rednecks – Mansploitation

The Fat Mechanic

Bart loves living above an auto repair garage because that means he gets to see the giant stud/studly giant Robby McCardle, a blue-collar hick with a whole lot of meat both upstairs and downstairs! Can Bart tighten his torque to a satisfactory degree?!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Bart Dazzle pulled into the spot across from his building. He wished he didn’t have to park here, but there weren’t many actual parking spots, so usually he had to pull in across the street. That was annoying because of the bird shit — the trees on the other side of the road were apparently full of birds with digestive problems. Whenever Bart parked there, he came out to a car covered in bird shit in the morning.
He didn’t want to complain, because his apartment was great, and very cheap, plus he got a discount on car repairs. Not many people wanted to live in a rickety, drafty apartment above a used car dealership and auto repair shop. It was loud and cold and a mouse magically appeared in his kitchen every time he left some crumbs out even for an hour. That was presumably because of the huge open garage area right underneath his apartment, which must have been crawling with mice. The only saving grace was that he had seen at least two snakes recently. Bart liked snakes, so he didn’t mind and hoped they would eat some of the mice.
The other reason he liked his apartment was Robby McCardle. He was a mechanic at the shop. When Bart got out of his car, Robby was coming out of the garage with a set of keys in his hand.
He was short and squat, powerfully built underneath a massive layer of blubber. He was hairy all over, even onto his back — that was obvious because he wore a sleeveless shirt, and the furry black hairs covering his shoulder poked out from the strap of fabric there. A nest of coarser black hair spilled out of both armpits.
There was a tattoo of a Confederate flag over his chest, plainly visible in the sleeveless camo shirt he wore. More tattoos, including American flags, a recreation of the Iwo Jima landing, the words ‘NECK LIFE, a silhouette of an old woman, several silhouettes of sexy women and a fat but sex Statue of Liberty, all dotted his chest and expansive belly. His fatness jiggled when he moved, and Bart could see the powerful musculature beneath the heft shift along with it.
“I tol’ you I’s gettin’ desperate, sure as shit stinks on Sunday!” Robby said, guffawing at the other mechanics. “When you grow up on a farm, you gotta get in whatever hole-” He stopped because they laughed too hard at him to hear. Robby pumped his hips as though plowing into the air.
“Baah! Baah! Baah!” One of the other mechanics baahed like a sheep.
“Is yo’ mama a sheep?”
“Not no sheep! Nobody fuck a sheep, man, they all covered in wool! I’s talkin’ ‘bout goats, homeboy!” Robby yelled to be heard over the other mechanics. Robby blushed but smiled like he wasn’t bothered. He grabbed his dick through his filthy jeans and wagged it towards the garage. Then he turned around.
He saw Bart and stopped short. He furrowed his bull-like brow.
Bart nodded at him. “Hey. How you doin’?”
Robby bit his lip, making his cheeks jiggle. “Howdy, suh.” He headed over to a Toyota, got in the driver’s seat and backed it into the garage. The mechanics made sounds that were supposed to be a goat getting plowed into by a fat hick, but they didn’t seem to really know what that would sound like. Not that Bart knew what it sounded like either, but he didn’t suppose it was that sort of pornographic grunt-moan that they did loud enough to be audible through the floor when Bart went upstairs to his apartment.
Now Bart was thinking about dicks. In his bathroom, he could hear everything going on below. Normally that was just the radio, switching between country and urban pop stations. But today he heard laughing and more baahing — they seemed to have gone back to sheep-sounds since it was easier to make.
“Damn, that ya female, Fiddle? She is fine-“
“She don’t like white meat, ‘specially not fatback pork!”
“She got ass for days-“
“She ain’t got time for yo’ thickest-hick ass, Robby! She don’t need that tiny cock-“
“Ah shit, you awakened the beast-“
Bart couldn’t make out any more words, but he could tell from the way Fiddle’s voice trailed off that he hadn’t meant to make that tiny-cock joke, and then there were scandalized shouts. Then Fiddle said something about not flashing his girlfriend — obviously they had had this discussion before, and Fiddle had learned Robby’s dick was not tiny at all. He had forgotten, hence the joke.
That made Bart’s heart skipped a beat. Had Robby whipped his dick out to prove it was big?
“He got meat, nigga! That ain’t-“
“It ain’t nothin’, man, quit lookin’ at it-“
“Put ya goddamn dick away, motherfucker! No one wanna see that.”
“That artsy fellah upstairs do…”
“Swear to god, man, you confused a big dick wit’ a big belly. This is a big dick!”
There was another outpouring of scandalized shouts. Bart was beginning to get hard just picturing it. All of those mechanics were at least kind of hot. That was Fiddle who just took his dick out — he was too skinny for Bart’s preference, but he was handsome in his way, and Bart wouldn’t have turned down a roll in the hay with him. It would have been a bony, angular roll, he thought, like making out with a coatrack, but a roll nonetheless.
“…. Circlejerk! … …”
“Ha! Do it!”
“That’s some nasty-ass shit-“
“Bend him over, Fiddle!”
“Don’t touch my motherfuckin’ dick!”
It sounded like possibly more than two had taken their dicks out now, and were they jousting? Or chasing after each other as though they might start jousting, just as a prank? That was what Bart suspected based on the sounds he heard, but he enjoyed imagining them circlejerking.
It all ended unfortunately quickly though. Fiddle’s girlfriend came into the office attached to the garage, and they all politely shut up. There was some scattered laughter, but no one wanted a girl to know they’d been wagging dicks at each other. That’s how rumors get started. Someone must have whispered something funny, because Bart heard snorting and muffled giggling.
After that the radio turned on, and they started doing work again. Bart was annoyed. That had been almost enough to get him hard, then he was blue-balled.
Bart had long wanted to jack off with Robby. He had a great love for doing it with gigantic men like him. But he had never propositioned Robby because he didn’t want to cause an awkward situation with his landlord. If Robby complained, they might evict Bart — Robby could even threaten a lawsuit claiming Bart caused an unsafe working environment.
But now that he had heard Robby complain of being horny — apparently horny enough to (presumably jokingly) imply he would fuck a goat — Bart wondered if he had a better chance than he had thought. If he would jokingly fuck a goat, maybe he would get off wth Bart in the real world.
So Bart went downstairs and told the nice lady behind the counter that his car was making a funny noise. That was accurate. It was a sort of a thwackity-thwackity sound. Bart just didn’t much care, this car was on its last legs anyway.
But the reason he said that was so she would send Robby out to go on a drive with Bart. The shop was almost closed, but Robby said he wanted to find out what the car needed so he could start right away in the morning.
Bart drove off, heading down the country road instead of the highway. He wanted to drive slowly. He pointed out the thwackity-thwackity sound and turned down the radio so it was audible.
“Hmm… I dunno what that might be. Prolly just a loose hose. You gettin’ overheated ever?”
“All the time, man, I get — oh wait, you mean the car? No, the car never gets overheated,” Bart said with a flirtatious laugh. He glanced over at Robby to make sure he wasn’t reacting badly. You never know who’s Christian these days.
Robby had a deep, throaty chuckle, and it made his hefty body shake in the seat he didn’t quite fit in. His arms were well past his own seat and the fleshy thickness of his upper arm rubbed on Bart’s shoulder.
“Well, then it prolly ain’t the coolant system,” Robby said. He lifted up his shirt and scratched his belly, which bared its bigness and the brownish hair that ran in a trail down the center of it.
“Hmmmm…. Are you still seeing that girl?” Bart asked. He hadn’t really seen Robby with any girl, but Robby didn’t know that.
“Who? Elise? Nah? She dumped me. She’s fuckin’ crazy, man.”
“Oh, that sucks,” Bart said. He sighed. “You must be lonely now.”
Robby scoffed. “Whatevuh. I put my dangle out there.”
“Well, you must at least get horny from time to time. Horny enough to fuck a goat.”
Robby blushed and laughed so hard it echoed deafeningly. “Ha! You heard that shit? Can you hear us up in ya place?”
“Mostly I just hear the radio,” Bart said. “You guys love Lynyrd Skynyrd.”
“Yeah we can all agree on them, whenever we argue about the radio we put on Lynyrd Skynyrd and everyone’s happy,” Robby said. “Shit, man, I ain’t really fuck a goat on the farm, okay? There was lots of rumors, y’know, ‘bout this one farmhand we had, and there was this Mexican on the other side of the county, e’ryone said he got caught fuckin’ a piglet.”
“A piglet? That’s like child-rape and bestiality-“
“I know, right?! I don’t think that’s true though. It’s just a rumor. Ain’t no pig farms out there anyways,” Robby said. “I ain’t nevuh fuck a goat, I swear, not one time. I don’t get that drunk.”
“Well, you can get your rocks off more easily than that anyway,” Bart said. He paused as Robby’s mind whirred. Then Bart said, “There’s, y’know… options even without women.”
“Oh, jacking off? Yeah-“
“Yeah, but, uh… with a friend.”
Robby paused. “Oooooooohhh…. Yeah. That… on the farm, y’know… I don’t mess with that shit, but y’know, some of them farmhands… My momma once caught ‘em in a barn doin’ something she wouldn’t tell me about.”
Bart giggled. “It’s fun to imagine…”
“It sound nasty.” His scraggly beard hairs shook as he gruffly grunted and looked away.
Bart cleared his throat. “So… I’d be glad to help you out, y’know.”
“What?”
“If you ever get horny enough, come on upstairs. I’m in the last apartment on the right if you come up the front stairs,” Bart said. “I’ll jack you off with my mouth if you want. You can stick me in the ass, whatever you want.”
“Man, no way. You is into that?” Robby pursed his lips and glared at Bart. “That is… That’s fuckin’ nasty.” He paused. “Man… I ain’t into that nasty shit, nothing personal.”
“Sure, sure, no problem,” Bart said. “Feel free to say no.”
“No.”
“I’ll give you two hundred dollars.”
