He knew culo was ass. He done pick up on that. What was a hombrito culo?
Much to his surprise, one of those Mexicans mounted Sazonito, who situated a pillow under his belly, near his crotch, like it was a plastic pussy and he was gonna fuck it. The pillow propped up his ass at an angle.
That angle also made his asscheeks separate enough that Cody caught another strong whiff of his masculine aroma, joined by the scent of the other Mexican who got behind him. He kneeled behind Sazonito, lining his cock up with Sazonito’s ass.
Cody sucked in his breath. Was this normal? Was he gonna stick his dick in Sazonito’s ass?
It was Nelson who mounted Sazonito. Nelson was the oldest in the apartment. He was wiry and short, wrinkled but powerfully built, like a dehydrated weightlifter. He mounted Sazonito’s massively muscled body from behind and slid his limp cock into Sazonito’s asscrack.
“Aaaah…” Cody’s eyes opened wide. What the sam hill was going on? What Mexican craziness was this? He wanna stand and jump up and down — if he was surrounded by his own kind, that’s what he would do.
But the Mexicans were all treating this as normal, and Cody didn’t want to look like a squeamish, giddy anglo.
As far as Cody knew, no man who went to prison would bare his ass, raised up like that! And Sazonito was just doing it! Letting Nelson get in position to stick it in him! Cody still weren’t even sure that cornholing was a real thing, and apparently it was just happening, easy as pancakes!
“!Ay ay!”
Sazonito’s asscrack was warm and slightly wet with sweat, and the butthairs gave a little friction, it seemed. Nelson humped Sazonito’s buttcrack while watching the teevee screen, and he used both hands to squeeze Sazonito’s meaty cheeks against each other, his wrinkled old knob in between ’em.
It took Cody a few seconds to realize that’s what a hombrito culo was — not cornholing, it was just humping the buttcrack. It must be a prison thing. Or a Mexican thing, since they all knew about it but weren’t all ex-cons. Or maybe it was a Latin Kings thing.
From Roommates in the Dark
Tag: scenes featuring horseplay
Shower fun
Buck and that white guy kept talking, but Teddy couldn’t pay attention to their words. There were so many men around, and so much to see. Teddy would have been terrified if he was alone — that was why he showered by himself in his own building, which was not as trashy as Smashwood.
Two naked men were beating up a third in one corner, their cocks flopping about. Nobody even watched as though that was normal. Teddy kept an eye out for cocks as big as Buck’s, but didn’t see any. A lot of them were big though, bigger than Teddy for sure and bigger than most men.
Two black guys in the changing area were jacking off! Teddy craned his head to watch, hoping nobody realized what he was looking at. The black men were crowded around something, presumably a magazine, and they kept aiming their dicks at each other. They were laughing, teasing each other — trying to jab their cocks into each other’s ballsacs hard enough to hurt, it seemed. Teddy wondered if he could go over there and join in.
Before he could ask Buck though, some other guy, a ropy-muscled middle-aged man with a balding head and wrinkled muscles, shouted something incomprehensible at the opening into the showering area that Teddy, Buck and the other white guy were in. The balding man leaned back a little, aiming his cock into the showering area and slightly upward, so that when he started pissing, he got a big arc.
And he was spraying his piss over all of the men in the shower. There was a torrent of laughter and shouting, and one man advanced on him as though to fight, only to get a huge spray of piss all over his chest and dangling dick.
From Aroused by Ex-Cons
Haitians
“Girlshit on yo’ dingdong, whiteboy, you is so wrong!”
Soon as Buck got to relaxing — putting out ignore ’bout Lem’s nonsense — he got tired of sitting. He put on a clean paira tight-whites and got up to work out. He jogged in place some, then did couple burpees and went thru his routine, while Lem ranted like a old black man.
“Bet it was the Haitians. Bet it. Know that, Buckums! Reagan be lettin’ ’em in left ‘nd right, lettin’ ’em in like pants! Mark my words, them Haitians done touch all my shit. You don’t believe me? I got the receipts, homeboy!”
“I ain’t a homeboy. I believes ya, Lem, Hayshuns do that, they do be like that,” Buck said, voice jiggling up and down with the heft of his chest as he did his burpees — jumping up from the floor to the stool and back again. The pouch of his tight-whites flopped up and down, and his cock popped free. “They’s one of you’uns, you should tell ’em-” Buck grinned at Lem and kept on his burpees, despite his fatty shaft barrumphing up along with his movement. Lem done emphasize numerable times that ‘Haitians ain’t proper niggas’, and sh’ore ’nuff, Buck’s comment set him off once again.
“Girlshit on yo’ dingdong, whiteboy, you is so wrong! First of all, Haitians ain’t proper niggas, I done tol’ you that. Secondmostly, these Haitians in particular, on this rig, they done — they’s racist ‘gainst American niggas, Buckums, you know that. I know you know that! Lord ‘ave mercy! And fourthly or maybe fifthly, I dunno, them’s got knives — they come from a land of cannibals, Buckums — believe that, nigga! You believe that-” He wagged a finger at Buck, who was finishing his burpees. Then he cleared out some space ‘neath a pull-up bar. “They’s French niggas, that’s diff’rent ‘an American black fellahs. Them’s longskin, you know ’bout longskin niggas?”
“I don’t care, Lem.”
“They’s different from nightcheek niggas, you know.” Lem got a whole classifiction of homeboys — nightcheeks, longskins, redbones, high yellows, duckydoos. Buck got no time fer that.
Buck gripped the pull-up bar and lifted his feet off the floor. Buck was so tall he hadta angle his feet out in order to do any pull-ups. His damn near seven-foot-tall body nearabout reached the ceiling here.
“Lem, t’is my God-given right as a white man to not learn all the diff’rent kinds of black guys.” He did a couple pull-ups while Lem lit a cigarette and fumed.
“Firstly, Haitians do that voodoo shit-” Lem started counting off upon his fingers again, having forgetted he was already counting. “They do that, they sacrifice chickens an’ all.”
From Buck on the Oil Rig
Thumper Meets the Ultimate Evil: Chapter 4
Thumper Meets the Ultimate Evil
Chapter One: Out of Touch
Chapter Two: The Fossil
Chapter Three: That Ain’t Gangsta
Chapter Four: Old Nigga
Chapter Five: Unfashioned
Chapter Six: A Corrective Statement
Chapter Seven: Cool at Last
The Bloods meeting was at the barbershop on the same street as Lipsweet. The Gregarian building was built around the barbershop, a forgotten story of bricks whose backyard done sprout that monstrosity that grew to take over the resta the block. Thumper’s bladder neck be bugging when he got there, so he first went to take a piss, the sound of niggas gathering in the barbershop growing louder as they arrived in small groups. All the hoopdey-hoos in the Bloods came to the meeting.
He ain’t understand why Carson wanted him — Carson was the head nigga in the Bloods of Bangor. Thumper was a Blood, but he wasn’t involved in any Blood business, and he was on parole, so he couldn’t do much. His parole officer be riding his tail for real, and parolees got no constitutionals against being recorded, followed or searched.
So putting a parolee on anything important was foolish as tossing beans.
