The Model

Avery hires a hunky model for a photoshoot, but the stud’s girlfriend ruins everything, and he’s got an inconvenient bulge he can’t get rid of… That’s where Avery comes in! He’s willing to service this handsome alpha if that’s what it takes!

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Read the whole thing here!

Apparently, this was the only weeping willow tree in front of a barn and a pond in this area. Avery didn’t think that could possibly be true. Weeping willow trees were everywhere. Ponds and barns were quite common. How could this be the only suitable location? It was probably just the only one they could find a picture of on the Internet.
But Avery wasn’t about to complain. He had a spot laid out he thought would look good, so long as the model showed up soon, before the sun moved.
He paced back and forth. This was the first time he had been hired as a photographer, after months of selling cut-rate services online. Thus far, it had been kind of a bust.
But then all of a sudden, a large Indian company hired him to take twelve pictures — of handsome shirtless American men. They were making a calendar, it seemed. Avery was excited. This seemed like a real possible entrance into the world of professional photography. On the one hand, taking shirtless-hunk pics was kind of cheap, but on the other hand, it was indisputably professional, not amateur — Avery would be able to put on his resume that he had produced the pictures for a best-selling calendar (obviously he didn’t know if it would be best-selling, but no one regulated that kind of claim, and for all he knew, it would be a best-seller in India).
He wondered if he should have looked up what Indian women thought was handsome. He hadn’t considered that. Should he assume they wanted what he would want? Would an American man think the same thing was sexy as some Indian women? The Indian company who hired him hadn’t even said that they were releasing it in India, so that all might not even matter.
He tried doing some googling with the Google India portal. As far as he could tell, aside from a preference for beards, there wasn’t much he could glean about handsome Indian men.
They wouldn’t want a picture in front of an American barn if they wanted him to look Indian, Avery thought. What if the model is Indian? He should have asked more questions when he accepted the gig. It had seemed so simple at the time: just snap some pics of a handsome bare-chested dude in front of a weeping willow, a pond and a barn. They even found the location for him and hired the model (and when the original model had had to cancel, they found a replacement).
Finally a little red Ferrari zoomed along the winding country roads that carved through the mountains. It was going way too fast, Avery thought. It came to a screeching halt on the asphalt — not on the little gravel road that led to the barn, which was where Avery had parked.
“Oh my god, Owen if you think you’re parking my dad’s Ferrari in the fucking gravel, you are very mistaken,” said a female voice. She was Veranda, and she was a pretty but harsh-looking woman with an angular face and blonde hair so perfectly cascading past her shoulders that it looked like she had scalped a Barbie. Avery instantly took a disliking to her and not just because she was Owen’s girlfriend.
Owen was the model, and he was dreamy, impossibly hunky, cringe-inducingly handsome. Avery wanted to gaze into his soulful eyes and hear him wax philosophically about sunsets. He wanted to slather him with kisses. Avery hadn’t expected him to be like that. He was kind of lean, but well-muscled, long-limbed, tall but not extraordinarily so. He had dark hair in an impeccable little foppish wave, every strand in place and plastered there with some sort of mousse that Avery guessed was very expensive. He had dour dimples and a disaffected grin on his face as he got out of the car, tossed his head back to get his hair out of his eyes and nodded at Avery.
Still on the road, they had to walk to meet Avery. Owen was mostly silent the whole way, but Veranda kept talking. “This is all so ridiculous. I can’t believe we drove all this way for this.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I mean, we drove for like an hour to get here, an hour back, that means you’re making like twenty bucks an hour. That’s bullshit. I’m sorry, I wouldn’t piss on a dead dog for that,” she said. She lit her cigarette. “And for that…” She glanced over at Avery as though she didn’t want to finish her sentence in front of him.
That’s because she and Owen had been about to have sex when he got the call asking him to come here for a photoshoot. Owen had been struggling to break into modeling for awhile. He was desperate for any gig he could get. So he went even if it disrupted them from having sex.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen until after Owen took a little blue boner pill.
It wasn’t until Avery had shaken Owen’s hand and gotten him to take his shirt off that he noticed the erection. Owen had aimed it up so it wasn’t that obvious at first. Once you saw it though, you couldn’t hardly miss it.
For one thing, he had worn tight skinny-jeans. There was nowhere to hide his ten inches of manmeat in those pants. Avery snuck glances at it as he explained the photoshoot and got a look at Owen next to the barn and weeping willow. He looked good in the right light, real good. This was going to be a nice photoshoot. But Avery’s eyes were drawn over and over to the Wiagro-fueled bulge in his designer jeans.
Owen blushed when he saw Avery checking it out. He again re-angled his cock upwards, so it wouldn’t tent his pants. It was still visible though.
“Ah, so… You have a, uh…” Avery blushed. “That’s going to be a problem.” He pointed to Owen’s crotch. “It’s very distracting.”
“Sorry, man… what kinda pants am I supposed to wear? I can hide it,” Owen said. He bit his lip nervously, showing off those outrageous dimples that made Avery swoon. His whole body sort of undulated when he got nervous, showing off those outrageous abs — he did one-hundred sit-ups twice a day. He demonstrated that, with his cock at the right angle, it wasn’t visible. But every time he moved, it was no longer at the right angle, and he winced each time because his erect dick was so sensitive. “Sorry. I, uh… I have a hardon. It’s hard to get rid of-“
“He’s not kidding, it won’t go away for hours.”
“Don’t worry, I, uh, I have spare pants. They’re corduroys,” Avery said. “Let’s go into the barn and change.” He glanced back at Veranda. “I’ll… I’ll work around, uh… your anatomical… issues-“
She scoffed and took a deep drag. “He took a pill, mister, that thing’s not going away for a couple hours. Cuz if he thinks I am letting him fuck me in a fucking barn in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere, he is sorely mistaken-“
Owen interrupted her, his face suddenly tense and red. “I didn’t fucking ask you to fuck me in a fucking barn in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere-!”
“Don’t you shout at me, you loser!” She shouted right back. “Go ahead and get him off, mister! He’s gonna stay hard until you do.” She crossed her arms over her chest and took out her phone to start texting. Avery got the feeling she had been waiting for a good opportunity to lose herself in her phone and that she was not going to pay any more attention to Owen. Owen seemed relieved by that.
Avery nodded as politely as he could muster at her, not that she was paying attention, she was focused on that phone. He walked away, arm in arm with Owen.
When they got in the barn, Avery handed the corduroys over to Owen, who dropped his pants. That was when Avery saw how huge his cock was, and how throbbing that erection. He had been blue-balled, it seemed, and Avery was tantalized by its meaty heft and how close it already appeared to orgasm
I bet I could just run my finger along the top of it and he’d bust out, Avery thought. He blushed.
“Corduroys, huh? Do people still wear corduroys?”
“Maybe in India,” Avery said with a shrug. “They told me these would be good pants to wear.” He watched as Owen tried to fit into the corduroys, but they were a little small for him, and his massive erection kept getting in the way. Owen blushed until he was as red as Avery.
“Uh… I’ve been working out, getting more muscle tone,” Owen said. “I prolly need bigger pants. I have big thighs now. I can do it though, I just… uh…”
“Was your girlfriend serious about me jacking you off?”
Owen nodded. “You’re like… into that? Is that… cool? I mean…?” He was one of those people who talked as if everything was a question, so it was hard to tell what he actually intended as a question and what was a statement.
Avery dropped to his knees. “I just need you to go soft enough for us to take a couple pics. No biggie. I’m a professional like that. I’ll do what it takes to make this photoshoot a success.”
Owen sucked in his breath and nodded again. He peered outside to see if his girlfriend was coming closer. She was focused on her phone and wouldn’t likely put it down until he said he was done. Owen rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’d let a man jack him off. Owen found a lot of modeling gigs came easier if he let a producer manhandle him. He didn’t mind. In this case, it wasn’t even that — he already had the gig. He could even have masturbated if he really wanted to.
But that would have definitely made Veranda make fun of him. She would have called him a pussy for jacking his own self off, like a loser-ass pansy. She was like that.