Robby didn’t answer. He looked out the window. “Man… That’s nasty. I…”
“I’ll swallow your dick so good. I swallow cum too.” Bart paused to lick his lips and run his eyes up and Robby’s expansive frame. “Okay, I can tell you’re wondering — I love your fat. I’m into fat guys. I would love to lick your belly, and I wanna feel it flopping on my head while I get you off-“
“Three hundred bucks.”
“Deal,” Bart said. He pulled back into the shop, where there was a spot now available, so he didn’t have to park across the street. Robby was surprised — he had been so focused on Bart’s offer that he didn’t notice they were heading back. Bart cleared his throat. “You wanna come up to my place?”
“You crazy? Wait till after five. Once them asshats is gone, I’ll sneak up the back stairs,” Robby said. His fat ass heaved out of the car and into the garage without waiting for an answer.
Bart didn’t mind waiting. He got his apartment a little cleaner and queued up some porn on the computer — he made it hardcore interracial gangbang stuff with lots of big black dicks rubbing against each other, because he knew Robby wouldn’t like that.
Sure enough, he scoffed at the sight of it when he finally strode in an hour later. “Man, you ain’t put that shit on for me, didya?”
“Sorry, I don’t know what you like,” Bart said.
Robby pushed past him to type in chicks hardcore and found a video he liked. He bristled when he felt Bart’s hands on his meaty, hairy shoulders. Robby cleared his throat. “I prolly stink like a ferret, man. You want me to shower first?”
“No!” Bart blurted out. “Sorry, I mean… no. Don’t shower. I like ‘em dirty.”
“That’s nasty.”
“That’s nasty?” He pointed to one of the vaginas onscreen. “That’s where babies come from. You stick your dick in there. That’s nasty. You like plowing into a baby factory.”
“A pussy ain’t like a baby factory!” Robby said with a laugh. “You know there’s no baby in there, right?”
“Yeah, I know there’s no baby, literally, I’m just saying… If your kink was fucking women in a toy store surrounded by dolls and pacifiers and shit, people would say that was nasty-“
“It ain’t the same thing!”
Bart giggled. He had gotten Robby so worked up he had barely noticed Bart stroking his dick through his jeans. Now his cock twitched, and he couldn’t help but notice. His eyes opened wide, and his cock throbbed in Bart’s grasp. Bart dropped to his knees, and Robby aimed the computer chair away from the desk so Bart could get his head between those massive thighs.
He stank like the garage downstairs, like cold steel and warm engines rumbling, with the acridity of the oil and fluids that had stained his jeans many times over. The smell brought tears to Bart’s eyes even before he had unzipped them and let Robby’s fat cock flop out.
A lot of fat men have small cocks because most of their shafts’s lengths gets subsumed by the fatty tissue’s growth in their crotch. But Robby didn’t have that body type, or maybe his cock was simply so huge that it still looked big even with much of it swallowed up by his heft. Regardless, a ten-inch slab of thick, veiny, greasy dickmeat flopped out over Bart’s face.
Robby jumped as though it hurt him. His eyes were intently trained on the computer screen, but kept peeking down at his crotch. It was weird, cold, ticklish when Bart’s tongue snaked out.
“Hmmmmm….” Bart let out a moan, then swallowed Robby’s cocktip. He suckled on it loudly, and Robby shook. Bart deep-throated him. Robby leaned back, his face turning red. His hands flailed and his heavy belly shook.
“Goddamn, man… Ah, shit…” Robby hyperventilated like he couldn’t take this. His dick wasn’t even hard yet — though it was rapidly firming up — and he already found himself enjoying this. He had thought he wouldn’t be able to, that he’d be so turned off by the knowledge it was a man’s mouth on his dick that he’d struggle to get hard.
That hadn’t happened at all. His cock throbbed, pulsating in Bart’s throat. Moisture coated his shaft. Bart’s nose nuzzled his fat crotch, that entire girthy dick stretching his throat.
“Shit, man, shit!” Robby opened his eyes wide. He squirmed. He licked his lips. He remembered Bart saying he liked the idea of Robby’s belly flopping over his face, so Robby did so. His girlfriends always made him shower and wash his balls before they’d even think about touching him. It was fun to watch his belly slap Robby’s forehead, leaving a layer of greasy sweat there.
Just as Robby had lost enough of his inhibitions to touch Bart’s forehead and plow down his throat, Bart pulled off and licked his belly. Robby looked at him grossly, but he lifted his shirt up to make it easy. He watched Bart slather his belly with spit, then suck on his manboobs and nipples.
“Ew…” Robby grimaced. He wasn’t ashamed of his body. He was happy and comfortable in his own skin. However, it was a little weird and gross to see a man licking his hairy fatpad, and even slurping the sweat out of his stale armpit hair.
“I wanna taste your fat balls…” Bart whispered right into Robby’s ear, which startled him. He yelped, and his dick twitched in Bart’s hand.
His cock and balls were moist, dripping with saliva and precum. The whole area smelled rank, like a jizz-sock, Bart thought. He loved that. He slurped up as many fluids as he could find, then lowered his head until he could take in Robby’s heavy sac. He swallowed it down, gurgling on the sweaty balls.
The taste was exquisitely raunchy. It tasted like pure dirt, and it was gritty with salt and who-knew-what-else. Robby’s ballsac was so moist with sweat it was like swallowing a mouthful of sweat, like downing a shot of it and gargling on it so it overwhelmed Bart’s senses. He moaned moistly, the sound of which made Robby gag because he could almost taste his own balls.
“Ugh… Man…” Robby grunted. He squirmed on his seat. The hot-chicks porno had stopped, and the browser automatically switched back to the interracial gangbang video again. Robby noticed, but his hands were busy flailing around — he wanted to touch Bart’s head to guide him back to his cock, but that felt too weird; the texture of Bart’s hair made it obvious he was a man, and Robby couldn’t pretend it was a female on his cock.
Finally Bart pulled away from Robby’s balls. He giggled at the shocked look on his face, and he pulled a pubic hair off his lip. “You ready to stick it in me?”
Robby bristled. His machismo wouldn’t let him say no, of course, but he would have rather continued getting jacked off.
That changed when Bart actually turned around and bent over. Robby’s first thought was what were you nervous for? His ass looks like a perfect female- He cut his own thought off because that was horrid to him — Robby was raised to be very religious and to think any masturbation was a sin. His mother would be scandalized if she knew he jacked off even alone, much less with another man (his father wouldn’t, Robby suspected, but only if he knew Robby had been paid — his father resolutely believed men should do whatever it took to avoid going “on the dole”, so he forgave any man for being motivated by poverty to do something immoral — his father would also approve better if Robby lied that he robbed Bart rather than accept the money that had been agreed upon — not that Robby was going to tell either parent about this).
Bart’s ass was smooth and perky like a porno-star. Robby had daydreamed about plowing into asses just like this one. His hole winked like it was begging Robby to do it. In real life, Robby couldn’t get trim girls to look at him, much less offer up their tight little asshole. Robby occasionally got girls as thick as him, and he once had gotten a female to give up the ass — he lied about how often that happened, but it had actually only ever been once, and she had been a nasty fat-ass who stank like a fetid pond.
This was nice, Robby thought but would never admit. He didn’t have to worry about his fat-ass turning the girl off, or about accidentally getting so sweaty she made him stop and shower a second time (which had happened before). He stood up and bent his knees, ramming his dick into Bart’s ass without hesitation — he thought it would be easier if he just did it quickly, like ripping a band-aid off.
At first it was awkward and unpleasant. Robby grunted. Then a surge of pleasure ran up from his cock as it was swallowed up — was Bart pulling it into his ass? Was that possible? Or was Robby’s body working on instinct to get deep in there? — and Bart howled.
He sucked in his breath. “Damn, you got one tight ass…”
“Hmmm… You can ramrod me hard, and let your belly crush me, okay? I wanna feel you on top of me…” Bart whimpered as Robby slowly weighed down on him.
It kept feeling like he was going to really crush Bart, that he’d be turned into a pancake. He was so tiny, and his back was so clean and smooth. Robby felt like he was corrupting something pure as he slipped his cock in, and his hairy belly left a layer of grease and spit on his back.
Robby chuckled. He was going to say something about Bart liking it nasty, but his dick had slid the rest of the way in, his balls slapping against Bart’s asscrack. It felt so good Robby couldn’t quite concentrate enough to say anything.
So he just let out a long low moan. He slapped Bart’s asscheeks because that made him squirm and clench. Robby licked his lips, leaning down with both arms to pin Bart in place as he used all of his weight to slam in and out of Bart’s ass. Pangs of intense pleasure ran up his body.
But the pleasure was even greater for Robby, who writhed in exquisite agony. Wave after wave of prostate orgasm hit him like a truck. He cried out loud, and he was glad there was no one left downstairs because they would have definitely heard.
Bart’s hands turned into claws that dug into the carpet beneath him. The pressure was intense, and still Robby’s cock slammed in and out, shooting load after creamy load of hot cum that coated his insides. Still there was more coming, as though Robby had built up cum he needed to get rid of, and he sprayed it all deep into Bart’s ass.
A little of Robby’s fatty flesh spilled over the side of Bart’s face, so he could turn his head and slurp all the sweat and spit there. It was deliciously flabby, hairy, greasy.
Bart shot his own wad on the carpet. He was laid out flat, squashed by Robby’s hefty body, which still plopped over and over on him even as Robby’s cock fell limp inside him.
“Ah, man, come on….” Robby bit his lip, grabbed Bart by the back of the head and rolled over, so Robby was on his back, his limp dick still in Bart’s ass. Bart struggled stay in position, riding him and massaging his fat belly.
At last, Bart couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled away, but kept slurping Robby’s fat until Robby’s moist dick finally flopped out. That plump load plopped out too as Bart squatted over Robby’s crotch. Robby gagged at the sight of a huge wad of santorum and cum coat his limp dick.
“Shit, man… That’s nasty, you made a big mess…”
Bart giggled and blushed. “I’m sorry. I think you made the mess though.”
Robby belched. “I think I should take a shower.”
“Okay, go ahead,” Bart said. “But I get to watch.”