Still, it felt good to be surrounded by real-time niggas again, just like in lockup. He got to the barbershop early, so he got nothing to do. That was just like lockup too. He ain’t know none the niggas who gathered, which was unlike lockup, except for Davon, who showed up like a smooth sac of pointless dimples, smiling at everything but responding to nothing, like he ran outta reality, looking like a charred koala bear, shit, he just sat there, like a boatload of cuteness collided with a glacier of too-good-for-this and went down in a sea of swooning females. He got on a shiny shirt with like Chinese letters or some shit all over it, like Davon was too handsome for the English alphabet. He wore a white band-aid on his cheek too. As if he’d ever risk letting his cheekbone get cut.
Them niggas Thumper don’t know was milling and filling the air through with gab and daps and hairdos, but Thumper sat alone. They all avoided watching him brood like a bothered tiger. That’s what Thumper woulda thunk too, thirty-some years ago, if he saw a cast-iron nigga sitting on his lonesome surrounded by young cats he ain’t talk to. He ain’t put out menace, but they all picked it up. Outgoing ex-cons get a million nosey questions from numptious niggas, so Thumper was glad to scare ’em off. If they all got to chatting at him like lightbulby poppa-rot-seas, he’d-a most likely dropped one or maybe all. So he gloomed around like a ex-con who pretty niggas should stay away from, and they did so, wise as newspapers.
A young nigga named Rico came in just before Carson got to talking. That grabbed Thumper’s attention — Rico was the other nigga from that script Delsinerr gave him. The name sounded omens to Thumper.
Rico also attracted Thumper’s eye cuz he was young and high yellow, cool as a pear and dimpley like a golf ball, dimpley like Davon — but Rico’s dimples was less arrogant. Rico was the kinda young nigga Thumper woulda got to know real good in prison. Thumper woulda shared a bunk with Rico, and he’d-a bin got Rico to feel some love deep in his heart, deep enough to make Rico bend over and spread his cheeks. Rico was handsome as a kangaroo, handsome enough to make Thumper forget about women during the cold of a empty night. Thumper would teach Rico how to get a nut off without women, and Rico would teach Thumper all the cool modern lingo that handsome young niggas say.
Doing time for the Bloods meant Thumper still got respect here. Frightened respect, but that still counts. When Thumper told Rico to come sit by him, Rico got no choice but to fulfill every one of Thumper’s expectations. Namely, to sit next to him so Thumper could go grope-a-dope during the meeting. Rico and Thumper got naked as noodles too — all the niggas in the meeting got naked, as Carson requisited. That was to ensure nobody got no recording devices and so nobody could palm no heroin when they weighed it out into lor baggies later.
Not a matter of trust. If it’s a rule you enforce every time, it’s no big deal. If you only make a nigga do it when you don’t trust him, then every time you do it, it’s a big deal, it’s telling a nigga he ain’t trusted and prolly won’t never be. So Carson made ’em do it every time, and no nigga felt singled out.
Thumper did feel singled out due to his out-of-fashion clothes. All the niggas snuck secret snickers at his old-school jeans, which he bought at a thrift store cuz he couldn’t find a normal men’s clothing store. They looked at him like a accidental dinosaur.
Naked, Davon looked like modern music sounded. Goddamn Thumper do hate him. He held Rico close like it would protect Thumper from Davon being a tubba shit. Rico was high on his frowns when they all took they clothes off. He was bitsy and cute like a baby snapping turtle, both skinny and muscular, and he carried hisself like he ain’t realize he was young and pretty and short. Once he stripped outta his fancy shirt and his pokeymon shoes, he was looking even littler and handsomer. He sat down afront Thumper, who wrapped his arms around his back. Thumper’s hot crotch touched Rico on his spine, which felt good as candy to Thumper.
“Hmm-“
“Nigga…” Rico bristled, but he ain’t fight. He let Thumper hug him from behind. Lotta niggas was touching muchly in they nakedness during the meeting, as Carson went on about the need to send niggas to the college campus. That was untapped territory, Carson said. But it was a men’s college. Nobody wanna do it cuz a nigga never gonna get pussy on campus, and Carson bin telling them for months to sling there.
“Ssssh…” Thumper said soft as a teddy bear into Rico’s ear. Rico’s muscles rippled beneath his touch, as Thumper’s hands drifted up and down Rico’s arms. Rico stayed tense. His head looked around frantic as a llama like he hoped the touch-police noticed Thumper’s fingers. Not a nigga noticed cuz him and Thumper sat in the back. Carson musta seen, but Carson let Thumper do his thing — Thumper’s current thing was Rico. Thumper done his time for the Bloods, and he was allowed to take liberties with a nigga when he need to.
Finally Carson ordered some bangers to sling heroin at the college campus. He told ’em he’d send some hos they way if they did good enough, and that was enough to quiet they rumbles of discontent. Carson wanted the gang to take every inch of this city, cuz otherwise the Crips or the Latin Kings or somebody else would take it.
Or the Seventh Street Playas. They was some rap-eyed niggas who done peel off from the Crips. That was good. They ain’t join up with the Bloods though. That was bad. They was “gramming” videos in a instant, and in ’em, they claimed Bangor was all Seventh Street Playas territory. Thumper ain’t wanna axe what gramming is, less he confirm he was a out-of-touch old head. If they wanna claim a whole city, why’d they name theyselves after one street? Dumbass niggas doing dumbass nigga shit. Mention of ’em caused the naked niggas all around to erupt in naysays and whoops. It got the whole room worked up enough for they dinkydoos to jiggle like excited baseball bats.
“We need some niggas to strike at the Seventh Street Playas. They a buncha triflin’ niggas, they ain’t shit. We know where they got they HQ,” Carson said. “We know they schedule. You can hit ’em when they ain’t barely got nobody there. Might have to shoot some niggas, and you’ll come away with weight for sure.”
Ain’t not a nigga say a word.
The silence grew taut as a wire, and Thumper reckoned that Carson expected him to volunteer hisself. Thumper done time for the Bloods, so they was obligationed toward him. But duties went both ways. Thumper could still get gived a assignment.
Still, he kept both hands around Rico’s waist and kept his lips shut, despite Rico standing up on his frowns. Then some other nigga spoke up, and he said he could do something, but from the murmurs hushing under and the unconfident look on Carson’s face, Thumper gathered that that other nigga wasn’t regarded as capable of doing what it took.
But Carson ain’t say peep to Thumper. He just moved on without a solution to the Seventh Street Playas problem. They finished up Bloods business, and then they all got to weighing out heroin. Thumper ain’t weigh much, he focused on rubbing Rico all over. Rico focused on frowning and scooting away, you know how a young nigga do! All them other ugly niggas focused on not looking at Rico or hearing him protest. Nobody wanna see where Thumper’s hands went.
Davon ain’t stick around, cuz he gotta go home and polish his dimples. He prolly got honkies to suck up to and women to agree with. Or maybe he worked at Lipsweet tonight. Anyway, Thumper still be hating on him till he walked out the door. His drawers was plain white tonight, as was his band-aid, but you could tell them drawers was some name-brand, prolly something Italian, bet they cost a pretty penny and he’d throw ’em away if they ever get a skidmark, goddamn, he too good to fart. Thumper ain’t gonna fixate on that nigga though. Not when he got a young pretty thing like Rico to touch all over. Rico be mad on that frown train, choo choo! His frown made his muscles pucker and ripple and shine! Davon wouldn’t never allure a nigga, that was the difference between him and Rico.
“Rico, Thumper, you two stay behind fo’ a second,” Carson said when the weighing was done. He told the rest them niggas to put they clothes on and bounce.
