MN Manmacker's mansploitation
At the brothel Lipsweet, Vivienne rules as queen, and the many roughnecks who come through are her subjects… But when her position is threatened, Vivienne finds herself on the outs, while the men around her must see to their own needs. Whether at the local jail, in a dusty backroom or in a dirty motel, these macho alphas will have to take matters into their own hands!
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?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
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.
Rob is desperate for dirty, oily Turkish manmeat, and he’s about to get his fill! That’s because he’s in Turkey taking lessons… and a lot more — from the legendary wrestler Mustafa Mounsir, who’s gonna give Rob the ride of his life!
Read the whole thing here!
Rob nervously waited for his Turkish instructor to arrive. Rob was dressed like a tourist — which he technically was — and sat there nervously watching the lessons going on in front of him. He was at a grassy field in a small, rural town in Turkey, where the locals practiced for an upcoming oil wrestling tournament.
Turkish oil wrestling was a popular sport here. It was a form of wrestling in which the men — the biggest, hairiest, most macho men in all of Turkey — greased each other up with olive oil from head to toe while wearing these loose leather trousers called a kisbet. Then the goal was to gain control of your oil-slippened opponent by holding onto his kisbet. It inevitably required sticking one’s hands down into one’s opponent’s kisbet, feeling their crotch, ass and every other olive oil-stained muscle. As a keen lover of the male form, Rob considered it the ideal sport.
Rob had done a lot of work to find Mustafa, a professional Turkish oil wrestler who didn’t normally teach lessons. Rob didn’t want to take lessons from a normal class, because he greatly desired spending time with Mustafa Mounsir and his msucled chest. Rob’s ideal physique was a large, handsome and hairy man.
A few tourists and a couple locals were practicing their moves with a lean, handsome Turk in the center of the field. He spoke English well and was encouraging, coach-like. He obviously shaved his chest, for one thing, and probably didn’t have any hair on his back by nature. Rob had suspected as much when he learned there was a tourist-oriented oil-wrestling coaching service — he didn’t want a polished Turk shaved and dolled up for Westerners.
He wanted Mustafa Oğuz Mounsir.
His heart started pounding when he saw Mustafa, a big, hulking brute of a man. He was in the heaviest weight class in Turkish oil wrestling, and it showed in his heavy gait, giant barrel-shaped body, his strapping chest and belly, and his broad shoulders. Most importantly for Rob, however, Mustafa also had powerful muscles and endless curls of body hair stretching up from his chest and over his shoulders. Like all Turks, the hair was dense, kinky and broad, and his sweat clung to it. There was little division between his chest hair, armpit hair, leg and arm hairs, back hair, beard hair and head hair.
“Hello, my name is Rob,” he said, followed by a carefully rehearsed Turkish translation.
Mustafa nodded. “You are here for lesson, yes? I am Mustafa Mounsir.” Mustafa’s English was only a little better than Rob’s Turkish, but he managed to introduce himself and begin a lesson. His accent was thick, as spatchcocking as a dressed chicken, while Rob could think of little more than the closeness of his body hair and the heat emanating from his overworked muscles.
After a few minutes of stretching, Mustafa began showing him some moves. It was obvious that Mustafa was not a teacher; he was gruff; he failed to explain what he was doing; he got frustrated when Rob didn’t do everything exactly right. For his part, Rob did not do well — every time he was instructed to place his hands on Mustafa, a shudder of desire and lust coursed through him.
And all they were doing so far was practicing a few simple holds. About halfway through the first lesson, Mustafa said it was time for a scrimmage, and that meant the best part of Turkish oil wrestling was about to happen. Rob had to force his stiffening dick to quiet down as Mustafa brought him to the side of the field where a pitcher of olive oil waited.
“You will rub it on me. Rub it on ev-er-y part,” Mustafa said, over-enunciating his words. “I will do first.”
Rob nodded. He was pretending to have little idea what Turkish oil wrestling was, so he looked surprised when Mustafa’s callused hands spread oil over Rob’s body, extending down into his loose kisbet.
Praying that he wouldn’t get hard yet, Rob didn’t show how arousing he found Mustafa’s hands running up and down his body, even rubbing olive oil inside Rob’s kisbet, on his ass, his cock and balls, all of it, Mustafa didn’t seem bothered by it. That was a core part of Turkish oil wrestling. Mustafa’s rough-fingered hands had probably rubbed oil into a thousand men’s skin.
Then it was Rob’s turn. Mustafa sneered at him — it seemed he didn’t love the idea of giving lessons to a non-Turk. Rob’s hands dripped with olive oil as he touched Mustafa’s back, which was covered in the thick, kinky black hair that extended over most of his torso. He was like a Turkish sasquatch. Rob’s heart pounded as he forced his fingers through a tangled forest of hair on Mustafa’s lower back.
Then he moved around to the chest, where the hair was even thicker, unapologetically dense, and when Rob disturbed it with his fingers, the odor of stale oil and sweat wafted over him. He got the impression Mustafa expected Rob to be disgusted, and Rob decided to play along. He wrinkled his nose, and Mustafa laughed like he was proud of that.
His body wasn’t perfect, which Rob liked. Six-pack abs were nice to look at, but Rob preferred having some meat to grab onto. That described Mustafa perfectly, his powerful chest like a hard slab of iron with a thick layer of padding on top.
Rob’s hands moved back around to his ass, hands slipping under the kisbet. Much to Rob’s delight, Mustafa’s ass was just as hairy as his chest. The hair there was tangled, so Rob moved slowly, caressing olive oil into those big beefy orbs slowly enough that he worked out all the kinks. His fingers crept between the asscheeks, even though he had the feeling actual Turkish oil wrestlers skipped that, and he touched Mustafa’s quivering hot asshole.
Then he reached underneath Mustafa’s ass, hands stretching between his thighs to the hairy taint. He stood still in front of Mustafa, so he had to step even closer until his face was pushed up against Mustafa’s hairy pecs, and the flavor of sweat-scented olive oil hit his tongue.
By the time Rob got back to the front, shivering in delight when he touched Mustafa’s sweaty ballsac, Rob was already rock-hard. He moved both his hands to the front of Mustafa’s body, starting with his thighs, which were slick with sweat from being in the hot kisbet. He rubbed olive oil into first one trunk-like thigh, then the other.
He cradled Mustafa’s ballsack with his olive oil-laden fingers, and gave his dick one quick stroke. It was long and so thick Rob couldn’t wrap his fingers around it, uncircumcised with extra flesh that moved along with Rob’s fingers.
At last they were done, and Mustafa arranged them for their first lesson. “Feet like this,” he said gruffly, and Rob played along. “No, like this.” He pushed Rob into position.
Having no idea how to defend himself, Rob was on his ass as soon as Mustafa started wrestling. The bigger man had both of his hands down Rob’s kisbet, gripping the leather from inside. The top side of his palms touched Rob’s dick, but Mustafa gave no sign of noticing Rob’s growing erection.
Then they did the same again, and again. Rob managed to dodge Mustafa for a few seconds, but he couldn’t defend himself in any way. He hadn’t given the wrestling part of Turkish oil wrestling much thought. All Rob cared about was the “rubbing oil into men’s muscles” part.
Soon enough, the lesson was over. Rob didn’t think he had learned much — Mustafa was a lot of things, but a quality pedagogue was not one of them — but he was so horny he couldn’t think, so he was glad to be done anyway. His hardon throbbed in his kisbet.
“You give respect to superior man,” Mustafa said. He folded his arms over his chest. “Instructor, me. Respect, it is to dem-onstr-ate, yes?”
Rob hesitated. They were still in the middle of the field, so he thought Mustafa was asking for a tip, but Rob didn’t have any cash — or anything at all in his kisbet. He tried to explain that, but Mustafa just growled.
“Must give respect.” Mustafa took Rob hand and shoved it into Mustafa’s kisbet. His hand entered the dense thicket of sweat, oil-lubed pubic hair, and there, he felt Mustafa’s hot cock, which his fingers wrapped around.
Terrified at first as he wondered whether he was in trouble, Rob realized Mustafa wanted to get jacked off. Then Mustafa growled again and repeated himself once more. “Amer-icans must have respect!” He barked.
Rob gripped his shaft tight and gave it a stroke. It was hot and thick in his grip, and Rob watched closely to see how his stroke affected Mustafa — not at all, as it turned out. Mustafa gave no signs he noticed Rob rubbing his cock with first one, then both hands.
It was only after several minutes of standing there that Mustafa settled down with a self-satisfied smile, and Rob nervously began stroking his dick. Rob wondered if Mustafa made lots of men jack him off — he’d implied this was what all men should do to show respect to “superior” men. Maybe he made lots of both tourists and wrestlers do the same thing.
In no time Mustafa’s was rock-hard and pulsating between Rob’s fingers. He thought maybe it had gotten half-hard from the wrestling, which made Rob glad. Maybe Mustafa got hard easily. In any case, Mustafa closed his eyes as his cock throbbed in Rob’s grasp, both hands rubbing up and down that veiny dick, still entrapped in Mustafa’s oil-soaked kisbet.
Precum leaked down the shaft and added to the mix of fluids in Mustafa’s crotch. Rob wished he could kneel to get a better whiff, because he could tell he would adore that musty scent, but he thought Mustafa might object.
All at once, Mustafa reached an orgasm visible through his rippling muscles. His dick spasmed as his shoulders tensed, his toes curled, and the hair on his chest stood on end. Mustafa closed his eyes and groaned. He bit his lip.
“Yes, good respect, American cowboy,” he murmured.
All of Mustafa’s muscles tightened at once, and his balls crawled up in his sweat-slickened sac. Rob kept on stroking it even as the cum shot out and coated the inside of the kisbet, not to mention Rob’s hand and wrist.
Another vast wad of jizz spurted out. That first cumwad made it to the edge of his kisbet and the underside of Mustafa’s belly, while the rest of his load only got to the waistband. It coated every inch of Rob’s hand, and still more kept jetting out. Mustafa groaned and moaned, looking surprised like he thought this wouldn’t happen, and his knees went weak. He stood up straight again though.
When he thought he had drawn out all of that nut, Rob pulled his cum-streaked hand out and looked at it, wishing he could lick it clean. But he just stared at it as though he was disgusted and followed Mustafa into the dugout, hoping Mustafa still believed him to be an ordinary tourist.
“You come tomorrow,” Mustafa said without looking back. “I continue lesson. Keep paying.”
Rob nodded. Mustafa stopped at the entrance to the dugout. He frowned and furrowed his eyebrows, and Rob got the message. He walked away. The dugout, it seemed, was only for real Turkish oil wrestlers, not tourists.
Though he wished he could suck all the jizz off his hand, Rob was intensely attuned to the audience around, watching the other tourists take lessons from the handsome Turk. They would surely notice him licking jizz off his hands, so he simply hurried away without cleaning it off. He waited until he got back to his hotel room, and only then did Rob wash his hands.
After that, Rob was tired and thought he’d go to bed early. He had to get up in the morning tomorrow for his second lesson from Mustafa, but for now, he had nothing else to do. He wasn’t even hungry, but once he laid down in bed, he wasn’t tired anymore either. He thought having something to eat would help, so he went out of his room to find a quick bite.
“Rob! Rob!”
He heard his name being shouted from the hotel parking lot. Rob didn’t know what was happening, but he ran out the door, thinking he was in trouble.
ustafa was on the ground floor near Rob’s car and screaming Rob’s name. “Rob Win-throp! Rob Win-throp!”
“Mustafa?”
Mustafa saw him then and swayed drunkenly on his thick legs. He headed up the stairs towards Rob’s room, which was when Rob noticed the whorish woman following him. Mustafa grinned when he got to Rob’s door.
“I am very poor,” Mustafa said.
“Okay…”
The prostitute hurried in then. She looked bored as she laid down on the bed and spread her legs. Rob nervously watched.
“I do not have enough money for paying for girl sex,” Mustafa said. “But this girl will kiss.”
“Okay…” Rob still didn’t understand what Mustafa wanted.
“So you will do vagina?”
Rob blushed and looked at the whore. “Nothing personal, ma’am. You have a nice one, I’m guessing. It’s just not for me.”
“No, not you. I do not buy sex for you,” Mustafa said, scoffing at the suggestion. He took off his shirt then and shrugged. His big hairy shoulders flexed, which made Rob’s cock jump to attention in his pants.
The whore said something in Turkish. It sounded like a joke, but Mustafa barked something back at her. He was offended by it. Mustafa turned back to Rob and said, “She does not like hairy back. She says she will charge me less money if it is shaved. But I do not want to shave it. It makes itching.”
“Okay…” Rob said. “I think it’s your best quality.” He kissed Mustafa on one meaty shoulder, and the whore squealed in disgust as Rob sucked the sweat off his hairs. The acrid-sweet flavor of stale olive oil hit Rob’s tongue, reminding him of their oil-lubed practice; it seemed to have suffused into Mustafa’s skin.
“You are dis-gus-ting,” Mustafa said. But he didn’t make any effort to move away as Rob licked his back clean. Beneath the thick mat of fur, his back was strapping and firmly corded with muscle. Then Mustafa said, “Okay? We are agreement?”
Rob hesitated. He still didn’t understand what Mustafa wanted. “I’m not sure…”
Mustafa shook his head and pushed Rob to the ground at the foot of the bed. Then Mustafa spoke to the whore and kicked off his pants. He flopped his soft but thick uncut manhood between his fingers, and smiled as he approached the bed.
He fed his dick into Rob’s mouth. He tasted of old olive oil and overwhelmingly of stale sweat. He stank of body odor but it smelled like he had attempted to cover it up with a scent that was not exactly cologne-like, more as though he had bathed in incense.
Rob swallowed it the best he could. Above his head, he heard kissing and finally realized what Mustafa was doing — he didn’t couldn’t pay the prostitute for vaginal sex, so he was paying her to simply make out with him while Rob mouthed his dick. Mustafa sucked on her tits and fingered her pussy, his dick quickly growing rock-hard in his pants.
She suddenly exclaimed something in Turkish. It sounded like she was offended, and Rob looked up to see her getting off the bed. Mustafa pleaded with her in Turkish but he stood there with his dick in Rob’s mouth the whole time. He turned his body and Rob moved with him.
“Bana geri dön.”
“Sizin geri brüt ve tüylü!”
She slammed the door behind herself, and Mustafa sat on the edge of the bed, his dick still throbbing in Rob’s mouth — Rob had to twist his body to remain in position as Marcus sat down. He looked almost ready to cry, Rob thought.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Rob asked, holding onto the thick prick in both hands.
He sighed. “She does not like my back. She say it is gross.”
Rob stood up and kissed him on the shoulder. He played with a few of the hairs in his mouth. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.” He let his lips drop lower on Mustafa’s back, and licked all the way from his shoulder to the small of his back.
Mustafa shuddered, whether from ticklishness or disgust or both, Rob didn’t know. But Mustafa didn’t stop him as Rob bathed his hairy back in spit. His hair was matted to his muscles then, and Rob moved onto his chest.
He sucked on each hairy nipple until it was erect in his mouth, and Mustafa moaned. But Rob got the impression that this was becoming too pervy for Mustafa, too close to making out, so he quickly dropped back down and swallowed his dick again.
It seemed the nippleplay had reawakened his hardon, which throbbed with desire in Rob’s throat. Rob soaked the shaft with his spit and let it spill out of his mouth into his hairy crotch.
He said something in Turkish too fast for Rob to catch, but he got the feeling it was something like get deeper on it, bitch, because Mustafa then began pounding his dick into Rob’s throat. He chuckled when Rob gagged but he didn’t slow down.
It was a violent throating down, though nothing Rob couldn’t handle. He loved it when machos treated his head like a sex toy. He wished he could widen his throat to accommodate the man’s entire hairy cock.
In no time, he felt the man’s balls crawl up in his sac, and the familiar sour flavor of cum hit his tongue. Rob moaned as he swallowed jet after jet of creamy juice, which had a curious aftertaste that Rob couldn’t quite place — it was almost humus-like, he thought, with a delicious spiciness.
Finally it was done, but Mustafa kept his dick in Rob’s mouth as he used one brutish hand to squeeze out the last few drops of cum.
“Ah, your mouth is woman,” Mustafa said with a sigh. “Good.” He then cleaned himself up enough to leave and exited the hotel room without another word aimed at Rob. That did not surprise Rob. Mustafa was the kind of alpha who saw no need to talk to his bitch. That was why Rob liked him and women did not.
The next morning was another lesson, and Rob found that Mustafa changed his attitude towards him. He was outright kind, and he actually treated Rob like a girlfriend — when no one was watching. At the gym, Rob watched him workout and brought him water, acting like a personal trainer or assistant, though he didn’t know how to do anything of the sort.
Whenever they were alone, however, Mustafa felt up Rob’s ass and even kissed him on the cheek a few times. He grabbed Rob’s hand and shoved it into his shorts with a grin, and he often played with Rob by moving closer and closer to him as they talked, until eventually Rob was pinned against a wall and squashed by Mustafa’s massive, hairy chest.
Then if they were interrupted by someone, Mustafa would either scurry away or even slap Rob lightly, then say something insulting in Turkish. In this country, it was considered acceptable for a boss or coach to be cruel and even mildly abusive, so nobody was surprised to see Mustafa bullying Rob.
When Rob told him that his trip was almost done and that Rob would be leaving Turkey soon, Mustafa was sad. He smiled at Rob and said, in broken English, “I will be missing your mouth. It is very nice for me.”
“I’ll be missing your… Well, your everything,” Rob said. He blushed.
Mustafa stood up. “You come to field tonight. Goodbye present.” Then he walked away.
Rob was glad to see he had made a friend of sorts, then went back to his hotel to pack. He never ended up using most of what he brought because he spent all his time worshiping Mustafa’s body.
When the time came, he made his way back to the Turkish oil wrestling field. He was surprised to see a half-dozen wrestlers already there, wearing their kisbets. They weren’t greased up yet, however.
Mustafa held out the oil pourer for him, and Rob took it as he approached. Mustafa grinned and handed him a kisbet. “This for you. Since you are new, you are having to put oil on men. It is rule for rookies. I know you will like.” He gestured towards the other wrestlers, all of whom were big and hairy like Mustafa. “Then we all wrestle. You lose, you lick ass. Yes?”
Rob was already rock-hard and he couldn’t quite concentrate enough to say yes, but Mustafa seemed to understand what he wanted to say. Rob hurriedly put the kisbet on and poured some oil into his hands.
He gripped Mustafa’s hairy body and began massaging the oil in. The other wrestlers milled about, talking and leering at Rob — normally Turkish oil wrestlers greased their opponent up, that was tradition, but it seemed they also made the new guy do it when they had a rookie. So the more experienced wrestlers spoke to Rob in Turkish but in a way that suggested they were being intimidating, no doubt telling Rob how badly he would lose.
