Moshe’s violin concert ends on a surprising note, when a massive alpha cholo comes to him with an unusual request… Sazonito wants to explore the exciting world of twink on top!
Moshe Katz always meditated after a concert. The actual performance was so nervewracking that he needed a release or he’d remain wired, unable to sleep, for hours afterwards. He’d be jittery untol the morning. His shows were not huge — he was as big of a star as existed in the classical piano scene, but that was not saying much. The audience was just big enough to be scary and anxiety-provoking, and it was made even worse tonight because the Israeli Minister of Cultural Development was in attendance here in Santa Monica.
There was a knock on his dressing room door. Moshe sighed. He had requested not to be bothered after a concert. He told everyone that. He was almost done with his half hour of meditation, but he still had two minutes left. He got such little time to himself, he was jealous to maintain it. He even considered ignoring the knock for two minutes, but whoever it was kept knocking.
Ignoring the knock would seem petty and rude, he decided. He was petty and rude, so he tried to hide it when he could. It might have been a fan anyway.
Yes, a classical pianist has fans. He has a Facebook group! Almost two thousand subscribers!
When he opened the door, he had to suppress a yelp. His eyes bugged up. Standing in front of him was a tall Latino man with the staggering body of a football player, crammed into an ill-fitting suit made of mismatched parts. Cholo tattoos crept up his neck, barely visible behind the suit. He had the macho air of a gangster, and Moshe’s heart leapt into his chest.
“Yo, hombre, Meester Katz, señor,” he said, narrowing his eyes as though to size Moshe up.
Moshe forced on a smile. “Please, call me, Moshe, sir.” He hoped that didn’t sound rude. This man was making him both scared and aroused — he looked like a thug, a vato, a murderer or extortionist, maybe, what Moshe would have called in Hebrew a בִּריוֹן. Moshe knew the type well from his native Israel — this was simply some Mexican-American variant of it. He was only vaguely aware of the word cholo, but he knew this man was one. He also knew security was just around the corner, and Moshe’s mind told him to yell for help. But the man was also a big burly-bear type who looked like he hadn’t worn a suit since high school prom, if he even was still in school then. His slacks were slung low, pristine sneakers poking out from the oversized trouser-legs.
As a long-time connoisseur of the male form, the stranger’s powerhouse body allured and intrigued Moshe.
“Moshe,” the man said, with some difficulty. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Yo, hombre… I… I gotta say, I ain’t come here tonight cuz I thought I wuz gonna like yu’ music, yo.”
“I see…” Moshe said, though he very much did not. The man’s face was tight, tense, and fearful, like he struggled to put into words what he wanted to say — or perhaps he just struggled to find the English words. Moshe didn’t know whether this guy was going to rob him, burst into tears or plow him, but Moshe felt sure it was going to be at least one of those things, maybe all three at once.
“I’s just here, hombre, cuz I need a alibi, right? I need everyone to know I weren’t at this other place somewhere else, cuz I know the polizontes is gonna think I was there,” he said. “But I’m here. My… boss, he said to come here. To see you. Mess wit’ my parole officer’s head. Gonna flip his lid when he find out I ain’t lying ‘bout where I was.” He laughed dryly. Then he blinked his eyes. “But yo’ music, esé… It was… special to me. I dunno how to say it. It moved me, hombre.”
“Oh, okay… That’s, uh… amazing. Flattering. Thank you, uh… I’m sorry, your name is-“
“You can call me Sazonito,” he said. He pushed into the room and let the door shut behind himself. “You are… a sissy, right?” He whispered as though it was a secret.
Moshe nodded, heart pounding. Was this burly vato about to let him jerk him off? That was the impression Moshe got from the aroused look in the man’s eye. What did Sazonito mean in Spanish? Moshe didn’t know. He had a feeling it was not a name though.
“I feel like… you and me, we had a close connection when you was playing. I been alone along time, Moshe,” he said, again struggling to say the name in his thick accent. “I wanna taste. I want you to fill me up wit’cho manhood. Please, esé. I wanna feel you inside me. You gots a beautiful soul, hombre.”