Avery sunk to his knees at Owen’s feet, and he pulled those corduroys down until his cock was bare. Avery chased it with his mouth, while Owen stood there like he was modeling already, putting out a smoldering handsome face aimed in no direction in particular. He looked contemplative, serious yet casual.
Finally, his dick plopped heavily on Avery’s waiting tongue. It tasted like sex, Avery decided, you could tell he had been thinking about sex, maybe even precummy, not that long ago. He might have fucked Veranda recently. Though she did seem like the kind of girlfriend who usually found an excuse not to have sex. She was like that, Avery could tell.
He could sense that Owen had been hard for a long time too. He was rock-hard but still springy and just a bit floppy in the best possible way. His veiny shaft was not pulsating like a normal hardon at first, but it did begin to throb once Avery got it excited — basically, it was still and dull when his erection was caused by pharmaceuticals, but once it was caused by arousal, it was a potent, throbbing stiffy like any other.
Avery played with it a bit first, while Owen made nervous mewling noises and kept checking his girlfriend. She had said he “could” do this, but he didn’t want her to know he actually did it. She’d probably insist he make friends with Avery so anytime she didn’t want to suck him off — pretty much always — she’d tell him to get his nut off from Avery.
That’d be a great plan from Avery’s perspective. Not so much for Owen.
He sighed and tried to relax to enjoy the mouth on his cock, which Avery worked on with enthusiasm. It did feel good, he thought, as Avery slathered his shaft with spit and slurped merrily on the tip. It was nice to get jacked off by someone eager to do it. Veranda treated it like a chore, like doing the dishes — a chore that Owen couldn’t even tell her not to worry about, because she insisted he would cheat on her if she didn’t do it. Somehow she did things neither of them wanted, yet it was Owen’s fault.
Not Avery. Owen could tell Avery did this because he wanted it, because he needed it, because Owen’s cock was that good. Avery guzzled it down.
“Hmmmm…. You taste sweet,” Avery said when he pulled off Owen’s shaft. A few drops of precum came out the tip, and Avery slurped them down. The bright, salty taste of Owen’s body hit his senses.
Avery slurped on the tip with a smirk as he played with the underside of Owen’s shaft. He let it dance overtop his face, with his mouth and lips planted right at the root, on the underside. He let his tongue snake out and tickle the veiny spot where his dick met his ballsac. The taste was salty and funk, accentuated by the vaporous chypre of the drugstore cologne Owen wore.
Owen groaned and closed his eyes. “Goddamn, man, you got a nice mouth. You’re better than Veranda. I swear, she’s like ninety-percent teeth. She’s like a shark.”
Avery chuckled. He spat on the shaft then licked it off, making Owen groan and shudder in excitement. Avery licked his way down the shaft until he got to those low-hanging balls, which were clean and ripe and juicy. Avery guzzled them down, letting his mouth fill with Owen’s fleshy sac.
“Can I lick your ass?” Avery asked. He didn’t often give out rimjobs, but if he were ever going to do it, Owen was perfect. He had a nice clean ass, fleshy and firm and strong. It smelled of sunshine and coconut soap.
His eyes opening wide, Owen blushed as he turned around. He once again checked his girlfriend — she was texting angrily now, presumably either bitching about him or sympathizing with one of her friends who was bitching about her boyfriend. She ignored him. She didn’t seem to have even noticed that this was taking a long time — technically, Owen had only come in here to change his pants. But it had already been a good five minutes, maybe more like ten.
For all she knows, this photographer turned out to be a serial killer and he’s already turning my dick into a lampshade, Owen thought to himself. The more time he spent with Veranda, the more he wanted to dump her.
But Owen was one of those guys who was literally never single. Since middle school, he always had a serious girlfriend. He hadn’t gone more than a week or two without a girlfriend in years. He didn’t know how to handle life without a woman telling him what to do.
And supporting him. Owen didn’t make enough from modeling to pay the bills.
Avery kneeled behind Owen, who leaned on a railing of some kind — this barn wasn’t used anymore, but it looked like at one point it had been for milking cows. Owen grimaced and spread his legs wide so Avery could get between his cheeks. His thighs were thickly muscled, and his buttcheeks were smooth like porcelain. Avery rammed his tongue in quickly, his hands kneadig the flesh of Owen’s backside.
“Oh god…” Owen wasn’t expecting it to feel so good, especially right away. He threw his eyebrows way back, and he let out a long moan.
From the moment Avery’s tongue hit his asshole, spasms of pleasure shot up Owen’s spine. Owen grunted and groaned. Avery’s tongue rammed into him. It seemed impossibly long, and Owen even looked behind himself to check if it was really his tongue or if it was a finger.
But he’d never gotten a rimjob before, so he didn’t know what it was supposed to be like. Was his ass that sensitive? Or was Avery’s tongue that big? Or maybe Avery was just really good at it. A wave of pleasure exploded in Owen’s body, like something he had never experienced, it was toe-curlingly intense.
Regardless, Owen’s eyes bulged out and he lifted one foot like a dog getting scratched. He wrenched his head back and held his breath.
Avery lapped at his perfectly clean and smooth ass. Owen had even gotten his anus bleached a few weeks ago, so it was pristine. His asscheeks were a lightly tanned brown, the same shade as the rest of his skin — obviously, Avery thought, he tanned in the nude. He had no tan lines at all.
Finally Owen had had enough. His cock strained to finally shoot his wad. He pulled away a little gingerly, his knees going weak when Avery’s face moved away from his ass. “Okay, man, I gotta nut. I swear it feels like I’ve been hard for years, man. I don’t even remember what it feels like to not… y’know… to be able to think about something else.” He gasped. “Oh god, I need to nut-“
“You wanna stick it in me?” Avery asked. He turned around, baring his own ass, which was paler and not as perfectly smooth as Owen’s, but still it was good enough for Owen’s horny body. He didn’t even care anymore, he just wanted to ram his dick in some tight hole and finally blow his wad.
So he didn’t even answer Avery’s question. He didn’t want to speak for fear of attracting attention from Veranda out there. She might have genuinely gotten angry if she knew what he was doing. She didn’t even know about cornholing, Owen was pretty sure. Or if she knew about it, she thought it was an urban legend, not something anybody would do.
And she’d never touch Owen again if she knew.
In any case, Avery was plenty loud for him from the moment Owen’s cock rammed up his backside. Avery grunted and groaned, pawing at the ground just from sheer excitement as that meaty shaft slid between his cheeks. It felt even girthier because Owen was skinny-muscled. It looked like he had stolen a thick man’s cock, Avery thought, making him giggle as he squeezed the lube he always kept in his pocket over his own ass and Owen’s shaft.
That helped the rest of Owen’s erection slide into Avery’s ass. Owen grimaced, humping his dick between Avery’s cheeks until he saw lube bubbling in and out of the hole. Then he aimed it in, closed his eyes and moaned.
It felt so good. Fucking Veranda hadn’t been this good in years, not since they first hooked up, if ever. None of his girlfriends ever made him feel like this.
He completely lost track of time. Owen didn’t even care how long it took or about the money from the photo shoot. None of that seemed important. All that mattered was ramming his entire rod into Avery’s ass, ramming into him over and over, exploring every inch of his tender body. Sensations exploded through both men’s bodies. Owen moved with more passion than he ever had.
“Oh god, stick it in me!” Avery called out. He had completely forgotten Veranda was out there. Owen didn’t think much about that either. She had excised herself from his life, Owen thought, so why should he care if she knew about this? What was the worst she could do? Bitch about it like she already bitched about every single thing that happened?
He wasn’t sure he had ever gotten his entire dick in a woman’s ass. He was big enough that that was a challenge, and he was too much of a doe-eyed prettyboy to really push for it anyway. So it felt nice to jam his dick in and out, clapping his hands and smacking Avery’s plump cheeks. Most women couldn’t even take his whole cock in their pussies, and Veranda would never lower herself to trying. She thought only ghetto-sluts did anal.
Finally he felt an orgasm approach, exquisite bliss spiderwebbing through Owen’s body, making his muscles all tighten up at once. Owen sighed and moaned out loud, blushing as he saw Veranda poke her head into the barn. Her eyes opened wide.