Of course Rob was desperate to lose. He had no real chance of winning anyway, but he certainly didn’t want to. slurping all these Turkish studs’s asses? He couldn’t think of a better way to end his trip.
When Mustafa was done, Rob moved onto rubbing oil into the skin of the the next man, Kaan Gözübüyük. He was taller and leaner than Mustafa, but he was just as hairy. The thick black curly hairs extended up from his ass and down from his shoulder, stretching to almost, but not quite, meet in the middle. He had a fat face — he wasn’t fat, but he had a big face with a wide nose, wide mouth, wide chin, his face just went on forever.
The man after him was burly and paunchy, Cenk Dal, who was maybe the strongest there. He had biceps the size of Rob’s torso and a thick scar that ran over his back. The scar was the only part of his back that had no hair growing on it, and indeed, his whole body was just as hairy from head to toe. Rob had to fight back the urge to lick the scar from ass to shoulder.
Then came a young man, Ömer Pamuk, easily the youngest of the seven Turks there. He was handsome and charming, and he seemed distinctly uncomfortable at being touched by a man. He also appeared to shave his chest and back, but his lower neck was untrimmed, so the hair extended well into his back.
Then the wrestling began. This was an informal match, so they simply paired off and began. Mustafa acted as a coach, yelling encouragement (or so Rob assumed) in Turkish. The big men Cenk and Kaan fought; that left the young man, Ömer, who was about Rob’s size, so they were a good match.
Rob was knocked flat-footed when Ömer came at him, and he barely managed to stay upright. He couldn’t quite grip Ömer’s body, which was lean and toned, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. He had no grip due to the greasy olive oil.
Ömer’s hands were in Rob’s pants and holding onto the kisbet, but Rob managed to separate from him. He plunged his own hands down Ömer’s pants and grunted in shock when his hand gripped Ömer’s long, thick cock. Ömer didn’t seem to notice, as his hands clutched Rob’s asscheeks.
Then it was all over. As suddenly as it began, Ömer had Rob pinned. He couldn’t move a muscle, all he could do was submit until Mustafa declared the match over.
That was it. The three winners (Ömer, Kaan and Cenk) congratulated each other as they all hurried to the stone dugout on the edge of the field. They were chanting at Rob, no doubt telling him to perform his loserly duty.
Mustafa spoke in clipped English. “They think you bet ass-slurping. I tell them you thought American cowboy can win any sport.”
As soon as they got into the dugout, they dropped their kisbets to reveal bare asses and densely hairy holes. They catcalled back to Rob, who pretended to be embarrassed and disgusted. He heard a few words that sounded like “American”, so he thought these men liked the idea of humiliating an American. He even heard something that sounded like yank, though he had no idea if that was really what they said.
He had lost to Ömer, so Rob kneeled behind him first. Ömer had the smoothest ass as well, so it would make sense if he were straight to start there. He made a loud sound that he hoped came across as disgusted, but luckily they were all facing away — they seemed to think it was too disgusting to watch.
As soon as his tongue hit Ömer’s asshole, Ömer jerked and exclaimed something that made the others laugh. Rob jabbed his tongue in and felt around. The olive oil was fruity and sweet, mixed with the acrid and bitter flavor of Ömer’s ass-sweat.
His hands reached around to Ömer’s dick, which was already rock-hard. It throbbed between his fingers and instantly leaked precum. Ömer must have really been enjoying the rimjob, Rob thought.
The feeling of submission to alpha male domination flooded Rob — this was precisely what he had been hoping to find in Turkey. He felt like his tongue was plunging straight into a grimy whirlpool of manhood, and he could feel its juices dripping down his throat.
Ömer jumped around without warning and slammed his dick into Rob’s mouth. He only barely made it before shooting a puddle of cum down Rob’s gullet. He laughed as he did so, embarrassed at having cum so soon.
The brothers were next. They were moderately hairy and had nice bubble-butts, and Rob worshiped all four orbs with his tongue before plunging inside. He tasted first one grimy hole, then the other — they were lined up ass-to-ass so Rob could go quickly from one to the other, while he used each hand on one cock.
He was so intent on licking them both that he almost didn’t notice Mustafa getting behind him. He said something in Turkish that Rob suspected meant I’m gonna make you my prison-punk, or something along those lines, and it made the other men say something surprised. They all had a brief conversation about it, but Mustafa didn’t slow down at all.
His dick pushed into Rob’s ass, and he relentlessly kept going — the oil was as effective a lube as he was willing to use, it seemed, and Rob was glad to have a little pain. He always enjoyed that.
The brothers turned around at once and both pushed their dicks into Rob’s mouth. It didn’t seem anyone saw it as weird for them to be jousting like that.
They both came nearly at once, shooting a thick and creamy loud that Rob held in his mouth for a minute. He savored the flavor and the hotness, then let it slide down his throat.
Kaan and Cenk were next, the two biggest guys here, both covered in fur. Rob reached up and caressed their hairy backs as he made love to each asshole in turn with his tongue. They both grunted like pigs every time Rob’s tongue reached their spongy prostates. Meanwhile Mustafa plowed into Rob’s relentlessly, uncaring of how it made Rob feel. Rob exclaimed in pain but it just made Mustafa laugh and gyrate harder with each passing thrust.
That continued for what felt like hours, Rob ripped open from behind by Mustafa’s massive cock, his tongue darting between the sweathair-choked asses of Kaan and Cenk. The handsome young one Ömer backed off when it got serious like that, but he had already cum, so Rob did not miss him. He slathered the other two’s ass cracks in spit, and his hands snaked around their bodies to the body hair jungles of their crotches. He stroked their hardons the best he could with Mustafa ramming him up behind like an elephant.
“Oh god, stick it in me, Mustafa!” Rob cried out. Mustafa seemed too engrossed in his own pleasures to pay attention to Rob’s words., or maybe he had forgotten English, but in any case, he gave no sign of hearing Rob’s demand. He kept at it regardless, and each thrust of his dick caused a ripple of his muscles and a jolt of both pleasure and pain to strike up Rob’s sppine.
“I am to cum,” Kaan murmured, barely audible over Mustafa’s bestial panting. He took Rob’s head out of Cenk’s ass so he could turn around plow his cock down Rob’s throat. Rob gagged uncontrollably, but that only made the others cheer and smack his tender ass. Cenk stroked himself off and reached orgasm along with Kaan.
They both filled up Rob’s mouth with their creamy seed, and sneered down at him with disgust in their eyes. Rob swallowed every drop and showed them his empty mouth. Most of it spilled out over onto his face. He frotted both dicks together as they limpened and he slurped on the cocktips that whole time, his body rocking back and forth with the power of Mustafa’s rams.
At last Mustafa picked Rob up and dragged his body up and down on his shaft, so Mustafa stood still and Rob was forced up and down on his shaft like some cheap fleshlight. Mustafa’s shaft throbbed in his intestines until he finally reached orgasm.
Hot cum sprayed to every inch of Rob’s body, coating his intestines. Some of it dripped down Rob’s thigh, making a hot, stinking mess on the floor. Jet after jet of it filled him up, more than Mustafa had shot up til now. Rob felt it seeping into his flesh, and he moaned out loud, as he finally shot his own wad onto the floor as well.
A great surge of relief wracked his body when Mustafa removed his cock at last. Mustafa snorted. Rob moaned. Rob lay sprawled-out on the floor. When he moved his body, it reawakened his climax and sent a twinge of both pain and ecstasy through his body once more. His ass ached. He cried out, and he lay still there, exulting in the aftershocks of his orgasm.
The men quickly walked away, leaving Rob there on the floor in a puddle of fluids and bliss. Mustafa was last, and as he left, he said, “You hire again. More lessons. Much to learn.”
Avery is working the front desk at the legendary Night Along motel when the hardcore pimp Darkie comes by, willing to give Avery a taste of his magnificent manhood. Can Avery service his needs well enough to earn the hard-fought approval of the utter alpha pimp Darkie?!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Rob is surprised to find a traditional lutte wrestler from Senegal on his door… in Richmond, Virginia! He gets to host the legendary Ousmane Salimpé, who just might give Rob a ride on his magnificent wrestler meat! Can Rob handle it?
Read the whole thing here!
The annual Lutte Traditionelle World Championship was held in a different city on a different continent every other year — those were the “international” years. In the non-international years, it was held in West Africa, where lutte-style wrestling was most popular. But the Lutte Traditionelle League had grown popular around the world in the last decade or so, and there were plenty of fans in America.
There were even non-African contestants. A white Italian man had won two years ago, when the championship was in Sapporo, Japan. It was the first time a white person had won.
This year, it was in Richmond, Virginia, so Rob planned on seeing every match he could. He even signed up as a volunteer to help out wherever they needed him.
As the months counted down, the arena was renovated for lutte wrestling, and the big hotel downtown redecorated itself with West African and Islamic materials. Wealthy Africans filled the streets of Richmond. The city looked unlike Rob had ever seen it before.
A lot of people thought the tournament might not happen, that it might be yet another great international project stymied by war and discord. Senegal ran it, and, by tradition and according to the league’s charter, the president of Senegal also presided over the tournament. The president had been assassinated in March. A brief military coup took over the country, and nobody recognized the general as the new president. Then Amadou Dellimaollio declared himself president for life, was promptly assassinated, then was replaced by Pierre Rampeau.
No country recognized Rampeau as the president of Senegal either, so the US refused him a visa. The international lutte league’s bylaws forbade the championship from proceeding unless the Senegalese leader presided over it.
So a slow-motion international incident seemed likely. The tournament was set up, paid for and imminent but couldn’t begin without Pierre Rampeau. The US State Department wouldn’t give him a visa, nor would they allow most of his cronies and security personnel to come to the country.
The day before the opening ceremonies, Rob was certain it wouldn’t go off. Thousands of people had already come to Richmond, but no one was certain if any wrestling would happen. Multiple nations were sending military advisors. The Russians had gotten involved, which meant the Americans had to be involved, which meant the Chinese needed to insert themselves, which got the EU acting as observers, which prompted the Arab Lague to send international monitors, and then the Indians were mad they didn’t have a reason to meddle, and if the Indians meddle in something, the Pakistanis wanted to meddle even harder. It was turning into an international kerfluffle, exacerbated by the sporting world’s eyes being upon the city of Richmond, where the biggest event of the year could not technically begin until Pierre Rampeau was brought out of Senegal alive.
Rob got a call from a woman who identified herself as the “international affairs attaché for something”. The “something” was a long blur of French words that didn’t mean anything to Rob. He thought he did pretty well at recognizing “international affairs attaché”.
“You signed up to help out wrestlers in need,” she said, in her low slurry French-African accent. “So we have done to assign you Moussa Salimpée. He will need a home to stay in for at least one week. Une semaine.”
“I’m sorry?” Rob got the gist of what she was saying, but he didn’t understand her words.
Then a couple things happened at once. She said something on the phone that sounded like French — it was English, technically, but not very good English and it included several Senegalese place-names and personal names that Rob didn’t know — at the same time that someone knocked on his apartment door, and his phone beeped to indicate another phone call. Whoever knocked on the door spoke, not to him, but to whoever else was there. That person, the one who responded, had a voice so deep it boomed and echoed like a distant thunderclap.
“Uh, I, uh… Hang on a second, okay?” Rob said into the phone.
His mind raced. What was the French lady on the phone saying? Who was calling at the same time? That was probably spam, he decided, so he didn’t answer the second call. He asked the French lady to wait a moment, having no idea she had already hung up, and he opened the door.
A nicely-suited middle-aged white man stood there, flanked by a giant black man. He was Moussa Salimpée, and he was well over seven feet tall, so his head reached above the doorframe. His shoulders were broader than the threshold. His skin was black as coal in a dark room and perfectly smooth and unblemished. Rob could tell that because Moussa wore only the plain black cloth — sort of a fancy loincloth — that lutte wrestlers wore during matches.
What the fuck is going on?!
“Good afternoon,” said the white man. Moussa showed no reaction. Rob’s phone rang again. He glanced at the screen — it was a number he didn’t recognize, and it had too many digits. The white man said, “This is Moussa Salimpée.” He had an odd accent that Rob couldn’t place. Maybe German?
“Uh-huh. Hello,” Rob said. Now he was getting two phone calls from numbers he didn’t recognize, both of them having too many digits.
Are those international calls? Rob furrowed his brow at the white man.
“Did my colleague Agathe call you and explain? Please keep this over your hat,” said the man, whose English was very good though clipped and obviously not quite right — it took Rob a few seconds to realize he meant “under your hat”.
“Uh… hello?” Rob looked at his phone. More phone calls with too many digits were coming in. He had accrued nine voice mails in the last few minutes, and now text messages were coming in too fast for him to see them. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Henri Velafleur,” he said. He handed Rob a business card, which indicated he was with the Belgian delegation to the UN. Then he shook Rob’s hand and walked away, leaving the half-naked Senegalese giant at the doorway.
“Uh…” Rob looked again at his phone. It was going crazy. He had four missed calls and nineteen text messages, at least some of which were in French, and it was buzzing again with another one. The giant African man lowered his head to come into the apartment. He had a confident stride, and he pushed past Rob. His coconut-scented flesh made Rob’s hair stand on end, and his cock twitched in his pants at the sight of the African man’s asscheeks mostly bared by his loincloth. His powerful muscles flexed as though it took all of his strength just to come in.
“Je veux manger,” the African man, Moussa Salimpé, said. His voice was so deep it rattled Rob’s bones. Rob had taken French in high school, but he remembered little, and the constant phone calls were distracting him.
“The UN?” Rob was having trouble processing this. He held the white man’s card in his hand, though the white man had left. Rob shut the door. “You’re with the United Nations?”
Moussa spoke in well-practiced but awkward English. “No. I am Senegalese.” He went into the kitchen then and opened the refrigerator. He found a baggie of lunchmeat and sniffed it. “Is it pork?”
“Uh… no. That’s turkey,” Rob said. He got a text message in some African language, so he showed it to Moussa. “Is that for you?”
Moussa read it as he shoveled turkey into his mouth. “It is a death threat.”
“Aimed at me?!” Rob’s eyes opened wide. “What the fuck-?!”
“No. Me. Do not worry, they don’t know where you live,” said Moussa. “My coach is telling you to tell me about the death threats. He is telling you to be careful, but he will not…” He thought for a long time. “Give me up to the bad muvvuhfugging nigguss, yes?” His eyes twinkled — that was from a recent Hollywood movie that Rob was too confused to recall right now. “They are Monté ven Diaolu men. They are all talk and no hat.” A big proud smile dawned on his face. He made a dismissive hissing sound and waved away from himself. “No worrying to do in paradise.”
“Why are you here?!” Rob asked. It was suddenly dawning on him that he had a muscular giant in his apartment, and he blushed with desire, his dick throbbing in his pants. Rob greatly appreciated the male physique, of which Moussa’s was admirable and copious. He had physique for days. It was just hard to appreciate when Rob’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
What am I supposed to do with him anyway? Where, aside from Senegal, did he come from?
“Did not Agathe explain?”
“Uh… I didn’t quite catch all the details,” Rob said. He was only now piecing together that ‘Agathe’ was the French woman who had called him.
Moussa frowned and put down the now-empty bag of turkey. “C’était bon turkey,” he said. “I have defected. I must remain hidden until the tournament is complete. Your US State Department will come for me next week.”
“Next week? You defected?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know what that means. Defected from what?”
“My country. Senegal,” he said with a French or presumably Senegalese accent. Rob watched lutte wrestling for the men, not the culture. Now he wished he had paid attention during all those informative interstitials during the matches.
“They did tell me that you signed up to help,” he said. He opened the fridge again. “Is this pork?” He held up some leftover pasta with bacon in it.
“Yeah, that has pork,” Rob said. “Ooooooh… I-” He grew annoyed at the phone calls, so he picked it up to answer. “Hello?!”
Somebody spoke in French.
“I don’t know what you’re saying! Stop calling me! Je viens a l’école en bus!” It was the only French Rob could recall. He hung up the phone, slammed it down, then picked it up again and furiously switched it to plane mode.
Finally, he had silence.
Moussa had found a bunch of celery in the refrigerator, and he brought it to the couch in the living room — literally, it was an entire bundle of celery that Rob had bought yesterday and not yet used any of. Moussa broke off one stalk and began munching on it, his giant mouth devouring almost half the stalk at once.
“Je me fais une femme,” Moussa said. His mostly naked body spread out on the couch. His biceps were thick and firm like cords of wood, and his broad shoulders had curves that beckoned to Rob. “Do you know any women who are discrete? Not Muslim.”
“You, uh… want a non-Muslim woman?”
“I must have a woman tonight,” he said with a scowl. Moussa was intensely annoyed that he couldn’t wrestle in this tournament. There’d be too many Senegalese around, some of them no doubt loyal to one of the previous administrations in Senegal. Any of them would be glad to assassinate Moussa, so he wasn’t going to wrestle. He’d wanted to defect after the tournament, but when he contacted the State Department in the US, they’d said they could only ensure his safety if he defected before. That was why he’d put on his loincloth to wrestle in a day-before scrimmage — a sort of a rehearsal to get warmed up and to check the lights and sound. Nobody expected him to scupper before the tournament began.
And now they were searching for him. Only the US government and the United Nations knew where he was (and Rob), so that was who kept calling Rob — every intelligence agency in the West wanted to know what Moussa had to say, as he was a national champion wrestler who knew all the recent coup leaders, military generals and presidential advisors. He’d won a gold medal in the last Olympics and was well-connected in recent governments and well-known in the country.
But Moussa just wanted to get through this part of the defection so he could get back to wrestling. He had a sinking feeling that it would never be safe to wrestle again, at least not in a lutte leage, and that he would always be seen as a traitor by a significant portion of Senegalese people.
For now, he was just eager to find une femme for the night. Back in Senegal, his coach would bring him a girlfriend every night. He would never despoil a Muslim woman, which he thought wouldn’t be difficult in the US. They were not Muslim here, and their women were loose and slutty. Nearly all of them were prostitutes, Moussa had gathered from the movies he watched and the hip hop he listened to.
That was a disgusting way for a civilization to live, he thought, but he was going to take advantage of it while he was here.
“I, uh… don’t really know many women,” Rob said. A little French was beginning to come back to him. “Je ne connais pas les femmes,” he said with a proud grin.
That did not compute to Moussa. How could the small white man not know any women whores? They were on every street corner here. He had passed thirty scantily clad women in the darkly-tinted car that brought him here.
He turned the TV on. It was on the cooking network, so he watched that — Moussa was eager to eat American food and became engrossed in the panoply of meals he saw onscreen, and after a few seconds, Bobby Flay left the screen, replaced by a beautiful white woman who made Moussa’s eyes open wide.
Before he knew it, his hands were on the bulge in his loincloth. He didn’t jack off, he only touched his dick, which throbbed beneath his fingertips. His biceps kept flexing as though he was using his muscles, but he just touched his dick through the fabric of his loincloth.