“Oh… You want me to plow you?” Moshe asked, certain that this was just a language barrier. Gigantic macho bulls like Sazonito didn’t let themselves get plowed by tiny Jewish twinks like Moshe.
But he couldn’t deny that Sazonito knelt down and kissed Moshe as passionately and intensely as any woman ever had or could. It was also clear that Sazonito was uncomfortable with it and had either never done it before or maybe never done it willingly. He hesitated as he kissed, like his body fought against himself to do it.
His lips were thick and plump, the surface a bit dry and chapped but not grossly so. His massive arms wrapped around Moshe’s body and held him close. He was so much taller and thicker than the notably tiny Moshe that Moshe felt like a little boy being hugged by his daddy. He reeked of cheap cologne covering up the intense musk emanating from his armpits and his sweat-soaked back.
“Uh… Sazonito…?” Moshe pulled away. This time it was his body’s turn to fight it — he wanted nothing more than to do whatever this massive hulking brute demanded, but Moshe’s instincts said to either run away, surrender or get on his knees and jerk Sazonito off rather than the other way around.
“What? Please plow me…” He sounded like he was near tears.
“Are you… sure?”
He hung his head and began unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged his tuxedo jacket off, and it fell on the floor. “I was in prison for six years. They just let me out last week, esé. I… I wanted to try it in there, but I can’t lose face. I would be disrespected. I want to feel your cock inside me. I want to pretend I love you.”
Well, that was pretty clear, Moshe thought, Sazonito is certain he wants to do this. No more ambiguity about his intentions.
Yet Moshe still felt sure a catch was going to come up sooner or later. Was he an undercover cop? What would be the point of that — he wasn’t proposing anything illegal. Was this all a trick to do with that alibi he had wanted to establish? But simply coming to the concert in front of all those witnesses and cameras would be enough. Jerking someone off in secret wouldn’t make the alibi more convincing.
And he was here. Whatever was going on somewhere else, Sazonito wasn’t there. He was here. That was not a trick. Moshe stared in disbelief as Sazonito removed his clothes. He carefully folded up his suit — which he had obviously made by purchasing cast-offs from a thrift shop — and placed it on the chair in Moshe’s dressing room.
His tattiied chest was even bigger and sexier than Moshe had imagined, brimming with power that Moshe could feel radiating off it. He was more aroused at the sight of Sazonito’s naked body than he ever had been before. It might not have been his usual cup of tea, but Moshe intended to guzzle every drop of it.
“Déjame probar su polla…”
Sazonito was inked all over with tattoos and scars. Since tattoos were forbidden under Jewish law, Moshe had rarely seen any in person. He had never seen a naked man with numerous tattoos covering nearly every inch of his body. A lot of them appeared to be amateurish, perhaps done in prison. Scars, seemingly from knives or perhaps bullets or taser prongs, dotted his muscles, which bulged as though they were going to burst out of his skin.
Keeping eye contact with Moshe, Sazonito sunk to his knees as he dropped his prison-issued boxers to the ground. His long cock was uncut, dangling limp and meaty between his legs. That was another part of Sazonito’s physique that was new to Moshe — his uncircumized cock. Moshe had never seen a foreskin up close and personal.
Moshe instinctively wanted to get on his knees as well, because Sazonito’s cock was fat and juicy, and it was already stirring with the beginnings of an erection. Yet much to his surprise, Sazonito really did want to take that place, kneeling afronta Moshe.
Still certain the rug was about to be pulled out from under him, Moshe was so distracted he hadn’t even started to undress himself. Sazonito’s thick fingers fumbled with Moshe’s designer slacks, dropping them to his ankles, which was enough to wake Moshe from his fugue. He quickly took off his own shirt and tie while Moshe pulled his underwear down as well.
Was this really happening? Was it a dream? Moshe still wasn’t sure this wasn’t a trick. But if so, Sazonito was taking it all the way.
“Te ves tan sabrosa…”
He picked up Moshe’s dick and smelled it like he was checking to see if it was ripe, then he wrinkled his nose as though he wasn’t sure. That didn’t stop him though, he opened his mouth and swallowed it as deep as he could. Sazonito’s eyes widened, and he paused for a moment like he was holding back a choke.
