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The Shotputter

At a championship in Riyadh, the massive Norwegian shotputter Arnold Thikkerson has trouble meeting women. He’s too big, too rough and just perfect for the photographer Bart, who is eager to service all of his hard to please parts!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Arnold Thikkersen looked around the Olympic Village. It looked so utterly normal, he thought — the buildings weren’t exactly like the stacks of squat bricks that covered his Massachusetts home, but they were similar — they were pale pastel, with balconies and yellow plaster. They looked more like the apartment buildings in New Mexico, where Arnold’s ex-wife now lived. He supposed that made sense. New Mexico was a desert just like Saudi Arabia, so they have similar buildings.
He took a deep breath and looked beyond the gated boundary that he hadn’t seen the other side of since arriving here. Could he leave the Olympic Village? He was allowed to. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
What if he broke a law out there? He’d rot in a Saudi prison while the American press ran articles about how foolish he was for it. What would he even do out there? There were no bars, no drinking, no dancing, no marijuana, no popular music, no interacting with women, no churches, no strip clubs, no beaches — there was nothing that Arnold wanted.
He just felt like a loser hanging around in the Olympic Village. He thought he shouldn’t feel like that. He wasn’t a loser — literally — he had just won a gold medal in the shot-put. He could throw a heavy ball farther than anyone else on Earth.
For whatever the fuck that was worth.
He passed underneath a balcony whence came a torrent of charismatic laughter. He didn’t have to look up there to see who it was. He recognized one of the voices as Charlie McDarnell, a champion volleyball player and six-packed stud who had lost for his team. It was Charlie’s error that meant the Americans were shut out of the volleyball medals this year. Charlie should have been humiliated. If it were Arnold, he’d be kicking himself, cursing his own name, refusing to leave his hotel room. But Charlie McDarnell just ran his fingers through that goddamn mane of blond hair like a Barbie — Arnold, who had started balding when he was nineteen, hated Charlie very much — and laughed with his buddies, all of whom were volleyball jocks with perfect hair and an unblemished record of never eating a carb. The media loved them. After they lost, they all got to go on NBC and meet Ann Currie and they even got to make a statement on the Goughman issue — that was a country singer, Albert Goughman, who had made intolerant statements about Samoan people. It had no relevance to the Olympics, to volleyball, to shot-put, to Saudi Arabia or to athletics in general, but the volleyball players, as a reward for losing, got to go on TV and talk about how terrible Goughman was.
Arnold had won, and no one wanted him on TV. No one cared about shot-put. The volleyball players even had some girls up there — Japanese girls, by the sound of their twinkling laughter. No Japanese girls had come to see Arnold. At the World Track and Field Championship in Osaka last year, Arnold had been mobbed by Japanese girls and thought he was finally becoming a real celebrity, only to discover that they had no idea he was a champion shot-putter — they had probably never heard of the shot-put. They had only mobbed him because he looked like an ogre. They thought it was funny and wanted to take pictures with the massive white man with the physique of an ogre.
Arnold had never been so humiliated. And that was after winning the shot-put there too. He was almost undefeated in shot-put. Literally not a single journalist had come to him since he won the gold medal. No one cared about shot-put.
He knew it was because of the way he looked. Not just him, but all the shot-put “stars”, in as much as there was such a thing. They were all big, squat bulls like him.
Arnold was bald, scalp shaved smooth, and frumpy, unfashionable no matter what he did. He once hired an agent who put him in “hot” clothes, only to laugh at how ridiculous he looked when he was dressed. He was tall and stout, barrel-chested, muscular like a moose — not fat by any means, he was a bodybuilder, he just didn’t have a six-pack. Shot-put didn’t require a six-pack. It didn’t require him to shave his shoulders either, nor to cover up the blemishes on his skin with concealer — that was what Henri Delameur (the French volleyball star and sex symbol) did, Arnold saw him do it. He didn’t understand what made volleyball players handsome but shot-putters grim ogres. He thought he was reasonably attractive. He was balding, sure, but he shaved his head so that wasn’t obvious. He was muscular and thick all over. He worked on his body, he was in good health. But still, girls ignored him and the media treated him like crap.
Arnold stood by the gate out from the Olympic Village. There was a press conference going on outside. Some handsome Canadian runner was giving a speech or something, Arnold didn’t know. He didn’t want to see the man’s dimples or his trim, neat body.
Arnold wished he had become a runner. He didn’t have the physique for it, of course, but maybe if he had been training for that since middle-school, he would have the physique for it by now.
“Okay, sweetie, you gotta relax. Smile. Smile like you enjoy smiling-“
“I am smiling.”
“Smile better. You’re smiling like a witch who’s seen a child has fallen into her trap,” said a lilting male voice.
Arnold turned around to see a woman having her picture taken. She was a wrestler, wearing a red, white and blue singlet that accentuated her curvy body. Actually, Arnold thought as he watched her awkwardly smile, she was well-beyond curvy. She was thick like he was.
She wasn’t exactly sexy. She was certainly no Hollywood starlet. But she was pretty in her way; she was thick, buxom, rubenesque and heavy. She was brimming with a peculiar sort of beauty, a very solid, firm beauty. Her beauty had gravity — that’s not a fat joke, it’s like a serious voice has ‘gravity’ — her beauty had the gravity of a warrior, and any sane man would give it all to worship at her massive body.
Arnold sure would. But he couldn’t approach her in a place like this. Or any place. He scuffed his feet and looked down at the ground. He felt too big, like a moose among mice.
She scoffed. “I can’t do this, Bart-“
“You can! You’re so beautiful!” Bart, the flamboyant photographer — who was tiny but had a large presence — kept snapping photos as he called out instructions to her. “Pretend you’ve just seen someone you know, someone you haven’t seen in a long time. Wave to them. They’re far away. They’re farther away than that. Is that how you wave?”
“I don’t know! The more you talk about waving, the less I’m able to wave! I’m not doing this, Bart! You got your stupid fucking picture,” said the woman — Paundy Sappelslim, American silver medalist. She adjusted the straps of her singlet and scowled. She scurried away with barely a glance in Arnold’s direction.
Arnold watched her go. She was hot enough for him. He didn’t mind a thick girl — which was good because he was thick too, and small girls wouldn’t give him the time of day. He wondered if he should go after her.
Bart glanced up at Arnold. “Don’t bother.”
“What?”
“You’re trying to decide whether to go hit on her, right? Don’t bother. She won’t be into you. She just got married.” Bart sniffed. “He’s tiny. Korean. Banker. It’s weird.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Oh. Well, shit.”
“She doesn’t wear a wedding ring to competitions.”
“Ah. I see.” Arnold looked down at his feet.
“Sorry.” Bart put his camera away. He carefully packed it in its own case, then put that in his satchel. To it he added his laptop, the external hard drive for it, the four thumb drives he used to find the one thumb drive he wanted, his other phone, his charger and the ipad he always thought of as “the downstairs ipad”, even though he hadn’t kept it downstairs in years.
All the while, he sensed the heavyset powerhouse shot putter Arnold Thikkerson looking at him. Bart made sure to aim his ass in Arnold’s direction. Bart had a love for men’s physiques, and Arnold’s was an especially remarkable example of one. His heft was magnificent, powerful as a stallion and tall as a gorilla. But he had an adorable sheepishness that Bart liked as well.
“So you’re like a media guy?”
“I’m a photographer,” Bart said. “Her media consultant hired me to take pics during the Olympics.”
“Oh, so you can’t help, uh… someone else?”
“I can’t give you media advice, no. I could take your picture,” Bart said. He smiled.
Arnold blushed. He thought he should just walk away right now, but an idea occurred to him, and he wanted to try it even if it was awkward. What was the worst that could happen? Bart could say no. “Do you…? Like, I know, uh… a lotta dudes, like… know a lotta girls. Like… here. So, like, I was hoping… uh… do you know… any girls in the Olympic Village… who might like me?” Arnold’s big square face was bright red. His cheeks jiggled. “Uh… I mean… Like, for… me, I, uh…” He didn’t want to stammer, but it always happened when he was nervous.
If people knew, they’d be shocked — everyone had told him he’d get laid all the time in the Olympic Village. They thought the Olympics being in Riyadh would mean everyone stayed in, so all those Olympic athletes would be hanging around waiting to bang. They thought any athlete, especially a gold-medal winner, would be swimming in women.
Whereas Arnold had barely even talked to a female in the entire time he’d been in Saudi Arabia.
“You want me to hook you up with a girl? Paundy there is the only woman I know here, sorry,” Bart said. “I can’t, uh…” He noticed Arnold grabbing his dick through his baggy gym shorts. Arnold’s eyes were low and dim, and Bart felt bad for him. “I might be able to help in a different way though.”
Arnold was ideal, as far as Bart was concerned, skin blemishes and all. Bart blushed as he looked him up and down. Arnold wore a sleeveless muscle shirt — was that what he wore to pick up chicks? No wonder he couldn’t get laid. Girls didn’t want to see his bulging, fleshy arms and hairy pits. He smelled like a locker room and athlete’s foot powder, and he exuded heat like a furnace.
Bart, however, was glad to be with him. He smiled at Arnold. “You wanna come with me? I’ll do you!”
Arnold’s eyes opened wide. “Really?!”
Bart was surprised that he was so eager. A lot of men were willing to get their dick wet without a woman, but Arnold was jumping to agree. Bart would have offered him money if he was reluctant. It was nice to save a few dollars. “Yeah. Really.”
“Oh shit, that’s awesome, man. Do you think I could get a cover on Men’s Fitness? They have it at my gym and I want the guys I lift weights with to see it. I really wanna be in a action movie too, and I know I got the physique for it-“
“I’m sorry, Arnold, I think I misspoke. I didn’t mean ‘I’d do you’ like I’ll be your media consultant. I won’t do that. Sorry. You have a bull face. You’re not television material,” Bart said. He felt bad saying that, but it was true, and it didn’t do Arnold any good to pretend there was some chance he’d wake up tomorrow a heartthrob. “You’re not going to be the hero of any action movie. Maybe a villain’s henchman. Maybe.”
Arnold was crestfallen. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry, I know that’s harsh, but… That’s the way it is,” Bart said. He touched Arnold’s bicep and shivered with desire. “What I was saying was that I’d be glad to make you feel better.”
Arnold scuffed his feet and wrinkled his nose. He only half-paid attention to Bart at all, and didn’t pick up on his hints. “Oh. Cool.”
“I can act like a girl in the ways that matter…” Bart’s voice trailed off because it was obvious Arnold wasn’t listening.
“Sweet.” Arnold furrowed his brow. “Do you think, if I’d been running since I was eleven, would I have a six-pack?”
“That’s such a weird question.” Bart shrugged. “I don’t know, Arnold.” He hugged Arnold around the chest — since Bart was so short, his arms wrapped over Arnold’s ribs. Bart’s face pressed into his meaty belly, and he reached up to clasp Arnold’s biceps.
“Uh.” Arnold grunted. He felt like he should be annoyed, but he wasn’t — he sort of liked it. Not many people liked him like that. Most physically small people (and children) were scared of him. A drunk, petite man had literally run screaming away from him when they bumped into each other in a darkened alley in Chicago a couple years ago.
Arnold furrowed his brow as he stood there, wondering if anyone could see Bart’s hands caressing his muscles. Why didn’t girls ever want to touch him like this?
“Do you want to get your nut off, big boy?” Bart asked. He smirked as Arnold gasped and sputtered, muscles flexing beneath Bart’s tender grasp.
“Uh, oh, uh, uh… Oh! Shit, I mean… Damn… Oh, I ain’t, uh… I ain’t no perv or nothin’,” Arnold said.
“Well, good, but you didn’t answer the question though. Is that a yes? Come on, baby.” He took Arnold’s big meaty paw in his hand and walked him into a nearby building, an apartment inhabited by soccer players. They were all at the medal ceremony now (Spain won, with Belgium getting the silver and Cameroon the bronze), so the building was empty.
Bart led Arnold’s stiff, nervous body into the common area, where there was a mostly empty utility closet. He closed the door behind them, and Arnold grunted. His mind whirred. He hadn’t agreed to this, but on the other hand, thinking about an orgasm had made his cock stir in his jockstrap prison. He wanted to get a nut off so bad.
It wouldn’t really count, would it? Arnold didn’t think so. It was just jacking off with another guy.
Before he knew it, Bart’s hand was on his crotch, stroking his dick through his gym shorts. Arnold sucked in his breath. Pervy or not, he was doing this. He needed it.
He closed his eyes and bit his lip. Bart tried to remove Arnold’s shirt, but he was too short, and after a minute or two of awkward fumbling, Arnold just took it off himself. Bart kept stroking his dick through his shorts though, and he licked Arnold’s massive pectorals.
As a champion shot-putter, Arnold had long focused on his upper arms, shoulders and pecs. Those were the muscles that propelled the shot through the air. His pecs flexed beneath Bart’s lips, while Bart’s hand slid underneath those gym shorts and into the pouch of his jockstrap.
“You’re not gonna make me kiss you with tongue, are you?” Arnold said. He blushed, then worried he might have offended Bart said, “I mean… no tongue, and not after you taste my dick. No french-kissing, okay?”
Bart giggled. It was like making out with an overgrown high schooler. “Okay. No tongue.” Bart didn’t normally try to get men to kiss, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. He hopped up and hugged Arnold’s body with his arms and legs, mounting his big barrel chest and planting his lips right on Arnold’s.
Arnold’s last serious girlfriend had been furious when he tried to have sex with her without kissing — not because he was opposed to kissing, he just didn’t think about it. It didn’t seem important. She had said it was important, that was why he assumed Bart would want a kiss — as long there was no tongue and he didn’t taste like dick, Arnold figured it wasn’t even a big deal.
He felt Bart’s lips on his. It wasn’t bad. He could feel an erect firm bulge pressing against his belly, that was a little weird and offputting. But at least Bart’s dick was still in his pants.
Arnold stood there, letting Bart kiss his mouth — which was pursed shut tightly — and caress his broad shoulders. Arnold finally had enough and let him down gently. Bart kissed until he couldn’t reach anymore, and then he kissed a trail down Arnold’s neck and his broad chest until he got to his crotch.
“Hmmmm… You’re really handsome, Arnold. Girls should give you more of a chance,” Bart said. He pulled down Arnold’s shorts and jockstrap, and that massive foot-long dick flopped right out. Bart slapped his own face with it — it was just slightly soft, which was the perfect texture to just play with it a bit, Bart thought. He giggled at the shocked look on Arnold’s face. “What…? Hasn’t anyone ever slapped themselves with your cock before?”
“No.”
“Well, you should make guys get you off more,” Bart said with a shrug. He put the tip in his mouth and suckled, loudly and moistly, letting little drops of saliva drip onto the floor of the utility closet. He didn’t try to deep-throat him at first, waiting for that veiny shaft to get fully hard first.
“Ah, goddamn, shit…” Arnold hadn’t been serviced like this in a long time, maybe ever, he thought as he watched Bart slide all the way down on his dick. Not many women even tried to deep-throat him.
They certainly didn’t do it like this! Arnold sucked in his breath and threw his head back. He held onto Bart’s head, not plowing into his throat, just gripping it and rubbing his scalp. Without even his own conscious awareness, Arnold began humping Bart’s throat gently, making Bart gurgle and moan.
“Hmmm…” Bart pulled off and smacked his lips. His tongue ran down Arnold’s shaft and he suckled on those massive long-hanging balls. The sweat was intense and salty there, and it tasted like the precum that dripped down his shaft.
Bart kept teasing him with his tongue, making Arnold’s whole body shake. Arnold’s muscles tensed as he resisted his urge to hold Bart in place and ram down his throat. His belly smacked Bart in the forehead.
“You wanna stick me?”
Arnold’s eyes opened wide again. “In the ass?”
Bart giggled. He dropped his own pants and stroked his erect dick. “I still don’t have a vagina, so yeah, it’ll have to be the ass.”
“Oh…” Arnold had never fucked a woman in the ass. He was embarrassed of that gap in his sexual history, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He didn’t realize that Bart had already guessed it.
Bart leaned over the supply closet shelf and jutted his ass back. He usually had a tube of lube in his pocket, from which he smeared some on his ass with one hand, while his other hand kept a tight hold on Arnold’s dick. Bart thought it was cute — like a lot of big, horny guys, he wouldn’t do anything with his dick in someone’s hand. As long as Bart gently stroked his erect cock, Arnold did little more than grunt and gasp and stamp his feet, waiting for his dick to enter Bart’s tight hole.
“Okay, big boy, I’m ready-” Bart was surprised by how quickly Arnold moved.
He felt like his cock was about ready to burst. Arnold gurgled nervously, but his body moved of its own accord. In moments, his dick rubbed between Bart’s tight asscheeks. That hole looked too tight to be even remotely capable of taking his dick, Arnold thought.
But Bart was an expert. Of course he would know if he could take it. Arnold grimaced, closed his eyes and slid in. He couldn’t believe he was plowing into a man — and even more than that, he couldn’t believe how good it felt.
There was nary a moment of resistance. Pleasure wracked Arnold’s body from the second he entered him, and Bart’s ass clenched around his dick.
A burst of pain hit Bart first, but that quickly melted away as his body adjusted. Arnold’s heavy upper body rubbed against Bart’s sensitive, smooth back — he loved the imperfections of Arnold’s chest, the shaved-yet-scruffy hair that collected in the hard-to-trim places (Arnold was very curvy, so there were a lot of hard-to-shave spots), the few scars and little scratchy bumpy areas. Arnold didn’t use a moisturizer.
But those imperfections were one of the things Bart liked most about thick and chunky men. He jutted his ass back harder and harder, impaling himself on Arnold’s dick, until he was entirely inside him, and Bart lost himself in Arnold’s massive arms.
“Goddamn!” Arnold grunted and groaned. His ex-girlfriend had always hated how he made so much noise during sex — not arousing moans either, but little mewling grunts like a caveman, she had said. It was nice to be with someone who wasn’t so sensitive to that.
Arnold soon realized he could ramrod as hard as he wanted — that was another thing Bart did better than any female. Arnold could ram his dick in and out with all his might, and it just made Bart moan louder and louder, begging for more.
“Stick me, big boy!” Bart shouted.
“Aaah…” Arnold felt his orgasm welling up deep within him, and he had to suppress an urge to shout — he didn’t want anyone to hear him; the building was empty, but there were still security and maintenance people around.
Bart’s prostate was alive with pleasure, sending overwhelming waves of bliss through him. His hands tightened into claws that tore at the shelves beneath him, and he accidentally knocked a roll of paper towels onto the floor. His face was covered in sweat, though Arnold’s hefty body was even sweatier. Bart could feel his thickbody sweat flowing down his chest and coating Bart’s back.
Cum flew into him, great creamy gobs of it that coated his insides and flowed throughout his body. Arnold shot a load as big as he was, his cum having been cooped up in those low-hanging balls for a long time. His cock and his sac twitched as he sprayed his wad deep into Bart’s ass.
He had never felt anything like it. Arnold wordlessly shouted, no longer needing to focus on being quiet because he was unable to make a noise if he wanted to, beyond his horse-like whinnying and nostril-flaring. He kept Bart in a tight chokehold — not actually choking him, just preventing him from moving while Arnold drained his balls deep into Bart’s ass.
“Shit…” Arnold said with a throaty chuckle. “Shit…..”
“Thanks for that,” Bart said. He slipped off Arnold and sighed as relief flooded his body. That had felt so good he was dizzy now, positively delirious with the post-orgasmic spams still wracking his body. Arnold’s muscles rippled where they pressed against Bart’s back.
“Yeah, uh… Cool. You too.”
“Congrats on the gold medal,” Bart said. He wiped up Arnold’s body with those paper towels he had knocked onto the ground. Then they both awkwardly got dressed in the tiny closet.
“So you can’t make me a star?”
“Not unless you grow a better head of hair, a six-pack and some dimples,” Bart said. “Later.” He slipped out, leaving Arnold there to sigh with a mixture of disappointment and satisfaction.
This trip to Saudi Arabia was turning out better than he had hoped, Bart thought, even if his photoshoot hadn’t gone well. He still needed to get a casual shot of her. Just one picture in which she looked comfortable and happy in her own skin.
But he was already distracted, wondering when the next shot-put championship would be. Bart planned on being there to get another taste of his favorite athlete so far.