“Want me to help with that?” Rob asked, blushing.
Moussa nodded without tearing his eyes away from the screen. Rob’s hands rubbed his dick through the loincloth. His seven-foot-five body took up the entire couch, and his legs were splayed out in front of him. One of Rob’s hands reached down those powerful thighs like steel girders, and Rob kissed Moussa on the nipple. His volleyball-sized pec jerked and twitched beneath Rob’s tongue.
Then Rob untied the loincloth, which bared a giant black cock as dark as night. He stroked it with one hand. It was already at full erection, as Moussa leaned back on the couch and put his hands behind his head like he expected to be serviced.
That was exactly what Rob did. He bent over and put Moussa’s cocktip in his mouth, and he worked up tons of spit that ran down his shaft in rivulets. The taste of Moussa’s manhood was savory, bright and sunny, salty with sweat from the wrestling scrimmage he had done before slipping off into the Richmond streets.
Rob throated Moussa’s cock up and down, as Moussa moaned in pleasure. He writhed, finally grabbing Rob by the head and guiding it up and down.
“Hmmm, oui, oui, more plus deep,” Moussa said. He pushed Rob’s head down his shaft. He didn’t let on even when his foot-long cock hit the back of Rob’s throat. Rob choked but stretched his mouth open. His lips writhed, then wrapped around Moussa’s throbbing shaft.
A moist gurgling sound came from Rob’s mouth. He didn’t try to pull off, though his lungs cried out for oxygen. His hand massaged Moussa’s pecs the best he could reach — the giant’s chest was so big that Rob could barely reach his nipples with his head at his crotch.
His other hand cupped and gently massaged Moussa’s heavy, pendulous balls, as he slathered spit along the length of Moussa’s shaft. His veins pulsated on Rob’s tongue.
“Hmmm…” Moussa moaned again. He pulled Rob’s head off his cock and, much to Rob’s surprise, he dragged him to his head and kissed him right on the lips. Moussa tasted his own precum. His tongue rammed into Rob’s mouth, and he wrapped Rob up his giant arms.
“Oh god…” Rob whimpered. His own cock now rubbed on Moussa’s flat belly. He was used to the men he messed with not wanting to touch his cock, so he tried to lift his body off Moussa’s ripped torso. But Moussa had one arm draped over Rob to keep him in place, and that allowed Rob to stay where he was, his dick rubbing against Moussa’s stomach and in the valley between his pecs. Moussa kissed him deeply.
Was he kissing because he liked kissing men? Or because he thought Rob wanted it? Or was he pretending Rob was a woman? Rob wasn’t sure which, but when a burst of pre-orgasmic pleasure overwhelmed him, he ensured his moan sounded feminine. That must have been the right move because Moussa grunted with desire too, a great baritone booming grunt, and one of his sausagey fingers slipped into Rob’s asshole.
“Will you szit on my couawkck?” he asked, breathless, slathering moist kisses on Rob’s cheek. His finger gently slid in and out of Rob’s ass, sending little electric tingling shocks of desire through Rob’s body. The finger was huge, like one of those fat hot dogs. It was longer and thicker than some men’s penises.
Rob nodded. “Please, please, stick it in me.” Rob’s voice was plaintive and begging, as the finger in his ass opened him up. He sucked up all the sweat and his own precum on Moussa’s chest, neck, chin and then again kissed him on the lips. His dick was slick with fluids now, as he continued humping Moussa’s smooth, mountainous body.
“Arrêter-vous-” Moussa stopped and frowning, one arm hugging Rob tightly to him. “Are you a slave?”
“No,” Rob said.
“Good.” Moussa grunted. Unlike many of his compatriots, he believed it was wrong to ram a slave in the butthole. He didn’t understand why any man would allow that, much less desire it like this small white man, but Moussa didn’t let his confusion bother him. Many white men paid for him to “ramrod” them, as the rappers say.
As long as Rob wanted it, Moussa would be glad to plow him open. As far as he was concerned, all that mattered was whose cock went in and whose hole was penetrated.
He lifted Rob with his great big hands and sat Rob onto his cock, which stretched Rob’s tight hole wide open. Rob sucked in his breath and relaxed his ass the best he could. A burst of pain hit him, but it was followed by a long slow-melting, building pleasure that made his whole body relax and tense in time with the thrusts of Moussa’s powerful cock into his ass.
Moussa’s cock slid in and out. Rob sat on his lap, sliding up and down at the same time, a little deeper with each move of his up body on Moussa’s shaft. Moussa’s hands roamed over Rob’s smooth pale chest.
A jolt of ecstasy struck Rob, who tightened his body and stopped moving. He gasped. That must have triggered something in his ass that got Moussa going at the same time, because Moussa cried out and said something in Wolof or perhaps French, Rob couldn’t tell. Moussa’s giant hands gripped Rob by the smoothness of his back, and he caressed Rob’s spine briefly before letting go.
Then Rob resumed shift his weight up and down Moussa’s dickshaft, while Rob’s own cock jabbed up and down. It was rock-hard, leaking precum, but Rob’s ass was too sensitive, spasming with pleasure for him to jack himself off. It felt too good to mvoe his hands in a coordinated way. Pangs of vivid pleasure popped off all over Rob’s body.
But Moussa wrapped one of his giant hands around Rob’s dick, and he stroked it up and down.
Rob orgasmed while emitting a series of pants. He thought Moussa would stop jacking him off, so Rob readied to grab his own cock, but Moussa didn’t slow down at all. He kept stroking Rob’s dick even as a long jet of cum sprayed from his cocktip onto Moussa’s powerful chest.
Then another cumwad reached his chin and lower lip, and still Moussa jacked Rob off, as though he either didn’t notice or didn’t care that Rob was cumming on his chest. That must be an African thing, Rob thought with a chest-rattling moan of exquisite pleasure. Most American men wouldn’t even cornhole him in this position because they didn’t want to see his dick, but Moussa obviously didn’t mind. Rob spurted a vast sheen of creamy white jizz that contrasted with the ebony muscles of Moussa’s chest and dribbled around his pecs to his ribcage. Moussa moaned too — Rob’s orgasm caused his asshole to clench and tighten, so Moussa let out a wild chest-rattling moan. That left his mouth wide open for Rob’s last cumwad to spurt onto his tongue.
That wasn’t deliberate, and Rob gasped, trying to apologize despite his mouth being full of orgasmic moans. He thought Moussa might react violently to a mouthful of jizz.
But much to Rob’s shock, Moussa both laughed and gagged as he spat out cum, as though it was just a silly prank, and he shoved Rob down all the way on his cock, so his wiry pubic hair scratched at Rob’s asscheek. Rob moaned so loud it was almost a scream, thought the sound was overpowered by Moussa’s cavernous groan of orgasmic pleaure.
A huge creamy wad of cum sprayed into Rob’s ass. Since he sat on Moussa’s cock, it all leaked right out and into Moussa’s crotch and onto Rob’s couch. That made a big frothy, sticky mess. It flowed like a river into Moussa’s groin, and it stained Rob’s couch cushions.
“Oh god…”
The scent of jizz filled the air, creamy and thick like a fog cloud. Moussa wrinkled his nose at the funk of it. The smell didn’t bother Rob, whose body was wracked by mind-numbing pleasure, Moussa’s dick still spraying a vast flood of cum up into him. He kneaded the flesh of Moussa’s powerful chest muscles, now coated in Rob’s cum, as Rob’s guts were soaked in Moussa’s endless spray of cum.
It went on for what felt like forever. Rob breathed a sigh of relief when Moussa’s cock fell limp inside him, and he leaned forward to rest his body on the broad muscles of Moussa’s chest, which was still soaked in Rob’s own cum. Rob stayed there, his whole body spasming each time another jolt of pleasure wracked his petite frame. Moussa stayed motionless, stoic and placid, letting Rob finish his orgasm impaled on Moussa’s limpening dick.
When Rob gingerly lifted himself off Moussa’s lap at last, it reawakened the sensitive flesh of both’s men’s bodies. Rob clenched his teeth, sparks of agonizing pleasure erupting from his ass like fireworks. Moussa grunted. He looked sleepy now, and he let out a long, slow yawn.
“You still hungry?” Rob asked.
Moussa nodded.
“Okay. I’ll make you something else to eat,” Rob said. He wiped his ass off with a tissue, then did the same to Moussa’s sensitve shaft. He wondered how many voice mails he was receiving right now. His phone was showing notifications for sure, but Rob turned it over so he didn’t have to see the screen. “Once you’ve eaten, then maybe you’ll want to mess around again.”
Moussa nodded. “Find me a woman,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth like a barrel of bourbon. “Or I’ll do you again.” His nostrils flared, and his shoulder muscles rippled.
Rob laughed inwardly. Did Moussa think Rob was being punished? He didn’t know if that was a threat or a promise, but he was satisfied either way. He smiled at Moussa.
When Avery is robbed, he meets up with a cop with a wife and a physique Avery could… and just might worship for days! Officer Heartley is a bull-headed macho cop who needs to get a little relief, and Avery is all too happy to help out!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Avery was furious about his hotel room being robbed. It was only eighty dollars, but still — having security to prevent this sort of thing was exactly why Avery was loyal to the chain. He had explained this to the manager in no uncertain terms, and he had gotten a refund as well as a free day in the room. That was worth more than what he had lost.
There was nothing to do now, however, but wait and pace. The police were on their way, supposedly. Avery knew the police wouldn’t do anything for eighty dollars, but he wanted to make his statement. This was an annoying distraction when he was trying to be more productive in his life. He wanted to hurry up and file his complaint so he could get back to work.
When the cops arrived, however, Avery was at a loss for words. His blood ran hot and his cock twitched in his pants, his annoyance at the robbery having vanished. One of the officers was a skinny young woman, but the other was a sturdy older man. He was Officer Malcolm Heartley, and he had a square jaw like a superhero.
“Sorry to hear about ya troubles, sir,” Officer Heartley said with the most delightfully full-bodied voice, all baritone echoes emanating from beneath his scruffy throat, a somewhat awkward tremble to it — he was one of those delightfully strong men who weren’t swaggerous and cocky. Avery thought a note of unconfidence made him even more handsome. “So you sure there ain’t nothin’ else missin’?”
“Yeah, that’s it, thanks,” Avery said. He blushed a little because he could feel Officer Heartley looking at him. He wished he could come up with a reason to make Officer Heartley stay.
“Alright, thank you for callin’ it in,” Officer Heartley said. Avery could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t think they would find the money. The woman cop said they would keep looking for the culprit, but Avery didn’t find her very convincing. It was only eighty dollars, after all, Avery thought, surely there were more important crimes in this city.
“Thank you for your help, officer,” Avery said. He clasped Officer Heartley’s well-muscled arm in hand. He shook the woman’s hand too, but he was so blinded by Officer Heartley’s strength and the body heat radiating off him that he shook her hand in an automaton trance.
And that was that, Avery’s distemper was gone, and the hotel-room robbery seemed like a memory from his distant past. Avery loved older men with fantastic physiques, and Officer Heartley was a perfect one. He was dark-skinned, thick and jowly, but not fat, just muscle and meat all over, you could tell he was used to home-cooked meals in a warm home. His face had a few wrinkles under the eyes, and his beard hairs were flecked with gray.
“We’ll call you if we learn anything,” said the perky blonde cop. She was hot too, beautiful really, Avery thought, but he had no interest in her. She was lost in the alluring aura emanating from Officer Heartley.
But he couldn’t stick around. The florist trade-show was over. It was time to go back home. He checked out of his room.
He sat down in the hotel lounge to work on the novel he had promised himself he’d finish a rough draft of on this trip. It took a few hours to get his focus back. He took several breaks, and drank a ton of coffee in a coffeeshop next to the hotel.
He finally got a little writing done around eight o’clock, and he went down to the hotel bar to celebrate afterwards. He was just about to sit when he realized he shouldn’t reward the hotel for letting someone steal from his room. He should go to a different bar.
He had no sooner walked outside, however, when he saw a police car pull into the parking lot. It was Officer Heartley, and he rolled down his window. “Hey, there you are. We caught the guy who had your cash, we can give it back if you come with me. You gotta fill out some forms.”
Avery got in. “Really? You caught him?”
“Yeah, I’m as surprised as you. But he hit a couple hotels in the area, apparently he hacked a swipe card that works in any of them. One of the hotels caught him on camera,” Officer Heartley said as he drove away and Avery buckled his seat-belt.
“Where’s your partner?”
“Oh, we’re off now. She’s out with her hot new boyfriend.”
“Oh, you’re off-duty?! That’s so sweet of you to come get me!” Avery said.
“Well, you know… I don’t like out-of-towners gettin’ the wrong impression ‘bout my town,” Officer Heartley said. “You single?”
“Yes I am,” Avery said. He cleared his throat. “What about you?” He made sure to speak in a slow, seductive tone. Officer Heartley had to know what that meant.
“I’m separated. My wife left me.”
“Oh you poor baby, it must have been a long time since you’ve been with a woman,” Avery said. He patted Officer Heartley’s well-muscled forearm.
He nodded.
“Well you know, I have a magical power,” Avery said. “I can make guys forget about their wives. Who’s got a mouth, an ass and a need to please? This guy!” Avery pointed to himself.
“That’s… I don’t do that, no thank you, sir,” Officer Heartley said, but with a nervous tremble to his voice. Avery could tell he wanted to do it. He was responding to Avery’s flirtatious tone. But a lot of guys did that because they liked the attention, it didn’t mean they were interested. Especially once they were married, many guys were desperate for someone to call them handsome.
“Hmm… That’s unfortunate. Tell your wife I’m going to steal every inch of her husband.”
After a long pause, Officer Heartley said, “I’m not going to tell her that.”
They pulled into the police station then. Avery went in with him, filled out the requisite paperwork and saw the skeezy-looking guy who had been caught. He was sitting there in a hallway in handcuffs. Avery didn’t know that’s who it was until Officer Heartley pointed him out.
When he had his eighty dollars back, Avery headed out to the parking lot. Officer Heartley brought him to the police car. Then he sat behind the steering wheel and didn’t say anything. It looked like he was waiting.
“Officer Heartley?” Avery wondered if he had done something wrong. “Hey, uh… are you okay? You don’t have to take me back to the hotel, I can afford a cab. Or an uber. Or I can walk, it’s like five blocks.”
“Shush…” Officer Heartley said with a desperate gulp. He opened the door for Avery to get in. “I ain’t pervy.”
A long pause ensued. Avery wanted to say fine, but he had just been shushed, so Avery didn’t say anything.
Finally Officer Heartley spoke again. “You, uh… My wife… My wife used to be so different, y’know. I don’t think I changed that much since we got married. We used to go out and she wanted to, y’know…” He glanced at Avery. “Like… she wanted to suck me off, y’know, in the bathroom.”
“What?”
He blushed. “No, I mean, she don’t have a bathroom-fetish, I just mean we’d go out somewhere and she’d wanna bang in like a closet or bathroom or something. She’d wanna suck my dick.” He paused. “But now, she just like… She don’t even wanna look at me. She got kinda fat and her hair is always a mess and she don’t shave her pussy no more, she barely even shaves her armpits, and if I mention it at all, she freaks out, but she is always calling me a fat-ass and when I fart she calls me a nasty shit.” Then he whispered hoarsely. “It makes me feel bad.”
“Oh, you poor baby…” Avery said. He patted Officer Heartley’s belly. He wasn’t fat, but he had a belly there. He looked like he probably had a six-pack back when he met his wife, so any amount of fat might have seemed like a beer-gut to her. Officer Heartley’s muscles rippled beneath his uniform shirt. “You can tell her how you feel. Tell her it hurts your feelings.”
He rolled his eyes. “I, y’know… I can’t say that.”
“You said it to me.”
“Yeah, but you’re… you know.”
“So you can tell a guy you barely know, but not your wife?”
He shrugged. “She won’t care. She’s…” He whispered again. “She’s such a bitch.”
“Do you want me to-?”
“Shush. Don’t say it,” he said. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest of his squad car. It was parked in a row of other squad cars. No one was behind them, just a solid fence with barbed-wire atop it, so they couldn’t be surprised. In the main part of the parking lot, officers currently on-duty met with their partners and sipped coffee before getting in their own squad cars and driving off.
Officer Heartley unzipped his slacks and pulled his cock out. It was big and fleshy, and Avery thought you could tell just by looking at it that no one had been treating it right in a long time. He bet Officer Heartley’s wife even got mad if he jacked off to Internet porn, so Heartley was probably in a world of frustration.
Sure enough, it twitched as soon as Avery touched it. “Oh, it’s so big! Your wife must have loved taking it in her ass when you two were just dating!” Avery smiled at the frustrated look on Officer Heartley’s face. He suspected that, if he kept bringing up anal sex, Officer Heartley would be unable to resist. “I know I couldn’t resist begging for it in my tight asshole if we dating and I was a girl. I would crave this cock all up in me. What was her pussy like?”
His dick twitched beneath Avery’s fingers. Officer Heartley moaned. “Ah, shit, man, it was velvety and smooth and… damn, I want that again. Shit…”
Avery breathed heavily, and he tried to sound as girlish as he could. Officer Heartley’s eyes were closed, his great cavernous chest heaving as he breathed and Avery stroked his dick, slowly and unctuously at first, sliding his hand up and down. He paused to spit onto his palm, which made Heartley moan again when Avery resumed stroking.
“Were you a cop when you met her?”
He shook his head. “I wanted to be. I told her that on our first date,” he said. His voice sounded croaky and tense, his eyes still scrunched shut tightly. “But I was just a painter then.”
“Oh?!” Avery snaked his other hand into Officer Heartley’s pants, from which his cock stuck out through the fly. He handled his sweaty balls.
“Shit, man, that feels so good…” Officer Heartley said. He settled back in his seat like he was ready for this to last a long time.
“I know. I think you’re really handsome in that uniform. And I bet you’d be just as handsome in anything else,” Avery said. He unbuttoned the bottom of Officer Heartley’s uniform shirt, making his undershirt-clad belly visible. He bent over and kissed his belly, blowing a raspberry as though it was a baby’s hairy belly. Officer Heartley laughed and his dick twitched in Avery’s hand. “You’re so manly, your wife is stupid if she doesn’t suck you off all the time.”
Officer Heartley glanced at him, his eyes open now. He watched his cock pulsate, a few drops of precum leaking out and lubricated Avery’s fingers. “Man… I dunno.”
“Nothin’ wrong with men makin’ each other feel good. You just close your eyes and let me make you feel good. Is it okay if I put my mouth on it, sweetie?”
He grunted and gritted his teeth as though being called sweetie turned him on. He shook his head. “Wait… I mean…” His pecs bounced beneath his shirt. “I mean…”
Avery could tell he was wavering. Avery moaned right in his ear. “Oh, sweetie… Your dick needs to get wet, I can tell. It’s so dry. Your balls are so full they’re going to burst, you poor baby.” He unbuttoned his uniform shirt the rest of the way. “What if I just put the tip in my mouth? Okay? Just the tip? I won’t do nothin’ else until you tell me it’s okay.”