Nothing happened though. Moshe was still so shocked he didn’t even feel anything at first, then the sensation of Sazonito’s warm mouth and moist tongue sent ripples of pleasure through Moshe’s body. His cock rapidly swelled to full tumescence, and it poked into Sazonito’s throat.
Moshe wasn’t small in the cock department, so Sazonito’s unpracticed mouth didn’t manage to deep-throat the whole thing. He let out a loud retching sound, which Moshe couldn’t quite interpret — was he suppressing a gag or pushing back a moan of desire? Maybe both?
This was all happening so fast. Moshe’s knees went weak as his dick went hard. His hands fumbled — he was too nervous to actually grab Sazonito, who seemed too frightening to touch. Moshe’s instinctive mind worried he wouldn’t let a little Jewish man touch him, so Moshe’s hands hovered above Sazonito’s head.
Sazonito was so much larger than Moshe that he had to stoop way over to swallow his cock. It felt like Sazonito took up the entire dressing room, and Moshe just inhabited a tiny corner of it. As his dick throbbed in Sazonito’s mouth, Moshe moaned exquisitely.
“I, uh… Oh… Wow, Sazonito…” Moshe mumbled, too embarrassed to think of anything to say. Moshe had too much propriety for dirty-talk. He could only mumble as he worked his precum-leaking cock down Sazonito’s throat.
But breaking the silence made this whole thing easier for Moshe; it relaxed him and made him realize that, if a reprisal was coming, he was safe for now. He came crashing back down to reality just in time for a wave of pleasure to roll over his body like a tsunami. His knees again went weak, and as he buckled, he would have fallen but he gripped Sazonito’s broad shoulders. The warmth of his rippling muscles was intense; was it normal for someone to be that hot to the touch? Moshe didn’t think so, but all he could do in response was moan again. He bucked his hips, slamming his dick all the way into Sazonito’s throat. Sazonito’s nose nestled itself in Moshe’s pubic hair.
He thought that might make Sazonito pause and back out, but he only got more into it. He nuzzled his nose deep in Moshe’s dick as he forced himself to deep-throat it. Moshe’s cock rammed all the way down his gullet, the precum flowing copiously now. Sazonito guzzled it greedily as though he had been swallowing cock his whole life.
Moshe’s instincts kicked in and he grabbed ahold of Sazonito’s head. He pushed his dick in and pulled it out, with so much force each time he didn’t think he had ever throated anyone so aggressively. For tiny twink Moshe, it was the most potent plow of his life — he had a feeling Sazonito still thought of him as weak and feckless.
Then Sazonito pulled off. Thick tendrils of saliva connected his face to Moshe’s dickshaft and down to his balls. He flat-lipped his face up at Moshe and said, “You are beautiful, esé. Can you play your violin while you plow me?”
“Yes,” Moshe said without thinking about it. He wasn’t sure that was really true though. The violin required all of his concentration, could he really do it while plowing Sazonito up the ass? It seemed dirty, almost disrespectful of the instrument.
But the sight of Sazonito’s broad bare ass as he bent over in the center of the dressing room made Moshe willing to try anything. He grabbed his violin and put it on his shoulder.
“Please, plow me hard, Moshe,” Sazonito said softly. He hung his head as though a bit ashamed, even as he reached one hand behind himself to spread his asscheeks. He had powerful thighs and thickly muscled cheeks, so thick he felt like two powerful men stuffed into one skinsuit.
Without hands, Moshe managed to wedge his dick into the hairy crack of Sazonito’s ass — Moshe had always thought a hairy ass was unattractive, right up until this moment. Now he wanted more than anything to fill Sazonito with his cock.
But he needed both hands to play the violin. That meant he couldn’t guide his dick in. In any case, Sazonito’s intact butthole was resistant, and even when he attempted at it the best he could, not even the tip went in.
Then, much to Moshe’s surprise, Sazonito’s hand spread his cheeks and then pushed the tip of Moshe’s dick in. The soft, luxuriant hair of his ass brushed against Moshe’s pulsating manhood.