They all did as told, while Rico tensed up like a bossy tambourine. Thumper hugged tight on Rico’s shoulders from behind him, and his hands roamed up and down Rico’s chest. Rico be bugging. All the other niggas whisked off into the rainless night, and the now-dressed Carson looked at Thumper and Rico — who stayed naked — like he ain’t notice Thumper’s hands running up and down Rico’s tight body.
Carson done met a booty bandit, so he weren’t shook up. All them niggas was prolly laughing about it soon as they left the barbershop. Thumper looked silly to young eyes. Rico was just eighteen, and he ain’t know a booty bandit was a real thing, he thought it was the nigga equivalent of a werewolf, something to be afraid of but not believe in. Rico pouted like a teapot beneath Thumper’s leathery hands. His dick throbbed where it lay hot as a rocket against Rico’s back.
It wasn’t erect, but if Thumper moved it, it prolly would be. So Thumper kept his stick still as a statue while his hands did they exploratories.
Then Carson said, with a wrinkle of his wide nose, “Rico, Thumper, glad you two met. Rico, you gonna be livin’ ‘bove the bar, in Thumper’s place.”
That sounded fine as fuck to Thumper. He ain’t live alone for a long time, so a roommate would be nice. He liked the idea of having a prettyboy nigga around to touch bunches. Rico got a nice shiny booty too, and you know Thumper love a shiny nigga.
Rico got less love for that idea. “What? C’mon, Carson, I don’t wanna live with old nigga! He lame! He could be my grandpa! Be cool, nigga!”
“Shut up, pup,” Thumper said, still hugging Rico from behind. Rico’s perfectly seductive muscles stayed as firm as his frown. Thumper wondered what Rico was gonna do if he met Delsinerr — prolly run away screaming and live the resta his life in a asylum. That was how almost everyone responded, Thumper was pretty sure. He was different cuzza his time in prison. He lost the flight part of his fight or flight instinct, but he was smart enough not to fight Delsinerr. Rico would flight and lose touch with reality. Prolly wouldn’t be pretty no more.
“You said you’d get me a place to live, not a spot on old nigga’s couch-“
“I got a bed, nigga!” Thumper wagged a finger at Rico.
“Old nigga smell like a band-aid! He prolly watch the news! Drinkin’ tea and shit, damn, Carson, I can’t bring bitches ovuh wit’ him there-” Rico shrank back when Thumper shot a dirty look down at him.
“Yes, you can,” Thumper said. “You got a female, bring her ovuh! We can double-team her. Go dick to dick in her pussy if she loose enough. Or you can lick her clit while I fuck her. You can slurp my jizz out her asshole, nigga. Shluurp! Hmm-hmm, yummy-“
“Step off, old nigga!”
Carson held out one hand and scrunched his face into a discomfitted mug. “Shut the fuck up, Rico. You needed a place to live. I got you one. Quit yo’ bitchin’, nigguh,” he said. “Go get settled in, Rico. I’ll come by later.”
They moved to get dressed as Carson left. Rico was conducting the frown train that whole time. Looking like he’s owed the world, damn did that nigga have a cute frown. Thumper wanna stick a dress on his frown and marry it.
After grabbing a duffel bag he done left in the barbershop, Rico walked with heavy steps up to the Gregarian building and then up to the apartment. Thumper was more eager. He felt like a lor boy having a sleepover back in Baltimore again.
“C’mon, nigga, we go’n have fun, swear to God. You go’n love livin’ wit’ me.”
But Rico clucked his tongue against his teeth, and he ain’t say nothing. He was still sullen as a stew when they got into the apartment, and Rico aimed his frown at that solo bed. Rico weren’t a share-a-bed kinda nigga, it seemed.
“You only got one bed,” Rico said.
Thumper nodded. “You some kinda mathematician or something?”
“No, I just… You said you had a bed for me.”
“I said I had a bed. It’s right there. We go’n be snug as a hug, my nigga.”
Rico looked like he was brainstorming a way outta this, as Thumper pulled down Rico’s pants. Rico was took unawares. He was one them niggas with dimples so perfect on his face that they spread to his asscheeks too. Shiny as wine! Thumper licked his lips. Rico was pretty like Davon, but Davon was easygoing, while Rico go some bite in his back. And Rico was a decade younger than Davon. Maybe in ten years, Rico be smiling like Davon, but for now he was frowning like a faggot of sultry sticks.
“Hey, old nigga, whatchoo doin’?” Rico threw his eyebrows back, and he shuffled off the best he could with his pants around his ankles. Thumper ain’t pay his guff no mind. He pulled down his own pants and took off his shirt. Rico be facing the other way. Fool-ass nigga aiming his pretty ass at Thumper’s old-ass nigga face. Lotta ass in that apartment.
Thumper’s fingers kneaded Rico’s plump buttcheeks, which made Rico turn around finally and see that Thumper was naked too. Rico frowned so hard he liketa grow a second mouth just for frowning.
“C’mon, nigga, watchoo doin’? Quit playin’,” Rico said. Thumper pulled him closer, planted his lips on Rico’s and stuck his tongue right in that prettyboy mouth. He tasted like a daffodil, or whatever flower got the sexiest frown, Thumper ain’t a florist. Rico sputtered and pulled away. “Quit playin’, old nigga! Whatchoo doin’?”
“Shush. You go’n be my nighttime female,” Thumper said. He grabbed Rico’s shoulders before he could get far away, and he gripped Rico by the tit — Rico got nice lor apple-sized pecs, too firm to be tits, but Thumper could pretend. Thumper got a great imagination for women’s bodyparts. “C’mon, make sounds like a female. We go’n get hot and dirty, Rico, dirty like rice, hot like spice-“
“Get off me-“
But Thumper kissed him again to make Rico stop his complaining. He kept going, but Thumper swallowed them protestations up. Rico got lost in Thumper’s massive arms. Thumper’s hands kept at Rico’s titless pecs.
In prison, Thumper woulda put a padded bra on Rico, plus makeup and a wig and these big-girl panties with a life-size pussy printed on both the front and the back. Thumper don’t need that to pretend, but it was fun to do anyway, and once Rico was used up, Thumper could pimp him out to all the ugliest niggas in that place.
Eventually he’d get to begging Thumper to be the only one to make love to him, and Thumper would oblige.
Out here in the real world though, Thumper couldn’t do that. Not enough ugly niggas. All the ugly niggas was in prison, doing they part to turn handsome men like Rico into uglier niggas.
Anyway, when Thumper had enough playing games, he bent Rico over the bed they was gonna share. He slammed Rico’s face into the mattress, keeping Rico’s ass high enough to spread them buttcheeks. He got them beautiful dimples dimpling like dumplings on Rico’s dumptruck, like his asshole was smiling at Thumper.
Thumper returned a smile to Rico’s ass with interest — “interest” being Thumper’s tongue, which he slammed in there to open him up. Thumper don’t got lube handy, so he used his spit. Rico howled.
“Old nigga, what-?” Rico sucked in his breath. Thumper lapped at Rico’s asshole with plentya spit. It tasted pretty as a petunia, or whichever flower got the tastiest butthole, Thumper ain’t a botanist. Thumper rammed his tongue in there deep as steeping tea! He be tasting all the unexplored flavor of that nigga asshole, and Rico’s ripe apple-cheeks swelled and jiggled like tits around Thumper’s face. Rico tried to get up, but Thumper punched him hard in the side.