Robby grumbled but agreed and went in the bathroom. Bart settled down there on the edge of the tub, chasing Robby’s hairy asscheek with his tongue. Robby tried his best to ignore him as he showered, then eventually thwacked his limp dick over Bart’s face a few times.
Bart smiled. He had gotten what he wanted, and he had a feeling he might get it again before too long. Robby was a lot less reluctant now than he had been when they started.
Bart couldn’t wait.

The Soldier

Avery is working the front desk at the legendary Night Along Motel when he runs into the soldier on leave Willie Redman. Willie is a redneck alpha willing to giving Avery a taste of his manhood, if Avery can take it…

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Every couple of weeks Avery’s job sucked. Normally he enjoyed it — a hotel clerk is a low-stress position, and with sales incentives he normally met, Avery could make pretty good money. It wasn’t what he wanted to do — own his own florist shop — but it paid the bills and came with its own perks.
About once a month, the guys from the local military base, Fort Rumblemore, had a weekend of leave. They often came to Avery’s hotel, and they were always drunk, rowdy and left a huge mess behind. Since they were price-sensitive, they almost never paid for anything from the minibar or anything on pay-per-view, so the hassle of dealing with them was not worth it to Avery.
But this night was especially bad for him. Not only did he have to deal with the Rumblemore boys getting drunk in their rooms before hitting the bars, he was depressed to begin with because his girlfriend Shawna dumped him. He had been upset but thought going to work might help — if he had known it was going to be an armyboys night, he would have called out sick for sure.
Finally the armymen all made their way out to the bars. A few drifted back over the next few hours, but they had females and went straight to their rooms. Their kissing was a little more risqué than Avery liked in his lobby, but he knew better than to ask them to stop. The best course of action was simply to let them go fuck their slut in their room and wait for them to check out in the morning.
The sound of frenzied rutting could be heard when he walked down the hall, emanating from their rooms. More than once an almost entirely naked soldier bumped into him as he drunkenly stumbled off to the ice machine, towel loosely draped around his waist. They stank of cum, and it made Avery so horny he wished he had a free moment to jack off in the bathroom.
Around midnight the last of them came back. He was Willie Redman, a Texan with the sunburnt shoulders of a real redneck, leaner than a lot of the soldiers but ropy with muscle and an elegant tattoo reading Texas-Made on his upper back. He had a loping gait like he was more comfortable astride a horse, and he sucked on his teeth in a friendly way when he nodded hello. He stopped in front of the desk.
“Can I help you, sir?” Avery asked.
“I… I don’t remembuh my room number,” he said.
“I’ll show you. Follow me, sir,” Avery said. He walked down the hall to his room, which was at the far end.
“Hey, hotel clerks know about…” He trailed off as though too embarrassed to go on. “Women? Like… Women that I can… fuck?”
Willie was not the first soldier to ask him this. “No,” Avery said. “I don’t know any prostitutes. I don’t know much about women at all. Sorry.” In truth, he did know of some prostitutes, but he knew better than to get involved — he could be charged as a pimp if the police found out, which was a felony sex crime, worse than either being or hiring a prostitute.
And Avery had no desire to hook handsome soldiers up with women. Avery had other plans for the hunky soldier in front of him.
They were in front of Willie’s door. Willie blanched and said, “I struck out tonight. I was really hoping to get laid. I only got tonight. Tomorrow I ship out to Iraq.”
Avery opened the hotel room door and held it open for him. Willie’s muscles throbbed underneath his sleeveless t-shirt (no wonder he struck out, Avery thought, women don’t normally go for the rough redneck on leave look).
Willie stepped through the threshold, then turned around. “Hey,” he said, “Do you… You can say no, it ain’t a big deal, but do you… Wanna swallow my dick?”
Avery was so surprised he didn’t have a response, but in truth he thought Willie’s redneck soldier look was so arousing he could barely control himself. He wanted nothing more than to taste his dick. He wasn’t expecting this to be so easy. Usually men require a little persuasion. “Yes,” Avery said. He followed him into the room. That was easier than he was expecting.
Soldiers were like that though. They just wanna get their dick wet.
“I never done this before,” Willie said as he sat on the edge of his bed. His head lolled on his shoulders as though he was already half-passed out.
Avery knelt in front of him and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”
He undid Willie’s camo pants, revealing those olive-green PT shorts. They were a little small, so Willie’s bulging cock and balls were readily apparent, straining against the fabric.
Willie let out an awkward moan and looked away. The smell of liquor on his breath was strong, and stale, drunken sweat wafted into Avery’s nostrils as he got started.
He licked Willie’s crotch through his underwear, tasting the salty cotton flavor. Willie laughed a little as though surprised. He leaned back on the bed, keeping his hands up by his head like he was frightened he might accidentally touch Avery.
Avery fished his cock out through the fly of his boxers, and he licked it from tip to root. It had a ruddy quality, and a well-worn thickness that reminded Avery of Willie’s redneck swagger.
His dick got hard right away despite the awkwardness of the situation and Willie’s rather advanced drunkenness. His thick shaft pulsated hotly and leaked precum down Avery’s throat.
It had all happened so fast that Avery was only just then realizing how much trouble he could get in. He was supposed to be working, and consorting with customers in their rooms was strictly forbidden.
But Willie was oblivious to any risk. He grunted as he neared orgasm already, and his balls lifted up in his sac. His eyes closed, then opened wide, then closed again. Avery worked on Willie’s nipples with one hand, using the other to stimulate his shaft.
“You gonna swallow?” Willie mumbled. Asking was a polite gesture, Avery thought, but Willie asked too late for it to matter. Before he even finished asking, cum was spurting down Avery’s throat.
He shot a huge load with a nice thickness that coated Avery’s gullet. He moaned at the savory, salty taste flooding his senses. It was intense, and Avery loved it, swallowing it but letting it fill his mouth first, so it would overflow and coat Willie’s cock and Avery could slurp it all in again. That slurping made Willie’s whole body shake because it extended his orgasm. As long as Avery worked on his cum-dribbling shaft, Willie moaned and groaned, hands fluttering uselessly above his head.
Avery kept on Willie’s sensitive shaft until he was drunkenly pulled off. Willie was already half-asleep, it seemed, and Avery wiped his dick off with a tissue before leaving. He couldn’t resist spending a moment to fondle Willie’s tight pectoral muscles and perfectly round ass, savoring their well-sculpted feel.
But that was it. Avery assumed that when this was over, it was over. Rough trade was usually that way. Willie was a beautiful sight, sprawled out there on the bed, sleeping it off. But like all beautiful things, it wasn’t going to last.
After spending the night with Willie, Avery moved on. He didn’t think there was any chance Willie would return. He wasn’t even stationed at Rumblemore, he was told by some of the other soldiers, Willie had been assigned to a classified mission and may never return to the area. The other soldiers all pretended they knew where he was and couldn’t say, but Avery was certain they didn’t know and just wanted to seem “in-the-loop”.
He resigned himself to the probability that he would never see Willie again. Avery couldn’t feel too bummed out about it. That was part of this industry, and in any case, Avery enjoyed that he met a variety of men in this job.
But then Willie did return. He came back a couple months later.
He was in the waiting room when Avery strode in, not noticing him at first. Willie stood straight and erect at the check-in counter, while Avery gave an elderly tourist couple their room key. Avery’s hands started shaking when he saw who it was. Memories of that fantastic cock filled Avery’s mind.
“Hey,” he said when he stepped forward. Willie wore only a white sleeveless t-shirt, one whose sleeves he had obviously ripped off. His strapping chest was visible from the sides. He carried a ratty old backpack slung over his shoulder. His voice was clipped and curt, as though he was either addressing a superior officer or was controlling his emotions. “I… Look, I remember what happened before, and…”
His voice trailed off. Avery’s heart started pounding just like the first time. He was surprised Willie remembered considering how drunk he had been. He had seemed blackout-drunk at the time, Avery thought. Willie bit his lip nervously.
“You wanna do it again?” Avery said, trying to hide the shock in his voice.
“My girl dumped me. I decided not to re-enlist in the Army so we could be together, and she dumped me as soon as I made it official,” Willie said, blushing so hard his cheeks matched his shoulders. “I don’t wanna try to find some slut… I mean, a female slut… I need to get my rocks off. And I’m sick of chicks right now.”
Avery smiled at his awkwardness. “Well, my boss is in right now. I have to stay up here at the desk until he’s gone,” Avery said. “But go on to your room. I’ll be there in a bit. He’s gonna go home soon, his wife has been nagging him about leaving earlier. I’ll remind him and get him out as soon as I can.”
Willie sighed in relief. He must have thought he might get in trouble, Avery thought. Willie’s muscles relaxed, and for a moment, Avery caught Willie’s musk hidden by cheap deodorant (or possibly not, Avery thought, it smelled like he had rubbed a car air freshener over his pits, that was a typical soldier move). Willie nodded as though he had been given an order, then grabbed his crotch — it looked like he was already getting hard. He sniffed at his pits. “I need to grab a shower…”
Avery blurted out, “No!” Then he blushed. “I mean, if you want to… But I wouldn’t mind, y’know, if you stank a little.”
Willie looked at him in disgust, then sighed and nodded as though he was compromising. “Okay, just come in when you can.” He did not understand people some times. Who wants a stinky man?
The rest of Avery’s shift was impossibly long. His boss was hanging around the office for even longer than usualy, and though Avery reminded him that his wife had been begging him to come home earlier, he only grunted and returned to his paperwork. It was too risky to be caught away from the front desk when Avery’s boss could leave his office anytime. Avery had been caught away from the front desk before. He couldn’t afford to do it again.
But he only had an hour and a half left on his shift, so he forced himself to wait it out no matter how arduously long it felt. Now that he knew he’d be with Willie when he get off, he couldn’t wait. He was virtually salivating at the opportunity, and he had to rearrange his pants to hide a boner several times.
Finally, just ten minutes before Avery’s shift was up anyway, his boss got a text from his wife that he couldn’t ignore, and he ran to his car so quick he had to come back to get his keys. Avery waited until he had driven away.