“Ah, damn, hombre…”
Sazonito arched his back as Moshe played the first few notes of “Shalom Chaverim”, an Israeli folk song that he knew very well because he often used it to warm-up. It was the only simple song he could think of that he knew well and that wasn’t religious or nationalist (both of which seemed inappropriate, even sinful, to play in this situation). The notes rang out in the tiny dressing room.
Sazonito stuck his head up and moaned. Again it wasn’t clear if he moaned in pain and humiliation or in bliss, or maybe a bit of both. His ears wiggled as though he carefully scrutinized every ringing note from Moshe’s violin.
He was surprised how easy it was once he got started. Moshe could play on autopilot since the song was so simple, and once he got started, it was surprisingly easy to plow Sazonito without the use of his hands. Sazonito’s ass practically swallowed his cock up. It was not easy, however, to get his entire dick in there. Sazonito was clearly intact and had trouble taking the whole thing.
Not that he was resisting. Every thrust of Moshe’s cock sent a bolt of pleasure through his body and a wave of some sensation through Sazonito’s too. Sazonito grunted like he was in pain, and he moaned like he was in bliss, and he clawed at the ground as Moshe’s balls slapped against the meat of his asscheeks.
Judging from the look on Sazonito’s face, he was more entranced by the music than overwhelmed by the agonizing pleasure in his ass. After a few moments, Sazonito even started jacking himself off with one hand. He must have already gotten a hardon.
The more and more he rammed at Sazonito’s ass, the braver Moshe got, until his balls were thwacking against Sazonito’s meaty asscheeks. Moshe’s dick slid in and out, easier with every thrust of his hips, and each time Sazonito gasped while pre-orgasmic pleasure rippled over his tattooed back muscles.
With one powerful thrust, Moshe managed to shove the last of his cock into Sazonito’s body. Sazonito moaned and grunted. His ass clenched, which Moshe could tell was because he neared his orgasm. Neither man was quite there yet, and Moshe tried to drag this out — he didn’t want to rush through the sexual experience of a lifetime. It felt so good his knees went weak.
Then the phone rang.
Both Moshe and Sazonito stopped moving. Moshe’s heart skipped a beat thinking he had been caught, then realized that was silly — he wasn’t breaking any rules.
And in any case, he soon realized it wasn’t his phone. It was Sazonito’s
Sazonito grabbed his cell phone out of the pants of his tuxedo, which was folded up on the chair near his head. He put it on speaker because, it seemed, he was too overwhelmed to hold it to his ear.
“Yo. What?”
You still there, vato?
“Si.”
What’s going on?
“Todavía estoy allí.”
Yeah, I… Somethin’ wrong? Speak English, motherfucker. You know I don’t know español that good.
“I’m still here. I’m talking to the violinista entre bastidores. Él es judío, pero él está bien.”
What? Nevermind, man. Just hurry up. It’s all good.
“Okay.”
… You takin’ a shit, vato?
“No.”
You sound like-
“Shut up.”
Fine, look, vato… Just don’t go to Mario’s place like we planned. His mama there. But it all went down just like we wanted.
“¿Son los traidores muertos?” He groaned, the words escaping from gritted teeth. His voice had an agonizing slowness to it, like he was grinding the words from stones in his mouth.
Si, esé.
“Good. Estoy colgando el teléfono. No me llame de nuevo unless someone is dead who is not s’posed to be,” Sazonito said, then he angrily hung up the phone and threw it back at his crumpled-up tuxedo on the floor. “Fuckin’ puta…”
Then Sazonito’s back arched as though he only just remembered he was getting plowed. His mouth opened like he wanna shout or maybe moan, but no sound came out. He pushed his ass back on Moshe’s dick, sending a wave of pleasure rocking up Moshe’s spine. Moshe gasped, his fingers digging into the meaty thickness of Sazonito’s back. Sazonito writhed before him, lifting one of his massive trunk-like thighs up as he accepted every inch of Moshe’s dick.
Moshe had gradually lost his inhibitions, and by now, he was ramming back and forth as if Sazonito’s ass was his fleshlight. At this point he figured if it was a trick, he might as well lean into it. It was the most enjoyable trick of his life.