“Stay still.” Thumper’s tongue ran all the way from Rico’s taint up to the small of his back, and Thumper’s sausagey fingers teased his tight hole. Rico’s back curved up like a seductive arch.
Kisses running up Rico’s smooth spine, Thumper groaned and moaned and slathered spit on his scalp. Then he rammed his dick at Rico’s butthole. Rico cried out, and he clenched hard. Thumper ain’t mind. He knew how to break a nigga open. Just the tip went in. Rico sucked on his breath.
“Shit! Nigga!” Rico howled. He panted and clawed at the bed.
“Ssssshhhh…” Thumper said. He ain’t need Rico to shush. He kinda liked hearing that prettyboy voice ring out like a girlish bell. But Thumper was used to hiding the sounds from the guards and from the Aryans — who do tease a nigga for being a booty bandit. Thumper don’t like being teased by Aryans, ‘specially when they got factual accuracy on they side.
He wrapped one arm around Rico’s neck, and he squeezed just enough to make him stop clenching. His asshole opened. Thumper’s dick slid in. A shiver of intense pleasure ran up Thumper’s spine.
“C’mon, c’mon! You can’t! Carson ain’t — Carson ain’t-“
Thumper laughed. “Whatd’ya think Carson sent you to me fo’, nigga? He knew I wanna bust a nut,” he said. He sighed like Rico’s butthole was scratcing a itch Thumper couldn’t reach. “Shit, nigga-“
“Ow, c’mon! Quit playin’!” Rico said.
Thumper’s moan intensified in Rico’s ears, making him wriggle and jiggle like a seductive dolphin. That made his booty squeeze Thumper’s dingdong most pleasant-like indeed. Thumper leggo his neck, and Rico’s ass loosened enough for Thumper to ram in deeper. “Damn!”
“C’mon, old nigga-“
“I love you, nigga,” Thumper said with a chuckle. He be working his dick in and out, and Rico’s tightness gripped it the whole time — that’s what was so nice about a intact nigga. His guts don’t wanna let a nigga meat go.
Stopping moving, Thumper let out another moan. He be getting close now. He stopped moving with his manhood all the way up there, throbbing in Rico’s guts. Thumper got a foot-long dick, plus some to spare, and Rico’s whole body be writhing and massaging it, as Rico panted and heaved.
“Shit, nigga, shit, nigga, shit, nigga-” Rico be broken.
It did get Thumper going though. He stayed motionless to make this last longer, cuz he could tell any motion on his part gonna make his balls explode. Rico be writhing enough anyway. “Hey, nigga, tomorruh go to the store and buy some hog fat.”
“Shit, nigga, shit, nigga… What?”
“Hog fat.” Thumper frowned like Rico. From the silence, he gathered Rico don’t know what hog fat is. That’s the best lube in prison, maybe the best in the world. Outside niggas don’t know. “Hog fat, nigga! Lard. Get lard.”
“What?”
“Get lard! It’s at the store!” Thumper said. “Damn, a modern nigga is stupid!”
Through his clenched teeth, Rico said, “Why?”
“Cuz then I can ramrod you more easy,” Thumper said, and his voice broke. Rico squirmed, and that was enough to send him over the edge. His moan turned into a deep-chambered sigh of relief, as his first spurt of jizz filled up Rico’s guts.
That was Thumper’s cue to get back to humping his butthole, which he did, using powerful thrusts. The movement got Thumper’s muscles tensing up, and Rico’s too, as Rico clawed at the bed beneath him and tried to crawl away.
With a grunt, Thumper lay atop him, shifting his weight left and right in lieu of back and forth. Cum sprayed into Rico’s backside, great big creamy gobs of it that kept coming and coming. Rico shuddered, and the movement awakened a wave of pain.
“Shit… You a good nigga,” Thumper said into Rico’s ear, pulling his chest off Rico’s prettyboy back. He lifted up Rico too, so he could kiss Rico on the side of his cheek, square on the sexier of his two dimples. “Now go clean up.” Rico’s scream of pain was swallowed up by the mattress as Thumper withdrew his manhood, every inch of cum-marinated dickmeat sending another wave of sensations through both them. Rico’s till-now-intact asshole held onto Thumper’s dick and made his orgasm last until the tip popped out, and Thumper’s final jizz dribbled out into a puddle in the small of Rico’s back.
“Owwww, fuck, old nigga!” Rico cried out, then jumped up. All that creamy goo spilled out his gaping asshole and down his legs. “Shit!”
With a mummy-like chuckle, Thumper grabbed Rico’s underwear and wiped his dick off with it, while Rico frowned and cursed and moved around the apartment like he thought the old-nigga lifeguards was gonna come rescue him if he kicked up enough fuss.
“Go’n and take a shower,” Thumper said. He gotta say it a couple times cuz Rico was stuck on transmit.
“Shit, old nigga! C’mon! What the fuck?! Shit, old nigga! Quit playin’! Shit, old nigga, c’mon! What the fuck?!” He stalked in a lor circle stretching his frown out. “What the fuck?!”
“Go’n take a shower,” Thumper said again and again, in between Rico’s whatevering. Thumper gripped his cock and balls to get his attention. Thumper’s callused fingers was like a sandpaper purse, and Rico sucked up his breath and clenched his teeth again. Rico trembled when Thumper licked his face from his chin to his forehead. “Go’n take a shower, nigga. If you wanna shower alone, do it now, or I’mma shower wit’cha later. Wit’cha and inside ya.”
His frown turning to open-mouthed surprise, Rico went to the showers to scrub himself for what felt like forever.
Thumper waited for him. He fully intended to ram that boy again. That was why Thumper don’t shower now. He wanna let Rico get clean and give his ass a couple hours to recover. Then he gonna wake Rico in the night with a bootyfull of dickmeat. Then he’d let Rico shower again, and if his old-nigga dick could get hard once more, he’d shower with him and plow Rico for a third time when he dropped the soap. That’d be funny as hell.
It’d make Thumper’s dick hurt, but it’d be worth it. Thumper was too old to be busting nuts multiple times a night. It don’t stop him, of course. Thumper was too old to do alotta the things he do. A nigga is only as old as he feels.
Before Rico returned from his shower, there came a knock at the door. It was Carson. He stood there in the doorway with a long look in his eyes and a bag of fast food in one hand. Then Carson came in without Thumper telling him to. Thumper couldn’t complain much, as Carson and the Bloods was paying for this apartment, but he ain’t like it anyway. In prison a nigga’d get shanked for that.
He put the fast food down. “I got some chow for Rico. And you,” he said. “Burgers and hot cherry pies from the Ruby Pearl’s on Broad.”
“Hell yeah,” Thumper said. He opened the bag. “I’mma take both the cherry pies from that Rico nigga. I sent him off to shower anyway.” He put the cherry pies aside. “What’d you come here for, Carson? I know it ain’t just to drop off hamburguhs and cherry pies. This nigga connects dots easy, so if you want something from me, come right out and say it.”
Carson nodded. “I said someone gotta rob the Seventh Street niggas,” he said. “You heard that, right? In the meeting?”
Thumper nodded. He cross his arms over his chest.
“I was expectin’ you to volunteer for that.” Carson cleared his throat. “You done time for this organization, Thumper, and I know prison ain’t make you soft. I got mad respec’ for you. You know I do.”