She was just in time to watch Owen’s six-pack undulate as he orgasmed. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and sucked in his breath. His balls slapped against Avery’s asscheeks, making a loud thwack-thwack sound with each thrust of his hips at Avery’s tight booty. Veranda’s face froze.
He stayed there all the way in, cock throbbing within Avery’s ass, as the most intense orgasm of his life burst within him. Owen shouted and pounded on his chest. He ran his fingers through his coiffed hair, finally messing up his hairdo and giving himself that ‘just-fucked-a-chick’ look. A similar surge of pleasure coursed through Avery’s veins, and Avery panted, crying out for more.
“Owen!” Veranda shouted, yelping at the sight of her boyfriend’s ruddy face and bulging eyes. She held her breath and tried to look away but found herself unable to do so.
Owen didn’t respond. He was too busy writhing with bliss as he climaxed into Avery’s tight ass. Avery had been stroking himself off the whole time, and he shot his own wad soon after, spraying it over the wooden floor of the barn. A vast flood of it spurted several feet in front of him, as Owen’s cock stimulated a prostate orgasm that wracked Avery from head to toe.
Her feet tapped on the barn floor. Veranda had said Owen should get jacked off by Avery, not stick him in the butt. She had trouble thinking of a reason she should be angry about this, but she wasn’t about to let an opportunity to win an argument pass her by.
“Owen! How dare you?!” Veranda scowled.
“What?” Owen said, his voice wavering because he was still in the throes of orgasm. “You said to jack off with him.” The last few drops of his load filled up Avery’s ass.
Only then did Avery realize Veranda was even here. She seemed so unimportant to him. Even now, as Owen and her yelled, Avery’s attention remained on the fat cock in his ass, stimulating his prostate and causing a symphony of sensations to continue sparking up and down Avery’s petite body.
“I said to put it in his mouth, you jackass!” She scowled. “That’s disgusting, what you’re doing… It’s… It’s…”
“Nuh-uh,” Owen said with a throaty laugh. He took a deep breath, watching his dick throb within Avery’s cheeks. Then he pulled slowly out. Both him and Avery sighed when his cock left Avery’s ass, and both men’s knees went weak. “Goddamn, man, I needed that. Shit, you-“
“Don’t you talk back to me!”
“-you got hella nice ass, man,” Owen said, speaking over Veranda. He blushed intensely. That was true and he meant to say it, but he said it mainly to prove to Veranda he didn’t need to hang on her every word. He was his own man, not simply her boyfriend.
“Thanks. You got a nice dick. It’s a pity this photoshoot isn’t naked,” Avery said. He cleaned himself off with a wetnap.
“You hear me, you jerk?! This photoshoot is over!”
“No! We’re over. Go home, Veranda,” Owen said. He looked to Avery. “You’ll give me a ride home, right? That’s her car. Or her dad’s, I mean. Nothing is hers. You can play with it some more on the way. I’m sure I’ll be hard again by then.”
“Sure,” Avery said as Veranda stomped away to her car. Avery cleared his throat. “Okay, well, get those corduroys on. We’ll have to hurry to get these pics taken before your boner comes back.” Avery smiled. His first photoshoot as a professional photographer had gone better than expected.

The Parole Officer

Rob is on parole, which means obeying the legendary Mr. Gerald. He’s a stern, no-nonsense man who doesn’t mind cracking skulls and kicking ass… and he goes even further than that. But when Rob asks to receive one of Mr. Gerald’s harshest of punishments, they’re both in for a wild ride they didn’t expect!

Can Rob handle what Mr. Gerald is ready to dish out?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here

Rob had six months of parole, and he was looking forward to it. He had been assigned to “Mr. Gerald”, an ex-drill sergeant. Rob had had to pull a few strings to make sure he was assigned to Mr. Gerald’s caseload. He sought that out because, according to street rumors, Mr. Gerald was known to force his parolees to jerk him off.
That was something Rob was down for indeed. Mr. Gerald was buff like a soldier but just craggy enough, like a stately butte. His nose was splatted like it had been broken many times or maybe just once but really badly. His skin was dark like new cast-iron, and his eyes were old like a wise turtle. He had a simmering grandness to him, like he thought he was more muscular than he was, he was actually kind of lanky.
He had a great mustache too. Rob was a sucker for a black guy with a mustache. He wanted to suck the hairs right off his upper lip. And he had big broad shoulders that shook as he filled out a form with Rob’s personal information on it.
“So you work as a writer? A freelance writer?”
“Yep.”
“That don’t sound like a real job. I want you to get a real job,” Mr. Gerald said.
“Yes, sir,” Rob said. He wasn’t going to do that, but he wanted to be agreeable. Rob’s family was very wealthy. He didn’t have to report that on his intake documents, so he didn’t mention that he was in no need of a job.
If he was going to get punished by Mr. Gerald, after all, he was going to need to fail at something.
“Do you have any skills?”
“Just-“
“Don’t say writin’, man.”
“Then no. Sir.”
“Alright, I can hook you up with a job at Taco Dell. I know the manager there. I like the way you called me sir without me…” He looked Rob up and down and sucked on his lower lip. The mustache on his upper lip quivered. “Without me makin’ a big deal out of it.”
Damn it. That was it, Rob thought. If Rob hadn’t called him sir, Mr. Gerald would have throated him down, he was sure of it. That was what the look on his face said. Damn it! He was looking for a reason to do it.
Black guys don’t call him sir, probably. That was why they said on the street that Mr. Gerald only or especially goes after black guys. He’ll nut on a nigga face, nine times outta ten. He don’t even wanchu to swallow. He wanna see you walk outta there with nut on yo’ face, telling him thank you the whole time. He like that. That’s what one of the hobos Rob jerked off last week told him. His name was Greenbelly, and Mr. Gerald was looking for him.
Rob wasn’t gonna snitch though, and anyway, he didn’t know where Greenbelly was. Or his real name for that matter.
“Oh, uh…” Rob blushed. He quaked. Had he gone through all this for nothing? He was entranced by Mr. Gerald’s big muscles, his biceps bulging from the rolled-up sleeve of his stained and faded button-down shirt. He wasn’t married, that was obvious. He didn’t wear cologne. His mustche was neat but his scruffy beard hairs were not thoroughly shaved, like he had done it without a mirror. His shirt had an old mustard stain on it. No wife would let him outta the house in that shirt.
Mr. Gerald wordlessly filled out his paperwork. “You do drugs?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re gonna do a piss test next time,” he said. He glanced up and made eye contact with Rob. “What? You look mad. What?”
“It’s just…” Rob took a deep breath. He decided to be blunt with him. “I heard a rumor about you, Mr. Gerald.”
“What? I don’t like rumormongering. I don’t condone it. A man should stand behind the shit he says,” Mr. Gerald said.
“I heard… you sometimes make guys jerk you off.”
Mr. Gerald glowered at him. His dark eyes were expressionless. “What? You insinuatin’ I force my parolees into somethin’?” He watched Rob pop one of his fingers into his mouth and sucked on it. “Mothahfuckah, you think I can’t get a woman? That is fucked up. That ain’t no kinda thing I would ever do,” Mr. Gerald said with a raspy frown and a wag of one callused finger. “And I resent you for bringin’ up that kinda scurrilous accusation.”
“Oh, I’m sorry-“
“That kind of b’avior would violate the Department of Corrections’s Pillars of Respect, and any nigga who know me knows that I am all about the Pillars of Respect. I know you haven’t yet watched the video about the Pillars of Respect, but when you do, you will unduhstand that they is at the heart of… you know, all the bullshit.” He sniffled as he lost his train of thought. “If you act propuh, I will let you skip the video.”
“I will do literally anything to skip that video,” Rob said.
“Shut yo’ lie-hole, Mistuh Winthrop. Ain’t not a soul make no kinda accusation of that sort. Sometimes motherfuckahs be beggin’ for a way to prove how much respect they got for me. Y’know… sometimes, motherfuckahs be thinkin’ callin’ me sir is the worst thing I could force ‘em to do… only the trick is, I can’t force ‘em to do that. I can’t pull no words outta someone’s mouth. So I gotta focus on gettin’ respect out of ‘em through some other means. Ya feel me?” He stood up and came closer to Rob. He grabbed him by the chin and played with his lower lip. “You wanna jerk me off?”