The Fat Cop

Bart is out and about when a violent encounter leads to him meeting the hunkiest of pudgy cops — Officer Lawrence Lumpowski! Can Bart service Lumpowski’s alpha male meat?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Bart was tiny, and he felt like an idiot standing outside with a broom in his hand. What was he going to do with a broom? Sweep the man to death?
A few yards away, Josh Winters, a skinny white thug with a tattooed neck and a ropy-muscled body, stood in a wifebeater and jeans, shouting into a brick wall. He wasn’t even comprehensible anymore, just red-faced, blaring, spittle flecking the wall, fingers tightened into a fist that smacked against the bricks. He had so many endorphins running through his veins he didn’t even respond like he was in pain, even though he must be, his hands were bleeding.
A lesser man, Bart thought, or any woman would think Josh was the most handsome.
But Bart wasn’t into skinny guys, or even muscular guys. He appreciated the physiques of fat, stout, big or chunky men. Josh was the exact opposite of Bart’s preferred body type.
He stood in the doorway with his broom, ready to jab it into Josh’s face if he tried to come in again. Luckily it didn’t seem to have occurred to Josh to try a window, or one of the other doors into the photography studio — which, now that it was relevant to him, seemed disastrously hard to secure to Bart. There were a dozen windows on the ground-floor, and three doors.
If this was a zombie movie, he thought, there’d be no way I could keep this place secure.
There was just the one man though, not a horde of zombies. He had shown up to “speak to” his girlfriend, a plus-sized model named September. She was stunningly gorgeous, and she worked for Bart at his plus-size modeling agency. She was here to model lingerie intended for “rubenesque ladies with curves for miles”, according to the description the label had sent him. That was September. She was rubenesque for sure, or maybe a few pounds under rubenesque, which was even better for fashion purposes. She was achievable-hot for actual rubenesque women.
Anyway, Bart had been keeping Josh Winters at bay with the broom for ten minutes, waiting for the cops to show up.
“Girl, you had better get ya stanky ass out here or I swear I will smack the tits off ya body! Huh? You playin’ wit’ me? Huh? You think I wouldn’t find out about ya sluttin’ it around! You is fuckin’ every man in the state, bitch! You disrespectin’ me! I swear to Christ, girl, I will take that broom off ya bitch-ass boss and ram it so far up his ass I gonna sweep his tongue clean!”
Bart’s heart raced as he jabbed the broom at him. He had started off using the handle-end, but he soon learned that the straw end was actually very painful, and it covered a wider area. He jabbed it into Josh’s face, leaving a multitude of red marks and making him groan and scratch at his eyes. Bart tried to punch Josh while he screamed obscenities, but he only bumped into the door itself.
“Ah!” Bart squealed. He was a tiny man who had never been in a fight in his life. He didn’t know what to do about this. He swatted Josh in the face again and tried to push him away.
“Fuck you! Little bitch! I’m comin’ in there! Bitch, you had better get out here right now-!” His face was blustery as the broom handle again pushed him from the doorway.
Finally, a siren could be heard. It felt like he had called the police an hour ago. It had actually been some twenty minutes, which was a superlative response time for the Baltimore City Police Department. Bart waved the broom towards Josh, who staggered around, blinded — some of the straw from the broom had scratched his eyes.
“Fuckin’ shit! Did you call the cops on me, you bitch?! I never hit you! I ain’t never hit you! Don’t tell ’em I was ever violent, bitch! You fuckin’ bitch! I never hit you! You fell, you fall, you fell, you fell, bitch! You know that!”
Soon it was all over. Two bored-looking cops got out of their car and grabbed Josh. They seemed to know him personally, and they seemed to take offense at having to arrest him yet again. They tossed him into the wall until he stopped shouting, and they got handcuffs on him. His nose bleeding, eyes red like a stoner, bleary and cursing under his breath, he was forced into the back of the cop car.
One of the cops went in to talk to September and take her statement, while the other cop stayed with Bart. Bart had been so excited and worked up that he didn’t notice until then that this second cop had one of those physiques he craved.
He was pudgy, which was what Bart liked most about him. He was white and bald — it looked like he was balding by nature, but he shaved his head to a gleaming cue ball — with a powerful body and a layer of fat atop it. His flesh bulged against his uniform shirt.
“Uh-huh, sweet, okay, so you jabbed him wit’ the broom?”
“Only when he was trying to get in and threatening my model,” Bart said. He wondered if he should be making a statement at all — would they charge him with a crime? What if Josh was blinded by that broom?
“Don’t worry, we ain’t lookin’ to charge no one. You shoulda broke that broom off inside his bitch-ass,” the cop said. He had deep dimples like he would have been handsome if he weren’t so pudgy. He had a stentorian Baltimore accent with a souciant of East Coast stawk. His name, according to the badge on his chest, was Officer Lawrence Lumpowski.
The name was appropriate, as he was shaped like a muscle-bound lump of manmeat.
Bart wondered if he could get a taste of Officer Lumpowski. He wanted to so bad he could already imagine what it would taste like — bitter and salty and warm, fleshy, soft and firm at once. He wanted him real bad.
But how could he make that happen?
As Bart finished giving his statement, another car pulled up, followed by a second one. These weren’t police cars. A pair of young men got out, running their fingers through their fantastic hair. They wore sunglasses and sleeveless shirts that showed off their bodies. They had six-packs and perfect teeth.
They were models as well, and a few minutes later they were joined by a photographer, a makeup lady and a talent agent — they were who had rented this photography studio after Bart. Bart had forgotten that he only had the space until four o’clock. The fashion shoot was supposed to be quick in the studio, then him and September were to go to the florist shop on Elm to shoot some more pictures. The arrival of Josh Winters had delayed everything.
As the male models filed in, and September came out with her girlfriends comforting her — she had called them — Bart stood back with Officer Lumpowski. Lumpowski’s eyes opened wide at the sight of September — a big-ass beauty if there ever was one — and watched her get in her friend’s car. He didn’t stop staring until she was out of sight, and there was nothing to look at but two male models comparing abs.
“Shit… Was I starin’ at her? I shouldn’t stare at battered girls, but damn, she was hot,” Lumpowski said. “What was she doin’ with a loser like Josh?”
“Ugh, don’t even get me started. You shoulda seen her last boyfriend. He tried to get her to sign one of those consensual slave contracts, and he lived with his mom in a trailer,” Bart said. He rolled his eyes. “Women have awful judgement.”
“Yeah.”
“You like your girls thick, huh?” Bart said.
“If they look like that, hell yeah,” Lumpowski said with a low whistle aimed at no one in particular. He glanced at the male models with their oil-glistening six-packs. Lumpowski laughed and clutched his belly. “I ain’t never one day in my life have a six-pack like that. Shit, I ain’t never have a one-pack. I once had a dream ‘bout doin’ half a situp and woke up sore as a dog.”
“I prefer the physiques of a larger man,” Bart said. He cleared his throat. “In fact… I love to jack off big men.” He patted Lumpowski on the arm. “Including large cops.”
Lumpowski laughed, then cut himself off, bit his lip and blushed. His big chunky cheeks turned bright red. He realized Bart was serious. “Oh… Wait, what?”
“You actually have the perfect male physique, Lumpowski,” Bart said. “I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d gladly get you off anytime. You could treat me like a fake pussy, like your own personal fleshlight. Shit, if you weren’t a cop, I’d have already offered you fifty bucks just to let me stroke it a bit.” He threw his hands up. “But I realize you’re not into that. Sorry.” He paused and giggled. “I was just kiddin’ about offering money, Officer. That’s probably a crime, I would expect, some sort of hygiene thing, right? At least against department policy, I’m sure. And I would never ask you to violate a department policy.”
“Uh-huh. You serious? You into them…?” He grunted and covered his leering eyes, suppressing a laugh. “You’re into… like… fat… men?”
He looked so embarrassed that it made Bart laugh along with him. Luckily September was gone so it didn’t seem disrespectful. Bart clutched Officer Lumpowski’s jiggling body for support as he guffawed, and Lumpowski turned redder and redder. He watched Bart’s hands clutch his chest and belly.
“Oh yeah, yeah, I sure do-” Bart said, clutching Lumpowski’s bicep through his uniform shirt. though covered with a layer of flab, Bart could feel the giant firm muscle beneath.
“Lumpowski! Let’s go!” His partner, Heartley, called out. He was getting in the patrol car, but he stopped when he saw Lumpowski. He motioned towards the driver’s side door as though Lumpowski should already be behind the wheel. Then Officer Heartley said, “Whatchoo makin’ that face at?”
“Oh, just this dude…” Lumpowski said. “It’s a… Nothing. Nevuhmind.” He glanced at Bart. “Nevuhmind, you. That ain’t… Don’t do nothin’ Jesus wouldn’t do.” He was still red-faced and chuckling as he got in the patrol car and drove away. Bart was disappointed. He had thought that that encounter was going somewhere.
So he just went home. That photo shoot had been a bust. Lumpowski had been a bust. He never even took a single pic for the lingerie company. He was going to have to set up another photoshoot with September. He sent her a text asking how she was doing and asking her to let him know if she would be willing to do the photoshoot again, once she was ready.
He’d already paid her too. Shit…
Then he went out for his nightly walk. He liked to walk as the sun went down and it wasn’t so hot anymore, and the traffic on the road wasn’t so bad — there was no sidewalk in the area he did most of his walking. It was much easier once the day’s traffic died down, and he preferred walking in the neighborhood to using a treadmill.
He hadn’t gotten very far, however, before there was a car by his side — a police car. It pulled to a stop and the driver’s side window rolled down.
“Hey, man! Hey… you want a ride home?” It was Officer Lumpowski, his big bald face gleaming as he smiled. Heartley was gone, it seemed.
“Oh, uh, well… I was just walking, y’know… for walking.” Bart slid into the passenger seat. “But thanks.”
Lumpowski started driving again. “So, uh… I was kinda hopin’ I’d run into you,” he said. He cleared his throat.
“Uh-huh.” Bart pretended to have no idea what Lumpowski was talking about, though he had a pretty good idea where this was going.
“And, like… how you… you’re into… jacking off big guys. You know? Like… was you serious?”
“Very,” Bart said. “Did you get my address from the statement I made? Is that legal?”
“It ain’t illegal unless I access the data in the database for an impropuh purpose,” Lumpowski said. “Ain’t illegal to remembuh what you told me and write it down somewhere othuuh than the private database.”
“I see. That’s a cute technicality. Remember to take it for a walk and feed it every day.”
“So, like… If you serious, y’know… When I was growin’ up, my Uncle Ralph, he was a biker and shit-“
“Sounds nice.”
“And he was always, y’know… He said one time — or a couple times, but y’know… like he said… you know… it ain’t wrong, like it ain’t a sin — you know, like you can still — I don’t mess wit’ girl crime victims. Okay? Don’t make me do that sensitivity trainin’ again, I can’t handle that-“
“I won’t complain. You can park there,” Bart said, pointing to his driveway. Lumpowski pulled in and stopped the car.
“So, like…” Lumpowski’s big face was as red as a cranberry, shadowy with the dim light of dusk. “So, uh… I was… My uncle… and like, my dad, and some other guys, uh… back then… They was like… It ain’t, you know, makin’ ‘em sinfulnessly… if they’s… like on top. You know? Like… tops and bottoms, you know about that?”
“Yes, I know about that.”
“So, uh… like… Do you… think that… is right?”
“Well, it didn’t make any sense, you were babbling. But your uncle sounds like a very smart man, Officer Lumpowski,” Bart said. “I think he was right.”
“Shit, so like… I want… I mean… I got a wife, you know, but uh… She don’t like me… We is on the feud… I mean… She’s at her sister’s. She say I’m… Well, she ain’t too fond of me right now,” he said. “So, y’know-” He gasped and sucked in his breath as Bart’s hand snaked over to his lap. Bart’s delicate fingers snuck under his belly and into his crotch, where he ran his fingertip over the shaft of Lumpowski’s cock, stretching against the fabric of his uniform slacks.
“How far back does that seat go?” Bart asked softly.
“Pretty far, see?” He raced to activate the lever and scoot his seat back. That gave Bart plenty of room to get his face on Lumpowski’s dick between his belly and the steering wheel.
“I think cops should blow their nut all the time. It aids in focus,” Bart said. “But of course I’d never make girls do it, that would be wrong. So I’d just have to step up to the plate and jerk all those dicks.”
“Ah, shit, man, I ain’t stick my dick in a wet mouth in like six months. My wife won’t do it anymore. She said she read on a website how it’s like… impressive.”
Bart looked up at him. “What?” He undid the belt and unzipped Officer Lumpowski’s slacks.
“I swear, that’s what she said. She can’t do it anymore because it’s impressive.”
“Oh… Are you sure she didn’t say oppressive?”
“Ah! Oh, fuck! Yeah, that makes more sense!” He lifted his ass up enough to rearrange the tight white briefs he wore, giving him enough space to pull his fat bullish prick out through the fly. It flopped onto Bart’s face. “Oh sorry, I ain’t mean to mollywop you.”
“That’s okay,” Bart said. “I appreciate a good mollywopping.” He took Lumpowski’s dick in his hand and let it slide into his mouth.
Lumpowski sighed. “Shit, man…” One of his heavy hands touched Bart’s head, spreading his mouth open. “Sorry, shit, Jesus, man, that feels good. I needed that.” He leaned his head back and sighed. His dick stiffened up quickly — he must have been very horny, Bart thought.
Soon it jabbed into the back of Bart’s throat, and Bart deep-throated him into his meaty crotch, his nose nuzzling Lumpowski’s unkempt pubic bush. He inhaled deeply of his unwashed scent, the day’s musk having built up. Bart bet Lumpowski didn’t wash these slacks every day either, they smelled stale, like they were soaked in Lumpowski’s intense scent.
“Damn… My wife never sucked me off like that, yo,” he said. “I used to know this girl who did, but she dumped me a long time ago. My wife, shit… she never deep-throated me. Or even tried to. I thought that was messed up, she was always givin’ me tips on how to lick her pussy better, and printing out these weird-ass articles about how I should watch her put makeup on cuz that’ll make me lick pussy better. She said it helped but then like a week later…” His voice trailed off into a moan, and he humped his hips up, forcing his dick deeper into Bart’s throat. “Shit, man…”
Car 91. Car 91. Are you still on the road?
“Shit!” Lumpowski grabbed the radio off the dashboard. He took a deep breath, hoping he didn’t sound like he was getting off. “Yeah. I’m still out. What’s up?”
Chief says you gotta come back, you never signed that report about the domestic violence call.
“Goddamn it…” Lumpowski said. “Hey, man, was there anything you forgot to tell me earlier?”
“What?” Bart pulled off his cock, thick tendrils of spit still connecting him to the shaft.
“I gotta go back to sign it today, which is a pain in the ass, unless I gots a valid reason for not finishing it. It’s a law,” he said. “If you forgot to tell me somethin’…”
“That guy, Josh, he called me a pussy. Did I mention that before?”
“Nah, you ain’t say that. Good. That’s good, that’ll do,” he said. He spoke into the radio. “I had to re-interview the witness, about a possible miso… misojinny hate-crime charge. I’m doing it right now,” he said. “I’ll have to sign it tomorrow.”
Ten-four.
Lumpowski laughed. “Shit, thanks, man.”
“No problem… You could say thanks another way, you know…”
“What?” Lumpowski was already trying to feed his dick back into Bart’s mouth. He grunted, his cheeks ruddy again as he was nearing his orgasm. Precum ran down his shaft, and Bart licked it up.
“Hmmm… You taste real good, but you’d feel even better in my ass,” Bart said.
“Holy shit, you’re serious? You don’t think I’m too pudgy?”
“Too pudgy? Is that a thing?” Bart said. “I’m pretty sure it isn’t. I’m an expert, and I’ve never heard of it.” He leaned his own seat back as far as it would go. Then he climbed up into the basket-seat, facing backward. The cop car was barely spacious enough for Lumpowski to fit behind him, but Bart enjoyed the feel of him squeezing in there.
“Man, can’t we go inside?”
“No way,” Bart said. “I wanna get plowed in a cop car. Don’t worry, none of my neighbors can see.” Trees and an unkillable grove of bamboo blocked the view from the road, and the only house nearby was for sale and not currently being lived in.
“It’s a tight fit,” he said, then he chuckled as he slid past Bart. He grunted and squeezed to get behind him, his rock-hard dick rubbing against Bart’s ass. “Ha, ‘tight fit’.”
Bart giggled too. “Tight fits are the best.” He didn’t make it too easy for Lumpowski to get behind him. He liked making Lumpowski work and rub all over Bart’s body as he squeezed into the passenger seat. Bart was crouched down, spreading his cheeks to give Lumpowski easy access.
“Does your wife ever let you fuck her in the ass?” Bart asked.
He snorted. “No way. She wouldn’t even let me look at her ass,” he said. “She said I got a dick like a billyclub. She weren’t never gonna let me try anal.”
“Why did you hook up with her? She sounds like a bitch.”
“Yeah… But she’s hot, and y’know… Women don’t like pudgy guys, so I don’t got a lotta choices.” he said. “And she was nice… y’know, before. Before we got married.” He wedged his dick between Bart’s cheeks. “Ah, shit, I can’t believe I’m gonna stick a dude’s butt. I seen guys do that in jail, but shit, man…”
Bart opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was a wrenching oomph as he felt intense pressure in his ass. He could understand why Lumpowski’s girlfriend was not so enamored of the way he plowed into — he was aggressive and awkward, plowing in at different angles, huffing and puffing like a tired bull, his heavy body pressing down on Bart.
But while his girlfriend might not have liked it, Bart loved being treated like a piece of meat. Lumpowski could use and abuse his ass for as long as he wanted and, ideally, a little longer than that. He groaned and moaned, turning his face so Lumpowski’s hot breath condensed on his cheeks instead of the back of his head. His hands turned into claws that dug into the upholstery beneath him.
“Shit, man, damn, lemme in, shit, don’t move, don’t move, don’t move—” Lumpowski said. He sucked in his breath and a few drops of spit escaped onto Bart’s face. Intense pressure erupted in Bart’s ass, as Lumpowski’s cock rammed inexorably deeper and deeper. You could tell he’d never fucked a woman in the ass, because he was awkward and fumbling, with the cramped quarters contributing to his struggles. Bart writhed in his powerful body, as pleasure flowed like wine through his veins.
Bart slurped it all down, and when he got Lumpowski’s thick arm in front of him — Lumpowski’s writhing atop him ended with Bart in a loose chokehold — he slurped the sweat that clung to him, and he licked Lumpowski’s dense arm hairs. The smell of Lumpowski’s armpits wafted into his nostrils. A cavernous moan of bliss escaped from Lumpowski’s throat, and he squeezed Buck tight.
His uniform scratched at Bart’s back as Lumpowski pressed down on him, cock all the way in, moving in little circles, grinding atop Bart’s prostate. Bart cried out, the sound muffled by Lumpowski’s uniform and arm. Bart jacked his own self off, reaching his orgasm as his prostate exploded in ecstasy.
Cum sprayed onto the seat, followed moments later by a burst of semen into Bart’s ass. Bart sighed and moaned, slurping on Lumpowski’s forearm hard enough to leave a hickey. The pain in his ass right now was intense, but the pleasure was even intenser, and it made Bart dizzy, giddy with desire. He could have gladly flailed beneath Lumpowski’s body forever.
But eventually he was done, and Lumpowski’s cock fell limp inside him. Great gobs of cum spilled out, but Lumpowski remained right there. He murmured “don’t move” every few seconds, though Bart couldn’t move anyway, the pleasure within him was so potent he couldn’t think of it, and there wasn’t space to move in the tiny squad car.
Then Lumpowski backed out with a chortling gasp. He struggled to back away enough to get his dick out, since he was trapped in the little space between the seat and the dashboard.
Finally, Lumpowski was out, and Bart scampered over the passenger seat into the back, where he sprawled out, exhausted and spent. “Shit…” Bart said.
Lumpowski sat back, his dick out, copious sweat beading on his forehead. “Goddamn… Hey, can I come see you again, man?”
Bart smiled. “Sure. Anytime. I’m not always around though. Text me first,” he said. “If I’m in the city, I’ll come running.”
Lumpowski nodded. He lay there in the passenger seat, dazed, while Bart cleaned himself up. Then Bart cleaned off Lumpowski’s cock, kissed him on the neck and climbed out of the car.
He hoped Lumpowski did call him, though Bart expected he might not be around. He traveled often, both to find new plus-sized ladies for his modeling agency and to go in search of his ultimate love: fat men.

The Pizza Guy

Rob loves big macho alphas like pizza-joint cook Vinnie Delatucci, and he’s willing to pay what it takes for Vinnie to give him a swing on his meat… like they do in the “Old Country”!

Read it soon as an ebook!