Then Avery knocked on Willie’s door. He heard him scamper to open it. Avery smiled. Willie must be very horny, he thought, he’s been waiting for me with baited breath.
Willie filled out the doorway, his muscular body barely fitting in it as he let Avery in. He was wearing nothing but his green PT shorts, his enormous cock bulging out of it as though he was about to burst. His whole body was dappled with sweat, and Avery saw one of those stretching arm exercise tools laying on the bed.
“I am so fucking horny,” Willie said and sighed. His muscles rippled, and his cock twitched in his boxers. “It’s been almost a week since I got my nut off. I decided to get my exercise in, is that okay? You sure you don’t want me to shower first?”
Avery didn’t even bother answering, he just dropped down and attacked Willie’s chest with his mouth. He licked every drop of salty sweat off his pecs, played with his nipples until Willie bristled with discomfort, then moved into his pits. He dived into Willie’s right armpit and sucked the sweat off his kinky black hair.
That all began so quick Willie gasped. Willie had to reach over Avery’s kneeling body to shut the door behind him.
Willie made a muffled revolted sound and twisted his torso as he gasped at the sensations roiling his body, then relented. He sneered down at Avery, who moved onto his left armpit and bicep. “You like armpits? I ain’t know any dudes was into that,” he said.
“Oh god yes,” Avery said.
“Does suckin’ armpits make yo’ own dick bigger?” Willie asked. That was the only reason that made sense for a man to do something like this. Willie wasn’t sure he believed that the sweat and jizz of a muscular man made other men stronger or tougher if they ingested it, but he assumed that was what Avery believed.
Avery nodded. He did not believe in that anymore than Willie did, but it was simpler to say he did believe it than to explain that he simply liked the odor and flavor of a man’s body.
“Thanks for not telling any of the other Army fellahs about this,” Willie said. “I never thought I’d do something like this. Definitely not a second time. I ain’t even drunk.”
Avery licked down Willie’s flat stomach to his crotch, and pulled down those stale green shorts. They smelled like a locker room, like he had kept them in the onbase gym and rarely bothered washing them. Willie’s long cock was rock-hard, reaching almost to his belly-button, pulsating, virtually begging Avery to deep-throat it right away.
Lifting Willie’s legs up as he laid on the bed, Avery swallowed both of Willie’s balls at once and suckled on them loudly. The gargling sound made Willie laugh nervously.
He moved on to Willie’s sweaty taint, his thick brownish-blond hairs plastered to his skin by stale man-musk. Avery licked every inch of it, from his thigh to his lower buttcrack. Willie’s whole body shook with intense, surprised pleasure, as Avery darted onto his cocktip and slurped on it.
Avery worked down his shaft, licking off every drop of musty sweat. He moaned, but stopped himself as Willie stiffened — apparently getting awkward because the sound of Avery’s moan reminded him he was not with a woman. He didn’t want to make this uncomfortable for Willie.
Willie said, “In Iraq, fellahs nearly all let guys get them off. As long as nobody finds out, they’re okay with it. They just pretend it didn’t happen.”
“We can pretend that too,” Avery said, hoping Willie would make this a regular event.
“They all think men are best at swallowing cock,” Willie said. “They all deepthroat. They have bigger mouths than women. That’s what this one Arab told me.”
Was that a not-so-subtle hint that he wanted Avery to go deeper? He thought so, and he was glad to try. He took a deep breath and pushed down on Willie’s shaft, getting most of his meat down his throat.
Willie grunted and stood. His knees buckled weakly but he remained upright, and wrapped both hands around Avery’s head. He began slowly working his hips back and forth, pushing his cock deep into Avery’s throat.
Avery took one of Willie’s hands and moved it to his nose, showing him how to pinch his nostrils shut. As soon as he did, Avery’s throat opened as his lungs gasped for air.
Willie closed his eyes as his cock slid the rest of the way in. Avery could feel it pulsating against his vocal cords and could feel the precum sticking to his stomach.
Avery stroked Willie’s heavy, pendulous balls just as they rose up in his sac. Moments later cum flooded Avery’s belly, filling him up inside. Avery groaned and came as well, shooting a load into his pants.
“Thanks a lot,” Willie said as he leaned back onto the bed. His moist cock plopped out of Avery’s gasping mouth. “This is a great hotel.”
Avery nodded and smiled. He left Willie there, naked and gleaming with post-sex sweat. He hoped to see him again in the morning.
But when he went back to the room, Willie was gone. Once again, he disappeared for a little while. Yet again, Avery tried to tell himself not to get his hopes up, not to lose sleep wondering if Willie would get desperate again. He was so hot, surely he could get some real pussy once he got his head right.
A few weeks later, however, Willie surprised Avery by coming back. He showed up near the end of Avery’s shift, his beard scruffy, wearing only a torn tank-top and scuffed jeans. His tanned muscles were lined with new tattoos: barbed wire, kanji characters and an ornate heraldic lion on his chest.
“Come on,” he said, no pretense of asking if Avery wanted to. He gestured down the hall towards the cheap rooms.
Avery showed him to a room he knew would remain empty. His heart thumped in his chest once again, as he felt Willie’s eyes checking out his body. He wondered if he could get some anal from Willie tonight.
“You’re still single?” Avery asked.
“I used to be able to get girls,” Willie nodded. “But not anymore. Is there something wrong with me?”
“No!” Avery blurted out, then blushed as he realized he sounded like a lovestruck teenager again. “You’re perfect! I mean… You have a perfect body.”
Avery showed him to a room and opened the door for him. He hesitated before going in.
“Whose room is this?”
Avery shrugged and said, “No one. No one rented it. The cable’s broken so it’s closed until the repair guy comes tomorrow.” He shut the door behind them. “So we got it to ourselves all night.”
He sat down on the bed. “We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”
“What? Of course I want to,” Avery said. Willie looked like he was on the verge of tears, so Avery sat next to him, not sure if it would seem too weird for him to hug. “If you don’t-“
“What’s wrong with me?”
“What? Nothing… You’re just having a dry spell, man. A guy who looks like you will be able to get laid again,” he said. “Ever since they closed down that state college campus extension on the other side of town, there hasn’t been as many hot young chicks around. You’re not the first man to notice that.”
“No… That’s not what I mean, I-” Willie stopped as though he only just processed what Avery had said, “Oh really? That explains a lot. But that’s still not really what I meant. I think I’m broken.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain. Ever since I got out of the Army, I haven’t been right. I started crying yesterday for no reason,” he said, then blushed and stopped talking.
Avery rubbed his biceps in a way he hoped was both comforting and arousing. He didn’t want to seem insensitive, but he was ready to get on to the sex. One of his hands snaked underneath Willie’s torn t-shirt, fondling his tightly toned chest.
“You’re probably just having trouble adjusting to civilian life,” Avery said. “It’ll pass, baby.”
“You think? I… I think I have PTSD. Do you know what that is?”
Avery nodded.
“I have flashbacks to… some difficult things,” he said.
“You need some good experiences to balance out the bad,” Avery said. He reached into Willie’s crotch and stroked his dick through his jeans.
“Yeah… I guess so.”
Avery took that as assent and kneeled to take his dick in his mouth. Willie shucked his pants to his ankle, and his cock stood straight out the fly of his boxers.
Avery licked his dick, which tasted clean and soapy this time, with a deliciously funky smell to it. He let his tongue run up and down Willie’s pulsating ruddy shaft.
“I need to be inside you,” Willie said suddenly. He stood up and carefully removed his dick from Avery’s mouth.
“You mean… my butt?”
Willie nodded. “Yeah, sorry, I just assumed you’d be into that. Is that cool?” Even as he spoke, he pulled down Avery’s black uniform slacks and his underwear. He lightly slapped Avery’s asscheeks and spat into his hand, rubbing it into his cockshaft.
“Of course I’m into it, stick it in,” Avery said and cooed. He pressed his ass back onto Willie’s hot, moist cock.
Willie lined his dick up with Avery’s ass, then stopped himself. “No, Jesus don’t allow it. It’s in the Bible.” But he didn’t move away, he just kept his dick right at the entrance to Avery’s ass.
“Jesus doesn’t care, baby, as long as you don’t hurt anyone,” Avery said. He pushed his ass back onto Willie’s dick, sliding it up and down and savoring the feel of its hot thickness between his cheeks. “My ass wants you so bad.”
“I guess you’re right,” Willie said. It sounded like he was talking himself into it. “Less sinful than fornicatin’ with a woman in the ass, right?”
“That’s right. Less sinful, but a hundred times better,” Avery said.
Willie plunged into Avery’s ass, jabbing it right in. That sent a shockwave of pain through Avery’s spine, followed by a burst of pleasure. Willie had a huge cock that barely fit, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just kept ramming more and more in.
“Is this how you fuck girls?” Avery asked. His voice was strained and breathless as he struggled to take every inch of Willie’s manhood.
Willie said yes but he was so horny it was barely intelligible. He sounded embarrassed by the question.
“You gotta go slow, baby. Work up to really slamming it in,” Avery said. He reached behind himself and gripped Willie’s cock. He worked it in himself.
“Like this?”
That felt a lot better, Avery thought and he told Willie so. “Focus on touching every inch of me.”
“What? My dick touches you-“
“I know it doesn’t really make sense, just focus on each piece of me. I love how your cock feels, baby,” Avery said, cooing as girl-like as he could muster. “Make me feel every inch of it. Girls don’t like it rough, Willie, you gotta be nice about it.”
As he worked back up to ramming and jamming into Avery’s ass, Willie groaned. He leaned over Avery’s body, his powerful, corded muscles writhing against Avery’s back.
“Here it comes, baby, here it comes,” Willie said.
Avery shot his own load onto the couch beneath him, just as he felt Willie cum as well. Hot semen flooded inside him, and dripped down his inner thighs. Neither of them moved at first, Avery savoring the feeling of hot cum covering his lower half and Willie’s wide muscles relaxing as his dick softened.
“Thanks for the lesson,” Willie said. His limp cock plopped out of Avery’s ass.
Avery grinned. “It’ll take more practice,” he said. “But we can keep working on it. I won’t give up on you.”