“Yes!” Rob immediately moved to grab for his crotch, but Mr. Gerald slapped his hand away.
“I ain’t say you could. I was just doin’ a survey, like for gauging general interest among the populace,” Mr. Gerald said. He pointed to a spot on the floor. “Get on yo’ knees.”
Rob did as he was told. His heart thumped. He was going to get to do this after all.
“You know our meetin’ is done, right? I ain’t keepin’ you here no more? I’d rather you leave, to be honest,” Mr. Gerald said. He unzipped his slacks and pulled out a massive cock with a big veiny shaft. When Rob went for it, Mr. Gerald slapped him. “I ain’t consent to you touchin’ it. I’m still makin’ sure you know I don’t like you, and I don’t want you touchin’ my dick. This ain’t how I get off. I ain’t like that. Strikes me as unbiblical,” he said. “That ain’t the parole department’s opinion, mind you, that’s a personal thought, and I gots a right to it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think this is a tool,” he said. He flopped his limp dick onto Rob’s face. Rob opened his mouth to lick, but Mr. Gerald slapped him again. “Get that tongue back in yo’ mouth, boy. This here is my tool, not yo’ lollipop. It’s a tool I use to insert respect back into mouthy motherfuckahs who lost they respect in some tragic accident. Ya feel me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, I am gonna ram you in the throat cuz you asked me nice and I like the way yo’ lips is all soft and shit,” he said. He rubbed Rob’s lips with one callused finger. “Don’t you dare be spreadin’ none of them falsities ‘bout how I make men jerk me off. I don’t do that. That’s contrary to Pillars Two, Four and arguably Five of the Pillars of Respect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You seducin’ me right now. You turnin’ this office into a hostile work environment ‘gainst me, boy. I oughta cite you for that,” he said. He chuckled throatily as he spread Rob’s lips with his fingers and rubbed his limp dick over Rob’s gums and teeth.
He still wasn’t trying to get hard. His dick was just slightly firm, one stage up from jiggly. It flopped like a lively snake over Rob’s face, He chuckled. “Hmm-hmm…” He licked his teeth. He left his dick on Rob’s nose. “Lotta my men would be buckin’ right now. You submittin’ just right.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You ramrod men?” He battered Rob’s face with his spongy dick. “You ever do it, you know, stick ya dick in a nigga? Or a Arab or whatever?”
Rob nodded. He straightened his posture. “Yeah, I-“
He slapped Rob across the face. “Not me, if that’s what you thinkin’. I was — how much is you into it? I was not asking ’bout me. You wanna ramrod a morbidly obese Arab man? He hairy as shit. Too fat to shower. Five hundred pounds. He bathes with a rag on a stick, sometimes, when I tell him to. I woulda done ramrod the ever-mighty fuck outta him cuz he bin breaking the rules, but I don’t wanna put my dick in him.”
“No, I don’t… I don’t wanna do that,” Rob said.
“Hmm-hmm.” He wrinkled his nose. “Can’t say I blame ya.”
“He sounds like he has a mental health problem-“
He slapped Rob again. “Don’chu think I know that? Mothahfuckah, you got a solution for it-?”
“No, I just-“
“Then shut the fuck up, don’t point out problems you don’t got a solution for,” Mr. Gerald said. He mollywopped Rob with his dick, which had grown even limper now, it was jiggly all the way. He snarled at Rob. “Pissy shithead.”
“Sorry, sir,” Rob said. He shrugged. “What’d he do?”
“Raped his aunt. She got that Down syndrome.”
“Oh. That’s bad. Shouldn’t do that.”
He slapped Rob again. “What’d I say ’bout pointin’ out problems you don’t got a solution for?”
“Sorry, sir,” Rob said again. He stuck his tongue out, and it got the underside of Mr. Gerald’s dick.
“Anyway, Mistuh Winthrop, you doin’ good. When one my men is actin’ insolent, suckin’ on his teeth like a nigga do, I make him sit here wit’ my dick on his face during my spiel. You wanna keep it there durin’ my spiel?”
“Yes, please.”
“A’ight.” He cleared his throat, which made his dick jiggle atop Rob’s face. “Well, first of all, you got any street names? I gotsta ask.”
“No, sir.”
“You gotsta report to me any nickname you evuh used.”
“Ever?” Rob chuckled, making the dickfat resting atop his fce jiggle. “Well, some friends used to call me Winclap, cuz… well, it’s a long story-“
“Do not tell me a long story, mothahfuckah.”
“Okay, uh… Some other friends used to call me Jaxwing, which was my D&D character, uh, R-Queen, Throat Queen, Neck, Other Rob — that was when I was in rehab, we weren’t allowed to use last names, for confidentiality. I think that’s it,” he said. “Oh! My brothers call me Babywrist.”
“Any those got gang connotations?” He looked down at Rob, then slapped him again with his dickmeat.
“No, sir.”
“Okay, well if I catch you usin’ any unapproved nicknames, I’m sendin’ you to the big house! For…” He looked at Rob’s file. “Six weeks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I catch you watchin’ any video pornography, I’m sendin’ you to the big house. That’s pervert shit, I don’t like that, that’s disrespectin’ women, I-“
“Yes, sir.”
“Shut up,” he said. He slapped Rob. “Don’t interrupt me.” He cleared his throat. “Stick out ya tongue.”
Rob did so. Mr. Gerald grunted, grabbed his tongue with two fingers and pulled it out so far it hurt. He rested his piss-slit on it. He waited to see if Rob would object or pull away or gag. He did not.
“Next. No catcallin’ at females, no gettin’ fresh wit’ a woman, and it’s up to the woman or me to decide what’s fresh. I don’t need yo’ input on freshness,” Mr. Gerald said. He wagged his finger at Rob, which made his dick jiggle clear off Rob’s face. Mr. Gerald put it back. “Next. You can’t be homeless. If you homeless, you stayin’ wit’ me, and I am ramroddin’ you e’ery chance I get.” He bristled. “Scratch that, you’d prolly enjoy it.”
Rob nodded without remove his tongue from Mr. Gerald’s dicktip.
“If you homeless, I’ll make you spend the night somewhere you don’t like. Where there’s no musical theater and no club music,” he said. He chuckled. “You is required to go to the religious institution of yo’ choosin’, and yes I is allowed to do that, if you atheist, you go to the humanist group at the university, okay, and just like hell it’s full of atheists and feminists, so it’ll be a preview of yo’ future,” he said. “This town gots churches, mosques, synagogues and some Hindu things and things that ain’t quite Hindu but I don’t get the difference. And a Buddhist thing. You pagan?”
Rob shook his head.
“Good. Which church you go to?”
“I don’t have a regular one, I, uh…”
“You go to First Grace from now on,” he said. “I know the pastor. I’ll be checkin’.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm-hmmm…” He paused. “You Communist?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. You one them Satanists?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.” He slapped Rob. “I won’t be respectin’ no Satanism as a religion, and the Supreme Court can say that to my face!”
Rob chuckled cuz his words didn’t quite make sense, but he got the gist, and he settled down when Mr. Gerald glared at him like he better not point that out. Rob stuck his tongue back out onto Mr. Gerald’s piss-slit. His tongue was getting dry though. He chased the tip of Mr. Gerald’s dick til he saw that glare again, then he settled still.
“You may open yo’ mouth.”
Rob did so, as wide as he could, and he waited for Mr. Gerald to signal he could proceed. Rob then swallowed his dick down to the root. It was starting to get hard, that must be why he decided to move on, and in Rob’s mouth, it rapidly firmed up. He looked up at Mr. Gerald’s surprised face — he probably didn’t normally get dome from guys who could deep-throat like Rob.
Mr. Gerald held onto the back of Rob’s head and plowed into him, treating his mouth like it was a pussy. His balls slapped against Rob’s chin. He held onto Rob’s ears.