The Professional Wrestler

Avery Flowers is desperate for professional wrestler meat, so when he gets behind the scenes long enough to meet up with the legendary Shane “Mudstomper” Fulton, he’s in for the ride of his life!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Mudstomper was built like a pro linebacker, but he dressed like a bluegrass hillbilly complete with bare feet like dinner plates, overalls with the legs rolled up and a stick of hay between his teeth. His shoulders were corded-muscle, veiny, his skin taut, his jaw square.
His real name was Shane or something, Avery couldn’t remember. He hadn’t known which wrestler he was going to like until he got here. He loved wrestlers.
And as soon as he saw the picture of Mudstomper, Avery knew what he was going to do.
He pretty much ignored the warmup match between Colonel Bling and Wyatt Wyoming. They were both reasonably sexy, but not enough to wet Avery’s whistle (he was going to try to get their autographs later, as they might be worth money if either one blew up in a couple years). Wyatt Wyoming was a cowboy and a good guy, while Colonel Bling was a heel, like an evil black version of the KFC Colonel. The best moment was when Bling pantomimed humping Wyatt’s face, and Colonel Bling’s sweat-glistening muscles set Avery’s heart aflutter.
As a fervent admirer of the male physique, Avery greatly appreciated the wrestlers and their splendid bodies. Wyatt Wyoming was especially perfect. He could be a competitive bodybuilder, for sure.
He was close enough he could see the line between Bling’s dark brown thigh and his slightly paler, fleshier asscheek. His spandex speedo was crawling up so his ass-flesh was partially visible. He could see the cheeks ripple as he picked up Wyatt Wyoming and slammed him on the ring. Avery could see Bling’s hand rubbing against Wyatt’s cock at one point — accidentally, and only for a second, but still, it made Avery laugh.
Or maybe it wasn’t an accident. Avery liked to think it was real.
Before Avery knew it, it was over. He was so focused on the men he didn’t even notice who won the match. Probably Wyatt Wyoming. If the heel won, the crowd would have booed and gone ape. All Avery heard was ordinary cheering.
And there was Mudstomper. He was the good guy in the match, up against a heel named Killer Green, a tall man with a bizarre green-and-translucent catsuit on. Avery didn’t get that choice at all. It might have been a reference to something Avery wasn’t familiar with. Probably something Japanese and on YouTube.
Mudstomper was the clear crowd favorite. He delivered a monologue of some sort — Avery didn’t listen to a word — just yards from where Avery sat, in the front row, so close Avery smelled Mudstomper’s ball-sweat beneath those overalls. He spoke with a rolling, exaggerated drawl.
“And thaaa’sss why, Killuh Green-uh, that uhhz why… I will destroy ya! I’ll ride you to the state prison like a hohse, I sweah on muh sistah’s grave!” Mudstomper roared and pounded on his giant chest, screaming over the frenzied audience. He gestured with the pitchfork he always carried but for some reason never used on the men he was trying to “destroy” (he had a back story involving a dead sister). Avery was entranced by a pearl of sweat sliding down Mudstomper’s bicep and the greasy blond tangle of hair that Avery wanted to dive into.
The actual match went in a blur of arching muscles, heaving biceps and powerful thighs shaking, tight underwear getting ridden up, visible jockstrap lines and asscheeks that thundered like Zeus. Avery’s belly rumbled, and not because he was hungry.
He wasn’t hungry at all. Say what you will about the professional wrestling crowd, but nobody could accuse them of smelling good. Avery appreciated a man with some funk to his meat, but not the fatties and nerds who predominated in the crowd. A man like Mudstomper, his sweat and his unwashed balls and armpits and all that… That, Avery could appreciate.
Anyway, eventually, Mudstomper won, and those meaty biceps shook, sweat dripping off them, as the ref held his hand up. The crowd went wild. Mudstomper cheered with them. So did Avery.
And then it was over.
The lights came up, and the cheering got even louder, and then it turned oddly aggressive.
The arena was bedlam. Fans shouted and threw empty cans of beer at the ring. People poured out and tried to get onstage, but bouncers pushed them back. Avery was jostled this way and that
Avery, however, made it through because he had a backstage pass. He had connections throughout the entertainment industry, so he could get backstage passes to nearly any event. He found the dressing room labelled “Mudstomper” and knocked on it.
“Howdy, come on in!”
Avery entered. That was surprisingly easy.
Shane “Mudstomper” Fulton was in there with a medic, who had just finished stitching up a small cut on his shoulder. His opponent’s tooth had broken his skin during one stunt gone slightly awry. A trickle of blood ran down his bicep. Mudstomper was still dressed in his overalls and nothing else, save the length of straw still between his teeth.
“You ain’t the delivery guy,” Mudstomper said. His drawl rang out like a howl, and his dimples beckoned Avery, who came as close as he could, close enough to smell Mudstomper’s sweat — so much better than the smell of those fans out in the crowd — and feel the body heat of his overworked muscles emanating from him.
“No, I’m Avery. Avery Flowers,” Avery said. “I’m a fan.” He held up his backstage pass. “I think we know someone in common though. Your agent is Tommy Ramogen, right? He also represents my friend Suzanne, she’s in Hollywood right now,” Avery said. “She’s a model. Supermodel, technically.” He smiled — he could see Mudstomper’s eyes open wide — Avery had his hook.
“Well, that’s finuh than a pig in its pen, I reckon,” Mudstomper said, his hillbilly accent now in full force — he wanted to impress Avery with his acting and his devotion, presumably.
“Yeah, she’s doing great,” Avery said. He batted his eyes at Mudstomper as the medic patted him on his momentous bicep.
“Is you an actor too, suh?” Mudstomper asked. He chewed on the length of straw in his mouth. On the table beside him sat a jar filled with unchewed lengths of straw. Avery wondered where he got them.
“Oh, no, no, I just collect celebrity autographs,” Avery said. “Do you mind?” He handed over a piece of paper and a pen.
Mudstomper’s autograph was just an X in a rough block-letter shape, as though he was illiterate and struggled even to write one X. He beamed. “Well, if’n ya friend evuh get any kinda parts in Hollywood, you give her mah email address,” he said. He wrote that on a different piece of paper — his handwriting was blockish and very neat — and slid that to Avery. He flexed his bicep as the medic finished up on his wounded shoulder. The medic headed out of the dressing room. When he saw Avery looking at it, he shrugged and said, “You wanna touch it?”
“Hell yeah!” Avery planted his lips right on it, and Mudstomper laughed a deep, nervous baritone barrel laugh. He undid one of the straps of his overalls, so they sagged and revealed one massive pectoral muscle the size of Avery’s head.
“Lemme j’st send a text so Robert don’t bust in here, interruptin’ us wit’ dat pulled pork. You know about Cajun Charlie’s? That place any good?” Mudstomper picked up his cell phone with his free hand, then awkwardly typed out a text with it while Avery passionately licked, sucked and caressed every inch of his other arm.
“No. Cajun Charlie’s sucks, it tastes like an old shoe. Go to Hoppumslaw on the east side,” Avery said. “They have the best pulled pork.”
“Awright, thankee mightily, suh,” Mudstomper muttered. He texted furiously, then put his phone down. He looked over at Avery who had licked his bulging bicep until it shimmered in the fluorescent light of the dressing room. He reached over and locked the door. “I let ya touch mah arms up, suh, if you send that lady-friend of ya’s some good word about me,” he said. He flexed his other arm, and Avery moved to that one. “Tell ‘er to come see me sometimes.”
Avery said. “Do guys pay you to do that a lot?”
Mudstomper blushed. “Boy-howdy, you don’t even know, suh, you don’t even know!” He laughed and slapped his thighs. “You like biceps?”
“I’m just trying to get bigger,” Avery said. “I thought touching someone big might help.”
“You wanna jack my dick? That might help too.”
“Hell yeah,” Avery said. He undid the other strap to his overalls, and they fell to the ground. Mudstomper wore a fine athletic very-modern jockstrap, which was almost funny to see in contrast to the overalls. Avery sucked on Mudstomper’s pecs, which made him roll his eyes and pick his cell phone back up.
After a few moments of Avery licking his chest, Mudstomper remembered to flex his pecs like a stripper. He just grunted as Avery moaned. Then one of Avery’s hands roamed to that overfull jockstrap and pulled his cock out. Mudstomper twitched and grunted.
Avery said with a giggle, “I love your arms.”
“Mah gu’hlfriend don’t like ’em cuz they hairy,” he said. “They’s as hairy as a hedgehog in a hampuh!” He guffawed. “You likin’ it? You onea dem muscle-men, huh?”
“It’s really big!” Avery said and blushed. He had both hands on Mudstomper’s cock, stroking it back and forth. It throbbed in his grasp.
Mudstomper looked away from his phone. He eyed Avery. “Why’d you say that like you was surprised?”
“I wasn’t surprised, just excited,” Avery said. “I’m not like a total size queen or anything, but I like it.”
“If your lady-friend is into big dicks, tell her I got one,” Mudstomper said.
“Okay,” Avery said. “But you better show me.” He dropped to his knees and put the tip of Mudstomper’s cock in his mouth. The smell of those sweat-soaked overalls, which still lay by Mudstomper’s feet, filled Avery’s nostrils. Yeah, he thought, he could see how those bushy sweat-soaked armpits would be popular.
But Mudstomper’s fat pale cock was even better. It tasted of pure funky manhood, like his muscles had tasted back when Avery first licked them — not tasting of saliva, but of just plain manhood. His cock tasted like that forever, even after it was soaked in spit, it still tasted like the undiluted manhood of Mudstomper’s muscles.
His cell phone chirped, startling Mudstomper, who was just beginning to really enjoy this as his cock perked up in Avery’s mouth. He looked back at his phone and cursed.
“Shithead. He says there’s a line at Hoppumslaw. No fucking shit, jackass. It’s got a line cuz it’s good. If you always pick the place with no line, you’re always picking the least popular, shittiest place. No wonder I always get crappy pulled pork on the road,” he said as he furiously typed out a response, very quickly this time because he could use both hands. “Idiot. He says the line looks dangerous — is Hoppumslaw full of black people?”
“Probably,” Avery said as he slurped his own spit off Mudstomper’s throbbing shaft.
“Then he’s being racist. Just go in, they won’t rob him. Will they?”
Avery shrugged. “Don’t wear expensive sneakers there,” he said. He kept stroking Mudstomper’s shaft and thwacked it over his face.
“Robert don’t got nothing worth a damn ‘cept that I’m his friend, and they can’t steal that,” Mudstomper said. He leaned back to give Avery better access to his cock. “Hey, where do single chicks go in this town?”
“Hmmm… I don’t know where to find girls. The Big Time Bar maybe, I always see hot chicks vomiting in the alley behind there.”
“Big Time Bar? Got it,” he said. He kept typing to his friend, his phone buzzing every few seconds. Mudstomper completely ignored Avery now, like he had forgotten where his dick was. As he moved, his cocktip shifted around in Avery’s mouth. Avery tried to swallow it deeply, but Mudstomper moved around too much.
Gasping for air, Avery smiled and thwacked his dick over his face. “There’s also Lipsweet. That’s a wrestlers bar. Mostly men, but a buncha singlet-chasing females hang out there too.”
He nodded. His dick was fully erect, throbbing and veiny. Avery licked the length of it, then gargled on Mudstomper’s balls. Precum ran down the shaft. His sac was hairy and hot, and his balls hung low and heavy. He clutched those thighs the size of car tires as he slipped between his legs to kiss Mudstomper’s ass.
There was a knock on the door. Mudstomper scowled and went to it, motioning for Avery to continue. He opened it just a crack.
It was a muscular black man whom Avery didn’t recognize, at least not from the tiny portion of his face he could see. When he heard the man’s voice, however, Avery realized it could only be Colonel Bling, having dropped character. He no longer had the stentorian call of a military dictator — that’s what Colonel Bling was, an American army officer cum military coup leader on a fictional Caribbean island — also, he wore a lot of bling.
The real Colonel Bling did too, or maybe he just hadn’t changed out of his costume yet. The bling jingled and clanked on his chest as he poked his head into the dressing room.
“Whatchoo doin’ in there? We goin’ out. I heard there’s usually females at a bar called Lipsweet, but you gotta dress bettuh than that. But you ain’t gonna fit in lookin’ like Huck Finn, and this nigga don’t spend time with a whiteboy dressed like that. Whiteboy gotta dress proper to be seen wit’ me. I gots a rep to protect.” His eyes roamed down Mudstomper’s naked body, only a sliver of which was visible through the door that was open only a crack. Mudstomper’s asscheeks quivered as Avery’s hands roamed between his legs to stroke his dick off. “You naked in there? You got a female already?”
The black wrestler — Colonel Bling — tried to open the door, but Mudstomper was prepared and had the door blocked by his body. The knob smacked him in the six-packed belly. Avery scooted to as close to the wall as he could, to be sure Colonel Bling didn’t see any part of his body or his shadow. Avery kept his head moving up and down that magnificent dick though, and it kept throbbing in his mouth. Mudstomper even pumped his hips slowly back and forth, making love to Avery’s throat, ever so slighttly so Colonel Bling didn’t see what he was doing.
“No. I’m just changing, Jackson. I know about Lipsweet, I know — there’s a singlet-chaser who told me she’d meet me there later,” he said. He had to bite back a moan of pleasure as his cock throbbed in Avery’s grasp. Avery licked his mountainous asscheeks.
“Oh. Hey, lemme in, man, you hear about the new safety thing from corporate? We can’t do the flying shoulder smash anymore. Not without a harness. It’s-“
“No, go away, Jackson,” Mudstomper said, scowling. “Just fuck off, I’ll see you at the bar-“
“You don’t gotta be an asshole, man-“
“I’m goddamn naked, and I’m changing my clothes! I don’t want to talk about the new goddamn safety regulations!” Mudstomper said. Then he saw some fans walking by in the hall. Mudstomper added, “I gots to take the purse I won to fix the family tractuh or the bank gonna take our fahm fo’ sho’!” He smiled at the women walking by. “Hey, howdy, how you doin’?”
The women giggled and all talked at once. For a moment Avery thought he was going to lose his man to a bunch of chicks. But it soon became apparent that they were more interested in Colonel Bling, who walked away with a girl on each arm. Their giggles intensified.
“Damn it,” Mudstomper said wistfully. He let the door shut and locked it again. He turned back around. “He gets all the best chicks. Hey, lemme in that ass, okay? You take it up the ass, right?”
“Hell yeah,” Avery said once again. He blushed. He turned around and pulled his own underwear down, revealing a perfectly pale ass.
“I hate that dude, fuckin’ Colonel Bling. He thinks he’s special cuz the girls love him, he’s like the most popular heel for female fans,” Mudstomper said. He had to get on his knees and scoot forward, cock in hand, to meet Avery’s ass. “But that’s hardly even a big deal, girls always love bad boys. That’s what that publicist said. For a good guy, I do really well among women.”
Before Avery could say anything in response, there was a tight pinch and intense pressure in his ass. He opened his mouth and gasped, biting at the air. He sucked in his breath.
“Sorry, do that hurt, hoss?”
“No — No, it’s fine-” Avery’s voice was tense and wavery. He took a deep breath and relaxed his ass.
“You wanna bite on muh arm? It won’t hurt, it’ll slide in gentle as a calf bein’ borned,” he said, drifting into his stage accent briefly. His own Southern accent was mild, and it was much twangy as drawly — he was from northern Nevada. He placed one of his forearms in front of Avery’s face, while using his other meaty paw to keep Avery’s hips up — Mudstomper was so tall he struggled to keep Avery in alignment with his crotch.
His cock slid in easily once he got past that initial resistance, and Avery gnawed on his ropy-muscled forearm. Mudstomper took a deep breath. He had been extremely reluctant to cornhole a man back when he was younger.
It had been so weird back then that he stopped partway through. His friends had to talk him into doing it again — they didn’t understand guys with big cocks took a lot of effort to get hard; it was easy with a girl, but when you had to concentrate to feel aroused at all, getting all thirteen inches of his meat fully erect was difficult.
But not anymore. He’d done it for money, talent-agent connections and even once, he did it for a free first-class upgrade on a flight to Tampa Bay — he thought it should be a law that companies had to upgrade big men like him first, since there was no way he could fit in a coach seat without virtually sitting on his neighbor’s lap. Over the years he’d lost his inhibitions. Now he could easily pretend he was deep in a woman.
It was funny, he thought as he watched Avery squirm beneath him, how much pleasure he could bring someone without really doing anything much himself. He could tell he had found Avery’s prostate. Avery was out of breath, wriggling, undulating, gasping, incomprehensibly begging.
Then Avery threw his head back and kissed Mudstomper on the neck, which Mudstomper gamely allowed until he became worried Avery would leave a hickey that would be obvious when he picked up chicks at the bar later. He gently redirected Avery to kissing and even nibbling on his forearm, while his lower half plowed in and out of Avery’s tight ass.
“Alright, I’m gonna cum in a minute, how you wanna do it?” Mudstomper said. He stopped moving with his dick all the way inside Avery. “What position you want?”
“Can… Uh… Can you… Lay… on your… back? With me… Sitting… facing you…”
“Reverse cowgirl? No way, your cum will get on my chest. Don’t say you’ll aim it, I know that won’t work,” Mudstomper said. Then he muttered, “Okay, for five hundred dollars, you can cum on my chest. If you stiff me, I swear I’ll beat your ass — no, I’ll have Robert beat your ass, he’s skinny and got a face like a warthog’s pussy, you won’t be turned on at all.”
“Okay, I’ll pay-” Avery said between moans of desire. He was on the verge of orgasm already as Mudstomper dropped backwards, almost like a wrestling move, pulling Avery on top of him so he could get on his back with Avery riding him, all without moving his cock out of Avery’s ass. Avery grimaced as a shock of pre-orgasmic pain hit him, and he rotated around to face Mudstomper’s chest.
Mudstomper covered his own face with his arm so he didn’t have to watch Avery cum on him. He’d seen it before. He tried to think about something else while he listened to Avery moan and felt his delicate little fingers caressing Mudstomper’s chest.
He was glad to feel his own orgasm first. If he felt Avery cum first, he might lose his erection. He groaned and his muscles rippled beneath Avery’s grasp as he pistoned his hips upward — he had to admit, the one nice thing about plowing men was that they really knew how to take it without complaint — no girl ever took his entire foot-long dick in there and let him cum inside her.
His nut sprayed into Avery, who cried out, the sound muffled by Mudstomper’s hand which he clasped over his lips. “Shush!” he snapped, glancing towards the door. He heard male voices passing by the dressing room.
Avery could sense the orgasm washing over Mudstomper’s body in the pulsating of his muscles beneath Avery’s grasp. Then, as the last jet of cum hit Avery’s insides and seeped into him, he leaned forward.
He rubbed his dick over Mudstomper’s flat belly and shaved crotch, which brought him to orgasm with Mudstomper’s dick still pressing on his prostate. Cum sprayed across Mudstomper’s broad chest and belly.
“Aaaaah…” Mudstomper grunted and covered his eyes with both hands. The young-me, he thought, would have been terrified at the thought of letting some random dude cum on his chest. Now he just thought of it as a distasteful but important part of the job. “Okay, clean it off, I ain’t openin’ my eyes till you clean it off…”
Avery was sprawled out over his chest, his limp dick rubbing over Mudstomper’s cum-soaked belly. Most of Mudstomper’s load slipped out of Avery’s ass, soaking his cock and his balls, so Mudstomper’s body was covered from the shoulder to the thigh in cum.
Avery giggled again and sighed. He found a box of tissues and thoroughly got all the cum off Mudstomper’s chest. It had run down in rivulets to his side, which Avery sopped up. Then he kissed each of Mudstomper’s nipples. “Okay, you’re clean.”
Mudstomper sat up. He scowled at Avery. “You better pay up. No check,” he said.
“I’ll have to go to the ATM. Do you wanna come with me?” Avery said. “I’ll make it six hundred if you let me play with it in the car. You drive, so I can use both hands.”
“Deal. I’m not getting hard again though, you can just play with it limp,” Mudstomper said. He stood and put his clothes on. “I’ll tell Robert to meet me with the pulled pork. What a fucking moron. He’s probably still waiting in line.”
Avery wiped his own lips off. “Probably. If he’s white and he looks like a jackass, they’ll keep getting in front of him in line,” he said. He patted Mudstomper on the side before he put a plain white shirt on. “Hey, do you like fat chicks?”
“What?”
As they walked out the door, Avery said, “Cuz I know a fat chick who would gladly let you demolish her, she loves muscular guys. I get to watch though.” He paused. “You can wait to see if you get a hotter chick tonight, you don’t have to say yes right now.”
“Okay,” Mudstomper said. He whistled — that meant he’d be guaranteed to at least get laid tonight. That was good, he always felt better about cornholing a man if he got some pussy out of it too.
Avery led him out the door with a smile on his face as well.

The Biker

When Lance wins a motorcycle race against a handsome biker, he’s in for a wild ride on some alpha male meat! He gets to swing on every part of the legendary biker Banner Wilde!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

As soon as Lance set off, he knew he had won. He timed it just right, to roar off as soon as the pretty girl in the short dress dropped her flag. Lance’s motorcycle darted into the darkness of the spring night.
Banner Wilde was the other biker, the one who was now behind Lance, his face increasingly ashen as the crowd stampeded and caterwauled behind him. He was lanky for a biker, well-built but ropy and wiry, not bulky. That was probably a benefit for him, since he was lightweight on the motorcycle. Lance wasn’t much bigger. But Banner had a solid, squarish face like a brick, while Lance was more leanly muscled.
The wind roared through Lance’s hair, and little pinpricks of pain erupted where pebbles pecked his face. He lifted his head up like a kid standing on a bike’s pedals. He was a few feet ahead of Banner, breezing ahead of the crowd of young people cheering, jeering and whooping.
He was already planning how to celebrate his victory — aside from the obvious — before he even zoomed past the finish line.
He virtually jumped off the motorcycle, pumping his fists. “Hell yeah! Fuck yeah!” He blushed a little. It wouldn’t do to look like a sore winner, especially since he didn’t have any friends here. For now, at least, he didn’t care. He just wanted Banner’s cock.
Lance took a few steps back, exulting in the whoops and glories coming from the crowd. They clasped him on the back and complimented the motorcycle, all that kinda stuff, and Lance aite it up with a spoon. Lance was not a biker, he was a mere accountant. Banner was the biker.
And he had lost.
Banner get off his bike too, looking downcast, suddenly his face seemed much tanner than it had before the race. His flashy brown eyes flitted over the crowd, all of whom ignored him. Everyone likes a winner. Banner looked at Lance and nodded faintly as though to say ‘good job’. Then he was mobbed by the other bikers from the Jagged Right bar where Banner and Lance had met.
That was Banner’s motorcycle club. Lance’s too, sort of. Lance wasn’t a biker, but he had a motorcycle and money and the Jagged Right were willing to humor him. Banner’s loss was not an example of humoring him though, Banner had been cocky that he would win, and he was ashen-faced now as his fellow Jagged Right bikers mobbed him. Banner tried very hard to win.
But Lance’s motorcycle had come out on top. He liked to think that was skill, and of course there was skill involved. But Lance had the money to buy, upgrade and maintain a top of the line motorcycle. That was really all it was. Motorycle racing was all about the engines and the tires and that sort of thing, not the human rider’s athleticism.
That wasn’t how people treated it though.
Lance didn’t interrupt Banner, who endured his friends laughed and jeered at him. There was no need for Lance to say ‘told you so’ when Banner’s own friends did it for him. Banner flared his nostrils and ignored them.
“You had better not back out-“
“Oh, he won’t, he’s no welcher, I knew his pa!”
Banner wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like it when people compared him to his father. He didn’t like that at all. But if he complained now, he’d look like a sensitive little snowflake.
He wasn’t going to welch. Banner was going to do it. It was vital, however, that he pretend it was no big deal, like there was not really any reason he’d never done it before, like the only reason he wasn’t ramrodding dudes all the time was that he was too busy swimming in pussy.
That wasn’t even wrong. He didn’t think it was a big deal. Losing was a big deal, but he chalked that up to his weakened gasket. He had misjudged the sissy biker and his Korean-made motorcycle. That, he thought, was the part that annoyed him the most — how did a Harley Davidson lose to a Korean motorcycle?
Fucking Koreans!
“Awright, man, you beat me, you got a helluva bike,” Banner said. He clasped Lance on the shoulder. He had to raise his voice to be heard over his jeering friends.
“Fuck him-“
“You’ll never look at pussy the same way again, Banner!”
“Banner gonna take it in the aaaaaaaa-ss!
Soon, however, they made it to Lance’s RV. Banner was glad to be away from the rest of the bikers. Some of his friends were making fun of him now despite not having been around during the initial incident — they didn’t even know what was going on.
This all started just last week…
But Lance had been acting the fool in the bar, attracting attention and generally making himself look like an idiot. The hairy machos who filled up the bar were always looking for something to tease him about. Lance had taken it all in stride. Until Banner said that Lance’s little pea-snapper bike couldn’t hold a candle to Banner’s Harley. Lance had taken him up on that implied offer of a race, with a twist:
Lance wanted Banner to ram him. If Lance won, Banner agreed to ram him inside the RV. If Banner won, Lance would have painted the words this bike got beat by an American motorcycle on his bike’s body and on the back of the leather jacket he normally wore when riding. That wouldn’t have been embarrassing to Lance. He bought the Korean bike because it had the best stats for the best price. If it lost, it would only mean Banner’s Harley was better. Lance was not a patriotic Korean and had no desire to boost the Korean reputation for motorcycle manufacture.
But he agreed because he thought he’d win the bet and get to ramrod Banner, which turned out to be exactly what happened. Lance was confident that he would win because he had just tuned his bike up and it was a state-of-the-art, precision-engineered beast of mechanicry, whereas Banner’s Harley was a mud-splattered repairberg that drifted down the highway like a rattling, meth-addled beggar. Lance could tell that Banner’s Harley was weak, just from the dismal sputtering tone to its engine noises. He could hear the weakened gasket in it.
Once they got in the RV, Lance sighed and smiled. The other bikers began to scatter. Banner was glad to be in private. He didn’t much want to do this with all his buddies outside asking if he was having trouble getting hard yet. The sound of the assembled Jagged Right bikers was muffled by the trailer, and now that Banner was out of sight, a lot of them lost interest in teasing him.
“So I’m glad it turned out okay, even if this wasn’t the bar I had been told it was,” Lance said, finishing a story that Banner hadn’t been paying attention to — Lance was explaining how he went to the wrong bar at first.
Banner didn’t care why Lance had come to the Jagged Right bar in particular, so he ignored the story. Lance poured himself a glass of water — his mouth had gotten dusty and dry in the race — and then passed one to Banner, who looked suddenly very thirsty. Banner wished he had started drinking in the bar prior to all this happening. He probably would have won the race if he’d been drunk, he thought.
“Yeah, the butch all-women biker bar is The Velvet Log,” Banner said, chewing on one ragged fingernail. “Don’t go in there, those bitches’ll rip your heads off if you look at ’em wrong.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s… Well, you gotta look at butch women in better ways, Banner. Improve your looking,” Lance said with a smile.
He was raven, with a thick mane of jet hair, scraggly and poorly trimmed, like he had had a beautiful amber head of hair like a Viking god but then fell to Earth and doused his head in brambles and mud, giving him a torn and tattered half-curled mop of dinge highlighted with brown and tan and a few strands of gray. His forehead was lightning-bolted with an ugly rill of scar tissue, his left eye droopy underneath it like it had been damaged in whatever incident left his eyebrow slashed. His front tooth was chipped too, and he ran his tongue over the jagged tip of it as he looked down Lance’s body.
Banner was powerfully built and strong without being heavy or bulky. He had that pseudo-nice face, like if he had lived a clean and wholesome life he’d be a leading man with a charismatic pair of dimples, but since he was craggy and worn all over, those dimples gave him an almost menacing aura, like he was trying to trick you by looking so handsome despite being as “ugly as a pile of dirt”, as his ex-wife had said.
“Do you want me to get drunk first?” Banner asked. He kind of hoped the answer would be yes. That was both because he had fewer inhibitions when he was drunk and because he simply wanted to be drunk. Banner usually wished he was drunker than he was.
“No. Unless you want to,” Lance said.
Once he was drunk, he’d gladly let Lance jerk him off seven ways to Sunday. That wouldn’t be a problem at all. Lance could probably do it without even asking and Banner would have been too wasted to complain. He would have said that was the only way he’d do it and make Lance wait for him to get drunk, but Lance might cornhole him when he was passed out. He’d rather do it sober so he could call it off if he wanted.
But also, he didn’t want to take the time to get drunk before doing this — his friends would notice it taking so much time, and they’d accuse him of being unable to get hard. It was better to just get it over with.
“Nevermind, I don’t needta be drunk,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s get this over with.” He stood with a loud, moist snort. He saw little reason to act seductive, so he let out a loud belch. Maybe, he thought, that would make Lance back out, and Banner would look so manly he was too much even for the sissies.
But Lance didn’t mind that at all. He looked up at Banner with big doe eyes and smirked. “Well, come on, take those pants off.”
Banner rolled his eyes and came closer. He didn’t like being treated like a piece of meat — which was ironic because he loved it when women treated him like that. But he wasn’t going to look hesitant, or even reluctant, so Banner snarled, “Man, shit, boy, goddamn…” and unzipped his jeans. They were encrusted with old mud and a splatter of stains — blood, engine oil, food, unidentifiable fluids combining like an abstract painting — and they reeked of sour, spoiled fruit, like bad wine.
Lance enjoyed every note of that scent. He liked ’em dirty, and the more Banner snortled and chortled like an annoyed pig, the more aroused Lance became. He was a keen appreciator of the male form.
“C’mon, get to slurpin’ hoss, let’s see that shit get wet!” Banner bellowed loud enough that his fellow Jagged Right bikers outside could hear. They cheered in response. He unzipped his pants, and Lance fished his meat out.
He had a nice hefty dick that slipped through the fly of his jeans. Lance loved jerking men off like that, through the fly. It gave them a sort of mystery, he thought, like you didn’t know what might be on the other side of that fabric. He blushed as he got to work on Banner’s shaft.
He stroked it with one hand, thwacking it over his face. It was thick and fatty like a low-quality sausage, and it jiggled as it roped around on Lance’s face. Banner sneered down at him. Back in prison, Banner thought, nobody would willingly let a man’s limp dick jab around on his face like that, it would be humiliating. But out here, a wussy-ass lawyer could do that and not lose face.
Well, not lose too much face. Many bikers definitely had less respect for Lance knowing he jacked off men. To Lance, this reputation was not a problem.
Banner crossed his arms over his chest, his leather sleeveless vest moving with it to accentuate his bare arms. The tattoos on his muscles were bluish, but faded, giving him that dirty look that fully-tattooed light-skinned people ended up with when their tattoos faded to nothing but a smear of geometric smudge. His muscular arms rippled, and his pecs bounced. His dick was slightly hard now, more from the excitement of the situation than from stimulation, since Lance hadn’t really done anything yet. He was just playing with it.
But then, when it was at least firm enough to swallow it, Lance did precisely that. Banner’s eyes opened wide as his cock slid down Lance’s mouth. A wave of pleasure wracked his body, as Banner’s cock slammed all the way to a full erection in seconds. Banner sucked in his breath and stood on his toes.
“Aaaah, damn…”
He loved the feeling of his cock getting squeezed by his bitch’s moist, warm hole, and he didn’t even have to look down. He didn’t have to see any of this. It was nicer than a blowjob from a woman in a way, Banner thought. No need to be polite, no need to woo, no need to impress the bitch. All he had to do was take his dick out and let it happen.
And lose a race. But Banner was trying not to think about that.
With waves of sensation wafting up from his cock, Banner looked out the window — the curtains were closed, but he peered out the side. He was glad to see that the other bikers were off getting drunk, seemingly having forgotten about the race and the bet and what was going on in here. Out of sight, out of mind.
He was distracted and surprised when a powerful bolt of pleasure ran up his spine. Am I hard? He hadn’t realized he was getting hard. It really was totally physical, he thought, not nerve-wracking or off-putting at all once he got started. His uncle had once said that — that getting throated by a man didn’t mean anything, that it felt objectively the same as getting sucked off by a woman. Banner hadn’t believed him.
But now he knew that his uncle was right, or maybe had even underestimated the sensation — this felt better than any blowjob he’d had. Lance went deeper and held it longer than any woman. He didn’t seem to need oxygen. His hands clasped Banner’s well-muscled thighs, and he signaled when he needed a break by tapping Banner on his meaty asscheeks.
Banner’s knees buckled and he bent back, a moan of desire escaping from his lips. His eyes opened wider than ever. He wasn’t expecting it to feel this good. He bit his lip and moaned again, hoping he didn’t sound weak.
His cock was rock-hard now, throbbing, pulsating. He gripped Lance’s head and held on tight, giving him easy access to Lance’s throat, which he plowed down like it was a field and Banner’s cock a tractor. He pushed his dick lower and lower, marveling at how Lance didn’t make him stop, not even when his throat let out a gag and a choke.
“Oh god…” Banner didn’t want to seem like a teenager getting a nut off for the first time, so he grunted, swallowing up his moans with a manly snort. He tried to sound nonplussed by it all, like he was doing Lance a favor.
Which he was, in a way. Lance was the one who wanted this.
It felt so good though, that he didn’t even notice right away when Lance pulled off him — pleasure still coursed through his veins and wracked his body. Then Lance’s hands slipped under Banner’s tattered sleeveless shirt and badge-covered vest.
He didn’t have a perfect body. Lance liked that, he appreciated men’s physiques and not just six-packed Hollywood-bikers with clean, combed hair. He liked his men meaty and rough-hewn. Banner was exactly that, all thick where it counted and firm everywhere, covered in stinky coarse hairs that tasted of motorcycle engines and group showers. His hair was a dense mop, perpetually uncombed, indeed it seemed likely Banner had never combed it, certainly not since his mother stopped forcing him to.
He lifted the shirt and vest off. Banner groaned. He hadn’t really wanted to take his shirt off, but it seemed rude to insist on it. He wasn’t ashamed, it just felt almost romantic. He stood there unmoving as Lance licked and sucked every inch of his chest, more enthusiastically than any woman had ever done, even back when Banner had a six-pack and a smooth chest. He didn’t react because he still had that immature nagging worry that anything he did might be interpreted as a secret signal for Lance to ramrod him. He just stood there, not even breathing while Lance sucked his pecs and his shoulders, one hand stroking Banner’s cock idly as he did. It throbbed in Lance’s grip.
The precum flowed down Lance’s wrist before he grabbed a tube of lubricant and smeared some on his ass, using the precum for a little additional lubiness. Then he turned around and jutted his ass back, ramming it into Banner’s unkempt pubic bush.
That was one thing he liked about bikers — they never trimmed their pubes. A lot of men did that these days, and Lance did not approve. Banner had a big bush that concealed his cockroot, but his dick was big enough that that didn’t matter. That was why so many men did trim their pubes these days, Lance thought, they thought it made their dicks look bigger. Banner both wasn’t concerned about that and had a big enough dick it didn’t matter. It was close to a foot long, maybe even past it, and it was so thick Lance could barely get his hand wrapped all the way around it. When he did, that veiny shaft pulsated like a beast, and Lance traced a vein running from the glans to the root with his tongue.
“You want me to stick it in?” Banner grunted.
“Hell yeah,” Lance murmured. He had to reach behind himself to guide Banner’s cock into his ass. Banner still wore those nasty old jeans, which hung heavily beneath Lance’s hand, Banner’s prick jutting forth from the fly. Lance couldn’t bring himself to let go until it was ready to go up his ass.
“I’s goin’ for it, hoss, get ready. Hope it don’t hurt too bad,” Banner said. That wasn’t true though. It would help his reputation if Lance told everyone his dick was too big to take up the ass.
“Aaaaah…” Lance sucked in his breath as when tip slipped in. He was tense, his lips pursed, face turning pale. There was an intense pressure that was mind-numbing and almost, but not quite, painful.
He took a deep breath and shook his head, focusing, getting rid of the second thoughts dancing in his mind. He gritted his teeth and pushed back even farther.
At last, his ass opened, and Banner let out a shocked, chest-rattling roar. His cock slid in deeper and deeper, inch after inch, as though Lance’s ass was sucking it in and slurping the shaft down. Lance felt it filling him up, inch after inch rubbing over his prostate and sending waves of bliss through him.
“Goddamn-” Banner’s deep voice carried, rattling the RV and drawing attention outside. Banner was too deeply engrossed to notice the snickering and laughter begin again from outside the trailer. The other bikers must have heard Biker’s moans.
Lance murmured incomprehensibly and sucked in his breath at the sound of men outside.
“Ah, fuck… Are they back out there?” Banner paused fucking for a moment with his dick deep in Lance, who gritted his teeth and moaned, his whole body spasming as pleasure rocked his frame. Banner peered out the window — from that angle, he couldn’t see the largest mass of guys, just a few milling about near the parked motorcycles. Someone made some comments about titties, and soon the parking lot filled again with half-drunk men from the bar.
“Hey, that’s Banner in there, with that lawyer dude-“
“Oh, hell! That’s hilarious!”
They laughed and rocked the RV, making mock orgasm-sounds and even pretending to hump each other. One was so drunk nobody could tell what he shouted, and a few others pretended to piss on Banner’s motorcycle.
“Goddamn it…” Banner wrinkled his nose as he realized some people were trying to peer in the windows. He made sure the curtains were all shut.
He lost his inhibitions, hoping to at least put on a good show if they did look in around the corners of the curtains. He gripped Lance’s ass — which was very smooth and clean, more feminine than many of the women Banner had been with — and he rammed in.
He had been so nervous about doing this he was surprised to feel a soft, silken ass squeezing his dick. This felt better than it had any right to. He tried to keep it down at first, then thought that might work against him.
Instead he hooted and hollered. “Yeah, baby, bitch, take that shit! Fuck yeah!” He smacked Lance’s asscheek, watching it rattle and shake as it clenched around his cock. “Damn, he’s bendin’ over just fine, boys!”
“Fuck! Awwwww…” Lance didn’t want to be left behind in putting on a good show, so he shouted too, though his voice wasn’t as deep so it didn’t carry as well. The guys outside just heard his wordless whinnying like an impassioned pony, and they imitated the sound as they laughed and pretend-humped each other.
Finally, an orgasm rocked both men’s bodies. Lance’s began first by a bit, his own cock exploding in his hand and spraying ropy jets of cum all over the floor of the RV. It was followed by a deep, abiding prostate orgasm that rocked his body and made him shake. Lance’s face turned ruddy and tense, sweat dappling his body and matting his chest hair to his filthy chest.
The smell of sex and dirty ass santorum filled the air. Lance took a deep, bracing breath as the pressure in his ass grew greater and greater. Still Banner fucked, unwilling to stop until he was fully done. He jammed his dick in and out, competing to make the RV rock so much the Jagged Right bikers outside laughed.
“Shit…” Eventually, Banner couldn’t take it anymore. His dick was sensitive, not to mention filthy since he had kept on plowing until his cumwad was a big frothy mess. He fully intended to let everyone see that. He hoped they all looked and gagged and laughed at him.
When it came to this sort of thing, it was best to lean into it, he thought.
He grabbed a beer out of the fridge even before his dickshaft had fully flopped out. It was grimy and greasy, laying there on the small of Lance’s back like an uncooked sausage. Banner grunted and belched once more. Jizz dribbled into Lance’s asscrack.
Then he came to the RV door with his sloppy dick dangling out of his pants, cum still sticking to his pubic hair and dripping down his thighs.
“Aw, nasty!”
“Shit, man, lookit that!”
“Holy fuck!”
Banner blushed, but he was tan enough that that wasn’t real obvious. He was glad to walk around with his cock out because it was a warm night, and he had just fucked, so his dick was as big and impressive-looking as it would ever be.
“You really did it, man??
Banner scoffed. “Of course I did it. I made a bet, didn’t I? A Jagged Right man don’t never welch on a bet. I ruined his ass though, he was begging me to give him a break.”