He started playing the violin again. This time he played “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds”, another song he knew well enough to play by heart. Once again Sazonito shuddered and moaned as though the violin itself made him orgasm.
“¡Su musicalidad es más hermoso que cualquier cosa que mis oídos han tenido!” Sazonito shouted to be heard over the violin. He groaned and bucked beneath Moshe’s hips, which slammed powerfully against his jiggling asscheeks. Moshe didn’t need to know Spanish to know that Sazonito was complimenting his plowing, or maybe demanding to be plowed harder.
Finally Moshe felt his orgasm coming on, just as he felt it running through Sazonito’s body as well. He thought he’d have to stop playing while he busted a nut, but his hands were on autopilot. He definitely lost the rhythm and played some notes incorrectly, but it was clear Sazonito didn’t notice — he didn’t even seem to recognize the song, though he reacted as though the sound itself caused his orgasm.
Cum sprayed into Sazonito’s ass, so thick and creamy that it clung to every corner of his insides. Moshe shuddered and shivered as he filled Sazonito up. The load was bigger than anything he had ever produced — Moshe rather wished he had pulled out so he could see how much it was. This was such an incredible experience that his body kept spurting more and more, like he was getting rid of reserves that his balls had been storing up.
As Moshe’s body twitched and he yelped, Sazonito barked; his massive muscles writhed. His pain was obvious, his humiliation apparent in his dim, dark eyes, but the overwhelming feeling that Moshe could read in every muscle in his body was arousal and fulfillment. He had genuinely wanted this.
Somehow in that moment, all language and cultural barriers between them dissolved. Moshe knew exactly why Sazonito was doing this, and it was precisely as he had explained. Moshe was just too set in his ways to realize it. Sazonito had ramrodded prison bitches, but just one was important to him, a girlish man who had been Sazonito’s lover when he was in jail; he had formed a serious relationship with that man. He had treated his bitch like a wife, and a part of him had always wondered how far their relationship could be taken. His prison bitch had probably treated him better than his girlfriends on the outside. They were friends and lovers and roommates, allies, confidantes and more, but the one thing they could never be was equals. Sazonito had wished he could have a real relationship as his sexual peak dwindled while he was locked up.
But in prison, big macho tops didn’t bottom for tiny twinks, not even behind closed doors and with makeshift curtains up to block the view. That was not a rule Sazonito could break. Not until he was out of prison and he had come to a place where no other vato would be, where nobody would know what taboos Sazonito was breaking.
The smell of cum filled the dressing room as Sazonito shot his own load, just as Moshe was finally finishing up. A few final jets of jizz spurted up Sazonito’s guts, creamy goop spreading to every corner of his insides and seeping into his inner being. From his vantage point Moshe couldn’t see, but he could experience every bit of Sazonito’s orgasm through the tight clenching of his ass and the low, rattling groan that escaped from Sazonito’s throat. Sazonito’s hands were claws that raked the ground.
Then at last it was all over.
Moshe pulled his cock out and smiled sheepishly as Sazonito sighed like he had been waiting for that exact moment — Moshe had taken enough big cocks to know what he was feeling. The stress relief of that moment was intense, and Sazonito’s moan of desire was an aching rumble that echoed in the tiny dressing room. Sazonito crumpled to the dirty floor of the dressing room, his big muscles limp, perhaps limper than they had been since he was with his beloved in a prison cell.
Moshe sat next to his prone body and gently rubbed his muscles. They twitched under Moshe’s grip. “Sazonito… do you want me to call you? When I am in town again?”
“Yes. Si.”
“Okay,” Moshe said. “I will. We can have whatever relationship you want, and I won’t tell anyone.”
Sazonito nodded. “And if anybody asks, you will tell them I was at your concert, esé? Tell them I was here early, that you saw me before the show and then you saw me during the show and after.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes to slits. “Do not tell them what we did after the show.”
Moshe nodded. “I will.”
“Good. Thank you. Nunca lo reemplazará.” Sazonito closed his eyes and gripped Moshe’s hand with his massive meaty fingers. Then Sazonito’s sweat-dappled back fell limp and soft, and he drifted off to sleep right there on Moshe’s dressing room floor.