“You doin’ it good, boy, no gaggin’ at all. They comin’ out wit’ good white boys these days. It’s been awhile since I had a white boy who could take my dick this good. Try to swallow the whole thing, you feel me?”
He nodded, and Rob relaxed his throat. Mr. Gerald pinched his nose shut, which helped his throat open even wider, and he got more, more than half of his shaft, to squeeze down Rob’s throat. Rob choked. Mr. Gerald clucked his tongue.
“Nah. Stay like that.” He lightly slapped Rob’s cheek. Rob again bucked as his throat rebelled, and his eyes bugged out. Then at last Mr. Gerald pulled his dick out and let him take a breath.
“Thank you for lettin’ me breathe, sir,” Rob said, panting between words.
“Hmm-hmm…” Mr. Gerald said. “You wanna swallow my nut, or you want me to paint you white?”
“Swallow.”
“Good. I don’t like nuttin’ on a white man, cuz you can’t see it. If you was darkskin, I’d paint you white as pigeon shit,” he said, and he let out a bellowing cackle. He clapped his hands. His balls jiggled on Rob’s chin. “I’mma fuck yo’ mouf a little, like a pussy.”
Rob nodded.
“T’weren’t a question, and I don’t need feedback on it,” he said. He held onto Rob’s ears and rammed at his mouth, firm but not hard, more humping his tongue than “fucking” his throat. Rob grabbed his muscular thighs, but Mr. Gerald slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch me, freak.” He chuckled. “Oh, yeah, no beard. Don’t grow a beard. I won’t wanna use yo’ mouf if you got a beard.”
He reached behind himself on the desk, and he picked up his phone. He unlocked it, then scrutinized something he seemed to find annoying. He wrinkled his nose at it. Then he swiped to something else, and he showed Rob the screen.
“See? This is a website about female rugby,” he asid. “It’s not pornography.”
Rob nodded.
“Good. I ain’t bein’ hippocritical. Some niggas is makin’ ‘ccusations ’bout that,” he said. He seemed about to say something else, but he saw a rugby player he liked and his words melted into a low hum. His dick pulsated against Rob’s tongue. “Hmm-hmm… Lookit them thighs, nigga…”
Finally a burst of salty precum exploded in Rob’s sense. That must be one sexy female rugby player, Rob thought, because Mr. Gerald’s meat raced from mostly hard to spewing precum and throbbing mightily in about two seconds. He wondered what race the rugby player was. He wished he could ask without taking his mouth off Mr. Gerald’s cock.
“How nasty you get, boy?” he asked.
“Very.” Rob’s voice was muffled by a mouthful of prenut, which he neither swallowed nor spat out.
“Good. That was the right answer,” he said. He pulled his dick away, then he stood up off. He motioned to the desk. “You. Bend ovuh that.”
Rob raced to comply. He was about to drop his pants, then he realized Mr. Gerald didn’t tell him to do so, he so he stopped. Then he realized he’d enjoy the punishment for doing it anyway, so he did it anyway. His jeans plopped to the floor around his ankles, and he shimmied down his underwear. That bared his pale ass, which Mr. Gerald grumbled at.
“Hmm-hmmmm, I don’t appreciate too much eagerness, boy,” he said. “I ain’t say to take yo’ ass out.”
“Sorry, sir. You wanna spank me-?”
“What? No, I ain’t toleratin’ no kinda BDSM nonsense, boy, and that’s another thing that ain’t allowed, don’t go aftuh me with none that free association shit neither, I will wallop you, straight up wallop! No kinky shit. No leather, no whips, no chains, I don’t care how consentin’ it is, no way,” he said. “No feet!”
“No feet?”
“In sex. You can keep yo’ feet for walkin’ on,” he said.
“Okay then,” Rob said. He looked behind himself, but he couldn’t see Mr. Gerald.
“Don’t worry ’bout me, you keep lookin’ that way,” he said. “You see that clipboard on the desk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Grab it. Fill it out. That’s yo’ form 10G, you best respect it.”
“Oh, I do.”
“The state mandates you fill that you e’ery week. Actually it mandates I fill it out, but I am not fillin’ it out, you bitch-ass punk, you is doin’ it,” he said. He punched Rob in the meat of his asscheek. It hurt much worse than Rob was expecting, and he yelped. Mr. Gerald barked. “I said fill it out!”
Rob raced to do so. At the bottom was where Mr. Gerald was supposed to fill in the answers to the standard parole questions. There were two additional pages of follow-ups. It included everything from “how many lawfully registered firearms are in the place where you live?” to “do you know of the whereabouts of any of the Missing or Endangered Indigenous Women of the Dangerously Ignored Serial Killer Murder Epidemic of the Western States?”.
“What’s with this murdered indigenous women thing?”
“You murder any indigenous women?”
“No.”
“Then just write down no.”
“You have to ask me that every week?”
“Yep. So, y’know, keep track.”
“Also, I haven’t asked any of my acquaintances if they’ve violated the Somali Warlords Act of 2003,” Rob said. “It’s entirely possible I know lots of Somali warlords.”
“You know any Somalis?”
“I don’t judge people by the color of their skin. Anybody can be a Somali warlord.”
“Just put no!” Mr. Gerald said with a snarl. He was deeply engrossed in the rugby women on his phone, and it sounded to Rob like he had gotten distracted watching video clips from an actual women’s rugby game. “Them Polynesian girls is hefty. You know ’bout them?”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “I’ve been to Samoa. It’s nice, the women are huge.”
“Really? You know any Samoan women in the US?” Mr. Gerald asked. He stabbed his hardon between Rob’s asscheeks, and he leaned in, pushing it at his butthole. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I do not, sorry,” Rob said.
“Lookit them thighs, damn…” Mr. Gerald showed Rob the phone but the glare made it impossible to see. “She could squeeze the nigga outta me. Make me white as you, shit!” Rob didn’t care. He opened his asshole the best he could, practically sucking Mr. Gerald’s dick in.
A surge of both pain and pleasure hit Rob, and Mr. Gerald grunted. He dropped his phone, which landed on the small of Rob’s back. Mr. Gerald grunted again. Rob put down the clipboard.
“You finished that form 10G?”
“No.”
“Boy, if you don’t finish it, I will slap the senseless outta you,” Mr. Gerald said. He thrust his hips, forcing more of his dick into Rob. He began gently sliding his cock out but firmly ramming it back in, each time upping the pleasure like a ratchet where it boiled within Rob. Rob clutched the desk underneath him, and he knocked the pen he had been using onto the floor.
He grabbed another pen. He groaned. The sensations emanating from his ass were enormous, and Mr. Gerald’s pounding was relentless. He looked at the last question. “What are my aspirations for the week?”
“That’s right.” Mr. Gerald said. His voice wavered with each thrust of his hips. “Hmmm… hmm…” He tried to play it cool, but his voice broke and he let out a little moan, which he stifled. “Aspiration means goal.”
“Yes, I get it, I just… My aspiration is to take your nut in whatever hole you want it,” Rob said, panting, writhing, wanting to be for more.
“Hmm-hmmm… That’s a very good answer. It’s a wrong answer, but it’s the best wrong answer,” Mr. Gerald said. “The right answer is to stay outta trouble, worship Christ and obey yo’ boss, landlord, pastor and officers of the law. Spelling does not count.”
Rob struggled to write all that while Mr. Gerald pounded at his sensitive ass. Bliss exploded with each pump of his hips, and the entire hugeness of his shaft went in each time. Rob suspected few of Mr. Gerald’s parolees took the whole dick up their ass. It was actually quite difficult to force a man to take a big dick in a hole that both doesn’t want it and is too small for it, and probably it was more effective as a deterrent than a punishment. Rob, however, was eager to be punished, not deterred.
All at once, Mr. Gerald stopped. “Oh, you goin’ to First Grace from now on. In the basement of that church, boy, there’s a man, his name is Cassius, he’s an old retired boxer. He kinda retarded. If you tell him you’s me, he’ll believe you and bend ovuh, you can ram him all night long if you want. I did. Trained him good too,” he said. “He’s kinda old, but his ass is still tight. You’ll like him. He’s bettuh than that fatass Arab fellah.” He clucked his tongue. “I dunno what to do about him.”