The Smokin’ Sheriff

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.

Reacharound From a Stepfather

Fletcher doesn’t like his new stepdad, who’s a biker. But when Fletcher comes home from college for spring break, he has to spend time… and a bed with him, which means Fletcher’s about to see his stepdad Sagan in a whole new light. Can he handle what Sagan has in store for him?

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Fletcher didn’t like his new stepfather, and the more time they spent together, the less he liked him. He knew it made him seem like a whiny kid instead of the young adult college student he actually was, but he couldn’t help it.
Until last year, his mother had always been a liberal, educated woman with a professional career as a paralegal. Then she met Sagan. He was a biker, a redneck and a mechanic, a rough, hairy and tattooed thug, walking with a pimp lean even though he’s white, muscles like a baseball player… They fell in love, and Sagan convinced her it was wrong for a woman to work outside the home.
And so that was that, she quit her job. She began speaking in a Southern accent and reminded people all the time that she was “Alabama-born” — that was technically true, but she had been born in Alabama while her parents passed through on the way to their home in Dover. She was really a Delawarean.
Luckily Fletcher was in college by then. He didn’t have to see Sagan very often, but when he did, he became annoyed by his redneck antics every time. Tonight he was home for spring break, he’d be leaving tomorrow to go on a trip with his friends, so he only had to get through one night with Sagan in the house.
He went to bed early, while Sagan and his friends were still outside smoking cigarettes in the dark and talking about motorcycles. Sagan knew everything about bikes and made sure everyone was aware of it. Fletcher really hated him and his stupid redneck voice. That holler in his accent made this whole house feel like a trailer park.
This family used to be nice. Back when his biological father was here, it wasn’t like this. Mom was sophisticated, smart, professional. The house was clean, and there were never motorcycles revving outside over and over. Why did they have to be so loud?
Fletcher pulled his pillow over his face, and he groaned into it. Outside, the rednecks drawled on and on like youtube videos.
“Them Jap bikes ain’t that bad. I wouldn’t nevuh buy one, but they ain’t as shitty as they used to be.”
“Don’t ever ask me when I’m sober cuz I’ll deny it, but I’d love to buy a Mitsuhama.”
“Chicks dig them bikes, they think they’s sexy. And quiet, girls don’t like loud bikes.”
“If my bitch ever said she ain’t like a bike cuz it’s too loud, I’d bend her over the revving engine and fuck some sense into her. She’ll either go deaf or get smart with a quickness.”
That last voice was Sagan, or so Fletcher suspected. They all sounded the same to him, that same drawling redneck accent. He had told his mother before about the terrible, misogynistic things he said, but she didn’t care. “That’s just his way, sweetie,” was what she said. “He don’t mean it. He just talk rough. He spent time in prison, y’know.”
Fletcher didn’t care why Sagan talked like that. He didn’t like anyone talking about his mother like she was some common slut. But there was nothing he could do, so he just huddled under his covers, trying to pretend the noise wasn’t keeping him awake.
Did they all realize how loud they were being? It wasn’t normal in any neighborhood, was it? To be this loud at night? Who revs engines in the middle of the night?!
“Lemme head in there, guys. I’ll be back. I got some… one to do.”
“You gonna fuck the missus? We’ll help you out if’n you want.”
Sagan must have made some kind of face, because Fletcher didn’t hear him say anything, but the other men laughed. He hoped he wasn’t going to have to hear Sagan and Mom having sex. That would be awful. Fletcher would have to move out.
The front door opened. Sagan snorted and spat on the ground before entering. That was another habit Fletcher found revolting — Sagan spat often, like a baseball player.
After the front door slammed shut, Fletcher heard his stepfather come into the hall. There, he stopped for what seemed like a long time. Fletcher stayed as motionless and silent as possible, buried under his blankets.
Sagan’s heavy footsteps resumed, walking down the hall, but they stopped in front of Fletcher’s room.
“Stick it in her, Sagan! Stick it in her good!”
“Ooh, Sagan, I love you!”
“I love you too, babuh. Hmm-hmm.” They all laughed at that impression of Sagan. Did they think he sounded like Elvis? It sounded like an Elvis impression.
Fletcher rolled over. He pretended to be asleep when Sagan opened the door to his room. The smell of cigarette smoke, engine oil and sweat filled the air, and Sagan’s broad chest heaved with his breathing, like he was out of breath even though he wasn’t.
“Hey, Fletcher,” Sagan said quietly, a leer deep in his voice. “You awake?”
Pretending to be groggy, Fletcher rolled back over and faced him. “Kinda.”
Sagan sat on the edge of the bed, which weighed down the mattress and forced Fletcher to move closer to him. His body pressed against Sagan’s muscular ass right where he sat. Fletcher scooted further away, but the angle of the mattress forced him closer.
In truth, he kind of liked it next to Sagan’s powerful body. Fletcher didn’t like him, but he did appreciate Sagan’s muscular frame. Fletcher found the male form pleasing, at least when it was muscular and well-formed like Sagan. In the light, Sagan’s body was pockmarked with scars and faded prison tats, but in the darkness, he was just a masculine silhouette whose shape made Fletcher’s eyes open wide.
His smell was strong too in the darkness. That aroma, combining manliness and motorcycle and cigarette smoke, was intoxicating and heady, and it made Fletcher dizzy. He inhaled deeply of it.
“I know you don’t like me,” Sagan said.
Fletcher shrugged. “I don’t hate you.”
“That’s nice,” Sagan said. He placed one hand on Fletcher’s shoulder. “I love yer mama. You might not believe it, but I really do. I got s’r’uss feelin’s for her. You believe me?”
Fletcher didn’t respond. It hadn’t occurred to him to even have an opinion on that. He didn’t like his stepfather, he didn’t want the relationship to continue, he didn’t want Sagan to love his mother.
But Fletcher hadn’t considered whether it was true or not. His mother had her own history and goals and secret longings, and Sagan did too. For a moment, it felt like running into a teacher out in the community, it was surprising to learn, or rather to feel viscerally, that they were real people with their own lives, inner feelings, hopes and fears. His mother too, she wanted love, she believed Sagan loved her, and until this very moment, Fletcher had never considered this relationship in any way other than how it affected him.
Did he believe Sagan loved his mother? Well… It couldn’t be a scam, right? Mom didn’t have any money. Why else would Sagan marry her?
But that didn’t mean it was real love. Just because they both believed they were in love didn’t mean they were true loves, in the Disney, Hallmark, romcom kind of way. Or did it? What made some loves true and others not? Permanence? Is there no way to know if love is real except to wait a couple decades and see if it remains? No other emotion is defined that way.
But Fletcher didn’t say any of those things out loud.
Sagan sighed and stripped off his leather jacket. He carefully draped it over the chair by the bed. Then he took off his stained t-shirt and the torn wifebeater he wore under that. His powerful chest, brimming with tattoos, was barely visible in the dim light of night.
“I ain’t hear no moanin’ yet, Sagan!”
“Oooh, ooh, Sagan, I love your tiny dick-!”
“I wantchoo to fill me with every single millimeter! That’s right, both millimeters, all the way in!”
“You havin’ trouble gettin’ hard, Sagan?”
“You can ignore them,” Sagan said. “Sorry they so loud. They’s a bunch of assholes.”
“Yeah, they are.”
A long pause followed as Sagan’s grease-stained, callused fingers caressed Fletcher’s shoulder. It made Fletcher shudder and scoot closer to Sagan. “You don’t got a girlfriend, huh? You never did, right?” he said.
Fletcher shook his head and blushed, glad that Sagan couldn’t see how red his face was. In the darkness of his unlit room, he found himself inexorably drawn to Sagan’s visible asscrack as he pondered how to respond. Sagan had probably never been eighteen years old and single. He was probably fucking mad chicks back then. And now. Or at least until he got married. And maybe he still was fucking around outside of his marriage.
“Yer mama is still gonna love you,” Sagan said. “She loves you more than me, y’know. You might not think it, but she do. She told me that last week. I been telling her how to think and how to dress and how to vote and she just accept it. Then I tell her you’re a bit of a whiner, and she slapped me. She said she love you more than me and if I ever say somethin’ not nice about you again, she’ll leave me. She said she ain’t gonna put out for a month to punish me.”
“Really?”
“Fer real, man,” Sagan said. “I ain’t even mean to insult you or nuttin’. I was just annoyed you got all whiny about me treading in mud and engine grease on the floor.” He snorted again and spat in the trash can. Fletcher was grossed out but also intensely aroused. He found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Sagan’s muscular back, which writhed when he hocked a loogie and spat.
“Okay.”
Sagan bent over and began undoing his heavy black boots. Since he was leaning forward, his bare back stretched and his asscrack was visible above the waist of his scuffed jeans. “You can play wit’ it, if you want.”
“What?”
“My ass. I can feel you lookin’ at it,” Sagan said, still facing down to his feet as he untied his boots. “Go ahead. I was in prison, remember? I ain’t gonna freak out at a man touchin’ me.”
“Oh.”
“Go on ‘n touch me.”
Fletcher got past his anxiety and stuck a finger down Sagan’s pants, right in his hairy, sweaty crack. A shudder ran down Fletcher’s spine. His eyes opened wide, and he moved close enough that his nose touched the firmness of Sagan’s back.
That asscrack was hot and hairy and sweaty, and it made Fletcher’s dick stand up under the covers. His finger crept lower and lower until his entire hand was wedged between Sagan’s ass and his dirty jeans.
Fletcher’s finger stopped when it reached the tangle of hair over Sagan’s asshole. Then he pushed through and touched that tight warm ring. He didn’t go in, sensing that Sagan wouldn’t permit that, he just hugged the rim while Sagan pulled off his boots and socks.
“Yee-haw! Make her scream, Sagan!”
Someone outside loudly revved the engine to their motorcycle, and the others laughed.
“She likin’ this sound yet or what?” He revved it again, cackling as he asked over and over whether she liked the sound.