The Burglar

Desmond is helping out a white burglar when he gets roped into robbing a house, which goes in a direction Desmond never expected! That’s cuz he’s not as charmed by the manipulative Josh Winters as he seems, and when push comes to shove, he demands a taste of Josh’s alpha male meat. Can Josh give it up?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Desmond was glad he had gone through with the plan, but at the same time, he still wasn’t sure if it was going to work. There were a couple ways it could go wrong, ranging from disappointing to catastrophic. There were not a lot of ways for it to go right.
It was a cool December night in Sacramento, and Desmond was robbing a house. Desmond hadn’t come up with the plan, that was Josh. Desmond didn’t really want or need to rob any house.
He was here because he was desperate for Josh’s dick.
Josh Winters was a tall, ropy-muscled young man with a scruffy beard and a troublesome limp, supposedly from the time he “got shot running from the po-po”. He had variously told Desmond he was a Puerto Rican Boricua, a “mostly full-blooded” Arapaho Indian and a Sicilian mafioso’s son. Oh, and once, he said he was the former star of the Ecuadorian national soccer team. He was swarthy, seemingly white but not conclusively so, with a big mess of black hair and an unshaved chin, giving him a scraggly goattee like a pot-smoking goat.
Or possibly something stronger than pot. Josh said he didn’t do hard drugs, but Desmond was dubious.
The one thing Desmond knew for sure was that he shouldn’t trust anything Josh said. It had been clear that he didn’t even keep track of his lies, he kept changing his story because Desmond never called him on it and Josh never remembered that he had already lied about his race (which Desmond suspected was ‘plain-old somewhat-swarthy white-guy’).
So Desmond didn’t believe it when Josh had said that tonight was not about robbing houses. He said, “Don’t worry, dude, we’re not gonna rob no houses on Christmas Eve. I ain’t like that.”
Desmond just shrugged went along with it. He didn’t care, he felt bad about becoming a home-robber (or at least an accessory to home-robbing). But he would have agreed to anything because he was entranced by Josh’s deep, soulful brown eyes and that marvelous head of hair. It was dense and black and unkempt, shaggy, haphazardly cut and just the right amount of greasy. Desmond wanted to run his fingers through Josh’s hair.
Besides that, Desmond didn’t plan on actually stealing anything.
And so that was why Desmond was going along with it regardless of his qualms. He had been craving a taste of Josh’s meat since the moment they met.
The homeowner was in Michigan for Christmas anyway, so it was safe, or safe enough for Desmond.
“C’mon, man,” Josh said. He tousled Desmond’s hair and grinned. “Boost me up.” He definitely knew Desmond had feelings on him and was using it to manipulate him, Desmond thought, which felt creepy but also triumphant because Desmond was flipping that knowledge right back around to manipulate Josh. Desmond was gonna get a taste of that man’s dick and he was gonna avoid doing anything morally venal.
Or at least, that was the plan. But a lot could go wrong with it.
They were on the deck behind the house. The railing was high enough that, when Desmond climbed on top of it and then Josh climbed atop his shoulders, he could reach the roof. Desmond wouldn’t have agreed, but Josh had such a charming grin, and anyway, Desmond liked the idea of Josh pawing all over him as he climbed onto the roof.
Josh seemed to be taking every opportunity to touch Desmond — that was a serious attempt to manipulate him into helping tonight. It was working too. Desmond could see how Josh had gained that reputation: He had manipulated several young men into being accessories to serious crimes and then gave them up to get out of trouble himself.
So Desmond knew he was playing with fire.
“Are you gonna be able to get up there?” Desmond asked. The railing was narrow and tottery. It really felt impossible. Josh seemed to know what he was doing, but now Desmond was unsure. This could be dangerous.
Josh scoffed. “Man, you know, they used to call me Leopard, in my old ‘hood. Cuz I was such a climber and shit, y’know, I bet I could shimmy up that chimney. I’m just doin’ this cuz it’s easier.”
“Oh, wow…” Desmond hoped he sounded gullible enough. He very much doubted that Josh could shimmy up the chimney, and he doubted anyone ever called him Leopard. That was the kind of nickname people make up about themselves but don’t accept about others. Nobody should like their nicknames.
But Desmond didn’t mind the lies if it got him what he wanted: Josh’s toned twenty year-old thug body. Josh straightened the backwards baseball cap he wore as he climbed onto the railing and, nervously, onto Desmond’s hands, then up to his shoulders.
Desmond was just about to tell him to stop, that this wasn’t working, when Josh got the edge of the gutter and scampered up. It was graceless and he nearly fell a few times. It was obvious he had never done it before. But when he got up there he scoffed. “Told ya, man. Like a leopard.” He extended one hand and pulled Desmond up onto the roof too.
It was cold up here, and windy. Desmond walked with him to the chimney. Josh’s ass filled out his low-hanging jeans nicely, and Desmond found it difficult to tear his eyes away from those perky round cheeks.
“Man, I swear, I once forgot to check the chimney befo’ I climbed in, and yo, you best believe I got stuck in there. Thought I was gonna die for sure, man, fo’ real,” he said. “So I learned you gotta check it first.” He tossed a pebble into the chimney and grinned when it audibly landed all the way on the floor. “Alright, see, this is a good chimney. Let’s get in there, man.”
Desmond wasn’t claustrophobic, but even he found the idea of going in through a chimney a bit scary. He thought for sure Josh would back out and agree to just break a window (why not? This house was isolated enough the neighbors wouldn’t hear, but Josh insisted on the chimney). Luckily Josh went in first.
He slipped in feet first and landed with a loud oomph. He toppled forward out of the fireplace. Clouds of ash flew everywhere and coated the living room.
“Come on, man, jump on down,” Josh called out to him amid his loud coughing. The coughs turned into aggressive hacks, which was way too loud. It would have been quieter to shatter a window, Desmond thought. Going in through the chimney was a dumbass plan.
Desmond took a deep breath and did it. He had been expecting tons of time to feel claustrophobic, but of course it actually only took a fraction of a second to fall. The only difficult part was the cloud of ash that coated his face, lungs and eyes. He coughed violently for several minutes before recovering.
By then, Josh was already ransacking the house, running through the living room and kitchen, opening cabinets and doors in search of valuables. He cursed as he did. “Man, there ain’t shit here. Get to lootin’, man, while the lootin’ is good!”
Desmond already knew that there were no worthwhile things here to steal. All the valuables were gone from this house. Josh collected a few dishes he thought looked fancy — they weren’t, he just assumed any dish was probably worth money if it wasn’t made of plastic or paper and didn’t have any logos or fictional characters on it. He found some ordinary ceramic plates with blue flowers on the rim and a gravy boat with French words on it (French, he thought, was classy, so anything with French on it was probably worth something).
Now that he was in, Desmond was less nervous. He could still get caught, of course, but he had gotten through the hardest part. He watched Josh run around the house, cursing at the lack of pawn-able goods. “Man, fuck this place! They ain’t even got a nice TV! No X-Box!”
“How’s the upstairs?” Desmond asked, following slowly after him.
Josh sucked on his teeth, hurrying away from Desmond but calling out to him the whole time. “This place is fucked, dude. They must-a took everything with ’em, man, that sucks! I ain’t found shit!”
“Oh, that’s too bad…” Desmond said. He found Josh throwing clothes out of the dresser in the master bedroom. He had a bottle of loose change in his arms — maybe fifteen dollars worth — that he had found in the closet. He was hoping to find more hidden in the dresser drawers.
“That pisses me off!” Josh shouted. His face grew ruddy, and Desmond got nervous. Had he miscalculated? Josh punched the wall hard enough to make a hole, and he dropped the jar of change. It shattered, coins flying across the carpet. “I oughta fuckin’ slit their goddamn throats!”
Well damn, Desmond thought, that was an escalation.
“Hey, I found something good downstairs,” Desmond said, chewing on his lip as he came closer to Josh Winters. He decided to move his plan forward. He dropped to his knees and scooted to kneel right in front of Josh.
“What? What was it? Lemme see, I’ll tell you if it’s worth anything,” Josh said. He frowned in confusion at Desmond kneeling in front of him. “I got that ‘ppraising shit down. You know that? ‘ppraising?” It was apparent Josh had just learned the word appraising, thought it was obscure and didn’t quite know how to pronounce it.
Now that he was closer, Desmond grinned up at Josh. “I’ll show you what I found downstairs if you let me do something.”
Josh looked at him warily. “Like what?”
“Let me taste your dick,” Desmond said. “Let me jack you off.” He grabbed for the waist of Josh’s jeans.
“What, really?”
Desmond nodded. Josh shifted his weight between his feet and cleared his throat. Desmond said, “Yeah, really. I can swallow you to the root. I can swallow anything,” he said.
When Josh sighed as though this was a huge imposition, Desmond unzipped his pants and let them fall to his knees. A thick uncut cock popped out, which Josh rearranged to more completely come out of the fly of his boxers, because at first it didn’t look very long, concealed by the fabric. Then he snorted like he didn’t care about Desmond looking at his dick. He swayed his hips, making his cock slap Desmond in the cheek.
“Man, you know you gotta pay me if you wanna take a swing on my dick,” Josh said with exaggerated reluctance. It was very obvious that he was going to say yes and just wanted to negotiate a good price. He looked around as though there might be an audience.
But there was no one to impress.
“Please…” Desmond smacked his lips, and he gingerly handled Josh’s dick. It was sweaty and clammy, and it twitched in Desmond’s grip. Josh must be horny, he thought.
“I ain’t into that shit. You better offer good money.” Josh looked down at his dick in Desmond’s hand as though he didn’t get how it ended up there.
Desmond shrugged. He stood up and straightened his shirt. “Oh, well, I guess I’ll just keep that thing I found downstairs.”
“What was it?”
Desmond got up stretched his legs. He yawned. “It doesn’t matter, it’s mine and I’ll only have it for awhile, until I make it to the pawnshop tomorrow. If you’re done, let’s go.” He took a few steps as though going to leave. He walked away from Josh Winters’s, who stood there with his cock protruding, waiting to be serviced.
“Man, what is it! What’d you find? I searched the whole main floor.” He scowled, his charming face gone. He wasn’t used to people telling him no.
“Let me taste your dick.” Desmond crossed his arms over his chest.
Josh’s cock was still out, dangling between his legs, in front of his fashionably saggy jeans. His square jaw worked up and down like he was chewing on his tongue. He was just slightly scruffy, the beard hairs extending down under the fabric of his shirt. Josh scoffed and clucked his tongue. “Man… How much is it worth?”
“It’s worth precisely one session of me tasting your dick. Taxes and fees may apply.”
“No, I mean the thing you found, how much is it worth in dollars!”
“I won’t know until I make it to the pawnshop. Until then, it’s an unknowable mystery,” Desmond said. “There are several economic theories of value, Josh. For example, Karl Marx promoted the labor theory of value, in which the price of an object is determined by the labor that went into it.” Desmond smiled at Josh’s furrowed brow. “So by that measure, this item is by definition worth the amount of work you’re willing to put in for it.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it’s worth less than that, and I’ll see what theory of value they prefer at the pawnshop.”
“Man, fuck you!” Josh threw his hands in the air. His dick jiggled and swayed. “Man, you owe me! I let you in on this job!”
“This job ain’t worth jack-shit!”
Josh shuffled out of the room, scoffing, rolling his eyes, his dick still out through the fly of his boxers, but his jeans were around his ankles. He didn’t seem to notice his veiny shaft bouncing with every step he took — he had a very animated gait right now because he was upset. He punched another hole in the wall. “Fuck you!”
“You wouldn’t even have found this place if it wasn’t for me,” Desmond said. He followed Josh into the hall.
“This place ain’t worth jack-shit!” Josh said. “C’mon, you gotta give it to me. What is it?” He turned around and came closer to Desmond. He reached into Desmond’s pockets and emptied them. Desmond just giggled as though Josh was flirting with him. Josh let go. “Man…”
“I didn’t put it in my pocket because I knew you would search me to steal it. And it’s not something that fits comfortably in a pocket. Just let me taste your dick. And stick me, you gotta stick it in my ass too,” Desmond said.
“Man… That ain’t what you said before. And that’s gross. I don’t even do that in prison.”
“The price keeps going up, Josh. Inflation,” Desmond said. “So I suggest you agree now.” He casually walked towards the stairs. “I think I’m about ready to head home and hit the hay. I wanna be well-rested for my trip to the pawnshop tomorrow.”
“Man… ain’t there someone else…? I could get you Jake? He’ll let anyone swing on his dick, even this old fat lady with saggy-“
“That’s cuz Jake is fat and smells like cheese,” Desmond said. “I want you. No substitutions, unless you have access to 1980s-era Tom Cruise.” He paused. “Just so you know, I can swallow your whole cock, and I have an ass like that fat slut you hang out with wouldn’t believe.”
“She ain’t fat.”
“Well she sure as shit ain’t skinny.”
“And she ain’t a slut-“
“Josh, I know very well you’ll fuck any chick who picks up the bullshit you plop in front of them,” Desmond said. “I’m willing to pick that bullshit up myself, but I’m not going to pretend it’s a rhododendron.”
Josh’s harsh, judgmental eyes glared at Desmond. Finally he spat vituperously, “what’s a fucking rhododendron?”
“It’s a flower, Josh. There’s one in the front yard.” Desmond sunk to his knees. “You can just say yes, I know you’re going to do it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you lie like a dead cat, Josh, and you can just lie about this. You can tell people it didn’t happen,” Desmond said. “And as far as you’re concerned, if no one can prove it happened, it didn’t.”
Josh’s eyes twinkled. “Fine. But this thing better be worth some cash.”
“It’s not,” Desmond said. He put the cocktip in his mouth, made eye contact with Josh’s sullen face and started licking his dick. He picked it up and let the thickness of it flop onto his face, while Desmond ran his tongue up and down the shaft. He slurped the sweat of the root.
“What?”
“I don’t want to mislead you, Josh. You’ll struggle to exchange this item for cash,” Desmond said.
“Man, I swear, I’ll kick your fucking ass if there ain’t nothing,” he said. “I swear to Christ. I swear on my mama’s grave, I swear on-“
Desmond pulled the cock out of his mouth for a moment. “First of all, you can stop listing things you’ll swear on. Secondly, I know your mother. I broke a five-dollar bill for her so she could put a dollar in a stripper’s jockstrap last weekend. She knows perfectly well you’re not a gigolo, you know. You’re not as good of a liar as you think are.”
“Man… Just shut up and get back to ya business.”
“I’m pretty sure actual gigolos don’t brag to their mom about it-“
“Shut up!”
“And they don’t get their moms to pay their health insurance either-“
“I am about to knock your fucking head off, dude!”
“It’s the Christmas spirit!”
“What?” Josh flopped his hard cock over Desmond’s face, leaving a trail of precum.
“That’s the thing I found down here, that I was going to give you when we’re done,” Desmond said. “I found the Christmas spirit. It doesn’t have a monetary value.”
“Man…”
“I’m just telling you because I bet you’re going to want to finish this, right? Because you’re desperate to blow a nut? Even though you’re not going to get anything out of it but a ‘Merry Christmas’?” Desmond giggled. “That fat chick isn’t putting out, huh? Probably because you taste like a loser.” He turned around, dropped his pants and stuck his ass in the air. “Are you gonna stick it in me? Or go home and masturbate alone?”
Josh paused, then straddled Desmond’s ass. He grabbed Desmond by the back of the neck. “Man… I’m stickin’ you cuz real gangstas don’t let theyself get blue-balled.”
“The only thing you stole tonight was that jar of loose change and you broke that,” Desmond said as Josh wedged his dick between his cheeks. “Real gangstas don’t fail to steal loose change. 7-11 gives loose change away for free-“
“Fuck you!” Josh said, drilling his cock in, moving like he was on autopilot — if Desmond hadn’t pissed him off, he would have delayed, but as it was, his mostly hard dick rammed right into Desmond’s booty. As if he had been waiting for this moment, he sighed. His anger and frustration dissipated, and he sighed. His hot breath condensed on the back of Desmond’s head.
Desmond sucked in his breath as he reached behind himself to stretch his cheeks open.
From his awkwardness at penetrating, Desmond gathered that Josh had never had anal sex with a woman before, though he had definitely purported otherwise several times. He humped desperately now, slamming his still-clothed body into Desmond over and over from every angle, making Desmond wince and squirm.
Desmond didn’t mind a little pain and discomfort. It made the pleasure even better, and he didn’t mind Josh’s personality too much either — with a dimpled handsome face like that, he could forgive a lot. He got even handsomer the more frustrated he became too. That was nice. Women wouldn’t be able to look past his personality and fuck him anyway, but on the other hand, women were less perceptive of his personality and were likely to take his charm at face value. Desmond, on the other hand, didn’t have to like or be liked by the men whose bodies he worshipped. He was fine with letting a jerk ramrod him up the ass.
“You don’t have to go easy on me,” Desmond said, giggling as that made Josh roar and smack his cheeks. His cock was moving back and forth in Desmond’s ass, each stroke of it sending spasms of pleasure to rock Desmond’s body. Desmond let out a little cringing moan, unable to avoid expressing how good this felt. “Hmm, Josh…”
“I’m not goin’ easy on you, man, shut up…” Blushing, Josh redoubled his efforts to go at Desmond’s ass hard. He was desperate to assuage his own masculinity, which he felt required him to slam so hard and so good Desmond told him to slow down. But it soon became apparent that that wasn’t going to happen.
Now that he had calmed somewhat, Josh humped passionately, and he even kissed Desmond on the cheek (because he had seen a movie in which prison thugs kiss their prison wives and it seemed like a hardcore-gangsta thing to do). The feel of his closeness behind Desmond accentuated the feelings wracking Desmond’s body, as his cock stimulated Desmond’s prostate again and again.
He grunted right into Desmond’s ear. He kissed him again, this time on the lips — out of habit — and their tongues briefly interlocked before he pulled away mid-orgasm. Cum sprayed into Desmond’s ass, great creamy gobs of it that coated his insides.
“Damn…” Josh Winters’s voice broke, and he rammed with his hips hard, making his next cumwad spurt deep into Desmond’s insides. Desmond moaned as a wave of bliss flowed through him, and his hands turned into claws that dug into the carpeted hallway underneath him.
Cum dripped down his thighs and onto the floor. Desmond shot his own wad at the same time, draining his balls into a puddle beneath him while jet after jet of juice filled up his ass, his whole body tightening up as one of the most potent orgasms of his life hit him hard. Josh kept going until most of his wad had slipped out in a frothy mess that coated Desmond’s ass and slipped out on the carpet below.
“Goddamn…” Desmond said, sighing. He pulled away from Josh, who gasped when his cock finally came out. It was soaked in his jizz, which dripped down between Desmond’s legs. Desmond giggled as he was overcome with desire, while Josh simply grunted as though he barely approved of what just happened.
Josh rolled over onto the floor on his back. His dick flopped, half-hard but rapidly limpening. Josh’s face was ruddy and calm, like he was about to go to sleep. He lay sprawled out on the floor.
Desmond sat next to him for a moment and felt up his chest muscles. Josh watched like he didn’t understand why someone would want to touch him. Desmond smiled. “Sorry there wasn’t anything to steal.”
Josh shrugged. He stood up and tucked his dick away. “Whatever. I’ll find someplace new.” He paused and cleared his throat. “So, like… you can pay me two hundred dollars whenever.”
“What?”
“I kissed you and stuck it in you, you owe me-“
“That was not what we agreed to. I agreed to give you the spirit of Christmas, so here it is. Merry Christmas.”
Josh frowned. It was obvious he was used to people who were easy to manipulate. If Desmond had been this willful when they first met, he would have never spent more time with him. there was no point if he couldn’t get anything out of him. Josh sighed. He sat up, supporting himself on his elbows, and he used his shirttails to wipe his dick clean. Desmond shook his head at that. That was not an effective way to get clean. His shirt was not absorptive, and so of course it was now stained and soaked in all the santorum that had previously clung to his cockshaft.
Desmond smiled at Josh. “But you can come over and earn two hundred dollars the old-fashioned way.” He smacked Josh’s ass. “Trust me, it’ll be better than being a burglar.”