“I’ll check out Cassius,” Rob said through his gasps of pleasure.
“You gonna do ass-to-mouth?”
“Yes, sir, please!”
“That wasn’t a question.” He grunted.
It sure sounded like a question, but Rob didn’t say so, as a burst of relief made him moan out loud. Mr. Gerald pulled his dick out. It felt so good Rob’s knees went weak. Then Mr. Gerald shoved him to the ground.
He rammed his cocktip back into Rob’s mouth, and the grimy flavor of Rob’s own ass filled his senses. Rob cried out around the dick in his mouth. He couldn’t help but grab his own cock and stroked it, instantly triggering his own orgasm.
Jizz spurted onto Rob’s chest and some onto Mr. Gerald’s legs. He didn’t notice because he closed his eyes as he humped his giant ass-coated cock on every inch of Rob’s tongue, then plowed down his throat like before. He again pinched Rob’s nostrils shut so he could go all the way down.
“Alright boy, no spillin’ my nut, that ain’t respectful,” he said. “Violates Pillar Two.” Then he chuckled. “What am I sayin’? I ain’t gotta tell you not to spill. I bet you love swallowin’ nut.” His chuckling broke as he orgasmed. “Hnnnn-hmmmmm….” His whole body undulated, and he closed his eyes.
He slammed his dick all the way in. Rob could feel him orgasm in the throbbing of the vein on his dick, which pulsated against Rob’s tongue. But Mr. Gerald’s dick was so deep in his throat that Rob didn’t taste the actual cum at first, just the precum that already coated his shaft.
“Hmmm… boy, you drainin’ me, that’s good…” His voice was low and rumbly like velvet sandpaper, and he bucked his hips, making sweet love to Rob’s throat. He gripped his hair tightly, rubbing his crotch and balls all over Rob’s face.
Finally, he pulled out, and the taste of salty-sweet cum assaulted Rob’s senses. He moaned and swallowed every drop, even as his belly contorted and his lungs cried out for oxygen. He slathered Mr. Gerald’s dick with spit and cum as he let it slowly plop out.
“Goddamn, boy.” Mr. Gerald said with a chuckle.
Rob gasped for air. “Hmmm… You taste so good… I love your dick, Mr. Gerald, I-“
“Hush. I don’t need you to talk,” Mr. Gerald said. The mustache on his upper lip quivered. He sighed and leaned back. “Shit…”
“Hmmm…” Rob smacked his lips and wiped his face off. the smell of jizz and ass coated his mug. “I didn’t spill any, I promise.” He quickly put his own clothes back on. It was always best, he thought, to leave them wanting more, so he intended to leave right away.
Mr. Gerald nodded. “Hey, boy.”
“Yes, sir?” Rob headed for the door.
“I take back what I said about my dick not bein’ your personal lollipop. You can come back and mouth me off whenever you want,” he said. He handed his business card over, with his home address written on it. “Okay?”
“Yes, sir!”

The Politician

When Avery lobbies a presidential candidate on some pet issues, he didn’t realize what he was in for! The studly Governor Harold Tamperton is ready to give Avery the reacharound of a lifetime in exchange for political support, an exchange that’s worth every penny to Avery!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Avery sighed. Was Mr. Tamperton going to stand him up? He would have thought not — Avery was representing an important lobby group, and Mr. Tamperton’s campaign was who set this up. They reached out to Avery, not the other way around. Now Mr. Tamperton was an hour late. Avery had come to assume politicians would always be late — that was in their DNA. A part of him had believed Charlie Tamperton’s claim that he would be different. A part of him hoped Tamperton would be different.
But mostly, Avery suspected that Charlie Tamperton would not be different at all.
The hotel lobby was fashionably minimalist, with carpet softer than most mattresses and of the most exquisitely vibrant shade of white Avery had ever seen, it was sort of an electric white, like the white equivalent of neon pink, and it was spotless. Shockingly spotless, like fresh off the factory, not a single smudge or mote of dullness. That and an odd statue were the only things of note in the vault-like minimalist “splendor” of the Granger Ben Hotel.
Minimalist doesn’t mean spending less on decor, it means spending more on less decor. The elite will always spend to make sure the peons know they can. In the olden days, they did so by hiring a hundred artisans to work for a lifetime decorating every inch of a cathedral. Now they hire the equivalent in man-hours to create, install and clean a fantastically expensive alabaster carpet that gets steam-cleaned every ten minutes and one statue that was hard to identify but might have been a goat in a bathtub and which may have had a feminist bent. Avery couldn’t quite put his finger on what was feminist about it. It had a plaque, but he was not going to read a goddamn plaque about a feminist, like in a museum, but anyway, both the goaty shape and the bathtubby shape had a feminist air about them. So instead of hiring stonecarvers and woodworkers to build a cathedral for seventy years, they pay a couple million up front for some absurdly dumb feminist goat in a feminist bathtub and a million or two in wages over many years to various cleaners, installers, repairers, etc. They spend just as much, but they call it minimalist.
Avery would rather employ stonecarvers and woodworkers than feminists and cleaning crews. Plus, there’d be more to look at when he sat here twiddling his thumbs like a fucking idiot, waiting an hour and a half for that billionaire shitheel Charlie Tamperton. Avery was definitely deleting his dumbass apps. Except the one with the ostrich that finds coupons.
“There you are, Mr. Flowers,” said a suited man who appeared next to Avery, startling him. How he snuck up to Avery in a minimalist hotel lobby, with nothing to hide behind except six uncomfortable chairs, ten dead-eyed staff and a goat-in-a-bathtub’s worth of feminism, Avery will never figure out. Somehow the Asian man with the dead eyes and swampy cologne managed to surprise him. He gave Avery a polite nod. “I’m Delaney Chu, Mr. Tamperton’s campaign manager. He’s ready to see you now.”
Avery nodded and shook his hand, wondering where Tamperton had come from — Avery was sitting in the front lobby of the hotel, and he hadn’t seen Tamperton enter. He must have slipped in through a service entrance, presumably to avoid the mob of journalists outside. The Democratic primary was heating up, and Tamperton was no doubt being followed by both the press and his opponents’s trackers.
“Mr. Tamperton is very excited for this opportunity,” Delaney said. “He’s wanted to reach out to the legitimate-massage community for a long time. Honestly it’s my fault he hasn’t, blame me for that. He’s been telling me for months that we’ve got to make some allies there. And he’s totally right.”
“I see,” Avery said. He didn’t really believe Delaney — not that he thought Delaney was lying, exactly, but it made sense for Mr. Tamperton to focus on consolidating the main wings of the Democratic Party. He had risen to prominence with a series of sharply worded statements in accordance with Avery’s views, including a harsh eye aimed at the prostitution industry, especially the semi-legal massage parlors that make it hard for legitimate companies to operate. Avery’s business couldn’t compete in advertising with literally all of the city’s pimps and hookers, but many city governments across the country had decided it was better to the semi-tolerate semi-legal semi-businesses of pimps and madams, and they had no interest in supporting the operations of legitimate massage companies. Avery had formed and then found himself in charge of a lobby group devoted to legitimate-massage businesses, and as the presidential race heated up, Avery found his little pressure group rising to the top of the Democratic Party. That wasn’t because it was a huge pressure group, precisely the opposite. All the huge pressure groups had committed to a candidate months or years ago. Avery’s was one of the few groups that hadn’t yet committed to a candidate.
The immigrant-rights community nationwide had rallied around Avery and rocketed him to the top of the Democratic Party’s primary polling in the early months. That was not his intent — a lot of immigrants were masseurs, that was why. So the conventional wisdom was that candidates could nail down Avery’s endorsement and garner votes from the anti-prostitution folks and the immigrants.