Then Sagan stood without warning. At first Fletcher thought he was mad, that this would be it and Sagan was going to beat him up. But instead he simply dropped his pants and his dingy white boxers. His thick cock dangled, half-hard already. He stood there as though waiting for something.
“You can touch it, if you want,” Sagan said softly.
Fletcher did so, trembling as he wrapped one hand around Sagan’s thick cock. There was a tattoo of a skull-and-crossbones on it, Fletcher could just barely see it in the dark. That was weird. Who tattooed their cockshaft? Fletcher pictured Sagan taking his dick out in a tattoo parlor and the tattooist touching it, holding it still as he worked on it. Must have hurt, Fletcher thought.
His heart pounding, Fletcher hefted up that slab of meat and inhaled deeply of its musty scent. Sagan chuckled. His limp cock throbbed in Fletcher’s grip.
Without giving it another thought, Fletcher swallowed it down, as deep as he could get on it. He drooled as an explosion of masculine flavor hit his tongue, and Sagan moaned. There was a faintly surprised tenor in his voice, as though he didn’t think Fletcher’s unpracticed throat would be smooth and welcoming
“C’mon, Sagan, you put it in her ass yet?”
“I gonna drink all yer beer if you don’t get out here!”
“If you ain’t get hard yet, it ain’t gonna happen!”
Soon Sagan was rock-hard, grunting as he bucked his hips, pushing his dick deeper and deeper down Fletcher’s throat. He held onto the back of Fletcher’s head as though going to throat him down, but didn’t. He just gently worked his dick as far as it would go.
“Yeah…” Sagan voice melted away as his dick spasmed in Fletcher’s mouth.
The taste of precum hit him, and Fletcher gurgled merrily. It was salty and sweet, savory and sour, it tasted like exactly what he had been looking for. He forced himself to deep-throat even more of it.
He continued until his nose was buried in Sagan’s unkempt pubic hair, which stood out from his crotch like a shrub. His dick was even bigger than it had first seemed because the first few inches were concealed by hair, which smelled of metal and stale semen.
Fletcher’s fingers crept up Sagan’s body to his muscular chest. He didn’t have a six-pack, but his barrel-shaped torso was bulging with muscles and the power of his frame emanated from him in his body heat, which enveloped Fletcher. Fletcher withdrew his fingers when he realized that probably seemed too weird to Sagan.
But Sagan shook his head, grabbed his hands and brought them back up to his nipples. “Go on and feel whatever you wanna feel, boy,” Sagan said. He flexed his pecs beneath Fletcher’s grasp. “You wanna stick a finger in my ass? Go on, I’s a prison-man, ‘member? You ain’t gonna shock me.”
Fletcher, however, was shocked. He kept one of his hands on those rock-hard pecs and erect nipples, while his other hand crept to Sagan’s plump ass. He pushed his finger back through the tangled nest of asshair and plunged hesitantly into Sagan’s butthole.
It was warm and tight, and every time he moved his finger even the slightest, it made Sagan grunt and shake. Fletcher smiled as he watched his stepfather writhe beneath his touch. His spongy prostate felt good beneath Fletcher’s fingertip.
“I’m-a ram you in the ass now, boy,” Sagan murmured. He hurried under the blankets as though this was a race, wrapped his muscular body around Fletcher and rammed the tip of his dick right in. Fletcher bucked and tensed as pain shot through him. Sagan stopped moving. “Hey, sorry, I ain’t nevuh ram a man outside of prison. I ain’t used to doin’ it nice,” he said. He sounded genuinely apologetic as he stroked Fletcher’s spasming back. “But I’ll do somethin’ fer you I only ever done on my prison bitch’s birthday and Christmas.” He reached one hand around Fletcher’s body and grabbed his cock, which was already hard.
Then he began working his dick in and out slowly. The motion sent sparks of sensation through Fletcher’s body, and he gasped and moaned and writhed, as the pressure in his ass grew and grew even as it morphed into spams of pleasure that wracked Fletcher’s body. Every minute or two, Sagan seemed to forget that he was trying to be gentle, and he’d hump his hips hard until Fletcher squealed and squirmed. Then he apologized and slowed down again.
“Sorry, boy, you squirm real nice-like…” He kissed Fletcher on the nape. His hands squeezed Fletcher’s cock, one hand holding firmly onto the cockroot while the other spit-lubed hand stroked the shaft.
He kept chewing on his lips and snorting, emitting almost a snore-like sound. He even paused every few minutes and spat a loogie into the trash can by the bed. Each time he did, his belly and his powerful chest writhed above Fletcher’s body.
The thick, bristly hair of his chest and arms scratched at Fletcher’s back. He arched his spine as the sensations grew more and more intense, to the point where he wasn’t sure he could stand it. Fletcher couldn’t even tell if it was so intensely painful or pleasurable, it was just too much of everything, and it made him squirm in his stepafather’s powerful arms.
“If it hurts, you can bite my arm, son,” Sagan said softly, his voice sending a shudder up Fletcher’s spine. He put the meaty part of his forearm in front of Fletcher’s face, like a chokehold almost, but not tight.
Fletcher was glad to have the opportunity for a little relief, as the sensations roiling within were so intense it felt like he was going to explode. He bit down hard on the firm muscles of Sagan’s forearm, which made Sagan moan as though he loved being bitten. His forearm was brimming with muscle so big it seemed to barely fit beneath his skin, and his coarse body hairs rubbed against Fletcher’s teeth and lips. There were tattoos there on his skin, but Fletcher couldn’t see them in the dark and his mind was too distracted by the cock in his ass to remember what they were.
“You makin’ babies tonight, Sagan?!”
“Don’t pull out, man!”
“Whoop, whoop!”
He chuckled into Fletcher’s ear. “I ain’t gonna pull out. I’m gonna cum inside you, boy. You like that? You wanna feel me shoot a nut in you?”
“Yeah…”
“Good. I don’t like pullin’ out. Does it still hurt?”
“A little.”
“Good. It should hurt a bit,” Sagan said. “Is it alright if’n I come see you at night every once in a while?”
“Yeah.”
After another long pause, Sagan said, “Every night?”
“Yeah,” Fletcher said. “You’ll do this again, right?”
“Hell yeah. Try and stop me,” Sagan said. He kissed Fletcher on the cheek.
“Hmmm…” Fletcher’s voice broke as a fresh wave of pleasure hit his prostate and rumbled its way up his body. His open mouth gnawed at Sagan’s meaty forearm, but he couldn’t summon the wherewithal to actually bite down anymore. All he could do was writhe amid the tangle of Sagan’s sweat-matted hair and contorting muscles.
The motorcycles outside revved loudly. Sagan grunted, annoyed, waited for the engines to quiet down again, then screamed loud enough that everyone outside could hear. “You quit makin’ that racket, Cooter! I’ll come cornhole you instead, motherfucker, bend you right over that bike and ram you up the backside! You know I will too!”
They all laughed — presumably all except Cooter — and teased each other about who would like it the best if Sagan did ramrod them. Fletcher moaned at the thought of it, his mind picturing Cooter (or at least, the biker he suspected was Cooter, since Fletcher didn’t know who was who out there) bent over as he was sodomized by Sagan’s big tattooed meat.
Fletcher wondered if Sagan actually did that kind of thing. Did he cornhole the other bikers?
“You like that, huh? I did ramrod that Cooter once. He bet he could beat me in a race. I beat his ass down,” Sagan said. “Next time I do that, I let you watch, boy. Maybe you can join in, if you want to. You like that idea?”
“Yes, dad…” Fletcher moaned in ecstasy, as Sagan’s cock rammed all the way in and all the way out with each powerful thrust of Chooper’s body. It made Fletcher’s bed shake under them.
“Good. Now here comes my nut. You ready fer it? Lemme hear you say it.”
“I’m ready for your nut,” Fletcher said, struggling to get the words out.
“Alright, this’ll hurt a bit,” he said, then rammed his dick all the way in. It did send a shiver of pain up Fletcher’s spine, but more prominently it sent Fletcher to new heights of ecstasy as well. His prostate burned with stimulation as his mind reeled.
When Sagan’s orgasm actually came, Fletcher felt it through the quiver of his muscles and the loud rumbling in his throat. Fletcher gasped as his own climax began building at that moment, when he felt Sagan’s manhood spasming deep within him.
“He’e it is, boy, take it, take every drop…” His voice was low and slow. “Lemme hear you say it. Say when you feel it and when you don’t no mo’.”
Cum sprayed into Fletcher’s body, as Sagan’s muscles all tensed. He yelped and squealed directly into Fletcher’s ear and even licked his earlobe as pleasure shot through them both.
“I feel it, daddy,” Fletcher said, his voice weak and small as pleasure overran him. “I feel your cum inside me.” Once the semen flowed into him, it stuck to his innards and Fletcher felt nothing but creamy warmth. It was only after a few full minutes that Fletcher realized he was definitely done, as he kept feeling trickling jizz inside him until then. “That’s it, I think. I don’t feel it anymore,” he said through gritted teeth.
Then Sagan pulled out, laid Fletcher on his back and used both hands to stroke Fletcher off. Fletcher writhed, the intense pleasure overwhelming him. He clutched Sagan’s powerful chest and broad shoulders. Sagan smiled as though he enjoyed the sight of Fletcher’s delicate fingers clutching his muscles and his kinky chest hair.
“I ain’t nevuh done this, boy,” Sagan said before bending his head over and taking Fletcher’s dick in his mouth. He moved all in one smooth motion, as though if he stopped to think about it, he’d back out.
By that time, Fletcher was already beginning to nut. His orgasm overwhelmed him as soon as he felt that warm moisture on his dick. Sagan’s tongue had no sooner touched Fletcher’s manhood when cum sprayed into Sagan’s mouth. He gagged but didn’t stop.
A plentiful load flowed into Sagan’s throat, and though he screwed up his face in disgust, he swallowed every drop. Fletcher had never felt pleasure so intense — he had masturbated, of course, but it had never felt like this. He shot what felt like a massive load, which drained down Sagan’s tattooed neck.