His voice was breathless and jagged. “Yeah. Just the tip, okay. Okay.” He put one meaty hand on the back of Avery’s head and guided him down to his cock. Avery opened up and put his cocktip on his tongue, then slurped exuberantly. He spat up plenty of spit that ran down Officer Heartley’s shaft and soaked his crotch.
Now that he was so close to Officer Heartley’s body, he could smell his unwashed clothes — was he in trouble with his wife? Staying in a motel? Possibly, Avery thought.
“Just the tip, okay?” Officer Heartley said, his voice a low throaty rumble.
Avery made eye contact with him, but Officer Heartley immediately closed his eyes. Flopping his hard dick over his face, Avery let out a long cooing moan and called Heartley his baby again. “My sweet little baby… Ooh… Your dick tastes like candy, baby, I wanna make love to your cock.”
“Just the tip.” His voice sounded like he wanted to be firm and confident, but it came out as weak and wavery.
“‘Course, baby, just the tip,” Avery said, trying to hide his disappointment. He used one hand to stroke his shaft, while he kept his mouth on just the tip, suckling loudly, moistly. He had to cram his head in between Officer Heartley’s massive body and the steering wheel.
“Hey! Alan! You in there?”
“I’ll go see, he probably knows where it is.”
Avery heard that, but he couldn’t see because his head was in Officer Heartley’s crotch — and he didn’t even know Heartley’s first name was ‘Alan’. He assumed it was other cops getting into a patrol car. But when he heard their voices getting closer, he lifted his head.
Luckily, the sun shined into the windshield; it would have been blinding, but these patrol cars had glare-canceling windshields. It did make it impossible for anyone outside to see into the car from this angle, however, which was good because Avery saw a pair of uniformed officers some thirty feet away. If it weren’t for that glare, they would have seen Officer Heartley leaning back and then seen Avery’s head pop up from his crotch.
“Shit! Someone’s coming,” Avery said.
Officer Heartley opened his eyes, roared in frustration and jumped into action. He forced Avery’s head back down where it couldn’t be seen, his hard dick still leaking precum onto Avery’s face. He turned the engine on and rammed the car into drive.
“Shit!” Officer Heartley grunted, his voice desperate and plaintive, dick leaking precum over Avery’s cheeks. He drove to the right — which was not the way out of the parking lot, but did mean the officers would be on the driver’s side, so they wouldn’t see Avery without coming very close to the car.
“Where are you going, Alan?”
“Hey, did you see that memo from the DA? We wanted to ask if you knew about the plea forms, how does that work? Sheila said she never heard of them.”
Officer Heartley’s face was ruddy. He rolled down his window and waved as though this was normal, and nothing was wrong. “Hey guys,” he said. His mind whirred, his cocktip now back in Avery’s mouth. “Uh… Yeah… Plea forms are the same thing as those D9s. Just tell Sheila that, you need D9s.”
The other two cops exchanged glances that were both confused and enlightened — that was a helpful answer to their question, they were simply confused because Officer Heartley had a tense, pained expression on his face. But they just assumed he wasn’t feeling well, or had gotten in a fight with his soon-to-be ex-wife on the phone — perhaps, they thought, that was why he had been sitting in his car in this parking lot for a long time.
They just watched the squad car drive all the way around the parking lot, finally leaving onto Poplar Avenue and nearly going the wrong way on it until Heartley realized what he was going. He drove south into downtown.
“You still got your hotel?”
“No, I checked out,” Avery said.
He barely even noticed his hand pressing down on Avery’s head. He didn’t really intend to get deep-throated. That was an uncomfortably pervy idea to him. But he had an instinctual urge to push Avery all the way down on his shaft, plus he wanted Avery to keep his head down. So he did it without thinking about it, without even noticing until he realized Avery’s nose was in his pubic hair.
“Oh god…” Officer Heartley moaned.
His cock tasted amazing: salty and warm and musky, Avery crooned and sucked it all down. He didn’t care about his own throat crying out for oxygen and relief. He wanted to taste Officer Heartley until he had had enough and couldn’t take it anymore.
He drove to the most rundown motel in the bad part of town, a motel that was well-known as the epicenter of the city’s red light district. That was where all the hos brought their johns. Officer Heartley felt disgusted with himself going there at all for non-law-enforcement purposes, but it was where he had driven without thinking about it.
“I’ll get us a room,” he said. He took a deep breath. His cock ached. He wanted to get go at it all night like his wife used to do. He wanted to have so many orgasms it made up for the years his wife had been ignoring him.
But first, he had to awkwardly put his dick back in his uniform slacks and get out of the patrol car. It must have been obvious he had an erection, and he was pretty sure there was even a wet spot on his crotch — he was too excited and exhilarated and mind-bogglingly horny to even look down.
He raced into the front lobby and virtually tossed some cash at the dour-faced man behind the counter. “I need a room!”
“How many hours? Officer?” the man asked. He looked at Officer Heartley as though he thought he was catching him doing something wrong. He probably assumed a cop would only be here because he was getting free services from a prostitute. But Officer Heartley was too horny to stop and explain that he was just jacking off.
“Uh…” He had no idea what was normal. “Overnight.”
“You’re thirty bucks short,” the man said.
Officer Heartley cursed and scowled and handed over his credit card. That hardon wasn’t going away, it just kept throbbing painfully in his clothes.
It took forever, but finally Heartley got his key. He darted out into the parking lot again, and motioned for Avery to come to him. They scampered to the room, Officer Heartley’s pants already coming off even before he opened the door.
He dove onto the bed on his belly — which caused intense pain in his still-erect cock — then he rolled over onto his back. In seconds, his dick was out the fly and in Avery’s mouth. He let out a long, low sigh.
It took a few seconds for either of them to notice that the door was still open. Avery had barely gotten the fresh taste of precum in his mouth before he got up to slam the door shut. He returned to swallowing Heartley’s shaft.
“Oh god, yes…” Officer Heartley held onto Avery by the back of his head, fucking his throat deeply.
It was all over in seconds now. Officer Heartley’s balls crawled up in his sac, and his veiny shaft pulsated in Avery’s throat. Hot, creamy cum coated his mouth and slicked down to his belly. It was thick and warm, and it sat hotly in his stomach.
He tasted salty and sour and a bit sweet, with a strongly musky taste that Avery adored. There were flavors of steel and copper and unwashed fabric, cocoa butter and cheap deodorant. Avery guzzled down every drop, smiling at the sight of Officer Heartley writhing violently beneath him.
Then at last he pulled off, grinning at Officer Heartley’s shocked expression. “That was not just the tip,” Avery said coyly. He stroked his limp dick.
“Yeah, well… I changed my mind.” Officer Heartley groaned. “I paid for this room all night and I busted a nut in about five seconds.”
Avery giggled. “You didn’t think this was all over already, did you? I’m going to stroke your dick until it falls off. And then I’ll find another penis to attach, and I’ll stroke on that till it falls off.” He playfully groped Officer Heartley’s chest beneath his uniform shirt.
“You got spare penises?” He chuckled dryly. He was about to speak again, when there was a loud moan in the hotel room next door.
They both blushed and smiled. This motel rented rooms by the hour to prostitutes, and it seemed there was one such transaction going on right next-door. Officer Heartley sighed and stood up. The moaning from next-door was not too loud — they could only hear the man, whose deep voice was easily audible. Avery could hear a woman’s practiced heavy breathing only when he pressed his ears against the wall.
He yelped and stepped away when a woman let out a little yelp. “I said not to pull my hair,” she said. “Quit it, get off me.” There was a loud thump, it sounded like she had pushed the man off her and he fell off the bed.
“You bitch! I paid for an hour, you best believe I am getting all sixty minutes! I swear I’ll call Bernard-“
“He says no one can pull my hair, not for no amount of money, cuz my hair could fall out-“
“I wasn’t gonna pull ya hair out, you fuckin’ cunt! I just needed somethin’ to grab onto. Ya tiny-ass titties ain’t enough-“
“Oh, you’re complainin’ ‘bout my size? I thought you stuck your nipple in my pussy until I opened my eyes!”
Avery listened to the argument with wide eyes and baited breath. Should he call the police? He realized he didn’t need to just as Officer Heartley was redoing his belt and running out the door. “Stay here,” Heartley said.
Avery didn’t want to get in the way, so he followed orders. He stayed with his ear to the wall so he could hear. Both the man and Officer Heartley shouted at once, as Officer Heartley pounded on the door. Then when it was opened, there was more shouting, with the woman joining in this time.
“Shut the fuck up! You don’t know what was going on here!”
“I do know! I could hear every word-“
“Oh? What were you doing in this place? Huh?”
“Not any bit of your business, motherfucker, it was totally legal,” Officer Heartley said.
Avery poked his head out the door and was shocked to see that the man being led away in cuffs was another cop. Officer Heartley had arrested a state trooper. The woman in the hotel room glanced at Avery without noticing him.
Then Avery just sat and waited in the hotel room. He was glad to have the chance to recover. After a few minutes, he went over and talked to the prostitute. He helped her fix her hair and makeup. She said she didn’t want to file any report about the cop who had attacked her, but Avery talked her into doing it. Some other officers arrived then — Heartley had shown up at the police station, his uniform shirt still unbuttoned and askew, his hair a mess, so he had endured great ribbing and later got written up for dress code violations.
He told them about the state policeman, so others came out take a statement from the prostitute.
Finally the door opened, and Officer Heartley returned to the hotel room. He had fixed his uniform and his hair only to realize he had waited until too late — by the time he came out of the station men’s room looking like a professional, he was no longer needed. He was off-duty again. So he had gotten scrubbed up just to come back to Avery.
“Goddamn,” Officer Heartley said when he saw Avery sitting there on the bed. Avery immediately dropped to his knees and grabbed for Heartley’s crotch as though he was in desperate need for more cock. He didn’t even let him drop his pants, he just undid the fly and started slurping on it until Officer Heartley made him stop long enough to take his pants off.
“Do you wanna stick me in the ass?” Avery asked. He shook his ass towards Officer Heartley. “Please? I want to feel your cock inside me… You can ramrod me so hard, harder than your wife ever let you, I bet. I’ll never make you stop. And you can cum inside me, okay? You can drown me in cum…”
“Shit, boy, don’t talk like that, you’re gonna make me nut…” Officer Heartley closed his eyes again. He stood there, impatiently waiting as Avery took his pants off.
Then, at last, Avery got to back up on his dick. Like a lot of guys, Officer Heartley didn’t really know how to plow a man in the ass, so Avery had to take charge. Heartley just stood there by the bed while Avery lifted his ass up.
He ground his ass against Officer Heartley’s cock, letting it rub against his asshole. He clenched his hole too, making Heartley grunt and writhe. Avery reached behind himself and guided it into his ass.
“Oh, god, it’s so big!” Avery exclaimed. That was not a lie — it was big — but Avery only said it to puff up Officer Heartley’s ego. Besides that, he knew the position he wanted and it might take some effort to talk him into it. “Oh… I don’t know if I can do this,” Avery said.
“You said you could take it no matter what-“
“I didn’t know it was gonna be so big… You’re gonna ruin my ass, it’ll feel so good I never wanna do it again,” Avery said with a plaintive wail. “Hmm… Here, give me your arm.” He backed himself up farther, making Officer Heartley’s whole body shake as his dick sank deeper onto Avery’s ass. Avery took Officer Heartley’s well-muscled arm and wrapped it around himself, in a loose chokehold. That both provided more support and allowed Avery to lick and kiss every inch of Officer Heartley’s arm. “There you go, you’re so strong… I’m sure I can take your dick as long as I feel your strong arms around me, sweetie. That way I’ll know you’re keeping me safe.”
“Hmmm…” Officer Heartley grunted and bucked. His voice broke in Avery’s ear.
Avery loved getting plowed by older men like him. Officer Heartley was so handsome and macho and desperately horny. He craved affection — his wife was mean to him, and his fellow officers always gave him shit, and the civilians he interacted with almost universally hated him — so when Avery moaned and begged for more cock, that was nearly enough to make him cum all by itself.
“Oh god, get it deep in me!” Avery cried out. He wondered if there was anyone else in the motel who could hear that. That made him giggle, burying himself back on Officer Heartley’s cock.
He was all the way in now. Officer Heartley’s ex-wife had never taken it in the ass like this. She’d let him put it in her butt when they were dating, but only a few times, and only until it started to hurt — with a cock like that, it hurt right away. So he’d never had anal sex to completion, never got his entire shaft in her ass.
But Avery took it easily, with just a bit of struggle. Avery exaggerated it over and over to puff up Heartley’s ego. “It’s so big!” He even bit down on Heartley’s forearm, prompting a grunt from Officer Heartley’s lips.
Then they both went down to the bed, Avery squashed by Heartley’s massive bear-like body. Heartley finally began plowing without Avery needing to take charge. He pounded away, sticking his entire foot-long dick in, then pulling out and marveling at Avery’s asshole twinkling, begging for more.
“I’m gonna nut…” He grunted right into Avery’s ear. His wife used to like it when he said that. It was enough to trigger her orgasm, as it triggered Avery’s right now. But now she thought it was gross when he said it, or when he said anything else during sex, or anything at all about sex any other time.
Cum flowed into Avery’s ass. Even though he had already shot his wad once, he shot a huge load again — he must have had a lot built-up in his balls, Avery thought. It dripped out Avery’s ass and onto the motel mattress.
Finally he was done. Avery pulled off him. He had shot his own wad onto the mattress too, and it was now soaked.
Avery wrapped one arm around Officer Heartley’s meaty belly. “We made a big mess, and we’ve still got all night.”
Officer Heartley kissed him chastely on the cheek. “I’ll rent another room, baby. You’re worth it.”
Avery sighed and kissed each of Officer Heartley’s hairy asscheeks. “Let’s make this one filthier first.”
Jay Bone is a pimp who only lets one man cut his hair… the twinky barber Desmond, who’s also willing to service every inch of Jay bone’s body. But Jay Bone has an interesting offer on Desmond’s birthday, cuz this alpha male pimp is willing to experience a twink on top!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Desmond was glad to see Jay Bone come into his barbershop for two reasons. First of all, it had been a slow day and Desmond could use the tip — Jay Bone was a pimp, which meant he was very particular about who cut his hair. He only accepted Desmond. He was a good tipper, so Desmond was glad to cut his hair. The second reason Desmond was glad to see Jay Bone was that Jay Bone always gave Desmond a swing on his dick after his haircut. His delicious dick made Desmond’s mouth water, and Jay Bone had a powerful body brimming with muscle, along with a handsome face that made the girls come running.
Hence, he was a pimp. Desmond eagerly invited him to sit down in his barber’s chair with the same fervor all his bitches promised to please him.
Jay Bone strode in wearing his powder-blue suit with a pink tie and an azure fedora, like an old-school cabbie’s hat. He was dipping and dapping, walking to his own rhythm. He was tall and stately like a skyscraper, and he commanded attention like a white man with a clipboard. Everybody turned to look at his mug, he got a handsome face but an ugly nose, which somehow accentuated the handsomeness of his face.
Though everyone looked at him, conversation stopped when he entered and didn’t resume until he spoke. That was because he exuded authority like sweat and because he was a Crip. The Cityside Barbershop of Lawndale was not a gang-affiliated business, but it was in a Bloods neighborhood and everyone who worked there, including Desmond, was Bloods-affiliated.
Jay Bone came in all the time. It wasn’t forbidden for a Crip to come into a Bloods barbershop. But it did make all the niggas and homies in the waiting room shush their mugs and avoid looking at him. All except Desmond, in whose chair Jay Bone sat.
“How you doin’, Desmond-wit’-a-Geo? You got a new tattoo, huh, I ain’t seen that one?” Jay Bone always called Desmond Desmond-wit’-a-Geo because Desmond used to have a Chevy Geo, and he stopped to give Jay Bone a ride once. That car had been totaled in an accident two years ago, but Jay Bone was fixated on it — he was the kind of nigga who picked one fact about each person and repeated it often as though it showed that he cared about others. Of course, his inability to update that fact when it changed made him seem like he was incapable of caring about anyone other than himself.
But Desmond was willing to forgive him for all of his faults, as long as he got the chance to swing on that meat once in a while. “Yeah, I just got it a month ago-“
“You the man, Desmond, I only let you cut my hair, nigga. My hair’s too perfect to let any nigga touch it. You’s a fool if you let anyone but a sissy cut yo’ hair. Sissies and bitches, in that order, that’s who know how to cut hair,” he said. He paused thoughtfully. “And Italian men. I dunno what it is ’bout them, they can do it. You know any Italian barbers, Desmond-wit’-a-Geo?”
“No. Well, one, I think but he-” As usual, Jay Bone didn’t let Desmond get a word in. He always took over the conversation like this, asking questions without listening for an answer. He only spoke in monologues.
“Not in Baltimore, course. Them guidos is in Jersey and shit,” Jay Bone said. “We only got Pollacks here. You know about Pollacks? They’s like white people but retarded and uuuh-uuuugly!”
“Uh-huh.” Desmond just got started on the haircut, nodding along with Jay Bone. There was no point in trying to really talk to him. Conversation resumed in the rest of the shop. No one wanted to get on Jay Bone’s bad side, so everyone kept their voices lower than his.
“I got this new bitch, Desmond. You’d like her. She Spanish or some shit, half-Spanish, I think. Like Colombian. Is El Dorado a real place? She might be from El Dorado. She got a nice fat ass. Gonna get you over some time to get me off so she can see it though. She don’t suck a nigga dick worth a damn. Need a fuckin’ map and compass to find it and shit,” Jay Bone said as Desmond cut his hair and nodded along. “Got a mouth like a puppy’s water bowl. You know this nigga need more ‘an that!”
“Sounds like a doll.”
“Yeah, she got ass that don’t quit. She can learn about the blowjobs. That’s teachable. You can’t teach ass, that’s what I always say, nigga.”
“Yeah.”
“That shit is inborn, y’know. Reckon ya get that from yo’ mama. That’s prolly where sissy come from too. When yo’ mama bigger than yo’ daddy,” he said.
“My mom is tiny,” Desmond said. “She-“
“I mean big in spirit,” he said. He glowered at Desmond like he didn’t like to be contradicted.
“Oh, uh… yeah, I guess maybe.” Desmond wrinkled his nose. Jay Bone glared at him and Desmond didn’t want to antagonize him. “She got spirit.”
“Yup. That’s it,” he said as Desmond finished up the haircut. “You busy on Saturday? You can come over and jerk me off, show her how. Gonna have to be early though, she gotta work in the evening. She got a legion of johns and jimmies lookin’ to run up and down that snatch, and you know Jay Bone do provide!”