Actually Thumper ain’t know that. Thumper only met Carson after his release. He gave him the apartment, but that was a rule. He got to. He ain’t gotto have respect for a nigga. Ain’t no way to force respect into a nigga. All the honky judges and parole officers in the world couldn’t shove respect into a nigga.
“But I need you to hit the Seventh Street niggas and hit ’em hard. They got a safehouse on Broad,” Carson said. “Go in on a Monday afternoon. I know they schedule, it’s when they got a minimum of niggas there. I’ll get you guns. You can take Rico.”
“He know his way around a gun?”
Carson nodded. Then he leaned in and said, “It would be fine if Rico ain’t come back from this. That would be… ideal. I’d love it if you returned but he didn’t.”
“What? Why?”
“You don’t need to know the details, just… He’s not gonna be parta this organization fo’ long,” Carson said. “So I’m organizin’ the easiest, cleanest exit for him.” He mimed shooting a gun at a imaginary nigga. “Pow, pow.” He chuckled. “You gonna ramrod his booty, right?”
Thumper wrinkled his nose. He ain’t wanna say he done do it. “Come by around midnight tonight and see,” Thumper said with a shrug. “Bring lube and a clothespin to shut yo’ nose with.”
That made Carson frown like Rico! It was contagious, it seemed. Carson got a plumpbody nigga body though, and he wasn’t handsome. He was ugly as a cumrag and dark as a used-up barbecue. Carson be darkskin, but he talk like he was lightskin, like nobody told him how dark he was. He wore glasses too, and they shifted up and down when he wrinkled his nose. “Nah, nah, I’ll let you handle that.”
He nodded at Carson, but they was interrupted then by Rico bursting his frowny face back into the apartment. Rico froze in surprise at seeing Carson. He looked down behind hisself like he was making sure there wasn’t a nigga dick sticking outta his booty. Then he widewalked in, his ass no doubt smarting, holding his towel around his waist.
“Rico, Thumper has the plan for you two,” Carson said. “Don’t disappoint me again.”
Rico nodded. Thumper clasped him on the back, lifted up his towel and held his naked body close as Carson left. He liked the moist heat coming off Rico’s smooth back.
But Carson’s words lingered in Thumper’s mind: don’t disappoint me again. That meant Rico done mess up. Rico was a fuck-up already. Thumper gonna hafta get the whole story outta that pretty nigga’s insides. That story must be why Carson wanted Rico gone.
“I don’t like how niggas come and go on the outside,” Thumper said with a sigh. He went to the window and watched Carson leave the building, scurrying through the cold city streets to his SUV. “Ain’t nothing permanent.” He sniffled. “We go’n to church on Sunday, Rico. Be ready.”
“You been locked up too long, you notiony nigga,” Rico said. He hurried to his duffel bag and found some clothes to put on, which he labored to do without taking off the towel around his waist. “You gone crazy.”
Them words made Thumper’s blood run cold. He recognized that snippet of dialogue.
That was in the script Delsinerr gave him. Them exact words.
Thumper’s next line felt natural as rain. “Shut up, nigga. If you got a girlfriend, bring her over.” That made the apartment quiet, cuz Thumper said it weird and Rico sensed that. Thumper ain’t say it like he meant it, though he did mean it, he said it like a actor reading his lines. “We can double-tap her.”
Rico sucked on his teeth. Thumper mouthed along with him, as Rico said his next line. “You know that bitch Cherry? The dancer? I bin seeing her on the side. She got tight booty. She won’t get double-teamed though, not even for coke. She don’t like it.”
Thumper knew his next line clear as a cloudless sky. He ain’t wanna say it. He wanted it to be said, but it ain’t feel right — he was sposedta tell Rico to drag that bitch here by her hair. A nigga shouldn’t let his female boss him around. If Rico want her to get double-teamed, she shoulda both bent over and spread her legs. She was a stripper, not a angel.
If he wanna accept Delsinerr’s gift, he knew how to do it.
Thumper Meets the Ultimate Evil
Chapter One: Out of Touch
Chapter Two: The Fossil
Chapter Three: That Ain’t Gangsta
Chapter Four: Old Nigga
Chapter Five: Unfashioned
Chapter Six: A Corrective Statement
Chapter Seven: Cool at Last
Roughnecks Got Oral Needs!: Chapter 3
Roughnecks Got Oral Needs!: Chapter Three
Chapter Three: Vaccination
This time, Mason sought out Buck, who lived with Lem in that dead end at the end of a corridor on the rig. This rig was built for more workers than there were — lots of the job had been automated in recent years — so whole wings were no longer used. Mr. Chow said they could bed down wherever they wanted. Buck and Lem chose a corridor that dead-ended at a disused room. They claimed everything from the intersection with another corridor to the dead-end, and they used the extra room for storage. The dead-end was curtained off with sheets and done up with extra mattresses, pillows and space heaters.
“Knock, knock, guys,” Mason said. He tapped the sheet being used as a curtain. A mat lay right there, like a welcome mat but Mason knew Lem well enough to know it’s real purpose — there were peanut shells under the mat. Lem and Buck stepped over the mat when coming in and out of the dead-end. If anybody snuck in when they were gone, the shells would be smashed under the mat, and they’d know someone had been there without permission. Mason stepped over the mat.
“C’m’in!” Buck said.
“Unless’n you is Jean or them!” Lem said. His voice was pinched and tense — Lem was always hostile to the other roughnecks, whom he was certain conspired to steal from him at every turn. Back when he drank, he stayed convinced they were stealing his liquor. That was true, they did steal liquor. That was a constant source of conflict on rig. Cigarettes too. Lem was unreasonably paranoid about it though.
Mason opened the curtain and came in. The smell of shower sandals and recent soap filled his nostrils. Buck and Lem stood there like Mason had walked in on them doing something wrong.
They were swordfighting in the center of their living space.
Their soft dicks dangled afront them, but it was clear they had been swinging ’em at each other just a second ago. Both men’s hips were angled towards each other, underwear around their ankles. Wry grins popped up on both Buck and Lem. Both men’s bare asses were still dappled with shower water.
Mason stopped short, unable to tear his eyes from their bared crotches. Buck’s cock was huge, and Lem’s was knobbly and darker-skinned than the rest of him. Actually Buck’s was darker than the rest of his skin as well.
Lem’s cock was not as big as Buck’s but seemed bigger cuz Lem was rangy and ropy-muscled. His cock was as thick as his biceps, and Lem was dense like he had crammed a more muscular man inside of himself. Lem and Buck both held back laughter when Mason saw them standing there, dicks in hand, mid-thwack upon each other.
They both stood up on their chagrin. Buck’s cheeks turned burgundy underneath his unshaved beard. He chuckled, which made his pecker jiggle and his pecs flex. He was meaty and thick all over, but Lem was dark-skinned and taut from head to toe, his muscles dotted with bluish-gray tatttoos, and he had only a smattering of ebon body hair on his sternum.
Mason chuckled. “Who’s winning the swordfight, gentleman?”
“Me!”
“Nah, me! Mah hog wrecked his piglet!”
That chagrined look remained on both they faces, then Buck grinned at the same time Lem scowled, and the both them slapped dicks at each other at the same moment.
Detente broken, the swordfight resumed. Buck and Lem battled dick to dick, both of them leaning their upper halves back and their lower halves forward to get better leverage. It was unclear what the point of the competition was.
“Gotcha, Buckums-!”
“Ow, don’t hit mah balls!”
