the trucking industry and the lot lizards of truck stops.
His dick was rock-hard and throbbing now, pouring precum in great rivulets down Bart’s throat. The taste was salty and sour, like pure sweat, unadulterated with deodorant, flowing into his belly. It was hot and sticky, just like Bart liked it. He would have gladly slurped on Lincoln’s cock all day long.
But he didn’t actually want to do that — he wanted to get plowed into. He didn’t want Lincoln to cum so quickly, not with Bart’s ass unplumbed today thus far.
He had to slap Lincoln on his fat asscheeks a few times before Lincoln got the message and pulled away. His belly had been pressing on Bart’s forehead, so there was a layer of greasy sweat left there when he was done. He pulled his cock out and gasped, staring crossly at Bart. Bart gasped for air, and he grasped Lincoln’s trunk-like legs for support. Thick tendrils of spit still connected his mouth to Lincoln’s veiny cockshaft.
“What’s wrong?”
“You wanna get in my ass?” Bart was recovering his breath now, and he chased Lincoln’s dick with his tongue. Lincoln ignored that and got up.
Lincoln blushed and snickered. Most dudes in truck stops didn’t do that. They would stroke you off again and again all day long, after all, but that was it. Anal was only for prisoners and sailors. And lumberjacks, soldiers, exterminators supposedly, a lot of labor unions. Rugby players. Puerto Ricans. So a lot of guys.
But not civilized people.
That’s not to say that Lincoln had never plowed into a man. But he’d never done it sober, with a consenting man he didn’t know, in a well-lit non-prison area.
Being sober really made it seem more daunting, he thought. Everything seems easier when you’re drunk. He wished he was drunk. But in any case, now that the freak from the traffic safety class had offered, Lincoln really wanted to plunder that ass. No woman had given up the ass to him since he gained all that weight.
But with his dick hard and the tight ass right in front of him, Lincoln was not about to say no. He wanted to blow his wad, and he wanted to do it right now. If the only option open to him for now was this dude’s tight ass, he was going to do it without a second thought.
He kept plowing in even when Bart had pulled off his cock. His hips just worked of their own accord, flexing, his angry cock jutting out and stabbing the air around Bart. His dicktip slammed into Bart’s thigh again and again, as Bart tried to turn around in the little space between Lincoln and the door, which rattled on its frame.
Finally Bart had his backside aimed at Lincoln, who again didn’t stop humping. His dick rubbed on Bart’s ass until Bart took the initiative to reach behind himself and aim his cock at Bart’s ass.
It was clumsy to reach back there because Lincoln didn’t stop moving, and his belly got in the way. But Bart managed to aim his cock for his tight hole, then backed his ass up.
Once the tip slid in, Lincoln grunted and groaned. He stopped grinding his dick and stayed still. He closed his eyes, suddenly stricken with nervousness about this — he’d never experienced anything quite like this. Bart backed his ass up, grimacing until he had every inch of Lincoln’s corpulent cock inside him. A spurt of pleasure hit Bart, as Lincoln’s cock rammed into his prostate. Bart shuddered and cried out.
“Damn…” Lincoln grunted. He slapped Bart’s asscheek, making it ripple and tighten and send a wave of pleasure up Lincoln’s body. His muscles all flexed at once — he tended to do that whenever he got nervous, to cover up his anxiety. He bit his lip and pulled Bart’s ass, enabling him to plow in.
Soon he had Bart bent over, struggling to hold onto the door in the frame as he got plowed into. Bart’s head bumped into the door too, but the pleasure emanating from his prostate was enough to make that seem irrelevant and distant.
He strained to take it all, but Bart managed to do it. Lincoln pounded in and out of him, using all of his weight and his power to ram him hard. Bart moaned out loud, stifling himself only when he heard some of his fellow traffic-school students out in the hall — they sounded like they were looking for a place to smoke a cigarette without Mr. Watson seeing them (Mr. Watson had made it clear he disliked smokers and didn’t think they should be allowed to drive).
Bart hoped they didn’t hear. He didn’t want to get kicked out and have to take this class all over again — taking it with Mr. Watson wouldn’t be so bad cuz he could get cornholed again, but probably he’d end up somewhere else that didn’t have a studly janitor like Lincoln.
Bart was sure the twenty-minute break was over, but he didn’t want to hurry Lincoln, who was swaying, grinding his dick within Bart’s ass, plowing into him from every angle he could. It seemed to last forever, Bart’s prostate singing as he took in the greatest cock he’d ever had.
Finally he couldn’t bear it anymore, and Lincoln sprayed his dense wad deep into Bart’s ass. It flowed in like water from a hose, more and more of it, until it overflowed in a big foamy mess of creamy nut that dripped down Bart’s legs. Some of it soaked into Lincoln’s jumpsuit fabric, which was piled down around his ankles.
“Goddamn, boy, take it!” Lincoln held onto Bart by the hair, keeping his squirming body in place as he finished up inside him.
Then, at last, Lincoln pulled out, and a surge of warmth hit Bart, who sighed. Bart was weak with desire, so Lincoln had to hold him aloft, allowing Bart to wiggle in his arms and suck sweat off his chest. Lincoln stroked his own gray-tinged beard hairs as his dick limpened, rubbing against Bart’s asscheek.
More jizz sprayed into Bart, a long flow that filled him up and seeped into his flesh. It was hot and creamy, and already some was seeping out and running down the insides of his thighs. It felt so dirty and so good, and Lincoln gave his cock a few final strokes inside Bart, daggering it slowly back and forth and turning his asscrack into a foamy mess. His hands lay at rest on Bart’s back then, as, very slowly, inch by inch, Bart expelled that massive cock.
Finally it came out with an audible plop, followed by a torrent of jizz that plopped onto the floor. Bart sighed, and Lincoln moaned.
He let go, and Bart collapsed to the ground with a gasp. Lincoln backed away and wiped his dick off. “Alright, boy, you better get back to ya class. Mr. Watson got shit to say. God knows he never gonna run outta words.”
“Hmmmm… Are you still gonna be around in a couple hours?” Bart asked.
“Nah. I gots a date. Well, not exactly a date, but there’s this female at that strip club on the highway…” Lincoln licked his lips. “She said she like big boys. She wanna see me and dance for me. But maybe if things with her don’t work out… I could give you a call?”
Bart nodded. He knew enough about girls to know what was really happening at that strip club, but he didn’t want to get involved. He put his clothes on and slipped out, arriving just a minute or two after Mr. Watson re-began his class. Bart sat down and daydreamed as he basked in the fat-stud smell that clung to his body.
He couldn’t wait to get home and wait for that call.