Three Generations of Honkies

Avery goes with a friend to an awkward family event, only to find himself enchanted by her father, brother and oldest nephew! They’re a trio of hunky studs who just might let Avery swing on their alpha honky meat… as long as the other two don’t know about it!

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Avery lay awoke most of the night. He was dreading tomorrow — it was Thanksgiving, and he planned on spending it with his friend Lenore. That would have been fine on its own. But her family would be there too, and that promised to be awkward. The prospect of meeting who-even-knows how many new people made the whole thing seem like an obligation. It seemed like no big deal when she asked last month if he wanted to come. Her family might be fun, he thought.
And now he had to spend all day with them.
Lenore had not had a relationship with her family until earlier this year, due to an acrimonious divorce that led to her brother siding with her father and Lenore siding with her mother. That was why she had practically begged Avery to come along: Lenore didn’t want to be alone. So he tried not to sulk as he trundled off to her car early in the morning on Thanksgiving. He was sleepy, and he already he was failing to come up with any smalltalk.
He remained quiet the entire way to Citrus Heights, California. Lenore was quiet too, either nervous or just listening to the jazz on the radio. He was half-asleep anyway. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, however, Avery was already starting to brighten up.
Lenore’s mother had passed away a few years ago, and her father, Woody, had reverted to his bachelor ways after his divorce. He was an ex-Army officer with a tattoo of his unit on his belly — a fact that Avery saw when Lenore opened the door and Woody stood there in his boxers, hand at his crotch, scratching his balls. His arms flexed and his pecs rippled as though scratching his nutsack through his raggedy-ass boxer shorts took all of his muscles.
That was how the Thanksgiving began: Lenore screeching, and Woody blearily-eyed glaring at his daughter as his dick flopped out through the fly of his boxers. It was meaty and thick, and it flopped like an uncooked sausage. Woody was a barrel-chested man, his fuzzy fur tinged with gray, his head bald but shaved as well — shaved haphazardly, obviously without the use of a mirror, with slightly longer patches here and there around the sides of his scalp. A mustard stain on his boxers accentuated the bulge of his cock after he casually tucked it away again.
“Dad! Ohmigod, you are humiliating me! Ohmigod! Is this what you do? You hang out in your underpants?! Was Mom the only reason you ever put on pants?”
“Mornin’, sweetcake.”
“Go put some clothes on, Dad!”
He just rolled his eyes and hugged her, much to her chagrin. He shook Avery’s hand. Woody had thick fingers and a muscular grip. He squeezed Avery confidently. He winked too.
Avery blushed, and he looked Woody’s chest up and down. He was furry and broad and strapping, and he smelled a little of sweat, like he had been working out recently, or had simply not showered. Or both. Avery didn’t mind. He appreciated the male aroma.
“Dad, I can tell you cleaned up, but you should have done the baseboards-“
“Sweetcake,” Woody grunted. “It looks fine-“
“I know, but I’ll just get a sponge-“
Again, Woody rolled his eyes. His ass swayed in his boxers as he followed after his daughter, arguing. Avery stayed there at the door to watching his shoulder muscles flex. Again, Avery got the impression he shook his ass for Avery’s benefit. His cheeks were full to bursting out of those paper-thin boxer shorts. The mustard stain looked to have harmed the already cheap fabric, that may be why his cock slipped out.
Where do alphas even find that kind of boxer shorts? So thin you can almost see through them like wet tissue paper. Avery’s dick twitched. He wondered if Lenore had told him she was bringing a friend. He hadn’t seemed surprised to see a stranger.
The rest of the family would be coming soon, and the house was not ready. Avery chuckled under his breath at the sound of Lenore squealing at the realization that her father had still not put on any pants.
“Of course you have to baste it, Dad! Nigella Lawson said it!” She came back into the living room. Avery busied himself by putting the cords, remote controls and DVDs out by the TV all into a stack. That was productive and helpful, he thought; he only wished Lenore had seen him do it. She stormed past with a sponge and an all-purpose cleaner. “Dad! Go put pants on! You have to wear pants to Thanksgiving!”
“You’re as bad as your mother,” he said with a grin. His eyes glanced to Avery, then up the stairs. He scratched his chest casually, but his hand lingered over his nipple, and his pecs bounced.
“Did you need some help picking out an outfit, Mister Myrtle?” Avery asked. He was now certain Woody was hot to trot.
She was awfully insistent I come up here. I bet she knew her dad wanted a piece of male tail on the side. Oh she’s a sly hag… Avery stared daggers at her as he followed Woody up the stairs. He didn’t mind her bringing him as a sort of a toy to keep her father satisfied, but Avery wished she had told him. What if Woody had been fat? That would have been awkward.
“Call me Woody, hoss. Yeah, uh, what color ain’t ya supposed to wear after Labor Day?” Woody asked as they ascended the stairs.
“That’s white, darling,” Avery said. “Nobody wears white to Thanksgiving.” They were up the stairs now. He pulled down Woody’s white boxers to reveal a chunky hairy ass, all muscle and meat and fur. Woody chuckled and stepped out of his boxers without missing a beat. Avery kissed one of his cheeks there in the hall at the top of the stairs. Myrtle fussed over some dumb girlish shit downstairs.
“Damn, boy, did she bring you just to keep me from getting too ornery?”
“A hostess should provide someone to service macho military guys at family gatherings. That’s in Emily Post. Your daughter is a thoughtful girl,” Avery said. “You get jacked off by guys a lot?”
He grunted. “You a take-a-shower-before kinda fruitcake or a take-a-shower-after fruitcake?”
“After.” Avery blushed and laughed. Obviously, he thought, that was a yes: guys who weren’t jacked off by other dudes often would never have known there were those who preferred both showered and unshowered men.
“Gotcha.” He went into the bedroom and flopped onto his bed, which was covered in dirty socks and tee shirts with sweat stains. The bed was unmade, but Avery thought no one actually slept here — Woody probably slept on the couch downstairs most nights. He looked like the drift-off-to-sleep-drunk-on-the-couch kind of divorced man. He flopped his limp dick between his fingers. “Man, in boot camp there was this fellah right off base who’d jack off any soldier who needed it. They just be lining up outside his condo, twirlin’ they dicks in they hands.”
“I bet.”
“But I ain’t mess around with him. The female tail was plentiful back then. It wasn’t till I got assigned to this base in central Alaska, then there wasn’t no females around except this one swishy Indian fella with lips like silk — what are you waiting for?” He snorted and chuckled. “My daughter is gonna come in anytime, demanding I alphabetize my potatoes or something, calling my spice rack racist. So let’s get this done, we might not have much time.” He slapped Avery in the cheek with his dick as Avery leaned over the bed to put it in his mouth. He groaned and scooted closer to the edge.
The doorbell rang. Avery heard more family coming in, and Lenore talking a mile a minute, seemingly apologizing for the state of the house. He slathered Woody’s dick with spit, as it firmed up in his mouth.
“You wanna hit it deep, baby?” Avery asked when it was hard. He rubbed Woody’s cock against his cheeks and chased it with his tongue, teasing Woody by blowing on the wetness on his shaft and making Woody’s whole body shake.
“Ah, man… if a woman asked me that, swear to God, I’d propose to her on the spot,” Woody said with a sigh. He closed his eyes, gripped Avery by the ear and slammed his dick all the way down. “Ah, shit…” Woody moaned.
Normally Avery would try to slow down something like this. Alphas tried to be slow and gentle with women because women demanded it, and men (sometimes) wanted a long-term relationship with them. But that didn’t apply to Avery. So it was up to him to slow his men down or else they’d just dagger his throat like jackrabbits and be done in mere moments.
Today, however, Avery didn’t want to slow down. He sometimes enjoyed letting men really have free reign over his throat, letting them plow into him deeply and letting their balls slap against his chin. He adjusted and loosened his neck to allow every inch of Woody’s cock in there.
“Goddamn, man, hell yeah…” Woody’s throaty voice rang out in Avery’s ear. He held on tight to Avery’s head, but he didn’t sodomize his throat in an aggressive or mean way like some guys. He ground his cock deeply, shaking it, moving his hips and ass in little circles like he needed to make love to every inch of Avery’s spasming throat.
When loud gurgling and sputtering sounds came from Avery’s mouth, Woody warmly shushed him. “Sssssh, it’s okay, boy, I’m cummin’ now, just keep it open for a minute more. You gonna get a good taste in just a sec…” His voice degenerated into a baritone rumble as an orgasm rippled over his hairy chest. He held his breath, keeping Avery’s head impaled on his cock, which spasmed and pulsated in Avery’s neck. Avery’s tongue throbbed against the veiny underside of his dick, where Avery could feel the juices flowing from his balls.
Cum flowed down Avery’s throat. It was creamy and warm and delicious, and he guzzled every drop. He maintained eye contact with Woody the whole time too. Most straight guys closed their eyes when they came in a man’s mouth, so Avery enjoyed Woody’s shocked expression as he orgasmed.
“Shit, boy, goddamn! If I had you back in boot camp, I’d have never bothered hooking up wit’ females,” Woody said with a laugh, shaking his ass beneath Avery’s grasp to make the last few drops of cum slide down Avery’s gullet.
Then, when it was over, Avery sat back and grinned, wiping his face off. Woody’s jaw hung open and he licked his lips. He chuckled, a throaty laugh like a moist mummy, and he wiped his hand through his chest hair. Avery smacked his lips and played with the sensitive, limpening shaft of Woody’s cock.
“Hmmm… Thanks,” Avery said.
“I should be thankin’ you.” He had a low throaty chuckle. “Thank you.” He wiped his dick off with some paper towels. “My son and grandsons are downstairs. And daughter-in-law.” He sighed like he wished his daughter-in-law wasn’t here. “Make sure you don’t let on what we done up here. The younger generations don’t get it.”
Avery mimed zipping his lips shut, then Woody took a quick shower while Avery chose an outfit for him. His cleanest pants were camo, but Avery found a tolerable pair of khakis. They were dirt-colored anyway, so the dirt stains didn’t show. Avery heard the family greeting each other downstairs. A child was in the mix. That was good, he thought, an excellent distraction.
Sure enough, the child — Jason — Woody’s youngest grandson — occupied everyone’s attention. Avery went downstairs met Lenore’s brother Mack, his wife Vanessa and their adult sons Rowan and Shaw, along with, of course, the young one, Mack’s and Vanessa’s five year old Jason. They all watched Jason play with trucks and lose counting games on his mother’s iPad.
Soon, however, conversation became stilted. Everyone watched Jason play like he was a panda at the zoo. Avery tried to make a few jokes, but no one seemed interested in laughing. The dull as drainage Thanksgiving was only ended with a fight breaking out among the brothers.
“You shouldn’t let Jason use the iPad so much,” said Rowan, instantly starting off an argument between him and his brother Shaw. They were both late teens, Rowan just eighteen but Shaw nearly twenty. They both hovered over their nephew, who ignored them, deeply hypnotized by the iPad in his grubby little mitts.
“Just let him play, you loser-“
“It’s bad for him.”
“You’re such a pretentious twat-” Shaw smacked Rowan, who smacked him back.
As Woody came down the stairs in a button-down shirt and dirt-colored khakis, he said, “Hey, you boys knock it off-!”
“Get outta my way!”
“He’s been beggin’ for this for years, I’m gonna kick the moron right out of his brain!”
Avery wanted nothing to do with what was soon to be a fistfight. He did like the men. Woody, his son Mack and Mack’s adult sons Shaw and Rowan. He appreciated the male form, and all four of the Myrtle men had admirable physiques in their own ways. Shaw was handsome and sort of squarish, broad and ox-like, yet clean-cut and dimpled like a new golf ball. Rowan was cute in a skinny basement-dwelling nerd way, not unattractive, as he was a soccer player in good shape, you could just tell he spent most of his non-soccer time playing Minecraft or something dumb like that.
“You piece of shit! Car thief!”
“Oh, now you’re bringing up the Toyota again?! Just get over it, Rowan!”
Shaw was tall and wide-shouldered, with deep dimples and charming green eyes. He was outgoing, with the smarmy charisma of a third-rate politician. After the fight with his brother, he went into the kitchen, where Lenore ignored the fighting and focused on basting the turkey in the oven. When she stood up to explain why her father’s favorite spice blend’s brand and mascot were racist, Shaw belched.
“Oh my god, that was so disgusting, get out of here!” She scowled at her nephew, and he instantly returned to the living room, where Rowan was still fuming about the car Shaw had “stolen”. As Avery settled in with a glass of cider (sadly, it was soft cider), Rowan and Shaw resumed their earlier fight, which was itself a resumption of a previous fight. Little Jason watched and aimlessly banged his trucks together.
“Fight back, pussy!” Shaw and Rowan bumped chests.
“Lay off!” Rowan pushed him to the ground.
“C’mon, fight me! You know you can’t!”
They both wrestled, knocking over the coat-rack by the door and a lamp. Avery backed up out of the way, putting him close to Mack, who picked up Jason and put him on the stairs so he wouldn’t be trampled. Avery felt Mack’s body heat. Mack ignored him, dourly watching his sons fight. He had ceased trying to stop it.
Avery caught Mack’s eye and beckoned as though he needed help with something private. He sort of swept Mack up to nudge him to come along. Mack went with him, and the roar of the battle in the living room went quiet when they went into the garage and shut the door.
“Thanks so for much for your help,” Avery said. He had manipulated Mack with body language and confidence, so Mack realized as he walked into the garage that he didn’t know why he was here.
“What did you need help with?”
“Oh… nothing too difficult,” Avery said. He grinned. “I have a feeling you’d like to get a nut off. Is that right?”
“Shit, hoss, always!” Mack said with a cackle and a whoop.
“So how about I bend over and you plow my ass hard?”
Get off me, Shaw! I’ll kick your ass!
“Oh, damn… Oh…” Mack’s cocky demeanor vanished. He was momentarily nervous. Then he took a deep breath. “Hot damn. Uh, okay…” He paused. “You can’t tell my dad. He’d kick my ass.”
Avery rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.
Mack took a deep breath. “Man… It’s no big deal, just so you know. You’re not my first.” He blushed until his cheeks were the color of cherries. “I, uh… Back in college, my frat had this scavenger hunt thing I had to do, and uh…” He chuckled and blushed. “I was just… It was on my list, and I had to do it, that’s all-“
“You don’t need to explain,” Avery said. He smiled. “Come on, let’s go. If you wanna stick it in me, you gotta stop talking.”
Pulling his own pants down, Mack sat sideways on a riding lawnmower, so he faced Avery. A big dick popped out of his underwear. Avery went for it with his mouth. He planted his lips right on it, and there was a twitch immediately as it flickered into life.
A gasp escaped from Mack’s lips, though he tried to look confident. He was also excessively concerned about noise — his sons still fought in the house, which was much too loud for anyone to hear Mack’s heavy breathing from the garage. But he jumped every time there was a noise, like when Shaw and Rowan knocked stuff over in the living room.
“Hey! That’s enough!” Woody was getting involved now, and Mack pursed his lips shut tightly because the house was suddenly silent. He threw his head back and let out a soundless moan, his open mouth hanging agape, tongue lolling out.
Soon Mack’s dick was hard, and it throbbed as it leaked precum down Avery’s throat. Avery licked the shaft, tracing the trail of the vein that ran up and down the underside of it. Mack let out a long, low-rumbling moan.
“You’re gonna stick it in me too, right?” Avery said because it looked like Mack was planning on cumming like this.
Mack chortled. He removed his baseball cap, ran his fingers through his hair, then put it back. “I dunno, hoss…”
Avery said. “That’s what you agreed to. You wanna back out?”
“No! I just… Just keep your voice down,” Mack said, even though he was the one who was loud.
Avery just kissed Mack on the cocktip, slathering spit on his shaft. “Are you ready ?” Before he gave Mack a chance to answer, Avery got down on his knees and sucked the sweat off Mack’s balls.
Mack gasped and writhed. His muscles all flexed, and he wanted to let out a shout but couldn’t because the family in the living room was being quiet now. They’d hear.
His balls were heavy and full, and Avery loved savoring them. Ballsacs always had such an intense flavor that brought tears to Avery’s eyes as he gurgled and choked on them. That was loud, but only in the immediate vicinity of the lawnmower on which Mack still sat. Mack remained paranoid though, alternating between shushing Avery and loudly gasping nervously.
“I can’t believe this is gonna be my first time putting it up the butt,” Mack said, his voice quavering as Avery pulled off his balls and stroked his dick with one hand. Avery turned around and aimed his ass for Mack’s crotch. Mack sighed. “Girls always say it’s gross. Chicks are all cockteases.”
“Yeah. You should totally stick your dick in dudes instead,” Avery said as he lowered himself onto Mack’s cock.
“You’re not really an unbiased advisor…” Mack said with a chuckle. He leaned way back, like he didn’t want to touch Avery’s body any more than necessary.
That meant it was up to Avery to do most of the actual movement here. He backed his ass up, grimacing at the intense pressure that ate up his focus. He grunted and gritted his teeth. This was especially awkward because Mack just sat there on the lawnmower, watching as Avery struggled to keep his ass in position — he had to kneel over and raise his ass as high as he could make it go.
Avery was just about to tell Mack they needed to try a different position when his ass finally loosened. A loud sigh emanated from deep in Avery’s precum-lubed throat. Mack sighed too, in shock as a surge of pleasure shot up his spine.
“Goddamn, man… Remember my dad can’t find out,” Mack said, his voice wavering like he was on the verge of tears. He whispered even though the TV was on in the living room, drowning out all other potential sounds. There was no way anyone in there could hear unless they stood with their ears literally on the garage door.
Mack’s fingers gingerly gripped Avery’s hips. Mack’s eyes opened wide, and his mouth was agape once more. He couldn’t believe how good this felt. He had hoped it might feel like a woman’s pussy, but he was shocked that it felt so much better. Mack blushed and writhed beneath Avery’s body.
He was so impassioned and aroused that he grabbed Avery’s hips, forgetting that he was trying not to touch Avery any more than absolutely necessary. He held onto Avery’s body and guided him up and down, even as his mind told him not to, that this was too weird.
Mack sighed. If his buddies ever found out about this, he’d never hear the end of it. And if his father found out? As Mack reached a potent orgasm, he was filled with terror that his dad would come in right now and see him — he’d tease Mack about it forever.
But Mack couldn’t help but respond as an incredible orgasm flowed through him. He’d never felt like this. He pounded on his muscular chest and threw his head back with such force that his backwards baseball cap fell off, landing on the lawnmower beneath him.
“Shit, man!” Mack shouted, finally loud enough that people in the living room could have heard it.
Cum flowed into Avery’s ass, great gobs of it that filled him up. Since he was on top, it ran out and down his leg onto the floor of the garage. Avery shot his own wad, but most of it ended up in the body of the lawnmower.
Their orgasm continued for what felt like forever. Mack had never experienced anything like this, but it was old hat for Avery. He let out a long, cringing moan, then leaned back and rubbed his face against Mack’s well-muscled chest.
“Hmmm…” Avery murmured into Mack’s muscular arms, which wrapped around him as both men finished their climaxes and cum seeped out of Avery’s ass onto the floor of the garage and the side of the lawnmower.
They both fell back, limp and exhausted. Avery stretched his weary legs. He didn’t want to leave just yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time before their absences were noted. Avery pulled his pants up and kissed Mack on the neck.
“Thanks,” Mack said. Avery gave him the two hundred dollars he had promised.
“You’re welcome,” Avery said.
Avery went back out to the living room — leaving Mack to breathe heavily and recover in the garage — where he watched little Jason be cute for awhile with the other males. But they were mostly watching a football game, not the kid. Avery quickly lost interest because he hated football. The only part of football he considered exciting was the men — sometimes you could catch a glimpse of their jockstraps. But he wasn’t having much luck with that today, and the menfolk were boring, silently watching the game. The fight between Rowan and Shaw seemed to have ended. They now sat next to each other quietly, meanmugging.
So Avery went into the kitchen to see how Thanksgiving dinner was progressing.
It was, except for the turkey being undercooked and then accidentally dropped on the floor, done.
The women — Lenore and Vanessa, Mack’s wife (and therefore Lenore’s sister-in-law) — had knocked it off the table when a fight began mere seconds before Avery walked in the door. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment, watching the fight and struggling to process what he saw. He’d known Lenore for a long time, and she had never been the type to get into a slapfight.
“Don’t you dare talk about my son!”
“You filthy bitch, you turned my brother into a douche, and you’re trying to raise my nephews to be just as bad!”
“You’re not even a mother, you don’t get to criticize how I raise my son!”
They both tried to hit each other. A loud smacking sound rang out, but Avery couldn’t tell who had made a good hit and who hadn’t. Both women erupted in shouting and insults. Avery was still too shocked to respond right away.
Finally, Avery grabbed Vanessa and pulled her off Lenore just as the kitchen filled with the rest of the menfolk. They were all dumbfounded by the eruption of anger, and even Jason stayed silent and still, hugging his father’s leg.
“You elitist whore!” Lenore screamed. “Just because you’re so vain and self-obsessed as to spend nine hundred dollars on shoes, doesn’t mean I have to!”
“Oh I’m sorry, I don’t steal my shoes from the funerals of obese spinsters,” Vanessa said with a haughty glance at Lenore’s clunky brown shoes.
“You sticky-cunted bitch!”
“I’ll rip your goddamn eyes out!”
Mack stepped forward to intervene. He left his son behind to stand between the two. He put his hands up and said something that Avery couldn’t hear because of the loud shouting of the women.
Avery thought he was being the only responsible one in the room by grabbing little Jason by the hand and taking him out. Woody had the same idea at the same time though, and he scooped Jason up in his arms.
“Grandpa! What are they saying?”
“Nevermind them, they ain’t actin’ like adults,” Woody said. He and Avery went with Jason out to the backyard. Once the door was closed and they couldn’t hear the fight anymore, Avery felt a lot better. He was just about ready for this Thanksgiving to be over.
“No one fights like family,” Avery said, a little awkwardly — he didn’t know what else to say. Jason stood among a bucket of toy cars he had brought to the house. He was outside, and he seemed to realize he was supposed to play with those toys. But he didn’t know how or was too stressed by the fight to do so. Avery cleared his throat as he sat down with Jason and his toys, getting him started. “The turkey is not edible.”
“Yeah… I’ll do something about it.” Woody said. He called in an order for pizza, and then poked his head back inside. “”Hey y’all, hey! Hey! Shut the fuck up for a second! Hey! I ordered a pizza since you dicks have ruined everything. Y’all better pay, and you better give a good tip cuz it’s a holiday.” He slammed the door shut before anyone could respond. He looked at Avery. “It has been a hell of a day.”
“Gotta love your family…” Avery with a wry grin. Now that the fight was over and Avery had played with Jason’s toy cars, Jason had lost his inhibitions — he showed Avery how he was “doing it wrong”, then started playing on his own. Soon the fight faded to a dull roar, and Jason seemed to have forgotten about it.
He thought he was alone, but at some point, Shaw came into the living room.
“Look…” Shaw leaned in and whispered in Avery’s ear. “I need some booty, man… I’ll… give you a reacharound if you let me take you in the garage and plow into you until your asshole falls off.”
Avery sighed and squirmed as Shaw’s hand roamed over his back lightly. Then they both hurried — without walking quickly because people in the house could have been looking — to the garage. Once they got in without being seen, Shaw groaned.
“I knew I ain’t wanna have no Thanksgiving, what a pain! And we won’t even get to eat none of that turkey,” Shaw said as he dropped his pants. He scoffed. “Only pizza place open today is shitty as hell. Vonelli’s, man, fuckin’ awful.” He flopped his limp dick between his legs. “C’mon, hurry up. I’ve been waitin’ for food all day, and I am not missing that pizza.”
It all only took a minute or two for Avery to have his pants around his ankles and for Shaw to jam his still-limp dick into Avery’s ass. He stiffened up, rubbing his cock between his asscheeks. It all happened so quickly that Avery still wasn’t quite ready. His knees remained sore from getting plowed — right here in this garage, on the lawnmower against which Shaw leaned now — earlier, and this was all happening so fast.
“Damn, you’re… in a hurry,” Avery said with a chuckle. Then he bit his lip. Shaw’s cock slammed into him, and he grunted loudly. Avery squirmed and gasped. “Shit!”
“Shush…” Shaw snorted and sighed moistly, the sound resonating in Avery’s ears as he worked himself back on Shaw’s dick. Shaw’s hands roamed over his torso and shoulders, holding Avery in place. He drilled his dick in bit by bit.
“Shit, don’t let my dad or grandpa know about this,” Shaw said. He inhaled deeply of the scent of Avery’s face. “And especially not this.” He gripped Avery’s dick.
Avery was so shocked he couldn’t respond as pangs of pleasure shot through him — he would have never thought someone like Shaw would give him a reacharound. He was pinned between Shaw and the wall, which he clawed at and gasped into.
His hand fumbled with Avery’s cock crudely. It was obvious he had little experience with this. In Shaw’s fraternity, there had been a “rule” that was oft-mentioned: you can cornhole your assigned pledge, but you have to give him a reacharound. Having been on both sides of that equation, Shaw had few inhibitions about it now. Jacking Avery off didn’t even feel any different than jacking himself off, except that he got to plow into Avery’s tight ass at the same time.
An orgasm hit Avery first. He writhed beneath Shaw’s arms and cried out. The most exquisite bliss flowed through his veins as cum flowed into his ass and Shaw sighed into his ear.
“Shit, goddamn,” Shaw said with a sigh. “Thanks, man, I needed that.” The last few drops of cum filled up Avery’s ass.
“Yeah, me too,” Avery said. Shaw kept going, moaning right into Avery’s ear, which he nibbled on too as he gyrated his hips. That turned his cumload into a big frothy mess that dripped down Avery’s legs.
“Hey Grandpa! Pizza’s here! Where’s your wallet?”
“Shaw, c’mon! Pizza!”
“Where’s Avery?”
Shaw moaned, his voice breaking. He swore and slapped Avery’s asscheek as he pulled out. His last few jets of jizz spurted over Avery’s back. “Fuckin’ hell,” he said.
“Shaw!”
“I’m coming!” he shouted, then he laughed. He spoke more quietly. “Or rather… I just came.”
Avery sighed and sat on the cold cement floor of the garage. “You go ahead. I gotta recover. Thanks for lettin’ me come to your house for Thanksgiving,” he said with a bashful smile. He wiped his ass clean with a rag from the garage. “Your family has been gracious hosts.”