“Whiteboy, yo’ ugly dick best surrenduh, or I’mma treat it harsh-“
“You narsty, Lem!”
“You smell like velveeta, hillbilly!”
They both said more, but that was all Mason caught. He grinned, forgetting that he came here to see if Buck had his vaccination records — he was supposed to send it to the company in advance, but Mason got notice that Buck never did.
In any case, Mason was distracted by the smell of their muscles and the sight of their dicks smashing into each other. They eventually stopped because Lem got Buck in the balls hard again, and Buck doubled over both laughing and protesting. Lem crossed his arms over his chest.
“You hillbillies is weak as water, Buckums,” Lem said. His muscles tensed up when Lem kicked, trying to get Buck in the balls, but Buck dodged. Then Buck tackled Lem — but he didn’t knock him down, he toppled him then caught him and swept him up in his great bearish arms. Lem squealed and squirmed. “Git off me, hillbilly!”
It was clear Buck wasn’t gonna let go — Buck told Mason he was a wrestler in high school, and it seemed he wanna wrestle again — but then Lem wriggled, and Buck nearly knocked over a layer of blankets pinned up to the wall. He put Lem down to fix it.
“Damn it, Buckums!” Lem said. “You knockin’ shit down again!” He scowled, scratching his naked balls, and watched Buck fix the blanket. Buck’s back muscles looped and arched as he re-tacked the blanket to the wall. The walls and floors were icy cold, so they had covered everything with layers of insulation.
When Buck was done, the dead-end had been silent for some time. Buck and Lem both turned to Mason, both of them just now realizing they didn’t know why Mason had come here. Their cocks dangled like disused warclubs between their muscled thighs.
Mason said, “I was hoping you had your vaccination records, Buck.”
Buck stone-faced. “Mah what?”
“Your vaccination records? You were supposed to send them in to the company health director before you got here,” Mason said. “They sent you a letter about it.”
Buck made a dismissive hand gesture and sound effect. “Flpppt. Whatevuh, Mason, I don’t got that.” He shrugged. “Reckon mah grammaw prolly got that lettuh. I done been got vaccined, I did. I got all mah shots.”
“Okay, well, if you give me your doctor’s name, I can get the records sent up,” Mason said.
Buck nodded. “Okay, yeah. I’ll get mah grammaw to call you.” He wagged his dick in Mason’s direction. “Cain I do a complaint? Lem got a dirty dick-“
“Nuh-uh, I cleans it. I’mma do a complaint ’bout Buckums’s dick. Honky-ass whiteboy hillbilly got weak-dick syndrome, I seen that. He fat-“
“Shut ya old fool mouth, Lem, you don’t know nuttin’ ’bout whiteboy dingdong,” Buck said. Then he glanced at Mason. “Sawry, Mason, suh, we’s j’st playin’ ’round.”
“I’m not a supervisor,” Mason said. “I’m just the medic. Swordfight as much as you want. As long as you don’t get hurt, it’s none of my business.”
But they both sat down sheepishly anyway, and Buck motioned for Mason to do likewise. Their living area was a mess of pillows, blankets and mattresses. Mason sat behind Buck. “You want a massage?” he asked softly, speaking into Buck’s big cauliflowery ear — Buck was an amateur boxer, so his nose was crooked and his ears were fatly exploded.
“Hell yeah,” Buck said with a wrinkle of that fisty nose.
As Buck and Lem got to talking about their upcoming leave back in town, Mason’s hands spread over Buck’s back. Buck leaned forward. Mason kneaded his powerful muscles, and he leaned in to smell the fading-soap and recent-sweat smell clinging to his skin. Buck was so tall that Mason’s face squashed into the middle of his back, which was dappled with sweat. Mason was glad to taste the salt of his manhood, trickling into Mason’s mouth.
“We gonna have enough money to live it large this time, sweah to God,” Lem said. “That lightskin lady at the Manor? I am goin’ aftuh her like you wouldn’t believe — she wanted me — she was into it-” Lem was worked up and stood, holding holey white briefs in one hand like he forgot to put them on. He was excited about leave, which both he and Buck were up for next week.
Buck rolled his eyes. Mason was rubbing his back, so he couldn’t see Buck’s face, but he sensed it. Lem was animated as if he was arguing about this with somebody, but nobody had challenged it. He wagged his finger like he was counting off points, but he didn’t count anything. He also seemed to have forgotten he was naked, and his cock gaggled up and down as he gesticulated.
“She said I was handsome, she said I looked like that actor Idris Elba, damn you know she want this nigga dick, Buckums! You know it!” He wagged his finger well above Buck’s head. “She woulda gived me a freebie if that madam wasn’t there, she woulda, she said it, and I sensed it,” Lem said. “I got nigga sense on that. She don’t see lotta black American niggas, and you know she don’t want no Haitians, you know that, Buck-“
Buck sighed, making his chamberous chest billow beneath Mason’s grasp. “Shuddup, Lem.” He had a solid layer of muscle beneath his skin, and Mason’s massage made the whole mass move up and down.
Mason had to chuckle. Lem had been ranting about Haitians since back when he drank. Lem got persnickety about Haitians. And Nigerians. And Brazilians, Pakistanis, Lebanese… Lem had notions about every nationality, and he did express them often and vituperously. The video about respecting diversity on rig had obviously not sunk into Lem’s skull, even after rewatching it a hundred times.
“Nobody want Haitians. They’s longskin niggas, longskin, and you can’t trust them none. You know about that, Mason?”
“I-” Mason said from around Buck’s back muscles. They were solid and warm, moist with sweat and stretching, flexing beneath his grasp. Fine hair imperceptibly covered most of his back, but the hairs became black and coarse down at the small of his back and up atop his shoulderblades.
Buck blurted out. “Wait, nah, don’t say nothing, Mason, don’t get him started-“
“Longskin niggas-“
“Lem don’t like Hayshuns, reckon. He got notions ’bout ’em,” Buck said. He sniffled. “I ain’t had the best ‘xperiences wit’ ’em mahself.”
“She was givin’ me looks ’bout it, you know how they do, you know it, Buck, man, Mason, shit, a Haitian was going aftuh her — he had the money, you see, and she gotta go away wit’ him,” Lem said. He paused and whistled. “She was aftuh me, she said we woulda coulda snuck away if her madam stepped out. She touched mah dick anyway. You saw her, Buckums, the chick-“
“Yes, I know, Lem you been goin’ on ’bout her,” Buck said. He leaned back so Mason could reach around him and massage his chest. His hefty pics twitched at the touch of Mason’s fingertips. Mason massaged him gently at first, but Buck was so thick he got more and more vigorous until he sensed that Buck liked the sensation. Buck remained naked, his cock flopping between his thighs. Squashed between Buck and the pillow-clad wall, Mason moved to sit beside him and kneaded the meat of Buck’s torso.
Lem got out one of his gentleman’s interest magazines. “Lemme show you, lemme show you, hillbilly, she got tits like you wouldn’t believe!” he whisper-shouted, lest Mr. Chow come tell them to keep it down. Lem acted like somebody had doubted him, as he showed off the pictures of a woman with marvelous tits, the same as that lightskin prostitute working in town.
Mason wasn’t particularly interested, but he nodded along anyway. Buck did likewise. Mason’s hands worked up and down Buck’s broad chest. Lem was off on a tear about the woman in the magazine.