“Hmm… I’ve got, uh… not plans, exactly, uh… this weekend. It’s my birthday. Technically today, actually,” Desmond said. He was glad to have a subtle way to throw that in there because he thought Jay Bone would give him a bigger tip as a birthday present. It would be grubby to ask.
“Yo’ birthday is today?”
Desmond nodded. He took Jay Bone’s money and a satisfyingly generous tip, then smiled at him, gesturing towards the backroom. Jay Bone nodded and followed him that way. The other barbers and customers were visibly relieved that he was gone, and conversation became louder the moment the door to the backroom shut.
“Happy birthday, nigga.”
“Thanks.”
The back of the Cityside Barbershop was a dusty old storage area, with an office at the far end, next to the door leading to the alley behind the building. The owner — Johnny Cee — strictly forbade anyone from using the office when he wasn’t there, and he had told Desmond on numerous occasions not to use it to jerk niggas off.
But that was where Jay Bone went. That was where he always went. He knew Johnny Cee didn’t want him there, which was precisely why he did it. Johnny Cee didn’t get mad, and he didn’t blame Desmond for it. He knew nobody could tell Jay Bone no.
Not that Desmond wanted to tell him no. As Jay Bone pushed a stack of papers off the sturdy table in one corner of the room, Desmond admired the twisting of his muscles beneath that powder-blue suit. He had a big, broad body with a square jaw and rippling flesh, like a Hollywood-Hercules but dressed like a colorful pimp. When the table was clear he sighed as though having second thoughts about this.
Desmond sunk to his knees. “Is somethin’ wrong, sugar? Lemme show you what’s right…”
“Just thinkin’ some thoughts, lil queer,” Jay Bone said. Then he grunted and frowned at Desmond. “Gonna give you a birthday present, Desmond. You gonna enjoy, cuz of course you will. You game?”
“Uh… for what?” Desmond wondered if he was going to give weed, which Desmond would enjoy, or maybe cocaine, which Desmond would also enjoy but wished he wouldn’t offer. Desmond knew he wouldn’t turn it down though.
It was his birthday weekend, after all.
“Seven minutes, nigga. You get seven minutes in heaven, got it? That’s my birthday present to you. That’s seven birthday presents, really. You keep yo’ mouth shut about dis. You tell people you jerked me off,” he said. He took a deep breath. “But you can have yo’ way wit’ me fo’ seven minutes. I ain’t nevuh been wit’ a nigga… y’know, like that. I ain’t nevuh take dick in the ass. I gave a nigga head once in the joint. Nasty. Don’t tell no one that neither, or I’ll shove yo’ dick down yo’ throat. You gonna love this! Jay Bone got a killer body, all over, dick, ass, balls, shit, his toes is worth a million bucks apiece. Know dat!”
“Wait, so…?”
He scowled and furrowed his eyebrows. “You got seven minutes. You can make me do anything you want fo’ seven minutes. You can plow my ass, make me swallow yo’ dick, whatever you want. Jay Bone is a full-service kinda nigga, y’know. I would give you seven minutes wit’ one of my bitches, but I know you wouldn’t know what to do wit’ ’em,” he said. “My bitches needta be treated propuh! Proper as pandas!” He took out his cell phone and set up the timer.
“Ain’t you gonna take off your clothes?”
“Nah, nigga. That’s part of yo’ seven minutes,” Jay Bone said with a mean grin.
His mind raced. Desmond hurriedly took off his own clothes before Jay Bone was ready with the timer. He blushed, certain he looked like a drooling idiot. But he was glad to have the chance to plow Jay Bone — there was no way anyone would ever believe him anyway, so Desmond had intention of telling anyone.
“Yo’ time starts… now,” Jay Bone said. He put his phone down. This was all happening so fast that Desmond had trouble adjusting. He had a feeling that was part of Jay Bone’s plan — by flummoxing Desmond, he could still give this “present” without giving Desmond the chance to take full advantage of it like he might be able to if he had known this was going to happen.
“Uh… okay, you gotta get down on yo’ knees,” Desmond said, his voice wavering. He wasn’t used to telling alpha males what to do, and this situation felt especially awkward because Jay Bone was more than a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than Desmond. Every fiber of Desmond’s being told him to get down on his knees instead. He was the thin twink, so that’s the position he felt he was “supposed” to be in. Topping Jay Bone felt like a transgression, Desmond thought, whose nervous voice repeated his request, “Get down on yo’ knees, nigga.”
Jay Bone did so. Even on his knees he was much to tall to jerk Desmond’s dick. He had to stoop down even lower than that. He inhaled deeply of Desmond’s dick as though he enjoyed the scent, though when he looked back he wrinkled his nose.
“You smell like coconut, nigga,” he said, over-enunciating like he either hated coconut or loved it. Before Desmond could ask which, pangs of pleasure shot up his body as Jay Bone swallowed his dick. His mouth encircled Desmond’s shaft.
He didn’t do this like someone who had only ever done it once, in prison, Desmond thought. He wasn’t about to say that though, that was a sure way to raise Jay Bone’s massive ire.
The sensation wracking his body was incredible, made all the more intense by the awkwardity of the situation — Jay Bone’s fumbling tongue, his hesitant movements, his scratchy scruffy chin rubbing against Desmond’s flesh. Desmond rumbled and moaned so loud it was audible in the frontroom of the barbershop.
“Yo, Desmond havin’ a good time! Jay Bone must be feedin’ him all kind of birthday meat!”
“Nigga frontin’-!”
“Sit’cha ass down!”
“Jay Bone doin’ it right, Desmond?!”
They wouldn’t be teasing Jay Bone if there was some chance Jay Bone recognized their voices. The men in the front room laughed in a mixture of bravado and anxiety. Though most of them let Desmond jerk them off from time to time, they all tried to keep it more discrete than Jay Bone did. None of them would ever even think about jerking Desmond off instead.
But Jay Bone was doing it, and he wasn’t even hesitant or reluctant. He did it like he knew what he was doing and enjoyed it. He deep-throated Desmond to the root, and he snuck his tongue out to lick Desmond’s shaft, making Desmond shift his weight between his feet and suck on his breath.
“Goddamn, Jay Bone… Holy fuck… who taught you how to do this?” Desmond’s hands clutched Jay Bone’s head, upon which was still balanced his blue fedora. It was much darker than his suit, and Desmond worried he would leave fingerpints on it — no doubt resulting in Jay Bone admonishing him and making him pay to have it drycleaned — so Desmond let go of it right away.
Spit dripped in great gobs down Desmond’s shaft. Jay Bone’s mouth was loud and moist, exactly the way Desmond loved it. He bucked his hips to help Jay Bone swallow every inch of his meat, snaking his dick down Jay Bone’s tight throat.
Desmond was deeply aware of the time ticking away. He saw the timer on Jay Bone’s cell phone display, sitting on the desk in the center of the office. Desmond reached down to undo Jay Bone’s pink tie and take his jacket off.
It was awkward, to say the least. Jay Bone made no effort to make it easy for Desmond, though he didn’t go out of his way to make it difficult. Desmond’s fingers fumbled as he strained to reach Jay Bone’s shirt-buttons, but he eventually managed to get it unbuttoned and off.
Then he shuddered. His knees went weak. His hard cock spasmed, and for the first time, Jay Bone let out an intense moan, making a sound for the first time. It wasn’t clear if it was a moan of disgust or delight now that he tasted precum. It was hot and creamy, and Desmond felt it spewing out into Jay Bone’s mouth.
The precum flowed down his throat. Desmond had never felt himself emit so much, but this was such an awe-inspiring situation that he couldn’t stop himself. The precum was voluminous and thick, and it coated Jay Bone’s tongue.
Desmond gasped and threw his head back. His mind said to move on to anal. He only had five and a half minutes left — had it really only been a minute and a half? But it was tough to tear his cock away from such unimaginable bliss inside Jay Bone’s mouth.
“Okay, uh, take off your pants,” Desmond said. His voice sounded impossibly weak and tinny in the cramped office. Jay Bone sighed and growled. Desmond felt a surge of fear as Jay Bone pulled off and stood, like he might be about to attack Desmond. “I mean… if you want to…”
“It’s yo’ birthday, nigga. I do whatevuh you want,” he said with a grin. “I wanna see why my bitches complain so much about gettin’ stuck in the ass. You got a big dick?”
“Uh… It’s pretty big,” Desmond said. He blushed.
Jay Bone knelt against the table, but again, he was much too tall for that to work. Desmond chuckled and smacked his cheeks to tell him to get down lower. “You’re bending over like I do,” Desmond said. “But I’m shorter than you. We can’t just reverse positions and expect that to work.”
“Alright, lil queer, I get it, I’s pickin’ up what you puttin’ down,” Jay Bone said. He sunk all the way to the ground on his knees, crouched over. He dropped his powder-blue slacks and the silk boxers he always wore, revealing a perfectly plump, smooth brown ass. He sighed and shook his head.
“There you go, that’s good, nigga,” Desmond said. He tried to sound like a deep-voiced thug, like Jay Bone, but that only accentuated how flamboyant and effeminate his actual voice was. Both he and Jay Bone laughed.
Desmond’s instincts said to dive in head-first and lick his ass — Desmond loved giving Jay Bone a rimjob on those rare occasions when he allowed it (he always said he saved rimjobs so he could make his hos do it as punishment, he didn’t want to cheapen it). Besides that, this was a special occasion and Desmond didn’t want to waste it doing something he could talk Jay Bone into anytime. So Desmond grabbed the bottle of lube he kept around for emergencies and got started.
When he saw that there were just barely four minutes left, Desmond got excited. He slathered half a tube of lube on his cock just because he was in too much of a hurry to measure out a smaller amount. The goopy lube dripped onto the floor.
“Damn, calm down, Desmond,” Jay Bone said with a nervous chuckle.
Desmond blushed. “Sorry. You put a time limit on this, I gotta hurry,” he said, and his plaintive tone made Jay Bone laugh again. It was a deep, cocky barrel-laugh, which the men in the frontroom apparently interpreted as some sort of victorious alpha male grunt, and they all hooted and clapped.
Desmond rammed his dick in, and Jay Bone let out a loud, pained growl — which he turned partway through into a grunt, seemingly putting on a show for the folks in the frontroom. Again, they must have heard because they clapped and cheered Desmond on. They all assumed Desmond was bottoming, jerking Jay Bone off or even taking it in the ass. Nobody would have ever even made a joke about Jay Bone bottoming instead.
“Sorry, sorry,” Desmond said. “I didn’t meant to make it hurt.”
“That’s alright. My bitches is whinin’ like hell. You got substantial meat, nigga, and it ain’t that… bad,” he winced on that last word, and twisted his body as Desmond ground his dick into Daddy’s Rico’s ass.
Desmond couldn’t help but giggle. It looked like Jay Bone now understood why his hos complained about getting rammed in the ass. He grunted and his chest heaved.
“You’re loosenin’ up, nigga, it’ll get easier,” Desmond said. He patted Jay Bone on the arm and shuddered. Normally Jay Bone was so strict about touching. He didn’t let Desmond touch most of his body, no grabbing his ass, no tweaking his nipples under the shirt, and no kissing. So Desmond had never really gotten an opportunity to feel those incredible muscles.
The nicest thing about Jay Bone’s body, Desmond thought, was that it wasn’t perfect. He didn’t have a six-pack, though he came close. He had a big thick body, bulging in all the right places, brimming with power, swagger and strength. If he had time, Desmond would have gladly licked him from head to toe like a cat cleaning its kitten.
Then, like a switch had been flicked, Jay Bone changed. His pained grunting changed to an aroused moan, and Desmond could tell even though he couldn’t see that Jay Bone had gotten hard. He smiled. Obviously, he thought, he had discovered the location of Jay Bone’s prostate.
Desmond reached around him and grabbed ahold of his dick. “This is called a reacharound,” Desmond said. “It’s polite to give a reacharound when you plow a nigga in the ass-“
“I ain’t nevuh doin’ that, lil queer. You can stop bringin’ that up right now,” Jay Bone said. “But you go ahead. I like that.” He shook his head and whinnied like a horse, as though he was surprised — and maybe a bit frightened — by how much he enjoyed getting it up behind.
Now that Desmond had found Jay Bone’s prostate, he knew how to make it feel good.
He had never before topped with a man so much bigger than himself, and it was a nice change of pace, even if the positioning was awkward and difficult. The more he rammed back and forth and the more passionately Jay Bone reacted, the more Desmond struggled to hold back his climax.
By the time he felt his orgasm rising, Desmond was on his toes, using both hands to grip Jay Bone’s back and slam his hips down over and over. Luckily he had used so much lube — and Jay Bone was simply a big man — that Desmond slid easily in and out of Jay Bone’s tight ass.
“Damn, nigga, damn damn damn…”
Much to Desmond’s surprise, his own orgasm was interrupted by Jay Bone himself shooting his load. He gave little indication beforehand, as though he was just as shocked as Desmond was. All of a sudden Jay Bone’s cock throbbed and spasmed in Desmond’s hand, and cum sprayed over Desmond’s fingers. It landed in a big creamy clump on the floor.
But still he kept cumming. His massive body bucked and writhed beneath Desmond’s grasp, until eventually Desmond wasn’t on the ground at all. He was born aloft by Jay Bone’s broad back, to which Desmond held on for dear life, grinding his cock into Jay Bone as the seconds tumbled away on the timer.
“Can you turn your head and kiss me?” Desmond asked, his voice low and breathless. His climax bubbled just under the surface.
Jay Bone smiled and did so. Again, it was awkward — he had to strain his head back, and Desmond had to crawl up his shoulders to reach. But he first gave Jay Bone his hand, which dripped with Jay Bone’s own cum.
He gave no hint of hesitation before grabbing Desmond’s wrist with his big meaty hand, and sucking up every drop of his own cum of Desmond’s fingers. He bucked and writhed as though he was both disgusted and aroused by the flavor, and he slurped on Desmond’s hand like he tried to drain it of juices.
“Fifteen seconds left, nigga,” Jay Bone said, his voice tense like he was eager for it to be over. He sighed as he licked the last of his own cum off Desmond’s fingers.
Then he kissed Desmond without a moment’s hesitation. The taste of cum flooded Desmond’s mouth, the smear of semen all over Jay Bone’s face colliding with the sweat that dripped down Desmond’s cheeks. Desmond had never kissed anyone like that.
At last Desmond’s own body erupted in orgasm. “Ah, fuckin’ hell!” he roared as cum sprayed into Jay Bone’s broad ass.
The orgasm lasted for what felt like forever, though judging from the timer, it was more like thirty seconds. The timer went off near the end as Desmond shuddered. The beeping was impossibly loud, resonating in Desmond’s ears as he filled Jay Bone with his load.
“Shit yeah…” Jay Bone muttered. Desmond could do little more than bark and yelp into Jay Bone’s tattooed back.
The most unimaginable pleasure in his life wracked Desmond’s body. He dug his nails into Jay Bone’s meaty muscles, and he licked all the sweat off where it collected between the man’s broad shoulderblades. He writhed there, precariously balance on Jay Bone, for what felt like forever.
His thin twink limbs contorted, and he dug into Jay Bone’s body. Jay Bone just smiled wryly, rolling his eyes as Desmond’s dick jabbed into him over and over. It was a big, thick and creamy load, which dripped out of Jay Bone’s ass and onto the floor between his trunk-like thighs. It clung to his skin and the hair of his crotch.
“Alright, nigga, you done,” Jay Bone said. He flicked the timer off. “Was that seven minutes in heaven?”
“It certainly was.”
Jay Bone let out a long chest-rattling moan. He glared at Desmond like he was mad at him. “You said you was busy on Saturday, right? What about Sunday?”
“Yeah, I’m free.”
“Good. I’m gonna throat you so hard yo’ mama gags,” he said. He bristled and straightened his back like he wanted to recapture his swaggerous mojo now that he had taken dick in the ass. “You can show my new ho how to take it right.”
“Okay,” Desmond said. He was too tired to think about it now, but he thought he would enjoy that.
“I ain’t gonna have no mercy, Desmond, this nigga can ball!” he said, adding an inscrutable hand gesture that involved snapping his fingers. “You know how I do. I plow hard. Know dat!”
“Yeah,” Desmond said with a grin. “You taught me well.”
When Garvey heads into the truck stop shower, he didn’t know what he was in for! That’s cuz the legendary bottom Avery Flowers is in there, servicing any alpha male trucker who needs a little release! Garvey is eager to get his rocks off, and Avery is eager to get started! Can they both please each other?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Avery pulled his truck into the truck stop on the side of the interstate. His ass was sore from sitting so long. He was glad to stretch his legs. The engine whirred and roared, rumbling beneath his ass as he angled the truck into a parking spot.
Then he got out, in the lusty warmth of the evening Texas sun. It had been an unseasonably hot day today, and the heat had lingered like a stench. Now it was dissipating ever so slightly, bit by bit, and Avery was grateful for it.
He wasn’t hungry for food, so he didn’t go to the diner. He ignored the trashy woman who gave him a come-hither stare from the dingy window. The showerhouse, not the diner, was the only reason he had come here.
At all Ramwide Truck Stops, there were four showers, two each for men and women. One of each was for anyone of the appropriate gender. The other was for those who weren’t scared away by the disclaimer on the door.
In this shower, anything goes. Let the bather beware. Adults only.
That was what Avery wanted. For a lot of guys, being on the road meant letting men like Avery do whatever they wanted. It didn’t count as long as they were away from home, on the road.
He had a particular love for truckers and truck stops. So he was disappointed to see no one whatsoever in the showerhouse. His heart sank.
He just showered by himself then. It was a dismal and lonely shower. He didn’t even need the shower, he showered a couple hours ago. He just wanted to be ready in case anyone showed up, and he kind of liked group showers, even without the group. The empty showerhouse had a peaceful, zen-like quality.
It wasn’t until he was almost done that he heard the rumble of a truck engine park. He hurried to the door to peer outside. He wanted to get an idea of who the trucker was.
Not a woman, not a woman, not a woman…
The trucker was a burly man with the gait of an ex-military officer but the long, luxuriant mane of a tango singer, and a mustache that Avery just wanted to suck off his face. The trucker was muscular and thickly built beneath a white tee shirt and jeans. The trucker sauntered over to the vending machines and bathrooms first. Avery was disappointed, but he wasn’t surprised — most people didn’t come here just to go to the truck stop and service men.
So he waited while the trucker went into the bathroom, then to the diner. Avery rolled his eyes and swore under his breath. He sat down on one of the benches that lined the shower.
At last, he spotted the handsome trucker with a dense mop of hair came out of the diner. He patted his belly and headed towards the men’s shower.
The other men’s shower.
Avery was beyond disappointed. After hanging out in this shower for most of an hour, he wasn’t going to get to bust a nut after all. He had almost forgotten the other shower was an option.