When Fletcher was done, Sagan lifted his head up, wiped his lips off with a tissue and gagged again. He patted Fletcher on the cheek, kissed him chastely there and got out of bed.
“Damn, Sagan, you tryin’-a give her an orgasm tonight? Tryin’ somethin’ new?”
“Lemme tell you a secret, boy,” Sagan said, standing next to the bed. He rubbed Fletcher’s back and asscheeks with one hand. “I been in prison a couple times. I, uh… I mean… I did have a prison bitch. A couple of ’em. But, uh… I also been the prison bitch a few times, and I uh… I had a prison wife for awhile. I ain’t mind swallowin’ that man’s dick. I don’t mind swallowin’ your’n neither. Don’t tell yer mama.”
“Okay,” Fletcher said, too exhausted to process that information.
“Now you just playin’ wit’ it, Sagan!”
Sagan slowly put his clothes on. He smiled at Fletcher and patted him on the head. “Go on, go to sleep, boy, and have a good trip tomorrow. I’ll make those fuckheads shut up.”
“Okay. Thanks, Sagan.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. He paused at the doorway. “I don’t expect you to say this back to me, Fletcher… But I love you, son.”
Fletcher waited until he was gone to say it back, but he had a feeling Sagan knew he had said it. Just seconds later, Sagan barked at his friends outside.
“Shut yer goddamn mouths and turn your engines off, fuckheads! The family I love is tryin’-a sleep!”

Massaging the Football Player

Tupou is a Tongan exchange student playing football in Dallas, so when he gets an inconvenient stiffy, it’s up to the masseur Avery to help him out. Can Tupou get his needs met?

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Tupou Moala had been going along to get along since he arrived in America. He smiled a lot, and he nodded whenever he thought it appropriate. He agreed with whatever anyone suggested.
That’s because he was from Tonga, and while he had grown up speaking English alongside Tongan, he had trouble understanding nearly everything that happened in America. It wasn’t just the language — his English was good — it was everything about the culture. People spoke of television shows he didn’t know, hashtags he had never tweeted about. It might as well have been a completely different world. He felt like an old man angry about technology, even though he was only nineteen.
He had come to GHU to play football. Before he got here, he was only vaguely aware he was supposed to take classes at the same time. They had said that, but they minimized it. They said not to worry about the university part of university football. The only part that mattered was the football.
Now he struggled to get through his coursework, and didn’t even understand how to get tutoring — much less getting nerds to take his tests for him, which he also could have done if he had known that was an option — nobody had told him that because they assumed all jocks knew it. A lot of things in America were not explicit. Churches were racially segregated, for example, which nobody would acknowledge. It was impossible to know which churches were for white people or for black people except by going there and looking at the people going inside. Everybody assumed Tupou knew that nerds would do his homework if he asked them to. No one back in Tonga did homework for the rugby and cricket jocks who dominated the sports scene there. Those were the sports Tupou came up playing, and when he wasn’t busy with practices, he continued playing rugby with a local amateur team. Nobody here played cricket.
A lot of the people here didn’t speak English as he had learned it. There were a group of players from Florida who had spoken what Tupou was certain was a foreign language before finally learning it was, in fact, a peculiar dialect of English. He didn’t understand the black people who talked like rappers. He didn’t understand Coach Marshall at all, and they said he spoke proper American English. He needed to see a doctor every month and the medical system here was incomprehensible to Tupou — every time he went there, they said he was doing it wrong, signing in incorrectly, handing over the wrong cards, sitting in the wrong place. Every time, he did it differently, handed over a different card with his name on it, stood out of the way rather than sit, and still, they always said he was doing it wrong. It was a minefield too, because he’d found that he kept getting surprise bills in the mail, for medical appointments that he’d been told would be free. He assumed it was because he was doing things wrong, yet no one could tell him the correct way to do it.
But despite all that, Tupou really enjoyed America. The people were friendly, and the parties were fun. It was scary: there were so many people here, and none of them knew each other, it was so big, you could get lost in the woods here for years. It was cold most of the time too, which Tupou actually liked — he was big enough that he was normally overheated, so the cold was enjoyable.
Yet it was very very much unlike Tonga. There was not even any ocean for hundreds of miles in any direction. Tupou did not know how to take that. It wasn’t something that occurred to him until he had been in Dallas for some time, and then the thought of it gave him a claustrophobic feeling. Even though he could see for miles in every direction — Texas was very flat — he still felt penned in, cooped up and isolated.
Tupou was more than seven feet tall, and he had a full head of thick, wavy black hair. Men here did not have long hair, and many Americans made a big to-do about his hair. They thought it was either funny or gorgeous or weird or just plain interesting. Many men in Tonga have long hair. Many people in America liked touching Tupou’s hair.
He enjoyed American football. It wasn’t as much fun as rugby, but it was fun enough, even though Americans took it too seriously. He couldn’t believe they paid for him to come here and go to school just so he could play football.
It was because there were so many people. It took Tupou an embarrassingly long time to realize that was why. In Tonga, every single person would have to pay to see many games and buy many jerseys just to produce as much money as the university football league Tupou played in, and that was not even the main league! The National Football League was many times more popular than that, and a dozen or so minor leagues were also scattered around the country. And of course there were unpaid amateur leagues as well.
The city of Dallas had thirteen times the population of the entire country of Tonga. That was why there were many professional athletes in America, and virtually none in Tonga. Even their national rugby team mostly had side careers, and that was the most popular team in the country. In America, even minor sports have semi-professional leagues.
But the university sports team Tupou played for was very professional, and Tupou was expected to attend many practices, strategy sessions, weightlifting and cardio events, as well as massages from Mister Avery. He was an assistant coach who mainly taught gymnastics, not football, but he did provide massages for all of the football players. He was a very smart man indeed. He had an office near the showers in the locker room.
But Tupou had never gotten a “full massage” from Mister Avery. The others on Tupou’s team did speak of a “full massage” from Mister Avery, without specifying what it was.
Again, Americans love to not say things out loud.
Mister Avery had massaged his shoulders a few times and his leg once when he was limping in practice, and he had bandaged Tupou when he sprained a wrist during a match. But Tupou had never spent time alone with Mister Avery before he summoned him to his office one day.
“Am I in trouble?” he asked when his teammates told him he was to go see Mister Avery for a “full massage”.
His teammates had moved on to sharing stories of girls, and they ignored him. Tupou didn’t understand why he was supposed to see Mister Avery, or why his teammates were looking at him like he had done something wrong.
“Nah, you ain’t in trouble,” said George Hill — wide receiver — with a chuckle when he saw that Tupou was confused.
“Oh. What is it? What do I need?” Tupou said, and the others snickered. Tupou smiled as if he was in on the joke, but he did not know why he must now go see Mister Avery.
Perhaps, he thought, it was related to the hardon that struck Tupou the other day in the locker room. He was talking about a woman who he was to see that weekend, and when he told his teammates about her, his dick got hard. He was not the only one to get “boners”, as the Americans did say.
And Tupou had gathered that yet another thing Americans did not say was that those athletes who got an inconvenient boner went to go see Mister Avery. So perhaps that was why he was summoned to Mister Avery’s office.
“He’s prolly gonna jack you off. Do you do that in Tonga?”
“He’s gonna taste ya coconuts, Tupou.” That was Tuck McCarraher, one of those rednecks whose accents Tupou did not understand. He had long hair like Tupou but somehow it was always greasy, even right after he shampooed it. Tupou saw him shampoo it in the shower, and yet he came out greasy and hairy like a tired pig.
Tupou laughed along with the others, though he didn’t quite get it. It sounded like they were saying that Mister Avery would give him a handjob. But that, he assumed, couldn’t be right.
Still, the more he stood there, the more sure he was. That was why they hooted and made masturbation gestures.
The other players all assumed Tupou would freak out. That was why they made a big deal out of it. They more or less assumed that anyone who wasn’t from a Western country was probably from a pretty homophobic place.
But Tonga was one exception. Everyone hooted and laughed and pantomimed ramming Tupou in the ass — since Tupou towered over everyone, they just pretended to hump his thighs.
“He will wank me off?” Tupou asked.
The others laughed and said yes. They all thought it was funny that Tupou didn’t know it already. They had been talking about it all year. Tupou just hadn’t been listening or understanding well enough to pick it up.
But it was true. Mister Avery was known for giving out handjobs to any athlete who wanted it. They all thought it was better to go to him than to try to train with a stiff dick and blue balls. That was an idea Tupou well understood. Tongan men did something similar. Tupou was the son of a chief, and he was given a man to jack him off as soon as he turned eighteen.
Why did Americans not simply say so? They treat their women as fragile wisps, that was why, he decided. They did not want women to find out what men did behind closed doors.
“Will he let me ram him?” Tupou asked, his eyes opened wide. “In the bottom?”
That made the rest of the team fall quiet. Mister Avery handed out handjobs and swallowed their loads if they wanted that, but no one did anal. That, they all thought, was a step too far. No one here wanted to do that, no one on the football team at least.
“Prolly will, you big lug…” someone said, and everyone laughed. “He’ll love you…”
“Tupou’s crazy…”
“Mister Avery is small. Tupou will split him in half!”
They all burst into hysterical laughter over that. They all pretended they were talking about Tupou being tall — which he was, at nearly seven-feet — and heavy — which he was, being so thick and beefy he didn’t even fit in any standard-size jersey — and not his cock size. No one was willing to admit they checked out each other’s cock sizes in the shower.
But that was, in fact, what they were all talking about. Tupou had a gigantic dick, and Mister Avery was not a large man.
Tupou hurried off to Mister Avery’s office. He was ready to do it. That girl he hung out with this weekend had refused to have sex with him. A lot of the girls around here were like that, he had noticed, they talked about how cute he was and they played with his muscles and they rode his back like a horse, but they didn’t like the idea of actually getting fucked by the seven-foot-tall Tongan with a body like a shaved bear and a foot-long cock. They liked flirting with him and that was about it.
“Come in, Tupou,” Mister Avery said when Tupou knocked on his door.