It was funny, Mason knew Lem back when he drank, and Lem drank a lot. He quit last year. Mason thought Lem’s eccentric behavior and wild tangents were due to his drinking, but after a year of sobriety, Lem was just as off the wall as ever. Maybe even more so. Maybe the liquor had kept him calm back before.
He spoke more clearly, that was all, less slurring of his words. Lem remained as Lemmish as ever.
“This bitch would fall in love wit’ me if we met, and you know I would put it to her good. She look like she know things, you get me, you can feel it coming outta her,” Lem said vociferously, like he must convince Mason and Buck of what he was saying. Despite that, he didn’t even show the magazine to them, he just kept talking about the woman in it. He seemed to have forgotten that he started talking about her to compare her to the prostitute at the Manor (a brothel in town where the roughnecks got leave) but now was talking about her in her own right. “I wouldn’t settle down wit’ her though. She don’t look like a one-man kinda woman, bet on it. Believe that, Buckums! Mason. She be out flippin’ her pussy at any man with dollahs to spare! Believe that!”
“Hey, uh…” Buck blushed under his scruffy beard. Ignoring Lem’s rant, he glanced down at his dick, which twitched like it wanna get hard. He kept his voice low but audible under Lem’s flimsy rant. Buck sucked on his lower lip. “Hey, Mason.” His cheeks bright red beneath his bristly beard, he glanced at Lem, who stopped his jeremiad midway through — or hell, his rants were endless, there was no midway, but he paused it anyway. Buck whispered, “I needta get a nut off.”
In any case, Lem heard that and scumbled on a face like he wanna get a nut off too. “You still jack a nigga off, Mason? I could use a nut mahself-“
“Aw, sheeit, I knewed you was gonna suggest that. Don’t do it, Mason, it’s nasty-“
Mason blurted out, “Yes! I mean, okay, I… I’ll do whatever, whatever you guys want.” He blushed, as the both them guffawed. Mason would enjoy jacking off with either or both of them. It wouldn’t be the first time with either of them as well, though he wasn’t sure if either of them knew it — had Buck told Lem he’d been jacking off with Mason in the clinic? Had Lem told Buck he’d done the same with Mason on previous rigs? Neither of them seemed shocked Mason would volunteer.
Buck said, “Don’t nevuh agree to nothing from Lem wit’out askin’ what it is, Mason. I tells him no mahself, I do. He don’t feel good. Like humpin’ a coral reef.”
Lem had a standing offer — if a man jacked him off one time “wit’ full throat” — swallowed his cum, basically — Lem would let him “hump off” on him bunches — Lem spent years prison, so he knew about all this stuff. “Humping off” was when you rubbed your dick on his back, in the crook of his elbow or between his thighs.
That was a new offer from Lem now that he was sober, it seemed, he never offered that on previous rigs. Or maybe he did, just not to Mason.
But Buck and everyone else on rig had refused. Nobody wanna taste Lem’s “nasty old black pecker” (Buck’s words), and Lem’s body was rough and not big and squishy like Buck’s. Lem was a “sandpapery chimney of a homeboy” (also Buck’s words).
Mason, however, jumped right to it. He blushed. “I get horny a lot, the idea of humping Lem off… I can handle swallowing some cum. I’ll do it.” He blushed harder, as Buck laughed and Lem clapped his hands with glee. Men looked at him weird if he said he swallowed cum willingly, so Mason pretended to be more reluctant about that than he really was.
In fact, Mason liked the taste, the consistency and the experience of it, and he was eager to hump off on Lem’s muscles. He didn’t mind Lem being too taut for it to feel proper, as Buck described it.
Lem’s body was wiry, like he was naturally skinny but forced by a hard life to cram muscles on. His thighs were firm and corded-muscle, and his cock was soft as he swaggered over to Mason.
“Ah hot shit,” Buck said and clapped his hands. “You really gonna swaller nut? Is that a medic’s job? They must pay a lot, hoss!”
But before Mason could say no, Lem gripped Mason’s head with one hand and slipped his limpness into his mouth. Lem’s other hand held onto that gentleman’s interest magazine. His cock tasted warm and musty, salty with sweat cuz this dead-end was warm from the space heaters they had put up all over, and the blankets and pillows provided ample insulation. Lem had showered recently, and his body remained moist and vaguely soap-scented.
That taste flooded Mason’s mouth, as Buck whooped and hollered, then got interested in peering at the magazine over Lem’s shoulders.
“Aaaah, shit, nigga…” Lem let out a moan, though his dick wasn’t even hard yet. Mason’s tongue wrapped around it and explored the soft shaft.
Lem’s cock began twitching and firming up, even before Mason swallowed it as deep as he could — that’s cuz Lem’s attention remained on the woman in the magazine. His meat was ready to race to erection, which it did quick once Mason got started. He slathered spit up and down Lem’s throbbing shaft. Lem murmured and grumbled into the magazine above Mason’s head.
As Mason slurped on Lem’s knob, he heard Lem and Buck arguing — Buck wanna look at the magazine and get hard, but Lem was focused on a picture of a black woman. Buck could only see the opposite page from his angle, and that was only advertisements, no women at all.
That didn’t slow Buck down though. He flopped his massive limpness onto Mason’s face, but Mason stayed focused on Lem’s veiny shaft, so Buck’s dick battered him softly on the nose and cheek. Lem’s pecker was hard as iron now, and it jabbed down Mason’s throat. Lem was harsher about it than Buck, not gentle at all, not that Mason was complaining. Lem treated Mason’s throat like a fleshlight, forcing his cock down until Mason choked on it and gripped Lem’s wiry asscheeks for support.
Soon, the precum flowed outta Lem’s dick, and Mason swallowed every drop. It was salty and gooey in a good way. Both Mason’s hands stayed gripped onto Lem’s asscheeks as though he was trying to push Lem away, but he instead held Lem in place, as Lem pounded — gently but firmly — at Mason’s mouth. His balls slapped at Mason’s chin. His sac wasn’t as hairy as Buck’s, and it was clean because he had showered moments ago, but his balls were hefty and swollen like Buck’s.
“Damn, Mason…” Lem murmured. His cock pulsated in Mason’s throat, and he now had both hands on the magazine, so he didn’t hold Mason’s head in place. That meant Mason could move up and down on the shaft at his own pace.
Because Mason’s hands were on Lem’s asscheeks, he felt Buck sidle up behind him — tired of being unable to see the “purdy ladies” in the magazine, Buck got behind Lem and rubbed his soft dick on Lem’s hard asscheeks.
“Eww, Lem, you feel like pavement, sheeit,” Buck murmured with a laugh. His dick rubbed the sweaty crack of Lem’s ass though. Buck kept his eyes trained on the magazine.
Though Lem grumbled, he didn’t complain about Buck humping himself hard on Lem’s ass. They did that — before Mason started jerking Buck off, Buck and Lem would hump each other here in the dead-end to get a nut off. They’d worked out a way to do it, Buck laying on his back, Lem “fucking” between his thighs, which made Lem’s wiry torso rub up and down on Buck’s dick. With a magazine held between their heads, they could both get off that way with minimal mess (they had a system of towels in place to catch their cum). It wasn’t too satisfying, but it worked.
Now that Buck and Lem were both hard though, Mason could switch back and forth between them both, as Buck let his erect cock ram between Lem’s thighs. Lem’s ballsac rubbed on his dick, which gave it a sour flavor that Mason gobbled down. Lem grumbled about Buck’s position too — Lem do be grumbling — but he ain’t try and stop Buck. Mason swallowed Buck’s dick as deep as he could, then moved back to Lem’s, then back to Buck’s.