He had just about given up hope and considered leaving when he saw the trucker stop. The trucker glanced back at Avery’s showerhouse and hesitated. He took two steps towards the no-funny-business shower, then three steps towards Avery’s.
“Fuck it,” the trucker said, loud enough that Avery could hear it. He grabbed his dick through his rank old jeans and came towards Avery’s showerhouse.
Avery went from grim to giddy in moments. He didn’t want to look like he had been perving out, so he went into the showering area and turned the water back on.
His name was Garvey, and he was nervous. He had never come into one of these showerhouses. He wasn’t sure what to expect. He only did go in this time because he couldn’t stop thinking about sex — his wife had left him last week — and he needed to bust a nut.
Garvey was single (sort of) for the first time in years. He and his wife weren’t compatible on a lot of things, but they were sexually compatible. That was why they had stayed together for so long. She wanted sex every day, and she loved anal, sucking cock, guzzling his cum. She was perfect from Garvey’s perspective, aside from her being a bit chunky and not the prettiest girl around.
But as long as she gave up the ass, Garvey thought, he would have never dumped her. She complained that he was boring though, and she disliked that he spent most of his days on the road. She swore she had never cheated on him, that she was dumping him because she didn’t think she could resist her horniness when he was gone anymore. But the more Garvey thought about it, the more he thought he didn’t believe that — she was so horny all the time, surely she had found a guy while he was gone. She complained if she went one full day without sex when Garvey was at home, so how could she last up to six weeks without him while he was on the road?
The only possible answer was that she couldn’t.
The divorce papers were coming soon. Garvey wasn’t sure yet if he’d sign them. He didn’t even want to think about that until he had to though.
Garvey had let his body go while he was with her. He wasn’t corpulent by any means, but he no longer had the six-pack and barrel chest he’d had in his youth. Now he was just barrel-shaped, all muscle and curvy heft and kinky black fur that covered his chest (and which he had shaved when he was younger — now it was so dense and thick he wasn’t sure he could shave it, while women had come to despise body hair in general, he didn’t think he’d ever get laid again if he didn’t start shaving).
He belched when he came into the shower. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He kind of hoped nobody would be in here. He could just jack off and not feel too grimy.
But he’d been jacking off since she dumped him. Garvey wanted some ass.
As soon as he walked into the shower — it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light in there — his dick twitched.
There was a man there. He was slim and weak. Garvey could bend him over and plow into his tight hole. It would feel just like his wife.
“Hey,” said the man. “I’m Avery.”
“Hmmm….” Garvey wasn’t sure what to say. Despite his big size and demeanor, Garvey was often shy, especially since his wife left him. He felt like everything he said and did was wrong.
Avery was stroking his dick and looking square on at Garvey, who blanched. Garvey had been under the impression from his trucker buddies that these showerhouses were full of other truckers who sat around circlejerking, or sometimes slim men who wore women’s clothes and pretended to be women. So it was either like just chilling with some friends, or it was like plowing a woman. Both of those options had seemed okay to Garvey. He wasn’t sure how to take this more ambiguous situation.
“So where are you going?” Avery asked with a nervous quaver. Garvey glowered, coming closer without having even taken off his clothes. Avery took a few steps back.
Once Garvey was in the showering area, he realized he had forgotten to undress. His dick was hard. Was that normal? But his dick was hard, while Avery still had a half-limp cock. He played with it casually as Garvey took off his sweat-stained tee shirt, kicked off his boots and socks, then dropped his jeans.
He had a big hairy chest that was broad and thick muscled, exactly the sort of men’s physiques Avery most appreciated. He came closer because he could see that Garvey was sweaty — from spending hours crammed in the cab of his truck — and Avery wanted to lick all that sweat up before Garvey got in the shower spray and it was washed off.
His dick hung free, and Garvey tried not to be nervous. He considered leaving. He could turn around and go shower in the other showerhouse.
But then when he looked back at Avery, who sunk to his knees with his mouth wide open, Garvey knew he was going to do it. His dick was already jutting out. Avery aimed his mouth up and either gurgled or said something, Garvey couldn’t tell what because everything was a blur. All he could focus on was the feel of his cock throbbing, pulsating, demanding he do something with it. He needed to ram it in some place tight and dark and moist, and he needed to do it now.
A long loud sigh like nothing Avery had ever heard emanated from Garvey’s mouth, beginning even before his dick touched Avery’s tongue. It was such a strangely loud sound, like a cow with a particularly sonorous moo, that Avery barely noticed the salty taste of his dick.
Avery looked up at Garvey’s eyes, but Garvey had leaned his head back. He looked like he was on the verge of orgasm already, and it had been only half a second. Avery giggled.
“You must be horny…” Avery said as he thwacked his own face with Garvey’s cockshaft. Every time he did, there was a satisfyingly meaty thump, and each time, Garvey jumped.
“C’mon… I need you,” Garvey said, his deep voice crackling with stale moisture. It felt like it had been years since he blew a nut and his balls were about to explode.
“Hmmm…” Avery opened his mouth wide and stuck his tongue out. He planted his tongue on the underside of Garvey’s dick, which twitched when it touched his soft, moist tongue. Avery stayed right there, motionless, his tongue touching the spot where the underside of Garvey’s dick met his ballsac.
Men both loved and hated that, Avery knew well. He waited while Garvey first breathed heavy, his chest rising and falling mountainously, his dick pulsating veinily. Then when he realized Avery wasn’t going to lick any spot other than this ultra-sensitive bit of flesh, Garvey grunted. Avery’s tongue lapped like a cat’s at that one spot.
“C’mon, man, swallow it…” Garvey’s deep voice was plaintive, desperate. His hands flailed. He gripped Avery’s head, then let go.
Still Avery remained right there, smiling around the tongue he kept in place on the root of Garvey’s dick. At last, Garvey started humping, his instincts taking over. That was what Avery was waiting for. Garvey got past his reluctance and began pistoning his hips, rubbing his dick back and forth atop Avery’s tongue.
That meant Avery was ready to move on. He licked all the way up Garvey’s shaft and kissed the tip of his dick. When that made Garvey shudder, Avery kissed it again and again, slathering spit on the tip. The shower was still on, spraying hot water and filling the air with steam, so when Avery’s spit dripped onto the shower floor, it mingled with the warm water and went right down the drain.
“Goddamn, boy, open that throat up, don’t fight it, c’mon, don’t fight it,” Garvey murmured, alternating between plaintive begging and aggressive demands. “Don’t fight it. You makin’ it feel goood…” He gyrated his hips, forcing his cock all the way down Avery’s throat.
A loud baritone moan escaped from Garvey’s mouth. He couldn’t believe how good this felt. Why hadn’t he been doing this all along? His wife had loved sucking cock, but she couldn’t deep-throat like this. She even enjoyed getting facefucked — even then though, she simply couldn’t swallow this much cockmeat. She had never gotten more than half of Garvey’s cock in her throat. Women, Garvey realized, were physically much too small to really swallow a dick properly.
Why did he ever let women give blowjobs? He ought to just fuck women in the pussy, since that was something he couldn’t get from men.
Just a few minutes ago, Garvey wasn’t sure if he wanted to do this. But now that his dick throbbed mightily, leaking precum right into Avery’s throat, Garvey was already making plans to return. He wondered if these showerhouses always had men like Avery, men who could handle a dick like magic, deep-throat him to the root until he could feel his bottom’s throat clench, nose nuzzling his pubic hair. He hoped so, but he feared that Avery was unique.
Avery had to force his own head off Garvey’s cock — Garvey kept trying to ram his face. Even after Avery had removed himself, Garvey kept humping the air like he hadn’t noticed. Avery gave his dick a stroke, then licked a trail down his leg to his feet.
His feet were nice and funky. Avery slathered spit between Garvey’s toes, slurping every drop of nastiness and savoring every bit of it. The taste was grimy and gritty, potent as a punch to the face. Garvey looked down at him like that was crazy — which maybe it was, it certainly felt crazy to Avery — but he didn’t complain or even mention it at all. He lifted one of his feet up so Avery could slather his tongue up and down the underside of it. The bottom of his feet was even more nasty, tasting of the foulness of this truck stop and others, the dirty showers Garvey used.
When Avery was ready to move on, he let out a moan of desire, his own cock throbbing hard between his legs. He sucked up his own footy spit from Garvey’s toes. He gurgled, “You wanna ram my ass-?”
But Garvey was so horny, he cringed and shuddered at the sound of Avery’s moistly seductive voice. Without a moment’s hesitation, Garvey grabbed Avery by the hair and bent him over on all fours.
It all happened so fast that Avery struggled. He nearly fell, and he pulled away until he realized Garvey just wanted him bent over. Avery struggled to get onto all fours. Even though Garvey wanted him in the same position, his hands seemed to be everywhere, pushing Avery and pulling him in every direction, and Avery was too overwhelmed by arousal to get down on his arms and legs on the floor. He liked the feeling of being manhandled by Garvey’s powerful arms.
“C’mon, man, bend over and take it, I need ya ass, boy, I need to get in there. Okay? Huh? Say it’s okay, I’ll ram you so good-” Garvey spoke quickly, like he was desperate to get all this out before his dick rammed up Avery’s backside.
“Ram me in the ass, please…” Avery said with a seductive moan that made Garvey grunt. The sound echoed in the uncleaned linoleum of the Ramwide Truck Stop.
“Goddamn, man…” Garvey pushed his dick in as soon as he could, without waiting for Avery to settle into position. He rammed it in as though he’d get in trouble for every second it wasn’t inside Avery.
Then he sighed, just an inch or so of dickmeat inside Avery’s ass. Garvey could take a deep breath and ponder for a moment — he hadn’t really intended to actually ram a man in the ass. He hadn’t decided he definitely wouldn’t. But he sort of assumed his first time in the Ramwide Truck Stop would be all-oral.
It wasn’t what happened though. Once he saw Avery’s tight asshole, Garvey wanted in it. He plowed in there with a loud grunt and a moan. Every additional inch of dickmeat he got in there sent another wave of pleasure through Garvey’s body, and he let out groan after spine-tingling groan.
He had always loved fucking his wife in the ass, but this was different. She liked it despite the fact that it was a bit painful for her — she liked a bit of pain, she said it made the pleasure better. Avery could sympathize with that point of view. But for Avery, he wasn’t in pain at all. He liked getting rammed in the ass. There was an intense pressure, but it didn’t hurt. It felt good. It felt amazing, and he wanted it as hard and as deep as Garvey could manage. Every thrust sent waves of ecstasy through both men’s bodies.
So Garvey started off a bit ginger, thinking Avery would make him slow down and go more gently like his wife always had. When that didn’t happen, he rammed a little harder. He forced his dick in deeper.
Still, there was no complaint. A surge of pleasure shot up Garvey’s spine, and he grunted. He slammed more of his dick in, until he was all the way inside Avery’s tight ass. His balls thwacked hard against the smoothness of Avery’s firm asscheeks.
“Oh god… ram… me…” Avery had trouble focusing on his words because of the intense sensations flowing through him.
“Shit, boy, fuck yeah. Yee-haw!” Garvey shouted, his reluctance finally dwindling to nothing. Now he understood why his other trucker buddies came in here. You could do whatever you wanted here. As long as there were men like Avery here, you could go more and harder and better and longer than any female would do it. Men could simply take more punishment than women, and they knew how to use the equipment.
Garvey hadn’t even noticed his eyes were closed until he felt Avery pull off his dick. Garvey shuddered, his shaft suddenly cold, his orgasm fading away like a mountain getting smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror.
Then, before he could even ask what was happening or do anything more than grunt, Garvey was forcibly bent over. His ass was high in the air. Belatedly, a shiver of fear ran through Garvey because it felt like he was about to get rammed in the ass, which he wasn’t willing to endure. If he had more time to think about it and wasn’t overwhelmed by desire, he would have refused to get in that position at all. It certainly wasn’t wise to stay bent over with an accessible bare ass in a Ramwide Truck Stop. That was just begging for a ramrodding.
That wasn’t what Avery wanted though. He put Garvey on all fours over the drain in the center of the showerhouse. Then he spread Garvey’s asscheeks and rammed his tongue right in.
The whole shift took only a second, and Garvey’s dick didn’t lose any of his erection. He wasn’t sure he liked the rimjob at first — it kind of tickled, and it felt like a cat licking him. It didn’t feel bad, but it was hardly erotic either.
And then all at once, Garvey shouted as an explosion of pleasure hit him. It felt so good it almost hurt, and Avery’s tongue explored his ass deeply. It plunged into his prostate, making Garvey’s whole body shake. He lifted up one of his legs like a dog trying to pee, which gave Avery easy access to his cock with both hands.
“Oh god, damn, boy, get ya tongue in there, fuck!” This was something Garvey had never experienced. Even his wife in her most sexually adventurous mood had never wanted to give him a rimjob. She didn’t even touch his ass — she’d offered to peg him, but Garvey had refused, and that was as close as they had ever come.
Now he could plow into Avery harder than he thought possible. Garvey had no idea how long that lasted. It felt like he had rammed for hours. It felt so good he could have done it forever, just laying there, bent over, getting his hairy asshole licked.
It was deliciously nasty. Pleasure visible roiled Garvey’s body as Avery spat up coious saliva into Garvey’s intact asshole. It filled him up and turned into a frothy mess that coated Avery’s face. That tasted so nasty that Avery couldn’t resist sucking it back up into his mouth, and he let out a moan that made Garvey’s whole body shake in throes of ecstasy.
“Shit, man, I’m gonna blow…” Garvey turned around and jammed his dick right into Avery’s throat, which was still wide open, tongue extending mid-lick because Garvey had stopped him in the middle of his rimjob. An explosion of exquisite bliss hit Garvey hard, and he let out yet another baritone moan. His knees went weak the moment his sensitive cocktip touched Avery’s tongue.
He was already shooting his load when he turned around, and the first jet of creamy cum shot onto Avery’s chin. That was quickly smeared into a dripping puddle by Garvey’s balls, which slapped against Avery’s chin as he shoved his orgasmic cock into his throat. He held onto Avery by the head so he could ram down his throat with all his might.
Avery gagged this time because it happened so quickly and without warning. Once he was able to adjust, however, he opened his throat wide. Garvey’s cock plugged deep into him, shooting cum the whole way, coating Avery’s tongue, mouth, cheeks and the back of his throat. Garvey let go of his head because he thought Avery was asking him to, but Avery didn’t pull off even when he could. He savored the feel of a huge cock throbbing in his throat.
That made him sputter and choke even as he swallowed Garvey’s massive cock. He swallowed it to the root and sucked down every drop, while Garvey’s whole hairy body tensed and flexed above Avery’s head.
“Damn, shit…” Garvey grunted and shook. His muscles all shuddered at once, and so did that glorious mustache on his upper lip.
Then he re-gripped Avery’s head and went to the ground with him, balls rubbing over the cummy mess on Avery’s chin. Avery lay on his back in the pool of hot shower water while Garvey rammed his mouth, moving his hips in a circle, making love to the back of his throat. Avery couldn’t resist gagging at last, when Garvey hit the back of his throat, but that didn’t slow Garvey down at all.
Avery was only dimly aware of his own orgasm, which hit him just as Garvey’s was finishing up. Avery’s hands moved of their own accord to stroke his own cock, which spewed a fat puddle of cream that pooled on Avery’s belly. When Avery moved, it spilled onto the filthy shower floor.
At last, Garvey pulled off, his dick sliding out of Avery’s mouth. It was followed by multiple mouthloads of jizz, which Avery spat out as he was overcome by a series of gags. His hands caressed the fleshy firness of Garvey’s asscheeks, which were furry and warm to the touch. Avery giggled through the mouthful of cum that spilled out and coated his face. Garvey chuckled throatily as he flopped, limp and exhausted, covered in sweat — though that was washed off by the shower water right away. He hadn’t even realized another man had come into the shower, and was jacking off as he watched.
That made Garvey nervous, but he was now confident enough he didn’t care. He could handle a man jacking off. He’d handled a lot more than that.
He got up and grinned down at Avery. “Thanks, man… I, uh… This truck stop is great.”
“Yeah,” Avery said. He went over to his clothes., fingers teasing the broad body of the masturbating trucker as he walked by — the new trucker looked disappointed to see that Avery was leaving.
“You come here a lot?”
Avery shook his head. “Not that often. Don’t let that stop you though,” he said. “You’ll always have fun in a Ramwide Truck Stop.”
Then he walked out, still putting his shoes on. He always left quickly. Avery liked to leave his men wanting more.
Rob buys a remote cabin and is visited by the suspicious local sheriff, who demands, expects and receive some ultimate alpha-male service!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read the whole thing here!
Rob settled back in his new chair. It still felt new, it needed to be broken in, his ass still needed to find its groove in it. But it was fine, and it felt right beneath him. All of his furniture still had that uncomfortably new mystique to it. He felt bad about using it because it all looked so impeccable. It needed some scratches and stains to make this cabin look lived-in.
It was a vacation home out in the woods, in rural North Carolina, in the Appalachian west of the state. Rob had never been here before he bought the cabin, sight unseen. He needed a place to go, to sit and relax, to focus on his novel, and to generally get away from it all. He knew it was a risk, to buy a cabin he’d never seen in a state he’d never been to.
But he was satisfied. The water and power worked, which was the most important thing really — he didn’t want to rough it, he just wanted to relax in the woods. The rest of it could be repaired.
He thought he might fix the cabin up too. He could hire people to expand it, maybe add a second floor. Maybe a garden. He didn’t intend to be here that often, so it’d have to be some easy-to-maintain stuff (he didn’t want to hire a gardener), like maybe some azaleas, that would be nice.
For now though, he just wanted to make it feel like home. He wouldn’t be able to write much as long as it felt like a house he was housesitting for a couple weeks. It needed to feel like a home.
But the chair still felt brand-new. It felt like he was sitting in a showroom chair in a furniture store.
There came a knock at the door. Rob frowned. He didn’t have any neighbors, and he literally knew no one in the area. He’d only been here for a week, after all. Who could be at the door?
He wondered if he was in danger just moments before he opened the front door. Damn it, I should have looked out the window. He didn’t really know how safe this region was. But as far as anyone knew, no one lived here — you had to come into the driveway to even see that his car was here. The cabin had been vacant for years before he bought it.
It’s a cop.
“Oh, uh, hello…” The first thing Rob noticed was that he was a cop. The second thing he noticed was that he was intensely handsome. He wore a brown sheriff’s uniform shirt and brown slacks, which his thick-built body filled out perfectly. He was middle-aged, his face craggy, eyes a bit sunken and dark brown. He wore a wide-brimmed hat but Rob was pretty sure he was balding under that, and he had a jaw-heavy swaggering look to him.
His chest was broad and strapping, the hair visible in how it pressed against his uniform shirt, in the breast pocket of which was one thick cigar. The badge above the cigar gleamed with sunlight that filtered down through the trees above.