Now that the first primaries and caucuses loomed closer, some of the more minor candidates were getting traction. Mr. Tamperton’s endless barrage of media-grabbing statements dominated the news, while Vermont Governor Paul Thandrasepkatar got some key endorsements, especially from a handful of celebs. Tamperton had come out on the wrong side of the police brutality debate, which made it hard for the ultra-leftists to support him. Governor Thandrasepkatar had come out in support of some popular things, which Mr. Tamperton couldn’t support without being seen as a flip-flopper. So despite Tamperton’s initial success, Governor Thandrasepkatar was vacuuming up support.
Avery represented one of the few immigrant civil rights organizations that hadn’t yet endorsed Thandrasepkatar, and he knew Tamperton was going to be desperate for a way back in to the good graces of the immigrant community. He wondered what Tamperton would say today to dominate the news cycle tomorrow, and he hoped it wasn’t at his expense.
Of course none of that had anything to do with legitimate massage. But more than two-thirds of the dues-paying businesses in Avery’s lobby group were owned by immigrants, and there were a lot more immigrants than legitimate massuers in this country.
Avery was so lost in thought he didn’t notice that Delaney was taking him downstairs, to the basement. He wasn’t going to a hotel room at all.
In the basement of the hotel — the basement had no decoration either, just more spotless white in the form of painted walls, which again had no smuges or fingerprints or faded spots —Delaney brought Avery past the pool. They stopped in front of a door marked SAUNA. He smiled and held the door open, motioning for Avery to squeeze in past the pair of burly bodyguards who stood sentry.
“Mr. Tamperton is getting a steam,” Delaney said. “But he’ll see you now. Feel free to take off your clothes.”
There was a little changing area in the front of the sauna. Avery entered and nervously took off his clothes. He had always loved saunas — that was his favorite part of his recent trip to Finland. It was only as Avery wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into the sauna that he realized he had posted about the trip, and his effusive love for saunas, on Facebook.
That was why Tamperton arranged for a meeting here. He looked through Avery’s Facebook timeline until he found out what he liked: saunas. It felt like pandering, it was patronizing. It was hard to take notes in the steamy sauna too, which made Avery wonder if Tamperton’s plan was to prevent Avery from keeping a record of what he said.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Flowers,” Mr. Tamperton said. His face was shrouded by steam. “Please, call me Tamperton. Don’t you love this sauna? It’s the greatest, I’m a yuge fan of saunas. The steam is wonderful for the skin.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Avery said. “Well… Tamperton, I’m sure you realize why I agreed to meet with you. The organization I represent-“
“Wait, wait, Avery, let’s not jump right into business,” Mr. Tamperton said. “Let’s just chat a bit. I’d like to get to know you.”
Avery shrugged as he sat down. The sauna was so misty and dim that he hadn’t seen Tamperton until he got to the bench he sat on. That’s when he clocked that Tamperton was stark naked, not even wearing a towel around his waist.
His body was more powerful than it seemed when he wore a suit on television, Avery thought. Tamperton had a barrel chest, not at all saggy from age, and though the hair on his head was ruddy and balding, the hair on his chest was fresh, dark and just thick enough to grab nd hold onto. He was stronger than Avery had thought he would be, and perhaps most surprisingly, he had a massive cock resting between his sweaty thighs.
This was definitely not how Avery had expected this interview to progress. He wondered how he could bring this up at the next meeting without looking like a Tamperton fanboy excited to see his crush’s cock. That wasn’t at all how Avery felt He had never thought of Tamperton as having an excellent physique until just now, when his naked, sweat-dappled body was right in front of Avery’s eyes.
And now Avery found his eyes drawn to that magnificant cock.
“How are you enjoying the campaign?” Avery asked, nervous at sitting next to someone so intensely masculine, not to mention a powerful billionaire. The humid sauna-sweat glistened on his broad chest and shoulders, and when he touched his own chin, he left a trail of moisture that ran down his the curves of his pecs in rivulets.
“I’m enjoying it plenty, I love this kind of scrappy repartée, the exchange of ideas, the Sturm und Drang of it all,” he said. “The one problem is that I never see my wife.”
“That’s tough. Being president is even tougher though,” Avery said. A part of him had always been worried that Tamperton wasn’t serious — being president wasn’t like being CEO of a professional rugby team (that was one of Tamperton’s high-profile business ventures). He was going to have to be on duty all the time.
“Sure, sure, I can’t wait. I’ll enjoy that, honestly. My wife will be there in the White House with me. She can’t travel on the campaign trail with me, but she would gladly move into the White House. She’s already picking out curtains,” he said. Then he cleared his throat nervously. “Look… I’m gonna have trouble concentrating on this interview if we don’t do something about…” He gestured towards his crotch. “Without my wife at my side at nights, I need another way to let off a little steam.” He laughed as he gestured to the steam that filled the sauna.
“I’m sorry, Tamperton?”
“Do you want to jerk me off?”
“… I’m sorry, Tamperton?”
“Of course you can’t put it in your article. I’ll deny it. Not even my bodyguards out there know what we’re doing in here,” he said. He shrugged. “You don’t have to. I just thought you were the kind of man who knows your way around a cock.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been checking me out.”
Avery nodded and blushed.
Before he could do anything else, Tamperton leaned in and kissed him. Avery was so shocked he just sat there like a dead fish at first, then shoved his tongue in Tamperton’s mouth. They collapsed onto the sauna bench, with Tamperton on top of Avery, his burly body weighing him down and his heavy cock pressing into Avery’s thigh.
“Oh… Mr. Tamperton-“
“Call me Tamperton.”
“Tamperton…!”
Tamperton kissed a trail down Avery’s neck and chest. He suckled on each nipple until it was hard, and he smiled at Avery. “You see, I do respect immigrants. I love the immigrants. Not to mention massage. Massage has helped so many of my rugby players with physical ailments.” His breath condensed on Avery’s nape. “I’ll do whatever I can to help the industry.”
“I see…”
His back arched as pleasure shot through him. Tamperton gave his dick a few strokes. It pulsated between Tamperton’s thick fingers, as Avery dragged his own fingers through Tamperton’s thinning reddish hair. The body heat emanating off Tamperton merged with the humid warmth of the sauna, and Avery found his hands moving over the well-worked muscle of Charlie Tamperton’s chest and back.
Then Tamperton lowered his head, as he kissed Avery again on the lips, then the chin, the neck, and a moan of passion came out of both men. Avery sucked in his breath.
This was not how he thought this little foray into lobbying would pan out.
His hands fluttering and running all up and down Tamperton’s well-muscled back, Avery leaned back, thinking Tamperton would soon stop kissing. But no, his kisses moved lower and lower.
Then, before Avery knew it, Tamperton’s mouth encircled Avery’s dick. Avery was astonished to feel his lips on Avery’s cock, but he was too aroused to even process what was happening. He continued lowering his head, still holding his breath as his heart raced, until Avery was laying on the sauna bench on his back. He reached for Tamperton’s crotch, and he hefted that fat erection in one, then both, hands.
With Tamperton atop him, Avery and he arranged their bodies to sixty-nine, with Tamperton on top, his plump, piggish prick aimed right for Avery’s mouth. He was so huge and heavy that Avery could barely wrap his arms around Tamperton’s body.
Avery opened up, feeling that familiar sensation of hot meat invading his throat. His fingers clenched Tamperton’s thick back and ass, as precum invaded his mouth. Avery sucked vigorously, deep-throating and swallowing every inch of his meat. They writhed together, in unison, and for a little while, Avery forgot that Tamperton was part of the political and business elite.
Tamperton’s muscles tightened and flexed above Avery. Tamperton was in much better shape than he had seemed, and Avery could feel the power bristling just below the surface of his body. He had the muscle of the rugby players he employed, Avery thought, wondering if he worked out with his athletes. He was a tech guy, originally and mainly, Tamperton built his business off apps. But he was never a slim computer geek, and his patronage of the American Rugby League was well-known.
The rugby players probably sauna together, Avery realized as he slurped on the savory cock invading his throat. Tamperton might sauna with them.
He loved the man’s body hair too, just thick enough to be unkempt and furry, but not so thick as to be dirty or offputting. He smelled clean and strong, even his dick and despite the sauna-induced sweat that covered his body. His balls were thick and heavy, without the old man-droopiness that Avery had rather assumed he would have.