Smashwood Trailer Park

Rob is at it again, this time at the legendary Smashwood Trailer Park for an ultra-raunchy tale of redneck, hick, hobo, thug and hillbilly action! It’s filthy… it’s disgusting… it’s gotta be Smashwood!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob Winthrop strode into Smashwood Trailer Park trying to look confident. This was a rough place, and he wasn’t a tough guy. Rob was wealthy, but he hadn’t let on when setting up today’s event. Hopefully nobody knew he was a billionaire. Everyone in the trailer park stared at him surreptitiously, but no one met his gaze.
Smashwood Trailer Park crawled with men. There were a few women too, but Rob could safely ignore them. They would be irrelevant today. Once things got started, they’d probably find better things to do anyway, Rob assumed. That was how it usually happened. And Smashwood was mainly home to single men, this part of it, anyway — the other side of Smashwood was for women and families.
Here was where the single men lived.
A gravel strewn with glitters of glass ran down the way, with a few dirt offshoots leading to tiny cul-de-sacs. The further from the main gravel road, the more rundown the trailers went, culminating in a suburb of sorts of shacks and shanties and lean-tos and cardboard boxes stacked in little palaces of rain-soaked debris, where muddy, unshaved men with wild eyes lived.
He went to the trailer of Baxter Pence, which was on a dirt road but not at the end of one. His was the last proper trailer on this spoke, as it was followed by a burnt-down husk before the trailers became shacks. He glowered at Rob but he opened the door and let him in. Bax Pence was a grungy hick, ropy-muscled and taut like he was hungry — he always looked hungry — with a heavily tattooed body that was very tan because he worked outside — he held up a stop-sign for a road crew — and rarely put a shirt on. He kept a tight wifebeater with him most of the time so he could put it on if he had to go into a store, but he only did that when he needed to. Around here, most stores didn’t give too much of a crap about the whole no-shirt-no-shoes-no-service thing. Bax was so tan he could pass for black if he wore a doo rag.
“Ah, shit, man… Let’s get this over with,” Bax said. “I got shit to do today.” He didn’t reveal what that “shit” was, but it was pretty obvious to Rob — Bax wanted to smoke meth. Or maybe sell meth, but Rob suspected the only reason he might have sold it was in order to buy it and smoke it for himself as well.
He caressed Bax’s ropy-muscled bicep as Bax cleared away some mud-splattered clothes from a small loveseat. His wiry body plopped down on it, and Rob went right to his chest.
He had an amazing six-pack, though it was obviously not because he was in great shape — it was because he was so skinny, he had that meth-addled physique. He even missed one front tooth, and his other teeth were chipped and yellowed. His body was greasy, unwashed for a long time, reeking of sweat and body hair, even though Bax was not hairy.
Rob pulled Bax’s cock out. He put the tip in his mouth and gurgled merrily on the nasty flavor — it was sour and salty, like unclean meat, like a steak you don’t want to eat. But Rob did want to slurp all that nastiness off. Bax’s muscles rippled beneath Rob’s touch. His tattoos were distorted and distended, like they had been done when he was much bigger than he was now.
A few other guys headed to Bax’s trailer, poking their head in but backing off when they saw Bax’s meth-starved body pounding away. No one wanted to seem too eager, so they didn’t line up, they just pretended there was no particular reason to mill around there, yet they did it anyway. They smoked cigarettes and pretended not to sneak peeks inside.
“Ah, shit, boys, he’s doin’ it!” Bax called out. He had decided there was no point in trying to be surreptitious or discrete about it. It was what it was. They all knew what was going on in here. His lithe body bounced back and forth. He wasn’t sure if he still had a hardon at this point, but his dick was in the freak’s mouth, so he was fulfilling his obligation as he saw it. All Bax cared about was getting enough money to buy his next hit of meth. “He best not stiff us, you won’t stiff us, right?”
“I’ll pay, I’ll pay,” Rob said through his moans.
“Oh yeah, Bax’s doin’ it! Bax’s doin’ it!”
“Shut up, man, don’t be a pansy. You’ll be on top-“
“Aw… fuck, there’s no way I’m doing it. I’m no-” That was the young redneck with the blond shaggy mane that was almost a mullet, Cabel Yoder, who kept blushing and looking away but sticking around with a face like someone had a gun to his head. “Aww, man, shit…” He had a big grin on his face. His pecs rippled beneath his sleeveless shirt every time he laughed.
“You sure?”
“You turnin’ down a nut, dude!?”
“Aww, man…” Cabel was clean-cut for a trailer park, in that he had all his teeth and no track marks. He was from a military and firefighter family, and he had some kinda Army crest tattooed on his back, along with rows of thorny roses. His back was lined with muscles. “Should I do it?” His cheeks burned red. He did like getting blowjobs, and he didn’t mind a blowjob from an ugly woman. This was no different, he thought…
Rob’s eyes were bugging out by the time he started to deep-throat Bax, whose cock got hard in his mouth. It was long but not too thick, making Rob wonder if his cock had gotten skinny when Bax started smoking meth just like the rest of Bax’s body got skinny. It tasted grimy, gritty, slimy with layers of sweat caked on, and Rob slurped all of it off. Before he knew it, that Cabel Yoder’s hardon was in his hand too.
“Aaah…” Bax moaned.
But that wasn’t going to happen. He writhed as his cock throbbed in Rob’s mouth. Bax was glad the meth hadn’t ruined his erections yet.
They were all going to ram Rob, all of the men in this trailer park. They were going to do it dirty, they were going to do it nasty, they were going to do it as one massive, multi-man pile-up, and Rob was going to enjoy every moment of it.
Rob got them to do this by promising two things every slice of trailer trash wanted: money and hot chicks.
Or one hot chick anyway: Jaleena Tight the porn star. She had been looking to do some kind of a redneck gangbang movie — they were hot right now — and she needed the rednecks. Rob, a long-time friend of hers, had agreed to provide them, and he middlemanned in the best way he could think of — only those trailer park trash who were willing to ramrod him now would get to gangbang Jaleena later.
So virtually all of them were going to do it. Most of the trailer park was coming in today, from this side of it at least. A couple of married guys from the other side were probably going to sneak over soon, but presumably without telling the wives. This wasn’t the kind of activity wives needed to know about.
“C’mon in, boys,” Rob called out when he sensed Bax was nearly ready to cum. Bax groaned — he had really wanted this gangbang to be more of a serial thing, not all-at-once. He didn’t need all of these white trash fuckheads cumming in his trailer. But that was already happening, with that Cabel Yoder and his buddy Jacob Billyman jousting in Rob’s open mouth, where Bax was smearing his precum on Rob’s tongue.
Rob reached out and pushed the door open, pulling off Bax’s dick for a few seconds to grab it. He thought Bax must have locked it, that was why no one had come in yet.
But the door popped open easily. That wasn’t why no one had come in.
No one wanted to be the first to start. They milled around and poked their heads in, gasping but trying to seem nonplussed when they saw Rob slathering spit up and down the local methhead’s shaft. It throbbed against his tongue, and Rob stroked it with both hands.
“Ah, shit-“
“Nasty-“
It was Cooter — Jethro Wilde — who came in first. He was older than most of the men in the trailer park, and he didn’t see any reason to dilly-dally. That was for young pups. He wasn’t going to be self-conscious, and he’d rather go now than wait for the nasty stranger to be all cum-coated and nasty.
“This the sissy who wanna get gangbanged?” Cooter said with a sneer. He licked his lips.
“Uh-huh, hang on, I’m gonna cum in a sec-“
“Nah,” Cooter said. He had a big hairy barrel chest, with curls of salt and pepper hair extended around the fabric of his sleeveless shirt. He was here laying asphalt this summer, and he had a burly body that was streaked with sweat and a few clumps of gray in his chest hair. There was even some cement that had gotten fixed to his broad shoulders. His sun-wizened face crackled with the layer of fine cement dust that clung to his skin and which flaked off when he moved. His callused fingers gripping Rob’s face to hold it in place.
Cooter dropped his jeans and slapped his dick on Rob’s face. Rob sucked on it too, leaving Bax’s precum-coated shaft to focus on Cooter, who had a nice thick dick, a big ugly knobbly prick that tasted like the sweat that made his chest hair cling to his body.
It was sour and salty and it got hard right away — Cooter didn’t drink or smoke meth, so he got hard easily. Bax was embarrassed by that, in his mind, it was very obvious that Cooter got hard more quickly than Bax did, and everyone who had even slightly glanced in the trailer must have noticed. He didn’t realize that no one was paying that much attention to him.
So he overcompensated by pushing Cooter aside. He meant to push on his thighs — because Cooter stood by the couch Bax still sat on — but he ended up touching his ass. “Get off, man, wait your turn-“
“I’m tryin’-a get off, and don’t touch my ass.”
“No, I mean, lay off him until I’m done, I ain’t cum yet-“
“You don’t know how this works, boy! Ain’t no ‘layin’-off’ until you done, that is the exact opposite of how this works,” Cooter said with a laugh. “Come on in, boys, the water’s just fine! He sucks a treat!” Cooter whooped. A few guys poked their heads in more openly, but no one actually came on in as Cooter had demanded. It was cramped in there, for one thing, and it was impossible to get in without touching Cooter’s hairy body and ass or the masturbating duo of Yoder and Jacob.
“Can you boys double-team my mouth?” Rob asked. He took both dicks in hand, pushed them onto his tongue and suckled moistly, letting Bax’s precum run down Cooter’s shaft. Rob loved mixing fluids from multiple alphas, and the part he liked best was that they acted like it was a betrayal. They both twitched and sneered their faces at each other, as they dicks smashed knobs together in Rob’s mouth.
“Hell yeah-“
“Oh… yeah…”
Actually neither of them were especially keen on jousting. But no one wanted to be the only one to back out either.
“Only pussies get scared of jousting,” Cooter said, eyeing Bax and rather hoping he would complain — Cooter was older and tougher (he thought) than most of the guys here, so he really wanted to demonstrate that today. “You ever done that before, Bax?”
Bax scoffed as though the answer should have been obvious. “Of course, man,” he lied. He gasped then as a pearly drop of precum slipped out of Cooter’s dick and onto his cock. Ah, shit, there’s another man’s cum on me, shit, shit, shit, they gonna think I can’t defend myself…
He was so entranced by that anxiety that he didn’t quite know what to make of the orgasm that hit him hard. His eyes opened wide. His dick was rubbing against Cooter’s older, thicker shaft as he gasped and writhed, pleasure rocketing up his spine. That pleasure came more from the friction of rubbing against Cooter’s shaft than from Rob’s mouth. Bax nervously bit his lip, subduing a howl as his ropy-muscled body twisted on the couch.
Cum sprayed down Rob’s throat, and he guzzled every salty, creamy drop. Another man had come into the trailer now, a scuzzy older man, not quite as old as Cooter, but with a more weathered face and a beard like a hobo. He was in there just in time to see Bax cum and watch all that semen run down Cooter’s shaft.
Cooter came too, soon after that, while the young men Yoder and Jacob needed only a few seconds on Rob’s mouth to add their loads to the mess clinging to Rob’s face. They were glad to get out of there early, before things got too gross.
Despite the sheen of white goob on Rob’s face, that out-of-town stranger with the wild beard came in next. The hobo-beard man— who wasn’t quite homeless — he told everyone he met he was “no homeless bastard” — ignored the stink of jizz in the room and didn’t even seem ot notice Cooter’s jizz spurting onto his leg as he came in. Cooter’s orgasm was loud and animated, sweaty, like a hyperactive coyote.
That bearded near-hobo didn’t realize that no one had rammed Rob in the ass yet (today). He was oblivious enough to not really notice or care that Rob was still sucking the cum off Cooter’s cock and that his ass wasn’t even bare yet.
“Lemme in that ass, bitch…” hissed the near-hobo who didn’t know anybody else here. His name was Ramblin’ Joe — t’was what the whole world always done did call him — and he knew damn well how to ram a goledarned sissy. They want it hot and hard and relentless. He had a jutting square jaw, a crooked nose and two cauliflowery ears, looking like a prize fighter despite his small size.
It was kind of nice, he thought, ripping Rob’s pants down and lifting him up, no need to be nice or gentle, all you had to do was ram. He aimed Rob’s face towards the door to the trailer, dragging him to the floor and jamming his dick in that tight ass even before it was fully hard. It went right on, sending a wave of pleasure up Rob’s spine.
It had been a long time since he had done wreck a booty, so that near-hobo, Ramblin’ Joe, whom no one knew was hard at just the thought of it. He was glad to see the other guys were cleaning up after themselves, since Rob’s ass wasn’t covered in cum already — not that that would have slowed him down.
The near-hobo gripped Rob tight, feeding his dick in, letting out a grunt when he was finally hard. Rob felt a tight pressure and a pinch. He reached behind himself to guide the near-hobo’s dick in, but the layers of dirty pants and overshirts were in the way — he had only lowered his pants, not actually taken them off or even all the way down.
But it seemed he didn’t need to do much anyway. Rob was on the floor and the near-hobo pounded away at his ass, hard and relentless. Rob reached for the cocks in front of him — he was angled towards the trailer door, where two guys stood there with their dicks out — Buck Sampson and Cody Lankford. Laughing with each other and ignoring Rob they took turns slapping Rob’s face with their cocks, letting him lick both shafts, though they hadn’t gotten hard yet.
“Ah, this sissy is naa-aasty!” Cody peered like an explorer at the sissy’s face, but he didn’t touch it. He watched with wide eyes as Ramblin’ Joe’s balls went thwack-thwack on the sissy’s chin, and Cody giggled like a girl when a drop of spit his cheek. He backed off. He was little, just a spit over five feet tall, powerfully built for his size but still scrawny, with a raggedy shock of mud-blond hair. He was bright-eyed, green as jade, with light skin and a youthful face, looking younger than his big-ass buddy Buck, though they were the same age.
“They’s all like that, man, I swear, they’s all into that kinky shit…” Buck Sampson shook his head. His mighty thirteen inch cock flip-flopped between his callused mitts. He was a roughneck like some of the others, home from the oil rig to spend his money on his woman, which in fact was where she was today, shopping like a mother hen, leaving him free to wreck this sissy in whichever hole was free when Buck got into the trailer. Buck was damn near seven foot tall, built like a stevedore, which was not a word with which Buck ever done made acquaintance with, and he had a deep huffy-puffy voice. “He prolly narsty, Cody…”
“Lemme in that bitch’s mouth, I’m gonna get a little neck, shite…”
Finally someone else was ready to get in his throat. Rob didn’t even look up in time to see his face — it was a biker who went by Greaser — so he could do little more than open wide and let his mouth fill. He had a little rattail of hair, skinny as a sumbitch, walking leaning back a little all the time, ready whenever the moment struck him with a comb and some grease to slick back his hair. That was how he got the name. He had a fat dick, which joined Buck’s and Cody’s and whoever else’s that Rob jerked off in turn.
As he swallowed Greaser’s erect cock, Rob tried to get up on all fours, but the near-hobo behind him was shooting his nut up Rob’s guts, so when Rob moved, he smacked him. “Stay still, bitch, lemme in there-“
“Yo, dawgie, lemme in there too,” said some black guy, a big shaved-head man with big ditch-digger’s arms. He pushed past the others, his erect cock rubbing against their asscheeks and thighs — which he did deliberately so everyone would see how big his cock was — as he pushed into the trailer. He grimaced a little at the sight of that cum-filled hole, but he didn’t wait. It wasn’t gangsta to wait to your turn.
The black guy — Deff Jasper — loved to gangbang sluts. He and his niggas Tyrell, Killer and all them, Slim Jay, Thumper, they all got a bitch to give up her booty and all on at lesat a monthly basis. Deff be gangbanging.
But Done never ramrodded a man like this. Thumper spent thirty-four years in prison, so you know he done wreck a honky booty now and then. Slim Jay was a straight up pimp, off the clock right now though, cuz there ain’t no point in bringing hos to Smashwood Trailer Park, cuz don’t nobody got money there. He do come by to stick it in a cummy asshole. Slim Jay always say a nigga has gotta stick his dick in something nasty now and then. That’s what means it to keep it real. Slim Jay ain’t wear his pimping suit today though. He got standards. Tyrell Brickley did likewise dress down, cuz he was a clean-cut kinda nigga with the ugly dick like a caveman. He got his meat in there using all them other niggas’s nuts as lube, and Tyrell busted a nut quick cuz a nigga like him got shit to do.
Oodles of cum gushed down Rob’s thighs, and his asshole gurgled up the cumwad still in there. Deff wondered how many men had already gotten in there as he plowed in, grimacing at the feel of cum spilling out and around him. That was Tyrell’s and Slim Jay’s and all them.
It spilled over his dark skin and into his pubic hair, making a big frothy mess. “Woo-hoo, shit yeah! Sloppy seconds, baby!” His eyes opened wide when his entire cock slipped into Rob’s ass without a moment’s hesitation — no girl had ever done that. His whole ten-inch shaft got sucked right in. He wondered if Rob was that slutty or if it was just part of sloppy seconds, if cum was really just a great lubricant.
The smell of cum grew overpowering in the trailer. Deff both laughed and wrinkled his nose. It ain’t never smell this bad when he gangbanged a female. But this white-ass punk smelled like a hundred hobos’s cumloads, and there might well have be that many on his face as far as Deff knew.
“Damn, boy, take that shit!” Deff smacked Rob’s ass and then instantly regretted it because he felt someone else’s cum on his fingers. It was hot and goopy, and it made his stomach churn.
There were more men in the trailer now, and someone’s erect cock rubbed against Deff’s ass. He tried to blow it off. It wasn’t a big deal — he had done the same thing, after all, just a few minutes ago. It was attention-grabbing though, the feel of another man’s cock right next to his asshole. What if someone attempted at him? Deff would have to throw down.
His anxiety didn’t stop him from filling Rob’s ass with creamy seed. He hooted and hit Rob in the side, just hard enough to make him squirm and clench around Deff’s cock. Deff sighed and pulled out.
“Make it leak out, bitch, I wanna see it gape and get frothy, shit!” Deff wanted to watch his cum spill out of Rob’s asshole, but before he could, another trailer trash — Ransom Wargrave — was already flopping his dick over Rob’s ass.
Wargrave was hard and ready to go. This was gonna be humiliating and disgusting but worth it if he got to fuck Jaleena Busty. Just picturing her and her enormous tits was enough to make Wargrave horny. He loved porn.
He was in his late twenties, wearing a football jersey because he had been a star player in high school, and he hadn’t yet grokked that he looked like a loser still wearing it all the time. He was skinny for a football player, like he was stuck in the thirties before they learned about protein powder and creatine. Wargrave slid his dick into Rob’s ass, surprised at how easy it was — he thought he’d have trouble staying hard with so many dicks everywhere (he’d accidentally touched ten or eleven on his way in here).
Cum poured out and added to the puddle on the trailer floor. Wargrave was ginger at first when he saw that, but somehow the disgust only made his erection throb harder, and he slammed his dick in. He chuckled at the sight of droplets of cum spraying out and around.
Rob focused on slurping on Wargrave’s dick. That was his usual plan in these sorts of gangbangs. He just wanted to get as much dick as he could, but his mouth was the part that needed the most active attention. The trailer trash could just keep plowing his ass, he needed only to let them go to town on him.
But servicing cock actually required his attention, at least the way he usually did it. The more this whole experience continued, however, the more Rob could just lay there — on his back eventually because that was easier — while he was plowed into on both his ass and his mouth. He got them all: muscular studs like Julian Bondarinko and his buddies Hyler and Specs, black guys — like this local musclebound rapper Killer and his multiracial posse Lamar, Mikey, Mane, Hansen and J-Moc — this tubby fatso named Piggie whose belly stank like cheap cheese, a stringy-haired beggar named Tommy Weathers, a trucker named Manky who was just passing through, crackheads with names like Belmont and Spider and Nugget, all of them came to make Rob as nasty as could be. As predicted, at least one married man from the other side of the park, Jerry Maple, did come over and get a nut off real quick, before his wife noticed he was gone.
“Gonna make ya dirty-“
“Ah, boys, that is some nasty shit, lookit his ass, it’s all… gross…”
He lay on his back with his head dangling over the edge of the top-step leading out of the trailer. That angle made it easier for scumbag after scumbag to throat him down, until his mouth was coated with gobs of precum, semen and puddles of his own spit.
His throat was sore, but this was the part that Rob loved most. He could keep his mouth open as though his jaw was slack, and they just kept plowing in. Every time one person finished spewing jizz down his gullet, another one took his place. Once he got into the swing of things, Rob could — and gladly would — deepthroat any cock, no matter how big. In fact a couple of them had noticeably tiny dicks, like that Mikey Thimble, but even that contributed to the nasty mess all over Rob’s face, and he appreciated the lack of self-consciousness these men had about that.
How many loads was this? Rob had lost count. He was pretty sure he had at least thirty on his face now. He tasted cum everywhere. He couldn’t even tell which loads were on his face and which had been shot right down his throat.
“Make him cummy! Make him cummy!”
“His face is so nasty, got like a million babies on his face-“
“Ew, don’t say it like that, man-“
“It’s more than a million anyway. That is so gross. It looks like snot and shit!”
The last guy on his face was a young man who had very nearly refused to participate in this. He was Chris Hazel, and he was only nineteen, barely out of high school. He didn’t want to do anything gross, so he had opted out. He didn’t want to gangbang a female porn star either. He had cute-boy dimples but white-trash hair, and his furry chest was meaty and well-fed like he didn’t come from here. He did come from Smashwood, he just looked well-fed for a trailer park.
But when the others started teasing him about it, asking if he was unable to get hard, he felt compelled to do it. He stuck his hard dick in Rob’s mouth and closed his eyes, trying not to feel the clumps of cum that stuck to his thighs and his pubic hair.
Rob’s face had been virtually bukkaked — most of the men had shot in his throat, so it wasn’t real bukkake, it was more spit and precum and spat-up cum — and Chris was shocked to feel that sticky seed all over his balls and his shaft.
The guys in Rob’s ass were the raunchier ones — it took a special kind of guy to gangbang a male stranger. It was the ragged, long-haired Logan Barnaby who was last to go in there.
“‘Course Logan’s doin’ it…”
“He’ll stick it in anything!”
He had climbed in the window to get in that ass. Logan would gladly fuck any woman in the ass — he was known for that in the park, he had no shame about plowing morbidly obese women, elderly women, toothless drug whores, any woman who would willingly give up the ass, he fucked them.
He done stuck more than a few men in the ass too, but he was at least discrete about that. Usually. He was in a hard rock band, and he had a hard-living kind of face, he looked like the kind of man who lived in his car, which he in fact did — it was parked at the end of a dirt road at the far end of Smashwood. His work-hard jowls and broad shoulders were sore, his hairy greasy and unkempt, his cock uncut and fat as the beer bottles he was constantly drinking from.
Going last was not bad at all, he thought. It was like swimming in spooge. He wasn’t even sure he could feel the walls of Rob’s guts. It was all cum, like dipping his dick in a sauce made of raunch. His long stringy hair rocked back and forth and covered his face as he watched that young pup Chris spray one last load all over Rob’s face.
“Ah, damn, bitch…” he said with a sigh as his own orgasm rocked his body. It was intense, prideful — he felt like he had conquered a weaker man.
He added his own cum to the soupy mess that was Rob’s ass. Rob was still on his back, legs in the air, so as he finally experienced the last throes of his potent prostate orgasm, Rob’s toes gripped Logan’s hairy shoulder-muscles.
Logan didn’t mind. He stayed right there, dipping his dick in that cummy soup as it limpened in Rob’s ass. He cocked his head to the side, marveling at the intense pleasure his cock could bring someone like Rob. Rob squirmed and squealed, making the jizz that coated his face and body stream down onto the floor of Bax’s trailer.
“Well, fuck, bitch, you are nasty!” Logan said, in a tone that suggested he did not see that as an insult.
“I know,” Rob said, giggling. “But thanks for pointing it out.” He sighed and began licking up all the cum he could get to from his face, chest and ass. It tasted like spit and armpit sweat and other flavors he couldn’t quite identify. He was so focused on that he ignored the men laughing at him — and at Bax, whose trailer was positively soaked in cum.
“Ah… it’s nasty in here,” Bax said. He hadn’t predicted this would all happen in his trailer. He had put a sheet down on the couch, but of course, that hadn’t been enough. He’d assumed the action would move out into the trailer park proper.
“Yeah, it’s pretty nasty,” Rob said, rubbing his sore ass. He giggled and blushed. “Just the way I like it.” He put his clothes back out, and groped all the men he could reach as he headed for the trailer park’s entrance. “I’ll send Jaleena over tomorrow. I’ll be your fluffer too.”
Once they were away from Bax’s trailer, most of them got excited about tomorrow’s gangbang, and they began to brag about who would fuck her best, first and in the most interesting ways. Rob couldn’t wait for that too. He knew he wouldn’t get as much cum tomorrow, but it would be fun in its own way.
Plus he already had a lead on a construction crew who was willing to cornhole the everlasting fuck out of him next week.