“Howdy,” said the sheriff. He tipped his cap to Rob. “I’m Sheriff Torkelson. Reynard Torkelson.” He peered into the house, making a big show of it, like he wanted Rob to notice he was doing it. “Nice cabin.”
“Uh… Thanks. Can I… help you?”
“Is it alright if I come in?” His voice was deep and serious, echoic like his throat was a high-ceilinged vault. This didn’t sound like a friendly call, and Rob was too intimidated to ask why the sheriff wanted to enter. He frowned when Rob didn’t immediately say yes.
Rob knew he should say no. His lawyer friend always said to never invite a cop into your home. But Rob wasn’t being investigated for a crime, right? He didn’t know if that applied right now.
“Sure.” He opened the door for him.
“That’s mighty kind of ya,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He tipped his hat again before entering the house. He didn’t exactly search, but he did look around, peering in every room as he spoke. “We gots a bit of a problem in these parts… girls.”
“Girls? They’re a problem? I-“
“Sorry, not the girls theyselves. We like girls. Girls is right nice indeed,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He opened the door to the bedroom, then looked in the closet, which was empty. He even tapped on a few of the walls and listened to see if there were hollow spaces. “The problem, you see, is that some silly punks think us rednecks don’t mind them usin’ these cabins for they purposes… You feel me? Huh? You pickin’ up what I am puttin’ down?”
After a long pause, Rob said, “No. Not at all. Is something wrong?”
“You a pimp?”
“A pimp? Is that a joke? No, I’m not a pimp,” Rob said.
“Hmm-hmm…. Why’d you buy this cabin?”
“I just wanted a place to relax in, you know… I’m writing a novel, and I want to focus on it.”
“You bought a cabin just to write a novel?”
“I bought a cabin to relax in. The current reason I want to relax is to focus on my novel. But I-“
“What’s ya novel about?”
“A time-traveling orphan who tries to found a modern, democratic society in ancient times, and discovers he accidentally became Romulus and Remus,” Rob said. When the Sheriff looked like he didn’t know what that meant, Rob added, “They’re the mythological founders of Rome. So he discovers that he founded Rome, it was only slightly democratic and only for a couple centuries before it became an empire. So it’s ironic-“
“He became two people?”
“What? Romulus and Remus? That’s two people.”
“Uh, well, yeah, it’s kind of a symbolic thing. He ended up having to make up a cofounder because of politics, he needed someone to offload decisions on. It represents his dual nature, he never intended it to be a founding myth like that. But he came from the Trojan War-“
“Hmmmm…” He peered at Rob. “So you ain’t pimpin’ girls out at this cabin?”
“No! No, officer! No, sir, I mean, sorry, sir. No, sir. No, sheriff.”
“You sure?” He chewed on his lower lip. He got up real close, his rancid breath condensing on Rob’s lips.
“Yes!” Rob said. “I don’t do that! I’m not a pimp! I… I’m from a wealthy family.” He blushed. “Not asking for special treatment, I just… I don’t need money. I wouldn’t pimp out any women, I don’t need the cash and I, you know…” Rob didn’t want to add that he could hire as many high-value escorts as he wanted. “I don’t need women. I’m not even… I don’t even like women. I mean, I don’t — I’m not into sex with women. I’m single.”
The Sheriff glared at him like he didn’t believe him. Rob affected a flamboyant stance with a limp wrist and laughed nervously. The Sheriff forcibly turned Rob around and looked at his ass through his khakis.
“You expect me to believe you come out here to this cabin just to write a goddamn book?”
“I mean… I guess so, yeah, I… It’s not that weird. I own eleven houses, this is just the most remote one,” Rob said. His voice sounded squeaky, his feet frozen to the spot he was in. “I swear, I’m no pimp, I swear. I probably won’t ever have visitors here. I mean, maybe some guys, I like to jerk guys off.” He blushed. “I mean, not like, in a weird way. Just, you know… Sorry, I’m… I like, you know… I don’t hang out with women. Well, sometimes, I have female friends. But not in North Carolina.”
The Sheriff licked his lips again. His eyes roamed up and down Rob’s body. Was he checking him out? Planning on hitting him? Rob had no idea. He couldn’t make eye contact with Sheriff Torkelson’s deep, foreboding eyes.
“Why you so scared if you ain’t doin’ somethin’ you ain’t supposed to? Huh?” He touched Rob on the cheek with one callused finger.
“You’re just… really intimidating,” Rob said with a nervous laugh. Then he added, “And handsome.”
For the first time, Sheriff Torkelson looked confused. He dropped his hand. “What?”
Rob looked down at his feet. “I… I just really want to jerk you off while you smoke that cigar. You can ram me up the ass too.” He laughed hysterically. “Sorry, sorry, I know, you, uh… You got a great body.” Rob was so scared he closed his eyes and sat down on the brand-new couch. “I swear, I couldn’t pimp out any females, I don’t even know how that works — vaginas are weird!Sorry, I-” Rob gasped when he looked up.
Sheriff Torkelson had unzipped his slacks and let a fat cock flop out through the fly. He stood there like he hadn’t noticed his dick was out, as he got out the cigar. He clipped it with a cigar cutter, then he put it in his mouth and began puffing on it even before he lit the cigar with a zippo. “Hmm-hmmm…”
“Oh, uh… You…” Rob wasn’t sure what he should do. He obviously wanted to get on his knees and start worshipping Sheriff Torkelson’s manhood. That was what Rob’s instincts told him to do, and if he was more comfortable with his surroundings, that’s what he would have done. Back at the mansion in California, that’s what he would do.
That massive cock hung so thick and meaty, inviting, a bit glistening with sweat from being cooped up in his uniform slacks. Rob gulped. Could it be a trap? Maybe Sheriff Torkelson would wait for him to do it, then charge him with assaulting an officer or ruining the dignity of a Southerner, something like that.
“So you said before you wasn’t gonna have no visitors?” His cock jiggled. Smoke bloomed from his mouth as he took his first full puff on the now-lit cigar.
The bitter scent of tobacco filled the cabin. It was probably soaking into the upholstery and the curtains. Rob didn’t mind. He would have objected in any other of his houses, but not here, both because Torkelson was too intimidating to object to anything he did and because a rustic cabin like this ought to have a smell to it. Maybe it would seem more like a home. As it is, it only smelled of air freshener and dust. Tobacco might improve it.
“Well, I dunno, I guess, I might, maybe, I hadn’t really planned on not doing it. But I wasn’t going to make any friends around here. I did want to renovate the place.” He paused. “So there’d be, you know, workmen around-“
“See, you could pimp out some girl to ’em. That’d be a handy excuse to bring men over here, to let ’em see ya merchandise.”
“Oh, but, I won’t! I don’t have any girls! I don’t like girls! I never have! They talk too much! And boobs are, uh… I don’t… I’m not into boobs. Tits. Breasts.” All words for mammary tissue felt wrong coming out of Rob’s mouth in this moment.
Sheriff Torkelson rolled his eyes and sighed. Then, like he was speaking to a child, he said, “So what’re you waiting for?” He leaned forward, which made his fat cock jiggle and angle towards Rob.
“Waiting for what?!” Rob squealed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from that long dick, dangling between Torkelson’s legs.
“To jerk me off.”
“I didn’t know you wanted me to!” Rob tried to bite back a sob. A few tears did leak out, but he couldn’t even decide if they were tears of joy and desire or fear and terror (or just plain irritation from the cigar smoke). He gulped. “Oh! You want me to!” Rob looked up and made eye contact with Torkelson for the first time in awhile. Rob had been entranced by his cock ever since he took it out.
His dick was hard already. Rob got close to it and sunk to his knees as though to beg at or worship Sheriff Torkelson. Then he planted his tongue on the tip, only for Torkelson to immediately take it away. He barely got a taste of the musty manhood reeking of cigar smoke, but it was enough to tantalize Rob.
“Whatchoo doin’, boy?!” Sheriff Torkelson barked, and Rob backed away, squealing. “I ain’t say to put nuttin’ in ya mouf!”
“Oh!” Rob scooted away and plopped back onto his ass on the floor. “Sorry, I-! I didn’t — I wasn’t sure what you meant, I don’t…” He went pale as could be.
Sheriff Torkelson guffawed and got closer to Rob again. He swayed his body from left to right, which made his cock sway too like a cobra waiting to pounce. He straddled Rob and flopped his limp dick over his face. “You can put’cha mouf on it. I was just playin’ witcha, boy.”
“Yeah. Okay. Sure. Cool. Okay.” Heart racing, Rob opened his mouth again, eyeing Sheriff Torkelson suspiciously. His tongue again snaked out, and touched his shaft.
This time Sheriff Torkelson leaned into it. He slid more of his limp, ultra-thick cock into Rob’s mouth, and the taste of his powerful manhood flooded Rob’s senses. Rob straightened his back, letting his tongue slather spit onto that shaft, which was so thick he could barely fit it in his mouth. And it wasn’t even hard yet!
Then Torkelson ashed on Rob’s forehead. He took a deep drag and exhaled it onto Rob’s face. The acrid scent of cigar smoke filled the air, making Rob’s eyes water again. He coughed on Torkelson’s dick, which now tasted bitter and gritty from cigar ash.
Amid silence’s reign over the cabin, Torkelson jutted his hips forward, forcing his dick down Rob’s throat. Rob was finally starting to relax enough he could swallow it without feeling abject terror. That cock was magnificent and salty, deliciously savory on Rob’s tongue, and it filled up his throat as though it had been made for it.
It twitched and slowly firmed up in his throat, as Rob concentrated on taking every inch without gagging. Sheriff Torkelson was relentless — not exactly aggressive, he just kept plowing in deeper, seemingly without paying much attention to his dick. He focused on the cigar, taking deep drags off it and blowing it into Rob’s face. Every time Rob gagged, Sheriff Torkelson chuckled dryly. His face aimed, flat and expressionless, down at Rob’s frenzied gagging and open-mouthed gasping.
Obviously, Rob thought, Torkelson liked the feel of his bottom’s mouth and throat clenching when he gagged. Once he realized that was what Sheriff Torkelson wanted, Rob let himself gag over and over, which in turn made Sheriff Torkelson gasp and moan. Spit ran down his cockshaft and soaked into his pubic hair, even wetting his brown uniform slacks.
Then he gripped Rob’s head and held it in place, using one hand on his forehead, the other on his chin, while he puffed on the cigar between his lips. He pumped his waist to jam his dick down Rob’s gullet, and the unwashed musk of his cock assaulted Rob’s senses, bringing tears to Rob’s eyes.
His hairy ballsac slapped against Rob’s chin. “Ah… yes… That’s nice… That’s real nice,” he said.
Rob gasped for air, his hands clasping Sheriff Torkelon’s powerful thighs under his slacks. Rob chased that cock with his mouth as Torkelson teased him by swaying it left and right, forcing Rob to dart his head back and forth after it. His cocktip dribbled both spit and precum onto the floor. Then he allowed Rob to swallow it to the root again.
This time, it must have felt exceptionally good, because Torkelson sucked in his breath and stood on his toes. He pulled out of Rob’s mouth without warning, inserted his lips into Rob’s mouth — not even kissing him, literally pouting his lips directly in — and then blew a fat cloud of smoke.
Rob hoarsely gagged and Sheriff Torkelson rammed his cock back into Rob’s waiting mouth. He sighed like that was scratching an itch he hadn’t been able to reach.
“Damn…” He grunted and ashed again on Rob’s forehead. He smeared the ash over Rob’s face.
Sheriff Torkelson laughed as Rob choked. He pulled out to let Rob take a breath.
When Rob had recovered enough to speak, he said, “Sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say!” Rob didn’t know what he was apologizing for. “Your dick tastes real good-“
“Hmm-hmm…” He let his erect cock ram over Rob’s face as though looking for a hole to put it in. Precum coated Rob’s cheeks.
Rob was breathless and still scared. He grabbed Torkelson’s cock with both hands, only for Torkelson to slap his hands away.
Wrinkling his nose, Torkelson said, “You ready to get it up the ass?”
“Yes. Oh god, yes!” Rob blushed. “Please cornhole me.” He couldn’t get up because Sheriff Torkelson still straddled his chest. Torkelson’s cock rubbed over Rob’s cheeks and chin. He ashed once more on his forehead.
Sheriff Torkelson frowned like he expected Rob to get up and bend over now, even though that would be difficult until Torkelson got out of his way. He raised one eyebrow at Rob, who realized he was supposed to make it happen anyway.
“How do you wanna do it?” Rob asked. He arduously scooted down, making Sheriff Torkelson’s sweaty balls rub over his face. Rob stuck his tongue out and licked a trail all the way between his legs. Once Rob was out from under him, Torkelson finally dropped his pants and his underwear all the way down.
“However you want, you in charge here,” Sheriff Torkelson said. His voice wavered as Rob caressed each cheek and planted his tongue in his hairy crack. Torkelson leaned forward enough to give Rob easy access to his ass.
Rob didn’t typically give rimjobs, but Sheriff Torkelson had nice big plump asscheeks, especially for an older man, and a lot of beautifully funky hair that Rob wanted to suck clean. He dove between those cheeks and noisily, moistly, slathered spit up and down the crack of his ass.
Eventually Rob laid on his back on the edge of the couch. He lifted his feet up. He liked getting rammed in this position by men because it made them uncomfortable — Rob’s cock and balls were plainly visible, right in front of their faces when they looked down. They couldn’t watch their dick slide into his ass without seeing him jack off at the same time, so there was no way to pretend Rob had a vagina.
That didn’t seem to slow down Torkelson at all though.
“Hmmm… Good boy, I like that, I like it,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He had to bend his knees to get his dick low enough to line up with Rob’s ass. He drilled in with a loud sigh, just the tip at first, and he ashed his cigar — this time right on Rob’s chest. “I liked how you licked my ass a bit there. I didn’t even gotta tell you to do that.”
“You’re welcome, sir, I’d like to do that again one day soon,” Rob said with a plaintive moan, as pressure erupted in his ass. He liked to tease his men, and he figured the promise of a rimjob would bring Sheriff Torkelson back.
He sucked in his breath when Sheriff Torkelson’s cock slid deeper into his ass, nicely greased up with his spit. Rob focused on keeping his head still, so the ash on his forehead wouldn’t spill. That helped distract him from the pain of Torkelson’s magnificent cock ripping him open, and it made him relax his ass so Torkelson could plow into him hard.
Unable to stay perfectly still, Rob writhed but kept his head motionless enough. He felt every trickling particle of ash that slipped down his face or into his scalp. There was a scorching sensation each time Sheriff Torkelson ashed, but it wasn’t enough to burn him.
It just distracted him from the overwhelming pressure in his ass, as that thick cock slammed into him. Rob gripped the meaty, furry chest of Sheriff Torkelson’s old-man body, giggling at the sight of his shocked reaction. Torkelson pounded away, holding Rob in place as though he was inexperienced at ramrodding a man who wanted it.
“Damn… Ya booty do feel like a pussy,” Sheriff Torkelson said with a sigh. He pistoned his hips, forcing his cock all the way in. He smiled for the first time since he had come in, a real smile, not a threatening grin. He stuck one finger in Rob’s mouth and rammed it all the way down, as though to test Rob’s gag reflex.
Rob was overcome by a potent desire. He was only vaguely aware of his own hand jacking himself off. That felt like a dim and distant thing, even as he exploded in cum and pleasure wracked his body. His prostate sent wave after wave of liquid bliss coursing through his veins, yet still, Rob’s focus was on that pile of ash on his forehead.
“Shit…” Torkelson sighed and shot his own wad deep into Rob. He smiled at the sight of the neat stack of ash still there. He liked to see Rob writhing on the cock impaling his ass while keeping his head perfectly still.
“Oh god!” Rob couldn’t stop screaming now. It was a good thing this cabin was far from any neighbors. He threw his head back, and at last that ash slid off, as the most potent orgasm of his life hit him hard.
It wracked his body so intensely it hurt, and Rob moaned loudly. Much to his surprise, Sheriff Torkelson leaned down and kissed him on the lips — Sheriff Torkelson was actually just as surprised, he did it entirely out of instinct, because this was the position he usually fucked his wife in. He would never have kissed a man at all, especially right after that man jerked his cock, but when he did it instinctually, he leaned into it and pretended he had wanted to do it all along.
Both men jizzed at the same time, Rob spraying a fat wad over his face, while Torkelson’s cock jetted cumload after cumload deep into Rob’s body. It was hot and creamy, and Rob felt it seeping through his flesh.
Rob fell limp, and Torkelson let his cock slowly slide out, while Torkelson kept his face right in front of Rob. Rob kissed him again, and their tongues interlocked. Torkelson rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away until his dick was dangling limply between his legs. He puffed on his cigar.
“I kissed you there as a reward for takin’ my dick so damn good,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He grunted. “And for not bein’ a pimp. I’m glad to see that.”
“Uh-huh…” Rob felt like going to sleep. He wanted to go break in that new bed. The mattress had seemed so comfortable in the store, and now he couldn’t wait to sleep on it.
He smiled as Rob closed his eyes, curling up on the couch. “You gonna sleep here?”
“I’ll go to bed later…” Rob murmured softly. “You can let yourself out.”
Torkelson was about to do so. But Rob looked so delicate, his trim body surely going to be cold once he got over his post-orgasmic rush. So Torkelson scooped him into his burly arms and carried him into the bedroom. He deposited him gently on the bed.
For just a moment, Torkelson considered getting in bed with him. He was off-duty — he had stopped by on his way home — so he could text his wife that he was working all night at the jail, and then just stay here. He could mess with the out-of-towner all night.
But no, he thought. Torkelson quietly dressed and left, feeling a pang of regret as the door slammed shut. His wife expected him home, and if he took the long way, when he got there, he’d be ready to fuck the hell out of her.
Rob loves raunchy men, so when he goes to the docks, it’s time to worship the sweat-soaked filth of a Greek sailor’s unwashed armpits! Can Rob handle the raunch?
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“Swallow your cum. Swallow your cum.” Rob stood dockside as men streamed off the S.S. Admiral Smikovsk. They were a diverse group of men: Jamaicans, Brazilians, Greeks, Filipinos, Nigerians, Nicaraguans, probably more, but Rob most expected those nationalities based on his inspection of the ship’s manifest. They were deliciously filthy, with blackish smudges of soot and coal on their skin, unwashed beards from weeks at sea, most of them with half-hardons from the moment they walked off the ship.
The reason most of them had hardons was the same reason Rob found it difficult to get the men he wanted — they were macho, and there were women galore.
“Swallow your cum. Swallow your cum. Swallow your cum. Eat your ass.” Rob made eye contact with as many of them as he could. They mostly winced and looked away.