Since Mason enjoyed it, he wasn’t especially trying to get them both off quickly. But Buck’s younger body got real close quick, and Mason swallowed his hillbilly cock to the root, or as close as Mason could get anyway, as Buck’s meat was too long and too thick. Since Mason was focused on throating deep, he was surprised when a jolt of hot jizz filled his mouth, then overflowed down his chin.
“Aww, heckfire!” Buck closed his eyes and let out a long cringing sound, his dick still poking out between Lem’s thighs and into Mason’s mouth. A fat jizzum splurted into Mason’s throat and spilled out down his chin.
“No fair, hillbilly,” Lem murmured. He pulled Mason’s head off Buck’s cock, which Mason didn’t resist. Lem moaned when his dick thensank into Mason’s cum-filled mouth.
Buck scoffed and moaned as well, still cumming, spewing his nut all over Mason’s face. He stroked himself off with both hands. Great ropy jets of jizz flowed over Mason’s cheeks and shoulders, while Lem gripped his head once more and plowed down his throat.
Before Buck was even done cumming, Lem was shooting his load too, his wiry old-man dick spraying a thick wad into Mason’s belly. Mason groaned but swallowed all he could before his need for air caused him to expel Lem’s dick, so Lem’s last couple cumwads joined the soup on Mason’s face.
“Hell yeah, whiteboy,” Lem said. Buck chortled behind him.
They both sighed, their dicks now limp in front of them. Lem had dropped the gentleman’s interest magazine onto the pillow on the floor, and some of the cum dripped off Mason’s face onto the pages.
“Damn! You makin’ a mess, Mason,” Lem said. He picked up the magazine and wiped jizz off the page with the beautiful black woman. Lem got on his knees to put the magazine away, while Mason stood behind him.
“He gonna hump ya back now, Lem,” Buck said with a chuckle and a chortle. He delicately wiped his pecker clean with a paper towel. “You gonna get whiteboy spooge all ovah ya head.”
“Shuddup, Buck! He ain’t a hillbilly, so it won’t be as nasty as yo’n,” Lem said. He drank from his flask of apple cider — he felt strongly that soft apple cider replaced his desire for alcohol. Drinking from a flask helped, he said.
It wasn’t true, but he felt it should be and maybe one day would be, if he thought it often enough. So he drank soft cider as though it forgot to ferment. After smacking his lips, he flexed his arms, which pushed his shoulderblades into making a little valley in the center of his back.
“Go fo’ it, Mason. Be quick,” Lem said.
Mason slid his dick into that valley, and he humped it up and down, already rock-hard. Lem stayed like that, kneeling with his arms flexed. He ain’t pay much mind to Mason, he simply directed Buck to clean up puddles of cum where it had spilled.
Holding back a chest-cringing moan, Mason’s cock firmed up the rest of the way immediately, his dick ramming into the valley of Lem’s shoulders. Mason was already mostly hard, so it didn’t take much to get him going. Lem kneeled there like nothing was happening, he was just flexing his arms for practice. Mason slid his dick back and forth, embarrassed at first cuz both Buck and Lem got quiet, so the only sound was Mason’s slightly panty breaths. Mason’s arms gripped Lem’s taut biceps.
Then Buck got to talking about leave — he had his own notions about the women at the brothel in Kaskatuk — and Lem gradually ignored Mason. That meant Mason could focus on the firm muscles of Lem’s back.
He’d been a roughneck for decades. Lem worked at every kind of oil rig, work camp, lumber mill and remote mine in North America (he claimed), plus a couple even further abroad. He wasn’t the meaty kind of muscular like Buck, he was more firm and padding-free, solid as petrified wood. Buck’s back would be squishy, but Lem’s was hard, and his shoulders squeezed Mason’s dick.
The pearly white prejizz that spewed from Mason’s cock spread over Lem’s back. It followed the natural arcs and curves of Lem’s flexed muscles, and it dripped down to his asscrack. Mason’s fingers spread over the firm mounds of Lem’s biceps. He humped stronger with every pump of his hips, his dick ramming up Lem’s spine and nape to get him in the back of the head.
But Lem was copacetic about it. “You shoulda made that deal with Waymond, Buckums,” he said.
Buck scoffed and sucked on his teeth. He eyed Lem suspiciously. “I ain’t givin’ up all mah porno, Lem.”
“You don’t need porno if you got Mason jerkin’ you off,” Lem said. He and Buck both erupted in chatter about the canceled deal with Waymond — porno for cigarettes, basically, with some side deals about food in the mess hall, potato chips in the barracks, Waymond’s hot sauce and a safety manual that wasn’t technically porno but did have a debatably hot woman washing contaminants off her body while respecting diversity. It was a complicated transaction, which Buck had turned down.
Mason wasn’t all that interested by it, but he didn’t mind how it made Lem animated. Lem’s back flexed as he argued with Buck, who waved him off and did pushups in the center of the dead-end. Mason closed his eyes, hands roaming all up and down Lem’s shoulders, arms and his chest. When Mason leaned down to tweak Lem’s nipples, it made Lem’s pecs ripple.
That was when Mason shot his wad into the creamy soup already congealing on the back of Lem’s head. Mason gasped, unsure at first if Lem even realized he was cumming, as a fat wad of jizz spurted up to his scalp. Most of it landed in a thick puddle on Lem’s neck and shoulder. “Awwww…” Mason tried not to make a sound, but it felt good to resist, and pleasure coursed through his veins. His knees went weak.
“It was a good deal, hillbilly!” Lem snapped at Buck. Cum smeared down his chin and his collarbone, which he ignored.
A long chest-rattling moan came outta Mason, as his final cumwad spurted into the puddle he had already made. It dripped down Lem’s back, which remained flexed, his arms up, like he had forgotten why he was doing that. Mason let his erection slip into Lem’s armpit, the coarse hairs of which provided friction and made Mason bite his lip, the sheer bliss overwhelming him and making his whole body shudder.
Lem looked crossly down at his bare chest covered in Mason’s jizz and also his fingers. Lem shrugged. “You done, Mason?”
Mason nodded. His cheeks turned red, and his soft cock flopped off Lem’s back. Lem grabbed a washcloth to wipe himself off, and Mason tucked his cock away. He immediately resumed lecturing Buck about the deal with Waymond, which Buck shrugged off. Buck was smoking a cigarette and seemed to have eyes for nothing else at the moment.
“You guys have fun on your leave,” Mason said, his voice breathless and thready. “And I’ll be here if you renew your contracts. I hope you do.”
Roughnecks Got Oral Needs!
As the medic on an oil rig in the North Pacific, Mason has his hands full — full of men! One of the workers is the massive hillbilly Buck Sampson, whose meaty body is exactly what Mason craves. He can’t wait to get a grip on all of Buck’s parts, and now that there are no women around, roughnecks like Buck are ready to give Mason the ride of a lifetime!
As the medic on an oil rig in the North Pacific, Mason has his hands full — full of men! One of the workers is the massive hillbilly Buck Sampson, whose meaty body is exactly what Mason craves. He can’t wait to get a grip on all of Buck’s parts, and now that there are no women around, roughnecks like Buck are ready to give Mason the ride of a lifetime!
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