Humiliated by a Scammer

Zion has no idea his family was targeted by a scammer who took everything they owned, and now it’s Zion’s turn to experience the ultimate in alpha male dominance! Can he submit to the superior man?

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Read the whole thing here!

“Look here, Zion, boy, I’m gonna be real upfront wit’cha,” said Uncle Nelson. Zion had trouble concentrating on his words because Uncle Nelson was so intimidating. He was tall, broad shouldered and thick-bodied. He had a dense bristly mustache. He had come over without Zion’s grandmother — who had married Uncle Nelson just a few months ago. He had never come to Zion’s apartment above the family restaurant without her. “I came into ya grandmama’s life wit’ an ulterior motive.”
“Where is she-?”
Nelson slapped him. “Don’t you interrupt me. I put her in a home.”
“What?” Zion’s heart sank. “Where? What?”
He slapped Zion hard. “Make me say it again, nigga! Make me say it again! Shut yo’ mouth!”
Despite his huge size, Uncle Nelson had always been incredibly kind until today. Zion was much smaller and weaker, so he had been scared from the moment his grandmom brought Nelson home from church one day. He was new to the area then, and he had fallen in love with her right away. Nelson was broad and muscular, so strong it looked painful, like he must struggle to carry around all those muscles.
“Now yo’ grandmama signed this whole building over to me,” Nelson said. He paused to see if Zion would interrupt him again, but he didn’t. Zion trembled in front of him. Nelson lightly slapped his cheek again. “Listen Zion boy, you know what liquidate means? Course you don’t, you a dummy. It means when you take somethin’ that ain’t worth much and you take it apart and you use all the parts some other way. Like when a store goin’ outta business, they liquidate it. You feel me, Zion boy?”
“Yeah, man, but where’s my dad-?”
“Yo’ daddy’s in jail, but I’m comin’ to that.” He smiled. “I ain’t a nice nigga, Zion boy. I know I been actin’ nice, but I ain’t nice at all. Yo’ family was not wise to trust me.” He undid his belt and let his pants plop heavily to the floor, then he took his dick out. Zion yelped in surprise — and fear, because it was more than a foot long, veiny and dark, and it smelled vaguely of sweat and pussyjuice — and he tried to stand up, but Nelson pushed him back down. “Lemme just be real frank wit’cha. Yo grandmama married me and signed e’rything over to me. So I own yo’ family’s house and yo’ family’s store and I even own yo’ car, nigga, which by the way, you may not use.”
“You can’t do that-!”
“Already done, nigga. Yo’ daddy’s in jail cuz I tol’ him I put yo’ sister out on the street as a ho if he ain’t sign this murder confession — there was a killin’ I had weighin’ me down, nigga. Not no more,” he said. He carefully folded his pants and put them on the table next to him. Then he picked up his dick as though to display it for Zion’s benefit. He held it in one hand, and Zion was unable to look away from it. It jiggled when Nelson spoke. “Now yo’ sister was a little old to start hoin’, but I’m gonna make it work. She can make me a pretty penny.”
“Wait, what?!”
“I am liquidatin’ yo’ family, nigga. Y’all is a bunch of rank-ass pussies, and I am takin’ ya out,” he said. He thwacked his limp dick over Zion’s face. “You might wanna start lickin”, befo’ I get real mad, Zion boy.”
“My dad is in jail? He-“
But Nelson’s cock pushed into Zion’s mouth, and Nelson chuckled as Zion gagged. His dick was limp and rubbery at first, tasting of salty sweat. Tears welled up in Zion’s eyes. That fat cock rested on his tongue, and when he tried to push it off, Nelson slapped his hands away. He didn’t do anything with his dick, it just rested there, like Zion’s mouth was its new natural home.
Then Nelson swayed, making his limp dick jiggle and jump around, roping over Zion’s face. It was so thick, much thicker than Zion’s, and it smelled like a locker room in a low-cost gym. Zion’s stomach churned.
His mind kept replaying the things Nelson had said. None of that made sense, what did he mean? Zion’s sister was not a prostitute. His father was not a murderer, none of this made sense. Why was Nelson acting like this? But Zion couldn’t formulate any words because he was entranced by the rod of throbbing hot dickfat smearing Nelson’s body odor over every inch of Zion’s face.
“Ah, yeah, this is the part I love,” Nelson said. “No teeth. No hands. No regrets.” He moaned without breaking eye contact with Zion, who felt a flush of embarrassment and looked away. Nelson dug his nails into Zion’s cheeks and forced his eyes back to Nelson’s. “Lookit me when I’s plowin’ you, boy. You mine now, nigga. You should thinka yo’self as a slave, even if the law ain’t allow slaves no more.”
“But, Uncle Nelson, I-“
He laughed, forcing his cock back into Zion’s throat. It was so huge that it didn’t feel real to Zion, who had never seen a cock so big. A few drops of precum hit his tongue, and the electrifyingly salty flavor made Zion gag.
“You still callin’ me uncle, boy? I ain’t yo’ family.” He wrapped his hands around the back of Zion’s head, and began to slowly grind his dick lower and lower in Zion’s throat. “I let you be a busboy in the restaurant. I ain’t gonna pay you a damn dime, but I let ya eat scraps and shit. You may not find any of the waitresses sexy.”
Having been in shock since this began, Zion hadn’t really fought back. But as his throat heaved and his lungs cried out for oxygen, he realized he could fight. He clawed at Nelson’s muscle-bound body and squirmed. His whole body tensed up, but Zion was skinny and lanky, not solid like Nelson.
“Ah, there it is, there you go,” Nelson said. He held tightly onto Zion’s head. “You fightin’ now, huh? That’s normal, that’ll pass. I’m gonna break you, boy. See it used to be that the rule of law weren’t so strong, and weak-kneed motherfuckers like you and yo’ whole family just get took up by some strong motherfucker like me, someone who can make sure you reach yo’ maximum potential. For you…” Nelson laughed, smearing tendrils of spit over Zion’s face as he watched him choke on his massive cock. “Yo’ maximum potential is a busboy who occasionally gets to eat my asshole. Yo’ whole family was garbage, Zion boy. Yo’ granddaddy was worth a damn, but he dead now. You’d have just run this company into the ground. I’m takin’ it.”
Zion squealed and tried to crawl away, but Nelson = punched him again. Pain erupted in Zion’s side, and he collapsed onto the floor. Zion rolled onto his back. Nelson slowly lowered his hefty, broad ass right on Zion’s face. His crack was choked with dark kinky black hairs, which scratched Zion’s skin.
“Lick it up, Zion boy, get ya tongue in there.” When Zion didn’t comply right away, Nelson punched him in the belly. Zion groaned. “Get yo’ tongue inside my asshole now, bitch.”
Zion still wanted to fight, but he was so weak and skinny. His body submitted even as his mind wanted to fight back. His tongue slipped into Nelson’s asshole. The taste of man-funk flooded his senses.
It was so rank, so foul, the flavor overwhelming all of Zion’s other senses. Utter humiliation wracked his body. Only an absolute fool would let another man do this, he thought.
Nelson loudly moaned. His ass-sweat trickled into Zion’s mouth, and Zion gagged so violently his stomach hurt. Nelson sat on his face, all of his weight pressing down on Zion’s head. He was big man, and it felt like Zion’s head was going to cave in. He couldn’t focus on anything but squirming beneath Nelson’s giant body.
“Move ya tongue around some more. How’s my ass taste, boy?”
“Please… stop-” Zion had to shout to be heard through the meat of Nelson’s ass. That made Nelson laugh and pound on Zion’s belly some more.
“Nah, this is yo’ life now, Zion boy, it’s already done. Get used to it.” Nelson rubbed his asshole over Zion’s face, leaving a layer of funk. Zion’s nose dug into his asscrack from top to bottom. “From now on, e’ry time I come into my restaurant, or up here — anytime you see me, basically — I want you to lick my asshole, okay?”
“No!”
Nelson stood up and punched Zion in the belly. Zion screamed and gagged as the rush of fresh air made the assy taste on his tongue even more rancid. He writhed, but Nelson made him stay on his back. “What’d I say? You my slave, bitch. You can leave any time, but I own ya ass. I own this building and I own ya car and I own ya job and I own e’rything here in this apartment. I got ya daddy in jail and ya grandmom in care and ya sister out hoin’. I can decide to drop any one of ’em loose anytime,” he said.
Through his tears, Zion grunted. “I can… do…-“
“You can leave, wit’ nothin’. I will take the shoes off ya feet. I just might break all the bones in yo’ feet too, just to make sure you nevuh work again. You will work for me, Zion, for the rest of your life. Or I will make your whole family’s life hell. Ya feel me?”
“Y…. Yes.”
“Good. Now say ‘I will lick yo’ asshole, Nelson’.”
A sob escaped from Zion’s lips. “I… I will lick ya asshole, Nelson.” Zion’s tears were squashed by Nelson plopping down on his face again.
This time, Zion had no choice but to lap at that funky hole as tears streamed down his cheeks. The filthy, gritty feeling was almost, but not quite, enough to make him forget his sobbing. Nelson guided Zion’s hands around his body to his cock. Zion’s tongue ran up his guys and tasted his sweat, while his hands stroked from the root to the tip of Nelson’s fat throbbing dick.
“Stroke me off, boy. That’s how you do a rimjob. Tongue in deeper. Tongue deeper, boy!” He punched Zion in the belly again, and when Zion cried out, he grabbed his tongue. He pulled it out until Zion squealed. “See this? You got a good five inches of tongue here, boy. I wanna feel all five inches in my ass, or I swear to Christ I will shove my foot up your ass, and I am not playin’, I can show you the evidence I did it before.”
He nearly lifted Zion from his knees by his tongue but instead lowered his ass to meet his face, so he reached underneath himself to shove Zion’s tongue into his asshole. He did it so forcefully his own finger penetrated his own ass at the same time, while Zion sobbed into the filthy asscrack of the superior man above him.
Zion tried to look away, but each time Nelson slapped him and forced him to look him in the eye. He was so intimidating that Zion couldn’t think of any plan besides squirming and begging whenever he could catch a breath. Nelson’s burly mustache shook as he sneered.
“You are one pitiful li’l bitch. You a sissy?” He raised his eyebrows and looked down at them.
“No! No, come on!”
“You should be
The fact that Nelson was not a thug made him scarier to Zion. He looked like a church deacon — he was, in fact, a church deacon — and he spoke like a Hollywood hero (or villain). He had a slightly stawk-heavy East Coast accent, sounding like he was from maybe Philadelphia or someplace like that. New Jersey, maybe. His words rang out like a prophecy in Zion’s ears.
Zion felt filthy and worthless. Zion sobbed in Nelson’s plump ass, while Nelson rubbed his hole over Zion’s tongue like a dog with infected anal glands. Every time Zion’s tongue stopped moving for even a second, Nelson hit him or pinched him hard until Zion resumed lapping at his grimy prostate.
Nelson let out a long, low whistle. His cock throbbed in Zion’s hands. “Hell yeah, there ya go. Fuck yeah. You got it. This is how you do a rimjob, Zion. All of ya tongue in there, hands on my dick… You gonna make me nut, boy, I swear… I was gonna wreck ya asshole today, but maybe I wait.”
A fluid hit Zion’s tongue. It was rancid and sour, and it tasted like farts, but Zion was pretty sure it was spit, cuz Nelson was spitting on his face, it seemed. Through his sobs and retches, Zion heard him calmly hocking up loogey after loogey. Zion squirmed, sobbing in pain and disgust. Nelson punched him in the belly over and over again.
“Keep ya tongue up in there, boy, and move it around some,” Nelson said. He groaned. “Yeah, nigga… Hell yeah…” His muscles all flexed at once, and a hot spray of cum shot over his flat belly. He shot a huge flow that seemed to go on for minutes, real honest-to-god minutes of continuous flow, coating his muscular chest in a sheen of jizz, which immediately ran down to his balls and his taint and then at last onto Zion’s tongue in his ass.
Zion was only barely aware of his own hands on Nelson’s dick. He didn’t really move them, he just held on, while Nelson ground his ass over Zion’s face, the movement making Zion give him a handjob as he licked his asshole. It must have felt good, the handjob or maybe the tongue, because Nelson let out a long simmering murmur that rattled the walls of Zion’s apartment.
A loud gag escaped from Zion’s throat, the sound swallowed by Nelson’s hefty body. Zion cringed as sticky fluids ran down his throat, coating his tongue. He thought for sure he’d never make that taste go away.
“Yeah, nigga… Ah shit, I am gonna like keepin’ you ’round as a rimjob-bitch. Get used to this,” he said with another whistle. He rubbed his butt over Zion’s face, sending fresh new waves of disgusting flavor onto Zion’s tongue. “Keep ya tongue out, boy.”
He grabbed Zion’s tongue as he lifted himself up. Zion yelped because Nelson really squeezed on his tongue with his fingers. Then Nelson kneeled next to Zion, put his nose right in front of Zion’s tongue and inhaled deeply.
“You smell like pure submission, bitch.” He hocked up another big loogie and spat it onto Zion’s tongue. It was grimy and sour, and Zion squirmed all over again. Drool spilled out of his mouth as he gagged over and over. Nelson had a disgusted sneer on his face, holding Zion by the tongue. He spat again and again.
Then he pointed to the cum he had sprayed over his own chest and flat stomach. It looked like a huge load, great puddles of it that ran in rivulets down his chest. It was so thick, like sour cream, it made Zion’s own jizz seem watery and pitiful. He had spurted a huge load, and a few drops continued plopping out one by one into Nelson’s crotch hair. “Lick my cum off me. I’m gonna make ya tongue so nasty you wanna cut it off.” He licked his lips, as he pulled Zion’s face over the puddles of jizz that coated his pectoral muscles.
Keeping a grip on Zion’s tongue while he rubbed it over his chest was difficult and awkward for Nelson because he was so much bigger than Zion. He had to scrunch in to make it work. But he didn’t let Zion control his own tongue — despite telling him to lick, Nelson didn’t allow it, he instead used Zion’s tongue like a rag to clean the cum off his chest.
The salty bitterness of cum cut through Zion’s pain and humiliation, making him sob all over again. Licking his chest reminded Zion how much stronger Nelson was than him. He felt like a warm marble statue. Zion didn’t want to caress his shoulder muscles like a girl being seduced, but his hands flailed and that’s what they did, embarrassing him even further.
“Now sit there. Look me in the eye.” Nelson pointed to a spot on the floor. “Don’t get up, don’t wipe your face off. You may swallow the nastiness on your tongue. If you spit, I will beat you. I wanna watch you swallow that. I wanna see it go down yo’ throat, cuz that’ll be you agreein’ to be my rimjob-bitch-slave. That’s yo’ willing agreement.” He held onto Zion’s throat with one of his massive hands.
Zion didn’t want to swallow. Every part of him rebelled against the concept.
But he knew Nelson wasn’t kidding about beating him if he spit, so he tried to hold the soup of filth in his mouth. Its creamy thickness sloshed around, viscous, and he imagined he could feel Nelson’s sperms swimming around on his gums and his tongue. That was ridiculous, right? You can’t feel sperm.
But it sure seemed like he could. He sobbed, and he felt the tears running down his cheeks. He felt that for sure. Just like he felt the sperm swimming, looking for something to impregnate on his tongue.
A moist sniffle came outta his nose, and Nelson looked down him like a pititful pile of dogshit. Zion wanted to come up with a plan, to gin up the courage to attack Nelson, or at least to call the police when he left. None of those options sounded optionable though. Nelson was a gangster, that was clear now, and looking back on it, maybe Zion should have always known that was true. It did seem weird that a man like that would marry his grandmother.
But old people were weird, Zion couldn’t understand why they did what they did.
And now it was too late anyway. He couldn’t go to the police, Nelson would punish him. All he could do was submit. He couldn’t avoid his instinct to swallow though, and he gagged violently as it went down his throat. He imagined he could feel Nelson’s sperm swimming in his belly.
Nelson spat on him again. “Don’t move from that spot. Don’t wipe ya face off, not until I walk out the door.”
He began to very slowly get dressed. His slacks were wrinkleless, perfectly flat — ironed, obviously — because he had folded them when he took them off. His shoes were fine leather too. Halfway through, as he pulled up his pants, he stopped, turned around and farted right in front of Zion’s face. The stench of spit-flavored fart hit Zion’s nostrils and he gagged. He wept continuously.
“If you do what I say, Zion boy, everything’ll be fine.” He went into Zion’s kitchen. “You got enough food in here to last a couple weeks. You tell me when you run out, I’ll give you more.”
Zion cried, sitting there. Nelson didn’t let him move yet, so he had to sit there with a mask of cum, spit and assjuice on his face. Nelson took some stuff out of his kitchen and placed it by the door. It was all the nice things, the meat from the freezer, a fancy bottle of olive oil, that kind of thing, plus a stack of fine china. He carefully arranged it all in a pile he could carry in one hand.
“I’m takin’ some of ya shit. You ain’t worth none of this, boy. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna let ya starve to death. You know how to cook beans, right?”
“Yeah.” Zion croaked. He gurgled and gagged all over again. Nelson chuckled.
“Good. Beans is cheap, I gonna give you mostly beans and rice.” Nelson walked past where Zion sat. He undid his belt, plopped his plump asscheeks in front of Zion again and farted on his face. He wrinkled his nose. “You is one worthless piece of shit, man, you know that?”
“Yes.” Zion’s voice had never felt so weak and wavery. He felt nothing but submission towards this man, who’d ruined his life and even despite that, Zion was going to do everything he said. He was like a God to Zion.
“Did you like eatin’ my ass?” He paused, then, just as Zion was about to answer, he snapped, “Say yes, bitch, or I’ll throw you out the window.”
Zion hesitated. “Yes.” When Nelson motioned for him to stretch that out, he winced and moaned. Nelson slapped him. Zion cringed. “I… I enjoyed eating your ass.”
Nelson’s phone rang. He looked at it, and his mustache wriggled. “It’s one of my bitches.” He answered it. “Hey, baby. Yeah. I be ovuh later. Uh-huh. Yeah cook me up somethin’. That sounds good. I’s just doin’ a little work.” He chuckled. He glanced at Zion. “Ain’t that kinda work. You ain’t gotta lick my doodoo-hole tonight though, baby, on ‘ccount of what I’s doin’ at work.” He laughed. “Nah, it ain’t a girl. This nigga displeased me. Nah, don’t worry, my princess, you ain’t gotta be jealous. Oh yeah? Oh shit… Alright, alright.” He looked at Zion. “Go sit in the bathtub, nigga.”
Zion retched as he got up, but Nelson kicked him in the belly.
“Crawl! When you in fronta me, bitch, you crawl!” Nelson chuckled into the phone. “Yeah, he my slave. Yeah, sure. He come clean ya house e’ry weekend.” He licked his lips. “Damn, baby, you got a evil side. I like that.” He knocked Zion over with his foot, then kicked him in the belly until Zion gasped and cried out. He heard a cruel female voice laughing through the phone. “Get in there, bitch!”
Nelson allowed him to crawl on his hands and knees into the bathroom. Zion was too exhausted and scared to fight back, or even to think about what was going on.
“Yeah, baby. You can do whatever you want to him. I’m-a do it now, I gotta put the video on.” He started recording. He took his dick out through the fly of his pants. “Open up ya mouth, boy, and start singing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’.”
The girl laughed hysterically as Zion tried to sing through his tears, and the sound of her guffaws carried tinnily from the phone in Nelson’s hand. The melody of the song was interrupted by hot, bitter piss flowing over his face, so it ended up just being the sound of him choking to the tune of the woman’s laughter. Zion sobbed and gagged, his stomach twisting in knots when urine streamed down his throat.
He pissed so much there was a little puddle around Zion’s bare ass on the floor of the bathtub. He cried and cried as Nelson put his dick away.
“Uncle Nelson… Please-“
“You still callin’ me uncle?” Nelson gathered up everything else in the apartment that he wanted — or that he judged to be too nice for a slave to have. He got it all up in a couple boxes, which he carted out to his Mercedes one by one. Before he left, Nelson stood over Zion and glared down at him. That mask of filth was still on his face, and Zion trembled, unable to think about anything but his desperate desire to be free of it.
Without another word, Nelson pursed his lips, hocked up a massive loogey and spat it out onto Zion’s face. It splatted and covered him in stinking saliva from his forehead to his nose, and it coated his eyes too, so it was in everything he saw.
Then, at last, Nelson turned around and walked out the door. Zion was relieved to be able to clean his face off and cry, alone.