“Hey. Hey, whatcha doin’?” said a stout man with a colorful hat and a dour disposition. Rob didn’t need to be an expert to identify him as a pimp. The pimp scowled at him. “You bein’ a distraction, boy.” He sucked on his teeth. His New Jersey stawk was thick and cloying, like he spoke through a layer of engine oil. “My girls is busy, y’know, ya feel me, boy? They lookin’ for a man. That’s all. They need a date for tonight, and maybe tomorrow night too. Ya feel me, boy? I bet you do.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob said. “Nobody’s taken me up on it, so I don’t think I’ve stolen any of your clients-“
“What’d I just fuckin’ say? Huh? Did I say you was distracting they clients? That ain’t even… They don’t see clients, okay, they are serious ladies, doing serious things… with their boyfriends, understand me? They’s out here looking for boyfriends, and sometimes, they just might find one. Ain’t nothin’ improper goin’ on here. What I accused you of, however, that’s improper — I said you was bein’ distracting. Girls is distracted real easy. It’s them tits, it keeps ’em from gettin’ focused. That’s why men with big chests is dumbasses too, and that’s a fact. I know you ain’t gonna steal none of my girls’s boyfriend. That’s on account of these men don’t cotton to perverts, and my girls know how to satisfy a man. Ya understand me?”
“Uh-huh. I see your point,” Rob said.
“You wanna work for me? I can help you find dick,” the pimp said with a frown like he really hoped Rob would say no.
“No, thank you. I’m very good at that already.”
“Thank god,” the pimp said. “Look, you had best get the fuck off my dock. My girls work here-“
“But I’m not stealing your business-“
“You is stealin’ my girls’s hearts! They ain’t gonna be so eager to find new boyfriends when they see you offerin’ to get on ya knees for nothin’. It’s discouraging to my girls’s capitalistic spirit, ya feel me?”
“I guess…” Rob gulped. This pimp scared him. Rob mumbled an apology and walked away. He entered the crowd of men walking away from the dock. The lanky Latino walking past him had a visible hardon bulging against the fabric of his sailor’s bellbottoms. He popped the low collar of his shirt. The Latino was already touching his dick through his pants as he approached the rather trashy women calling for him on land.
“Swallow your cum?” Rob said, but the Latino completely ignored him. He took his dick out, said something in Spanish and disappeared among the prostitutes. His cock hung free as he raced to take out the wad of cash in his pocket. Rob watched it dangle and twitch, getting hard, the foreskin slowly retracting as the Latino stroked it.
The docks were amazing. Rob didn’t want to leave without seeing the docks, and to bathe in the glorious hunks who filled it with their muscles and swagger and massive cocks. Men had poured out of the ship, hardons already evident — they knew there were girls waiting for them. The girls smiled and cooed, and blushed bashfully when the men kissed them and took out their cocks.
“Go’n, hoss!”
“Do it, Lyle!”
“Lyle, Lyle, Lyle!”
Lyle turned out to be a rather skinny young farmlad in an ill-fitting sailor’s uniform — obviously new to the merchant marine — who approached Rob with a nervous tremble. He gulped and went pale, fingers trembling as he let his massive dick flop out. He lowered his bellbottoms just enough to bare his crotch as he looked away, watching his friends instead of Rob.
His friends laughed so hard Rob couldn’t tell what was going on. Obviously this was some sort of joke or prank, or a hazing episode. Rob touched Lyle’s cock, which twitched beneath his fingers, and then Lyle went running back to his buddies with his eyes opened wide.
“He did it!”
“You squeamish pansy! It’s just a goddamn finger!”
One of the older sailors with Lyle looked at Rob. “Go to prison, pervert! You’ll find plenty of men there.” Then they all walked away. Lyle’s cheeks were bright red. His friends clasped him on the back, and one of them even grabbed Lyle’s cock as a joke, making them all laugh.
Rob was left alone. The S.S. Admiral Smikovsk was empty of people now, presumably. Rob watched the prostitutes pair off (in some cases in larger ratios than pairs). It seemed so far that this dock was more difficult than he had thought.
It had seemed easy. Sailors loved to get a load off and needed money and weren’t usually too squeamish about man-on-man contact. That was perfect.
But those prostitutes… it was hard to get a man to swing downlow with a gaggle of beautiful women beckoning. Or at least somewhat attractive women, Rob thought, whose lack of attractiveness was equivalent to their willingness to fuck. He sighed and decided to go back to his hotel. It was run-down and nasty, crawling with trashy man who, Rob suspected, would be willing to let him swing on their meat for a little consideration. However, Rob didn’t want that. He was here to get a taste of a raunchy sailor. What was the point of visiting a port city if not to jerk off some sailors?
Maybe, he thought, he should find a bar frequented by sailors. Whoever was unable or unwilling to find/pay a female would still be there late at night, and Rob might be able to get a taste of sailor meat then. Of course they’d be drunk, which was disappointing — Rob preferred his men fully conscious.
He turned around, but then stopped because he heard shouting from onboard the ship. The only word he could hear clearly was fuck, but there were definitely other insults, some of which were not in English.
Then two men were visible, and Rob’s knees went weak. One of them — presumably the captain — was a stout older man with an unappealing beard. Rob ignored him and zeroed in on the second man.
He was Nikos — Rob got that from the shouting — and he was the strongest sailor Rob had seen yet. He was tall and broad-shouldered, Greek with swarthy skin the color of toasted grain and an intensely hooked nose, a square jaw like a warrior, and so much body hair his sailor’s uniform barely fit. The fur poked out the wide collar. He was muscular but not big, and he walked with a heavy gait, like his boots were cast-iron.
He was utterly filthy. Rob had no idea why, but would soon learn that Nikos had snuck a rather large amount of alcohol onboard at the last port, and had been selling it at rather exorbitant prices to the other sailors. He had been punished by being sent to shovel coal for the last few days, and at such a feverish work-schedule that he didn’t bathe during that time.
So his clothes were plastered to his skin with sweat, and smudges of black coal dust and soot splattered over and stained much of his face. His clothes appeared to be more clean of coal — presumably he had dug coal naked, or at least in different clothes than these, but wearing them over his foul body had soaked them in sweat and dirt.
“You no-good pissant! When you come back, I’ll search you so good I will tickle your tonsils from behind! If you ever try to sneak that shit on my ship again, I swear to Christ, Nikos-!”
That was all Rob heard because Nikos turned around and exploded in anger as well. He shouted in Greek, fingers running through his dense, tangled mat of black curls. He made some sort of rude gesture that Rob didn’t understand. It wasn’t clear who he shouted at, as the port crawled with sailors, laughing, pointing, shouting at each other. Nikos must have been talking to one of them.
Eventually Nikos made it to the dock, away from the ship and his captain amd whoever he was arguing with a moment ago. He scowled, but he didn’t seem to notice Rob at all. He turned around and made that gesture again, which raised his arms and bared his armpits just inches from Rob’s face — Nikos still hadn’t noticed Rob because he was focused on his argument — sending a wave of intensely acrid sweat over Rob’s nostrils. It was funky and wild, and it made Rob’s heart skip a beat.
That gave Rob an idea. He hadn’t given much thought to what he wanted to do with his sailors — usually he had to let his men choose what they were comfortable with, since many wouldn’t go as far as Rob wanted.
But those armpits were incredible. He was so hairy Rob drooled to look at him. That bushy beard, and the dense growth of armpit hair that looked like a whole nother crotch. Rob giggled, eyes mesmerized by the sight of Nikos’s arm-bush, nose wrinkling at the waves of stale, fetish man-scent that assaulted his nostrils.
“Suck your armpits. Suck your armpits.” Rob’s dick stiffened as Nikos’s greasy body wafted his stink over Rob’s face. “Suck your armpits. I’ll suck your armpits, lick all that sweat up. I’ll worship your armpits.”
But Nikos just muttered to himself in Greek, paying no mind to the small, lithe man talking about armpits next to him. He took a wallet out of his pocket, then a coin-purse. He counted his change. He had very little weekend. He wasn’t getting paid today — he had leave for the weekend, but the captain had refused to pay him due to his continued disobedience. That’s what he was shouting about when he caught Rob’s attention.
He gulped. He barely had enough to buy a meal tonight. He certainly wouldn’t be able to get drunk or hire a prostitute. He could rob someone, he thought, he sometimes did that — he wasn’t a bad man, and he’d never hurt anyone, but he did sometimes rob rich people to fund his lifestyle.
“Lick your armpits. Hey, uh, man? I’ll lick your armpits for twenty bucks. I’ll give you twenty bucks to let me go at your armpits-“
Finally Nikos turned around and realized Rob was speaking to him. It took him a moment to process what Rob had said. Then he furrowed his brow.
“I’ll give you two hundred dollars,” Rob said. He pulled out a stack of twenty-dollar bills — that was enough by far to get drunk, eat a fine meal, fuck a woman — possibly not even a prostitute — and pay for a hotel room by himself. He dangled it in front of Nikos’s face.
Nikos’s eyes opened wide. “What?” He had a noticeable Greek accent, but it wasn’t real heavy. He had been speaking English since he was a boy. He had learned it from a Brit though, so some of his words were tinged with an upper-class British accent.
“I want to lick your armpits, suck them all over, drink all your sweat,” Rob said. He came closer. “Please? Let me lick your pits.”
“Lick my armpits? Why? What does that mean?”
“It means…. Exactly what it sounds like. I want to lick your armpits. I’m into pit worship,” Rob said. He blushed a little at Nikos’s harsh glare. Of course pit worship was not a known thing to most men, so Nikos had to deduce what it meant. He still assumed he had missed something, but he didn’t want to look like a fool by asking again.
Nikos nodded. He looked around to make sure no one was nearby who knew him. Nobody seemed to be paying much attention anyway — sailors went straight for the girls and ignored pretty much everything else. Virtually no one had even yet clocked Rob’s existence. Nikos tried to grab the money from Rob, but Rob tucked it back away in his pocket.
“I will need the money to rent a hotel room,” Nikos said. “So I can shower. Then I will… I will let you do what you wish.”
Rob shook his head. “You have completely misjudged the point of pit worship. Let’s go, I know a spot.”
“What do you mean? Misjudged how? What is pit worship?”
“I already said,” Rob said with a laugh. “It’s licking your armpits. Like, a lot. You misjudged because you thought I wanted you to shower first. That ruins the whole thing. There’s no point in you showering first. I might as well lick a bar of soap. I want to suck your armpits.”
Nikos frowned like he was confused. His English was good, but he assumed he was missing something. “I will not… You may not put your… manhood, uh… in my armpit.”
Rob rolled his eyes, having difficulty controlling not laughing at Nikos. “That’s not my intent. Neat idea, but not my plan. Maybe somebody else, some other time.” He led Nikos into an alley near the beach, where there was a little concealed area behind a mound of trash in the back of the alley.
Nikos wrinkled his nose. “I feel dirty already, I am very sweaty and you will not enjoy my body odor-“
“Oh my god, Nikos, you still don’t get it. How did your people invent democracy? Okay, stop talking, you’re making me even hornier,” Rob said. “I’m gonna blow my wad early.” As soon as they were both behind the mound of trash, Rob dove his face into Nikos’s chest. He had that sailor’s shirt with the very open collar, so Rob could get right into the greasy valley between Nikos’s pecs, which were especially firm right now because he had been using them for days to shovel coal. Nikos’s eyes opened wide.
To Nikos, doing anything like this when he was sober was a new experience. He had been raised to believe it was only an ex-con would ramrod a man knowingly, but in the merchant marine that qualifier — knowingly — had evolved to the point that it barely seemed to matter. As long as the sailor could pretend he thought it was a woman, it wasn’t “knowingly sinful” and therefore didn’t count.
A lot of times, ships had one or two sailors who would put on fishnet stockings and spray on some perfume, and everybody would pretend to think they were a real woman. Nikos did that too. Pretending made it feel more real, and he could ramrod those men for hours fooling himself that he was making love to a woman.
But he was sober now and couldn’t pretend to be confused, and there was a chance he could fuck a real woman. Rob wasn’t even bothering to dress like a lady or wear a wig, or even any perfume. Nikos stood there like a statue because he didn’t want to give the impression that he was becoming aroused and because he still wasn’t sure what Rob was doing or what he expecte from Nikos.
“I will need a woman to get hard. Or at least you will need to act like a woman,” Nikos said with an embarrassed grunt as Rob pulled his bellbottoms down. His trunk-like thighs were covered in dense, coarse black hairs, matted to his skin with sweat. Rob licked a trail from his thighs up his chest — lifting his shirt up over his body — and sucking down all the sweat he could get to. He was surprised and elated to see Nikos didn’t wear any underwear, his dick just flopped freely out, uncut and gleaming.
The scent of his unwashed crotch was acrid and intense, and it brought tears to Rob’s eyes. He gave Nikos’s dick a stroke, just to get him started. It throbbed in his hand. It was hot and clammy, unwashed for days, maybe more than a week. Nikos furrowed his brow like he only just now understood what was happening.
“How long will this take? I can’t spend all evening-“
“Relax, just gimme… an hour. Less than an hour, probably,” Rob said. “Lift your arms.” He nuzzled Nikos’s armpit with his arms tightly at his side, then he lifted them and the fragrantly fruity scent of his rancid armpits hit Rob’s nostrils.
“Ah…. That is nasty. You’re just licking my armpit. What… is that?” Nikos said, furrowing his brow as he watched. He was surprised to learn that Rob had been entirely literal about licking his pits.
It was somewhat ticklish, but Nikos at first didn’t think much of it. It was an awkward situation, standing with another man in a disgusting alley, worrying that someone might come around the corner anytime. He kept looking up to be sure no windows aimed down here on this side of the trash.
But it wasn’t unpleasant. Nikos’s dick wouldn’t get hard like this — which was fine with Rob, since he would rather drag this out — yet it did throb a bit beneath Rob’s touch. Rob even dropped his own pants and let his dick joust with Nikos’s as he slathered spit all over Nikos’s armpit. He slurped down every drop of sweat, and he sucked on every one of the fine hairs of Nikos’s armpits.
Saliva dripped down his powerful chest, matting his body hair to his skin. Nikos still tried not to think about it. Looking at it was gross because Nikos didn’t want to think about what that would taste like. It was probably so moist with sweat, he thought, and gritty with salt, and bitter from the coal dust. Watching Rob’s tongue made Nikos’s tongue taste it too, so he looked away.
Rob moaned. His own cock leaked precum over Nikos’s shaft. Nikos ignored it — he and his fellow Greek sailors thought little of touching dicks when they shared a prostitute, so letting Rob joust with him didn’t feel so strange. He was not squeamish, after all. He sighed.
Was this really going to take an hour? An hour of his armpit being licked? Nikos sighed again, even louder, and rolled his eyes as Rob switched to his other freshly-funky armpit.
Still, for two hundred dollars, Nikos could spend an hour.
The taste was potent and pure stank all over again. Rob moaned, his voice breaking, his whole body cringing. Precum flowed freely over Nikos’s shaft now, which gleamed, sticky and creamy. Nikos was almost hard now.
And then, like a switch being flicked, it felt good.
Nikos’s grunted and moaned. His knees went weak, and for a moment, Rob supported him with his hands on Nikos’s dick. His heavy, sweat-slickened body rubbed against Rob, who could never have held him up for more than a few seconds. Nikos leaned against the brick wall.
He threw his head back and moaned. He couldn’t believe that his armpits felt good. It was his dick that really sent waves of pleasure through his body, but it was Rob’s tongue snaking back and forth between both armpits that made that pleasure grow, giving him an erection that throbbed against Rob’s own hardon.
Both men’s precum flowed over their shafts, lubricating Rob’s hands, which both rubbed up and down in sync with Rob’s tongue flickering over the moist valley of Nikos’s armpits. His biceps were huge and firm, flexed hard as brick now.
“Ah, goddamn, I’m going to-” Nikos bit his lip, and his whole muscled body shook as he orgasmed. It looked so intense it hurt. His knees buckled again, but he leaned against the wall for support instead of relying on Rob.
Rob dropped to his knees, kneeling among the spilled trash bags. He hurried to lower his head and let both of Nikos’s heavy, sour balls plop into his open mouth.
He kept both hands on Nikos’s shaft, which was already throbbing and beginning to spray his first wad of cum when his sac slipped into Rob’s mouth. Having not showered in days, his balls stank powerfully, the sweat dripping in rivers down Rob’s throat. Even though Rob loved mansweat of any kind and in any quantity, this was enough to make him gag and choke.
It certainly didn’t stop him though. His tongue snaked out to Nikos’s nasty taint as cum sprayed up. Rob jacked his cock off with both hands, giggling at the feel of his balls rising up in his sac. Rob could sense the cum coursing up his sac as wad after wad shot straight up.
“Ah, damn…” Nikos grunted. “Nai, afto efnai kalo…” He repeated that a few times — Rob didn’t know Greek, and he was too involved in suckling Nikos’s sweaty ballsac to ask.
Some of it coated Nikos’s chest, matting his fur to his skin, but much of it just dripped right back down on Nikos’s shaft or on Rob’s face. Nikos shuddered and shook. He was surprised at how good it felt, since after all, it was “technically speaking”, just a handjob. His dick hadn’t even gotten wet.
But Rob gave surprisingly expert handjobs, and Nikos he shot a massive load that coated Rob’s face and Nikos’s dick, where it dripped down onto Rob’s body. Then Rob licked a trail up from Nikos’s nasty balls — which now just smelled of saliva — back to his shaft. Rob sucked down every drop of sour-sweet cum there, the saltiness bringing tears to his eyes. He loudly slurped on the mess of fluids on Nikos’s cockshaft, and the sensation of Rob’s mouth on his sensitive knob made Nikos gasp, muscles rippling, as he stood up on his toes.
At last, he was done, Rob’s own load congealing warmly on the trashy pavement. Rob sat back and plopped his ass on the garbage. He lazily reached up to stroke Nikos’s limp dick, making Nikos’s hairy body tremble with post-orgasmic bliss. His brown skin had already gleamed with sweat, but now much of it was covered in either semen or spit or both, so he was positively shimmery.
Nikos suddenly felt cold and dirty. He really wanted to take a shower, and he was annoyed that he hadn’t been able to before leaving the ship. He let out a menacing growl when he realized Rob hadn’t paid him yet. Rob hurried to hand over the money, the full two hundred dollars, which he counted out in twenty-dollar bills in Nikos’s hand.
“Have fun this weekend,” Rob said. “When you find a prostitute, you should pay extra to fuck her in the ass.”
“Why?”
Rob shrugged like the answer should have been obvious. “Because it’s awesome.” He laughed. “Or so I’ve been told, I don’t know much about women.”
Nikos grunted and put his clothes on. Now that he had his money, all he could really think about was getting away from Rob before he blew his reputation. That and he still desperately needed a shower. He walked away, ignoring Rob’s eyes aimed at his ass.
Rob smiled and sighed. He leaned back in the garbage. Had he had his fill of sailor meat? He thought so. But it was just armpits, there were more sailors and more body parts, and Rob was ready to track down every single one.