Tupou walked in. He wore nothing but his jockstrap, cradling his sweaty balls and cock that barely fit in the pouch. He smiled at Mister Avery, wondering if those confused glances had been because athletes weren’t supposed to walk around in their jockstraps. No one had told him that either. But he shrugged it off for now. “Yes, Mister Avery. I will-“
“Did you talk to the Student Foreign Aid people? About the State Department?”
“What?” Tupou grunted.
Mister Avery sighed. “Of course you didn’t. You have to do what he says, Tupou, he’s been emailing you. He said the State Department needs an interview with you. It’s for your visa.”
“Oh.” Tupou grunted. He frowned. Were those other players wrong? Maybe Mister Avery was not planning on giving him a handjob after all.
“Is something wrong? He said it’s not a big deal. They just need to talk to you.”
“Oh.” Tupou grabbed his dick through his jockstrap. He wondered if his teammates were playing a prank on him. “Will you… Can I ram you?”
Mister Avery always took everything in stride, but that was sudden enough to shock him. He assumed Tupou was worried he’d be deported.
A long pause came between them, as both men froze like they had done something wrong. Mister Avery cleared his throat. His eyes bugged out. “Uh… Tupou…”
“The other players, they say that you jack them off. They say that you-“
“Tupou, I invited you in here to tell you about your visa, so you wouldn’t get deported. I don’t-“
“You don’t jerk players off? I want that.” Tupou crossed his arms over his chest. “I will do the visa, fine. I want-“
“I don’t just jerk players off.” Mister Avery wrinkled his nose. “That’s inappropriate.” He paused, and a sly smile crept on his face. “Sometimes… Men have urges, Tupou. Sometimes those urges lead to actions. It doesn’t mean anything happened, not really. It just means men are sometimes overcome by urges. They do things by instinct. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” It didn’t look like he understood. In truth, Tupou didn’t really care. He was waiting for Mister Avery to say either yes or no.
Mister Avery stood up and walked behind Tupou. He placed both hands on his broad shoulders. “I’ll just give you a massage. We’ll see what happens from there. If you need a hand at some point… I’d be glad to help out.”
Tupou smiled. He nodded. He could tell what was going to happen, and he enjoyed the massage — Mister Avery was really very good at it. He sighed, the stresses of dealing with a foreign country flowing away from him as he sunk down in the chair at Mister Avery’s desk.
His stiffness diminished slowly at first, then quickly. Tupou sat stiff until he took a big long breath, and he realized for sure that he was not in trouble. He had not done something wrong. Mister Avery was going to jack him off after all, and for now, the massage eased away the aches in his shoulders, then his back and his arms.
Soon enough, his muscles were big and soft now, relaxed, like liquefied meat beneath Mister Avery’s soft fingers. Tupou had to fight off the urge to kiss Mister Avery on the lips.
Somehow, Tupou ended up on the couch on one side of Mister Avery’s office. He just lay there, lounging, while Mister Avery kneaded his thick flesh. His jockstrap was off now, his massive uncut cock dangling over the side. Tupou couldn’t remembered if he had taken it off, or if Mister Avery had.
At last, it was happening. Tupou let out a baritone moan that echoed in the tiny cement-walled office. His cock throbbed, instantly running to full erection in Mister Avery’s hand. Tupou was uncut, well more than a foot long, his dick flopping at first before it was as hard as iron.
Mister Avery stroked it slowly, teasing him, his other hand continuing to caress Tupou’s chest and shoulders. Tupou licked his lips. He wanted to demand that Mister Avery start jerking him off — the other players had implied it was allowed, after all — but he had a feeling it would be better to not say it out loud. It seemed a lot of Americans were more willing to do things like this as long as they never had to admit they had done them.
Indeed, his teammates only communicated about Mister Avery’s “full massages” through sarcasm, jokes, accusations, etc. Nobody admitted clearly that they themselves had done so. Americans never say what they mean.
“Hmmm… You were tense, Tupou. You must have been stressed out about moving to America,” Mister Avery said softly. He leaned over and sucked a few beads of sweat off in the valley between Tupou’s powerful pecs.
“Yes.” Tupou’s voice rumbled and resonated, the sound booming in Mister Avery’s ears because he was still bent over, licking his chest, so the sound was close to his head. He sucked on both nipples.
Avery’s head moved lower, his kisses and his soft lips making a trail down Tupou’s belly to his crotch. Tupou closed his eyes as his dick disappeared down Mister Avery’s throat. A wave of soft, blissful pleasure enveloped him, and Tupou stretched his arms and legs like he was just waking up.
“Eeeeehhhh…” Tupou groaned. His whole muscular body rippled from head to toe.
It had been a long time since Tupou had gotten jerked off by a man, the last time he did it was back in Tonga. He wasn’t even aware how horny he was until he finally felt a warm mouth encircle his dick once more. He moaned, his pitching island accent shining through in the sound as it resonated in the office.
For the first time, Mister Avery felt like he was being seduced by a player instead of the other way around. They often came to him wanting handjobs, but they never outright asked for it, and they certainly never asked for it. Instead, the other players usually just let themselves get hard while he massaged their shoulders or refused to take their jockstraps off because of an erection, and Mister Avery would “convince” them to let him help out. When they wanted to bust a nut, they just stood there hemming and hawing, refusing to either lay down or leave, until Mister Avery took the initiative to get on his knees.
But Tupou was different. He guided Mister Avery’s head in place, and he made sweet love to his throat like no football player ever had. Mister Avery tasted the sweet and fresh flavor of Tupou’s cock, which tasted of sunlight and ocean waves. He moaned and guzzled it down deep.
Salty precum flowed. Tupou was young and virile, already nearing orgasm though Mister Avery suspected he would last longer than most men his age. His dick was slick with fluids, which Mister Avery guzzled down.
The dome didn’t last long. Tupou was too large — both overall and in his cock specifically — and too enthusiastic. He gripped Mister Avery’s head and rolled around with him on the couch, like he might find an alternate throat in there big enough for Tupou’s entire cock. He plowed in and out with all his might, but somehow it didn’t come across like a violent throating. It was more of a plain and pleasant love-making session, and it made Mister Avery swoon with desire, hands roaming all over Tupou’s powerful thighs and thunderous asscheeks.
Eventually Mister Avery pulled off his dick, leaving thin tendrils of saliva collecting his lips to Tupou’s shaft. Tupou gasped with desire and wiped up all that spit and precum on his shaft, wiping it off on Mister Avery’s chin.
He was used to his men laying there, maybe pretending to be asleep or to think that his love-making was a form of massage. But Tupou took charge and made love to Mister Avery’s mouth.
And then, all in one smooth motion, he had Mister Avery bent over the couch. Tupou towered over him, flexing his chest muscles and gently but firmly forcing his cock into Mister Avery’s tight ass.
“Damn.” Mister Avery muttered through gritted teeth. He rarely got it up the ass — he enjoyed it, it was just a step too far for most of his players, so he didn’t do it very often. He grimaced as Tupou’s cock invaded his ass.
It was tight and pinching. Mister Avery sucked in his breath. Tupou wrapped Mister Avery’s tiny body up in his massive arms, plowing in inexorably though not cruelly. Just like when he had lovingly rammed his dick in and out of Mister Avery’s throat, Tupou had a way of plowing that was both aggressive and soft, sensitive yet hard and difficult and strugglesome in all the right ways. Mister Avery cried out for more.
The pain turned very quickly into pleasure, and when Tupou’s uncut dickhead hit his prostate, a jolt of pleasure wracked Mister Avery’s body, and a shiver of mind-numbing sensations ran up his spine. It felt so good he literally drooled and had to wipe the fluids off his lips, which still tasted of Tupou’s precum.
The couch strained to support them both as Tupou rammed his cock in and out. Tupou was gigantic and he plowed in an animated way, rocking the couch to its foundations and even making the floor creak. Somehow the rickety old office couch held despite its creaking and wheezing.
Mister Avery was shocked at how easy it was to take. For him, Tupou’s massive size was a challenge he wanted to rise to meet. Tupou was not used to that because the university girls he had been with since coming to America (and most of the Tongan girls back home) found his size a turn-off. Tupou was well-practiced in using his dick as gently as he could, so he managed to get it all in without too much difficulty, much to his surprise.
So they both moaned as they plowed hard. Mister Avery barely needed to jack himself off, which was good because Tupou plowed so hard he barely could. Mister Avery cried out, grunting and groaning loud enough that he was sure anyone outside the office could hear.
Hopefully, he thought, no one was there.
An orgasm ripped through Mister Avery’s body, and he shot his wad onto the couch. As he experienced the most incredible climax of his life, Tupou reached his own orgasm. He shot a huge load that filled Mister Avery’s tight ass.
It soaked into his flesh. They both sighed, and Tupou grunted something in Tongan. The indecipherable words rang out in Mister Avery’s ears as cum flowed through him, and the creamy, sticky texture of it coated Mister Avery’s body.
They both moaned together. “Oh god, yes, Tupou…” Mister Avery murmured. Every time he thought it was over, more cum filled into him, great gobs of it, more and more with every passing moment. Was that because he was so big? Mister Avery wondered, or maybe it was because he was a young and virile man? Or was it that he was a little — or a lot — socially inept and hadn’t had a girlfriend since coming to America? Maybe a little of all those things, Mister Avery thought, or maybe Tupou simply had overfull balls.
In any case, Mister Avery accepted every drop, letting it flow into him and seep into his flesh. There was so much cum in his body Mister Avery imagined he could taste its salty flavor.
Mister Avery laid limp on the couch, while Tupou groaned and humped his hips a few more times. When he was satisfied that every drop of cum had escaped his dick, he sighed and leaned back. Then he was motionless for a moment. At last he grunted again, and twisted his hips as though his post-orgasmic bliss felt so good it hurt. His cock popped out.
Mister Avery took a deep, relieved breath. He turned his head to smile at Tupou and gently rubbed his shoulders. “Good job, Tupou. I hope you feel better now.”
“I do, Mister Avery.” Tupou’s big goofy grin spread over his face. “If I need another massage, can I come see you again?”
“You can come see me anytime,” Mister Avery said with a smile.