The Champion of Diversity

When Avery has to go in for a diversity class, he didn’t think he’d be sharing it with an alpha male soccer jock. But Pierce Rippence doesn’t understand the difference between a Christmas party and a holiday party, meaning he’s in the same diversity class as Avery, leading to a hardcore conclusion bursting with man-on-man diversity-respecting action!

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Read the whole thing here!

Avery couldn’t decide if it was good or bad that he was the only person in the classroom. He had assumed there would be others. That was rather implied by the word “class”, after all. Otherwise, wasn’t it technically a “session”? That’s what he would have called it.
Regardless, Avery had to spend his whole Saturday learning about diversity in order to return to campus after Christmas break (or rather, “Winter Break”, as the school sternly insisted it was called). All this started because of a dumb joke he made about Puerto Rican men being argumentative.
At Goldendale Hills University, making a joke was a serious offense. Avery was hauled before a tribunal that cast judgement on him with all the fury of an angry cat lady, and he was sentenced to an entire Saturday of diversity training. An argumentative Puerto Rican might have felt stigmatized, the Vice-Dean of Student Inclusion and Indigenous Ways of Knowing had said, speaking so seriously that Avery had to hold back a laugh. Even now he giggled thinking about it.
In the classroom was just Avery and the instructor, a perky young chowder-white woman with a big smile and empty eyes. She kept staring at Avery as though he was a flower of infinite beauty unfolding with the wisdom of the ancients. Avery pretended not to notice. He wasn’t sure what facial expression he was supposed to use: chagrined, annoyed, bored, racist, ashamed, unrepentant? Nothing seemed quite right.
Finally she cleared her throat. “Okay, well, I guess you’re the only one this week. Welcome to Diversity Awareness, Acknowledgement of Harms in as to and regarding Inclusion, Surveying Inappopriate Attitudes and Combatting Social Ills, -Phobias and Intersectional Bigotries. Hot dog, that’s a mouthful!” she said that with the cadence of a joke and waited for laughter, seemingly unaware that her audience was only one or that that wasn’t a joke. Or was it? Then she laughed out loud, very loud, like she was competing with other laughers and needed to win. Avery looked around the classroom. No one was here. Had she made a joke? “My name is Margaret Sole, and today we’re going to explore what it means to be aware, diverse and inclusive. Just the two of us. That’s wonderful. That’ll really give us a chance to get into the nitty-gritty of it all.”
Avery nodded. Margaret looked at him like she was expecting a response, so he supported his head in his hands and said, “Hmm…”
“That’s right, thanks so much for that,” Margaret said. Again, her plastic cheer came across like it was aimed at some invisible supporter in the room. Avery looked around to see who she could be responding to. She didn’t have an earpiece in, and there was nobody Zooming in on a laptop or anything like that.
She cocked her head to the side. “And what’s your name?”
“Avery Flowers.”
“Avery, that’s fantastic, really it is, I love that name,” she said. She ticked a box on her clipboard with a flourish, like she really wanted someone to be impressed with the skill she used to tick off Avery’s attendance. “I love names, I really do.”
Who loves names?! Avery tried not to look disgusted at that. What does it even mean to love names?! How boring does someone have to be before that seems like a viable way to seem more interesting?
The door opened, and a frat boy walked in. He was short and athletic, and with a high-energy sort of machismo like he was making up for being short, and he must play some kind of running-based sport — maybe track and field — because his legs were like the legs of a racehorse stallion ten times his size, he could support a barge on those things. Despite that, he had the casual vibe of a hackeysack-enthused stoner, along with deep dimples and a smarmy grin. Avery instantly thought he was handsome, but he could tell that Margaret was turned off — he had that trying-too-hard charm that came from having always been the most popular, outgoing guy around. Avery wanted to taste his dick right away, while Margaret, he assumed, wanted to nothing more than to avoid getting hit on.
He was on the GHU soccer team, as it turned out. Avery didn’t follow soccer or he would have recognized him. He was well-known on campus and even off it.
That explained the calves too. The young man had legs like cannons.
“Yo, hey, ma’am, how you doin’?” He smacked his lips as though he might hit on Margaret. “I’m Pierce Rippence.” He flashed her a dimpled grin. “Hmmm… You’re a good teacher, miss, I can already tell.” He nodded hello at Avery and sat right next to him. He sat perfectly still, miming as an ‘attentive student’ for her benefit. He looked up at her with the rapturous eyes of a toddler watching his favorite teacher.
“Okay, well, thank you, Pierce,” the teacher said. “You missed my beginning spiel, it’s so important, so I’m going to go over it again.”
Avery didn’t understand that, because she hadn’t yet said any spiel or anything really. All she’d said was the name of the course and that she likes names.
But he didn’t want to say anything that might result in this class being any longer than it was, so he let Margaret repeat her “spiel”, which turned out to be the name of the class. She again said, “Hot dog, that’s a mouthful!” afterwards and again seemed to think that was a joke. She again waited for someone to respond as though it was a joke, then laughed like someone had done so. This time, Pierce looked around the room in search of someone who could explain what was amusing about all of this.
At least she didn’t re-explain that she liked names. Pierce remained forever ignorant of that fact about Margaret Sole.
Her “spiel” thankfully complete, Margaret began a whole new spiel. “Today we’re going to really come to understand what diversity and tolerance are. First off, can we talk a bit about what brought you both here to us today?”
Avery kind of zoned out then. He listened to Pierce’s explain his faux pas that led to this punishment — he had disobeyed the student government by promoting a campus party as a “Christmas party” instead of a “Winter Party”. Avery explained his dumb Puerto Rican joke, which didn’t even make sense out of context. Pierce didn’t respond, but about two minutes later he busted out laughing, turned around and said, “hey, I just got that, bro. Hilarious shit!”
The teacher frowned, her first unenthusiastic expression. “No, no, no, that was not ‘hilarious shit’. It was highly offensive to Puerto Ricans, especially those who are not argumentative. Personality traits are a highly racialized issue-“
“Uh, Miss? The Vice-Dean said it was offensive to argumentative Puerto Ricans. You say it’s offensive to non-argumentative Puerto Ricans,” Avery said.
“Yes, well…! Twice as bad then,” Margaret said.
Once the class got underway, Avery sat as quietly as possible, and he answered every question he could with whatever Margaret was looking for. While it was obvious Avery wasn’t taking this seriously, Pierce was luckily even more silly, so Avery seemed less problematic by comparison. He even filled out the “test” at the end with all of the blatantly correct answers. Pierce made a game of getting several wrong and making her explain obvious answers, like he insisted that Sri Lanka was a fictional place, like Xanadu or El Dorado, until she got out a map and showed him.
“It doesn’t sound like a real country,” Pierce said. “It sounds ridiculous. Sri Lanka.”
Avery tried very hard not to laugh. “I think I heard that too, Margaret. Like people used to think it was real-“
“It’s definitely real. It’s on the map.”
“I saw a map of Middle-Earth. Is that real?” Avery asked.
“Yep!” Pierce said. “Middle Earth is the equator. The equator is in the middle of Earth.”
“No. No, that’s made up, that’s-“
“The middle of Earth is a core of molten hot magma,” Avery said.
“Sri Lanka is definitely real,” she said. “So many people with racialized identities struggle with the validity of their homelands. It’s so important to treat these issues with respect-“
“That’s why I support the Republican Party,” Avery said. “Only the Republicans promise to fight against validity.”
“No, validity is a good thing — that’s — that’s not how-“
“My mom had validity once,” Pierce said. A smile flickered over his face. “It got real bad.”
Avery reached over to Pierce’s desk and gave his hand a supportive squeeze. “I’m so sorry, that’s awful.”
“I think you two are being silly now,” Margaret said. “There are students in this very school from Sri Lanka.”
“Name three.”
She paused and cocked her head to the side. Then she said, “No, that’s, that’s… that’s tokenism.” She shook her head, making her blue-dyed asymmetrical haircut tremble. “And that’s bad.” She sighed deeply, then took some forms off the stack of papers attached to her clipboard. “Since you both completed the course, I’m going to give you a certificate declaring you a Champion of Diversity-“
“Yes! A certificate?!” Pierce pounded on his desk with a big grin on his face. “My niggas are gonna be so jealous-“
“No, Pierce-!”
Avery laughed harder than he had ever laughed at anything. It was a double-edged sword, because when Avery and Pierce had stopped laughing at Margaret’s relentless sputtering, they then had to sit through a supplemental course in “n-word” use. Avery very nearly refused. He’d completed the course he’d been ordered to, but he figured she would just take away his next Saturday if he raised a fuss over it. Pierce seemed to reach a similar conclusion, and he too sat through it.
This time, neither of them made jokes. Pierce must have regretted prolonging this. Still, that laugh was worth it. Avery had to hold back snickers when he thought about it.
Finally, at the end of the afternoon, after six and a half hours of training, Margaret signed both Champion of Diversity certificates and told Pierce and Avery they needed to turn it into the Student Life Center in order to lift their suspensions. Avery wanted to point out that he wasn’t allowed in the Student Life Center while suspended, meaning he couldn’t turn in the certificate without violating his suspension.
But pointing that out would only drag this out even longer, so Avery kept his objections quiet.
At last it was all over, and Avery walked out of there with his certificate of completion. Pierce did too, though Avery could tell that more jokes thrummed beneath the surface. If he didn’t have a frat party to get to tonight, he would have continued teasing Margaret.
“Hey, can I show you something?” Avery asked when they left the classroom. Margaret stayed in there as though she had clean-up to do, though nothing had happened that would require a clean-up. Avery and Pierce headed towards the front of the building. “Come on, you’ll like it.”
Pierce shrugged. He followed Avery down the stairs and into the building’s basement, where Avery knew very well there was a storage area that the janitors rarely visited. This building was entirely unused on weekends (aside from the diversity classes, apparently), so the basement was a dingy empty maze of corridors beset by the constant hum of a weary old air conditioner.
“Man, that lady was crazy, bro. Did you hear her talking about Abijorins? What the fuck was that?”
“Yeah, she was reading a thing about Australian Aborigines I think, they’re real people,” Avery said.
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of Aborigines! There’s no such thing as Abijorins?”
“I don’t think so,” Avery said. “I don’t think she was very smart.”
“Of course not, bro. If she was smart, she’d have a better job,” Pierce said.
“I’m pretty sure she’s a diversity volunteer.”
Pierce stopped short. He screwed up his eyebrows. “Damn, bro. A volunteer?!”
“I know, shit’s fucked up,” Avery said. He opened the door to a supply closet. It was big and mostly empty — the only thing stored here was folding chairs, hundreds of them in long rows. Pierce looked around as though he might see something exciting, and he frowned.
“Why’d you bring me here?”
“I wanted to see if you were horny,” Avery said. He sunk to his knees. “Because you should know I can jerk you off better than any female. You looked horny in there.”
Pierce chuckled and turned bright red. “Better than a girl? Yeah, right, man.”
“Let me prove it,” Avery said. “I’ll take you out to dinner.”
“Like a date? No way,” Pierce said.
“I’ll give you cash, I just want to-“
Pierce blurted out, “Will you pay for the keg rental this weekend for my frat?”
“A keg? That’s a lot more expensive than one dinner,” Avery said. He pretended to think hard for a long time as he slowly undid Pierce’s belt and lowered his pants. “Fine,” he said. “One keg this weekend. Not Miller Lite though, because I’m coming to the party and I hate Miller Lite.”
“We don’t drink that shit,” Pierce said. “Make it Natty Bo.”
“Seriously? That’s what you drink?” Avery chuckled.
“It’s a Maryland tradition, man!”
“So’s catching crabs from a plus-size stripper. But fine, whatever, Natty Boh it is,” Avery said. He unzipped the fly of Pierce’s pants and reached in to get his dick. It was hot and moist with sweat, and Pierce sucked in his breath like he thought Avery would say no. Avery very nearly did. But he wasn’t gonna let this Saturday be that dull.
Pierce’s cock popped out the fly of his sagging pants, and Avery kissed it on the tip. Pierce closed his eyes and turned his baseball cap around backwards. He wrinkled his nose and spread his legs like he was preparing for a fight. He grumbled to himself as the flavor of his musty cock assaulted Avery’s senses, and Avery ran his tongue up and down the shaft.
“Hmmm… That does feel pretty good, bro,” he said. “But girls are still better-“
“I’m just gettin’ started. You gotta gimme a chance to show you what I can do,” Avery said.
Pierce shrugged and nodded, and he shifted his weight between his feet. As Avery deep-throated the shaft, Pierce let out a nervous little shimmy, and his dick twitched in Avery’s maw. Pierce said, “Hey, do you think that teacher would fuck me?”
Avery rolled his eyes. “No, Pierce. That’s very unlikely,” he said. He began slurping on the shaft, and Pierce gasped. Avery slathered spit up and down Pierce’s cock, his hand gently but firmly squeezing the root. It was long and thick, meaty even before it firmed up, which it did slowly.
“Oh. Shit… I, uh… Oh!” Pierce was about to say something else, but he sucked in his breath and held back a nervous laugh. “Oh, I, uh… You’re like… really… into that…” His dick twitched in Avery’s mouth. “Damn, man… I swear though, that Margaret chick was totally into me. She was groovin’ on me. Did you see how she touched my shoulder when we was doing that role-play, bro?”
Avery took the dick out of his throat long enough to make eye contact with him. “She was roleplaying a gropey boss. She was not into you.” He thwacked Pierce’s cock all over his face.
“Yeah, but like, she was really groping. She was all up on my shoulder,” he said. He pointed ot the part of his shoulder she touched. “I think I should ask her out. Maybe she likes to suck dick, you don’t know. She said sexual expression was one of the whatevers.”
“She also thinks Australia is full of Abijorins, Pierce. If she knew literally anything, she’d have a better way to occupy her time, and if you ask her to suck your dick, you are going to be taking diversity classes until the end of the time,” Avery said. He kept chasing Pierce’s dick with his tongue. “Do not do that.”
“Can I invite her to the party? There’s nothing wrong with going to a party.”
“But she’ll see something offensive at the party, Pierce!”
“Like what?”
“Like any of an infinite number of things! Drunk people kissing. Non-organic food. Ethnic decor. Disrespectful treatment of kitchen magnets. I’m guessing a dog that gets shotguns of kind bud. And what are the chances someone in your frat will call someone else a retard?”
He sighed and nodded reluctantly.
“So don’t do it,” Avery said. He had both hands on Pierce’s fully erect cock now, and it pulsated in his grip. “If you want to get your nut off, call me. But I only pay the first time, so don’t try to make more money off me.”
“Ah, man… I really wanted her to suck my dick,” Pierce said. He let out a long chest-rattling sigh.
“Well I’d feel bad if you end up having to learn about diversity again, Pierce, so I have to advise you against that,,” Avery said. He thwacked Pierce’s erection over his face. It was veiny and firm but not yet precummy. “If you’re done talking, can I get back to your dick?”
“Yeah…” He paused. “Can you get some girl drinks too? Like Smirnoff Ice?”
Avery didn’t answer, he just resumed licked Pierce’s shaft from root to tip. He had a feeling that the more he let Pierce talk, the more Pierce would ask for. Pierce’s dick was hard and throbbing, and once Avery got back to tasting it, salty precum began leaking out. Avery loved playing with that, smearing it over his own face as well as Pierce’s cockshaft. Every time he thwacked Pierce’s dick against his face, Pierce’s whole body jerked like he hadn’t expected it.
Deep-throating it to the root, Avery nuzzled his nose in Pierce’s pubic bush. That made Pierce stand on his toes as his knees weakened, and he sucked in his breath. “Daaamn, man!” he chuckled. “You should give lessons.”
Avery giggled around the cock in his throat, but he didn’t stop. He choked up mouthfuls of spit that ran down Pierce’s shaft and soaked his crotch and his long-hanging balls.
“Man… There’s a Jew in my frat who celebrates Christmas,” Pierce blurted out like he was tattling on a wrongdoer. He looked away, biting his lip.
Avery looked up at him without stopping swallowing Pierce’s dick to the root. He rolled his eyes. Pierce didn’t even look at him. He grabbed Avery’s ears and held on as he drilled his cock in deeper. He seemed to be talking on autopilot now, like he either didn’t notice he was talking or didn’t notice he was sort of fucking Avery’s throat like it was a diversity counselor’s pussy.
“I think he does. I mean he doesn’t complain when we put up a Christmas tree and shit,” Pierce said. His dick pulsated in Avery’s throat. “You know, there’s nothing literally Christian about a Christmas tree, it’s not a Jesus tree. They should make a Hannukah tree. That would solve everything! Why don’t the Jews do that?”
Avery tried to shake his head without stopping, but he didn’t think Pierce realized Avery was saying no. Pierce was totally ignoring Avery now — talking to him, but paying no attention as Avery gulped down his cock by the throatful.
With a gurgling murmur of desire, Pierce’s eyes bugged out as he lightbulbed up an idea, still seemingly unaware of his cock in Avery’s throat or the intense pleasure coursing through his body as a result. “I should do that. I could sell Hannukah trees, man, I’ll make millions. Jews aren’t anti-tree, are they? Are trees kosher?” Pierce said. “And what’s that black people thing? Kwanzaa? Do they have trees? They should have trees too, bro. I’ll tell Margaret that.” He paused. “Hey, wait, bro, I’m gonna nut, you wanna swallow it?”
Avery nodded, a few tears beading up at the corner of his eyes as he struggled to deep-throat him without choking too hard. His hands roamed up and down Pierce’s soccer-toned frame.
“Sweet, cool, brah, girls never wanna swallow,” Pierce said. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the storage area, holding on tightly to Avery’s head. He drilled his dick in and out and finally seemed fully engrossed, not thinking of ways to hit on the diversity woman. He almost looked surprised at his own orgasm, like he had forgotten it was a man and not Margaret on his dick.
Avery’s hands reached up to Pierce’s chest as he came, and Avery could feel his orgasm in the roiling tension in his muscles. Pierce wasn’t bulky, but he was athletic, and his ropy muscles all flexed at once beneath his shirt as his balls crawled up in his sac.
“Damn, brah…”
Pierce threw his head back and moaned. Creamy hot cum shot out and hit the back of Avery’s mouth. It seeped down his gullet and into his belly, and Avery guzzled down every drop. He didn’t want to spill any. Young men always had such a bright and sunshiney flavor to their cum. He swallowed every bit he could, only a few drops spilling out and trickling down to his chin.
A loud throaty moan escaped from Pierce’s throat. His cheeks turned red, and he held onto Avery’s head until his dick was fully limp. Then at last he let go, and his cock popped out. Avery chased it with his tongue as he gasped, because whenever he touched it, Pierce’s whole body shook and he let out another moan.
“Awright, brah, you’re done, okay?” Pierce said. He took a deep breath and put his dick back. “Hey, let’s go reserve that keg now, brah, okay?” He paused. “If my frat brothers ask, will you tell them I did some work for you? Like I cleaned your house or something? Not that, something cool. Like I beat up a dude for you, like some dude tried to rob you and I beat him up.”
“Yeah, fine,” Avery said. “But you gotta let me frot with you. I gotta bust my nut too.”
“Frot?”
“You never heard of that?” Avery blushed and laughed. He pulled down his pants and took his dick out, then he thwacked his hardon against Pierce’s soft, spongy cock. Pierce jumped when he did, like Avery’s cock hurt, which given how firm it was and how sensitive Pierce’s was, it might well have done.
But Avery always enjoyed a good frotting, and Pierce’s blushing anxiety made it even more arousing for him. Pierce kept shifting his weight between his feet, as Avery stroked both cocks together. Pierce’s was so sensitive that it throbbed and his knees kept going weak when Avery touched the tip.
“Oh god, man, shit, shit, you really are into that, bro, huh?” Pierce looked down at his dick like it was betraying him, and he grabbed a row of paper towls he found on a shelf in the supply closet, but he couldn’t clean himself off yet because Avery was spewing precum into his crotch.
His cock pulsating in his grasp, Avery stroked both dicks in both of his hands, then let go with his right hand so he could go back to groping every inch of Pierce’s lithe soccer-toned chest. His torso was much less muscular than his magnificent legs, but Avery still liked the way his pecs rippled when Avery touched them.
Pierce was so embarrassed he looked like he might explode as Avery finally reached his own orgasm, and pleasure exploded up and down Avery’s taut little both. Avery shot his wad into Pierce’s pubes, a vast flow of it that soaked his entire crotch in cream.
Pierce chuckled and laughed, as he raced to dot the jizz up with a wadded up bit of paper towel.
“You should let me swing on your dick again at the party.”
“Man, there’ll be girls there… Maybe that Margaret-“
“No! Do not invite her, Pierce! You will be back in that diversity class next weekend, and I am not gonna jack you off afterwards again,” Avery said. They both headed for the door.
“Fine… I won’t invite her to the stupid Christmas party,” he said.
“Pierce… You have to call it a Winter Party,” Avery said. “We just spent hours learning that.” He patted Pierce on the ass. “It’s a good thing you’re handsome, sweetie, because you are dumb.”
“That’s what my mom says…”
Avery laughed as they walked out of the building. He had a car and enough money he could put a deposit down on a keg without checking an ATM first, which, as far as Pierce was concerned, made Avery wealthy. He was impressed. Avery didn’t disabuse him of that notion, he just headed home to get ready to go to this frat party.