Precum flooded Avery’s mouth. He enjoyed the sour and salty flavor of precum, not to mention the creamy texture, and he savored it in his mouth now as well. He let it coat his tongue, which ran up and down Tamperton’s veiny shaft. Avery was leaking precum too, and Tamperton swallowed it like he was well-practiced. Avery wondered how often Tamperton had done this before.
He did not do it like a man exploring something new. He did it like this was old hat.
“Wait,” Tamperton said, pulling out just as Avery neared his orgasm. His hefty body hovered above Avery, who gasped in desperate need for more. His cocktip dangled tantalizingly near, just centimeters above Avery’s head. Tamperton smiled. “I’m gonna ram you now, okay? In the ass. I need a tight booty, and I can tell you are gonna be taut as a drum.” He caressed Avery’s smooth belly and added, “I’m gonna tap your ass good, Avery. You won’t be walking straight for a week. You like it like that?”
Avery nodded. “Hell yeah.”
“Do I have your endorsement?”
“I…” Avery gulped. “I need your support on-“
“Of course, of course. The proposed legislation, right? The Massage Rescue Plan? I can absolutely support that, and I promise, if elected president, I will do everything possible to ensure it gets through Congress,” he said. He stood, letting his erection bob around afront Avery’s face. Avery chased it with his tongue until he sensed Tamperton’s bemused gaze.
Then Avery serioused up. Despite his own erection and his strong desire to handle Tamperton’s, Avery only shrugged. “Well then, I guess we can support you — it’s not entirely up to me, you know?”
“I understand. Just tell them what I said — what I said about the Massage Rescue Plan — and that you believe me,” Tamperton said. He teased his knobtip on Avery’s lips. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Fuck yes!” Avery exclaimed. He felt bad about selling out his endorsement so easily, but he reasoned that it wasn’t really up to him anyway. He’d tell his committee the political promises Tamperton made, and if that was enough, they’d take their endorsement public. Supporting that in private was the most Avery could do. He wasn’t sure Tamperton understood that, but Avery was not in a position to explain the nuances of his lobby group’s mechanisms.
In one smooth motion, Charlie Tamperton stood, holding Avery in his powerful arms. He flipped Avery over, then bent him over the bench and spread his asscheeks. Avery’s knees went weak even before penetration began. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, and he wondered if anyone would believe him if he told. Probably not, he decided as Tamperton’s broadly muscled chest rippled behind him, rubbing on Avery’s smooth back.
Tamperton must have had a bottle of lube hidden somewhere nearby, because Avery felt that slippery coldness, which was a pleasant sensation contrasting with the humid warmth of the sauna. The lube slid into his ass and spread to every corner, making him feel all slippery inside. Already Avery felt Tamperton’s hot cock throbbing against the small of his back, and Avery had to hold back a chest-rattling howl of desire.
“Here it comes, Avery, be ready for it,” Tamperton said, using his toned arms to hold Avery in place. The fact that he said Avery’s name turned him on — it felt good to know he was on a first-name basis with someone like this. People often treated him as though he should have personal connections in the government and business elite because of his position in this lobby group, but he didn’t, until now. Tamperton was the only major politician he’d ever met.
“I’m ready…”
A burst of pleasure erupted in his ass as Tamperton’s thick meat pushed inside. Avery gasped and writhed in his arms, struggling to take in its thickness. He reached behind himself with one hand to guide it in, so he could only support himself with the other hand.
Tamperton wrapped both arms around Avery’s body and held him tight, lifting him up so he didn’t have to support himself on his hands at all. Avery’s feet were barely on the floor at all. He ground his ass into Tamperton’s crotch, while feeling his hairy chest grind against Avery’s back.
“Oh god… I secretly love your budget proposal,” Avery blurted out. He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even really thought it firmly to himself. But he felt so good that his internal filter disappeared, and so he moaned on a few more words about tax rates and progressivity before losing track of his thoughts.
“Really? I’m glad you like it, Avery…” His voice was low and guttural, aimed directly in Avery’s ears. Again, when he said Avery’s name, it sent a shiver of sexual energy up Avery’s spine, which caused him a spasm of pain and pleasure as it made his ass twinkle. Avery wondered if Tamperton knew how arousing it was to hear him call out Avery’s name.
One of Tamperton’s hands crept around to Avery’s dick and began stroking it. Avery was already so close to orgasm that his whole body twitched and pulsated as though his touch was painful. Avery moaned so loud he wondered if the bodyguards outside could hear, but if they did, they didn’t say anything or even poke their head in.
Despite Avery’s animated response to his touch, Tamperton didn’t slow down. He forced his dick in and out, hard enough that Avery felt overwhelming agony that was drowned out by the bliss emanating from his ass. He moaned around the thick arm that caressed his neck and face.
He finally shot his load just as Tamperton reached his own climax. Hot cum sprayed from his dick and covered the bench beneath him. Avery moaned and squirmed beneath Tamperton’s grasp. His back rippled as his muscles all tightened at once, and Tamperton held him tight. It felt like they were melting together, becoming one person, and Avery even had a momentary fantasy of him moving into the White House with Tamperton.
Wad after wad of creamy seed burst forth within Avery’s spasming body. It coated his insides and dripped down his legs as Avery’s spine undulated. Pleasure coursed through his veins. He gasped and fell limp, supported only by Tamperton’s strong arms.
Then it was over. Avery had no idea how long it had lasted. His orgasm felt like it might have gone on for hours, though he knew that was impossible — Tamperton’s retinue would have come in to get him by now. He must not have been as loud as it felt like he was too. Bodyguards would definitely have come in if they heard Avery scream the way it sounded in Avery’s own ears.
Tamperton pulled out, sending a shiver of relief up Avery’s back. His jizz continued seeping through his body and dripping down his thighs. Tamperton whistled his appreciation. “That was nice, Avery,” he said. “Reminds me why I’m not loyal to women. They don’t do it like that, and if they did, they’d still want to cuddle and talk about feelings afterwards. You don’t want to do that, do you, Avery?”
“No,” Avery said. The last thing he wanted to do now was talk about feelings. Cuddling did sound appealing, but once the orgasmic afterglow wore off in a few minutes, he’d be tired of it and their bodies would be hot and sticky.
“Good,” Tamperton said. He held Avery close in his powerful arms, where Avery felt safe and protected. He could see why people supported Tamperton politically — even if he was obviously full of hot air, he was confident and swaggerous, and it made Avery feel less vulnerable to be there scooped up in his arms.
“That was amazing, Mr. Tamperton… Tamperton, I mean,” Avery said. “Are you really a big supporter of the legitimate-massage industry?”
“I really am. It’s vital to the athletes who work for me, and I have always insisted that my companies offer massage as part of the healthcare and benefits package,” he said with a deep breath. “I’m so glad to have your support. I look forward to your organization campaigning with me.”
“that’s really up to the board,” Avery said. He blushed as he straightened out his sore legs — he thought Tamperton was right about him not being able to walk straight for a little while, at least not without concentrating intensely. “But I’ll recommend we come out to support you.”
“Thank you, and Avery?”
“Yes,” Avery said as Tamperton stood up and headed towards the door.
“When I win, I want you to visit me in the White House. You can arrange that, right?”
“That won’t be a problem,” Avery said.
“Good. We can have a wau-wau and… do other things, things that are definitely going to be off the record,” Tamperton said with a knowing grin. “The Lincoln Bedroom will never be the same.”

Water water everywhere but not a drop to drink

He hid that notion under his domey-doodle though.

Anywayhows, the Portuguese spaghetti was good as girlfarts, and then they hip-hopped it to showers after supper. Steel kept it cool and calm, though his blood crawled up in his eyes and he wanna run back to his bunk to drink, glug-a-glug-a-goo, damn he wished he put a flask in his locker, if he was rich, he’d put flasks everywhere just in case he got thirsty. He hid that notion under his domey-doodle though. He wanna be less smacky for liquor than Lem. It ain’t a real addiction-craving if some other nigga is craving it more. That’s what Steel thought as he showered. Water water everywhere but not a drop to drink.

From Steel the Roughneck